D-Day

Today marks the 69^th anniversary of D-Day, or Operation Neptune, when Allied forces stormed the beaches of Normandy, France in a massive amphibious invasion to defeat the dark force of Nazism that had cast its genocidal shadow over continental Europe.  Don’t ever allow anyone to get away with blanket statements about war never solving anything.  Some things are worth fighting for, and the defeat of Hitler was clearly a righteous cause.  Otherwise, words like evil and valor truly have no meaning.  There's a good chance we'd be goose-stomping and greeting each other with the Nazi salute were it not for this intervention.  These American, British, and Canadian troops, both the fallen and the survivors of that hellish morning in 1944, were heroes.  They didn't want to die or get severely wounded, but they confronted the guns of an enemy well fortified nonetheless.  The U.S. military no longer throws men into enemy gunfire so unprotected, but war will always be hell.  My sister told me about her experience on an Honor Flight some years back.  She didn’t appreciate what these men had done at that time, but she recalls kind and polite old men who carried themselves with such dignity. 

Frank and Lena

Besides the wine tasting with my siblings during my visit to California I spent some time with my parents.  Chatting with my father at the poolside or the coffeehouse was an enjoyable experience, though he did most of the chatting.  My dad is genetically hardwired for conversation and social engagement, and he’s a dye-in-the-wool Democrat and educator.  Well, we have education in common!  I get my temperament and musical proclivity from my mother.  She pulled out some sheet music and had me work on some Chopin and ragtime pieces while I was there.  I felt like a twelve-year-old boy old again.  I used to come home from school and get ready for piano lessons, while my mom would bake cookies or otherwise reward me for my efforts.  All things considered, I had a good childhood.  No complaints.

Basking in the Sunshine, Strolling through the Vineyard

I recently returned from a weeklong sojourn in Los Angeles to visit family.  I spent most of that time lounging around the pool, sipping iced espresso on a Starbucks patio, conversing with my parents, and walking around Valencia, an upscale town located about thirty miles northwest of central L.A.  I hadn't seen my parents and in-laws since April 2010 when I was on a military "hot mission" in the San Francisco area and managed to drive down to L.A. for a few days.  People on the street were friendly, the weather was superb, and the urban landscape was beautiful.  On Sunday I went wine-tasting in the Santa Barbara area with my sister, brother, and my brother's significant other, Allison.  Once you reach Santa Barbara you take California State Route 154 eastward over the mountains toward the vineyards.  On a side note, I highly recommend a white BMW stocked with plenty of David Bowie and George Michael tunes.  Anyway, we stopped along the way at Cold Spring Tavern, a rustic stopping post located at a bend in the old stagecoach route.   The tavern dates back to the late 19th century and now attracts motorcycle clubs and tourists.  After a delicious chicken barbecue sandwich and alcoholic beverage, we made our way to the town of Los Olivos to enjoy some excellent wine samples at one of the tasting rooms.  We also checked out an art gallery and hung out at the local coffeehouse.  Next stop was Solvang, "the Danish capital of America," where we visited Mission Santa Ynez and a couple of wineries in the vicinity: Sunstone and Kalyra—the latter providing one of the film locations for the 2004 movie Sideways.  Though I grew up in Southern California, I had never been to Solvang before.  Overall, the wine and olive oil selections we tried were to die for.  Before heading south on the 101 back to Valencia, we ate a fine meal at Los Arroyos Mexican Restaurant in Montecito and ruminated on the day's wine-tasting experience.

 

Well, so far I’ve given you a straightforward narrative of what we did, but you don’t get any notion of who we are.  I don’t see my siblings too often, but it seems that each of us is rather independently minded, strong-willed, and more or less non-partisan in our politics.  Since our temperaments are different, I guess I’ll have to chalk these similar traits up to nurture, not nature.  I don’t know what it was about growing up in Santa Clarita, California, but we picked up a similar outlook on life.  Yet the differences are clear.  Linda has an infectious joie de vivre, speaking a mile a minute about the many books she’s read, the art exhibits she’s visited, the exotic countries she's traveled to, or the documentaries she’s viewed.  Rob, on the other hand, is laid back, thoughtful, deliberative in his comments, and a musician at heart.  For my part, Der Viator, I’m dark, self-absorbed, and, admittedly, often reeking of whiskey (unless I’m doing some serious wine tasting in Santa Barbara!).  This combination seemed to work well during our junket to Santa Barbara.  There was once an eldest daughter, but she passed away in the flower of her youth.  I can only guess what she would have been like in this dynamic, but that's a story that will never be told.   It was great getting to know Allison, and I'm sure Rob is drawn to her kindness and easy-going nature.  I think he's lucky to have her in his life.  In sum, the six days in sunny California were just what the doctor ordered: rest, relaxation, good conversation, and plenty of wine.

Naughty Monkeys (1/2)

Humans do not impress me.  Chimpanzees?  Always.  Baboons?  Sometimes.  But the Homo sapiens?  No way.  You must always be on your guard with these knife-wielding bipeds, because you never really know what they're thinking.  In fact, most representatives of this deranged species (with the rare exception of me and you, dear reader) are walking contradictions, guided first and foremost by base appetites, not reason.  We manufacture rational arguments for a fait accompli.  Reason follows desire like a hired gun to do the latter’s bidding.  We operate under certain principles only when it suits us to do so.  For instance, it doesn’t take long for a self-proclaimed pacifist to utter violent language when describing or confronted by those who espouse a different social or political ideology.  Benighted self-interest guides our behavior no less than the other species on the planet.  Humans are always bitching and moaning, hootin’ and hollerin’, posing and posturing.  It’s like they’re not content unless someone is just as miserable as they are.  I didn’t arrive at this viewpoint overnight, mind you; a consilience of evidence drew me to this conclusion.  Nietzsche was correct: what drives us is the "will to power," a determined effort to gratify our passions.  We want to control or dominate others, though some are more subtle than others in this Machiavellian endeavor.  We spit out words and slogans designed, consciously or not, to create an environment, a social psychological "space," for our will to prevail, for others to see the "wisdom" of our point of view, all the while wearing a cloak of righteousness.

 

We instill fear, guilt, or a sense of honor and moral obligation, whatever does the job to get a desired outcome, the one that yields us more wealth, more prestige, more sex partners, more real estate.  In its most vicious and systematic form, we commit genocide.  Ethnocentrism and xenophobia guide our behavior, argues anthropologist Michael Ghiglieri in his book The Dark Side of Man: Tracing the Origins of Male Violence, binding men "along kin lines and/or via reciprocal altruism to fight and kill other men genetically more distant from them in genocidal wars aimed at seizing or usurping what those other men possess, including the reproductive potential of their women."  It behooves us to attend to these biologically-driven demons and not rest satisfied with a simple social constructionist viewpoint of human violence.  Otherwise we'll continue to scratch our heads in frustration and incomprehension as to why new programs designed to desensitize males and more reinforced social institutions to create an equitable society continue to make an insignificant dent in the problems we face.

 

Perhaps this assessment of the human condition is rather bleak for some of you, especially for those of us (myself included) who want to believe in human decency, the possibilities of community engagement, and the potential for meaningful collaboration.  Moreover, you might be inclined to say that human naughtiness is an aberration, an exception that only a hasty fool would take as our core nature.  After all, don't most people just want to live in peaceful coexistence with their neighbors?  Don't they generally avoid confrontation?  Isn't the act, if not the thought, of killing another human being generally revolting to people?  But don't be deceived by outward appearances.  Our biology hasn't yet caught up with civilization.  Don't look to ideal conditions for an accurate portrayal of our nature.  And don't draw your conclusions from those times when it's easy to behave with grace and dignity.  A deep mysterious ocean surges and swells under the city streets; you could easily drop off and succumb to its forceful current.  Admittedly, my view is not particularly original nor is it a "fringe" perspective.  Just ask Darwin, Freud, Voltaire, Hobbes and others who have dared to explore these dark waters.

Tiffany in the Closet

I wept for hours in my closet today.  Please don’t judge me.  I admit I’m a very sensitive person.  Daily interactions with my work colleagues or people on the street deeply affect me.  It’s like I want to reach out and touch them, yet they spurn me with their dirty looks and curt behavior.  It saddens me that most people can be so hateful and derogatory.  I find myself too often coming home at the end of the day to seek sanctuary and finding a kind of catharsis in my tears.  Why am I so “cursed” to have a kind heart and see the possibilities for meaningful community engagement that others can’t even fathom?  Mother used to shield me from the cruel world, but I’ve been able to cope since her death through regular therapy and medication.  I still seek a dark, quiet place to ease my mind and settle my heart.   In my closet I can be alone and find comfort being next to my cherished possessions: my high school tennis rackets, vintage baseball card collection, childhood drawings, arcade plush animals, and the torso of my ex-girlfriend Tiffany.

Follower

I would follow him anywhere. Imagine me thinking these words, let alone uttering them to myself in an unguarded moment.  After all, I am a leader of men, burdened by a thousand obligations and responsibilities, routinely barking commands and too often making demands.  I have followed him to this forbidding place and I will continue on for as long as I can discern his dark form on the horizon.  I would follow him anywhere, even if it meant sacrifice, even if it meant losing myself.    Ice-capped mountains loom over the auburn landscape.  Still, even if he appears as merely a black dot in the distance, he’s larger than life, to me, larger than nature’s bounty.  I’ve pursued him through the orange groves.  I’ve tracked him through the wind-swept plains.  As he’s made his way from the basement to the attic, from the bowels of hell to the heavenly firmament, out of ambiguity and into clarity, I’ve kept him in sight.  And the longer I follow him, the more I realize I’m a follower.  Yes, I’m not just following: I’m a follower.  I have surrendered myself without reservation to his will.  Does he know I’m following him?  Is he trying to elude me?  Does he exist?  Such questions emerge from my subconscious mind from time to time, but I pay them no heed.

Gordon’s Demons in 1877

“Have you ever tried to drown a demon?  It’s no easy endeavor, involving a modicum of exertion and no small amount of tenacity,” explained the Devil. “You most certainly need a specific mindset and certain materials at your disposal.  Not holy water, crucifixes, and Latin phrases—none of that rubbish.”  He licked the sweat from his upper lip for dramatic pause, as everything Gordon did, from the beheading of street urchins to the mutilation of prostitutes, was deliberative, thoughtful, spiritual.  His clothing reeked of blood and alcohol but sobriety had now returned to him.

“I grant you that people in the world, throughout the annals of history, have suffered more than me.  Self-righteous interrogators have burned their hapless victims over fine points of theology, for instance.  And you don’t have to remind me of the pangs of despised love or the insolence of office.  No.  But few are those who have fought a demon with such determination, and so continuously.  To be sure, you'll need whiskey, vodka, and wine.  Second, you need to find ways to amuse yourself, divert your attention from the demonic powers infecting your soul.  You must be willing to tolerate pain, and by pain I mean mostly mental anguish.  Physically I’m as fit as could be, especially for my age, notwithstanding this temporary leg wound.”

The chief inspector and his constables were baffled.  Gordon seemed contrite and sincere, yet his demeanor up until these last few minutes suggested an egomaniac subservient only to one god: Gordon, or to be more specific, the fulfillment of Gordon’s darkest desires.  They found him on the steps of the St.-Theroux Parish, drunker than sin and muttering in homicidal tones.  He was also nursing a nasty wound on his left leg, an injury sustained from an unsuccessful attempt to leap from one rooftop to another as the authorities finally had the elusive killer on the run.

Until this time, no one suspected that the Devil of Drudgery Lane was an assistant professor of Slavic literature and philology at the university: one Gordon L. B. Hellquist.  Gordon wasn’t in a forgiving kind of mood.  To the contrary, he was out for vengeance, not about to show mercy to man or beast.  You see, Gordon had been wrestling with his demons, but he lost.  He fought valiantly in this spiritual battle royal, or at least he believed he fought hard.  The fact that he fought so tenaciously, with the highest of intentions, and lost the war, only gave him greater cause, only empowered his resolve to chastise his enemies.