From time to time I find myself wanting to repeat a tweet I made several months ago that looked something like this: “Didn’t all these people have to read Frankenstein in highschool?” In this case, “from time to time” means “several times a week.” Here are some words that I think should be included in all first-year programs in the sciences and technology: Hubris. Icarus. Unintended consequences. Ozymandias. Precautionary principle. Limits to knowledge. Metaphor. Wisdom of the elders. (Feel free to add your own in the comments.)
After that moderately cryptic position (by my own standards), allow me the privilege of introducing a song that a friend of mine handed to me when we finally got together for dinner after more than 15 years apart. It is a mark of our ages that the words “mix tape” are scrawled across the front of the CD. I just can’t worry about copyright this time: it’s ephemeral. Everything is. Besides, I’m linking to the artist’s original work… (Jack Savoretti)
I’ve had this song stuck in my head since I went dancing last weekend: (Contains the word “fuck” a couple of times. Visuals completely acceptable in public.)
I started off thinking, “But, I don’t want to be a billionaire.” Now that I’ve read the lyrics, and watched the video, I’m smitten. Love the song, love the video – hey, music is music still. Who knew? But I still don’t want to be a billionaire. A hundred-thousandaire, I could go for. But billions? I’m not equipped.
I watched a documentary called Born Rich a few weeks ago, made by Jamie Johnson, (of Johnson & Johnson.) Due to inherit a millions on his 21st birthday, he turned a camera on himself and a handful of his very wealthy friends to find out what they thought about money. As a result, he produced a very interesting movie about money and how it works in a world where nobody talks about it, but where the bar bill on a Saturday evening can easily run into the thousands of dollars.
I am prejudiced to think of the super-rich as a symptom of All That is Wrong in our culture, so I did not hold out much hope for this movie. This movie did nothing to change that opinion, but it did humanize these extraordinarily wealthy people for me.
Caveat: unless you can dig deep into your wells of compassion, this movie will probably make you mad.
It would be easy to fall into the trap of assuming that just because they’ve never known the stress of just plain making ends meet (never mind actual poverty,) that they have never had any problems. I found myself spluttering at a few points over the excesses. It is hard to see past the thousand dollar handbags and $800 bottles of champagne to see that several of these young people are every bit as much adrift as our normal middle-class kids. Not only do they not know what to do when they grow up, they have no Needs to kick them into action. I will grant that a couple of them are aristocratic SOB’s, who think that they are actually better than the rest of us, in one case because of the height of his lapels. (I tried to find some compassion for him, but my well had run dry.) On the other hand, some of them are aware that they didn’t earn this place in the world, and that it is unfair, and that the world is unfair… but they are at the top, and they don’t know any other way of life.
And that is something I just don’t want to buy into. Pema Chodron tells us to be grateful for our middle births, in places and times when we are neither caught up in the struggle for survival, nor so far above it all that we can’t relate to the average human being. I don’t want to be so wealthy that the other thing I can think of to do with $800 (if I passed on the champagne) is buy another pair of jeans. I don’t want that sort of distortion in my world, no matter how much good I could do with the money. Because I’m pretty sure that if I did the things necessary to be a billionaire, I’d lose sight along the way.
(There is also a follow-up movie by the same director, The One Percent. Apparently Milton Friedman got so mad that he ended his interview. I’m looking forward to seeing that.)
I was reading a Terry Pratchett book the other day (Unseen Academicals) and I came across the phrase, “Oh, it’s all crab bucket down there.” Fortunately, Terry Pratchett was so kind as to explain this to the character in question (although not until later in the book.) It was an expression I hadn’t previously heard, although after it was explained, I got something else. I’ll get back to you with that.
Anyway, later in the book, the character is purchasing fish, and the vendor offers her a crab, and says, “Oh, you can keep crabs in an open container, because as soon as one starts to climb out, the others all drag them back in.”
The character then starts seeing the crab bucket all around her, and the ways in which she tries to keep other people down, because of rules that don’t really exist. It is the power of the unwritten rules, also (in more academic terms) termed discipline. Foucault talked about the ways in which we develop a little prison guard in our own heads, because at any time we might be watched. We follow the unwritten rules out of fear of imagined repercussions. And it becomes all crab bucket.
And what finally clicked for me was what the heck this song meant. Or at least a little bit of it. And a fine song it is, too.
Although Sundays are not going to become Stan Rogers day, here is another.
I’ve been seeing the wrinkles on my face progressing over the last few years, in a way that is becoming less forgiving every year. It used to mean that I was stressed, or dehydrated, but they are becoming my everyday companion. Here is my first draft/quickie on the subject from last night.
The Daily News
Yesterday is on my face this morning
The furrowed brow of
concentration,
that line between the brows that
sparks worry and
reinforces itself.
Forehead lines of eyebrows raised:
Am I that often
Surprised???
The downturned
mouth, neutral
but somehow looking
dour. Stern.
Doesn’t look like me.
He reaches out for the
eyes.
“Crinkles, ” he smiles.
And I smile back,
penning a better story
For tomorrow’s edition.
And Stan’s beautiful song about aging and true love: (it still makes me cry)
Today, I woke up with one of my favourite Stan Rogers songs stuck in my head. I found a great rendition by his daughter (so they tell me!) on YouTube, so here you go! Beth Rogers, singing “Working Joe”… although I title it “Lazy Winter Afternoons” in my own head.
Tomorrow: On the problem of preventing Repetitive Stress Injury when you are planning to write 250,000 words this year!
I am not getting paid for this, I just like fellow musical parents to have some better options.
Let’s be honest here. Most music sold to children sucks. I have begged and pleaded with my parents not to purchase “music” that doesn’t have an actual performer, or claims a corporation as its writer. (Yes, I’m looking at you, Baby Einstein.) As a result we have acquired a decent little collection of “other” kid’s music over the years.
So, since Christmas is a-comin’, and some of your grandparental types may require guidance, here are some suggestions for music you might actually want to listen to several thousand times:
1. Connie Kaldor. I seem to recall an interview in which she said that the title song came to her in a cab in New York, but I can’t prove that. This is her first of three children’s albums, but follows an (ongoing) career as a folk singer for adults. The songs are musically diverse, interesting, fun, and funky. Also, the book that comes with the CD is a good bedtime story. We got the second one, too. (A Poodle in Paris.)
2. They Might Be Giants. This link goes to their very own store, which I see has some sweet deals. I think I might get one. This is their newest kid’s CD, which was apparently just nominated for a Grammy. Like, today. Sweet! I feel so with-it for a change.
Also, they do a weekly podcast on youtube so you can preview the videos and music. I think this would be best be categorized as “quirky”. Or possibly “absurd”. They are a favourite of both parents and children at our house (from 3 to 38 years old.)
3. Vivaldi’s Ring of Mystery. Actually, the whole Classical Kids line is well-reviewed, but I have only actually listened to this one. Again, and again, and again. It includes a story with intertwined muscial excerpts. I tried to pawn off Bach as Vivaldi to my 3-yr old the other day because this CD was away from home in the car. He caught me at it. C’mon… a favourite Baroque composer? At three? I blame this CD. There are others from the series in the stash – don’t tell my kids. (I’m pretty sure they don’t read my blog.)
4. Sandra Boynton. You probably know some of her board books. They’re very popular. We’ve had more than one copy of a couple of them because the first one got worn out. This is her imaginary musical revue. With 100% real musicians, cows, and aardvarks. (The aardvarks turn up for intermission.)
5. Yo Yo Ma and Bobby McFerrin. Yes, I saved my favourite for last. I hope you got this far. Go ahead, push the button. I’ll wait.
They did a whole album like that. Brilliant. Get it and be wowed. (Also, I didn’t realize it might be a kid’s album until we’d had it for years. I’m still not sure, but my husband claims it is, so that is the shelf we keep it on. He is also a cellist, in case that holds any sway.)
