Well, my love affair with Peggy Noonan continues. She is that all-too-rare combination: a lady, a Conservative, a human, demonstrably non-insane, and a thinker (although I disagree, and quite vigorously so, with several positions she has held), something nearly as hard to find as 'small town values' in small towns.
Tonight Ms. Noonan was on the Daily Show to promote her new book, Patriotic Grace: What It Is and Why We Need It Now. The title will be disturbing in some quarters for its inclusion of the term 'patriotic,' syllables which, when mispronounced, rhyme rather effortlessly with volk and kokutai (国体). I, however, would advise those naysayers to notice the second word, grace, and reflect on what our country, its politicians, and its political contests, might look like were grace, alongside its parents maturity and reflection, to be employed more widely.
Nor did Ms. Noonan's performance belie her espousal of grace as a virtue. She was calm, soft-spoken, persuasive, and did not once wink, wrinkle her nose, lick her finger and stick it in the air, or escalate her pitch to shrill or girlish levels. She spoke, reasoned, and comported herself like an adult, something which one should hope might pass unremarked, yet cannot for its rarity. And despite Ms. Noonan's recent still-on-microphone gaffe in which she used mild profanity and dismissed the wisdom of the Palin nomination, her ladylike demeanor and reasonable speech helped stifle almost all of John Stewart's customary swearing.
Part of Sarah Palin's gut demagogic appeal, I suspect, is that she acts like a girl. She is unintimidating, even when she resorts to the crudest, most puerile sarcasm. But girlishness, or childishness, does not engender respect, nor does it facilitate rational conversation or debate. I entertain grave doubts that the Corinthians wore red peep-toe pumps or bobbed their heads coquettishly while pursuing the Vice-Presidency, but Paul nonetheless saw fit to caution them thus: “When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I thought as a child, I reasoned like a child. But when I became a man, I put childish ways behind me”(1 Corinthians 13:11). Would that the majority of American politicians follow Peggy Noonan and do the same thing.
'Shall I teach you what knowledge is? When you know a thing, to hold that you know it; and when you do not know a thing, to allow that you do not know it;-this is knowledge.' -Confucius
Showing posts with label decorum. Show all posts
Showing posts with label decorum. Show all posts
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Sunday, July 27, 2008
'Stay me with flaggons,
Comfort me with apples: for I am sick with Love.' --Song of Songs
My good heavens. I'm reading parts of St. Bernard's commentary on the Song of Songs, and I just noticed that someone left the goofiest mean comment (anonymously) on the Barnes and Noble post. Fascinating timing, as with everything these days. Anyway, I approved it and let it in because I think it is interesting - not to mention troubling - when people are so angry that they will use any forum available to them just to get rid of one tiny piece of that venom. As though there were some literal, physical store of it, like a bank account into which and from which quantities could be put and taken. If I could spend it all, in other words, I could deplete the account and finally return to civil and friendly interactions. In emptying it I might be again made whole.
Of course it doesn't really work that way. We don't lose our anger by throwing it around as much as we can, by dishing it out to everyone who crosses our path. There isn't an actual, finite amount of it for us to shepherd or amass interest or over-limit charges on. Frankly, it builds within us the more we live in it and the more we give in to seeing the world as one filled with enemies. And unity, even in small doses, even among small groups, can seem overwhelmingly daunting when you really try to absorb the fact that even the genuine and good-willed still ineluctably see the world only through one pair of eyes. Still, telling strangers to go kill themselves does seem a bit extreme in the other direction. Even if the stranger does dislike 80s pop icons Billy Joel and Elton John.
And I think it is obvious that there is so much more loneliness and anomie in the world now than was ever even possible before. People are disconnected, often isolated much of the time -- and how can I see someone as my brother when I haven't even met him? Maybe it is a leap, but equally so is seeing the stranger as the enemy and reacting in that manner.
I was actually going to write something about this the other day, but I couldn't find a way to make it not sappy. With Mr./Ms. Anonymous as inspiration, however, I can give it a try. My point was going to be about the fairly amazing day-to-day consequences of vigorously trying to keep love and respect in the forefront when dealing with other people. Some of us believe a reward will come in the next stage of life if we treat others well in this one, but we can choose to have a very different sort of life right here by opening up our hearts now and trying to act out of love.
I'm not even referring to any grandiose schemes, or recognizable 'acts of mercy' per se. Just being nice, basically. Not taking your frustration with a bad sleep into your interaction with the bank teller. Stopping for every pedestrian. Letting the right-turn guy merge without resistance. Asking the waiter where he got his watch, the neighbor how his rebuilt Triumph is coming. Sending an email to a store manager because the clerk was extra helpful. Refusing to tailgate the slow old lady in the Lincoln. And then actually thinking about why it is old ladies drive slowly, and imagining what your own world will be like when you yourself are eighty.
This is where it gets sappy, and I don't have the skill to make it otherwise. The fact is, if you take just one day of assiduously being nice to everyone you encounter, it will be an amazing day for you. If when someone goes on about something in a way that seems stupid, or excessive, or so alien to your own understanding, you might genuinely try to read what is behind it, why that person needs to say it, and is saying it in that particular way - not only will your blood pressure drop and you stop rolling your eyes, but you will know more about yourself as well as the other person. You will also have the additional opportunity to think about why you were given that experience at that time, and thus the chance to take even more from it. And you will come home at the end of the day satisfied and full and happy, having had twenty or thirty truly human, truly pleasant and enriching encounters with other people. Sappy, perhaps, but completely true!
Anyway, here is one pretty gorgeous thing St. Bernard had to say about love, which is far better than anything I could hope to write and not sappy in the slightest:
'Love is sufficient of itself, it gives pleasure by itself and because of itself. It is its own merit, its own reward. Love looks for no cause outside itself, no effect beyond itself. Its profit lies in its practice. I love because I love, I love that I may love. Love is a great thing so long as it continually returns to its fountainhead, flows back to its source, always drawing from there the water which constantly replenishes it.'
My good heavens. I'm reading parts of St. Bernard's commentary on the Song of Songs, and I just noticed that someone left the goofiest mean comment (anonymously) on the Barnes and Noble post. Fascinating timing, as with everything these days. Anyway, I approved it and let it in because I think it is interesting - not to mention troubling - when people are so angry that they will use any forum available to them just to get rid of one tiny piece of that venom. As though there were some literal, physical store of it, like a bank account into which and from which quantities could be put and taken. If I could spend it all, in other words, I could deplete the account and finally return to civil and friendly interactions. In emptying it I might be again made whole.
Of course it doesn't really work that way. We don't lose our anger by throwing it around as much as we can, by dishing it out to everyone who crosses our path. There isn't an actual, finite amount of it for us to shepherd or amass interest or over-limit charges on. Frankly, it builds within us the more we live in it and the more we give in to seeing the world as one filled with enemies. And unity, even in small doses, even among small groups, can seem overwhelmingly daunting when you really try to absorb the fact that even the genuine and good-willed still ineluctably see the world only through one pair of eyes. Still, telling strangers to go kill themselves does seem a bit extreme in the other direction. Even if the stranger does dislike 80s pop icons Billy Joel and Elton John.
And I think it is obvious that there is so much more loneliness and anomie in the world now than was ever even possible before. People are disconnected, often isolated much of the time -- and how can I see someone as my brother when I haven't even met him? Maybe it is a leap, but equally so is seeing the stranger as the enemy and reacting in that manner.
I was actually going to write something about this the other day, but I couldn't find a way to make it not sappy. With Mr./Ms. Anonymous as inspiration, however, I can give it a try. My point was going to be about the fairly amazing day-to-day consequences of vigorously trying to keep love and respect in the forefront when dealing with other people. Some of us believe a reward will come in the next stage of life if we treat others well in this one, but we can choose to have a very different sort of life right here by opening up our hearts now and trying to act out of love.
I'm not even referring to any grandiose schemes, or recognizable 'acts of mercy' per se. Just being nice, basically. Not taking your frustration with a bad sleep into your interaction with the bank teller. Stopping for every pedestrian. Letting the right-turn guy merge without resistance. Asking the waiter where he got his watch, the neighbor how his rebuilt Triumph is coming. Sending an email to a store manager because the clerk was extra helpful. Refusing to tailgate the slow old lady in the Lincoln. And then actually thinking about why it is old ladies drive slowly, and imagining what your own world will be like when you yourself are eighty.
This is where it gets sappy, and I don't have the skill to make it otherwise. The fact is, if you take just one day of assiduously being nice to everyone you encounter, it will be an amazing day for you. If when someone goes on about something in a way that seems stupid, or excessive, or so alien to your own understanding, you might genuinely try to read what is behind it, why that person needs to say it, and is saying it in that particular way - not only will your blood pressure drop and you stop rolling your eyes, but you will know more about yourself as well as the other person. You will also have the additional opportunity to think about why you were given that experience at that time, and thus the chance to take even more from it. And you will come home at the end of the day satisfied and full and happy, having had twenty or thirty truly human, truly pleasant and enriching encounters with other people. Sappy, perhaps, but completely true!
Anyway, here is one pretty gorgeous thing St. Bernard had to say about love, which is far better than anything I could hope to write and not sappy in the slightest:
'Love is sufficient of itself, it gives pleasure by itself and because of itself. It is its own merit, its own reward. Love looks for no cause outside itself, no effect beyond itself. Its profit lies in its practice. I love because I love, I love that I may love. Love is a great thing so long as it continually returns to its fountainhead, flows back to its source, always drawing from there the water which constantly replenishes it.'
Saturday, July 12, 2008
And to Think I Missed the 'Golden Girls' Marathon...
Eddie Izzard, Seattle, Paramount Theatre Review: Grrrrrrr.
I can't remember the last time I walked out of a show, and I have never before tonight had the misfortune of needing to walk out of a show I had been excited to see, but Eddie Izzard's performance, at least of the Seattle leg, in his 'Stripped' tour, was ghastly. Izzard normally does a lot of improv over a basic plan or outline. Here, it was as though there were no bullet points, no prior planning whatsoever, so there was nothing to improv about other than lazy references to past routines. Moreover, while it was indeed Eddie Izzard on the marquee, Eddie Izzard that I came to see, it was for Eddie Izzard performing comedy that I bought the tickets.
I realize this tour has had at times a grueling schedule, and that he has been on the road a long time. That means that the 'no bullet points' thing is not true; what is true is that instead he has had the same outline for too long, and he's sick of it, and it shows. It may have all been as brilliant as his past stuff when he started doing it months ago, but it felt like since he knew the funny bits too well he didn't bother getting to that point for the audience, as though we, too, should already know by what amusingly convoluted logic he was going to take us from Noah to ducks running the world. And since we knew, he didn't have to do the routine; he could just hint at it, and we would humor him, since he is Eddie Izzard doing Eddie Izzard.
But 'Eddie Izzard' isn't the funny bit, nor are inane and exhausting digressions or incoherent murmurings or referring obliquely to previous successful humor. The funny bit is Eddie Izzard being funny, integrating that rambling and making the journey to the point more entertaining than the point itself. In the same way I would feel cheated to have seen Charlie Parker or Edith Piaf come onstage and just 'be' Charlie Parker or Edith Piaf, it felt like Izzard was attempting little beyond pointing to himself and insisting, 'What? I'm effing Eddie Izzard! That's funny! I'm funny! Therefore my just being here should be good enough for you!' He had all the mannerisms of Eddie Izzard, all the energy, and the diction was spot on; what was lacking was the show.
Whatever. We had tasty Chinese food and good company in the International District after. And until I dropped a lipstick on my beige skirt and had to change in the car, I even looked undeniably 'summery.'
I can't remember the last time I walked out of a show, and I have never before tonight had the misfortune of needing to walk out of a show I had been excited to see, but Eddie Izzard's performance, at least of the Seattle leg, in his 'Stripped' tour, was ghastly. Izzard normally does a lot of improv over a basic plan or outline. Here, it was as though there were no bullet points, no prior planning whatsoever, so there was nothing to improv about other than lazy references to past routines. Moreover, while it was indeed Eddie Izzard on the marquee, Eddie Izzard that I came to see, it was for Eddie Izzard performing comedy that I bought the tickets.
I realize this tour has had at times a grueling schedule, and that he has been on the road a long time. That means that the 'no bullet points' thing is not true; what is true is that instead he has had the same outline for too long, and he's sick of it, and it shows. It may have all been as brilliant as his past stuff when he started doing it months ago, but it felt like since he knew the funny bits too well he didn't bother getting to that point for the audience, as though we, too, should already know by what amusingly convoluted logic he was going to take us from Noah to ducks running the world. And since we knew, he didn't have to do the routine; he could just hint at it, and we would humor him, since he is Eddie Izzard doing Eddie Izzard.
But 'Eddie Izzard' isn't the funny bit, nor are inane and exhausting digressions or incoherent murmurings or referring obliquely to previous successful humor. The funny bit is Eddie Izzard being funny, integrating that rambling and making the journey to the point more entertaining than the point itself. In the same way I would feel cheated to have seen Charlie Parker or Edith Piaf come onstage and just 'be' Charlie Parker or Edith Piaf, it felt like Izzard was attempting little beyond pointing to himself and insisting, 'What? I'm effing Eddie Izzard! That's funny! I'm funny! Therefore my just being here should be good enough for you!' He had all the mannerisms of Eddie Izzard, all the energy, and the diction was spot on; what was lacking was the show.
Whatever. We had tasty Chinese food and good company in the International District after. And until I dropped a lipstick on my beige skirt and had to change in the car, I even looked undeniably 'summery.'
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
But Mochi Doesn't Wear Loincloths!
I have only two things to say.
One is: 'Diplomacy is not synonymous with talking,' and the other is:
Diplomacy ≠ Talking? Diplomacy ≥ Talking? Diplomacy < Talking?
Alright, children, bubble tea is not synonymous with tapioca; religion is not synonymous with faith; politics is not synonymous with guanxi; and cole slaw in Kotzebue is not synonymous with Matanuska Valley cabbage. But I would expect to encounter a fair bit of the latter in any of these cases should I find myself confronted with the former.
I understand (perhaps) (in the most gracious reading) that what Ms. Rice meant to say was something like 'Diplomacy is not coextensive with talking,' mixed with a more minatory something akin to 'We have reconceived the notion of diplomacy such that a range of things from threats to preemptive strikes can now be put in the overlappy middle bit of a Diplomacy/War Wenn diagram.' She just didn't think Americans would understand 'coextensive,' 'reconceived,' or 'Wenn diagram.'
And more power to her: we don't. But I assume the esteemed Secretary did fairly well on her GRE, and even if it were more years ago than her youthful looks would imply, putting that zingy soundbite in the lamentable form she chose makes one want to ask, 'If not synonyms, then what are they? You've juxtaposed them; it seems you've counterposed them. Now tell us the nature of their relationship, if it is not one of synonyms. Diplomacy is to Talking as _________ is to what, Ms. Rice?'
To help her and us out, here are some choices of sample GRE analogy questions from this site.
COLOR: SPECTRUM::
a. tone: scale
b. sound: waves
c. verse: poem
d. dimension: space
e. cell: organism
HEADLONG:FORETHOUGHT::
a. barefaced: shame
b. mealymouth: talent
c. heartbroken: emotion
d. levelheaded: resolve
e. singlehanded: ambition
SEDATIVE: DROWSINESS::
a. epidemic: contagiousness
b. vaccine: virus
c. laxative: drug
d. anesthetic: numbness
e. therapy: psychosis
I don't want to sound unduly cynical, but I suspect Ms. Rice is hinting that for the departing administration it may be that
diplomacy: talking :: gladiator: kagami mochi.
One is: 'Diplomacy is not synonymous with talking,' and the other is:
| Wednesday | Thursday | Friday | Saturday | Sunday |
 61° F | 47° F 16° C | 8° C | 61° F | 49° F 16° C | 9° C |  61° F | 49° F 16° C | 9° C |  63° F | 50° F 17° C | 10° C | 63° F | 50° F 17° C | 10° C |
| Mostly Cloudy | Mostly Cloudy | Rain Showers 70% chance of precipitation | Chance of Rain 50% chance of precipitation | Chance of Rain 30% chance of precipitation |
Diplomacy ≠ Talking? Diplomacy ≥ Talking? Diplomacy < Talking?
Alright, children, bubble tea is not synonymous with tapioca; religion is not synonymous with faith; politics is not synonymous with guanxi; and cole slaw in Kotzebue is not synonymous with Matanuska Valley cabbage. But I would expect to encounter a fair bit of the latter in any of these cases should I find myself confronted with the former.
I understand (perhaps) (in the most gracious reading) that what Ms. Rice meant to say was something like 'Diplomacy is not coextensive with talking,' mixed with a more minatory something akin to 'We have reconceived the notion of diplomacy such that a range of things from threats to preemptive strikes can now be put in the overlappy middle bit of a Diplomacy/War Wenn diagram.' She just didn't think Americans would understand 'coextensive,' 'reconceived,' or 'Wenn diagram.'
And more power to her: we don't. But I assume the esteemed Secretary did fairly well on her GRE, and even if it were more years ago than her youthful looks would imply, putting that zingy soundbite in the lamentable form she chose makes one want to ask, 'If not synonyms, then what are they? You've juxtaposed them; it seems you've counterposed them. Now tell us the nature of their relationship, if it is not one of synonyms. Diplomacy is to Talking as _________ is to what, Ms. Rice?'
To help her and us out, here are some choices of sample GRE analogy questions from this site.
COLOR: SPECTRUM::
a. tone: scale
b. sound: waves
c. verse: poem
d. dimension: space
e. cell: organism
HEADLONG:FORETHOUGHT::
a. barefaced: shame
b. mealymouth: talent
c. heartbroken: emotion
d. levelheaded: resolve
e. singlehanded: ambition
SEDATIVE: DROWSINESS::
a. epidemic: contagiousness
b. vaccine: virus
c. laxative: drug
d. anesthetic: numbness
e. therapy: psychosis
I don't want to sound unduly cynical, but I suspect Ms. Rice is hinting that for the departing administration it may be that
diplomacy: talking :: gladiator: kagami mochi.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Don't Ask Me; Ask Google
What the?! I'm no. 2 on Google if you enter 'Lorca Thamar Amnon.' I mean, not that a great many people would enter 'Lorca Thamar Amnon' besides me, practically no one, really, and fewer still in English, in which nearly all the very, very few people wanting something with those three names would enter 'Lorca Tamar Amnon,' but I wanted to get back to that other site so I did, but with English as my default language. And found myself as well as the other guy. My entry also has 'sexuality' as a tag on Google somehow; maybe that's how you get to the heady heights of Number Two-ness.
Don't worry: despite my newfound fame, prestige, and power, I'm still the same simple country girl you've always known. And I will not let my smoldering search-engine sexuality overcome my good sense, either.
But what shoes, what shoes to wear to class tonight? They need to reflect such grand status, clearly, yet at the same time bespeak my unbesmirchable humility in the face of such worldly accolades. Perhaps the pointy pink slingbacks with the diminutive kitten heels? With a light taupe hose?
Don't worry: despite my newfound fame, prestige, and power, I'm still the same simple country girl you've always known. And I will not let my smoldering search-engine sexuality overcome my good sense, either.
But what shoes, what shoes to wear to class tonight? They need to reflect such grand status, clearly, yet at the same time bespeak my unbesmirchable humility in the face of such worldly accolades. Perhaps the pointy pink slingbacks with the diminutive kitten heels? With a light taupe hose?
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