Today's MOZEN: It Ain't Easy 9/1/2014

Words and photo by F LoBuono

Arguably, Dorothy Parker's most famous quote is: "I hate to write. I love having written". The statement is both obvious and profound to those of us who labor as so-called writers. The process of sitting at a keyboard in front of a blank computer screen on a daily basis may have replaced staring at a blank piece of paper with a pencil in your hand but it can still be a daunting task, especially for someone who writes as I do. I compose and offer my thoughts not as a novelist but as a journalist/essayist. My purpose is not to create a fictional world but, rather, to ruminate on the one we actually live in. To accomplish this, I attempt to put myself in a position not only to have strong opinions, but to defend them, as well. In doing so, I stick my neck out far enough for all sorts of blades to cut my head off. This is the "hate" part: first, you actually have to write something intelligible -difficult enough all by itself. Then, you have to be strong enough, and sharp enough, to stand the barbs a strong stance is bound to attract. And, since I believe in what write, I can be counted on to have a very strong opinion . I am not afraid to express myself. But, it's hard to put yourself (yes, your THOUGHTS are who you ARE) out there on virtually a daily basis. You have to have thick skin if you want to be in the op-ed business.

Another challenge is, surprisingly, not the lack of things there is to write about but the fact that there are actually too many ! The more I observe, the more it appears to me that the world is bursting apart at its seams. The flow of information is as immediate as it is constant. One major reason for this, I believe, may be due to the proliferation of Social Media and the accessibility it provides to that information. Interestingly, this can also be seen as a "love/hate" relationship. I love it because it provides us with a constant source of information while at the same time keeps us connected to every corner of the globe. Dizzying amounts of data are at our fingertips and can be accessed immediately. For example, if something happens in Ukraine, we know about it here in the U.S. virtually as it's happening. There was a time not too long ago when such information might not have been available for days or even weeks. Social Media is also a powerful tool to keep me connected to friends that I have known my whole life and in fostering new relationships. It also allows me to share my thoughts and opinions with others and hear theirs. This part I love. But there is another aspect that I hate. It's the other side of the same coin.

The shear volume of information flowing in and out of our lives is staggering. In fact, it is so much so that our brains are hard pressed to keep up with it. Alvin Toffler accurately predicted this new, modern malaise many years ago in his seminal work, "Future Shock". The amount of information we can access in a single day is extraordinary - even mind boggling, literally. I read somewhere that consuming the Sunday New York Times can provide us with the same amount of information a 16th Century man needed a lifetime to garner! Unfortunately, much of the news we receive today from ANY source can be depressing. ISIS, the Middle East, race riots, murders, rapes, police brutality and the other myriad ills that plague our society regularly lead our nightly newscasts and information streams. The old newspaper adage, if it bleeds, it leads is as prevalent today as it was when it was coined years ago. The technology may have changed but the ethos has not. And, that IS distressing. It can leave us feeling that the world is on the verge of collapsing at any moment. Even though these calamities have always been a part of our lives, they seem more prevalent today. But the world was a smaller place when most of us were kids. The Internet, Facebook, Twitter, and the like changed all of that. I believe the difference now is that, with the 24 hour news cycle in addition to these other media outlets, we are hearing more about these events then ever before.  It can be an assault on the senses.

Another contributing factor to this modern-age depression is the very nature of the information we receive and how that information is presented. There tends to be a symbiosis between the media and culture. It is not unreasonable to claim that one reflects the other. So, if our Society is negative and mean-spirited, our media tends to report it as such - and vice versa. They feed into one another. For example, our current Congress is acrimonious to the point of incompetence. This has led to a mean-spirited approach to politics; we tend to think the worst in the other other party or someone who may have a different opinion. We question their motivation, their vision, their integrity. And the more it is reported as such, the more prevalent it tends to become. Appealing to the lowest common denominator seems to be the easiest way to process and disseminate information.  So, the tone is set right from the top and it trickles down into every broadcast and information stream. Therefore, it tends to make them negative and mean spirited. This, in turn, leads us as a society to behave according to those principals.

The anonymous nature of the Internet itself also plays a major role. I believe that we tend to be more bold when we have the protection of electronic isolation. By that I mean it is much easy to make strong statements or insult someone when sitting miles away from them, looking at a computer screen, then it is when we are up close and personal. All one need to do to witness this is spend some time on Facebook. Facebook is a wonderful depository of not only information but hopes, dreams, and desires, as well. Many of us share things of the most intimate nature there; birth, deaths, and just about everything in between. It can provide a sort of emotions glue that bounds often disparate parties. Anonymity can aid that. But it can also have a dark side. When we feel safe enough to share, we often feel safe enough to harm, too. We see it all of the time: a Facebook (or other, social media) conversation about a controversial topic gets heated. The thread of comments gets more and more pointed. Everyone wants their opinion taken seriously. Eventually, the epithets start to fly and the "conversation" disintegrates into childish name calling. If we keep it civil, we can get a lot done. However, today, that seems to be the exception rather than the rule. Mean Spirited.

But there is something that may be even more insidious at play. And that is the barrage of vapid, worthless, useless infotainment (an industry term describing programs that supposedly inform AND entertain) programming that assails us without remission. There is the endless parade of so-called "reality TV shows" featuring the likes of duck calling Hillbillies, housewives from just about anywhere, fat-assed Hollywood celebrities, a nervy clairvoyant from Long Island, a food tossing chef, a plethora of teenage mothers, toddlers in tiaras, and lots of chubby children who have no talent except to eat. Some may call it entertainment. I have another word for it: SHIT. What frightens me most is not just that these programs are made, but the fact that they ARE made because people actually watch them!! These programs would find no purchase if they had no audience. But, obviously, they do. If they did not, they would just dry up and blow away like so much desiccated dog shit. Some will defend it as harmless. But, to me, this represents a dumbing down of our society that is every bit as dangerous as a terrorist attack. If we produce a generation that knows nothing beyond people who are famous simply for being famous, we are truly doomed.

It's enough for me to want to stick my head in the sand and hope that when I eventually come up for air, everything will be better. Well, this may work for ostriches but it certainly does not work for me. Yes, there are times when I've had enough. If one more piece gets cut out of me, I'll be nothing more than a mere skeleton. I'll not suffer one more sling nor arrow. I just want to crawl under the proverbial rock and be left alone. It sure would be easier to just shut the f'up and walk away. And, sometimes, that's just what I do. I just recently had a bout of it. I did not write much here or on Facebook. It was nice to think that the world was doing just fine without me. I had found my rock to crawl under. But, it's not in my nature to sit back too long, out of the fray. No, not my nature at all. After all, I LOVE having written. Perhaps, because my words may have made a difference. And people have told me that they have. That's the payoff. That's the love of writing. It's difficult on many levels, especially if you are willing to always write the truth as you see it. But, when it's done well, it can facilitate needed change. I know others may get frustrated trying to change the world. They believe their lives and goals are better served on a smaller scale - saving the world is a job for someone else. I understand and respect that. It's a pretty big job. However, I also believe in trying to live what the Mahatma Gandhi said:

Be the change you wish to see in the world.

And you can't effect change from the sideline.

Guest Author Robert Debbaut

Lenny’s 70^th Birthday Tour

 

It was a festive night in dear Ann Arbor town.  The Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra (VPO) was in residence again with Leonard Bernstein on the podium.   The time was October of 1988, and as part of what was dubbed "Leonard Bernstein's 70th birthday" Tour, VPO's only performances outside of major US cities would be in Ann Arbor at the vaunted University of Michigan Hill Auditorium, one of the greatest  music halls in the world.

 

Bernstein had in particular wanted one concert on this tour to be in Ann Arbor because of the acoustically superior hall and the University of Michigan's storied conducting program. Led by his protégé’ from Tanglewood, Gustav Meier, Michigan's conducting program had grown to be one of the three preeminent institutions of conductor training in the world. Graduates had won major competitions and held music directorships and professorships of conducting literally all over the world.  

Unfortunately, Maestro Bernstein had no time to come and share with us at the conducting seminar, but it was announced by Professor Meier that all the conducting students were invited to a reception in his honor at the President's House on South University following the concert.

“Black tie, gentlemen,” Meier said with a smile.

Two years prior VPO and Bernstein had been in town for two concerts: a magnificent Mahler 5 and a second evening of Sibelius 5 and Bernstein's own Serenade After Plato's Symposium.  This year featured Beethoven's Leonore Overture No. 3, Bernstein's Preludes, Fugues and Riffs for Clarinet solo and wind band, and Brahms' Fourth Symphony, a work the VPO had indeed premiered while Brahms was still living and with the composer in the audience.

The concert was great!  It is a rare privilege to watch a composer conduct his own music and Bernstein, VPO and the soloist, their principal clarinet, did not disappoint.  Afterwards, dressed one and all in tuxedos for our "black tie event," we all rushed over to the President's House to, of course, wait. 

Upon entering all received name tags from the June Cleaveresque Mrs. Duderstadt, wife of the university president, and were encouraged to partake of punch and cookies.  Bernstein was, of course, not there yet and, as we found out, not even CLOSE to being there.  Mr. Bernstein had an endearing policy of greeting every single soul who would come back to congratulate him after concerts.  This particular evening, however, it was not endearing but annoying--we all wanted to see "Lenny."

After what seemed an eternity of small talk with people one saw every damned day, a bit of a stir was detected near the side entrance of the President's House. Soon, dressed in a blue sport coat, grey slacks, blue pin-striped shirt and sporting what we were later told was a copy of Serge Koussevitzky's cape (black with red satin lining, tied in a bow at the neck) appeared the guest of honor, his silver mane combed back a bit, his contagious smile lighting up the room, made that much brighter by the warm applause accorded him by all there gathered.  To his right there appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, an arm holding a bowl of amber liquid and ice. 

Nodding to acknowledge the applause, Bernstein reached without looking, took the bowl o' scotch, quaffed down a healthy draft and said:

"Okay, who's voting for George Bush?"

We all laughed and looked around as three or four brave souls of the hundred or so there raised their hands.

"Only three of you?" Bernstein exclaimed, "THANK GOD!!!"

Before even shedding the cape, he then went to each one of those who had expressed support for the then-vice president's aspiration for higher office and teased them about it. One faculty member-- apparently spineless (probably an associate dean; one doesn’t get those jobs based on one’s backbone)—nodded and agreed with every point Bernstein made against GHWB.  Exasperated by the lack of defensive arguments from one who, while he had made up his mind, lacked the clear conviction necessary to engage Leonard Bernstein in a public debate, Lenny raised his voice a bit and asked the spineless sycophantic associate dean for bedknobs and broomsticks:

"So why are you voting for George Fucking Bush?" 

Try to imagine how much that delighted all of us.

Next in the evening's comedy came Ken Fischer, the impressario of the University of Michigan's Performing Arts Series and ostensibly Bernstein's host.  Bernstein complimented Fischer on how neatly his pocket handkerchief was folded.  Fischer giggled a bit, said something to the effect that it was just fabric on cardboard and then pulled It from his pocket to show everyone.

Bernstein rolled his eyes with an audible "Aaaauugh."  

Fischer said to him "Surely you don't fold your own before all these concerts."

Bernstein said: "Yes, I do, every night, and I tie my own bow tie." (On the Monday following this event I could be found at a State Street haberdasher purchasing my own tie-yourself white bow tie).

Each of we five conducting students was sought out by him during the evening.  About each of us he knew a little tidbit--things he shouldn't have known at all.

For example, saying to a colleague who had changed his name for professional reasons "That isn't your real name, is it?"

Either he was psychic as well as multi-talented or he had a shill among us--I tend to believe the latter, but would not be shocked to be proven wrong.  My close encounter concerned my use of five horns to play the three horn parts of Beethoven’s “Eroica,” which I would conduct for the first time in two weeks.  Rather than follow the example of Associate Dean Quackenbush I held my own in the discussion.  I found out at the end that disagreeing might not have been the best to do with a genius, who smiled at me in closing and said “Bless you.”  After all, it is quite a burden to know everything.

The maestro, an artist surely as worthy as anyone of this title but who never allowed himself to be referred to as such in his own program biographies—always “Mr Bernstein”--was then ushered to a couch at the larger end of the room and brought some snacks to go with now the third one.  There we "kids" gathered around to ask questions and converse.  

After starting his next scotch, he looked up quizzically and asked "Why aren't you kids drinking."  

"It's a dry party," said a fellow student.

“Well, we can’t have that,” he said, and motioned to his body man, Craig, to refresh the glass. 

Bernstein’s scotch tumbler was then passed among us like a communion chalice.  While many refrained, there were a few giggling, nervous sippers.  I, however, took a generous sip from the "holy grail" of the genius in our midst and, as I passed on the glass to my right, whispered in a friend’s ear “The Blood of Christ.”

One more large tumbler of scotch was quaffed over a few more stories, questions and jokes—geniuses are, by nature, quite witty, verging on hilarious--and it was apparent by certain actions that it had been decided  by our stuck-in-the mud host, President Duderstadt, and his equally uninteresting wife, June Cleaver Duderstadt, that the evening should end. Lenny, revealing his inner adolescent boo-boo face, looked genuinely disappointed, and told the young composers who had now gathered 'round him:

"Gee, kids, isn't there some place we can go and have a drink together?"

The Full Moon on Main Street--a tavern notable for its wall (and I mean WALL) of beer varieties--was quickly and enthusiastically suggested and chit chat sprang forth about who was going to go and how to get LB there.  Meanwhile, Bernstein, obviously pleased that the festivities were being taken on the road, finished his scotch, lit another cigarette and started snapping the fingers of his right hand and doing a little marching in place to the rhythm he heard in his head.  Then, to the tune of his Preludes, Fugues and Riffs he began singing:

"I'm back again in MI-chi-GAN, I'm hangin' at the CAM-pus INN, I hear there is a LOT of SIN in MI-chi-GAN."  

Then he giggled a bit, coughing as he did, and was ushered to the back door where the limo waited.

This writer surely had not had enough of the intoxicating presence of genius and would have happily followed the caravan to "The Moon," but this cute coed in a party dress had just whispered in my ear the old proverbial offer one cannot refuse.  What can I say?  In any case, while the evening had been quite satisfying, it was ultimately so for both body and soul.

 

Today's MOZEN: The Sorrow of Suicide 8/12/2014

Words and photo by F LoBuono

It's the saddest word in the English language and it's heard all too often these days: Suicide.  I feel this way because the taking of one's own life signifies a complete loss of one of the most essential of human emotions - hope. It is the nadir of a person's life. It's a point that someone simply cannot go past. Suicide is an act committed in a realm beyond utter desperation. There is no one else to turn to. There is no other place to run to. There is no other medication left to take.There is no future. There is only pain, a panicked decision, and a decent into nothingness. This is life's real tragedy. How can one lose the very will to live?

It has come into focus once again with the recent suicide of Robin Williams, a supremely talented and often troubled artist. It seems that the passing of celebrities like Williams bring issues like this to the forefront - and they should. Williams was a transcendent performer and rightly so. His manic demeanor, rapid-fire wit, and skill with words made him one of the most beloved entertainers of his time. Almost every person alive can name one of his film performances or comedy routines. So, this raises a very important question when dealing with suicide: how could someone so bright, so enormously successful, who affected so many in a positive ways, be so lost as to end his life with so much more of it left to live? Well, the answer is both complex and simple. It's complex because dealing with the mind of an artist is a two edged sword. The inner vision that allows them to see things that others may miss also brings them to areas of darkness and desolation. It really is the other side of the same coin. It's the concept of yin and yang: you can't have one without the other. This is particularly acute in geniuses like Williams. It was known that, despite his public persona of constant laughter, Williams had a dark side and suffered from severe depression. This, then, leads us to the simple answer. He was a human being just like you and I, susceptible to the same joys and fears as you and I. Celebrity cannot shield one from being human and the emotional conflict that comes with being one.

I'm sure there are people who will say things like "what a selfish thing". "He took the easy way out instead of fighting". Or, "why didn't he seek help"? Well, none of that is true. It is not selfish. It is desperate, and there's a difference. Knowing the effect it will have on others makes suicide a most difficult thing to actually execute. And that's very important because it keeps most of us who have considered suicide (and I think in fairness that at one time or another in our lives, in times of desperation, most of us have at least considered it) grounded and prevents us from acting on those urges. Lastly, of course he sought help. It simply stopped working. Ah, and there my friends, comes the desperation. All of the defense mechanisms that protect us deserted him.

I suppose that at times like this, these lines from John Donne's poem "For Whom The Bell Tolls" echo my sentiments best: ask not for whom the bell tolls. It tolls for thee. I try to share in the humanity of it, if that makes sense. I FEEL for Williams. I sense his joy and his fear. And I sense his desperation - the desperate feeling that comes in the belief that only death will bring an end to suffering. Why do I feel this connection? Well, we all should because we are all human beings who suffer the same frailties. Just because Williams was famous does not make him immune. And I would feel the same way for anyone of any social level who committed suicide. They are my brothers and sisters and I feel their pain. I would tell them that, even if it didn't help, because, perhaps, it just might. Isn't doing all you can do to save a life worth doing?

Therefore, going forward today I have committed myself to being a positive force in the world and in sharing that ethos. I will reach out not only to the ones that I know and love but to all I encounter. If this can turn one head, one hand away from the shadow of death, then I will have accomplished something. And, in a sense, Robin Williams will not have died in vain.