Wednesday, March 21, 2018

Every Single Use of the Phrase "Open Up" in this Season of the Bachelor

A couple years ago, a friend coaxed another friend and me into watching The Bachelorette. “It’s horrible,” she said. “But that’s the point.” As the three of us watched (this was Jo Jo’s season) we began to notice that there were certain phrases that were used time and again-- by nearly every contestant on the show. It was almost as if they had been handed a manual of clichés they would all be expected to memorize and repeat for the camera.

My friend pointed out that whenever anyone did something the other contestants disapproved of, it was agreed that he was “not here for the right reasons.” Everyone was forever waiting to see whether they might have any “chemistry" with the Bachelorette. There were stock compliments, as well as stock put-downs.

Monday, March 19, 2018

Random Literary References to the U of C and UUism

There are a handful of human institutions with which I have such a strong sense of personal identification that I seem to have an inner homing mechanism, the sole purpose of which is to seek out literary references to them. The University of Chicago is one. Unitarian Universalism is another. Whenever so much as a hint of a mention of either appears in something I am reading, it is as if the words were pre-highlighted, leaping off the page and demanding my attention. (It adds a certain pique too that the first word of each is so similar to start with -- leading to that microsecond's thrill in which my brain has processed the familiar and beloved shape of the word: Uni... but I haven't yet figured out which one it is. Unitarian? University? When, to my horror, it turns out to be something like, say, the University of Connecticut, the disappointment is keen).

Saturday, February 10, 2018

The Ernie Advantage

... or, "Bert Like Me."


On a work trip to Washington, D.C. recently, I had one off night with nothing much to do, so I gratefully curled up in my hotel bed with a biography of the Haitian-American artist Jean-Michel Basquiat, written by Phoebe Hoban, and dug in. Hoban, you may recall, is the author of an aforementioned biography of Lucian Freud -- a similarly catastrophic individual who must have been a terror to know, but is a delight to read about.

Basquiat, like Freud the Younger, was one to rather burn his candle at both ends -- to such an extent in his case, however, that he tragically passed away from a heroin overdose at age 27 -- all-but-self-consciously modeling himself in so doing on Charlie Parker and other creative titans who guttered early, but who "gave" while they lasted "a lovely light." (Robert Hughes deemed him the Thomas Chatterton of the 80s art world -- albeit a comparison he did not intend flatteringly.)

Sunday, January 28, 2018

The Same Boat

At some point in the past year, I decided that it was time for me to put apartment living behind me, and try to start owning a house. I don’t know why it came over me. It had something to do with approaching my most recent birthday, and realizing that I was now indisputably in my “late twenties.” Not only, to my horror, was I not nineteen any more, I wasn’t twenty-five any more either, or even twenty-seven. Then there was the fact that such a good percentage of my close friends seemed to be getting married or finding long-term partners this year. I felt the need for some equally indisputable outward signifier that I, too, was able to transition into the world of adulthood and responsibility.

Monday, January 15, 2018

Thinking for Oneself

I seem to be told more and more often these days just to take things on faith. Trust, and understanding will follow. Usually, this injunction is laid because of the supposed incomparable wisdom (on the right) or political/moral purity (on the left) of the source of the truth claim in question. And, as some extension of the inevitable corruption and compromises of adulthood, I find I am more and more tempted to follow this advice.

It's partly the despair-inducing situation of these last two years of political life. It's been enough to make anyone want to give up thinking for themselves. No sooner had one discovered the need for a unified opposition to Trumpism in all forms, than one found in oneself and others the same orneriness and competitiveness that always stood in the way of unity in the past, undimmed by the years and the present crisis. Perhaps catastrophe does not, after all, bring out the best in us -- or not enough of it at once.

Wednesday, December 27, 2017

Stefan Zweig's "Beware of Pity": A Review

I gather that Wes Anderson has contributed to something of a mini-vogue for the works of Stefan Zweig in recent years -- as en vogue as this sort of thing can ever be --by doing little more than making public references to his work in relation to a recent film. (I am reminded of the consternation and rage one of my high school English teachers always expressed over the fact that Oprah -- by means of her book club -- was apparently able to "claim," and thereby emblazon her name onto virtually any work of literature in circulation, without having contributed in any way to the book in question. When this fate befell his beloved Faulkner, it was almost too much for him to bear.) If you come to Zweig's Beware of Pity by this particular trail of bread crumbs -- the Andersonian one -- you will probably be expecting to find in the novel picturesque details of the late Hapsburg social life that would soon crumble into dust with the guns of august.

Sunday, December 17, 2017

Five Poems


The weighty politician rose to address the floor –
Reserving his most withering looks for the members of the press
Who with truth had tortured him
 With probity persecuted
Through many a legislation past—
And those who were there assembled would ever afterward recall
The speech as his finest hour.