Rebecca Black is a student at my son’s school, and by all accounts she is a pleasant, down-to-earth teenage girl who made a video for her own amusement, which turned out to be the pop anthem of March 2011. It’s a nice story actually, a “Hey, would you like to be in movies?” chance encounter with success.… Continue Reading
Monthly Archives: March 2011
Samuel Johnson – Overdue
On occasion I have mentioned in passing my indebtedness to Samuel Johnson for his invention, but up until now never paid him proper homage. The Rambler was among the first magazines in the English language, and thus one of the first in the world. It ran from 1750 until 1752, and was never well loved.… Continue Reading
Midnight America
We are a late-arriving generation. Too young for the ignobility of Vietnam, and not even a thought in the mind of our noble forebearers who stormed European beaches and proved that American ingenuity could reduce the enemy to shadows and ash. Those of us born in the 1970′s and after arrived in time for the… Continue Reading
Tsunamis
Mountains are on the move. The oceans are growing. Vast shelves of ice are phase shifting. The world is unstable, and has always been, but for thousands of years it did not appear so to us. We’ve come of age in the relatively stable Holocene era, roughly equivalent to the last 12,000 years. We were… Continue Reading
Today at My House
It’s one of those days where I’d rather play horseshoes with hand grenades than write something that will be read by other people. Uninspired: check. Driving down a bumpy road in a cart with a bum wheel and a squeaky axle: check. Sloshing around my house in the backed-up sewage resulting from a clogged septic… Continue Reading
God Is What God Isn’t
Something isn’t quite right—something amiss. All of the world’s great stories begin with this fundamental sensitivity to disquiet and loss, cast from the garden, the savior gone, the Dharma lost, our ancestors split in twain. This loss spurs the telling of stories, stories that make sense of the nearly unbearable grief of divine absence, that… Continue Reading
No Cabin in the Woods
“The morning brings back the heroic ages,” at least, that’s what Thoreau said. I’ve always agreed in principle, even though in practice, mornings make me feel more fugitive than hero. The thing is, I readily assume the hero’s survey of the world–a relatively easy task given my gender, color and class–but never the hero’s purpose.… Continue Reading
One-dimensional Man
It is impossible to approach, even remotely, a full accounting of the world’s great books. Of course, most of what gets published is pablum, but that’s okay, since most of life is pap too. Even the much reviled Bloom has something like 1,500 books on his Western Canon list. Honestly, I’ve never really disliked Bloom’s… Continue Reading
Martial Arts
Like every scrawny overly sensitive boy, I loved the martial arts. I often fantasized about turning the tables on bullies and behemoths with my superior skill and mystical insights into human frailty. From the ages of six to nine, I spent my Saturday mornings watching USA Network’s Kung Fu Theater, leaping over sofa cushions with… Continue Reading
