Trains

Everyone who rides the subway inevitably sees a lot of odd stuff go down. People who file into their cars at the end of day have no concept of what they are missing, whether for the best or the worst. After a long enough period of time on the train, if you travel without companions, public transportation is somehow transformed to a semi-private form of mobility--you no longer fully acknowledge the other people on the train--or if you do, they are more like the scenery you would train your eyes to look past as you speed down the highway. Sometimes in the mornings, you vaguely recognize the same people who get on your train daily, but often at night, if your schedule is at all varied, you never really see the same people, and this provides a comfort level of anonymity. You might, and probably never will, see these people again. And that's the beauty of it, isn't it? You could pass your trip under the radar, unobserved and at peace, or you could make a total ass of yourself by accident, and either way the incident passes into the vacuum of things that really don't matter. Even if other people on the train remember you, or you them, there is no outlet for significance (except perhaps a blog post). But that is not entirely true. Although the people may not be particularly significant in terms of personal relationship, the education you get from riding might just be worth the exorbitant monthly ticket price.

M.Snowe is always struck by the surprises that commonly arise in course of a subway ride. Here are a few of the enlightening summaries that one new to subway riding should be aware of:

1. Expect the unexpected.
This means that anything can and will occur. But usually, these feats of unbelievability take on a more mundane yet no less profound aspect. Example: A dirty, grungy guy schleps into the train and plops down next to you. He's wearing some fancy kicks and has a bandanna. Everything about him says hardcore thug. Then, he whips out a copy of Aeschylus' plays and digs in. Lesson: Never judge a person by their cover, the cover of their book is much more telling in terms of their theory of mind.

2. Be ready for some singing.
People with and without Ipods will sing, hum, scat, a cappella, and rap. Sometimes they are looking for money. Other times they are completely unaware that anyone else is listening, or cares. While some people find this burdensome, M.Snowe believes it to be the final breaths of our collective consciousness, which with the advent of ipods, mobile phones and other isolating devices, has been ailing so long it is in its final death throes. So please, listen to the swan song of these "crazy" and inconsiderate simple folk.

3. Your mood dictates the quality of your ride.
This is less subway info than a general commentary on the nature of travel. For instance, while in a good mood, even the most annoying fellow travelers can be passed with only mild irritation, or the disagreeability of others in response to annoyances seems to be drastically out of proportion. You wonder "why is everyone getting so bent out of shape by something as small as public urination?"

more to follow...

Aristophanes' Story (As told by Socrates), while reading Bellow

Back in political philosophy class, M.Snowe read Plato's Symposium. Thinking it was fairly good, we remembered most of the lessons taught along with it. This weekend, we were forced to begin reading Ravelstein (and when we say "forced" it's implied that it's required reading, not that M.Snowe would ever pass up an opportunity to at least start reading something new). Ravelstein, published in 2000, is a novel centered around a political philosophy professor of much renown who's best-selling book propels him to wealth and fame. So naturally, the Symposium must be cited somewhere in the book--it was only a matter of time. The narrator, a friend of Ravelstein, talks about perhaps the most hilarious, serious, and memorable part of Plato's discourse on the nature of the human condition in the Symposium. It is Aristophanes' myth on the nature of desire.
Note: This is not actually Aristophanes, but Plato writing about the character of Aristophanes within the Socratic story. Aristophanes' actual writings, such as his play, Clouds, are wonderfully funny, satiric, and worthy of a read--but this story is meant to be something that Aristophanes might say--not what he actually did.
So here's the brief synopsis:

Aristophanes, when it is his turn at the symposium to explain his beliefs on the nature of the human condition with special emphasis on desire, tells a story of the gods and the original state of humans. He claims that people once possessed two pairs of legs, arms, and two heads, etc. They were "rollie-pollie" people--they rolled around, and also possessed two sex organs--some with a male and female, some with a pair of the same organs. They were intelligent and happy, and completely whole. They required nothing, and therefore set their sights on the one thing they did not have: god-like status and power, unlike their rulers on Mount Olympus. Their ambition was fierce, and the people began to try and roll up and overthrow the gods. Seeing this, Zeus threw down his lightning bolts upon the people. It did not kill them, but it split them all into two--making them beings exactly as we are today, with two legs, two arms, walking upright, and with one sexual organ. It is because we as humans remember our previous state as "whole beings"--perfectly joined to one another--that we cannot be satisfied, and seek out our other "half." The gods then threatened all people that should they seek to overthrow again, we would be split again, and continue to be less whole and more desirous of completion than we even are now.

Of course, Aristophanes' story is flawed in that it does not explain the origins of desire--if the "whole" people weren't pushed by desire to overtake the gods, then we would still all (according to fictional Aristophanes) have four arms and legs each. But the story does try and explain the desire of us two-legged, single-sexed people. The most tragic part of Aristophanes' story, and Plato's Symposium is the irretrievable completion and simultaneous human striving for wholeness, for any scrap of it that we can grasp, knowing full-well that the possibility of fulfillment is a momentary hold at best. But that is the nature of desire--without the absence of something, there is no desire for it. And without an absence to strive for, our condition would be more tragic than our current reality. And that's why M.Snowe doesn't understand some people's hopes for a heaven (usually religious people).

Poetic Reflections (M.Snowe graffatis poems she's been pondering lately)

T. S. Eliot: The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock (1919) (It's best to start with a favorite) (--commentary in italics--)

S'io credesse che mia risposta fosse

A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,

Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.

Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo

Non torno vivo alcun, s'i'odo il vero,

Senza tema d'infamia ti rispondo.

--m.snowe wishes she could say/do some things, and then as soon as appropriate, wipe away the memory of her words/actions from the minds of all who saw/heard, just so she could feel the effect and weigh the choice of her full-disclosure--

Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question . . .
Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"
Let us go and make our visit.

--Lately, overwhelmed seems like an understatement. Something happens, and your world is changed. It could be anything, but most likely it is a mundane event, something that perhaps has happened to you many, many times before, just at a different location, or with different people. Suddenly, you've made a revelation. And it is sudden--sure, you may have seen it lurking, slouching towards Bethlehem if you will, but faint anticipation has nothing on the full-force of combined realization and emotional impact--it's like being pummeled from all angles in the brain, and physically being pummeled to the ground, with a slowed and achy after-effect. The funny part is you are hyper-functional: things get done. But you can't eat, you can't sleep, you can't carry on an extended thought farther than the corner of the next avenue before you are pulled back into the fray of your overwhelming revelation.--

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michangelo.

--Time passes, but you don't want it to. You only relive all moments connected with your revelation-that is more real than reality, as far as you're concerned.--

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

--you've been transformed-you are no longer that participatory being, but the surveyor, the outer one who effects no change and wishes no change except the overwhelming revelation.--

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

--you try to fool yourself with waiting-but you know better-the waiting is a necessary evil, the delusitory front of action in your self-determined path of non-action--

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

--more time, nothing changes--

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, "Do I dare?" and, "Do I dare?"
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair--
[They will say: "How his hair is growing thin!"]
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin--
[They will say: "But how his arms and legs are thin!"]
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

--these questions, all these questions--none are answered, and none have a home outside your head. Do people really know each other?--

For I have known them all already, known them all:--
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?

--Already knowing and simultaneously hating the end of the plot, how do you bring yourself to live out the story?--

And I have known the eyes already, known them all--
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all--
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?
. . . . .
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? . . .

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

. . . . .

And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep . . . tired . . . or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet--and here's no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: "I am Lazarus, come from the dead
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all"--
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: "That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all."

--How are you yourself when what you say and what you think is diametrically opposed, or at least deceitful to your thoughts? It's one thing to lie on purpose, but it's quite another to lie for a noble or unshameful purpose.--

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the
floor--
And this, and so much more?--
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic latern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
"That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all."

--How are experiences judged when you have no idea what the other is thinking? What really happens?--

. . . . .

No! I am not Prince Hamlet nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous--
Almost, at times, the Fool.

--You can deny all you want, but we are all our own keepers.--

I grow old . . .I grow old . . .
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

--Amazing how we stay afloat when overwhelming thoughts are bearing down, against our untold judgment--

Jane Austen Project

Anyone clever, witty, and imaginatively rich, with the comfort of being able to read for leisure and a happy disposition would do best to emphasize all these qualities by reading a little bit more Jane Austen. When reading her work, all that vexes you can easily slip away--for at least a few "delicious" moments. (either that, or your emotions are heightened and aggravated to the acutest sense, but we hope they aren't.)

People seem to think that writers like Austen have lost most of their relevance. This is simply not true. Yes, we play sudoku, not whist, and we dash off emails, not long involved letters in cursive. We're more impressed with sports cars and SUVs than with chaise and fours, and it's debatable whether anyone can have a good tete a tete anymore. But what Austen did, that many writers, if not most, can and could not, was to not only encapsulate the spirit of the age, but she also captured the spirit of the human condition. Underneath all the 18th Century finery lays a picture stripped bare of all the outer pretension. There are just people: sensible people, vain people, silly people, innocent people, conflicted people, horrible people...and the list goes on. The outer aspects/attributes of them all might change, but the inner drives and motivations are remarkably unchanged from age to age. Pick up any Austen story, and you'll find the emotions you felt when you were this age, or the exact sketch of your best friend or worst enemy at that age. And the absolute notion that we all exist in a world commonly shared, and yet individually experienced rings true--we all know the world, but we can only surmise how each and every one of us relates it to ourselves. The ability to have and understand human relationships is what Jane Austen writes best, and it would be best if we made ourselves amiable, and took up her lengthy volumes of advice.

On Jane Austen in the present.

Fin

After less than a few days of voracious reading, The Age of Innocence, by Edith Wharton was placed reluctantly onto my bookshelf, right near The House of Mirth, and a rather extensive collection of V. Woolf collections... Before starting to read the book, reviews were consulted, and many reviewers of the book, when comparing it to Mirth, decided that it was not, in fact, tragic. And yes, if your definition of tragedy is the rather barbaric definition that squarely says: "Everybody Dies", well then, you'd be spot on target. There is a place and a time for the argument that death is needed to make a tragedy both painful and painfully exquisite (search Shakespeare for those examples). But sometimes, the most exquisite tragedies are in the monotony of life lived in an unwanted attitude, beyond will, yet the alternatives are beyond the reaches of possibility. Henry James was perhaps the best practitioner of such stories, with characters who may not die, but live lives of self-inflicted and yet utterly unavoidable cerebral entrapment. For the characters to veer from their rather undesirable, long-lived fates would be a breach of their own personal human condition. Edith Wharton also understood this tragic set-up that made stories so powerful.

In The Age of Innocence, the protagonist, Newland Archer, is skirting the brink of social ruin with the Countess Olenska. Archer is married to the beautiful yet (as he considers) simple-minded and society-molded May. While the reader might detect a flicker of brilliance or self-possession in May, Archer is too blinded by Ellen Olenska to notice. Ellen, married to an abusive Polish Count, has traveled back to NYC where her family remained, hoping for solace and relief from a horrible marriage. Of course, in that time, the woman, despite the amount of abuse inflicted upon her, was just as scandalized by leaving her rotten husband than the Count himself. She remains married, and so it is doubly impossible for Archer--he is married, and could never leave his wife to marry an already married Ellen. Ellen and Archer barely touch hands throughout the book--and the reader is never given the satisfaction of a loving embrace--just as the characters never get one either. A few years of Archer's young life are spent in pursuit of a pittance of time that could be contained within the length of a longish movie, at most--and yet his entire being, his methods of thought, his actions and illusions--all surround this one object of affection. And truly, he fetishizes her with unbounded imagination, an imagination being the only real place where people of the early 1900s could freely contemplate their "heathen" natures or thoughts. The end is similar to what many misguided people consider the plot of a Jamesian novel: nothing happens. There is an epilogue of sorts, where we fast forward to show an older Newland Archer, one who stayed committed to May, and at the last refuses to see Ellen Olenska when he gets the chance 20 years after their last parting. Despite Archer's own refusal to find what he thought was happiness and his acceptance of the mundane reality of his marriage, he still holds on to the memory of a better age, an exciting time, despite its lack of a true climax (either ideologically or sexually). It is at once the best and most horrific tragedy--one held up to the closest point of a culmination, and yet it never quite gets there, it just dissipates, as if the action were quickly scaling a cliff, only to slowly, with regret, turn back from whence it came, without getting a view from the apex. It is the wish for that resolution, that final look, that keeps the book afresh, and keeps the readers coming back. It is the Keatsian image of the lovers in Ode to a Grecian Urn, forever bidding adieu.

Let's switch the gears a bit, from literary to the political...
To any of those who were holdouts for the Hillary campaign, you can look at her legacy (at least right now) in a similar way. It is an exquisite tragedy to her supporters, to come so close, and yet be so far away from what would have surely been the apex of her career. Women and the nation as a whole will remember her campaign as the first legitimate reach for the white house for a woman, and that's something to say. Clinton, like Ellen and Archer, tried her luck starting with the politics of New York, and was angled out by a world that was not ready for her just yet. Many were ready for Clinton, it just wasn't enough. So for those in mourning, at least take comfort in the fact that the tragedy was beautiful, and memorable in ways that many other campaigns in the past have not been (Howard Dean, for instance, does not conjure up any comparisons to good literature, although I'm sure some might have a suggestion--probably something post-modern, or existential).

Words of New York Wisdom

It's a firm belief that anyone new to new york city should read a little bit of Edith Wharton. And we're not talking about the much pushed-on-high-schoolers Edith Wharton of "Ethan Frome" fame--we mean the Edith Wharton who penned The Age of Innocence, or The House of Mirth. Take for example, if you will, this telling quote, written pre-1920:
(when talking to the countess, on her return to NYC after a long time in Italy)
" 'Yes, you have been away a very long time.'
'Oh, centuries and centuries; so long,' she said, 'that I'm sure I'm dead and buried, and this dear old place is heaven;' which, for reasons he could not define, struck Newland Archer as an even more disrespectful way of describing New York society."

Or perhaps this one:
"Everyone (including Mr. Sillerton Jackson) was agreed that old Catherine had never had beauty--a gift which, in the eyes of New York, justified every success, and excused a certain number of failings."

And this one, regarding New Yorker snobbery in light of impending marriage:
"And, in spite of the cosmopolitan views on which he prided himself, he thanked heaven that he was a New Yorker, and about to ally himself with one of his own kind."

all familiar sentiments, about one hundred years off, don't you agree?

The Financial Page-Page (M.Snowe comments lightly on Surowieki's Financial Page)

Page Title: "The Free Trade Paradox"

Brief Synopsis:
Surowieki waxes on the similarity of Clinton and Obama, especially in reference to their Free Trade policy, or lack of support thereof. As he summarizes, it's "like a contest over who hates free trade more."
Then he explains the pitfalls of free-trade and, alternatively, those of not-so-free trade.

Free Trade might be bad because:
1. It cuts US blue collar jobs and lowers wages (many believe but it's hard to quantify this)
2. It feeds more money into the swelled pockets of the American rich (probably true, w/ all those corporate profits)

Free Trade might be good because:
1. It lowers the prices of goods lower and middle income Americans spend their cash on
2. This in turn gives more Americans greater spending power

Surowieki's argument, while not exhaustive by any means, does extol on the short term problem of up toughening trade restrictions with other nations--it creates a world where the goods which were previously cheap, suddenly become more expensive--and those goods are usually the ones lower income households purchase. So the American wealthy will not feel the pinch, but the lower- and middle-incomers will, almost immediately. Of course, the jobs available to lower and mid income people will begin to increase as US manufacturers decide to relocate back to America, and the wages will probably spike to higher levels than when the same jobs were harder to come by and in competition with the middling wages of foreign workers (which will still be middling, only we'll have taxed them up to their eyeballs, making their wages go down by valuable pennies as their sales also plummet). But the benefits to US workers could take months, if not years--and would it translate into a richer America?
Surowieki ultimately comes out against tougher trade restrictions.

Assessment: Our undergraduate economics professors have always said that the freer the trade, or the better the advancements in globalization--the better for all (or at least most). Globalization, at least financially, is often seen as more of a threat than it really is--kind of like the gap between subway cars and the platform--you're often told to "mind it," yet even when you don't contemplate the danger, you usually navigate onto the train just fine. Of course, nobody's blaming the electorate for having strong opinions about foreign trade, because like it or not, it combines some of the touchiest subjects we as a species seem to perpetually have issues with: money, race, culture, nationalism, etc. The problem is, is there really anything we can do in this globalized marketplace that will in fact yield a higher quality of life for our poorer or lower middle class workers? Obviously, we'd all like to believe the answer is yes, but is the free trade, or not-so-free trade debate really the outlet? It seems that trade restrictions will only hurt lower earners, at least in the short to medium-length run.. And in a recession, any short-term losses for the lowest paid in our country, even if there's a promise of better wages on the unpredictable horizon, is not exactly a wise decision, or in their best interests. And what about lower income americans that don't work the kind of jobs that foreign workers do to create these goods? Their bills will go up without ever seeing a spike in their wages. We've become so reliant on foreign goods, we probably won't even know where to start. Another point to make is that Surowieki's argument forgets to mention that this issue is not one sided--we can tariff the crap out of foreign entities, but they also have the power to set prices, and if we drive taxes up, they might eat some operating costs to adjust the prices, and therefore stay competitive, while simultaneously lowering the already low quality of goods, and compromising lower American earner's quality of life in the meantime. But it's anybody's guess what could happen. The problem is that plans that restrict free trade, while they are possibly made by certain politicians with the best of intentions, they can also be fed or supported by those who have less concern for the working poor and lower classes, and foreign workers as well.

Can't miss this "won't miss" list

M.Snowe always likes to create original content, but this article is so succinct, so terse, that we decided it speaks better than could be adapted originally on this blog. While we have decided to stay out of declaring any one (democratic) candidate as our favourite, this piece tells it like it is. The only thing to add would be that unfortunately, there is another problem with this primary that won't end with a formal candidacy, and you can read about it here. And as much as we like the almost assured democratic candidate, we don't like this. But here's the article, and it's listed below. When it's spelled out and itemized like this, it really makes a statement that no sane, reasonable person can ignore.

Misogyny I Won't Miss

By Marie Cocco
Thursday, May 15, 2008; A15

As the Democratic nomination contest slouches toward a close, it's time to take stock of what I will not miss.

I will not miss seeing advertisements for T-shirts that bear the slogan "Bros before Hos." The shirts depict Barack Obama (the Bro) and Hillary Clinton (the Ho) and are widely sold on the Internet.

I will not miss walking past airport concessions selling the Hillary Nutcracker, a device in which a pantsuit-clad Clinton doll opens her legs to reveal stainless-steel thighs that, well, bust nuts. I won't miss television and newspaper stories that make light of the novelty item.

I won't miss episodes like the one in which liberal radio personality Randi Rhodes called Clinton a "big [expletive] whore" and said the same about former vice presidential nominee Geraldine Ferraro. Rhodes was appearing at an event sponsored by a San Francisco radio station, before an audience of appreciative Obama supporters -- one of whom had promoted the evening on the presumptive Democratic nominee's official campaign Web site.

I won't miss Citizens United Not Timid (no acronym, please), an anti-Clinton group founded by Republican guru Roger Stone.

Political discourse will at last be free of jokes like this one, told last week by magician Penn Jillette on MSNBC: "Obama did great in February, and that's because that was Black History Month. And now Hillary's doing much better 'cause it's White Bitch Month, right?" Co-hosts Joe Scarborough and Mika Brzezinski rebuked Jillette.

I won't miss political commentators (including National Public Radio political editor Ken Rudin and Andrew Sullivan, the columnist and blogger) who compare Clinton to the Glenn Close character in the movie "Fatal Attraction." In the iconic 1987 film, Close played an independent New York woman who has an affair with a married man played by Michael Douglas. When the liaison ends, the jilted woman becomes a deranged, knife-wielding stalker who terrorizes the man's blissful suburban family. Message: Psychopathic home-wrecker, begone.

The airwaves will at last be free of comments that liken Clinton to a "she-devil" (Chris Matthews, who helpfully supplied an on-screen mock-up of Clinton sprouting horns). Or those who offer that she's "looking like everyone's first wife standing outside a probate court" (Mike Barnicle, also on MSNBC).

But perhaps it is not wives who are so very problematic. Maybe it's mothers. Because, after all, Clinton is more like "a scolding mother, talking down to a child" (Jack Cafferty on CNN).

When all other images fail, there is one other I will not miss. That is, the down-to-the-basics, simplest one: "White women are a problem, that's -- you know, we all live with that" (William Kristol of Fox News).

I won't miss reading another treatise by a man or woman, of the left or right, who says that sexism has had not even a teeny-weeny bit of influence on the course of the Democratic campaign. To hint that sexism might possibly have had a minimal role is to play that risible "gender card."

Most of all, I will not miss the silence.

I will not miss the deafening, depressing silence of Democratic National Committee Chairman Howard Dean or other leading Democrats, who to my knowledge (with the exception of Sen. Barbara Mikulski of Maryland) haven't publicly uttered a word of outrage at the unrelenting, sex-based hate that has been hurled at a former first lady and two-term senator from New York. Among those holding their tongues are hundreds of Democrats for whom Clinton has campaigned and raised millions of dollars. Don Imus endured more public ire from the political class when he insulted the Rutgers University women's basketball team.

Would the silence prevail if Obama's likeness were put on a tap-dancing doll that was sold at airports? Would the media figures who dole out precious face time to these politicians be such pals if they'd compared Obama with a character in a blaxploitation film? And how would crude references to Obama's sex organs play?

There are many reasons Clinton is losing the nomination contest, some having to do with her strategic mistakes, others with the groundswell for "change." But for all Clinton's political blemishes, the darker stain that has been exposed is the hatred of women that is accepted as a part of our culture.

Marie Cocco is syndicated by the Washington Post Writers Group. Her e-mail address is mariecocco@washpost.com.

Lighter Fare

My maternal parental unit is sometimes ridiculed for her lack of NYC, general geographic, and literary knowledge. But a few weeks ago, she made a stunning joke that referenced a major work of literature, and for this, we must pay homage.

Maternal Unit: I had to stay home and wait for the exterminator on Tuesday morning.

M. Snowe: But, there are no bugs in the house! Back five years ago when I lived there, you refused to get a bug man and we had ants in the summer; and now that the house is bug free, you sign up for a plan where he's showing up every three months!

Maternal Unit: Well, the bug man never showed up anyways, after I waited and waited for him.

M. Snowe: See what happens when you pay for something you don't need?

Maternal Unit: It's okay--next Tuesday, the Bugman Cometh.

Scari--Lia

Justice Scalia gave an hour-long interview to C-Span last week. Judges on the supreme court hold a precedent for keeping their mouths shut ex curia--they're the legal counterpoints to the most chatty of Cathys. (and some justices don't talk in court either--here's lookin' at you, Justice Thomas!). So when one of them agrees to an hour long tete a tete, you can bet a number of people will be listening.

Most of the discussion was more benign than Mr. Bean's mole. But there were a few gems, both hilarious and depressing in nature (though mostly depressing, because the hilariousness often disintegrates with the realization that this man is one of the last defenses of your and my civil rights. It's like bringing a clown car to the monster truck rally--it's insanely humorous until the carny carnage interspersed with rubber noses and water corsages rapes the eyes.)

First of all, Scalia referred to his interview and press engagements for his newest book as his "coming out." It's doubtful, the hard-core Catholic that he is, that Scalia meant he's coming out in the usual sense of the term--the man is uber conservative. But it was funny nonetheless to hear talk about his "coming out" multiple times, without the merest of mere hesitations.

But listening to him talk about his children and grandchildren was where it got really depressing. (Warning: here comes the clown car and subsequent intellectual blood-bath). The man is clearly blessed in the effective sperm department, with nine children, and 28 grandchildren. When asked about his powers of copulation, his most reasoned answer was that as Catholics, he and his wife played "Vatican Roulette." (We might be unfamiliar with the game, but the odds are that it ends with a bullet in his wife's career either way.) Listening to Scalia talk about his children is a nice way to transport back into the Victorian era. You half expect him to interrupt and say he must dash--his chase and four has just pulled up to take him to the haberdashery.
Nine children. It sounds like he's angling to start up his own supreme court of kids; although with his views on affirmative action, he still needs four more (he has five sons and four daughters). Out of sympathy, he quickly lists his three daughters, and then philosophizes and gets really cander-ous when talking about all his son's livelihoods. His wife, too, was chained to the kitchen as he donned his big bilious robes--his daughters prove that his influence reins supreme: all four are "stay-at-home moms" as he lovingly put it, diligently "raising some of his grandchildren." He vaguely mentions something about one "having been a business woman," and another teaching German, and the last having a degree in library science (but not using it). He seems utterly pleased that they've stopped putting their brains to good use (whereas reason might argue he never started). Too bitter a sentiment for you, dear readers? Okay, a bit harsh, yes. But consider this next part of the interview:
When asked about the quality of lawyers that argue before the Supreme Court, Justice Scalia says the following:
"But more often, I am, I am startled by the fact that this young woman, who is a public defender from Podunk is so good, is so smart, and is so competent; and I ask myself, you know, what is she doing, being a public defender in Podunk--why isn't she out inventing the automobile, you know, doing something useful? Ah, I mean, I'm being sarcastic, I suppose."
First: Podunk--anybody know where that is? Either way, it's a small town of some sort in backwoods America that doesn't see much national press. Apparently, Scalia doesn't think everyone in America deserves a day in court, especially the poor.
Second: Methinks the startled surprise at seeing a well educated and bright woman argue her case caught him off guard, considering all the submissive docile women he must be used to at home. You would think after sitting on the bench next to some strong women, he'd have gotten a clue...but that's what happens when you're myopic.
Third: Umm, the automobile has already been invented. Plus engineering isn't very lady-like, is it?
Fourth: "Something Useful"??? Correct us if wrong, sir, but would that mean that your life's work, and decisions on the court are useless as well? Because we have no problem believing in their uselessness, but we do have a problem with believing that you feel that way!
Five: You're right, what is she doing? If you had it your way, the lack of affirmative action would never have allowed this woman into a good law program anyways.
Six: Is there something inherently time-wasting in being a public defender? Last time we checked,you were supposed to be defending the public as well--this woman just does it for much less money (she'd get paid less than you on average no matter what she does, thanks to her vagina, anyways). So who should be asking about the waste of their talent now?

Justice Scalia, do us all a favor, will you, and stop talking (and for that matter recuse yourself!) Just pretend every new case is a press interview about Bush v Gore--and keep repeating it's in the past and you don't need to rule on any of it!

Further Reflection...

on the previous office softball & politics post.

Watching a bad late night show last night, something must be said in response to the last post.

It's not about a white women vs. a black man. By comparison, both plights are equally frustrating when trying to break into the cultural/societal/political values of the greater population. Sometimes, women get the bum end of the deal. Sometimes, people of a racial minority do. A greater number of the time, people of minority sexual orientations do as well. The true problem is happening in the current political atmosphere as a whole. By staging a proxy war between a black male candidate and a white woman, the traditional upper middle class, straight male majority serving in politics gets the best of both worlds: not only do they see these two groups fracture within themselves and among themselves, they also get to blame both groups if everything goes sour and pear shaped in November.

Last night, on a show that will remain anonymous, the loud mouthed comic reported something like this: "Hillary's campaign is losing funds, and is in debt--they are looking for ways to save money, cutting the budget for travel expenses, including hotels. You know what that means: Hillary and Bill will have to actually share a bedroom!" (insert copious audience laughing and applause here).

This was all in good fun (and nobody likes somebody who takes things toooooo seriously), but how fair is it to punish the victim of the adultery, and not the source itself? It seems Bill gets to be the playboy, where Hillary is the hard-arsed loser. Her apparent sexual ineptitude has always been a point for comedians, pundits, and even other politicians (don't forget McCain's joke about Hillary's and Janet Reno's love child, Chelsea). It has become perfectly acceptable to use the sins of the husband to damn the innocent wife in a political arena. Both David Paterson, the new governor of NY, and his wife admitted to affairs--and yet because they were up front about it, the media coverage has been distilled. This is good--Paterson seems a decent fellow, but the question is, where are the jokes about Michelle Paterson wishing for a separate room in their newly acquired mansion? Maybe a nice little zinger about "what he can't SEE, can't hurt him?" (for those non-NYer's, Gov. Paterson is legally blind).

But it does go both ways (gender and racial stereotyping)--Clinton, despite her huge cash-stash (from book deals and Clinton foundation funds), is not seen as "elitist" as Obama, and the idea that he can't connect with a poorer base is thrown around, one reason being that in this country, the racial divide is so pervasive that it's not just black and white, but rich black, poor black, educated black, etc., etc., etc.-- It's all about being "black enough" to hold on to that voter base, while not being the "Jeremiah Wright-Type Black" that scares away a large number of poor white Southern Democrats and independents (mostly).

It seems neither candidate can exist as simply who they are, or what they want to push forward with, and sadly, the prevailing notion is to pit them against each other (and their multiple defined selves) instead of worrying about who exactly is pulling those strings to make it so. Neither should have to "get out" of the race until one is named the victor (or victoress), but the blame shouldn't be shouldered by either one due to their long battle if the democrats lose in November--they're just playing out the primary game set up by the democratic primary rule makers (who are those old white dudes, yet again!).

the office political/softball team

Despite the most recent primaries in Indiana and North Carolina, we seem to like skirting the coasts of Hillary Clinton's presidential aspirations. But why, when it's already clear that (unfortunately or not) in all probability, she will have to concede to Obama, and his lead in delegates and primary states? It can't be solely because everyone is hungry for an ongoing story--and even the idea that a knock-em-down battle royale can't be the only rationale. So what is it?

There are, perhaps a few ways to explain this phenomenon. And while these rationales can be extremely divergent, it's highly likely that all exist and come into play together, thereby creating a powerful amalgam, increasing the public's fascination with this "close race" that hasn't really been as close as people like to think.

Since everybody (or at least those white middle-aged male pundits) seem to like sports analogies, here's an extended one for you all (sort of). This race, and the greater political system, is like a company softball team, and the etiquette followed therein.

First, team makeup. The team, while really hoping to be competitive, is open to anyone who wants to give it a go. They may not get to play more than an inning here or there, but they get a jersey, and go to practice. Then you have your regulars, and starters. It's good to be a starter, a regular, a well-seasoned player who understands the formulas of camaraderie. Both Clinton and Obama are, by degrees, like these players--they're generally respected, known names in the field, and they have the stamina and commitment to show up to every game.

But the rules of the office softball leagues are stacked against a fair-fielded team, and there exists a not-so-subtle atmosphere of discrimination, that when viewed on the field, may be innocuous enough, but what many don't realize is that the playing field is an exact replica of the political office race, dirt pitch excluded (most of the time!). The rules of the softball game are simple: Co-ed teams with two outfielders, meaning you need ten players on the field in order to have a true game. The special stipulation is that out of those ten, you need to have AT LEAST four female players on the field at all times. This co-ed rule is telling, because it automatically assumes that every team will have only a limited number of females, and to make things more "fair" the team needs to scout at least four women to play. This is a fearful pursuit, because some players don't want women "muddying up" their chances at intra-office glory to go sour. The fear is made funnier still because softball originated out of fear--fear that women would flood little league baseball teams, therefore disrupting the All-American male "purity" of the sport. It seems after the age of 16 or 17, the rules switch as the advantageou- factor turns toward the guys. The very fact that "less-competitive" office play is associated with softball instead of baseball is another topic worth discussing, but maybe later (and what is so "soft" about softball anyways? those who've been hit with both base- and soft- balls will tell you that neither one smarts any less than the other, and in fact a softball might hurt more, seeing as the larger ball creates a large surface area of bruising!).

But back to the four girls on the company team rule. Co-ed integration in the league has been coerced rather than accepted. Women are begrudgingly given a spot on many a team, and sometimes it is disguised by begging. There is no similar rule about fielding a team with "at least four males" or "at least four people of a different race than the majority." Why? Because: A. it seems a bit weird to racially designate, and B. it's assumed that minorities will already be on the team, and they are usually welcomed. Jackie Robinson was a long time ago--according to sports fans anyways--and race is no longer a controversy in sports. In fact, often the opposite is true--everyone knows that minority group members who come to the US to play sports are often better than your average WASP players (and we mean people of all races -- whether from Asia, Africa, or South America). No sports fan would wish to re-segregate sports. But sex-segregation--that's a different ballgame. Where race is touchy, people have no problem assuming that women aren't up to snuff, and they make it apparent in the rules, and the team dynamics.

After playing and observing many more office softball games than is healthy to admit, the positions women are placed in are often the same: right field, right-center field, second base and sometimes first base. The first base female is also often the best of the women players. While there is nothing wrong with these positions in a major league team setting, they speak volumes in an office one. Anyone who knows the scantest bit about softball/baseball will tell you that the right side of the field (where all these positions populate) sees the least amount of balls, because most players are right-handed hitters and find it very hard to pull the ball to the left. Since there are less lefties, there are less balls hit to the right side. The obvious reason the best woman player on the team is put on first base is that she will be an integral part of making outs while at first base--she has to consistently catch the throws coming from the left side of the field. Numerous games have come and gone with women at the lousy positions, and at the end of the batting order. They play, oh yes, but only because the law requires it are they allowed. The same rings true for this primary season, in a way. Clinton wants to play, and the democrats think it's a lovely show of their liberal spirit to allow her a position (on the left, no less!). But no one seriously believed she'd be able to handle short stop or bat clean up--and that has nothing to do with a fair estimation of her abilities. It's obnoxious and mean-spirited to play the gender card, but we can't forget that no one with a full-deck doesn't utilize it every once and a while.

The fact is, just as the surprised teammates over-congratulate and patronize the young female teammate with faces of disbelief when she hits a nice triple, people lauded Clinton for the mere fact that she got on base, when in truth she should have been held to the same standards and methods of scrutiny as her male teammates. Instead, the standards were more likely to center on what her husband is up to, similar to the attention paid to how to accommodate a pony tail or hair-sprayed style in a batting helmet. The fact is, although race is a huge issue, gender was OKAY to critique and use as a method of bashing, whereas race was a no-no--as it should be--but so should gender! Don't believe that? Well, compare this: Is it more common to hear: "you throw like a girl", or "you throw like a black man"? And even if you were to hear both on a regular basis, which one would be viewed as more derogatory? Even in the face of the Wright problem, Obama has come out relatively unscathed. Yet Clinton is still getting jabs for saying she doesn't like to bake cookies! The problem is gender is still perceived as an issue worth stereotyping and accepted when stereotyped. Men of all races have slowly and surely found their foothold in politics--and similar to the right to vote, people of different races have secured their opportunity (and at least written legal equality) before women of any race or creed did, and in many cases, will.

The course of mislaid directions never runs smooth

M. Snowe veers away from the personal--but sometimes the personal smacks so much of the philosophical and inter-social that it's unavoidable to be inspired by the seemingly mundane occurrences of the unholy inter-sanctum that is the nuclear family. Observe, if you will, the latest correspondence from a parental unit, relying directions to a certain person's apartment (changes and routes have been blocked with red X's so M.Snowe is not visited and summarily lambasted for her stupidity by an onslaught of blog-reading tourists).

"K,

Directions are to take XXX all the way to where it joins NJ Turnpike. You want to travel to Exit X C. Stay to the right when you reach toll booth and get off at right towards light rail. Go to bottom of ramp, stay straight and bear left under light rail tunnel. At traffic light, just past tunnel turn right. Turn left at next light which is just past light rail station. Stay on that straight and take first left which is X street. M. Snowe is at XX on left almost to end of street.

T"

... then further email follow-up:
"Oops, I meant XX not XXX. XXX is the BQE in Brooklyn/queens!

Diner is the Brownstone diner and pancake factory featured on drive-ins, diners and dives. See you around 8AM. We can either eat first or pack vehicular. Call me when you get close."

??????????
First, it's advisable to point out that the "light rail tunnel" in question is not, in fact, a light rail tunnel, but an overpass for cars. Particularly enjoyable is the line: "stay on that straight." This road is naturally straight already. Is the direction-giver rather subtly suggesting that the driver will be drunk, or perhaps lack a steady hand to steer? Question: will they reach the manna and honey that awaits at the diner in the form of pancakes and maple syrup? Changes look dim.

Also, a little sprinkle of mental baking soda: This direction-giver regularly gives written & spoken directions peppered throughout with adverbs as if they were not directions, but instead a rather bland soup. Every other line of written direction began: "probably," "maybe," or "I think..." Also, this is the same person who took us on the crazy cross-borough bridge chase.

Bigger Picture:
What do direction-giving abilities say about us all? We ask politicians about complex issues like economic stimulus packages and the risks of moral hazard in the financial institution bailouts, political lobbyists and contribution conflict of interests, foreign policy missteps and the war in Iraq, humanitarian crises in Darfur & beyond, Iranian nuclear proliferation, the withholding of US funding to international family planning clinics merely because they perform abortions (apparently Roe v. Wade doesn't apply to what we fund globally!), and etc., etc., etc. But when was the last time someone asked a candidate, or anyone in government, how to get from Tampa to New York (that is, when not on the campaign jet)? It's important to take a step back, and regroup. The plans might be mighty, once someone is in office, or in a wider conception of goals and dreams. You could rely on puckish ingenuity, but chances are if you want to get somewhere, locationally, symbolically, or professionally, it takes more than a few fancy enchantments--and that's often what politicians are spouting out all over the place--ideas, notions of change or (alternatively) experience, you name it. But a political pantheon trying to institute Bottom's Dream only makes Asses out of us all. They hope to help the middle people, and end the unfairness, and bring about global change for the better--bring the country out of a recession of multiples: economic recession, global moral authority recession, independent and inspired thought recession, and the list goes on. Let's forget about the end destinations ever-so-momentarily, and focus on producing the best, most concise directions possible, with the goals as only a shadowy anticipation behind all the action that needs to be taken in front of it. And that's another important point of directions: they are created by a director, but they need to be, in the same breath, correct, and followed correctly. And that doesn't mean that directions can't be changed, improved, or altered in some way along the way. It's a matter conscience, choice, and directional strategy.

Think but this, and all is mended:
That you have but slumbered here,
While these visions did appear.

Dear John Letters... (in which M.Snowe fakes it but good)

1 Writer's Block Plaza
NY, NY
USA, Blogosphere, Universe, etc.

Senator John McCain
241 Russell Senate Office Building
Washington, DC 20510
Main: 202-224-2235
Fax: 202-228-2862

Dear Senator:

First, please excuse my intrusion. Since I am not a member of your Arizonian constituency, feel free to disregard my humble correspondence. However, since you are running as the Republican candidate for president, it might be conceivable that you would read and absorb my letter. In hopes of the later, I will continue with my praise of your most recent Senate actions.

This past week, the Senate was called to vote on a bill approved by the House and originally written by those whom you lovingly consider "your friends on the other side of the aisle." Before I address this bill, I'd like to point out that you should be a bit more careful, Mr. Seniorator. What I mean is, you use the address "my friends" in many different contexts, not all entirely amiable. Now, as a staunch supporter, I know that when you call Democrats "friends" you mean something different than when you call campaign contributors at your rallies "friends" (wink wink). But that's another story.

Back to the Bill. It was the Equal Pay Bill, also know as the Ledbetter Fair Pay Act, the name taken from the Supreme Court case Ledbetter v. Goodyear Tire & Rubber Co., Inc. The bill was written--as I'm sure your copious hours of research into the bill informed you--as a correction to the Supreme Court's ruling that a worker should be limited to 180 days upon first instance of discriminatory pay practice by an employer based on sex, race, age, etc. Ledbetter, an employee of Goodyear, and her lawyers claimed that every time she received a pay check that was less than her male equals' salaries, it constituted discrimination. But you, dear Senator, and the Supreme Court (or at least those legal eagles: Roberts, Scalia, Kennedy, & Thomas: the conservative bench clusterfuck, as I fondly call them) decided that if this woman had a gripe with her pay scale, she should have complained within 180 of being hired by Goodyear. If she was so conscientious about receiving equal pay, why didn't she snoop around the records of her fellow employees while she was still on her initial six-month probationary period upon hiring--you know, back when she was new, didn't have a rapport with her colleagues, and didn't know how much they made, and was barred from asking as a matter of company policy? If she got canned then and there for snooping, it wouldn't have blown up into an expensive and unfruitful extended legal battle now! Think of the time everyone could have saved and all the tires that could've been made with the money instead used to pay the lawyers! If she just married up and stopped futzing around with rubber and tires, we'd all be able to stick an extra wheel on or cars, and have as many rubber stamps as we wanted (which would SO come in handy once you're president!).

So again, I must applaud your decision not to vote on this bill, and instead campaign for contribution monies in some of the poorest sections of the country, like New Orleans; because let's face it, the best way to stop poverty, and specifically poverty among women and children, is going to their home town and asking for money for your campaign--not to sit in your leather senate seat and try to legislate away their problems! They need to carry a McCain FOR PRESIDENT banner to really combat their lower wages and discriminatory victimization. Like osmosis, our grand old party ideas of free market economies and free enterprise will seep into their ears, and allow the New Orleans people to wipe off their toxic-mold encrusted sneakers and participate in the utopia of true laissez faire! Huzzah!

I melted at your words when interviewed about the bill. You said: “I am all in favor of pay equity for women, but this kind of legislation, as is typical of what's being proposed by my friends on the other side of the aisle, opens us up to lawsuits for all kinds of problems.” *Give me a moment while I collect myself, and re-congeal from the puddle of Republican glee I was just transported into by your eloquence.*

Okay. So the lawsuits, the legal battles, all this unnecessary stuff--you hit the nail right on the democrat's head. We don't want all these lawsuits! And this legislation would open it up, allowing women to sue whenever they actually find discrimination--not just those 180 days. They have long careers, so that would be absolute chaos! Of course, it might make people file suit without direct evidence in the first 180 days, just to cover their legal bases, so to speak...but I don't think that's likely. Who ever heard of courts being flooded with unwarranted law suits instead of well-researched, justifiable ones?

Besides, the heart of this issue, as you so rightly but your finger on, is not that women are receiving lower pay for equal work, it's that they don't know what they're doing (especially in comparison to men). In full disclosure, I'm a woman, and I can confirm that I don't know what I'm doing, even now, sitting here drafting this letter to you in praise for your work. I'd need more clues than a naked scavenger hunt to really understand your policy. But the other message that you told the press that made me liquefy was this one (in regard to the salary disparity between men and women):

“They [women] need the education and training, particularly since more and more women are heads of their households, as much or more than anybody else,...And it's hard for them to leave their families when they don't have somebody to take care of them....It's a vicious cycle that's affecting women, particularly in a part of the country like this, where mining is the mainstay; traditionally, women have not gone into that line of work, to say the least,”

*note: a single, translucent tear of pristine republican emotion runs down my cheek every time I read this, fomenting my soul with GOP solidarity. *

You see, you silly discriminatory-practices-lawsuit women, like Madame Ledbetter (her name is even criminal!)--you have it all wrong! Senator, you know where the problem needs to be nipped in the bud: Education. Women aren't getting paid less because they're women, it's because they're stupid, and can't perform tasks! All that sentimental stuff: yikes. It's surprising enough that women can even manage to form lawsuits, with all the hormones and familial concerns.

You said you saw the disparity in wages, and want to rectify it. Well, Senator, do I have an initiative for you! I say, you put women back in their traditional spot: the home, and more specifically, the kitchen. They seem to like taking care of their families, as you suggested in the quote above. Just eradicate hiring women in the US! Ah, but I know you're saying to yourself, "well, that's a good idea, but how would I do it?" Don't worry John (I feel we're on an intimate, first name basis now) I wouldn't leave you hanging. Remember after the liberalism of the 1920's, followed by the depression, and then WWII, everybody got reallllllly conservative, and Rosie the Riveter put away her hammer and instead constructed school lunch boxes in poodle skirts and stuff? Well, all we need to do to get back to the glory days of Dad Knows Best is to start a war, in tandem with a depression of sorts. You see, the first baby boom occurred because Americans needed to do some good old fashioned boning after all those years of depressing war. And the babies were born more frequently after the Great Depression, because people felt they could now afford to have them. So, think about it. All you need is an altercation, or war of some sort against a foreign power and ideology...and then maybe a recession, followed by an upturn. And BOOM! Women are in the kitchen where they so rightly fit. Less women and lawsuits to deal with at work! Everybody wins! Now if we could only find a long, drawn out war, and an unstable economy.....

Best wishes to your campaign!

Your Ever-Ardent Political Fan and Future Bathroom Tryst,

M. Snowe

why to hate morning television (in case you've forgotten)

Morning news television (produced by the major broadcasters, such as ABC, NBC, CBS, and Fox) is in the rather unenviable position of straddling the line between daytime television and regular newscasting. Perhaps a better title would be "daytime lite." The time of airing is what does this format in--or at least makes it particularly unique. Because these programs usually start at 7am, it services a large crowd early. People have yet to go to work, so network morning new programs catch all groups--workers and stay-at-home people alike. They get people watching at the gym, or those waiting for the traffic report during those ever-important 25-minute-intervaled local news breaks. They get stay-at-home parents and caretakers, and work-from-home professionals. It's an eclectic mix, and because of that, the shows provide a little bit of everything.

But, in watching an entire show, front to back, you get a much better sense of the structure. Often, people catch five minutes here or there. But if you really pay attention, there are patented social cues inserted into the ebb and flow, including atmospheric shifts and tempered segments. It's all so that the supposed demographics are fitted, or so those who the execs think are watching, are induced to continue watching. It's no surprise that in the earliest, 7AM hour, the "hard news" dominates the segments, whereas during the last hour, fashion, entertainment, and cooking make up the majority of the program. But this makes the assumption that these divergent audiences, watching the same three hour show at different times, are only looking for certain things. What this suggests is that the show is purely consumer driven (like most other shows), based on people's wants. It's so obvious that stay at home mums want to know how to dress nicely, and that career-types will want the results of yesterday's financial market projections. But this assumes too much--it isn't informed by culture, it in fact informs cultural cues, including stereotypes about gender, race, and especially class. It over-compensates, making the facile assumptions that those who stay at home are less concerned with politics, and more concerned about how to bake the perfect muffin. It implies that the legal aid rushing out the door around 8AM doesn't want to know about which celebrity is in rehab, although they will be glued to their US magazine on the train into work. These kind of cultural assumptions benefit no one.

And the gender implications are omnipresent. First off, the increase in "feminine products" commercials is inversely proportional to the amount of news coverage, as if women, not enticed by ads for vagacil or o.b., are devoid of any use for what's happening in China (Free Monistat Three Day!...I mean Free Tibet!). And if it wasn't Black & White enough how sexually-stereotyped the Today show is, they give it to you in Blue & Pink: observe, if you will, next time--that all Matt Lauer's cheat sheets are a pale blue, whereas Meredith Viera's are a baby pink. And that's not the half of it. Gadgets, gizmos, legal battles, medical stories, politics & sports are all covered by the men; whereas cooking, fashion, relationships, and the odd political story about Hillary Clinton is thrown to the women, along with the throw-away mothering stories and pet tragedies. Yes, you might argue that there are exceptions--but they are just that, the exceptions, not the rules. And this isn't just gender bias here, the show is fraught with racial & sexual bias and ageism. Look at the different segments, and tell which go where. The "anchors" are predominantly white and upper middle class, middle aged, definitely heterosexual(we are meant to think). These are the people that are metaphorically and literally anchoring us -- they're who and what we're supposed to be. The jolly weatherman, the extra-bubbly semi-hosts, etc.: all superfluous, and therefore all apt job openings for affirmative action initiatives, sadly. The only gay correspondents allowed are those that flamboyantly embrace the most stereotypical roles, and are relegated to, you guessed it: fashion and pop culture (and that's only for gay men, who never are allowed to really talk about their orientation on air, but it's implied. Openly out lesbians, well, they don't get any segments). Young women co-hosts, or fills-ins on the show must be: perfectly trim, stylish, and married, also, the possibility of pregnancy is seen as a way to introduce lovely segments on what to expect while expecting. They will never get a hard-edged story to cover, ever. Where the weatherman or the male anchor can be happily rotund, the younger female hosts must adhere to the strict rules that apply to movie stars (except when pregnant). Another double standard. Like in politics (or almost any other professional arena) women will be judged by what they wear, while the male anchors throw on a suit and they're done (the only controversy lately about a man's attire has seemed to center on jewelry, namely a little "flag pin" ...but them again, that was about ideology ultimately, not fashion sense. Women have to deal with cleavage counters).

Then there was Tuesday's Today show, and please note that this is the day of the much anticipated Pennsylvania primary. What heightened the excitement on Tuesday's show was that the First Lady and one of her (currently sober) daughters guest-hosted, and were interviewed on the show. Now, Laura Bush is no garish bulldog--she's what every 1950's woman would have hoped from her First Lady . She's got stereotypical gender roles coming out her perfectly make-uped pores. Talk of her husband's politics was verboden, and she focused mostly on literacy (primarily childhood literacy). Though she might get a pass because of her old job as a librarian, literacy is the common cause trumpeted by first ladies ever since Martha Washington supported the post-colonial version of No Child Left Behind. (Yuck...people realize that common grammar rules state sentences shouldn't end on a preposition, right?)

Okay, so the visit seems innocuous enough, but it's not. Why would Mrs. Bush pick Tuesday? Could it possibly be an attempt to throw a huge contrast out against Hillary Clinton, the rather "Un-FirstLadylike" Senator hoping to win voted in PA? Laura Bush's stint on Today reinforced the "important issues" women should focus on: reading to their children, dressing snappily, and helping to plan your kid's weddings (apparently, a Bush daughter is gettin' hitched).

At one point, the presidential spawn remarked how its hard to teach children to appreciate reading, "especially getting boys to read." First, it should be noted that the statement is grossly inaccurate--many little boys love to read. It also reinforces the stereotype that rough and tumble boys are incapable of sitting still and reading a book, cover to cover. Second, it suggests that the state of education should be more concerned with getting boys to excel, when in fact copious studies have shown that our educational methods were primarily crafted by males, for males, and put women and girls in the classroom at a strict disadvantage. The angry objections to Today, and complaints about the first lady's strategic visit to the set of studio one A could go on forever. Basically, the main thrust of this argument is that morning television is a hazy-eye-crusted version of everything that is wrong in the world, served to us before coffee, so we don't necessarily process all it's evils. But let's not dwell--we've all got more important things to be getting on with. (Note that preposition!).

Bridges and Tunnels and Junkyards, Oh My!

In one fitful day, the parental units (more accurately and affectionately, the father/driver) managed to take us through a whirlwind tour of as many New York and New Jersey over- and underwater passages as transport-ably possible.

The final rough estimate:
7 Bridges (3 passed, 4 ridden on),
1 Tunnel,
4 Boroughs,
2 States,
5 or so Navy & Junk yards, including the POW/MIA memorial parkway (an especially apt title for a highway that does give off the distinct and unsettling feeling that you have indeed been consumed and taken hostage by the Brooklyn coast, with little or no hope of return, or at the very best, the prospect of being marooned on an impending Staten Island).

Right before entering the tunnel:
Question: Where are the return directions?
Paternal Answer: We don't need them, we just go back the way we came.
Question: But aren't there, like, four one-way streets on here?
Paternal Answer: We're only going one way.

First
Holland Tunnel (into Manhattan from Jersey).
Side maternal comment:
"Wait, we're under the river?"
"But how is it so long?"

Second
Williamsburg Bridge (out of Manhattan, after numerous dead ends, a track back down Canal, and a few seconds reflection on the state of shops where some by back ally purses and knicknacks).
Side maternal comment (while on Canal Street): " So is this Queens?"
Response: "No, Manhattan."
Maternal further comment: "Is that different?"


Third
Kosciuszko Bridge, from Brooklyn into Queens

Maternal comment: "what about the one in Albany?"
Response: "They're different."


Four & Five
Passing the Manhattan Bridge, then the Brooklyn Bridge

Six
Passing multiple navy and junk yards. Note the random American flag. Not sure why we would want to make it perfectly clear that these junk yards are distinctly American. Getting an alternative view of lower Manhattan, and it's cold steel fortress-ness.

Maternal Comment:"yucky."

Seven
Verrazano-Narrows Bridge
(you can't actually tell, but the cars are all going very slow--almost in reverse--in attempts to forgo the disaster that is driving through the alien landmass of Staten Island.)

Eight
Bayonne Bridge. No pictures exist of this bridge, due to disruptions in the atmosphere caused by the combined fumes of Staten Island and New Jersey. Luckily, a fall in cabin pressure did not necessitate the standard dropped yellow oxygen bags. There was no need to first secure the cups over our mouths and noses, and then assist any small children sitting next to us.

Also, debates were held amid Staten Island traffic, the lead being that Bush is not, in fact as stupid as he acts, talks, and overall seems to be. Father, although a staunch democrat, was somewhat defensive of a certain passenger's insistence that Bush is, in fact, an idiot. But since father was the one who decided to divert said passengers through three additional bridges, an extra hour and a half of traffic, and STATEN ISLAND--all in an attempt to circumvent five minutes of lower Manhattan driving--we can neither confirm nor deny the doubt we have that if we were, as the father suggested, to ask Bush (off the record) whether or not Iraq was a good idea, he would admit it wasn't.

...But some publishers are pro-choice.

Here's the latest from my copyediting book. Read previous posts on this topic here and here.

"The half-title page (bastard title page) displays the main title of the book only. (Sometimes the half-title page is eliminated to save space."

Who knew they were so cavalier.

Short reflection on Arabian tales (some fake, some imagined)

Scheherazade is an icon of mythic proportions, to be sure. She is the frame around which One Thousand and One Nights takes place; and it is her role as ultimate storyteller that saves her life, and tames the king. Often, the frame of any story, otherwise know as the prelude to the story within a story, is told by a captivating narrator. More often than not, the best narrators in books are the abused, under appreciated, or downtrodden. The storyteller must come to us from a different perspective than the mainstream, and for good reason. No one wants to look in the mirror as they read--they do not want to hear about the commonplace or everyday (that is, unless it's told in a new and exciting or at the very least intriguing or grotesque way). You see it in books paradoxically written by those who keep the downtrodden trapped in the frames--Uncle Remus, Sheherazade--they all share a common thread of subjugation or slavery, and the stories they weave make it implicit, and yet at the same time, these stories are in fact written by the captors (who strike similar reliefs to the beasts or villainous men of the story). Is this, in some creative fashion, an apology--a subconscious literary mea culpa? Or is it an argument for keeping people down, through the creative and artistic outlets--a justification of sorts?

It seems, through the frame, that literary masters superimpose their mastery on the downtrodden. But it's not just the frame. While (in a uncharacteristically bored moment) watching the 2005 version (Peter Jackson's) King Kong, the following quote was presented:
"And lo! The Beast looked upon the face of Beauty, and it stayed its hand from killing. And from that day, it was as one dead."

The quote claimed to have been sourced from "an Arabian proverb," when in fact, as this archived NYTimes article explains, it was originally fabricated as an old proverb by Marian C. Cooper, the original writer of the King Kong story. There are multiple things wrong with this fake proverb, number one being the warning against a beautiful woman's deception and the probability of impotence in it's wake. The other is the notion that a beautiful woman has some secret store of power that men cannot resist--even the most beastly of them. What is so appalling about attributing women with such a gift of control, you might ask? Well, it is shuttered about with deception. It implies that women use guile, and their significance relies solely on their appearance. Also, it implies that women are somehow "above" the affairs of men. And we all know about pedestals... and the quote:
"The pedestal upon which women have been placed has all too often, upon closer examination, been revealed as a cage."

And yet, Jackson's movie ends with the quote: (it wasn't the airplanes) "it was Beauty killed the Beast." Despite all her power as a potential savior, the tragic end and final words condemn the "beauty," while simultaneously drawing the viewer's attention away from the fact that she, like Kong, suffered as a victim in a plot acted upon her. His other-worldy strangeness, and her womanly beauty were both attributes to be exploited, not celebrated