I blame the Cooke

I was prepared to enjoy Alistair Cooke’s The American Home Front, 1941-1942, based on watching him for years as the host of PBS’s Masterpiece Theatre. He struck me then as amiable and educated, so I figured this would be a perceptive and eminently readable exploration of Americans transitioning from isolationism to full-fledged commitment to global war.

Instead I found tortuous sentence construction and paragraphs that form impenetrable walls across upwards of a page and a half. Yes—a single unbroken graf covering 60 lines of type. Many of them, as a matter of fact. Way, way too many.

Want an example?

“Like most Southern cities, Atlanta has better than its share of determined liberals, in a region where being a liberal is as hard on individual endurance as being a conscientious objector in a city at war. The ambition of these people in Georgia had been to have the state Constitution revised, no revolutionary itch in this, a revision every ten years is promised in the Constitution itself, but as the years go by it gets harder and harder to loosen a vested interest way from its foundations, if only to give it more breathing space elsewhere. In Atlanta, the cry is for ‘redistricting’ and sweet release from the county unit system, whereby the electoral system is figured on antique population figures, which consequently allow two representatives in the state legislature to the smallest county—with a population of a few hundred—and only six representatives to Atlanta, which has a population of nearly half a million.”

That quote is in one of the medium-sized grafs, which is to say: it only goes on for about 80% of the page. But I was pretty well hors de combat before I got to the third sentence.

Moreover, it’s shallow; Cooke isn’t giving us a big scoop so much as a fast skim. As he crosses the country he never stays more than one night in a place. He talks with a few people he finds on the streets or at a diner counter and then heads out of town.

(Well, might have stayed longer in the second half of the book; but I quit reading after he left California and he still had the northern journey back to the east coast to go.)

It’s not often that I don’t finish reading a book; but I decided that my life isn’t going to last long enough to plough through those paragraphs. Sometimes a girl’s just gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.

Make it so

Yesterday being the 25^th anniversary of the debut of Star Trek: The Next Generation, there’s been a spate of “name your favorite TNG episodes” invitations around the Internet. You can search Twitter on #tng, or start here to find some of them, if you like.

I have to say that I much preferred TNG to the original ST. For one thing, in the roughly 20 years between the two series, production values improved considerably. Also, I suspect that, on account of the raging success of the Star Trek: The Many Motion Pictures franchise, exec producer Gene Roddenberry probably had much bigger budgets to put together the episodes. And these gave him scope to explore a lot of issues.

Plus—it became a hip place for “larger” stars to show up. I mean—when Whoopi Goldberg begs to be the ship’s tavern keeper in a recurring role, you’ve arrived.

Anyway—while I have to say that I recall very few clunkers in the whole seven year run, here are several that stand out in my mind:

“First Contact”: Commander Riker is in deep undercover (so as to obey the Prime Directive) on a planet that doesn’t yet have official relations with the Federation, and is in fact highly suspicious of anything alien. (Look, if I have to explain Riker, the Federation or the Prime Directive to you, we may as well stop now. Just go back into your cave, pick up your macramé and pour yourself another Fresca.) There’s a lot of hoo-ha about the whole thing, but what captured my attention was a very nerdy-looking Malcorian, played by Bebe Neuwirth, who agrees to help Riker escape the 24^th century equivalent of the Minute Men—on a particular condition—because, “I’ve always wanted to make love to an alien.” The look on Riker’s face as he evaluates his options imprinted in my cortex.

“Darmok”: Captain Picard (who frankly wipes the floor with Captain Kirk in every competition except carpet-chewing OTT melodramatic testosterone-spewing bluster) finds himself alone on an empty planet with the armed leader of a people whose method of communication is completely incomprehensible to anyone from the Federation. There is a combat challenge, and the efforts of the Enterprise crew to extricate Picard result in the serious injury to the Tamarian commander. As night falls, the two warriors exchange heroic tales. And what I recall is Picard relating the story of Gilgamesh, which resonates deeply with the Tamarian. Gilgamesh, if you please!

“Disaster”: There’s this gigantic quantum filament, see, and it renders the Enterprise dead in the, er, quadrant, with crew clustered in isolated areas of the ship. Picard is stuck in the turbo-lift with three, gasp, kids (who’ve won a captain-led tour of the ship in a science competition), Counselor Troi is the highest-ranking officer on the bridge trying to figure out what’s going on with the power, Geordi and Dr. Crusher are in a cargo bay with some toxic chemicals, and Keiko O’Brien goes into labor in the 10-Forward bar, with Lt. Worf assisting the birth. Everyone is, in effect, a fish out of water. And everyone approaches the challenges of what actions to take that will be best for all, without being able to consult with everyone else. Besides—a Klingon midwife? Talk about must-see TV!

“Rascals”: A captain, a botanist, a discipline problem and a bartender walk into a…well, returning from some planet on the shuttle they get zapped with something that reverts their bodies to childhood/adolescence, but with their minds intact in adulthood. Plus—Picard gets his hair back. The Bajoran Ensign Ro is affronted by being a sullen little child, since she’s worked so hard at becoming a sullen big child; but Guinan (Whoopi) just thinks it’s a lark. Things are complicated when renegade Ferengis (okay, I’m repeating myself there) hijack the Enterprise, and the fantastic four enlist the rest of the Romper Room set to take back the ship. It’s the scene where Young Picard hugs “dad” Riker in front of a Ferengi that got me.

“Relics”: Scotty from original ST and Geordi prove that engineers rule, no matter what the century or the environment.

“Schisms”: A complete nightmare world of alien abductions, creepy experiments, where everything was cold, hard, sharp and menacing. Seriously creepy episode.

The thing that I really liked about TNG was that no matter what, the crew did their best to support and encourage one another. There was a character arc with a very awkward, pathologically shy crewmember named Barclay. While at first referred to as Broccoli, during a single episode, his crewmates made the effort to understand and accept him. Over the course of several, he became recognized as a valuable contributor, stuttering and clumsiness and all.

Ah, time to find a TNG marathon and sit back with the remote on stun.

More atonement

This came to my attention through a friend, so I’m putting it in as a follow-up to my comments on whether a one-size-fits-all Yom Kippur apology via Facebook actually constitutes, you know, atonement.

It’s a collection of cartoons about Judaism (mostly) published by The New Yorker in honor of Yom Kippur.

But—and please forgive me, Roo—I’m using this as an excuse to tell you two High Holy Days stories that were related to me during my days working in the film industry.

The first was assistant to one of the execs at HBO Films, not Jewish, but from Brooklyn. (Of course, being a secretary was just his day job, silly. He was pitching a concept for a sitcom set in a gas station.) He swore that after sunset at the end of Yom Kippur it’s impossible to get into a Chinese restaurant anywhere in the borough.

On account of people spend the entire day in shul and fasting…

The second was a producer at Charles Fries Productions. He was Jewish and attended holiday services at Wilshire Boulevard Temple, where a lot of people in the film industry went. Keep in mind that this was back in the 80s, when the only connectivity option on the go was pay phones. Remember them?

Anyway, Richard swore that during the breaks in services you did not want to be anywhere between the agents and the bank of pay phones in the lobby, because there was a mad stampede for them.

I have to wonder how the sensibilities of our current times affect these aspects. I mean—I’ve been in Episcopalian services where people bring in bottled water; and trust me—Episcopalians run a tight ship, and these services don’t run longer than 60 minutes. (I’m expecting triple shot mochachinos and; bagels any day now.)

And as for going hours without checking your mobile device for texts, emails or Facebook updates—fuggedaboutit.

Besides—someone might be apologizing to all their friends. Wouldn't want to miss that.

Hostage to #social

Here’s another use for social media: hostage negotiation.

According to a HuffPo post, just a few days ago a Pittsburgh with a hammer and kitchen knife used his hostage’s computer to post complaints to Facebook, and police had to scramble to get the perp to focus.

That meant deflecting about 700 posts from 22-year-old Klein Michael Thaxton’s family and friends that could mess with the hostage-negotiator’s goal of reducing the emotionality and raising the rationality of a hostage taker.

And things like “W00t!” And “Dude—post video, man!” are counterproductive in that regard.

Lest you think this is an isolated incident, evidently Utah is a hotbed of Facebooking hostage takers and victims. (Haven't heard of anyone making ransom demands via Twitter, yet; but I'm sure that's on the way.)

What this means is that law enforcement around the world now have to incorporate social media strategies into their take-down plans.

This could get interesting.

Social atonement

G'mar hatimah tovah.

And I guess we could see it coming: people using social media to issue blanket apologies on Yom Kippur in this year 5773.

(You know—the Day of Atonement, when Jews acknowledge and ask forgiveness for the wrongs they’ve done to others during the previous year. Kind of like Step 9 of the AA program, but with Yahweh looking on.)

It kind of defeats the purpose of atonement to just fling out a “Hey, my bad, everyone.” But I do understand why, given the choice between a face-to-face serial apology and a mass parallel operation, the twit-set would opt for the latter.

Not sure whether that really clears the slate, though.

Also, since Yom Kippur also involves a fast until sundown, I’m wondering how the people who Facebook their atonement get around that little requirement? "It was only pork rinds; that doesn't count, silly!"

Meanwhile—I found this via Twitter, from @TheTweetofGod:

Interesting that some Children of the Book know how to take a joke.

Tis the season (already)

I was in the Valley Fair (San José) Macy’s yesterday. And lookee what I found:

 It’s Christmas already!

  

Although apparently Macy’s is a bit behind the times. One of my friends tells me that Costco has had Christmas stuff out for at least a month.

Art of appreciation

As a friend of mine says, you just can’t make this stuff up, folks.

Cecilia Gimenez has ratcheted up an already bizarre story.

The 81-year-old woman (without encumbrance of any artistic understanding or talent) “restored” a fading fresco at the Sanctuary of Mercy Church in Borja, Spain, with predictable results.

That was passing strange.

Then the botch-job became a attraction—for paying tourists. Not sure whether the visitors would be the same sort who pay $28K for a ten-year-old grilled cheese sandwich with the image of the Virgin Mary, or just people with too many frequent flyer miles on their hands.

Whatever. But since the church is now a destination, Gimenez has hired counsel and is demanding a cut of the gate.

However this plays out, I refer you to my opening paragraph.

Public extortion

I mentioned a while ago that, KQED-TV, the local PBS station has pledge breaks on average about every six to 12 weeks. Their sister radio station has fewer fundraising drives, but they engage in a practice that I find really unsettling.

Every time—every time—they have a fund drive, they run over their stated time limit. By that I mean that they say they’re going to end on Day X, but if they haven’t reached their dollar goal by then, they just keep on rollin’ until they do. It’s like demanding money with menaces: pledge, sucker, or you’re never—and we mean never—going to hear Click and Clack again.

Every time (meaning, every drive I’ve listened to since moving to the Bay Area two years ago), they swear that “we end at XX”, but it goes beyond that date/time.

I felt a sense of dread this past week when “Friday is the last day of the drive” changed to “Friday is the last weekday of the drive.” And sure enough…yesterday they announced they’re $200K short of their goal (although they never tell you what the actual total goal is), And they’re still on the beg.

(I give them credit for not doing this every five weeks, the way KQED-TV does; but still.)

Thing is, whenever  they do this—keep on rousting us for money—I can’t help but think of the Winterhilfe campaigns of Nazi Germany. (When someone in a Hitlerjugend or SS uniform is standing there, rattling his box, it’s hard to slither past without dropping a coin in.) I have this image of Michelle Hennigan and her jolly cohort just going on forever until everyone listening has emptied his pockets into their tins.

This drive appears to be rogue: KQED alone, not every other NPR station in the country. (I’ve noticed that they all seem to conspire to run their campaigns simultaneously and to have breaks in the same time slot so you can’t escape by punching up another NPR station.) They’ve also cleverly scheduled their breaks at different slots in the hour, so you don’t know when they’re going to hijack you. And it’s 33% of the air time, so you miss 20 minutes out of the hour of nationally-produced content.

I know I shouldn’t crab—I support NPR and I support KQED. I just don’t like them turning to time extortion, and then sounding surprised and regretful when they do it. Every. Single. Time.

Emancipation & abolition

One hundred fifty years ago today President Abraham Lincoln issued the executive order known as the Emancipation Proclamation. It took effect as of 1 January, 1863.

Many people with only a cursory understanding of US history think that this was the mechanism by which “Lincoln freed the slaves.” However, it declared the freedom of slaves only in the states then in rebellion against the Federal government. That meant that some 900,000 slaves in the so-called “free states” were still legally held as chattel goods.

The Thirteenth Amendment to the Constitution took effect in December 1865. That’s when slavery was finally abolished in the United States. That was 22 years after Great Britain ended the practice, 13 years after France ended it (for the second time) and 142 years after Tsar Peter I ended it in Russia. (In 1861 Tsar Alexander II finally ended the practice of serfdom, slavery’s heir.)

I'm not convinced we've truly abolished slavery even now; it's just in a different form. But still...

Soul strategy

Okay, I’m not getting the Kia TV advertising campaign. What’s up with rodents breakdancing?

What’s the connection between rodents and Kias?

Are the rodents guinea pigs? Hamsters? Really pudgy rats with their tails tucked into their baggy trousers?

What am I missing?