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Category Archives: Cultural Critique

Will Someone Care?

13 Sep

There is a beautiful piece in today’s paper about, amongst other things. isolated geriatric gay men.   The generation that is now elderly, came of age in the late 1930s and 1940s.  Historically, not the best of times to be “out.”  It stands to reason that when one must keep their personal life in the dark, their personal life may not grow and thrive.  Certainly there are heart warming stories about men and women who defied convention during these times.  (Juxtaposed to the very sad piece about gay men dying alone was the grin inducing piece about a gay couple who met in 1944 and lived together for 60 years.)

I don’t think these two stories being about men is a coincidence.  I will venture that fewer gay women live a life of solitude, or if in partnership; notice.  An upside to our society’s gender bias is (remarkably) fewer gender lifestyle restrictions for women.  Women have lived together for centuries.  Boston Marriage, anyone?  Two women setting up housekeeping is not only not a “threat” to their community, but considered quaint.  Women who cross-dress (think: Annie Hall) are seen as creative or fashion forward.  I’m not so sure anyone would think that of a man in a dress (of course, they’ve probably never seen Eddie Izzard.)  Adding to society’s gender inequity is plain old biology.  Love it or hate it, there is a difference between girls and boys.  Chromosomal testing results aside, I am the first to say it is difficult to discern what is biological and what is sociological.  Let’s just decide not to be entirely definitive on the origin, but agree that women experience the world more socially than men.  GENERALLY.  Very very generally.  Women tend to have more friends and intimates and stronger social networks.  Women tend to process the world through relationships.  Again, generally.

The duality of a) the community accepting women cohabiting and b) women tending to have strong social supports contribute to gay women presumably being at less of a risk of aging/dying alone.  The author of the geriatric piece, Dr. Eskildsen, urges us to not to assume heterosexuality when working with patients.  I happen to think “not assuming heterosexuality” is just a good rule to live by, period.  However, I might shy away from sexual orientation emphasis when it comes to issues of isolation.

Aside from the obvious gender chasm (versus sexual orientation chasm) that I’ve described above.  Many people either choose, or through happenstance, live a very solitary life.  Some people even flat out prefer to be alone.  It would seem to me that the goal should be to avoid projecting our own desires onto someone else.  Tending to a person (geriatric patient or otherwise) according to what the individual craves is the most humane.

 
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Posted by on September 13, 2011 in Cultural Critique

 

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An Overdue Thanks

08 Sep

I have kept (relatively) quiet about something for ten years.  I have struggled with how to have a public discourse about anything in and around the subject of the attacks of September 11, 2001.  Very rightfully, Americans feel enormous ownership of their feelings about the events of the day and the aftermath.  Through luck and happenstance, I have no more entitlement of opinion and/or feeling about the subject, than anyone whose life was not shattered.  I acknowledge this with all due respect and reverence.

It is my hope, that on the heels of an anniversary ending in a “0” when the media has whirled itself into a commemorative frenzy, it might be time to gently offer up a thought that has clung to my psyche for a decade.

I would like to publicly commend and herald the air traffic controllers of the world.  I could not be more serious.  During those first moments, and even hours, the air traffic controllers safely directed every single commercial flight to a safe landing.  This unprecedented maneuver is almost too much to comprehend.  Air traffic is not something most of us really think about.  Save for an occasional horrific mishap or the rare film (Pushing Tin was a good movie) air traffic is not a high profile profession.  I’m guessing the controllers are okay with this.  Engaging in this very high pressure, isolating work, one probably doesn’t leave much time or energy to care about public opinion.

No doubt, part of why we never heard (much) about the drama and heroism inside the control towers is the lack of visual imagery.  I mean how many stories get told these days without compelling video?

If I could please take this moment to thank the men and women who did a job, most of us could never do, under intense time pressure and without a single incident.  I pay my respects without for a moment, taking anything away from everyone else who sacrificed and saved.

 
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Posted by on September 8, 2011 in Cultural Critique

 

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The Audacity of Dopes

26 Aug

Reports of bad human behavior are nothing new, particularly here.  But once in awhile there are behaviors so novel, so compelling, they really do warrant a tale.

Picture if you will a 250 year old inn, nestled in the Berkshires.  It is a grand home festooned with an expansive porch, (blessedly outfitted daily with afternoon tea.)  The cultivated gardens burst forth under the watchful eye of a colonial era church, which adorably bongs out the hour.  Inside, there is an extensive library and dozens of board games and puzzles lining the walls of an enormous living room.

There is a sitting room at the entrance to the dining room.  Guests gather after a groggy trip to the coffee bar.  They await their gourmet 3-course breakfast while perusing the inn’s newspapers.  There is a very quiet rustic elegance to the inn.  Guests are quiet yet friendly.

So there I was, coffee in hand, alone in the sitting room, looking fruitlessly for the front section of the paper.  (For those who are not familiar with news delivered on “paper” the front section is the meat of the issue.)  I looked high, I looked low.  The inn manager was engaged in the search as well.  An hour and three cups of coffee later, I had made my way through every other section of the New York paper, the entirety of the local paper, 2 catalogs of cotton drapey clothes and successfully ignored the towering stack of Gourmet magazines.  By this time I was joined by others looking for the paper as well.  It was then that a woman walked out of the dining room (with her companion) holding what looked suspiciously like the front section of the newspaper under her arm.  I called out a modulated; “excuse me, is that the front section of the paper?”  Her answer?  “Yes, I’m not done with it.”  My look must have expressed what my sputtering brain could not.  She looked at me and with just a hint of sarcasm (yet, no apparent irony) said; “why?  is it yours?”  She then went upstairs to her room.  With the communal paper.

Now I admit, I didn’t even consider using my indoor voice when commenting with my fellow aghast guests.  I think I might have even been a wee snide.

Look, we all want what we want when we want it.  That is the human condition.  But sometimes those impulses erode into truly antisocial behavior (like hiding a newspaper at your breakfast table so that no one but you can have it and you’ll be assured your private bedroom date with it after your repast.) But I have to ask myself, if one is that anti-social or anti-communal, what is one doing in an inn?  Surely there are 5-star hotels or campers which would better serve.

 
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Posted by on August 26, 2011 in Cultural Critique

 

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What Would Miss Cleo Say?

23 Aug

The good state of Florida is pressing charges against a psychic and her family.  For what, you ask?  Excessive broad statements that could apply to 90% of humans?  Nope.  Offensive decor and ubiquitous scented gizmos?  Oh, no.  For bilking money out of clients.  That’s right.  Confused?  So am I.

My rudimentary understanding of the “psychic experience”, if you will, is that it involves the client giving money to the (often) questionably costumed psychic.  In exchange, the client receives a monologue of sorts, often the bulk of which consists of broad statements issued to achieve credibility (ex. “Oh my G-d, there IS someone in my past!!!!!!)  After the intense rapport has been established, the psychic moves on to the prediction phase of things (I’m guessing.)

Now I’m no district attorney, but I would think that if any crime has been committed it might be in the success rate of the predictions, no?  Alas no.  Florida is aggrieved by the amount of money the psychic was paid.  Evidently there is a secret rate chart for psychics?  Probably not.  But then how in the world does one determine how much is too much to charge or pay for psychic services?

Personally that sum is equal to what I would pay to engage in gambling.  But how in the world does a state decide when the fun stops and the deceit starts?  A state, which is arguably most famous for bringing us the “happiest place on earth” no less.

 
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Posted by on August 23, 2011 in Cultural Critique

 

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Dewey Memories

21 Aug

Some of my most romanticized childhood memories take place in the library.  Child-height wooden shelves, overflowing with old favorites and new discoveries.  Child-sized tables and chairs and warm, helpful child-friendly librarians.  I don’t think my reading capacity was any more voracious than other children in a pre-cable television, text messaging, googling world.  In fact I would go so far as to say that it wasn’t the reading per se, which drew me to libraries.  I suspect it was the tranquility and order.  But we’ll save that particular chapter of self-analysis for another day.

The school libraries were slightly less charming than our town’s public library, but filled with entertaining delight.  In my elementary school I discovered a tape of War of the Worlds and shrunk in bug-eyed terror in my carrel (knowing full well it was all fake!)  I also discovered Arizona, (or was it Colorado?) magazine, filled with luscious photography of pink and orange canyons.  In my junior high school library I mostly discovered a safe haven from the social warfare of the hallways.

Our public library was a world unto itself.  The children’s room had a real honest to g-d working fireplace.  The shelves were filled with yet undiscovered Helen Keller biographies (don’t ask) and Judy Blumes.  It being a regular after-school hangout, I would run into friends I had not seen for years (we had two junior high schools and it was easy to lose track of friends.)  Throughout the year, the adult periodicals room would be turned into a movie theatre.  I watched every Marx Brothers movie one year.

As an adult I seem to be in fruitless pursuit of those golden library experiences.  I still appreciate a good children’s room, but find the plethora of paperbacks and franchise series just a tad disheartening.  Where are the Betsy-Tacy books, the Nancy Drews?  Sigh.  I still frequent the film festivals and gird myself for the unpredictable onslaughts from the dwelling optional.  In truth, I should just cherish those memories of new discovery and calm predictable beauty which the libraries provided and recognize those very gifts in new adventures.

 
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Posted by on August 21, 2011 in Cultural Critique

 

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