I mall tired out

I found myself at the mall today. I guess I didn't find myself there. I drove myself there intentionally. Anyway, while I was there, I realized a few things. First, time spent wandering at the mall could be better used doing most anything else. Second, mall time is dangerous for me because it gives me time to let my mind wander and get cynical impressions about most everything and this leads to sneering and nasty comments. And when I'm alone, and I start mumbling, eventually, security has to get involved.

Next, if you aren't buying something for your cell phone (or aren't a cell phone yourself) or don't need clothes or mall food, the mall is pretty boring. A huge chunk of the stores sell clothes and upscale accessories for parts of my body I didn't know I had. I saw the massage kiosk (because when I want to relax, i go to the mall). I saw the navel piercing station (nothing like an Orange Julius and a hole in your body). I saw fancy cars parked indoors, stores selling nothing but perfume, or Legos or hats (or some combination of those three). I saw the mindless consumers weaving in and out of retailers who were all selling the same things just with different labels on them. I saw conformity personified selling itself as individualism.

The sad part was that I didn't want to buy anything. There I was, with cash in pocket, a checkbook handy and 3 credit cards, all ready to be amazed and driven into a frenzy of spending. I bought a bargain book and a replacement set of earphones, plus a little plastic screen cover for my phone. Woo-hoo.

I can't figure out if it is that the stores have nothing for me or that I simply am at a point where I don't really need much. Or maybe I'm just cheap. I'm not sure, but the whole experience was really worthless. I could have stayed home if I wanted to feel empty.

I'm a tame and sane guy

I write this as a fan of Steve Martin so I cannot lay claim to being unbiased, but what happened recently at the Y is ridiculous. Mr. Martin. Pardon me, Mr. Steve Martin, was discussing his latest book with Deborah Solomon when the web audience decided that he wasn't being the Steve Martin they wanted so they tweeted or emailed or did whatever it is that they did to send him a message demanding that he talk about something they wanted to hear about. Now, I am fully conversant with the consumer based economy and I know that we all get sad when we shell out eight million dollars for tickets to the Dinosaurs of Rock and they don't play our favorite hit from forty years ago, but at some point we will have to admit that WE DON'T OWN CELEBRITIES. Sure, they make their living making us smile, laugh, cry, move or think but we can't expect them to respond to our every whim like some sort of marionette. The true Steve Martin fan has one of two choices: either go to every performance and appearance and love him for his ability to change and grow, or stay at home listening to his LP's over and over and laughing at all the same jokes which , I heartily admit, are brilliant and funny. One can either read his new book and follow him around the country as he promotes that which makes him new and different, or watch The Absent Minded Waiter. Yes it is genius, and if that's what you want, then go for it, but don't demand that he stops being a real human being.

Now clearly, Mr. Steve Martin does not need my defense of him. His recent OpEd in the NYT makes his case brilliantly (http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/05/opinion/05martin.html). And surely I could rant about how the technology which we have access to is not only shortening our attention span but giving us a false sense of control over our world but I am simply going to end by pointing out that Picasso was brilliant through many stages and it would have been a real loss to the world had someone who was a fan of his early work stood over his shoulder as he moved into more adventurous work and demanded that he stay within a tried and true style.

Yes, we run the risk of not liking everything our idols touch, but the return is well worth it when we discover a talent which is not locked in by time or limited by two dimensions.

One is a lonely number

I was watching a TV show on public television, all about the New Jersey Turnpike. The narrators and the various experts reflected on how the turnpike somehow represented an American ethos or something. They blathered on about how there was a code of the highway and the egalitarian nature of this project made America strong and crystallized the identity of the New Jersey psyche.

One thing they said was that part of that code of the highway dictated that the truck lanes were for real men and only less-than-real-men use the "cars only" lanes. Now I have driven (and been driven) on the turnpike for 35 years and I have never heard that line. I live in New Jersey as do all of my neighbors here in New Jersey and none of them had ever heard of that. It got me thinking, and that's never a good idea.

And another thing...when I listen to the radio business reports the reporter tells about "the market" and what "it" does as if the traders all get together and vote on a course of action and a reason for it, then act in unison and file a report. It just doesn't happen that way.

You see, there is no singular collective voice that can be caught and printed on bumper stickers. The mass consciousness is really all about a bunch of individuals none of whom has an opinion that anyone would care about were anyone to speak with this individual one on one. All of these phantom groupthink ideas are the projected ideals of the sociologists who report on them and the wishful philosophers who need to claim they have their fingers on a pulse which doesn't really exist. We can't know what we all think because we don't all think and if we did we wouldn't all share what we think or even get any sort of summary of all the things we think. And we certainly don't agree.

Lost skills in America

and another thing...
when was the last time you pulled out a paper map and tried to read it? I do frequently because I'm a fan of the map but I see the following as lost arts or arts we will lose soon.
1. map folding. gone the way of newspaper folding for easy reading on the subway
2. map printing
3. map reading

I went to a driver of a class truiip and asked him if he wanted my set of printed directions. He said "no thanks...I have a GPS." So maybe I should include "preparing for a trip by reviewing directions" to my list.

Will we become so dependent on GPS devices and directions that we won't even be able to find our around the block without a soothing voice reminding us to take a right turn in 300 feet? Will those crazy people who go orienteering no longer need a compass and map because their cell phones will tell them what to do and where to go? Don't we need to be able to read a map, find a street and judge distances on our own? It is bad enough that students insist they don't need to learn to spell because of spell check, but will a 2nd grade geography class begin with "OK kids, now log onto google earth"?

Depends

I'm trying to quantify how different proclivities see the same event differently. This made perfect sense about 4 Red Stripes (and half a bottle of Pinot Grigio) ago.

A leaf falls from a tree.

A physicist computes the acceleration.
A climatologist considers the change of seasons.
A poet writes about the cycle of life.
A philosopher thinks about the concept of death.
The writer creates a story from the leaf's point of view.
A gardener bemoans the extra work.
The child jumps into the pile of leaves
The theist thanks god.

Add more as you see fit. I need to lie down.

Old News

So I'm sitting here at the computer, engaged in my standard evening activities of using the internet to get good and angry. Out of the corner of my eye, I'm watching one child studying and searching the world on Google Earth while the other works on her application to high school. In a few short years she'll be working on applications to college.

Where did my babies go?

What circle of hello am I in

So there I was in synagogue today and a gentleman gets up to lead services. Now you have to know me to understand that, as an orthodox Jew living in my neighborhood, I hear many people lead services. While I had seen this guy around, I had never heard him sing. And sing, he did. Very...um...ornate. So I asked a friend whom I respect about such things as singing, prayer and people. I respect him, by the way, in a completely reasonable way, as much as you can respect someone and not sound crazy or simply star struck.

My friend looks at me and says "you don't know?" He fills me in that this guy is some world renowned cantor guy who happens to live in our neighborhood but he and his father are some top tier cantors (if such a thing exists). I felt like a fool for not knowing, by sight, that this guy is someone but I realized, I don't really keep myself in that particular loop. I tried to imagine a situation that my friend would have to ask me to identify someone and I could look at him disdainfully and ask "you mean you don't recognize _____?"

Then it hit me. I don't really know anyone, especially not anyone who wouldn't already be recognized by anyone else. I have friends who can spot a third string minor league baseball player from three cars away when we are on the Van Wyck and I wouldn't know the president if I was locked in my bathroom with him (note, my bathroom is very small and this should not be construed as a terroristic threat against our president. I have no intention of kidnapping him and subjecting him to being in our small bathroom with me). I know some stuff -- teaching English, reading biblical texts, playing hangman on my Blackberry and watching reruns of police procedurals. I can bake a cake, fold socks and juggle but I'd have trouble identifying any of the "top people" in any of these fields, or any other.

For years, the wife has been able to point out celebrities she sees on the street or make connections between people from her past and I need a cheat sheet to remember my own birthday. So if you are famous, and you see me, introduce yourself and wait a couple of minutes for me to place you. Then I'll be real nice and stuff. Maybe even bake you a cake or fold your socks.