Rick Warren and the Evangelical Forum: What’s religion got to do, got to do with it? Monday, Aug 18 2008 

"Don't you yell at me, son! I'm hundreds of years older than you, so show some respect!"

Why was there an Evangelical Faith Forum between the American Candidates?

Let me take a few paragraphs to tackle this question.

John McCain, who recently celebrated his 950th birthday, appeared at an Evangelical forum along with American media darling, Barack Obama.  Hosting this most important (not important at all) event was Evangelical pastor, Rick Warren, whose girth continues the tradition of obese but-thankfully-charismatic preachers (did they skip the one about gluttony?  Perhaps the communion bread could be switched to whole wheat?).  Anyway, both candidates were asked a series of (uncomfortable) personal questions under the guise of discerning their moral responsibility.  My favourite question was as follows, “What was the biggest moral failure in your life?”  Are we to believe for one minute that these men are going to answer this question with complete honesty?  “Well, I’d have to say, that time I nailed that cocktail waitress was pretty low.  But now, the only thing I nail is Jesus…oh wait, that was the Romans!”  And yet, I don’t think we heard such frank admissions from either candidate (if only the John Edwards’ Campaign had succeeded).  But this sort of tasteless conversation is closer to the truth, wouldn’t you say? 

But alas! pure, unadulterated honesty and cautious “political speak” are as compatible as John McCain and the Viet Cong.  Rather, these clever men rattled off something clinical and safe – speech more disinfected than a toilet bowl.  I believe McCain rattled off something about the failure of his first marriage (subtext: she grew tired of his “Back in Nam” stories) and Barack did what he does best – he dithered.  Or maybe he said something about his ghetto drug use, the only proof that he used to be black.  It’s a hard-knock life growing up on the tough streets of…Hawaii?  Yes, those white-sand beaches and aqua horizons – talk about Hell’s Kitchen!  I digress. Warren went on to ask the candidates who they relied on for wisdom and advice.  John McCain could have possibly sat this one out; given wisdom comes with age – he’s fully stocked.  Obama’s answer was rather touching (if you could hear it over my gagging). He suggested that his wife was likely the best person to go to for advice.  I know a certain boy who likes big butts and he cannot lie!!!  All in all, this forum (ridiculous vetting) was obviously a right-wing boost for John McCain.  McCain was more at ease because he was among his base – the Evangelicals.  I think he even made a positive reference towards “home-schooling”, where Evangelicals make their kids even weirder (we‘ve all been forced to play with one).  McCain was quick, concrete in his ideas and pulled-out all the stops – he will get Osama, even if he has to go to the gates of hell and back (might be going there soon anyway).

On a more serious note, the idea behind this forum, as described by Rick Warren, was the desire to observe the candidates’ religious and philosophical subscriptions.  Warren claimed that, through this forum, the American public would be able to grasp the true character of the candidate.  I highly doubt one’s character could be revealed in an hour of question and answer.  But what do I know?  How about this: the only conceivable reason for this mind-boggling production was likely to showcase McCain as an equally popular and likeable candidate.  I’ll admit, he came off dazzling, though his skin looked like parchment (could it contain the secret timeline of the Apocalypse?).

On the other hand (race), Obama looked like a frightened turtle when Warren pointedly asked him about abortion.  At one point, he attempted to come out of his shell with his true feelings on the issue; but the laser-beams shooting out of the audience members’ eyes hypnotized him into silence.  Warren was prone to interrupt the young senator at times, cutting off Obama’s trademark long-windedness – though he probably had the intermission jelly donut on his mind.  Who can blame him?  Fighting a holy war makes one hungry (thank-God for Denny’s Salvation Slammer). 

After watching this dirigible piece of theatre, I had some questions of my own: Was this a necessary forum?  What are the possible uses and/or consequences of such an expose of moral fortitude?  What does this have to do with politics?  Turns out it has nothing to do with the real meat of politics (healthcare, the housing crisis, the war, you know – real problems).  These debates have everything to do with elections, campaigns and general PR.  

And that’s my answer!

Anne

“Waitey-Katey”: Where Have I seen this girl before? Friday, Aug 15 2008 

Go team Kate!

Go team Kate!

So it seems that Britain, along with the rest of the world, may be sliding into economic recession.  But the gray skies of financial downturn just might give way to the sunshine rays of euphoria.  Nothing delights the groveling serfs of Britain more than a Royal wedding, and one lady in particular seems determined to make this event happen.  Ah yes, good old Kate Middle(class)ton, or “Waitey Katey”, as the British press so callously refer to her.  She should thank her lucky stars (and her rigorous daily work-out) that it is not ”Weighty Katie.”  Indeed, Kate is following the royal tradition of “beautiful bride marries balding groom.”  When Charles married his virginal lamb-to-the-slaughter, Lady Diana Spencer, the wedding was a national holiday, with memorabilia to boot.  Poorly-drawn facial portraits of the couple (where Diana looks like a teenage boy) appeared on a plethora of tea-towels, decanters, and balloons.  Britons embraced the royal wedding, which provided a great deal of distraction from the economic downturn of the late 70s.  It was a fairytale moment; even the wicked witch was enjoying herself (Camilla Parker Bowles was a wedding guest).  Of course, Camilla hadn’t emerged yet (at least publically) and the world satiated its ravenous appetite for pure, contented delusion.

Well, Miss Middleton is likely no virgin and she refuses to be a lamb (unless the occasion calls for it).  Kate, or shall I say Catherine, has treaded the fine line of royal lady and modern woman with gusto.  She dresses with an air of sophistocation and glamour, though her skirt is never too high, and a plunging neck-line has been cleverly avoided.  This admirable behaviour is not an accident.  Kate has proven to be clever and calculating; quite an astute lady.  Sure, she probably does love her dashing prince, but this middle-class nobody knows a thing or two - she’s being handed the proverbial silver spoon and few people get it without having been born with it.  Her name could potentially go down in the pages of history, and “Queen Catherine” just has such a historic ring to it.  Indeed, marrying the future King of England involves a certain amount of pragmatic consideration.  Accepting the proposal of a crown prince must rest on reason as well as romance.  After all, marrying William isn’t just marrying William - she will also marry an institution, a powerful family, and a country – all of whom will own her to some extent.

Diana was never Queen.  But you can bet that Kate will hear the choirs sing “Zadok the Priest” as she and her prince are crowned.  She will be Queen; this opportunity will not be missed.  Of course, Diana was very nice - but nice doesn’t catapult one onto the throne.   Sadly, Diana lacked the steely-grit and aristocratic stoicism (why didn’t she have it?) that it takes to become Queen.  Indeed, Kate is not aristocratic, but she does a great job of faking it.  And though she will not be hailed as the “next Diana,” I think she is comparble to another notable royal lady – Anne Boleyn.  Okay, so she’s not exactly stealing William from his barren, Spanish-born wife; but she is a commoner (the daughter of a former gum-chewing flight attendant) closer to reaching the throne than her horse-faced, aristocratic betters.  She has overcome incredible odds, but so did Anne.  Anne’s Queendom was not an accident, and nor will Kate’s be.

Always a good time!

Royal Wedding: Always a good time!

Anne Boleyn was not particularly beautiful, but she refused King Henry’s advances, and he found this irresistable.  She purposely refused the King sex, knowing that such frustrating abstinence would only increase his appetite.  Exchange “sexual-witholding” with “good PR”, and you’ve got Kate’s strategy.  A royal wife should be beautiful, stylish (but not risque), and generally – a good egg.  Kate has created herself in this image, and everyone has taken notice.  The public now desires a Princess Kate (though she’ll probably be a duchess at first), and this was an extremely clever chess move on the royal wedding board. 

William evidently loves her, but he must be aware that the public does too.  And do not think for one second that Kate is unaware of how public support will undeniably tip the scales in her favour.  Indeed, the collective will of the public likely has more of a sub-conscious sway over the young prince than he knows. After all, he was born to this life, and has known a lot longer than Kate just how much we own him.  But let us bow down to our future Queen for having the wit to take advantage of this.

Yes, there are those in the press who have nick-named this clever girl “Waitey-Katie”.  A few have even denounced her as nothing more than a lazy toff who refuses to work.  But I tend to think Kate is working very hard indeed.  Some have suggested that Kate’s choice to essentially spend her days “killing time” until William proposes is anti-feminist.  However, the role of Queen is one of the highest offices in the land (Head of State), and these snotty journalists (probably over-weight and jealous) have clearly not considered the alternative – that Kate has found a more appealing way to gain power.  While the rest of us tow the line, working tirelessly to smash the glass ceiling at the top, it would appear Kate Middleton has found a trap door into a secret passage-way.  And this secret passage-way isn’t full of cobwebs, dark shadows, unoffered promotions and sexual harassment.  Some may call it a gilded cage; but our girl Kate knows that prison bars and gold bars are hardly the same thing.

And so I say, wait on Kate.  The proverbial “everyday man/woman on the street” is in your corner, ready to blot up your bloody nose with a towel and squirt some reviving water into your mouth.  Let them take all the punches they want; just remember, they’ll be the ones down for the count, while you claim the highest title in the land.

Anne

Gloria Steinem would be spinning in her grave! Sunday, Aug 10 2008 

Black power...I mean, Girl power, I mean, Woman power....(?)...

Black power...I mean, Girl power, I mean, Woman power....(?)...

Okay, so maybe Gloria Steinem (think Second Wave Feminism) is still very much with us and not spinning in her grave.  But the foundation upon which Feminist ideals were built now crumbles with only a few tears being shed.  The Bra-burners seemingly took the last chopper out of Saigon, having died out with the Vietnam war.  And so, here we women of the twenty-first century sit; partriarchy abounds, and we simply cannot be bothered.  Certainly, the present generation of women (and men) are woefully apathetic.  Perhaps this is because the “flower power” our parents produced now resembles a sun-dried tomato.  Yes, the Baby-Boomers came to the stark realization that protests, trippy festivals, and all the John Lennon songs in the world could not conquer the inevitable sludge of the daily grind.  War still abounds, and I’m pretty sure Nixon is still in office (he’s wearing a mask), whilst corporations remain obese, having fed their voracious appetites with social and political power.  Has this left us slighty numb (dumb)? The resounding answer, that is - if we’re not too lazy to answer – Yes!

So what’s the deal ladies?

Women still get paid less than men for doing the same job.  Pornography that grossly objectifies the female body is more popular than ever.  Playboy magazine is not a rag of the past.  In fact, Hugh Hefner’s girlfriends have stayed remarkably young.  I suppose he’s a cheap date though (senior citizen discounts everywhere).  Of course, not every girl has her dream of dating a Korean War Vet realized.  But after all, who wouldn’t love Hugh, he’s done so much for (to) women!? 

So where are all the Feminists?  Shouldn’t these deplorable examples of misogyny have been dealt with a long while ago?  I guess it truly remains a man’s world, particularly when a show like “The Bachelor” is on its umpteenth season.  Oh, The Bachelor - a collection of attractive, slightly dim-witted women and one man – that sounds like every boy’s dream, or at least a Muslim paradise. 

Turns out the ”Feminists” have been here all along, empowering women by reclaiming female exploitation.  In fact, Jenna Jameson has even claimed herself to be a sort of Porn-Lincoln, having emancipated other female pornstars from the predominantly male-controlled Porn Industry.  She made sure she had a say in the direction of filming where her genitals were going to be photographed.  I guess she picked the most empowering angles!  Wow, good job,  Jenna, now I’ll know what to do when I’m getting paid money to have sex with sleezy men on camera.  Then I can invite the whole family over on sunday after church and we can watch my screen debut.  Oh wait, that would be disgusting…and though it would reveal a lot of me, it would not reveal the intellect that, thankfully, prevents such a scenario from ever existing.

Apparently, the term “Bitch” has also been reclaimed by women.  Ah, yes, well, as long as I’m a bitch, I hope my master realizes that I should be walked at least two times a day.  And gosh, I hope he doesn’t put the leash on too tight, it tends to chaffe.  And well I’m at it, I hope he remembers to fill my water dish, I’m sick of drinking out of the toilet!  Yes, I see why women have chosen to reclaim this derogatory term.  Oh, wait, I don’t at all!

Apparently, Jenna Jameson is representative of a new brand of Feminism – Lipstick Feminism.  Also known as “Slut Feminism” (I didn’t make that up, actual catalogued term), this sort of Feminism contends that women should embrace the sexual allure they hold over men.  Therefore, Jenna’s power to attract men, while proudly showing off her body, is advocating womanly power.  I think this might just be the most dangerous misappropriation of Feminism.  So men are watching porn in order to escape the harsh world of Patriarchy?  “Oh c’mon, baby, that’s right, make a little more coin than a man…oh my God, she’s getting into medical school…oh yes, she’s gonna be president, oh yes, yes, yes!!!”  By this logic, I suppose Hillary Clinton was setting women back a few years.  She migth have considered running for “President of the Tijuana Whore Trade Union”.  I guess that would seem a little rigged, Bill being on the Union Board and all.

And now let us slide from one extreme to the other - Lesbian Feminists.  Here’s a group that believes those with penises are really carrying around dangerous swords that cut into women, violently releasing their seed.  To these ladies(?) men are virtually disposable flotsam.  Anyone who has ever read Adrienne Rich’s Compulsory Heterosexuality and Lesbian Existence will no doubt ask, “Daddy Issues?”  Rich literally claims that women must reject men completely (specifically, in the erotic realm) in order to destroy patriarchial oppression.  Rich, rather regrettably, claims that women have been culturally-indoctrinated to accept the “institution of heterosexuality.”  Again, rather unbelieveably, she glosses over the question of developed biological instinct.  Rich refuses to address the biological explanation of heterosexuality - that men and women may have developed an evolutionary attraction to one another in order to promote pro-creation of the species.  I will concede that there are particular men and women who do not fit into the heterosexual mould.  But to suggest that all women are capable of Lesbianism, or should be lesbians, is absurd.  Feminism, Ms. Rich, does not equal Lesbianism.

Must the definition of Feminism be relegated to such limiting duality?  At the same time, can there be moderate Feminists?  Is “moderate” simply a substitution for “not taking a stand or really giving a damn”?  Are Lipstick Feminists and Lesbian Feminists the dominant voices heard because they are the only ones shouting?  I realize women are so vastly different in so many ways – ethnically, ecnomically, politically, and sexually.  Can we not at least try to create a sustainable definition?  Preferably, one that doesn’t require us to burn a phallic effigy or get a boob job!

Anne

Oh My God, You Are Like, So Hot! Friday, Aug 8 2008 

Ah summer.  What a glorious season it is.  A time when the oppressed exhibitionists who’ve suffered all winter long can now be free and show us all what we’ve been missing.  What an interesting anthropological phenomenon to witness: like some global game of meteorological strip poker, you can actually see another item of clothing coming off for each increase in temperature.  My main issue with this horrendous–yet again seemingly unavoidable–social travesty, is the bare-chested mammal known, and I use this term loosely, as “man”.  Though I am fully aware of the Garanimal-sized answer to these sweltering temps favoured by our gal nudists, micro-minis and rayon tube tops are just not anything I can deal with today.  So let’s do ourselves a favour and take a gender-specific approach to these public assaults on decency and save ourselves a trip to the drugstore for some Peptol.  Although truthfully, I might have to guzzle some anyway: just one glance out my window is enough to keep my stomach turning for days.

So yes, men.  Sweaty, out of shape, shirtless men.  Take a look around you today, they are everywhere: mowing lawns, walking dogs, sitting on plastic lawn chairs, and my personal favourite, strutting down the road carrying their shirt.  Ah, yes, I see, you had a shirt but you took it off and now I will have the long awaited pleasure of devouring your Adonis-like body with my hungry eyes.  Well sorry Baby, but that look you see in my eyes is pity; pity at your desperate cry for attention, and yes, a little revulsion too because while your pants my be resting comfortably (I’m sure) around your thighs, your underwear is halfway up your back, and that blinding white chest doesn’t make the best impression when contrasted with your t-shirt-tanned forearms.  

The fact that I even need to explain that look in my eye is half the problem.  God forbid the man be slightly good-looking or remotely fit, because if he is then look out.  You’ll be the one left to decipher the look in his eye when you check your review mirror and catch him smiling knowingly to himself.  It makes me want to back up my car, force a smile, and tell him what he’s surely dying to hear:  

“Um, hi, I couldn’t help but notice you.  You look like a really great guy, I mean, I don’t know you at all, you could be a psycho-killer, but what the hell, you do have one smokin’ bod.  I never do this, but something about the sight of your naked torso has pushed me over the edge of propriety and I feel free to let go of my inhibitions.  Let’s go back to my place.  Thank you for this opportunity.”

 Well okay, that might be a little sensationalized—no guy would dream of a woman using the words “propriety” and “inhibitions”.  At least no guy who’s publicly shirtless outside of gym class or the beach that is.  

Is this honestly what is going through the minds of these men?  And have we reached the point in our society where a man can peek at the thermometer, reassure himself that yes, indeed it is hot, and opt out of clothing?  Perhaps their common sense is seeping out along with their perspiration.  Regardless of the inevitably sad justifications for the manly seasonal striptease (and I’m sure there are many), there are a couple pearls of wisdom these apparently quick-to-overheat gents need to permanently log away:  

One: you look extraordinarily ridiculous strolling around the street dressed in your Sunday morning “bacon and eggs with the paper” uniform.  

Two: you still look a fright no matter how many other shirtless men there are out there; you will not win by majority but rather lend evidence to decline of mankind.  

Three: that look in our eye is NOT lust, it’s confusion, repulsion, laughter…take your pick really.  

And Four: It’s never THAT hot.      

Kate

Review:Brideshead Revisted Tuesday, Aug 5 2008 

Having had no background on the story of Brideshead Revisted, written by Evelyn Waugh, I found myself positively surprised concerning the predominant theme of the film.  I must admit that I had never even heard of the book.  That stated, I was, nonetheless, inclined to embrace a story about a middle-class Oxford undergrad who becomes enmeshed with a very disturbed aristocratic family.  Charles Ryder first meets Lord Sebastian Flyte when Flyte, a heavy drinker, vomits in Ryder’s living quarters.  After Lord Flyte recovers from his drunken stupor the next day, he sends Ryder a bouquet of flowers, a curious gesture that hints at the absurdity, or unconventional nature, of the Flyte family.  Lord Flyte is a known “sodomite,” embraced by his fellow Etonians; though Flyte seems eager to embrace something, or someone, outside his tightly-knit milieu.  Charles Ryder is clearly not an aristocrat, and one would be forgiven for thinking Ryder’s attraction to Flyte is also based on social curiousity.  Both men create a close friendship, one that permeates the boundaries of class.  This seems most obvious by Flyte’s metaphoric desire to leave Brideshead - a vast, stony country estate, which, not surprisingly, remains in stark contrast to Ryder’s obsession with the house. 

However, the overwhelming sense of power inspired by the sheer vision of the mansion has little to do with the stony fortress than with the towering figure of the mother within.  Flyte’s autocratic mother, brilliantly executed by Emma Thompson, is about as endearing as an automobile accident.  Her stiff reserve and subtle (even errie) control over her children is frightening.  When Charles joins the family for dinner, Lady Marchmain (the mother) establishes Ryder as a proverbial ”other,” a non-aristocrat, even worse – an artist and an atheist.   And yet, Lady Marchmain keeps Ryder around, presumably as an extension of her control.  She finds she can use Ryder as a vessel to control Sebastian, to keep a watchful eye on her homosexual son.  However, Ryder begins to unravel her control when he indulges Sebastian by giving him money for alcohol.  Alcohol is Sebastian’s only escape from the guilt his very Catholic mother wields on him.  But seemingly, Ryder’s greatest assault on Lady Marchmain is his undeniable appeal to her daughter, the Lady Julia Flyte.  Ryder acts as a catalyzing agent in a daunting reaction of guilt, denial, indulgence, and betrayal.  For both Sebastian and Julia, Ryder is the very person who forces their true selves to rise to the surface.  Lady Marchmain seems to catch on to this, and subsequently banishes Ryder from Brideshead.

The story may seem to be an indictment of religion, specifically, the Catholic religion.  Though, this may be a surface interpretation, for, after all, Ryder is not exactly let off the hook.  His obstinate refusal of religion, comparable to Lady Marchmain’s staunch dislike of Atheism, is portrayed as equally distasteful.  Julia does marry, but it isn’t to Ryder, whose inflexibilty (decision not to convert) prevents any chance of marriage.  She marries Rex, a Catholic american.  Rather telling is Rex’s admission to Ryder that he converted to Catholicism in order to marry Julia.  Two ideas seem to be presented here: One should stick to one’s true convictions, even if a life of unhappiness will result; or, alternatively, one is a fool to give up pleasure and happiness (considering for Ryder there is no afterlife) for useless convictions.

In a sense, both Lady Marchmain and Ryder are the same person – stubborn, inflexible, and dangerously unhappy due to the question of religion.  In the end, the film seems less about Catholicism, adultery, homosexuality and duty.  These are merely vehicles that expose the film’s true message (at least as I see it) - the human inclination to confuse and complicate life is clearly under attack here.  At the end of the film, a young soldier is asked by Ryder if he subscribes to religion, the young man’s answer is startingly simple, and yet, strangely eloquent and profound.  The young man states that one is born, lives, and then dies, and that’s all one can know.  Like any tragedy, Brideshead Revisted leaves the viewer with a sense of wastefulness.  Each character is unable to leave Brideshead behind.  Though Sebastian leaves for Morocco, the shadow of Brideshead still looms over him as he lays dying in ruins.  Inevitably, Julia’s guilt forces her to leave Ryder, the love of her life, for the oppression of Brideshead.  Even Charles returns to Brideshead many years later when the old house becomes a resting place for the British military.  It seems no one truly escapes the stranglehold of Brideshead, nor the confusion and unnecessary complexity of which the house represents.  Unfortunately, all remain virtually lifeless, entombed within the stone fortress.

All in all, this film may be enlightening to those of us who are prone to the old melancholy.  Life need not be unnecessarily complicated, and this film suggests that one must act on one’s passions while rejecting any sort of guilt society may wish to heap upon us. 

Anne

Ex(calibre) Monday, Aug 4 2008 

Poor Marie...and it was all for nothing!!

Poor Marie...and it was all for nothing!!

Do you remember a time when monarchy was the flashiest political ideology around?  Legends of King Arthur and his adulterous Queen thrilled us. We, as simple serfs, delighted ourselves by regaling our fellow serfs with the events of our betters. Kings and Queens and Serfs existed together and knew their place. Somewhere along the way, however, the ancient cathedral – the center of illustrious coronations – turned into the dank and foul-smelling halls of the local public school on election day. Now, Politics is as exciting as an old sponge. We have lost all glamour and majesty. Instead of tiaras and titles, the political barons are classless buffons; old, scruffy, and, well, boring. The story of Excalibur has been replaced by the sorry legend of George Bush’s Ex(calibre) job performance. Of course, he’s an easy target, but he’s not the only one.

When I think of England (and this is often) I tend to smile with the knowledge of that great country’s unwavering loyalty towards tradition. The class system is still very much the status quo within old Albion, and this can be understood most presently with the existence of the monarchy. The British monarchy is perhaps the most famous constitutional monarchy on earth. And though Old Liz has very little legislative or governmental power, she can still serve up a good slice of “royal Head of State”. Of course, the Republicans in England (yes, they do exist) are knocking at the door the minute Charles admits he wants to become a tampon, or the moment when Harry switches from the Allied side (think Nazi costume, or his supposed comment about Aushwitz, “What is that, a ski resort?”).

Around the end of the 1700’s, 1793 to be exact, KIng Louis XVI of France was murdered by Madame Guillotine, and the entire world shifted.  What was the result of the French Revolution you might ask.  As some put it, “We don’t know yet.”  A brief history lesson tells us that the French Revolution inspired a season of political over-throw in Europe.  The Hapsburg Dynasty was nearly non-existant by the end of the 19th century, and Russia’s hemophilia-ridden heir wasn’t killed by bruising, but by revolution.  And so, there you have it.  Absolute monarchy ceased to exist( at least in Europe – the important part of the world).  Not since KIng Henry VIII declared himself Supreme Head of the Church of England had such a monumental shift in politics taken place. 

Individual Sovereignty was no doubt inspired by the Church.  Where else have we heard about absolute power residing in One (or at most, three) before?  Ah yes, hierarchy – my old friend.  God, Man, Woman, Animal, Child.  Or is it God, Man, Son, Animal, Insect, Woman?  I think anyone non-Anglo-Saxon is often relegated to the cheap seats between Insect and Woman.  Nonetheless, the idea of heavenly hierarchy gave way to an earthly hierarchy, and white men have been oppressing their way through the centuries ever since.  I suppose Martin Luther was one of the first to figuratively pimp-slap the Pope - the embodiment of absolute rule in the religious realm.  KIng Henry followed (English Reformation), though he merely exchanged one tyrant for another (himself). The absolute power within the familial unit was no doubt the Father/Husband.  Although, even this system of hierarchy has been eroded thanks to the Suffragettes and the Sixties.  So what did we achieve after we expunged ourselves of every possible hierarchial model?

A little bit of nothing.

The last time I checked, almost every single American president is part of the RWW Club – The Rich, White, and Wealthy Club (and don’t sigh here and bring up Barack Obama.  Do you honestly think of him as Black?) And you can bet Tony Blair didn’t go to a state school.  And even if one does work one’s way up to the top office in town, you can bet one’s bank statement had to reach seven or eight digits in order for this reality to be realized.  So maybe we do know how the French Revolution has gone down. 

Here’s what we know: Yes, the French Revolution did away with the ultimate exclusivity of the Aristorcracy.  But instead of the Tudors, and the Bourbons, etc., we have other dynasties such as the House of Rockefeller, and the House of Bush, and the House of Kennedy, and the House of Clinton ( I wonder if Bill ever thinks of making Hillary’s head roll).  Let me simplify, put in the most basic of terms, the French Revolution embodied the timeless stuggle of poor vs. rich, and unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on where your sympathies lie) the rich were outnumbered.  This has always been and always will be. 

So if you delude yourself into thinking you live in a democracy, think again.  Remember, while you’re paying an unholy sum of money for gas, as well as carting home those proverbial energy-reducing lightbulbs in order to keep the electric bill reasonable, someone somewhere (did I forget to mention the House of Exon Mobil?) is burning money to keep warm.  If you are not the son of a Saudi Arabian Prince, or if your last name isn’t Bush, or Rockefeller or Rothschild, or hyphened, then you are a peasant.  And you might as well throw on some rags and call yourself jacques, because a mob is forming and its calling you and your pitchfork to arms.

Absolute power is no longer called Monarchy any more.  The names have changed – its called Democracy, where a King is replaced by a Captain of Industry (aka CEO), and the number of women in top office can still be counted on one, maybe two, hands.  Whose side am I on?  I do not believe that human nature can be changed, and therefore, political upheaval is likely a waste of time.  I think I even prefer a time when the people and the Ruling class knew there place.  A King was a king, and a serf was a serf.  Back then, people preferred to live under less illusions.  Our egalitarian society contends that the Queen of England and I are equals with the same rights and responsibilities.  Well, I do not own a pair of kid gloves, and my home is not a tourist attraction.  But the Queen and I are alike in some ways – we didn’t buy into that whole French Revolution-Egalitarian thing.  She is still willing to distinguish herself as “The Queen” and guess what, I’m a dejected subject who’s loving every minute of it.  After all, this is the stuff of which fairytales are made.  And we’ll live happily ever after!

Anne

Utopia Rhymes with Stupidity Saturday, Aug 2 2008 

 

Thomas More: As a humanist, I have an abhorrence of war; it’s an activity fit only for beasts, yet practiced by no kind of beast as constantly as man.

King Henry VIII: As a humanist I share your opinion, as a king, I am forced to disagree.

- The Tudors, Episode One

Oh Thomas, Thomas, Thomas…you’re just like the slow-witted younger brother I never had. I suppose that isn’t fair; that is, calling you slow-witted, because the author of Utopia seems to be among those that were lobotomised against their will.  Ah, Utopia – no centralized power, an equal distribution of goods, and my personal fave – no lawyers!!!??? For me, Utopia’s greatest flaw (and perhaps insult) is the chosen time period in which it was published. To put it bluntly, how dare More ( or “Less” as I call him) produce this imbecilic dribble that even Marsha Brady would call tame! Machiavelli’s Il Principe was published in 1515, a year before Utopia was written.  Now talk about literature that one can use! Talk about a brilliant production of political jargon that comes to life, not only on paper, but off of it.  Machiavelli knows that human nature is innately flawed, and he conceives a political mantra that keeps this in mind (if only this in mind). As Machiavelli so eloquently says,

 ” …whether it be better to be loved than feared or feared than loved? It may be answered that one should wish to be both, but, because it is difficult to unite them in one person, is much safer to be feared than loved, when, of the two, either must be dispensed with. Because this is to be asserted in general of men, that they are ungrateful, fickle, false, cowardly, covetous, and as long as you succeed they are yours entirely; they will offer you their blood, property, life and children, as is said above, when the need is far distant; but when it approaches they turn against you. And that prince who, relying entirely on their promises, has neglected other precautions, is ruined; because friendships that are obtained by payments, and not by greatness or nobility of mind, may indeed be earned, but they are not secured, and in time of need cannot be relied upon; and men have less scruple in offending one who is beloved than one who is feared, for love is preserved by the link of obligation which, owing to the baseness of men, is broken at every opportunity for their advantage; but fear preserves you by a dread of punishment which never fails.” – Machiavelli, Chapter XVII, Concerning Cruelty And Clemency, And Whether It Is Better To Be Loved Than Feared

Now I know some readers might say, “Relax, Thomas More has cleverly arranged his work as a satire.” Well, ha, ha…hmmm. Hey, you know who else is probably laughing – Stalin’s victims, perhaps. Yes, that’s right, I’m blaming More (not wholly but partly) for planting the dirty seeds of communism in Marx and Engels minds. You see, the problem with Utopia is its Frankenstein-esque creation of those (past, present, and future) that would take utopianism at face-value. And sadly, just as in Frankenstein, the creator does not realize his mistake until his creation turns on him. Yes, the Communists, or Neo-Communists, conceived by More, birthed by Marx.  Those Damn commies!! You know these people – they hardly bathe, refer to themselves as “mammalian” rather than human, and have so many glue-on slogans pasted to their salvation army tote bags that the various messages start to conflict with one another (my favourite – a Nazi swastika crossed out like a “No-smoking sign“). I guess the message is that Hitler and Cigarettes have both killed millions.

Perhaps I have digressed, but my point is this: producing a work that can be so easily appropriated by the wrong sort of people is dangerous. Idealism is dangerous, even if the portrayal of such naïve idealism is meant to be ironic. Communism – admittedly very cute on paper – is disastrous, and not only because it has been appropriated by the wrong people (think Stalin and Mao) but because it remains ridiculous given the inevitable and inherent fallibility of humanity.  Utopia, not meant to be a real place, has, unfortunately, found an all too often material existence.

As King Henry (Jonathan Rhys-Meyers) intimates, those in positions of power need to be feared. A little fear keeps this tired old human race in line. Yes, face it, Capitalism is a necessary evil; an economic policy in keeping with our pitiful human inclinations.  And yes, as painful as it is, religious intolerance is probably going to happen in the foreseeable future.  And yes, the poor shall always be with us.  And NO, I’m not a cynic, and nor was King Henry, I am a realist. I’ll concede that More was not exactly an imbecile, but only a slower wit could miss the dangerous ramifications of producing a blueprint (intentional or not) for an impossible and intangible world.

Anne

I Wanna be a Porn Star When I Grow Up Friday, Aug 1 2008 

I won’t lie to you, as I type this I am staring at approximately nine magazines scattered on my coffee table.  I have a small problem when it comes to the glossies.  I couldn’t say quite what my attraction is to these monthly mags, but I love them all the same.  As I was flipping through Marie Claire (the UK version, because of course reading solely the US edition is not enough fodder for my trivial knowledge fire), I came across an interview with the lovely Sarah Jessica Parker (cover story) and she offered me this gem of a quote:

“Intolerance, small-mindedness and ignorant ideas make me angry, as well as the recent shift to a more base culture.  People seem to enjoy vulgarity and that hasn’t been good for us”  —Sarah Jessica Parker, Marie Claire, UK, July 2008

This preoccupation, no celebration, of vulgarity has been a rising trend that has worried me for sometime now—well, not a waking up in a cold sweat kind of anxiety, but a bothersome vexation nonetheless—It has not escaped my attention just how lowbrow our culture seems to have become.  When I surf pass (emphasis on the PASS) such television masterpieces as “Rock of Love”, “A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila”, and “The Singing Office”, I literally feel the need to quietly take a moment and morn the loss of plot-driven, professionally written shows.  It seems complex, interesting and clever story-lines are just not something that can catch the public’s attention anymore.  The studios have apparently heard the Revolutionesque cries of “nudity, obscenity, reality” and guillotined the class right off TV.   

And if that weren’t enough it has become commonplace to witness re-enactments of these televised social tragedies in everyday life.  I don’t particularly enjoy spending a night out, say at the movies or a restaurant (I’m not even going to mention bars—that would overdose me on vulgarity right now and I don’t need that), squished up against Jenna Jameson and Flavor Flav.  But alas, that is the sad reality of it.  Everywhere I look, people are embracing vulgarity and welcoming it into there homes.  

I read in The Daily Mail about young, obviously misguided, girls who want to be like Jordan.  So now we’ve gone from adopting trashy behaviour as a lifestyle  to dreaming about being trashy when we grow up.  Isn’t that just every parent’s dream?  Well yes actually, if you believe the article, which alleges that most of these young girls have mothers who support their dream, even one who’s helping her daughter save up for…university?…no that would make sense, you guessed it, a boob job.  Let me repeat, a boob job.  Why thank you mother, how thoughtful, now the whole world can witness my lack of self-respect.  I wonder if new categories need to be added to career studies: Lawyer, Doctor, Journalist, Centerfold, Obscene Reality TV Star, Hooker.  These girls may want to keep one thing in mind: at the recent Cartier International Polo Tournament, Ms. Jordan—Role Model to the Young and Stupid—was denied entrance being deemed unsuitable company for an event attended by Royals.  What can be learned from this?  Live your life as though you were trying to attend a Royal event, because you never know how your actions today will deny you the future you realize you really want when you wake up in a stranger’s trailer one morning searching for your underclothes and that last smidgen of class you flushed down the toilet along with last night’s cocktails.  

Kate