Tuesday, October 27, 2015

A Platonic Refrain

Given the depressing nature of the comments trashing the very idea of democracy that I reacted to yesterday in this space, I decided to go back a few years to a post I made about PLATO AT THE GOOGLEPLEX, a terrific book expanding on the conceit that Plato is on a book tour for his latest,THE REPUBLIC, and in the course of the tour speaks to many iconic figures of our current culture.  The  great thing about the book is that, since it is Platonic as all get out, it does a beautiful job of explaining democracy.  I wish some of those sad thirty somethings who have despaired over the state of the world would consider the following thoughts I posted a couple of years ago:

But I want to talk mostly about laws and justice here.  Plato proposes a fascinating thought experiment.  Imagine you had in your possession a ring that would render you invisible whenever you wore it, reminiscent of Perseus’ helmet in CLASH OF THE TITANS (“I’m invisible.  Can’t you see that.”).  When invisible you could do anything you felt like with no fear of getting caught, no fear of retribution.  You could walk into a house and take whatever you wanted.  You could rifle money out of cash drawers.  Lurk around girls’ or boys’ locker rooms.  Steal cars.  Take free rides on airplanes.  Anything.  Would you take advantage of that situation?  Regardless of your answer, what percentage of the rest of us would?  Most everyone would answer, “Of course not.  Of course I wouldn’t take advantage.”  But do you think that’s an honest response?  If you had the ring long enough, wouldn’t you be tempted to use it for little stuff?  You’re short of cash and you’ve left your bank card at home.  Wouldn’t you slip on the ring and score that Twinkie, or that $100,000 bar?  Who’s it gonna hurt?  And wouldn’t that make the next transgression a little easier?  I mean, that’d just be human, right?

Plato goes off from that experiment to suggest that at the extreme end of the range of human desires lies the ring.  If heaven or hell were not hanging over our heads, we would all ultimately agree that being able to do anything we would like to do and get away with it would be ideal.  Of course, we would also agree that the worse that could happen to us is if someone else who was getting away with everything did anything to hurt us.  The space between those two conflicting desires is the realm of law and justice.  Since we have no choice but to live in a community (Plato thought that anyone who lived outside of society was by definition either a god or a monster), we have to cooperate to survive.  We have to have a social contract.  And to do that we would have consider questions like “What is the good life?” “What makes life matter?”

Even more than that, the good of the polis, the city-state, outweighs the good of the individual.  Anything else equals chaos.  Sparta honored collective glory.  Individual glory—a life that matters—was secondary to the glory of the state.  Athens gloried in the individual, but a life that mattered for the individual was still one that furthered the state.  The braid of beauty, truth, and goodness held this magical society together.  The pursuit of any part of this trilogy was the purest endeavor and one that could not help but further the good of the state.  All politicians in Plato’s utopia would be the poorest people in the state and forbade extravagance so as to guard against the inevitable corruption that comes from the combination of power and wealth.

In the ultimately unsatisfying chapter where Plato is interviewed by the Bill O’Reilly character (It is unsatisfying because you finally see that it is not possible to win an argument with a prating knave.), Plato asks Roy McCoy if he would rather refute someone, or be refuted?  Would he rather hurt another, or himself be hurt?  McCoy treats it like a trick question.  Of course, he would rather refute, would rather hurt than be hurt.  What kind of idiot wouldn’t?  Plato is just that kind of idiot.  He is the kind of idiot any polis needs to hold it together.  The USA of the first part of the twenty-first century is in short supply of such idiots and if we had them they would just queue up to be demolished by the pundits, the cable news hosts, the bought and paid for politicians.

Monday, October 26, 2015

Hillary doesn't know the meaning of FUBAR

House Republicans Do

There were these two incidents on Facebook recently that I need to sort out.  Let me quickly bring you up to speed on the first.  I posted Trey Gowdy's comment after his panel of angry, old males unsuccessfully attempted to scold Hillary for not agreeing with their narrative.  He said that there was nothing in her testimony that was new information.  I commented that the Republican response to this would be to start a new committee and then I wondered "how can anyone align themselves with this collection of vindictive nut cases?"  In other words, it was a typical political post for me.  It was a rhetorical question, but one of my friends replied "how can people align themselves with a lying dirt bag" like Hillary, or words to that effect.

My response read something like ". . . your comment is at once pedantic, groundless, and idiotic.  That's why I like having you as a Facebook friend, next to you I seem smart."

Okay, okay.  I admit that my remark was mean spirited, especially the part about him making me seem smart.  But there is a difference between his comment that Hillary is a "lying dirtbag" and my initial post wondering how people can align themselves with "vindictive nutcases."  If, for example, I walked into any gathering of people in the country and announced that I was getting sick and tired of all those "vindictive nutcases" on the Benghazi Committee, everyone in the room would know exactly what I was talking about.  They would have read the accounts of politicians pandering to their base, speaking for the microphones, looking for sound bites for next year's campaign.  The word nutcase and right wing Republican go together like milk and cookies, raw tuna and wasabi.  There is ample recorded evidence of their vindictiveness.

But to say that Secretary Clinton is a lying dirtbag is a different proposition.  It is, as I replied, groundless.  God knows there have been committees, eager journalists, and political rivals galore trying to pin something on her for as long as she has been in public life.  What?  Thirty plus years?  These inquiries, all of them, have been successful only at innuendo and weird conspiracy theories.  What did the latest batch of emails turn up?  The startling piece of information that Hillary didn't know the meaning of FUBAR.  I'll bet House Republicans do.  

I promised myself long ago that I would never let someone get away with a bullshit comment.  To say that Hillary Clinton is a lying dirtbag without a single shred of objective proof is bullshit, so I let the guy know it was bullshit and promptly unfriended him.  I'm  67 years old.  I don't need to waste my time with delusional people.  

The other incident is much more disturbing.  One of my Facebook friends made the following post:  "Please don't make comparisons of Obama to Stalin or Hitler or whatever.  Give it a rest."  Now there was a sentiment I could agree with, but then I regretfully read through the comments.  Let me share a few.

-"Why not?  They're all Rothschild's puppets." 
This one gave me pause.  I can only assume the writer is referring to the Jewish banking family and is therefore implying that all these politicians were bought and paid for, but I'm having a hard time seeing the Rothschilds giving Hitler much support, or vice versa.  Maybe the writer is being metaphorical.  Let's hope.

-"I have 0 interest in a system that says my rights don't exist simply because I'm outnumbered."
My first reaction is that this guy must have studied with some of the more right wing members of Green Mountain's Social Studies department.  Does this person have even an inkling of how our government works?  Last time I checked, the founding fathers went to great lengths enumerating that commenter's rights.  

-"I don't care what religion you follow or believe in, if anything.  These people in power are evil and not worth being considered leaders."
Words fail me.

-"I personally don't need a leader."
Maybe.  But you do need someone to teach you (personally) how to write.

-"Democracy is a joke.  3 wolves and one sheep vote on what is for dinner.  The sheep must die because it is for the greater good?"
This person must also be the product of a questionable social studies curriculum.  Someone should tell him that wolves and sheep can't vote.  

Let's get serious.  Don't these comments make you overwhelmingly sad?  I have smart Facebook friends.  Successful.  Family people.  Well-educated.  But the cynicism is oppressive isn't it?  

I wish I could end on a nicer note.









Thursday, October 8, 2015

Being Ben BenFranklin


This morning it is Katherine--NOT JIM.  Don't be confused.  I know it's hard to tell us apart.

I spend a lot of time lately trying to figure out who I am and what I need to do to feed my wee soul.  It is one of the things I have in common with Stephen Colbert.  He keeps having installments in a continuing bit called "Who is Me?"  He took a lie detector test on himself the last time.

It's hard not to lie to yourself.  My lies are kind of cute though.  I like the one I tell myself that I'm aging in something akin to Meryl Streep.  I used to think I was doing as well as Jane Fonda (leave out her hair), but she's not looking so good these days.  Mostly my lies to myself feed my vanity or rationalize away shopping.  My favorite lie here is about the practicality of buying something for myself--it just has to be cheaper than seeing some sort of therapist.

I won't even begin to talk about the lies I tell to myself about needing to purchase yarn.  Only a knitter could understand.  I'm amazed I knit, look at yarn websites online as though they were porn, and am contemplating joining my knitting friends for a fun-filled weekend of knitting classes in Ft. Collins next spring.  How did I turn into a knitter?  Anyway,  I'm working on a lie about needing to walk the CSU campus so I can go to a knitting fest.  I'll let you know how it goes.

Part of self-awareness, for me at least, is self-improvement.  Every time I take a good long look at myself, I discover there are these little things that make me not like myself as much as I would like to like myself.  I thrive on liking myself.  I hardly ever get into this mood and mode without going on some kind of diet and work-out reform.  It almost always coincides with a five pound weight loss.  It works out.  I work on the weight while I figure out what I really want to work on.  I keep using the word "work" intentionally.  This self-improvement shit is hard work.  I'm old.  I know this.

Part of this self improvement is also always a return to my life as a Junior Language Arts teacher.  It was one of many teaching assignments, but this one was a challenge.  The class covered the entire history of American Literature (we nicknamed the book BIG RED and it weighed a ton) and a virtual plethora of writing and speaking challenges.  It was tough to say if the kids liked reading the Iroquois Constitution, writing the multi-genre research paper, or giving the required speech the most.  I know the Horror Unit (God I hate the word "unit"--it is the most confining word in education) was a hit.  We watched PSYCHO (permission slips included).

Peter Herrold and I taught the class together.  We created together.  We often put our classes together for presentations.  We created quizzes and tests that were rife with really funny jokes.  Peter's jokes were the best.  I really liked our assessments.  It was working with Peter and our attempt to make Junior Lang Arts a vital and interesting class that made me fall in love with Ben Franklin and his quest for self-improvement.

BIG RED had a large chunk of stuff to read about the Revolutionary Period of our country.  You may have all sorts of patriotic feelings about Thomas Jefferson, Thomas Paine, John and Abigail Adams, George Washington and any number of other tried and true patriots, but I want to tell you they are a bitch for a high school junior to just decode much lest get all excited about.  Motivation is tricky here.  That's where Ben Franklin comes into this.

Ben, though not a piece of cake to read, at least is readable and he has a really cool sense of humor about himself.  We had a chunk of his Autobiography in the book and a play he wrote about his battle with gout and something else that I just don't remember right now.  The play was a real kick.  Peter would dress up as Ben (he looked great--really) and I played Lady Gout who attacked him with the gout.  The kids liked it.  They laughed at the right parts and watching Peter standing there with a loaf of bread under his arm to show his gluttony.  They were no doubt relieved they didn't have to read the thing as homework as well.  Anyway, after our performance, we launched into the idea of self-improvement and the part of Ben's Autobiography that was in the book that outlined his lovely, but failed attempt to become a better guy.

I re-read that sucker every year I taught that class.  I believe in Ben's self-improvement system.  It beats the heck out of anything I've seen on the Oprah show.   Just like Ben, however,  I fail at the system.  I think that's what I like about Ben's self-improvement system the best.  It's okay to fail.

Ben's idea was that you identify the virtues you wish to achieve and attack them one at a time.  You try each and every day to work on a virtue and put a dot on a calendar each day you make it through having upheld the virtue.  When you got a fortnight of dots in a row, you were ready to move to the next virtue.   I don't really remember the number of days you needed to get dots in a row, but I've always wanted to use the word "fortnight" in a sentence and this seemed like a good time.  What can I say?  It's not like the masses are reading this.  You get a lot of dots in a row and you move on.

I remember some of his virtues.  Frugality is one.  I hate frugality.  It's low on my list.  I know it's important, but it just looks like failure to me.  I usually start with something that has hope of success. That's why I start with the weight thing.  It's concrete and I have a history of success.  Frugality...I can't even make it through a week.

Last year I observed a teacher at The Ben Franklin Academy and they emphasized one of his virtues each month.  I hated who picked them.  December was frugality.  How can you do frugality with Christmas on the horizon?

I don't remember all of Ben's virtues.   The virtues weren't important.  The process was.  Thank you, but I have my own demons.

I have kind of Zen goals and creativity goals and figuring-out-who-I-am goals and I am, of course, in the process of trying to lose about five pounds.  The problem here connects with one of my Zen goals.  The goal I am working on here is DOING ONE THING AT A TIME.  Another goal, PUTTING SPACE BETWEEN THE THINGS YOU DO, is pretty much in place because it has always been in part of my nature.  I like hanging out between activities as much as I like the activities.  My next goal is to focus in on the activity that goes before the space.  I'm sucking at it.

Doing one thing at a time is hard.  I am struggling right now.  There is a football show on in the background that would normally be off, but I am taking care of Janet Simmons' Fantasy team and she has Andrew Luck and I am semi-trying to decide if I play Luck or Alex Smith for her.  I am a terrible Fantasy player.  The responsibility of this sits heavy on my heart.  I can't even type a post about doing one thing at a time without multi-tasking.

The other hard thing about doing one thing at a time is that another Zen goal is jumping into my life and I haven't even been working on it.  Or I didn't think I was.  It's about gratitude.  I keep bumping into gratitude and it's on my Zen list.  It wasn't near as high on my list as doing things one at a time, but it's looking like it might just disappear by the wee act of simply paying attention.

In the last few days I have found myself grateful for the following:
1.  The Pope.
2.  The Broncos Defense.
3.  Cowboy boot weather.
4.  Reading stories to Willa before her nap yesterday.  Gramps usually does that.
5.  Making meatloaf with Willa before Franny picked her up to take her home.
6.  That my jeans zipped.
7.  Jim made me poached eggs last night.
8.  Chris's family gets to go to NYC next week.
9.  Franny's new house is almost done; it is so amazing.
10.  Going to bed and waking up with Jim each morning.
11.  Living a life that does NOT involve dressing up as Lady Gout anymore.

That's enough.  I am going to stop writing and really give the Andrew Luck decision some real focus. It is nice to feel like famous people.  I like thinking I have things in common with Stephen Colbert and Ben Franklin.  Ben, like me, always improved and moved through virtues, but he back-slid with style and forgave himself with wine.  Me too.



Monday, October 5, 2015

A Note About Frank

We have been going to the YMCA at Mineral and Broadway for the past 18 years, although our attendance has been sporadic of late.  During all of those years a great old guy named Frank has been a constant.  He passes out towels and locker keys in the morning.  More often than not we locker next to one another.  He always has a friendly word for every one in his thin, breathy little voice and he has a twinkly sense of humor.  He's the kind of guy who understands and appreciates all the little ironies that fill a big place with lots of employees and lots of members.

We hadn't been to the Y for the past two weeks for a variety of lame reasons, so when we walked in this morning we were devastated to hear that Frank had died of pneumonia just a few days previous.  There was a sign on the check-in desk letting us know that there would be a small reception for Frank's family and friends the day after tomorrow.

I didn't know Frank except to joke around with him every morning.  I didn't even know his last name.  Still don't.  But I did admire him, and not just because he was some nice old guy with a locker next to mine.

For all those years we have been going to the Y, Frank never missed a morning work out.  There he was walking around the track, alternating laps between a straight forward stride and then once around backwards and then once around doing those scissor things that the aerobics instructors make their charges do in order to drum up business for osteopaths.  Frank wasn't fast, but he was determined.

About ten years ago, just when Kathie and I were beginning retirement, Frank was stretching by hoisting one leg up on the track railing and then leaning forward to touch his toes.  He promptly shattered a bone in his leg.  We all worried.  We all clucked that someone of Frank's age shouldn't be doing things like that.  On my part, I decided never to hoist my leg up on a railing and it is a decision that has been working for me ever since.

In a surprisingly short time, Frank was back at the Y walking with his various gaits around the track.  He was still stretching, but being a little more careful, and until the day he died he was constantly at it.  Here was a guy determined to live for ever or die in the attempt.

His passing has given Kathie and me renewed determination to follow suit.  I figure with a combination of daily work outs, healthy food, and lots and lots of sex we have a real shot at it.

Katherine and I miss Frank and mourn his passing.