This Is (Probably Not) about You

He was tough. He was clever. He fought for what was right, because all that is necessary for evil to flourish is for good people like him sit by and do nothing about it. (It never occurred to him that he might be wrong about something; urgency dictated that he needed to act.)

The thing that made him most proud was that he was good with words. His speaking and writing had layers. He could craft speeches and memos to sound as if he were being munificent and selfless, even while he was drawing attention to his own exceptional performances in professional and social circles.

He rarely ate lunch and he never ate at company parties, which made his co-workers wonder why he was so plump. This was another one of his clever moves. He was a player of chess who spoke of avoiding french fries while others indulged and then he stopped on the way home for various confections. Some speculated he had glandular issues. This was preferable.

He knew every motivational and aphoristic cliche ever written. So had his father. He would never go behind his father's sayings, because the wisdom was indisputable.  Timeless. Traditional.

Some Thoughts on Modern Satire

I have been thinking about satire -- the whole concept. Two things have, of course, kept me sort of mentally glued to the subject: The Interview and the Charlie Hebdot situations. 

Before I even get started, let me reiterate (I mentioned this in the last post): I do not, in any way, support what happened in the Charlie Hebdot offices, nor do I think it was "their fault," and I am a staunch supporter of free speech who wouldn't attempt to stop anyone from expressing his or her views or perspectives. But, since it is on my mind, I do have some an opinions about the concept of satire in modern practice. In short, I think "satirists" have lost focus.

For most, satire is defined as literature (or any art) that uses humor in order to expose (or even ridicule) stupidity or corrupt behavior in its area of attack.  So far, so good.

But, to what end? 

We have all had the lesson about the venerable origins of satire: One wanted to avoid getting in the sites of the tribe's satirist who would ruin your life over Woolly Mammoth steaks around the fire. Satire is a necessary limb on the body of mankind. 

It seems to me, though, that satire has always had a very pointed design: to effect change. To show us our flaws in a way that is just removed enough to give us a dignified chance to switch paths. Pure ridicule or pure incitement of anger is kind of a worthless enterprise for a satirist.

Êtes-vous Charlie? Vraiment?

Twelve people died in the offices of the French satirical newspaper Charlie Hebdo. They died at the hands of fanatics who do not represent the majority of believers in their Islamic religion. This is an act of evil, not of devoutness and, no matter what the writers or cartoonists of the paper published, they did not deserve to die for it and they deserve the support of the world as much as the murderers deserve the world's condemnation.

In a show of support, people around the planet are sharing the phrase Je suis Charlie (I am Charlie). This is a peaceful show of solidarity against the atrocity that was committed. It is also a show of support for freedom of expression and for the culturally-essential practice of satire.

It is also sort of an over-the top statement, as most adopted public rhetoric campaigns are.

But I ask: Êtes-vous Charlie? Vraiment? Wouldn't you have to know a lot about a publication to make that statement?

If you know all about Charlie Hebdo, okay. But it is one thing to show support for your unjustly murdered fellow humans; it's another to blindly support a publication you know nothing about. I find it hard to believe that everyone who has shared that phrase knows all about the paper. 

My Lifelong Role Model: Rocky Balboa

When I was eight, I saw the movie Rocky. Intellectuals like to trash the film, but the American Film Institute places it at number 57 on the list of the greatest movies of all time. I think it is a wonderful film, both on the intellectual and emotional levels. Sure, I am biased. I saw it when I was eight; I'm an Italian American; it was shot in Philadelphia, where I was born... But the more educated I get and the older I get, the more I like the movie and the more I see the beauty of Rocky Balboa, the character.

The metaphor is perfect. Rocky was never a movie about boxing. Rocky Balboa is all of us, "fighting" to prove one thing to ourselves: that we are worth something. But the real philosophical merit of the story is that Rocky never wants to be famous; he just wants to remain standing at the end of fifteen rounds with the heavyweight champion. And that's what happens. Rocky doesn't win the fight; he stays on his feet (with a little help, after the bell, from his beloved Adrian [which is perfect, too]).

Then came the middle movies: Rocky II, through V. Maybe not what you would call masterpieces -- not on the level of the first one -- but one thing never changes: Rocky refuses to quit and Rocky never stops being a good-hearted, vulnerable and passionate person. He fights people he has no prayer of beating and he beats them. It's a bullet-proof formula, even in what is maybe the weakest of the movies, Rocky V. They are all good popcorn movies, but, no matter the shell, Rocky Balboa manages to remain both a metaphor and a person.

I'm not going to try to "save face" through cynicism. I'm not going to equivocate about Rocky. There's no "but seriously" coming. Even the legendary Roger Ebert saw something in young Stallone, saying the young actor reminded him of a young Brando. (Ebert also gave Rocky 4/4 stars.) I think Stallone has proven he can be a great filmmaker, in his own right, and I think he was nothing short of brilliant in the last Rocky film, Rocky Balboa.

Living at the Lunch Table

I used to find myself enraged by the behavior of my fellow humans. Now I just tend to be embarrassed by it. What I find most embarrassing these days is the puerile use of metaphor by people with just enough education to think (erroneously) that they have something to say.

It wouldn’t be so bad if these rudimentary metaphors – ones used mostly in protest – weren’t dressed up as profound statements and if those making these pseudo-profound statements didn’t insist on prancing about during their little tantrums (or parties) of moral exhibitionism.

Lately, of course, these (“metaphoric “) “protests” have been occurring in the form of “die-ins” (very powerful affairs, especially when the participants are giggling and taking selfies on the ground) and police officers turning their backs on the Mayor of New York at funerals and hospitals and other formal functions during which the dignity of the occasion may just be more important than making an impotent point.

All of a sudden, the world is full of half-assed performance artists.

These issues are big. No doubt about it. But maybe they are deserving of intelligent, non-agenda-driven discourse and not stupid, middle-school theatrics.  It's like living at a seventh-grade lunch table.