A large, green cartoon character is certainly not the norm outside the Department of Labor, so I couldn’t help but pull in for a chat.
But how to start? “Hi, I’m a stranger” doesn’t work, but then neither does the blatantly obvious and potentially embarrassing “So, what are you doing here?”
I did my best. “What am I supposed to do?” the Grinch asked.
OK, I thought his role was clearly defined, so as tactfully as possible, I pressed for details.
“I’m supposed to steal Christmas!” he exclaimed. That was my understanding too. “But how am I to do that when it’s already been stolen!” I glanced at my laptop, casually clicking the New York Times link for any breaking news. None. Again, I pressed for details.
“I just got there too late.” complained the Grinch. This is why I hate ambiguous pronouns.
“Got where?” I asked.
“To Christmas, to steal it! It was already gone!”
I stared blankly.
“How am I going to pay the rent with no job?!”
I still stared blankly.
“You’d think stealing Christmas would be a niche market,” he added, calming down a bit.
“You have competition?” I offered (blithely, I realize in retrospect).
“Competition?” He snorted loudly. “It was gone before I got there! I’m out of business!”
I waited until the clerk finished all his paperwork, then invited him for coffee. We went across the street, and after a warm blueberry muffin and some hazelnut coffee (assuring him I was buying), he related the whole story.
“It’s the Christians!” He looked glumly into the dregs of his coffee.
“They’re fighting you?” I prompted.
“NO!” He looked angry. “They’re beating me to it!”
I signaled the waitress to replenish our coffee, sat back and just let him talk.
“Talk about ‘Bah Humbug!’” he complained. “Scrooge was a prophet compared to these guys!”
I sipped a little coffee, and waited.
“Happy Holidays!” he exclaimed. “What the hell is wrong with that?”
“Um…nothing?” I ventured.
He had entered a rant. “A bunch of people decide that they’ll respect all beliefs and traditions. Sounds Christian, right? Nope! It’s ‘Merry Christmas’ or ‘Get Lost, Godless Pagan!’ That’s what Jesus was about anyway, right? Criticizing others? Shooting tax collectors out of trees? Advising Peter to draw his sword? Do these morons even OWN Bibles?”
I was back to staring blankly.
“And now movies? MOVIES! Do these ‘brain trusts’ understand fiction? FICTION! A movie portrays people’s psyches as visible animals, and this is someone anti-Christian? What happened to Psychology 101?”
I remembered reading something about that film, “The Golden Compass.”
“Maybe they were confused about the term ‘daimon.’” I offered. “After all, they DO believe in Guardian Angels—six of one, half a dozen of the other…”
He looked sad. “No,” he answered finally, looking sad. “They believe in self-righteousness, judgment, exclusion, hatred. They’re confused about the terms ‘love,’ ‘tolerance,’ ‘faith,’ ‘brotherhood.’” And after a long pause, he added, “After all—isn’t that way they killed the Prince of Peace?”
Writer
Showing posts with label judgment. Show all posts
Showing posts with label judgment. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Friday, April 20, 2007
Hardening of the Categories
Tchaikovsky’s Fifth Symphony. As the principal bassoonist, that certainly gives me lots of work to do, especially when "full time musician" hasn’t been my day job for quite a while. However, as this piece is one of the stalwarts of the bassoon canon, all those hours in the practice room over all those years kick in, even the subtlest and strictest of points. This is my turf, where I belong.
Or not. The second bassoonist is bored, sloppy, without nuance (or the ability to play anything resembling soft). The musicians are talking incessantly, socializing instead of paying attention to this challenging piece. Regional orchestras lack funds, so we have just three rehearsals to put together this performance. Time’s a-wasting, but this apparently bothers no one else—performing well isn’t the point for many of them. Nor, it seems, for the conductor.
Anderson Consulting once had an ad featuring a lion with its paw on a ball of yarn: “Are your skills being underused?” This seems a common occurence; we belong and not, so we (and our abilities) are accepted and not. I teach at my college because of my work, and my students respond best when I’m straightforward, but I can easily get into trouble if I’m not careful to hold back—and that restraint handcuffs the work. [Colleges like to see themselves as bastions for free, critical thinking, but really they want you to do that original thinking within the guidelines of the traditional thinking.] I live in the country because I love it, even raising lumber, fruit, nuts and berries on my land (I grew up with farming), but I also have to balance this with living in a very conservative, small town where living in the country means riding ATVs/snowmobiles and driving pickups, not hiking, cross-country skiing and driving a Toyota Yaris. And at the end of the Tchaikovsky rehearsal, the concert master walked outside, took one glance at a strikingly beautiful crescent/planet conjunction and said “Oh, look at the moon,” immediately looked away, went to his car and drove off—the same moon I stared at for several minutes.
I’ve always been struck by this curious mix of interests, abilities, and accomplishments. People determined to act become musicians. Serious musicians become famous actors—and district attorneys and writing professors. A steamboat captain becomes a major author, even drawing his pen name from his previous profession—Mark Twain. The movie adaptation of Twain’s "Roughing It" ends with “Life is what happens when you’re doing something else” (which several web sites attribute to John Lennon—take your pick). Indeed.
Yet, instead of appreciating the richness of our many talents, we like to specialize. A cardiologist who prescribes medication with constipation as a side effect walks away—another doctor must prescribe the needed laxative. And academics distain “jacks of all trades,” ignoring that this describes the most interesting, successful people in field after field—renaissance people. Absolutely, specialization is useful, important, and often necessary. But we embrace it to the exclusion of all else, allowing us to put everyone in the appropriate box with the appropriate label—hardening of the categories.
Years ago, one reporter noted that retailers had trouble deciding where to put Paul Winter’s albums—the jazz bin? New Age? World Music? Paul Winter responded, “I don’t care where they put them, as long as people can find them.”
If you’re looking for me, I’ll be hanging out with Paul.
Writer
Or not. The second bassoonist is bored, sloppy, without nuance (or the ability to play anything resembling soft). The musicians are talking incessantly, socializing instead of paying attention to this challenging piece. Regional orchestras lack funds, so we have just three rehearsals to put together this performance. Time’s a-wasting, but this apparently bothers no one else—performing well isn’t the point for many of them. Nor, it seems, for the conductor.
Anderson Consulting once had an ad featuring a lion with its paw on a ball of yarn: “Are your skills being underused?” This seems a common occurence; we belong and not, so we (and our abilities) are accepted and not. I teach at my college because of my work, and my students respond best when I’m straightforward, but I can easily get into trouble if I’m not careful to hold back—and that restraint handcuffs the work. [Colleges like to see themselves as bastions for free, critical thinking, but really they want you to do that original thinking within the guidelines of the traditional thinking.] I live in the country because I love it, even raising lumber, fruit, nuts and berries on my land (I grew up with farming), but I also have to balance this with living in a very conservative, small town where living in the country means riding ATVs/snowmobiles and driving pickups, not hiking, cross-country skiing and driving a Toyota Yaris. And at the end of the Tchaikovsky rehearsal, the concert master walked outside, took one glance at a strikingly beautiful crescent/planet conjunction and said “Oh, look at the moon,” immediately looked away, went to his car and drove off—the same moon I stared at for several minutes.
I’ve always been struck by this curious mix of interests, abilities, and accomplishments. People determined to act become musicians. Serious musicians become famous actors—and district attorneys and writing professors. A steamboat captain becomes a major author, even drawing his pen name from his previous profession—Mark Twain. The movie adaptation of Twain’s "Roughing It" ends with “Life is what happens when you’re doing something else” (which several web sites attribute to John Lennon—take your pick). Indeed.
Yet, instead of appreciating the richness of our many talents, we like to specialize. A cardiologist who prescribes medication with constipation as a side effect walks away—another doctor must prescribe the needed laxative. And academics distain “jacks of all trades,” ignoring that this describes the most interesting, successful people in field after field—renaissance people. Absolutely, specialization is useful, important, and often necessary. But we embrace it to the exclusion of all else, allowing us to put everyone in the appropriate box with the appropriate label—hardening of the categories.
Years ago, one reporter noted that retailers had trouble deciding where to put Paul Winter’s albums—the jazz bin? New Age? World Music? Paul Winter responded, “I don’t care where they put them, as long as people can find them.”
If you’re looking for me, I’ll be hanging out with Paul.
Writer
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