oh the humanity – Page 5 – The Constant Harper

Vision Aerie

Last night I watched the first episode of the revived “Cosmos,” the legendary television science series created by charismatic astronomer Carl Sagan.

Sagan was less known for his scientific achievements than for his amazing ability to make science comprehensible, and even entertaining, to audiences not normally interested in hard-to-grasp facts and theories.

In 1980 when the series first aired on PBS, computers were only beginning to infiltrate every aspect of our lives. Geeks and nerds hadn’t yet ascended on the social/cultural evolutionary scale. “Cosmos” helped to glamorize the pursuit of knowledge at a time when stunning photographs of the vastness of outer space were first being sent back by the Voyager satellites. Such images let us see with our own eyes how very small our little planet is in the Big Picture.

The world has changed a bit since those starry-eyed times. Some things have improved. Others seem to be regressing.

In our current era of “reality” television, widespread conspiracy theories and muddy thinking, irrationality appears to be gaining ground. It’s a bit disheartening.

But at least now we have astrophysicist Neil de Grasse Tyson, who hosts the new series, to rev the engines of hope and wonder and science. He’s the right man, on the right planet, at a critical time.

I’ll admit, I never watched much of the original “Cosmos” series in 1980. I had just given birth to my first child and was expecting a second. My world was very tightly focused. But I had a cursory grasp of the basics of “Cosmos.” An infinite universe? Check. Evolution? Check. Room for improvement in the human interface with our beautiful planet Earth? Of course!

In the years since then I’ve had to cash in a few reality checks. Apparently not everyone fully accepts the fact-based discoveries learned through centuries of science. Though brave thinkers died for this knowledge, and the discoveries they made have improved life, at least for humans, immeasurably, this reality seems not to count for much with the crazy crowd.

I understand crazy. Been there, done that.

I prefer science. It’s more exciting, more fascinating, and far, far more hopeful.

Last week on a trip to the west coast of Florida I visited a nature preserve on Honeymoon Island State Park. The park aims to encourage native wildlife, as opposed to the sort of human wild life that thrives across the causeway, where bars and restaurants and gift shops cater to tourists and kids on spring break.

Honeymoon Island caters to ospreys. Eagles too, and also rattlesnakes, in addition to some snuffling armadillos and camera-shy turtles.

It’s quiet in the park. The high-pitched shrieks of nesting ospreys carry on the wind. The nests are easy to see, a hundred feet or more above the ground. You can see why the birds thrive there. The surrounding waters provide a steady supply of fish, and there aren’t any predators. A perfect place to raise offspring.

If you look at Earth objectively, from a scientific point of view, our little planet has all the fixin’s for the human species to raise its offspring. Yet we continue to be our own worst enemies, with whole generations killing each other off, century after century, as if there were no tomorrow.

If we keep it up, perhaps there won’t be. For us.

That’s why shows like “Cosmos” are so important. News broadcasts may keep us aware of some of the dangers we face, and other forms of entertainment may divert us from facing those problems, but “Cosmos” urges us to open our eyes and our minds and reflect upon how magnificent and breathtaking is the universe in which we live.

The show, which is airing on Fox (!) on Sundays for the next 12 weeks, will be repeated Mondays (tonight at 10 p.m.) on the National Geographic Channel. Catch it if you can.

Mom eagle keeps a watchful eye on the youngsters while Dad's out catching dinner. — Mom eagle keeps a watchful eye on the youngsters while Dad’s out catching dinner.

St. Patrick’s Month

One day is not enough.

While technically St. Patrick’s Day is a few week’s away, this past weekend the City of Alexandria kicked off the green season with a flourish of bagpipes, a swirl of step dancers and a celebration of all things remotely Irish. The inclusiveness of the modern holiday is one of its most endearing qualities. Just as you don’t have to be Irish to enjoy Irish music, beer and storytelling, so too you can march, or dance, or strut in the parade as long as you do it with joy.

It was a cold afternoon, but high spirits and infectious enthusiasm warmed the appreciative crowd.

The City of Alexandria Pipes and Drums get things rolling in black hats and spats.

Some things never out of style. — Some things never go out of style.

Everything's better with kilts. — Everything’s better with kilts.

In A World Distracted

Yes, I watched the Super Bowl. No, I don’t care about football.

But I am continually amazed by the peculiarities of my species, and those are on display with extra sprinkles during our nation’s annual rite of roughhousing. Love it or hate it, football is entrenched in our culture, almost as deeply as the beer and cars and snack food whose ads support the whole ritual.

And, I admit, I enjoy critiquing the Super Bowl ads at least as much as I enjoy watching the game. I mean, breathes there a soul so dead that never involuntarily said “aww!” at the first sight of those Budweiser ads with the puppy and the Clydesdale? Come on! Puppies! Clydesdales! United in their appreciation for American beer, even if that company is now owned by a Belgian-Brazilian corporation. It’s still our beer, right?

Well, beer aside, the Super Bowl is over, and now we have to face the rest of February with only Mardi Gras, Valentines day, and the Olympics to distract us from the tiresome work of reality. In Washington, D.C., people pay a lot of attention to the news. And a lot of people in this city are actively involved in trying to change and/or improve the way things work in this country and the rest of the world. There’s always room for improvement. But it’s never as simple as one might hope, it’s rarely easy, and often slow to manifest.

That slowness represents a challenge for us humans. We all want instant results. Lose weight fast. Get rich quick. Dominate the market today.

Yet there’s an upside to a slower process that allows for adjustments, refinements, and perhaps a closer brush with perfection. It’s hard to stay focused on one goal persistently, day after day, week after week. Everyone needs a break from time to time. Thus, some watch football. Others prefer the Kitten Bowl, or the Puppy Bowl.

In a world where the problems sometimes seem too large to manage and the people in charge appear unequal to the task, it’s important not to lose hope. When my spirit sags I turn to movies. This past weekend I watched “In A World,” Lake Bell’s brilliant and funny film about the curious business of voice-overs. The film has a lot to say about ambition, gender issues and perception, but most of all it challenges the notion that we are all stuck “in a world” where things can’t be changed. Bell makes it clear that even when the game is rigged and the odds are stacked against you, you can change the game.

As Seattle quarterback Russell Wilson said in his interview after the Super Bowl, his father always encouraged him to follow his dreams even though they seemed out of reach, saying, “You have the ability…so why not you?”

In a world where the Seattle Seahawks can defeat Peyton Manning and the Broncos, it feels like anything can happen.

The Panda Perplex

The baby panda's father, Tian Tian, is unfazed by the pandamonium. — The baby panda’s father, Tian Tian, is unfazed by the pandamonium.

In a city where power politics and grandstanding are routine, the need for diversion from the perpetual feuding drives some to great lengths.

Some people find relief in music or sports, either as spectators or participants. An obsessive interest in any sport offers a giddy disconnect with genuine problems. The operative word here is obsessive. Rational humans appear immune to obsessive behavior. They plan their lives carefully, set goals, work towards them, eat right, think constructively and generally set an example for the rest of us.

But they can never know the joy of the True Obsessive, who charts a course through life guided by an unwavering conviction that certain actions must be taken, certain sights must be seen, certain foods must be consumed, etc. While this might seem irrational, from another angle it reveals a cunning strategy to find satisfaction in a world which all too often refuses to play ball when it comes to fairness.

For the obsessive who defines happiness as the attainment of whatever particular experience they have chosen as their guiding star, the goal of satisfaction becomes less remote.

All of which is to say that if your obsessive passion is panda bears, it’s a great time to be alive in Washington, D.C.

On the planet at this point there are only 300 pandas in captivity, and only 1,600 left in the wild.

Our newest celebrity panda cub, Bao Bao, born August 23rd, 2013, is only the second panda since 1972 to survive birth in captivity at the National Zoo. She made her public debut on Saturday, and thousands of people waited in line for hours to get a precious minute to snap a photo and drool on the glass separating the public from the wee bear.

The Zoo's live Panda-cam lets fans get a panda fix anytime, night or day. — The Zoo’s live Panda-cam lets fans get a panda fix anytime, night or day.

I wasn’t one of them. Not that I don’t like pandas, of course. Who wouldn’t like pandas? But since my children are grown, and my patience isn’t what it used to be, I declined the opportunity to stand in line for 90 minutes to get a glimpse of the adorable newbie. But I respect the devotion of those pandamanians who got up before dawn on Saturday, and waited long hours in the freezing cold to be among the first to see Bao Bao. Some drove nine hours for the privilege.

Visitors pass through a bamboo tunnel while waiting for a glimpse of Bao Bao.

However, just because I wouldn’t go the distance for a baby panda doesn’t mean I might not do it for some other obsession. There was a time when I waited in line for almost two hours to get a book signed by Terry Pratchett. You might not think there would be that many people interested in such a thing, but, trust me, the distance between desire and obsession is mutable. One minute you think you can do without something, and then…gotta have it.

So my hat’s off to the panda crazies. I salute their funny hats, their whimsical backpacks, their umbrellas, their bento boxes. It’s all good. It goes to support panda research. And though some members of Congress question whether too much money is being spent on one endangered species, at least the public is chipping in big time to shoulder the cost when it comes to pandas.

But if the giant anteater ever gets a star on the endangered list, I wouldn’t bet on its chances of touching off a meerkat-like whirlwind of devotion. We humans are a fickle bunch. Our obsessions come and go. Not unlike the endangered creatures who inspire them.

Just Rewards

I never plan to watch these things. But there I was on Sunday night, sucked into the Golden Globe awards before Tina Fey cracked the first joke.

I’d like to think I was immune to the siren spell of glamorous people in their glamorous outfits with their carefully styled hair and state of the art make-up. Yet when the stars shine, I’m dazzled.

But much as I love watching movies and surrendering my disbelief for a few hours every now and then, the sheer number of entertainment award shows is, to borrow a showbiz term, colossal. Remember when it was just the Academy Awards? One night of the year when movie buffs and cinema snobs could cheer for their faves, and grumble about the injustice of the system? The movies were in their golden youth back in 1929 when the first Academy Awards were handed out. By the time the event was first televised in 1953, it had grown far beyond its humble origins. And its success as a commercial entertainment has inspired a worldwide genre.

In this era of global coverage, I bet you could find an award show to watch almost every week of the year. France, Britain, Australia, Japan, and countless other countries have their own award shows. And then there are the Emmys, Tonys, Grammys, etc. In fact, with so many award shows, and so many memorable moments in each one, doesn’t it seem inevitable that we should have an award show for the best of the award shows?

I can see it now: the categories would include Most Convincing Show of Genuine Emotion for winning an “unexpected” award, Most Thrilling Dress, Most Embarrassing Dress Mishap, Best Acceptance Speech, of course, Most Vindictive Acceptance Speech (Payback Is Hell category).

I would watch this show. I think most of us would be happy to nominate contenders. After all, every award program, from the lowliest local theatre gathering to the Academy Awards gala, is held together by magical filaments of glorious vanity dancing with brave ambition. Some crushed toes are inevitable.

We like to tell our children it’s not how you look that determines how the world will respond to you, that actions matter more than words, that truth is powerful. And these are noble ideas. But in the world of entertainment, you won’t go far if your clothes don’t flatter you. Or if you can’t remember your lines. Or if you tell it like it is to an audience that wants to hear the same soothing lies.

Movies are a remarkable medium. They can educate, enlighten, move and terrify us. Sometimes they can even change the way we see the world. But award shows are all alike. Beautiful people make jokes about each other. Everyone thanks their “team”, their directors, their agents, their families, and God, who, along with being a big sports fan, is apparently is a huge movie buff.

If there were an award for the most gullible I’d be right on there on the stage , clasping my little statuette, thanking all the kind fans who voted for me. But most of all I’d be wishing I were someplace else.

Not Cool

Nothing says cool like a red beret, n'est ce pas? — When I was 11-years-old I wanted nothing more than to be cool, Daddio.

So I read in the news that Facebook is not cool anymore.

Some of us had doubts about its coolness in the first place. But now it’s official, according to an article in a British newspaper which declared that Facebook is no longer the platform of choice for the critical 16-to-18 -year-old demographic.

You realize what this means, of course. We can all stop worrying about trying to be update our photos and liking everyone else’s. I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling a great sense of peace about this.

And it’s nice that this news comes out just in time for the traditional end-of-the-year lists of what’s hot and what’s not. Oh sure, it’s trivial stuff for the most part. I mean who isn’t sick of hearing about Miley Cyrus and Justin Bieber?

But those lists somehow mesmerize anyway. You find yourself reading them in the same way you might take a quiz in a magazine while waiting in the dentist’s office, not because you care, really, but, you know, just so you’ll stay current. Hah.

The thing about currency is that it only works if it keeps changing hands. The same could be said of fame, another type of currency. The brilliance of yesterday’s stars dims in the shadow of tomorrow’s bright comets. It has ever been thus.

For my generation, the boomers who rode into town on a hip-shaking wave of rock and roll only to crash and burn when the conflicting forces of corporate greed and pie-eyed optimism left us stranded in suburban wastelands that register zero on the walkability meter, the cooling off period has been a bit humbling.

Still. We soldier on. Our freak flags may droop a bit, yet our pie-eyed optimism remains fruity and wholesome.

But cool we ain’t. Our cool days were long ago. Way before Facebook even existed. Yet I’m okay with that. I had a few cool moments. Now I’m more into warmth, sharing, kindness, puppies, etc.

Cool was hot in the early fifties, before most of the current “cool kids” were born. I imagine they have their own vocabulary for what cool meant to their parents. For us, it wasn’t simply Miles Davis and Alan Ginsburg. It wasn’t only Lenny Bruce and George Carlin and Steve Allen and Nina Simone. It was a whole complex of ideas and energy and style that roared into the culture after the boys came home from World War Two. It was an awareness of how fleeting life is, and how fast it goes by, and a determination to make the most of every minute.

As another New Year’s eve approaches, new lists of ins and outs will circulate. Facebook will likely be nudged onto the out list by some new app. How apt.

Meanwhile, I’ll be updating my status with a glass of wine and a fine film, enjoying the serenity that comes from knowing I don’t have to try to be cool anymore. And that’s really cool.

Star Stuck

Twinkle twinkle little star, how I wonder when I stopped wondering what you are.

I was nine years old when my mother gave me a copy of “Mary Poppins.” I loved it. But some parts of it stuck with me more than others. In particular I recall the chapter in which Mary Poppins takes the children to meet a wispy old lady who makes gingerbread stars. The key magical element was the gold foil stars covering the cookies that (spoiler alert) the old lady, with Mary’s help, pastes to the night sky.

Of course I knew it was make believe, but I liked the idea. The hard-edged modern world has little patience for such whimsy. We know too much now. Or think we do, anyway. Once those spectacular photos from the Hubble telescope started showing up on the Internet, putting to shame all of George Lucas’s special effects, not to mention Gene Roddenberry’s best efforts, it became obvious that the stars are far more complicated and numerous than was once thought.

Back in the days when the Greeks and Romans were giving names to the twinkling lights in the night sky, and in some cases imagining origin myths and personal narratives for all that glow, the chance of anyone going up there and assessing the actual content and dimensions of the stars was remote. Now satellites clutter the atmosphere, not only bouncing signals back and forth and observing our mundane activities here on Earth, but allowing us to watch the exploding swirling dance of distant galaxies.

It’s enough to make anyone’s head spin. And right now, what with the eggnog and the rum punch etc., I really don’t need any more confusion in my life. I used to enjoy the Christmas hoopla. But ever since the 12 days of Christmas turned into 12 weeks I’m too burned out on the whole marketing juggernaut to stop and smell the gingerbread.

I miss that simpler Mary Poppins sort of magic. I’d rather look up at the stars on a clear cold snowy evening than watch another sappy holiday special about the meaning of Christmas.

I think meaning is best when it’s homemade. Like gingerbread stars. And this holiday, I’ll be pasted.

The Santa Particle

Inside, Santa's just a kid himself. — Inside, Santa’s just a kid himself.

If Santa is the answer, what is the question?

More to the point, how did this man in the red suit gain such stature in our collective consciousness? Oh sure, he’s a father figure, a giver, a jolly old soul and all that. But does that explain how Old Saint Nick became so entrenched in our cultural cosmos?

I sometimes wonder if the modern Santa fixation goes back to Pepsi and Coke, our rival libations, who both used Santa’s image and beloved persona to persuade millions of folks that drinking limitless soda was integral to holiday festivity. The Claus the refreshes.

Yet the way the notion of Santa and his whole North Pole crew has percolated through winter traditions suggests that the character resonates with people of all ages, not just children. If anything, I suspect most children start out with a healthy skepticism regarding this old guy and his bag of toys who sneaks into the house and eats your cookies while you’re sleeping. But well-meaning parents (self included) encourage small children to believe in all sorts of impossible ideas – mice that talk, pumpkins that transform into gilded chariots, fairies that live under mushrooms, etc.. I’m not saying those things might not be true in some way, somewhere, but I used to feel a tad irresponsible when I was trying to maintain the Santa charade. I mean, belief is powerful, but if you teach kids one thing and then a few years later say, ‘oh, yeah, about that? Just kidding’, you may inadvertently cast a shadow of doubt that lingers long.

Yet there’s no denying the appeal of the Santa concept. The notion of a selfless soul whose sole purpose is to bring joy to others is deeply attractive. If there isn’t a Santa Claus, why not? And if there is such a person, wouldn’t it be great if each of us shared some of that joy-bringing elfness?

This message powers many of the most enduring Christmas films. Not only the relentlessly aired “It’s A Wonderful Life” and “Miracle on 34th Street,” but some of the more recent yet equally effective holiday films such as “Scrooged” and “Elf.”

Children who learn early that giving is as much, if not more fun than receiving, can grow up with an appreciation for what it is not just to “see” Santa. In time they may come to treasure the experience of “being” Santa.

And yes, Virginia, I do believe there’s a little particle of Santa in each of us, just waiting to accelerate.

Mind Games

What do flightless birds and shy nerds have in common?

Both soar freely in the abstract realm that is crossword puzzledom.

Yes, I know, puzzledom is not an actual word, although if it were you could score a gazillion points with it in a game of Scrabble. But in crosswords points are not the point. Each puzzle is a unique mystery, or rather, a collection of small mysteries bound together in a two-dimensional grid. Not exactly a concept that sings like a winning contestant on “The Voice.” Yet, from its modest, unsung beginning as a novelty item in a December 1913 edition of the New York World, the crossword puzzle has hummed its way into the heart of our culture, converting skeptics from all walks of life.

In this past Sunday’s The Washington Post, crossword puzzle guru Merl Reagle wrote a fascinating article about the inventor of the crossword puzzle, Arthur Wynne, and how his clever idea stormed the country while not earning him a dime. In honor of the enduring popularity of crossword puzzles, the Post is sponsoring a special 100th anniversary contest which features four linked crossword puzzles and some other nifty surprises. The winner will get a thousand dollars, a sum which might inspire even scoffers of the humble word puzzles.

I admit, there was a time when I viewed crosswords as a waste of time, an occupation fit only for those who had nothing better to do. How little I knew. I learned a bit about the mania that crossword puzzle enthusiasts share from watching “Wordplay,” a funny, enlightening 2006 documentary film directed by Patrick Creadon. It features Will Shortz, editor of The New York Times crossword puzzle, Merl Reagle, Jon Stewart, Bill Clinton, Ken Burns and other notable puzzle enthusiasts. After watching that film I decided to give crosswords a try.

I was also motivated in part by the sort of quiet dread of, you know, losing my mind. When it runs in your family, you start to grip the wheel a little tighter as you approach the curves in the road. So, although I was raised to consider doing crossword puzzles a waste of time, I read scientific articles documenting evidence suggesting that mental acuity, like muscle tone, improves with regular exercise. And a crossword puzzle is nothing if not an exercise in cogitation: a ten letter word that means thinking.

Of course, not all thinking is productive or constructive, but thoughtless action is unreliable in most situations, unless you are a Zen monk. I mean, sure, we can all learn something by trying to figure out “What is the sound of one hand clapping?” But in my life I seem to be confronted more often with questions where the answers are true or false, multiple choice, or none of the above.

The beauty of the questions in a crossword puzzle is that there is always a correct solution. And, if you can’t figure it out, there’s a new puzzle the next day, or the next week. This system offers a soothing contrast to the baffling hydra-headed conundrums of modern life.

So if, like me, you find that neither yoga, nor meditation, nor even kick-boxing delivers the relief you seek from the stress of modern times, you could do worse than to pick up a crossword puzzle and give it a go. Just remember, all emus are flightless birds, but not all flightless birds are emus.

Check Mate

Ain't nothin' like the real thing. — Ain’t nothin’ like the real thing.

In the early 1980’s, when we got our first tiny little desktop computer and my husband wanted to put it in our bedroom, I remember feeling strangely disconcerted. For some reason it struck me as a violation of my personal space. I had no idea.

Back then, computers were still the stuff of geeks. Ordinary people had little truck with them. Now, of course, even trucks have onboard computers.

But for the generations which have grown up since the 90’s it must be hard to fathom how slowly things happened in the olden, golden days of, say, 1984. Hah. Orwell was close, but no cigar.

Last weekend I watched a quietly droll mockumentary called “Computer Chess” which evokes those awkward yet exciting years in the early ’80s when computers still seemed only dorky tools for the scientifically minded. It didn’t help that most computers then were the size of small refrigerators.

In director Andrew Bujalski’s cleverly understated indie black and white film, released this year, the plot centers around a small gathering of computer engineers in the then-new field of artificial intelligence who compete to see which of them has designed the best chess-playing computer program.

The tone and style of the film mimics a primitive home movie. There are moments of humor, and even suspense of a sort, but the dominant keynote is weirdness, and not simply the “oh aren’t nerds funny” type of easy target humor we’ve grown accustomed to seeing on shows like “Big Bang Theory” (and trust me, I am a fan). Rather, the film sustains a bizarre yet absorbing mood, as if Jim Jarmusch and Neil Gaiman had sketched out a plot together on a napkin in some dark after-hours cafe.

I found it entertaining and thought-provoking, in spite of its somewhat sinister undertones. Kind of the way I feel about computers now.

In fact, when I think back to my initial uneasiness about sharing my bedroom with that sleek little desktop all those years ago, I realize that, in dramatic terms, that sly seductress was no Mac. She was Maxine, a rival in tech clothing, and way too smart for me.