Tomser's Blog

I have watched more of the Olympics this year than I have in quite a while. Part of that is circumstances beyond my control, but more than that they have been pretty darn entertaining. I find myself drawn into events that I wouldn’t have given any thought to only a few weeks ago.

The reason I drifted away from the Olympics is that they can be repetitive. You can only watch so many contestants gallop around the equestrian course while the announcers’ ooh and ahh over two second differences before the mind numbs. It is worse in the Winter Olympics where sports like luge or downhill skiing are so monotonous they have all of the excitement of a traffic jam, unless of course there is a crash.

The timed races, however, can be thrilling. The other day I found myself watching the 10,000-meter final – 25 laps around the track. I was about to turn it off at lap 3, when I became engaged by the strategy of the Ethiopian team, who took turns setting a pace they hoped would knock other runners out of the competition. Despite their efforts, an American runner stayed with them throughout. It was clear he was going nowhere. By the time there were only 5 laps left you knew a great ending was coming. The final kick, where some dropped back and others surged, put you on the edge of your seat. When the American runner managed to withstand challengers to win the Bronze – the first American medal in this event in over 50 years – it was all you could do not to stand up and cheer.

It’s not just the Americans that generate goosebumps. The charge by Frenchman Victor Perez on the back nine in the final round of the golf, where he went six under on five consecutive holes, was electric, and not just for the French. So was the Women’s 100m win by Julien Alfred of Saint Lucia, especially because her island is so small she has to turn around at 50m just to finish a practice heat (or so I heard). And there is something special about a country at war winning a gold, as did Yaroslava Mahuchikh of Ukraine in the High Jump.

Watching the games makes me want to live in a city hosting the Olympics, though that’s probably a ‘be careful what you wish for’ fantasy. Philly would be ideal as a host city, if it was part of an I-95 bid that included New York, Baltimore and Washington D.C. (The Amtrak Games?) Of course, if we did that New York would soak up all the big events as well as the opening and closing ceremonies. Still, some Philly flavor would be a great enhancement.

The Inquirer posted its selection of Philadelphia specific events last Sunday which included some usual suspects like greased pole climbing, and some incongruous choices, like chicken eating and boxing on the Art Museum steps (Yawn!!). They missed out on some of the truly unique gems that Philly could offer.

For example, a 400m alley race would be terrific. Contestants would have to run across cobblestones, leap over obstacles, like discarded mattresses, and avoid the various unhoused sleeping in doorways. Competitors could also choose to ride an abandoned shopping cart, though there is always the danger that the wheels have been locked. Extra points could be awarded for stopping to give a hungry person a sandwich.

A Philadelphia bicycle road rally would be breathtaking. Cyclists would have to dodge the vans, cars and construction vehicles parked in designated bike lanes, while keeping an eye out for motorists running red lights and gunning through intersections. A special pedestrian medal could be added for those that can evade the Doordash motorbikes on the sidewalks.

A particularly fun event would be the stadium boo-a-thon, where pampered athletes would have to withstand non-stop abuse while trying to complete their tasks. Even though these would be summer games, snow could be imported to pelt the Olympic mascot, and Santa Claus too, if he dares show his face again.

Not all events would have negative connotations. A Reading Terminal marathon would call-on participants to sample food from each of the 30 or so food vendors. Old City Coffee stations would be available throughout, though contenders can opt for a smoothie, or some fresh-pressed juice from the Four Seasons Juice Bar (not to be confused with the more infamous Four Seasons Landscaping).

The finale could be a scavenger hunt locating Philadelphia specific items. For example, contestants would have to find each of the seemingly 40-some Benjamin Franklin impersonators and identify 20 of his inventions scattered around the City (no, he did not create the first cheesesteaks). They would also have to take selfies in front of 100 of the 4,000 murals adorning City walls. Finally, they would count how many people line up in a given day to take their picture with the Rocky statue in front of the Art Museum (if they can count that high).

Even if the final ceremonies were held in New York, Philadelphia would still be represented. Will Smith could come charging out of the crowd and slap Mayor Eric Adams. Jason Kelce would be there in full mummer regalia chugging a Victory ale. We would bring back Chase Utley to lead a F**k New York cheer. It would be glorious.

Well, I must end this now. Greco-Roman wrestling is coming on and while I have no idea what that is, I have to see the Zholaman Sharshenbekov (Kyrgyzstan) vs, Mehdi Mohsen Nejad (Iran) match. Go Zholly!!!!.             

This is why I rarely write about political issues. A few weeks ago, I got on my high horse and opined that we had to focus on issues and what the candidates would do when in office rather than their personalities. It was based on the assumption that we were stuck with the contenders for the Presidency that we had.

Since that ill-considered broadside, we had an assassination attempt that almost took out one aspirant, and the other quit the race. In other words, my argument that we should focus on the issues rather the people became passé almost as soon as it was published. While there are many conspiracy theories floating around both of these developments, few (OK, none) have mentioned this “coincidence”.

I should have known better. Rule number one of the Presidential race cycle is that the core narrative will change every two weeks or so. It wasn’t long ago that we were debating the impact of the Trump conviction, then it was the Biden debate debacle. From there we moved on to the assassination attempt. That didn’t last long before we faced mounting calls for Biden to drop out. Now all we can talk about is the ascension of Kamala Harris. And July just ended!!!!!

Let’s face it, in a sane world any of these developments would have been decisive. Not long ago it was unthinkable that we would elect a President that had been convicted of a crime. Nor would we consider a Presidential candidate who fumbled over his positions the way Biden did (Nixon’s 1960 debate performance had the eloquence of Obama by comparison). An assassination attempt could be counted on to generate the type of sympathy that could launch a candidate to the highest office (though it didn’t have that effect for Teddy Roosevelt, though it probably tanked Taft). The ignominious late-in-the-day departure of a candidate could be counted on to end a party’s chance to prevail.

Yet, you get the strong sense that all of these seemingly cataclysmic events are merely fodder for the chroniclers who will write up this campaign when it’s all over. Through it all, the polls have hardly changed – not that you can trust the polls. We are split and will remain split through November 5 and beyond.

Over the next 100 days there will be more of these “shocks” that the talking heads (as opposed to the writing heads, like me) will point to as game changing. There will be stupid comments, policy stumbles, scandals pulled from the distant past, and other seemingly meaningful developments.  They will get us chattering as if they meant something to the final outcome, but I doubt if they will.

What will swing the election? Who comes out to vote. We know that the Trump army of devotees will show up. Will those who hate Trump and everything he stands for come out as well, as they did in 2020? That is all that matters.

Frankly, it should be simple. There are more people who oppose Trump and his policies than support him. The majority of Americans are in favor of reproductive rights, as has been demonstrated every time this issue is put on the ballot. Most recognize the risk of climate change and want to see the government address environmental issues. People want a fair system of taxation, not one that rewards the rich. We are uncomfortable about the prospect of a “moral” minority who see Trump as a way to impose their beliefs on the nation. Most of all, we just don’t like or trust him.   

The problem is that many of these same people are so disgusted by the political atmosphere that they are inclined to just throw their hands up and wish a pox on both houses. They have not seen the changes they sought during either the Biden or Obama administrations and have given up hope. They are content to just let the chips fall where they may. That seems especially true of young voters.

The split in the electorate is so close that it will not take a lot of such voters sitting out the election to turn it. In fact, even if many do vote, their lack of engagement could be fatal to the Harris campaign. It is usually the young who are willing to make the phone calls, hand out leaflets and go door-to-door. More importantly, they get each other excited and interested in showing up on election day. The Democrats need that to get the turnout.

Yes, issues still matter, but for most of the electorate they are sufficiently well-defined. Even with the switch of Democratic candidates the lines are clearly drawn. We know what each aspirant will support and what they will do in office. They may say differently in the next few weeks to try and pander to the center but there are likely to be few surprises as of January 20, 2025.

All this should be kept in mind as we see the wild swings over the next few months. We have to try to avoid getting caught up in the various permutations that will inevitably occur and focus on the end game. We must convince people to vote their beliefs on November 5. If that happens, what seems cataclysmic now will just be fodder for the historian.

I read in the newspaper the other day (yes, some of us still read newspapers) that four intrepid “explorers” recently emerged from a year long isolation in a 3D printed habitat that sought to replicate what it would be like to live on Mars. What a shock!! I didn’t even know they were gone. It does explain why I didn’t get a response to my texts.

The Mars Dune Alpha enclosure provided only 1700 square feet of living space. That’s about the size of a two-bedroom, two-bathroom apartment in Philly. The crew was selected for their scientific expertise. Apparently, the model squad for a trip to Mars includes a biologist, structural engineer, physician, and microbiologist. The original concept was to use the Fantastic Four, but since their movies keep bombing that was scrapped.

The four-member crew had to pass the NASA qualifications for astronauts, which means they met muscle strength and aerobic standards. They also got to float in a pool while wearing a spacesuit and enjoy the “vomit comet”. While their ages weren’t given, photos of the crew emerging after their ordeal appeared to place them in their thirties or early forties. However, space is supposed to age you.

The two men and women spent their time carrying out tasks astronauts would face on an actual trip to Mars, including simulated spacewalks. NASA monitored the pseudonauts’ health and performance to learn how to support a crew during long missions and what risks there may be for humans, especially with limited nutrition. Speaking of nutrition, the troupe supplemented pre-packaged food with vegetables they grew themselves. It doesn’t appear there was room for a grill.

There are so many unanswered questions from the brief, sterile accounts of the journey that I could find. While the four came out smiling, where they really thinking, “I don’t ever again want to be in an airplane hanger with that creep let alone a space the size of an undergrad’s apartment.” Or “Another morning waking to an off-key rendition of Oklahoma, and they would have had their first faux space murder on their hands.”

Of course, what most people really want to know is, was there sex? My guess is that we’ll never know, but speculation will abound. It’s only natural. In every space movie we’ve ever seen male and female astronauts eventually hook up. (Heaven forbid we depict alliances of a same sex nature, even though that’s more likely considering the composition of most movie space crews). Doesn’t real life mimic the movies? Of course it does.

While there are questions that we cannot answer, the pandemic does give us some context for understanding the Mars Alpha experience. We too were virtually locked away from the world for over a year. We were pressed into prolonged contact with a small contingent and given little chance to escape. It would probably have been useful to have someone to monitor us throughout that time!!

Communication was easier. We had Zoom to keep us in touch, though after a while I prayed for any prolonged delay in transmission. You could get out to the grocery store, and that often felt like a moonwalk, with everyone masked and distanced as you floated down the produce aisle. A stroll through the neighborhood seemed like a Twilight Zone episode. There were few people to be seen and those you did pass robotically avoided eye contact, as if the virus could be spread through X-Ray vision.

To be honest though, the most apt context I have for the Mars Alpha experience was my first year of law school.  We weren’t isolated, but it certainly felt like it. Every day we would trudge into the same building and same classroom, surrounded by the same 50 or 60 people. There must have been others out there, but I really don’t remember interacting with them (except for the counter crew at Arby’s).

It was also pretty much a self-imposed news blackout. No doubt the world kept turning, politics kept happening and events of note occurred. But unless something shoved itself under my nose, I was too absorbed trying to figure out the oddities of federal jurisdiction or the rule against perpetuities to pay any attention. (If you want to learn about the rule against perpetuities watch the excellent Lawrence Kasden film Body Heat. They could have saved a lot of time by just showing us that film and skipping the textbook).

The advantage was that there were more than four people. After awhile you figured out who you wanted to hang with. You could avoid the others without too much problem. Not so easy when there are only four of you. I think an optimum crew might be about 10. Just enough that you could pick and choose a bit, though even then there would be no way to avoid that early morning crooning.

The denizens of my first year of law school also possessed necessary individual expertise. There were those who saved our sanity and taste buds by providing a home cooked meal every now and then. There were those willing to head to the rec room (Danny’s pub) to ease the tension. And there were those always planning one outing or another to get us out of the cocoon. The same essential balance as Mars Alpha.      

While we can relate somewhat to the would-be ‘nauts trial run to Mars, their future is uncertain. We were all preparing for things that we knew were going to happen. We were going to reemerge into the world once the pandemic passed. We were going to move onto careers once law school was over. I assume that someday there will be a trip to Mars, though who knows when that will be. When it does happen, it is unlikely that any of these four will be on part of that trip.

I would find that frustrating. If I was to be locked up for a year in a mock Mars expedition, I would want to be assured that the real deal would follow. That’s probably one of many reasons why I am not astronaut material. Regardless, I wish these four “Astronots” the best. I hope they got a taste of life on Mars beyond the Bowie song. I also hope they see their dream of a true Mars journey fulfilled even if they can’t participate. And I know that at the very least there will be one lesson learned from their earth trek – NO SHOW TUNES ALLOWED!!!!!   

*I am republishing this because it does not seem to have been distributed first time around.

It has been some time since I wrote a blog post. Part of the reason for that is banal – other things going on. More importantly, I felt I had nothing new to say. I do not want to just regurgitate ideas. No doubt it is a form of writer’s block, similar to the yips in golf (more on that in a future post). There were thoughts yearning to get out, but the will to force them onto the page did not exist.

Despite that, I missed writing. The act of trying to formulate an idea sufficiently to give it structure is exciting. It is easy to come up with a concept, but much harder to test that concept by seeing if it can be restated coherently. I knew a time would come when I would take the proverbial pen in hand once again and attempt to summon the muses (hopefully without pretentious ornamentation).

What finally prompted me to rejoin the fray is the recent Presidential debate and all the hyperbole surrounding it. As usual, we have become focused on the wrong questions, even when, for once, the answers to the right questions are right in front of us. We go on and on about Biden’s age, and/or Trump’s criminal and civil convictions, but those are sideshows. The truth is that neither of these men should be our next President, but because of the broken system we have, they are who we’re stuck with. It’s time to move beyond these surface issues and ask what either would do with another four years in the White House.

Here is where it is interesting. For once we don’t have to guess. In every election since 1892 we have had at least one candidate who had never been President, and therefore could only rely on rhetoric to know what that candidate would do if elected. We KNOW what Biden and Trump would do with another four years because they’ve already been there, done that. Sure, there will be nuances and new problems, but the priorities of the candidates are set and have already been acted on, for better or worse. What they have done, and not done, is what we should be focused on.

Speaking of distractions, the 1892 rematch between Grover Cleveland, who was elected President in 1884, and Benjamin Harrison, who had defeated him in the election of 1988, is of some interest. According to Wikipedia, the two main issues were tariff policy and a Republican proposal for Federal regulation of elections to the House of Representatives, a program that was vilified in the Democratic south (gee, I wonder why?). Oddly, both tariffs and voting rights are back on the ballot this year, though hardly the central issues. (I note that the Wikipedia entry on the election of 1892 was voted the “pedia’s” 23^rd dullest in a recent poll). (Ok, I made that up).

Anyway, what do we KNOW about the next four years under either Biden or Trump? (I will try and be as neutral as possible when laying out positions, and apologize, somewhat, where I fail). We know because of what he did in his first term that Trump will decimate the EPA and limit environmental enforcement as much as possible. He does not believe that climate change needs to be addressed and will undermine attempts to do so. Biden will promulgate regulations that address climate change, though he will not institute more overarching measures called for by environmentalists.

In a transposed echo of 1892, Trump will continue to try to limit voting rights, endorsing measures that make voting more difficult for many. Biden will seek to expand access to the ballot, though he has had little success doing so to date in respect of a process that is largely controlled by the states. Trump will also denigrate the veracity of American elections, and use that as the reasoning behind his policies, while Biden will support the system as honest and fair.

Trump will aggressively attack illegal immigration, making it a centerpiece of his Presidency, as it was the first time around. He will use drastic means (a wall, troops) to stem crossings of our southern border, look to significantly limit even legal immigration and will target removal of those already in the country without proper documentation, regardless of how long they have been here. Biden will also adopt aggressive measures on the southern border, though without the fervor of Trump. He will also try and implement a path to citizenship for those already in the country.

Trump will renew his isolationist foreign policies, withdrawing as much as possible from commitments to longtime allies. He will sharply curtail support for Ukraine and stress the importance of good relations with Russia to the extent of non-interference with their territorial ambitions. Biden will continue to value, and strengthen, allegiances throughout the world. He will financially and materially support Ukraine in its war with Russia, and otherwise try and limit Russian expansionist tendencies.

Biden will fully support access to abortion and birth control. Trump will allow measures that would significantly curtail both. Trump will seek to reclassify Federal jobs as political so as to replace long-term employees with those beholden to him, as he moved to do at the end of his 2016 term. Biden will maintain the status quo whereby most of those employees are not subject to removal based on their political allegiances.

I could go on. As far as I can see, the only important issue where past practices cannot be fully relied on is in respect of the on-going Israeli offensive in Gaza. We know that Biden will support Israel with materials and money, while at the same time trying to limit the scope of the offensive. Trump was not faced with a crisis like this in his first term, so we cannot say for sure what he will do. However, he previously showed full support for Netanyahu, so we probably can surmise that he would continue that policy.  

At the end of the day the actions of a President are much more important than the personality of the President. We could live with a doddering Executive-in-Chief or a convicted criminal who struggles to open his mouth without lying if they would just sit in the Oval Office and do nothing for four years. But that’s not how it works. They will act, and for once we KNOW what they will do.  The question is can we live with the policies that will be implemented under their “leadership” over the next four years. The rest is meaningless diversion.   

Over the last few months my wife and I have become devoted watchers of Jeopardy. This hadn’t been planned. We had never sought out Jeopardy, or any other game shows before. Yet, we find ourselves night after night anxiously awaiting the next contest, especially the Tournament of Champions.

I watched game shows quite a bit while growing up. But then again, I watched almost everything back then. My favorites were the $20,000 Pyramid and Family Feud, but I also enjoyed others like the Match Game and Password. I would even at times watch old reruns of What’s My Line, You Bet Your Life and I’ve Got a Secret.

Jeopardy, however, was never high on my list. I preferred those game shows that involved snappy answers to silly questions, as opposed to those that made me think. I wanted to laugh at the wacky things the recently married said on the Newlywed game, or the “spontaneous” quips Paul Lynde spat out from the middle cube in Hollywood Squares. The actual questions and answers were superfluous.

Jeopardy provides an entirely different source of enjoyment than those other game shows. For Jeopardy, the only thing that matters is the answer and corresponding question. The bon mots from Ken Jennings and, before him, Alex Trebek, are generally lame. The time of the show when the nerd contestants introduce themselves is often terribly discomforting.

And yet the show works. I had to ask myself why. The categories are often obscure. The answers range from ridiculously easy to impossibly hard. The need to provide a response in the form of a question is an unnecessary twist that is often mangled (“What is Napoleon?” “Who is the Rock of Gibraltar?”).

I have concluded that the secret of Jeopardy is that it provides viewers with a false sense of intelligence. The game allows you to consistently fool yourself about what you know and how well you know it. You find yourself constantly thinking, “I knew that” or “Well, that’s an easy one” as answer and question flash by.

The truth is that if you’ve played Trivial Pursuit, you do know questions to some of these answers. You just ignore the fact that the ones you do know tend to be the $200 and $400 answers, like “A government slogan of WWII said to sink ships” or “Before directing movies like “SE7EN,” David Fincher directed this singer’s videos for ‘Vogue’ & ‘Express Yourself’”. You snap off the questions to those in no time. (“Where is loose lips?”; “Why is Madonna?”).

The $1600 or $2000 answers are a good bit harder, but those seem to always come up when you are sipping iced tea, or the cat is meowing. You become convinced that, absent distractions, you would have known the questions to answers like “These subatomic particles come in 6 flavors, including up, down & strange.” or “The College of Engineering at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas is named for him.” (“Whom is Quarks?”; “What is Howard Hughes?”).

It is especially gratifying when you know a question that the contestants get wrong; then you can really gloat. “Those idiots. How could they not know that?”. The other night the Final Jeopardy category was “Ancient Literature”, and the answer was “The first known play by Aeschylus was named after this foe he fought against in 480 BC”. Since I have spent an inordinate time over the last couple years listening to a podcast on ancient literature and history (not all the nerds are on Jeopardy) I immediately knew the question. The three contestants, who had ripped it up all night, did not. Boy, did I feel superior!!! (“When are The Persians?”).

This sense of superiority can be expanded dramatically by watching “Celebrity Jeopardy”. The answers are much easier, and the contestants less learned. It’s not quite like the SNL parody (Answer – “The sound a dog makes”. Sean Connery – “What is Rhuff? Just how your mother likes it, Trebek.”), but sometimes it’s not far from that. (“I’m glad I got to be Frank Drebin of ‘Police Squad’ and kiss Priscilla Presley”; “Kathy Lee: I hate that sushi condiment, but love hot stuff, so I’m not sure why”). (“Which is Leslie Nielson?”; “How is wasabi?”).

After a bit, and with some prodding from your mother-in-law, you start to think that maybe you could actually compete on Jeopardy and imagine the game you would play. Conveniently, all the categories are things you know. In my fantasy game, I can hear Ken Jennings call out “The Bothers Marx” (the comedians, not Karl and his brothers Hermann and Emile, though they were affectionally known as Huey, Dewy and Screwy), “World Literature I have Read”, “The Russian Revolution”, “Beatles Solo Projects” and “70’s Movies”. The Double Jeopardy categories are “Sherlock Holmes”, “Philadelphia Sports Collapses”, “Reinsurance”, “WWI”, “60’s Cartoons”, and, miraculously once again, “The Brothers Marx”. Final Jeopardy is “Potent Potables”.

You notice that there is no math or science in my imagined game. I have always stayed away from those subjects as much as possible, and – lucky me – they have not appeared. I guess that if I had to I could hark back to the Self-Paced Astronomy class that fulfilled my science requirement in college, but I doubt if that would get me past the lowest rung of answers.

At this point in my reverie my attention is again captured by the game on the screen. I realize that the categories not only include science and math, but drill down to specifics like “Science Etymology” or “Math Symbols”. It is likely that some category like that comes up, and, when it does, I might as well put down the buzzer.

I also notice that the contestants have milliseconds to ring in before their rivals and then come up with the questions. They can’t lean back in their comfy chair and contemplate. Since I often must think for a few seconds to answer the question, “What is your name?”, this could be a problem.

I think it best if I put all these fantasies of competing in Jeopardy aside and just enjoy watching Troy, Ben and Yogesh reel off the questions from categories as diverse as “Bulgarian Royalty”, “The Geography of Insects” and “Find the Fractal”. But if the answer “Yankovic song from his ‘Weird Al in 3D’ album that references a game show” crops up, I will puff out my chest and proudly shout “Whose is ‘I Lost on Jeopardy’?”.   

I was listening to a podcast recently recounting Homer’s Odyssey. The host, Doug Metzer, did a masterful job walking through the events captured in the saga and putting the story in the context of the history and other writings of the period. He emphasized that the Odyssey is not a simple tale of valor, but also a commentary on the dubious nature of heroism. That is what makes it a modern story.

The Odyssey is in many ways the prototypical hero’s journey. Odysseus, the archetypal alpha male, sails off to war and finds glory as the architect of the fall of Troy. He then spends nine years trying to make his way back home, overcoming obstacle after obstacle along the way. He defeats the Cyclops, resists the temptation of the Sirens, and is the lone survivor when his ship is wrecked.

Eventually Odysseus makes it back to his home in Ithaca only to find a gaggle of suitors who, assuming he is dead, seek the hand of his wife, Penelope, along with his wealth. He massacres the suitors, is reunited with his wife, and takes his rightful place as King of Ithaca.

Most retellings of the story end there with a family reunited and a hero basking in his glory. However, Homer’s saga does not conclude in such a sanguine manner. It is this oft forgotten ending that provides ready guidance as we consider the plethora of hero stories we are confronted with daily, whether it’s in various media, or in the myth’s politicians weave around themselves.

After Odysseus dispatches the 108 suitors, along with an undisclosed number of maidservants deemed disloyal and a goatherd that had dissed him when he was in disguise, he finds himself confronted by the families of the suitors. They want to know how he can justify the harshness of his actions. After all, he had been gone for 20 years, and had not been heard from for the last nine. Maybe the suitors had been overly aggressive in their pursuit of Penelope, but did that justify wholesale slaughter?

The families are also troubled by the fact that Odysseus has returned alone. Twenty years before he led a generation of Ithacan youths to a dreadful war on a foreign shore and not one of them came back with him. How was that possible? Reminiscent of Job questioning God, the families’ confrontation of Odysseus makes us wonder whether he really is the hero we have made him out to be.

Like Job, the families get no real answer. As they are about to attack Odysseus (probably a bad idea), Athena intervenes. She commands the Ithacans to lay down their weapons and, channeling Rodney King, basically says “Can’t we all just get along?”. Since she is a God, they comply, and all is seemingly well.

This coda is discomforting. We all revere heroes. We do not tire of stories where great men or women face seemingly unbeatable odds, but power on through using grit and fortitude. We like them even better if their foe is pure evil, or they are exacting a well-earned revenge on those that have done them or society wrong.

But Homer does not allow us to bask in hero worship. He makes us face the consequences of the hero’s action. The lives lost. The families sundered. The community ripped apart. The hero may embody personal glory, but he also leaves a wave of destruction in his wake.   

In many ways, the turbulent 1960’s and 70’s undermined the comfortable narrative of the glorious hero. The anti-hero became the focus. In films like “Bonnie and Clyde” and “Dirty Harry” the “hero” is morally suspect. We root for them with the full knowledge that they are not anyone we would ever want to emulate or have as part of our world.

In “real life”, the release of the Pentagon Papers, followed by the exposure of the FBI’s ConintelPro, Watergate and Church Committee revelations on the activities of the CIA destroyed, seemingly forever, our faith in those running the government. They were not heroes, but the morally ambiguous, and had to be watched at every turn.      

And yet it is hard to shake our love of heroism. We want to put our icons onto a pedestal and boil down narratives such that the differences between good and bad are clear. We want to stand confident as to which side our champion is on. Woe to those that muddy those waters by raising inconvenient facts. History is to make us feel good about who we are by glorifying the giants that came before, regardless of troubling details.

We also see our ties to heroism in the expectations we place on our political leaders. We demand of them perfection. They must be right on every issue, never waver, never err. We dismiss their foibles as immaterial if they do not comply with our manufactured vision. Just as importantly, their opponents are not just wrong, they are inherently and irredeemably evil.

The ending of the Odyssey demands more of us. It requires that we look at those harmed by policies we support. It compels us to admit that those left behind have a right to feel frustrated and angry. It makes us take a step back and consider the consequences of actions. We are obligated to question whether the white hat we embrace is really as white as we believe it to be, and whether the hat our opponent wears isn’t more gray than black.

This is especially hard in these times. There are so many leaders who seem to care about nothing but naked power. They are willing to sacrifice values supposedly held dear to acquire that power. They create and inspire myths that mask their flaws and demonize their opponents. Frustratingly, many are willing to accept these myths as fact, looking no further than the façade.

We have an obligation to expose those myths. To strip naked the “heroes” and show the cruel reality behind their “deeds”. At the same time, we cannot make myths of our own, putting our champions on a competing plinth. Raising our beliefs to the status of unimpeachable doctrine. To do that is to perpetuate the illusion of the hero, and fail to confront the complicated reality of the world we live in.

The saga of Odysseus does not conclude with the end of the Odyssey, book 7 of an 8-book cycle called the Telegony, of which only the Odyssey and Iliad survive. While we do not have Book 8, we know from other writings that Odysseus quickly grows tired of the staid life, and soon leaves Ithaca and Penelope behind. He gets involved in another war and marries another queen. He eventually makes his way back to a war-torn Ithaca, only to be killed by a son he sired while on the 9-year trek back from Troy. Not what most of us think of as the quintessential end of the hero’s journey, but maybe fitting. Maybe the “hero” is not all he or she is cracked up to be. Another apt lesson from Homer.             

I recently stumbled on the New York Times “72 of Our Favorite Facts of 2023”.  It was a rehash of a mishmash of stories throughout the year that piqued the interest of Times staff members. I have not been immersing myself in stories the way the Times reporters do, but their list did lead me to reflect on some of what struck my fancy in 2023. I could never get near 72, so here are 10 things about 2023 that intrigued me.

The Obsession with AI. The near frenzy surrounding AI is either an example of the media latching onto something and blowing it out of proportion, or another item to add to the long list of things that I don’t understand. I thought we have been dealing with AI for years, and had pretty much identified the risks, accepting that we would have to deal with those risks for a long time to come. Based on the hysteria of 2023, you would think that recent innovations raised those threats to a new level. Maybe, but I haven’t seen anything meriting this insanity. It seems more like another example of the lemming nature of media, legitimate and social. Time will tell.

The Non-Transportability of Anti-Woke.  When Ron DeSantis announced for the Presidency, he thought conservative voters across the country would line up to pay homage to the man who had sought to roll the clock back to great acclaim in Florida. It just didn’t happen. Apparently, people want more from a President than a blowhard culture warrior. I took more pleasure than I probably should in watching his well-funded candidacy fall flat.

Philadelphia Sports Debacles. While neither the Phillies’ failure to make the World Series nor the Eagles decision to stop playing football halfway through the season had the grandeur of the Phillies’ 1964 debacle, both were hard to take. The Phils vanquished the Braves and were up 2-0 and then 3-2 on the Diamondbacks, only to fail on an epic scale to get to the last win they needed to go back to the World Series. But even that collapse couldn’t match the Eagles descent from a 10-1 start to games in which they weren’t even competitive. These seasons were poster children for why betting on sports is a bad idea!!!

Fall of Bitcoin. I tried to understand the lure of bitcoin. I really did. But it always struck me as the wild west of finance. Using real money backed by a government with incentives to keep it stable to buy fake coinage which wavered on the unregulated whims of an unknown coterie of self-aggrandizing entrepreneurs and investors. What could go wrong? Sam Bankman-Fried, that’s what. The only surprise was that it took so long for fraud to be exposed. Oh yes, and that people are still putting their money into this.

Movies, Movies, Movies. In 2022 I went to see “A Night in Soho”. Not only was I the only person in the theater, I was the only one in the entire multi-plex. I feared that movies on the big screen were moving toward a niche undertaking. But 2023 was a great year for movies. Locally, the Philadelphia Film Society aired 99 of the 100 Sight and Sound Greatest Films of All Time to large, appreciative audiences. Plus, 2023 produced one the most interesting crop of first run movies in a long time. They weren’t all great, but they were generally serious movies. Even “Barbie” had a bit of an edge to it. As a bonus, superhero movies seemingly have run their course. Buff that I am, I couldn’t be happier.

Reasons To Be Cheerful. I have probably mentioned this site started by David Byrne before, but it really hit its stride in 2023. The name says it all. The stories presented are a constant reminder that there are people out there working hard to improve the world around us. From big stories, like the impact from the removal of dams on the Penobscot River in Maine, to small stories, like the “water ATM’s” in rural India that allow families to access clean drinking water for a nominal price, these tales of innovation and determination are a welcome respite to the daily bombardment of stories on war, pestilence and crushing poverty we are inundated with.

The Heaven and Earth Grocery Store. I was dreading the 15-hour drive from Atlanta, through Charlottesville up to Philadelphia. Luckily, I landed on the new book, The Heaven and Earth Grocery Store, by James McBride to accompany me on the way. I had read other books by McBride, so I knew this would be enjoyable, but I was not fully prepared for the adroit mixture of humor, suspense and social commentary that this book provided. I do not like to drive, but the time just flew by. I am not saying that this is the greatest book ever written, but it may be the most satisfying, and that is saying a lot.

UFO Report. The report on unidentified flying objects issued by the Pentagon’s Office of the Director of National Intelligence was to be the one – the report that acknowledged unexplained visitations. However, predictably, the government took the blue pill, and just said there were some things they can’t explain – as of yet. But that wasn’t the end of it. In July three military veterans claimed during Congressional hearings that the U.S. government has operated a secret “multi-decade” reverse engineering program of recovered alien vessels and had recovered non-human “biologics” from crash sites. In December Congress passed legislation that should speed disclosure of governmental information on “unidentified anomalous phenomena, technologies of unknown origin and nonhuman intelligence.” Wherever he may be, Fox Mulder is smiling.   

Lorena Boebert. We are used to politicians being caught in scandals, but usually it’s because information is uncovered which reveals something they tried to hide. Rarely is the scandal played out in public for all to see. However, Lorena Boebert is no ordinary politician. She is arrogant, aggressive, sanctimonious, and often intentionally obnoxious. As such, it was doubly delightful to watch her crash and burn while being thrown out of a performance of the play Beetlejuice for creating a disturbance. This was only enhanced by pictures of her with her hand in the lap of her escort for the evening. And of course she topped it off with the cry heard from egomaniacs everywhere, “Do you know who I am?”. I wish I was a bigger man and did not relish this so much, but I cannot help it. It makes me laugh even months afterwards.

The Lingering Pandemic. Limitations on gatherings are a thing of the past. Zoom meetings are for convenience, not necessity. Masks are a comparative rarity. And yet, the impact of COVID permeated 2023. You can still feel the tensions rise with any talk of a new strain. Teachers were struggling to get kids caught up from a year of virtual “learning”. There is a belief that social behaviors have changed for the worse. Many people seem wary of crowds – I know that I am. We are a species of short memory. Yet the pandemic has implanted deeper than most events, and there is definitely a sense that it is just a matter of time before we deal with something similar again. Let’s hope we learned something, though I am not holding my breath.     

I am not stupid enough to wade into the century’s long debate looking to answer the question, “What is Art?”. Philosophers and critics that have tried to address this are legion. Everyone from Emmanual Kant and Friederich Nietzsche through to post-modernist Jacques Derrida and the great 21^st century sage Homer Simpson (“That’s the great thing about art, everyone can have their opinion about why it sucks”) have tried to capture the essence of art. Why we create it. Why we view it.

Even if I wanted to undertake something so futile, I am the wrong person to do so. My knowledge of art is the proverbial mile wide and inch deep. Like a precocious 9^th grader, I can tell a Van Gogh from a Rembrandt and can probably bloviate as well as the next fellow as to the meaning of Dali’s melting watch. But the rush of concepts flowing above my head anytime I go into an art museum would be strong enough to knock Frida Kahlo over.

For all of that, I wonder why the paintings and sculptures I see are there and others are not. The people who make these choices certainly have criteria, but how much of it is based on reputation? In his novel Ferdydurke, Witold Gombrowicz asks, “[Are] we merely paying official homage…? Mankind…has need of myths; and it picks one out or the other of its numerous creative artists…and lo and behold! It elevates him above his fellows…. [I]f we set about exalting some other creative artist…I am sure we could make a similarly great genius out of him”.  

This question colors my own reaction to a “masterpiece”. Am I in awe of the Mona Lisa because it captures something enigmatic in humanity, or because it is cordoned off in the Louvre? Is Picasso’s Guernica really a powerful statement about the inhumanity of modern warfare, or have I just been conditioned to view it like that?

And yet, I can’t deny my response to certain artists. During a recent visit to the Barnes, I found myself continually being drawn to paintings by Charles Demuth and Jules Pascin. I couldn’t have identified them before that day. Still, it was their paintings that caught and held my attention. Was it just my mood? Was it their skill? I really cannot say.

A similar thing happened at a recent photography exhibit at the Soho Photo Gallery, where my friend Garen DiBartolomeo had a piece displayed. There were about 100 photos, and all were of great quality. Yet some really jumped out at me, while others left me cold. Was my reaction indicative of anything other than my personal preferences? Would it have been different if one of the photos was an Adams?

This is all a long way of getting to a concept I recently encountered in “At the Existentialist Café” by Sarah Bakewell. This book is “Philosophy Lite” (I hope I don’t get sued by Miller), which is my speed. According to Bakewell, Martin Heidegger (both impossible to read and an unrepentant Nazi) joined the long list addressing the nature of art. Per Heidegger, poets and artists let things come out and show themselves, which he termed Unverborgenheit (you gotta love the German language) or unconcealment (not much better in English).

Heidegger went so far as to say that enabling things to unhide themselves is a distinctively human contribution. Being somewhat poetic himself, Heidegger compared human activity, and especially art, to creating a clearing in a forest glade into which a deer can step forward to be seen. “We help things to emerge into the light by being conscious of them … which means we pay respectful attention and allow them to show themselves as they are rather than bending them to our will.” (You can tell that this is a quote from Bakewell, not Heidegger, because it’s comprehensible).

I find this a helpful way to think about the impact of art. Is the artist depicting something in a way that forces me, as viewer, to engage with whatever is represented? The most brilliant, or notorious, example, depending on how you look at it, is Duchamp’s “Fountain”, a urinal, first displayed in 1917. Duchamp did not provide any explanation as to his intent. Many rejected it out of hand as having nothing to do with art, while others developed elaborate theories about the “sculpture’s” meaning. Regardless, in 2004 British art world professionals anointed “Fountain” as the most influential artwork of the 20^th Century.

 Third on the list was Andy Warhol’s “Marilyn Diptych”. It’s hard not to look at Warhol’s silk screens, Brillo boxes and soup cans and wonder whether he was just putting us on, giggling at our naivete. Yet, if you go to see them at the wonderful Warhol Museum in Pittsburgh, it’s impossible not to be struck by the need to re-engage with these recognizable images. Like Duchamp, Warhol leaves the interpretation to the viewer, but allows these familiar icons to emerge in such a way that they cannot be easily dismissed.

Abstract art stretches this concept, often to its breaking point. I like many abstract pieces, but if they are letting something show itself, I generally miss it. Yet, with a little explanation you can usually discover the intent of the artist, or how that intent has been interpreted, and find a deeper connection than more representational art. Still, my guess is that it is this type of art more than any other that Homer was referencing.

The other truth about art is that it is impossible to talk about it without sounding like a pretentious jerk. Reading what I wrote above, I cringe, not because I think it’s silly, but because it seems so snooty. I am not sure why this is. I’ve written plenty of gibberish over the last few years and rarely blanched. Yet, it’s all I can do not to delete this entry.

But I will let it stand for what it is. A reaction to something I read about a topic that I find interesting. Nothing deep. Nothing to change how people view art. But, hopefully, at least something I can use next time I stand before a Modigliani or Basquiat (shoot, there I go again). Really, there is not much more I can ask.

I had an illuminating travel experience recently. I had been driving all day. I dropped my niece off in Amherst, then my son and his girlfriend in Boston and was heading back toward Philadelphia. It was an ugly night, with light rain falling, and I was getting tired. Stopping goes against every grain in my nature, but even I realized how ridiculous carrying on would be.

Unfortunately, the highway I was on was not helpful. Most of the major thoroughfares I’ve driven identify hotels and food before each exit, so you know whether it makes sense to get off. This one did not. The exits had no indication what lay off the highway. Would you get onto another highway? Would it put you in the middle of nowhere? There was no way to tell, and that indecision fed my inclination to keep going as long as I could.

I should have pulled off into a rest area and searched out hotels nearby, or simply tried an exit that looked somewhat promising, even if I couldn’t be sure what I’d find. Instead, I squinted into the gloom at each egress, looking for some sign of respite. Inevitably, when I did see something, it was already too late.

Finally, I knew I could go no more. I spied a less than promising group of hotels right off an exit and decided enough was enough. These were not chain hotels, but independent operations. Think updated versions of the Bates Motel without the creepy proprietor, or at least without one I could see. I decided to take my chances.

The “lobby” featured a young man snoozing behind a thick slab of plexiglass, like something out of a bad gangster on the run movie. Yet, I didn’t see any untoward characters lurking about, or drug deals being transacted, so I decided to take my chances. Frankly, I was so beat, I didn’t have much choice.

My hackles went up a bit when the clerk sent me to the back of the hotel, even though there were seemingly plenty of rooms right out front. My biggest shock, however, was when I opened the door to my room and was hit with the stale smell of cigarette smoke. It had been so long since I had been in a hotel that even allowed smoking, it never even occurred to me to ask for a non-smoking room.

I had three options. First, I could go back to the lobby, get a refund and hit the road again, but I just didn’t have the energy. I could go to the lobby and see if they had non-smoking rooms, but by this time I had sized up the hotel enough to realize that was a waste of time. Or I could turn up the blower, try to clear the air as much as possible, and make the best of it.

Choosing option three was not pure laziness. After all, even though I had never smoked (except for a brief fling when I first got to college) I had been surrounded by smoke for the first 30 years of my life. I had a sister that smoked. I had roommates that smoked. How bad could one night be?

In fact, it wasn’t that bad. The blowing air never removed the smell of smoke, but it dissipated it at least somewhat. I slept soundly enough and didn’t wake up hacking. I knew that I would have to wash my clothes when I got home, but that was a lot better than peering through the rain on the highway.

This episode made me realize that the absence of indoor cigarette smoke is one of the biggest changes to my personal environment over my lifetime. I look back on those first 30 years and realize not only how prevalent tobacco smoke was, but how natural it seemed. It was only after it was gone that I realized how obnoxious the smoke had been. At the time, it was just the way it was.

I am sure anyone from my generation has memories of eating at a restaurant and having the people at the next table over light up for their after-dinner smoke just as your entrée arrived. Or requesting a non-smoking seat on a flight, only to find yourself in the first row before the smoking section. And forget about bars. Every saloon had an ever-present haze floating above the festivities.

The reality is that I only saw the tail end of the hey-day of smoking. Watch any television shows from the late 1050’s and early 1960’s and you’ll see all the characters light up sooner or later. Whether it be Perry Mason from my favorite middle of the night can’t sleep entertainment, or Andy Griffith. They all smoked. Heck, even Lucy and Desi were cigarette spokespersons.

And while I hate to admit it, smoking was cool. Tough guys like Humprhrey Bogart, and their foils, like Lauren Bacall, constantly smoked, and looked great doing so. The Marlboro Man silhouetted against a western sky was not only an unforgettable image, it was an icon of American manhood. It bespoke independence, strength, fortitude. (I think many American men still see themselves that way, as silly as that seems).

The backlash had begun before I became of age. Warning labels on cigarette packs were mandated by 1965. Congress banned tobacco ads on TV and radio in 1970. Throughout the 1970’s and 80’s cities and states implemented limited bans on smoking in certain public places, such as government buildings and healthcare facilities. The movement picked up throughout the 1980’s, with a total ban on smoking indoors coming in most places by the early 2000’s.

While I welcomed the ban when it occurred, I didn’t see it as a big deal. After all, I had lived ensconced in secondhand smoke my entire adult life. Even for me, it was hard to imagine a smokeless bar.

It was surprising how quickly after the ban indoor smoke became intolerable. In no time at all, the mere whiff of tobacco would set off internal alarms. Any prolonged exposure was unthinkable. Once I was no longer surrounded by smoke it became a bogeyman to be avoided at all costs.  

Being thrown once again into an atmosphere where tobacco smoke lingered brought back these memories. An assumed norm had been violated. But it was an assumed norm that hadn’t always been the norm. So, next time I go into my favorite bar I’m going to lean back and take a deep breath (ok, not too deep) and exclaim Fresh Air! Fresh Air! Fresh Air!

*Fyodor Dostoevsky, Crime and Punishment, p.635, Modern Library

Recently I have been exposed to Hallmark Channel Christmas movies. I say exposed to, not watched. They have been on in the background while I have done other things. However, my exposure was enough to gain a significant appreciation for these feats of cinematic wonder. There is more going on here than meets the eye.

I am sure that most of you know that the Hallmark Channel is the premier purveyor of Christmas content. Hallmark’s “Countdown to Christmas” began on October 20 and runs through December 21. This year’s festive bonanza includes 31 film premiers and nine original “Miracles of Christmas” movies and mysteries. You get more  streaming content on “Hallmark Movies Now”, with such features as never-before-seen scenes from previous holiday hits, like 2022’s “Three Wise Men and a Baby” (the Director’s cut?).

I know that some traditionalists will gripe about a countdown to Christmas starting before Thanksgiving. But give Hallmark credit. They not only could care less what you think, they are rubbing it in your faces by starting the countdown in mid-October. As Ovid once said, “The bold adventurer succeeds the best.”

The fact that Hallmark has come up with so many new films in the midst of strikes by both writers and actors must be viewed as a holiday miracle in and of itself. I know certain cynics will respond that the plot lines and on-screen talent in these movies are so similar that all Hallmark needed was one scab writer locked in a shabby hotel room and a directory for the Model Alliance to pull this off. But I don’t think that’s giving Hallmark enough credit. For us peons the Christmas countdown may start in mid-October, but for them it commences year after year on December 26.

In fact, they do use more than one writer. I know, I checked it out (unless the one writer they have is using pseudonyms like the blacklisted Hollywood Ten, which is possible). These annual movies are a huge employment boon for Hollywood talent. To get them all done Hallmark employs hundreds of directors, camera operators, editors, make-up artists, gaffers, grips and best boys. And while I doubt if they’re the best paying jobs in the business, I am pretty sure that there is no truth to the rumor that these movie magic worker bees are being paid minimum wage and a buy one, get one free coupon for seasonal greeting cards.

Let’s not forget the musicians and musical composers. It does seem that there was only one score composed for use in all these films, but the composer who wrote that score is doing just fine. Plus, a host of violinists are needed to bring this misty-eyed music to life. There is also the inevitable penultimate scene when it appears that the would-be lovers are not going to unite despite their mutual infatuation, and a melancholy acoustic folk song or two is inserted to bring the pathos home. Let’s face it, these troubadours aren’t finding many other outlets for their plaintive musings.

Then there are the on-screen thespians. Granted, only certain types need apply. For men, casting is clearly done at gyms all over Los Angeles. If you don’t have bulging pecs and a Fabio face with the hair to match, you’re out of luck. The women are all attractive, but in a wholesome, small town girl kind of way. No Jessica Rabbit’s for these films. Even the mononymous named “Rikki” (think Cher), in the classic “Catch a Christmas Star” is more Molly Ringwald than Madonna.

Of course, it takes more than romantic leads to make a Christmas movie. You need the wise old Grandma or Grandpa to impart shrewd words of advice like “Follow your heart dear”, or “Don’t eat the fruitcake”. And there is the inevitable obnoxious precocious kid sister or brother to propel the action and provide comic relief through a well-aimed but prescient barb. Mix in a cuddly puppy or two and you are sure to have unbridled enchantment.

Hallmark movies also have much to teach. For example, apparently minor royalty is alive and well in Europe. There appear to be enough rich princes and princesses to fulfill the dreams of a slew of provincial boys and girls. How else can you explain “A Royal Queens Christmas”, “A Royal Christmas”, “A Royal Runaway Romance”, “A Royal Winter” and let’s not forget “A Royal Corgi Christmas”. Apparently, all these young royals are bored with their jet setting lifestyle and just want to settle down in a quaint American town with a wholesome milk fed lad or lass. Who knew.

You can also see the world through Hallmark. Whether it’s “A Merry Scottish Christmas”, “Joyeux Noel”, My Norwegian Holiday”, “A Heidelberg Holiday” or, my hometown favorite, “Miracle in Bethlehem, Pa.”, you will experience Christmas throughout the globe. Not to worry. No matter where Hallmark takes you everyone speaks English, even the French, with or without British accent. In fact, the same is true of the plethora of minor royalty as well. Plus, all these diverse people and places have pretty much the same good old American holiday traditions (unless you count that Scottish Christmas Haggis). How convenient can you get.

There is also plenty of diversity. Among the 164 Christmas movies streaming on the Hallmark Channel, at least 3 or 4 star Black actors, 2 or 3 celebrate those eight crazy days of Hanukkah, and there are even gays couples thrown in here or there. There are also crime thrillers (“Mystery on Mistletoe Lane”), reunited families (“My Southern Family Christmas”), and cats rather than dogs (“The Nine Kittens of Christmas”). A true plethora of human, and animal, experience.

But what really makes Hallmark movies special is their ability to wring tears from even a cold-hearted Scrooge. I dare you to stay dry-eyed when tabloid Journalist Charlotte learns that the reclusive Count she fell for in “A Not so Royal Christmas” is really a gardener, or when, despite his lying ways, they reunite, and he is made a real Count by the King of Sorhagen. Not even a small-hearted Grinch could avoid misting up during “A Prince for Christmas” when upstate New York diner waitress Emma realizes that the “David” she is smitten with is really the engaged Prince Duncan of Balemont, or when Duncan rejects his arranged marriage to settle with Emma.

I could go on and on, but I’ve already wasted too much time writing this. “Undercover Holiday” is coming on soon, followed by “#XMAS”, and I need to get to the store to restock on tissues. They’re not for me, of course. Remember, I don’t actually watch these films. Still, somebody might need them. Just saying.