On fatigue

(This will be short for obvious reasons) Have you ever felt so bone-crunchingly tired that it didn’t matter anymore if you rested or not? Didn’t matter anymore if you drank six cups of coffee or none at all? I think I’ve arrived, but I can’t tell and I don’t care. There is a winter storm on the horizon and I don’t care. I should go to bed and get some sleep but I don’t care about that either. I get the feeling that the semester was just one week too long, or maybe the Thanksgiving break was a couple of days too short. Today, it seemed like I ran from one thing to another, and this was my quiet day. Tomorrow will be worse with an early meeting and two classes to teach. And it isn’t even a physical fatigue that bothers as much as the mental fatigue that hangs over me like a cold, wet blanket. If I have to write another official whatever, I may just scream, or worse, I won’t say anything at all. Mental fatigue is the real villain in this folktale. I like the Christmas season, but it seems like so many things pile up during these first two weeks of December that I end up hating December anyway. It’s not that I feel out-of-control, but it does feel like I would have to make a huge effort to reach “out-of-control.” And tomorrow is only Thursday–where’s the weekend? On the other hand, what has already happened to my week? I had all sorts of good intentions when Monday started. I’m too tired to figure any of this out, and I imagine, dear reader, that you are too tired to read any further.

On fatigue

(This will be short for obvious reasons) Have you ever felt so bone-crunchingly tired that it didn’t matter anymore if you rested or not? Didn’t matter anymore if you drank six cups of coffee or none at all? I think I’ve arrived, but I can’t tell and I don’t care. There is a winter storm on the horizon and I don’t care. I should go to bed and get some sleep but I don’t care about that either. I get the feeling that the semester was just one week too long, or maybe the Thanksgiving break was a couple of days too short. Today, it seemed like I ran from one thing to another, and this was my quiet day. Tomorrow will be worse with an early meeting and two classes to teach. And it isn’t even a physical fatigue that bothers as much as the mental fatigue that hangs over me like a cold, wet blanket. If I have to write another official whatever, I may just scream, or worse, I won’t say anything at all. Mental fatigue is the real villain in this folktale. I like the Christmas season, but it seems like so many things pile up during these first two weeks of December that I end up hating December anyway. It’s not that I feel out-of-control, but it does feel like I would have to make a huge effort to reach “out-of-control.” And tomorrow is only Thursday–where’s the weekend? On the other hand, what has already happened to my week? I had all sorts of good intentions when Monday started. I’m too tired to figure any of this out, and I imagine, dear reader, that you are too tired to read any further.

On [wearing] seat belts

Just when you think that a debate is over, it comes back with a vengeance. I shouldn’t even have to write this note because I think the content is self-evident, but I would be wrong. Ever been wrong? I have. This summer I made my students buckle up on the bus in Spain because it’s the law–if the bus has seat belts, the riders must put them on or they might be fined, not the driver. Nevertheless, there are still older buses on the road in Spain that do not have seat belts and are not bound by the law because they were manufactured before the law was put into place and the bus companies are not required to upgrade their equipment. In a recent tragic accident seven people were thrown from a bus that went off of the road, and they were all killed. Two were also killed on the bus, but in general, those who stayed in their seats, lived. If those seven had had seat belts on, they would have at least had a chance at surviving the crash. Instead, they were thrown from the vehicle and killed. One would think that the lives of passengers would be more important than a few thousand Euro to install seat belts, or is it more complicated than that? Do we still not take seat belts seriously enough? I was required to use seat belts as a new driver learning how to drive. Yet, some thirty-five years later, I still read reports of people who are thrown from their vehicles and killed because they weren’t wearing their seat belt, which is both kooky and tragic at the same time because they don’t seem to understand simple physics–and I mean simple. Any object which is moving will continue to move in a straight line until it is acted upon by some other force. Ergo, if you traveling at sixty miles an hour and your vehicle stops, unless you are belted in, you will continue to move at sixty miles an hour, which means that you will be thrown through the windshield and into oblivion or the next life, which ever comes first. I find it both amusing and scary that people will brandish this argument against seat belts: I’m not going to let the state mandate my safety–if I don’t want to wear a seat belt, I won’t. At some point in their short lives, this attitude will be fatal. It’s just a question of when. Then there are the folks who say that they won’t buckle up because they might get caught underwater or in a car fire. Either of those two scenarios are so rare that these people will end up in the cemetery long before water or fire ever happen. Some people are just stupid and sloppy about putting on (or not putting on) their seat belts, and they die at some point as well. If you stay in your seat in the car, you have a great chance of living through most any accident that is not totally catastrophic. If the highway patrol have to search for your body in the weeds along the side of the road, well, forget it, there are no second chances in the game of life, mostly because it’s not a game. The real truth about seat belts? Buckle up and live. If the bus passengers had had on seat belts, they would have made it, most likely. In the meantime, there are lots of dangerous tour buses out there along with lots of dangerous and stupid unbuckled drivers. For Pete’s sake, buckle up, and even if you won’t do it for yourself, think of your family–they will most likely miss you when you are gone.

On [wearing] seat belts

Just when you think that a debate is over, it comes back with a vengeance. I shouldn’t even have to write this note because I think the content is self-evident, but I would be wrong. Ever been wrong? I have. This summer I made my students buckle up on the bus in Spain because it’s the law–if the bus has seat belts, the riders must put them on or they might be fined, not the driver. Nevertheless, there are still older buses on the road in Spain that do not have seat belts and are not bound by the law because they were manufactured before the law was put into place and the bus companies are not required to upgrade their equipment. In a recent tragic accident seven people were thrown from a bus that went off of the road, and they were all killed. Two were also killed on the bus, but in general, those who stayed in their seats, lived. If those seven had had seat belts on, they would have at least had a chance at surviving the crash. Instead, they were thrown from the vehicle and killed. One would think that the lives of passengers would be more important than a few thousand Euro to install seat belts, or is it more complicated than that? Do we still not take seat belts seriously enough? I was required to use seat belts as a new driver learning how to drive. Yet, some thirty-five years later, I still read reports of people who are thrown from their vehicles and killed because they weren’t wearing their seat belt, which is both kooky and tragic at the same time because they don’t seem to understand simple physics–and I mean simple. Any object which is moving will continue to move in a straight line until it is acted upon by some other force. Ergo, if you traveling at sixty miles an hour and your vehicle stops, unless you are belted in, you will continue to move at sixty miles an hour, which means that you will be thrown through the windshield and into oblivion or the next life, which ever comes first. I find it both amusing and scary that people will brandish this argument against seat belts: I’m not going to let the state mandate my safety–if I don’t want to wear a seat belt, I won’t. At some point in their short lives, this attitude will be fatal. It’s just a question of when. Then there are the folks who say that they won’t buckle up because they might get caught underwater or in a car fire. Either of those two scenarios are so rare that these people will end up in the cemetery long before water or fire ever happen. Some people are just stupid and sloppy about putting on (or not putting on) their seat belts, and they die at some point as well. If you stay in your seat in the car, you have a great chance of living through most any accident that is not totally catastrophic. If the highway patrol have to search for your body in the weeds along the side of the road, well, forget it, there are no second chances in the game of life, mostly because it’s not a game. The real truth about seat belts? Buckle up and live. If the bus passengers had had on seat belts, they would have made it, most likely. In the meantime, there are lots of dangerous tour buses out there along with lots of dangerous and stupid unbuckled drivers. For Pete’s sake, buckle up, and even if you won’t do it for yourself, think of your family–they will most likely miss you when you are gone.

On wine

Wine is a controversial beverage. Wherever you go, someone has an opinion, pro or con, about wine because it contains alcohol, and alcohol, for good or bad, has been the source of much pleasure and much pain throughout history. The secret to enjoying wine is to know how much to drink and when to stop, and never, I mean never, drink wine on an empty stomach. It will hit your blood like a steam roller and you will be toast in no time at all. Wine is best enjoyed with friends over food. If you are mixing your box of wine with cola and sitting alone on a park bench while you enjoy your toxic coctail, you might want to re-examine both your life and your career objectives. Wine should probably not be mixed with anything, especially if it is worth drinking. Sangría, a Spanish wine cocktail, is best enjoyed very sparingly for reasons which I think are obvious. A decent bottle of wine, white or red, to be shared by several people over dinner, is a unifying drink that can turn an average dinner into a totally delightful evening, enhancing the dining experience, bringing people together, relaxing the diners, and complimenting the food, especially if both food and wine are choosen carefully. Wine is one of those drinks that can either make your dining experience wonderful, or, conversely, make your life miserable if you have too much. There are worse things in the world than a wine hangover, but I don’t want to list any of them here because they are all disagreeable and nasty. Drinking alcohol has to be a personal decision based a series of social, ethical, religious, and moral consideration, and I admire those who make a decision and stick by it–if you don’t drink, great, if you do, understand the implications and live with them, but don’t be a high and mighty fence-sitter who hypocritally points fingers but then drinks in private. By the way, drinking in private is a sign that you might be joining the guy on the park bench with the box wine and two litre bottle of cola. This note is neither a condemnation of drinking nor is it a recommendation of drinking, but it is a discussion of wine. Many of my friends drink wine, and I have been known to sip spoiled grape juice on occasion. For me, food and win go together like Laurel and Hardy, like spaguetti and meatballs, like the Fourth of July and parades. When eating a steak (not a vegetarian, either), a nice strong glass of some velvety red wine is the perfect beverage companion, not that you couldn’t drink a glass of milk with your steak. When eating some beautiful piece of fish smothered in a clam and shrimp sauce, you must have a nice, light, glass of white wine in order to ensure a good digestive process–drinking water might make your tummy hurt. I’m not saying that water isn’t always the perfect solution–I drink plenty of water (yes, I admit it, even though water is so strong!)–but sometimes it’s not the best solution (water is a compound, not a solution, unless you dissolve something in it, and it stops being just a compound), and if you are a teatotaller, more power to you, pass the water pitcher. So sometimes I drink wine, just like the guests at the wedding in Cana.

On wine

Wine is a controversial beverage. Wherever you go, someone has an opinion, pro or con, about wine because it contains alcohol, and alcohol, for good or bad, has been the source of much pleasure and much pain throughout history. The secret to enjoying wine is to know how much to drink and when to stop, and never, I mean never, drink wine on an empty stomach. It will hit your blood like a steam roller and you will be toast in no time at all. Wine is best enjoyed with friends over food. If you are mixing your box of wine with cola and sitting alone on a park bench while you enjoy your toxic coctail, you might want to re-examine both your life and your career objectives. Wine should probably not be mixed with anything, especially if it is worth drinking. Sangría, a Spanish wine cocktail, is best enjoyed very sparingly for reasons which I think are obvious. A decent bottle of wine, white or red, to be shared by several people over dinner, is a unifying drink that can turn an average dinner into a totally delightful evening, enhancing the dining experience, bringing people together, relaxing the diners, and complimenting the food, especially if both food and wine are choosen carefully. Wine is one of those drinks that can either make your dining experience wonderful, or, conversely, make your life miserable if you have too much. There are worse things in the world than a wine hangover, but I don’t want to list any of them here because they are all disagreeable and nasty. Drinking alcohol has to be a personal decision based a series of social, ethical, religious, and moral consideration, and I admire those who make a decision and stick by it–if you don’t drink, great, if you do, understand the implications and live with them, but don’t be a high and mighty fence-sitter who hypocritally points fingers but then drinks in private. By the way, drinking in private is a sign that you might be joining the guy on the park bench with the box wine and two litre bottle of cola. This note is neither a condemnation of drinking nor is it a recommendation of drinking, but it is a discussion of wine. Many of my friends drink wine, and I have been known to sip spoiled grape juice on occasion. For me, food and win go together like Laurel and Hardy, like spaguetti and meatballs, like the Fourth of July and parades. When eating a steak (not a vegetarian, either), a nice strong glass of some velvety red wine is the perfect beverage companion, not that you couldn’t drink a glass of milk with your steak. When eating some beautiful piece of fish smothered in a clam and shrimp sauce, you must have a nice, light, glass of white wine in order to ensure a good digestive process–drinking water might make your tummy hurt. I’m not saying that water isn’t always the perfect solution–I drink plenty of water (yes, I admit it, even though water is so strong!)–but sometimes it’s not the best solution (water is a compound, not a solution, unless you dissolve something in it, and it stops being just a compound), and if you are a teatotaller, more power to you, pass the water pitcher. So sometimes I drink wine, just like the guests at the wedding in Cana.

On wine

Wine is a controversial beverage. Wherever you go, someone has an opinion, pro or con, about wine because it contains alcohol, and alcohol, for good or bad, has been the source of much pleasure and much pain throughout history. The secret to enjoying wine is to know how much to drink and when to stop, and never, I mean never, drink wine on an empty stomach. It will hit your blood like a steam roller and you will be toast in no time at all. Wine is best enjoyed with friends over food. If you are mixing your box of wine with cola and sitting alone on a park bench while you enjoy your toxic coctail, you might want to re-examine both your life and your career objectives. Wine should probably not be mixed with anything, especially if it is worth drinking. Sangría, a Spanish wine cocktail, is best enjoyed very sparingly for reasons which I think are obvious. A decent bottle of wine, white or red, to be shared by several people over dinner, is a unifying drink that can turn an average dinner into a totally delightful evening, enhancing the dining experience, bringing people together, relaxing the diners, and complimenting the food, especially if both food and wine are choosen carefully. Wine is one of those drinks that can either make your dining experience wonderful, or, conversely, make your life miserable if you have too much. There are worse things in the world than a wine hangover, but I don’t want to list any of them here because they are all disagreeable and nasty. Drinking alcohol has to be a personal decision based a series of social, ethical, religious, and moral consideration, and I admire those who make a decision and stick by it–if you don’t drink, great, if you do, understand the implications and live with them, but don’t be a high and mighty fence-sitter who hypocritally points fingers but then drinks in private. By the way, drinking in private is a sign that you might be joining the guy on the park bench with the box wine and two litre bottle of cola. This note is neither a condemnation of drinking nor is it a recommendation of drinking, but it is a discussion of wine. Many of my friends drink wine, and I have been known to sip spoiled grape juice on occasion. For me, food and win go together like Laurel and Hardy, like spaguetti and meatballs, like the Fourth of July and parades. When eating a steak (not a vegetarian, either), a nice strong glass of some velvety red wine is the perfect beverage companion, not that you couldn’t drink a glass of milk with your steak. When eating some beautiful piece of fish smothered in a clam and shrimp sauce, you must have a nice, light, glass of white wine in order to ensure a good digestive process–drinking water might make your tummy hurt. I’m not saying that water isn’t always the perfect solution–I drink plenty of water (yes, I admit it, even though water is so strong!)–but sometimes it’s not the best solution (water is a compound, not a solution, unless you dissolve something in it, and it stops being just a compound), and if you are a teatotaller, more power to you, pass the water pitcher. So sometimes I drink wine, just like the guests at the wedding in Cana.

On Shylock and the Merchant of Venice

Shakespeare’s strange creature, a moneylender from his “The Merchant of Venice” is a man driven by justice in a world that treats him unjustly. As a Jewish man living and working in a Christian community he is subject to strict laws regarding his physical movements, where he lives, who he does business with, and what business he can do. Nothing about how he is treated by the governing Christian authorities is just, fair, or unbiased. He must wear special clothing denoting his religious orientation so there can be no doubt by anyone who meets him that he is a Jew. Within the context of the play, the Christian moneylenders cannot and do not charge interest on loans they might make, but Shylock, being Jewish, is allowed to charge interest. He feels discriminated against because his Christian competitors can lend against him, cutting into his business. At one point, Bassanio, a young Venetian nobleman, asked Antonio for a loan. Antonio is having cash flow issues, so they turn to Shylock for the money, Bassanio borrows the money and Antonio guarantees the loan. In a curious turn of events, Shylock does not ask for interest, but if the loan is not paid on time, Shylock wants a pound of Antonio’s flesh. The play’s denouement occurs in a rather infamous courtroom scene presided over by a cross-dressing Portia who is acting as judge. Antonio has failed to repay the loan within the specified period, and Shylock is demanding justice. What Shylock does not understand, and what Portia understands only to well, is that justice is not meted out equally. There is justice for the Christian men who rule Venice, but women and Jews are forced to live with bias, bigotry, and injustice. As a woman, Portia is being forced to marry someone by her father, and as a woman, she has no say in the matter. The fact that she is cross-dressing in order to act within the trial pays tribute to the disenfranchised nature of all women within this society, their complete lack of agency and choice, and their inability to get justice from any of the established sources of power–the courts, the city council, or the Church. Shylock, though he keenly feels the bias and bigotry that informs his world, will insist on battling on this uneven playing field. Yet he fails to understand that his condition could be even worse because women have less rights than he has. An offer is made to Shylock to repay Bassanio’s loan, but since the details of the loan have not been fulfilled, Shylock wants his pound of Antonio’s flesh. In a very moving speech, the cross-dressing judge, Portia, urges Shylock to take the money and forget about justice, especially when Shylock insists on following the contract to the letter of the law, demanding, for once, that he be given justice and his contract demands a pound of flesh. Portia reminds Shylock that showing mercy and accepting the money would be a better solution than the one he is demanding. Shylock is immovable in his demand, but before Shylock can take his pound of flesh, Portia reminds him that if they are really going to stick to the letter of the law, then he, Shylock, cannot spill a drop of Antonio’s blood, which would be a violation of the contract which makes no mention of blood, just flesh. Shylock is foiled, Antonio is not hurt–all because one man, ignoring the good advice of someone who knows better, cannot understand the difference between mercy and justice and the fact that justice is not equal for all. The play speaks directly to the problem that justice is not meted out equally, that Lady Justice is not blind, and that all disadvantaged or marginal groups might hope for is a good solution, if not an equitable one. The play, then, is not hopeful when seen through a modern optic that deplores the obvious antisemitism marshaled by Antonio or the lack of agency which Portia must endure. One man is destroyed, another flourishes, justice is not observed, and the world turns.

On Shylock and the Merchant of Venice

Shakespeare’s strange creature, a moneylender from his “The Merchant of Venice” is a man driven by justice in a world that treats him unjustly. As a Jewish man living and working in a Christian community he is subject to strict laws regarding his physical movements, where he lives, who he does business with, and what business he can do. Nothing about how he is treated by the governing Christian authorities is just, fair, or unbiased. He must wear special clothing denoting his religious orientation so there can be no doubt by anyone who meets him that he is a Jew. Within the context of the play, the Christian moneylenders cannot and do not charge interest on loans they might make, but Shylock, being Jewish, is allowed to charge interest. He feels discriminated against because his Christian competitors can lend against him, cutting into his business. At one point, Bassanio, a young Venetian nobleman, asked Antonio for a loan. Antonio is having cash flow issues, so they turn to Shylock for the money, Bassanio borrows the money and Antonio guarantees the loan. In a curious turn of events, Shylock does not ask for interest, but if the loan is not paid on time, Shylock wants a pound of Antonio’s flesh. The play’s denouement occurs in a rather infamous courtroom scene presided over by a cross-dressing Portia who is acting as judge. Antonio has failed to repay the loan within the specified period, and Shylock is demanding justice. What Shylock does not understand, and what Portia understands only to well, is that justice is not meted out equally. There is justice for the Christian men who rule Venice, but women and Jews are forced to live with bias, bigotry, and injustice. As a woman, Portia is being forced to marry someone by her father, and as a woman, she has no say in the matter. The fact that she is cross-dressing in order to act within the trial pays tribute to the disenfranchised nature of all women within this society, their complete lack of agency and choice, and their inability to get justice from any of the established sources of power–the courts, the city council, or the Church. Shylock, though he keenly feels the bias and bigotry that informs his world, will insist on battling on this uneven playing field. Yet he fails to understand that his condition could be even worse because women have less rights than he has. An offer is made to Shylock to repay Bassanio’s loan, but since the details of the loan have not been fulfilled, Shylock wants his pound of Antonio’s flesh. In a very moving speech, the cross-dressing judge, Portia, urges Shylock to take the money and forget about justice, especially when Shylock insists on following the contract to the letter of the law, demanding, for once, that he be given justice and his contract demands a pound of flesh. Portia reminds Shylock that showing mercy and accepting the money would be a better solution than the one he is demanding. Shylock is immovable in his demand, but before Shylock can take his pound of flesh, Portia reminds him that if they are really going to stick to the letter of the law, then he, Shylock, cannot spill a drop of Antonio’s blood, which would be a violation of the contract which makes no mention of blood, just flesh. Shylock is foiled, Antonio is not hurt–all because one man, ignoring the good advice of someone who knows better, cannot understand the difference between mercy and justice and the fact that justice is not equal for all. The play speaks directly to the problem that justice is not meted out equally, that Lady Justice is not blind, and that all disadvantaged or marginal groups might hope for is a good solution, if not an equitable one. The play, then, is not hopeful when seen through a modern optic that deplores the obvious antisemitism marshaled by Antonio or the lack of agency which Portia must endure. One man is destroyed, another flourishes, justice is not observed, and the world turns.

On Boston

As I write this chaos continues to assail Boston, even in the wake of the tragic bombing of the Marathon this past Monday. Perhaps the added chaos this evening is related to that bombing. The FBI seemed to be hot on the trail of a couple of suspects today, so it would not be surprising to find out that a shooting at MIT and further police action in Watertown was related to the terror bombing of Monday’s race. Ever since moving to Spain in 1979 I have had to deal with terrorists, bombs, shootings, and all the associated law enforcement that go with the human tragedy of senseless violence in the name of some irrational nationalism or imaginary political ideology. In the end, all you have is dead innocent victims that had nothing to do with any of that fruitless political struggle. Terrorism destroys both the lives of the innocents and their families and the terrorists themselves, who turn themselves into common criminals because they see their only answer to life’s difficult questions to be violence. Since they cannot attack an entire country, they attack the innocent, a slaughter of lambs, if you will, but what they fail to recognize is that no government worth its salt will ever give into terrorists. The police just work all that much harder to destroy the terrorists, which really only means that the prisons and jails fill up with terrorists, the political objectives become obscure or forgotten, and new terrorists are born to take the place of those who are dead or in jail. Terrorism is a snake eating its own tail, self-perpetuating, blind, filled with faulty thinking and irrational objectives, and it turns normal people into common criminals–murderers, thieves, liars. In the end, no one is particularly happy with the results. The terrorists are dead or in jail, their objectives unfulfilled; the victims are dead or grieving for with the loss of a loved one; law enforcement is frustrated because they could never prevent any of it–they only get clean-up duties. The big problem with bombers is that they never really understand that no matter how much they hurt the people they hate, those people will, eventually, bounce back. Those who have died are beyond reach of pain and their struggles are over. Those who have lost limbs will learn to walk again, readjust their lives, have families, love, grow old, and will eventually die of old age in God’s good time. And all those idealistic political agendas will have served nothing, nothing will change, nothing will be achieved but the destruction of some lives. The funny/ironic part about terrorists is that they are just normal people until they let themselves be lead astray by faulty irrational thinking and a belief that political goals can be achieved through violence. Most political extremism is illusory, foolish, irrational, vacuous, superficial, and/or unrealistic. Bombs will never change the basic objectives of a free market capitalism. If fact, I would hazard to say that terrorism does the exact opposite of what it proposes to do and reinforces democratic objectives and strengthens governments and law enforcement. In the meantime, however, our hearts are broken, our tears burn, the lump in our throats does not go away, and we stare at the ground in shame and horror, unable to understand why our world is so imperfect and broken.