A Santorum of Our Own

James, in the mold of Santorum - Picture courtesy of ESPN

by blogSpotter
Today’s blog is a mix of things – have a been a little too busy to carefully research something like my previous entry on Stephen Foster. I’ll do this like a Ouija Board and see where my typing fingers take me…

ROBERT, THE EXERCISE FREAK

I was at a 12-step meeting last week. We had an unremarkable speaker, but one thing impressed me in her talk. This short, squat, 45ish pear-shaped woman said that she was into “extreme sports” and liked to run marathons. The thin wisp of a middle-aged woman who introduced her vouched that they “walk around White Rock Lake every day”. I’m not the world’s most agist or sexist person but had trouble thinking of these two as track stars. I decided that today – a beautiful, sunny 63 degree late February day – would be perfect for me to see how and if my 54-year old self could trek around the lake. Yea, verily I did it in exactly 3 hours. I thought it was 6 miles – in fact it’s 9.3 miles. Here are some (fairly sad) details about the achievement…

o I had to use every port-a-potty along the way – to get rid of a giant carafe of breakfast coffee I drank.
o I started having severe allergy attacks off the bat, and all the way around. Spring-like weather is a mixed blessing for me.
o As I thought would be the case, I was worn out at the halfway mark (7-11) and contemplated calling a cab to take me the rest of the way… (I resisted!)
o Every bone, muscle and sinew in my body was aching – my back was in pain. I started developing two blisters on my toes, to accompany the rock that was tumbling around in my shoe.
o Observed that walking is as exhausting as running, when done in the extreme.

Will I do it again – Good Lord, no! Not any time soon. My fatigue has fatigue as I type this. Does the pear-shaped woman do this daily? Maybe so – my 30-year old cousin Jessica runs half marathons every other day. Mine is not to question why, mine is to avoid doing it again lest I die. I do feel like I accomplished something and can always point to that day when I “walked the whole lake”. I’ll see the Bath House in the far distance and know full well that my feet could get me there in 90 minutes.

But ENOUGH of my personal fitness drama, let's proceed and look at Texas' political drama ...

CRAIG JAMES, REVEALED

I was vexed and perplexed when I read that Texas Senatorial candidate Craig James was making blatantly homophobic remarks last week. He took Tom Leppert to task for riding in Dallas’ Alan Ross gay pride parade. Mr. James further elaborated that sex preference is a choice and one that the “Lord will judge gays for it in the hereafter”. Leppart defended himself as best he could, saying that as mayor he wanted to represent all his constituents. Mr. James is most impressive – he seems to know the mind of God. He knows who will be punished for what and when; heck, he’s almost taken it upon himself to do God’s work.

Imagine how interesting it was when I read in today’s paper that James is disliked by many heterosexuals in his former sports circle. Craig, an ex-ESPN sportscaster and SMU football player is apparently the “stage dad from Hell”…. When his son Adam was sidelined at Texas Tech for lack-luster football performance, Craig accused Coach Mike Leach of tormenting his son (who was nursing a concussion) -- sending him to a dark, convalescing room. James turned this mole hill into a mountain and got Coach Leach fired. The reverberations and bad vibes of this are still playing out in the sports world – very fittingly it spills into Craig James’ senatorial bid. Karma after all. I don’t know what God has in mind for any of us later, but he has something in mind for Mr. James’ reputation right now.

And so it goes – I’ve rambled for too long here at Starbucks. While I typed this, a little girl was trying to show me where her American Doll injured her leg. I can relate to that doll’s injury – my legs are still recovering from White Rock. I’ll sign off now and probably go soak in the tub. I won’t walk around the lake anytime right away; I won’t vote for Craig James ever. I can’t say what my Bush-loving Texas brethren might do but that’s a topic for another blog.

© 2012 blogSpotter

A Banjo On His Knee

Father of American Music - Picture courtesy of Wikipedia

by blogSpotter
Can you imagine a world in which someone as talented and famous as Mick Jagger has to live on handouts? How about Justin Timberlake having to sleep on a friend’s couch after winning a Grammy award? 150 years ago, we inhabited such a strange world. Artists -- be they painters or musicians, either starved or they found wealthy patrons to pamper them. For song writers, composer royalties hardly existed – but music sheet publishers raked in the dough.

One person who inhabited this financially bleak landscape was a hugely prolific and talented young man --Stephen Foster, now dubbed the “Father of American Music”. Stephen Foster basically wrote the Hit Parade of songs from 1846 through 1864 (the year of his untimely death at age 37). He specialized in light, breezy minstrel music such as “Oh! Susanna” and “Swanee River”. His songs have remained as permanent hallmarks of American culture – still hummed and strummed to this day.

The songs as originally written would be considered politically incorrect to be sure; most of the lyrics are in a Negro slave dialect (using dey versus they)… They have to be considered in the context of the era. Foster wasn’t a racist man – he was just speaking in the argot of the era. Foster was actually a Yankee; he sang about the South but only visited once, briefly on his honeymoon. Stephen Foster’s two biggest influences were a classically trained music instructor, Henry Kleber, and Dan Rice – a blackface singer and clown. Such a diverse influence could explain Foster’s musical bearings.

Stephen Foster was from a middle class background. He grew up near Athens, Pennsylvania and briefly attended Jefferson College in Canonsburg, PA. He precociously composed “Tioga Waltz” at age 14 – and played it at his Athens Academy commencement. Stephen was extroverted and likely to be performing his numbers on a stage somewhere when he wasn't busy writing them. Like so many super-talented young people, he dropped out of college to pursue his passion. Stephen was lucky to have an older brother William who was successful as an engineer and businessman. William served as mentor, sounding board and sometimes employer to a barely solvent Stephen. Stephen worked as a book keeper for his brother in 1846 in Cincinnati, Ohio. Here, he penned “Oh! Susanna” which became a national hit. Stephen was so emboldened by that success that he returned to Pennsylvania to be a professional song writer. Stephen’s total “take” for “Oh! Susanna” was $100.

Foster joined up with a performing group, the Christy Minstrels, who showcased all his latest hits – such as “Camptown Races” and “Old Kentucky Home”. Stephen had never visited Florida or the Suwanee River when he composed “Swanee River”. He found the name in an atlas, dropped the “u” for the sake of song meter, and plugged the name into his song. Floridians love the song and feel honored – maybe they wouldn’t if they knew how slickly and quickly it was originated. (Such is artistic license then and now).

Foster married Jane Denny McDowell in 1852 – they had one daughter. He was so smitten with his new wife, he wrote “Jeanie With The Light Brown Hair”. Jeanie however, was not smitten with the poverty-level existence of a 19th century song writer. She and the daughter parted ways with Stephen in 1860 when he decided to ply his trade in New York, New York. Foster’s folksy style wasn't a match for New York and he probably suffered from having the love of his life, Jeanie, fly the coop. He ended up in the run-down North American Hotel at age 37, battling a bad fever. He stumbled from bed, struck his head on a basin and bled for 3 hours before making it to a hospital. It’s thought he probably died of sepsis in an era without antibiotics.

Stephen Foster’s life was short and his candle was snuffed too soon. He probably would've lived longer as a book keeper, but his spirited songs wouldn’t be with us today. Like the painter Van Gogh who died at the same age, Foster believed in his art. He starved his bank account but enriched the whole world musically.

© 2012 blogSpotter

Incorrectulous

Maher on the Walk of Fame - Picture courtesy of Wikipedia

by blogSpotter
When I just searched for Bill Maher on the Internet, several other Bills and Billy’s popped up ahead of him – Cosby, Clinton and even Billy Joel. That is a total shame; our nation of web surfers should have more curiosity about this insightful, controversial actor, comedian and humorist. Maher’s views do fall askew of the mainstream TV viewers, and he would probably be another type of unwelcome “alien” in deeply red Texas.

Maher is a secular humanist, libertarian, pro-feminist, PETA following, “Apatheist” trouble maker who dares to play devil’s advocate in all too many places. Some people would say he is the devil – usually people of a strident, blinders-on mentality. The son of a lapsed Catholic father and Jewish mother, Maher has the clarity and objectivity that comes from such a varied background. He isn’t a slave to any school of thought so much as an objective, cultural critic to all of them.

To be sure, Maher has stepped in it a few times with his strident, opinionated enthusiasm. On his ABC show, Politically Incorrect, he incurred the wrath of many by suggesting that the Islamic jihadists of 9/11 were “brave”. This was in 2002, shortly after the attacks – so many sponsors pulled out that it cost him the show. In context, he was saying that someone flying a plane into a building is not acting timidly. But – and Maher was quick to admit – it was the wrong thing to say.

Maher then moved to HBO and started his still-running talk show, Real Time with Bill Maher. Real Time is similar in concept to Politically Incorrect but features more political figures rather than randomly assembled celebrities. Here he drew fire from Alabama's congressman Bachus for pointing out that the US Military hasn’t met 46% of its recruiting requirements. Maher rightly asked why Bachus didn’t use his energy to correct the recruiting problem instead of starting an “I Hate Maher” campaign. Lastly, Maher angered the AMA by suggesting that swine flu shots were risky and he would pass on it. He backed off of the position a bit after being lambasted from all directions.

Maher isn’t afraid to lock horns, and sometimes his rabble-rousing is very deliberate. His 2008 movie Religulous points up many of the fallacies in organized religion (pretty much all of them are lampooned). Devout people with thick skin should go see the movie – it raises some interesting points. Maher has also won a Richard Dawkins award for working to promote secular and scientific values in our society. He doesn’t claim to be an atheist like Dawkins so much as a questioning agnostic. Both secular and question are red flag words in the faith community so Maher’s noncommittal nature still makes him pretty much a nemesis to the church-going crowd.

Lastly, but not least, Maher is a confirmed bachelor playboy who indulges in non-medical weed. If you weren’t already shocked and appalled by his religious views, you might very well blanch at his libertine lifestyle. What I myself find odd about Bill Maher is not any of his maverick ways – he’s very much in the tradition of his brilliant stylistic forbear, Mark Twain. I applaud his weirdness – our mantra should be “Keep Maher weird”. What I find odd, is that so many people find Maher to be odd.

We live in a nation of cookie cutter homes, does it also have to be a nation of cookie cutter people? Bill Maher is a devilish exception – he’s from an entirely different cookie recipe. And his is a recipe that intellectually curious people should savor.

© 2012 blogSpotter