Getaway

Work is under control: the July/August issue landed on my desk yesterday, the Top Companies report’s website is live, our conference enrollment is rolling along, and our September issue looks like it’ll be a big one. So I’m taking a vacation day!

I’m heading down to Philly to visit a friend of mine (Drake, not Butch) for a while. No worries, dear readers: I’ll have my camera with me and will likely end up somewhere where I can take some neat pix. Maybe I’ll meander downtown in Philly or visit the suburbs near Swarthmore where I used to live. Or I could stop in Princeton on the way home and stop in at the campus art museum (and the Record Exchange, of course).

“An unfailing eye and ear for the ersatz and the kitsch”

In the new City Journal, Theodore Dalyrmple lays an unholy beatdown on Tony Blair’s decade as PM. I can’t do justice to its thoroughness, so give it a read.

It looks like there’s more fallout from having Terry Jones’ unfunny brother take over as PM: longtime VM reader and official pal Faiz K. is transferring from England to the U.S.! We’ll have to teach him all about REAL football, and why baseball isn’t as boring as it. . . oh, wait, it is.

Congrats on the impending move, Faiz! We’ll make Amurrricans of you and your family in short order!

Good Night, Sweet Baba

 Mohammad Zahir Shah, the last king of Afghanistan, died yesterday:

The deposed king took up residence in a villa on Via Cassia, a main thoroughfare leading north out of Rome. He played chess and took walks. He was sometimes seen sitting in a café sipping a cappuccino or browsing through titles in a second-hand bookstore.

I can only imagine the baristas and bookstore clerks muttering to one another: “Psst! It’s that guy again! The one who keeps saying he’s the king of the Afghans!”

Calling all white people

My wife and I are just checking: Are we the only two white people who’ve ever watched two Tyler Perry movies all the way through?

Please let us know.

Monday Morning Montaigne: Of Cruelty

Montaigne’s discussion of cruelty begins with a discussion of virtue and ends with a request to treat animals right. He sets out to divide virtue from “being good” by explaining that virtue requires struggle: “[V]irtue presupposes difficulty and contrast, and . . . it cannot be exercised without opposition.” He adds that God is considered many good things, but not virtuous, because “his operations are wholly natural and effortless.”

Similarly, Socrates has so subsumed human vices that he seems to be beyond virtue: “I know his reason to be so powerful and so much the master in him that it would never so much as let a vicious appetite be born. I can put nothing up against a virtue as lofty as his.” And his chosen death is “beautiful.”

But for the rest of us, virtue must strain against vice. Except when our ethnic stereotypes come into play:

An Italian lord once maintained this theme in presence, to the disadvantage of his nation: that the subtlety of the Italians and the liveliness of their imaginations were so great, that they foresaw the dangers and accidents that could happen to them from so far off, that it should not be thought strange if in war they were often seen providing for their security even before having recognized the peril; that we and the Spaniards, who were not so sharp, went further, and had to be made to see the danger with our own eyes and touch it with our hands before taking fright, and that then we too no longer had any control; but that the Germans and Swiss, coarser and heavier, had hardly the sense to reconsider even when they were overwhelmed by blows.

This put me in mind of one of my favorite Orwell passages, from England, Your England:

National characteristics are not easy to pin down, and when pinned down they often turn out to be trivialities or seem to have no connexion with one another. Spaniards are cruel to animals, Italians can do nothing without making a deafening noise, the Chinese are addicted to gambling. Obviously such things don’t matter in themselves. Nevertheless, nothing is causeless, and even the fact that Englishmen have bad teeth can tell something about the realities of English life.

He proceeds to decry cruelty in its many states. M. being M., he draws up a laundry list of historical cruelties of capital punishment, focusing as usual on the Romans. He argues that there is nothing so monstrous as murder for its own sake “without enmity, without profit” before turning his attention to the plight of animals. He can’t stand cruelty to animals, but admits that he enjoys a good hunt.

For his part, M. argues that his reason is much more perverse than any natural inclination he may have toward vice: “[M]y lust [is] less depraved than my reason.” He counters the Cynics’ lesson, “Unlearn evil,” by contending that “chance of birth” is responsible for whatever goodness he possesses.

That sentiment makes this essay curiously worthless. When M. admits that it’s in his nature not to be cruel and to shun most vices (while still embracing minor ones), he seems to discount the impact of learning and modifying one’s own behavior. Or, at least, he’s saying, “That works for some people, but I guess I’m just lucky.”

Of course, this is the same approach I have toward friends who have told me how important psychotherapy has been in their lives.

This is the last “regular-sized” essay before the 170-page Apology for Raymond Sebond. Not sure how I’ll write about that one, but since you guys don’t read these posts, that shouldn’t concern you too much.

Cleveland Rocks

The Cleveland slideshow — goofy captions and all — is up at flickr, dear reader! Enjoy!

It was a hurried trip, landing at noon on Friday and departing at noon on Saturday. But I got to sample a little of the nightlife and took a ton of pix in the morning. The city is trying to rejuvenate its downtown area, but I don’t know what factors are at play in determining its success. When my hostess mentioned “University Drive,” it struck me that I couldn’t think of any universities in Cleveland. There’s an arts scene, but I’m not sure how that gets sustained without college kids everywhere.

Anyway, there were, of course, weird moments:

  • The woman across the aisle on the flight to Cleveland trying to hit on me despite my lack of interest, my wedding ring, and my oversized Bose noise-canceling headphones. It was the latter that really should’ve dissuaded her.
  • The van that passed me on 480 W, in which the driver brandished a crude cross at me; he did the same thing with the next car he passed, so he was either trying to convert us or he was afraid that there was a plague of daywalkers.
  • The 18-wheeler beside me that had to brake suddenly, filling my car with the smell of burnt rubber as it fishtailed and nearly smacked my rental into another lane of traffic.
  • The number of youngish women who wore evening gowns to the hipster restaurant where my host & I went for dinner.
  • And finally, an example of missingthepoint.com: a brand-new Ford Expedition sporting the bumper sticker, “Don’t let the car fool you, my treasure is in heaven.”

In all, I had a good time, but my sleep has been so erratic lately that I’ve been running on coffee and experiencing tension headaches that feel like my occipital lobe is trying to escape my skull.

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