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savegraduation · 5 years ago

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On maturity and blaming the rebel

When I was perusing the NYRA Youth Rights Discussion group on Facebook the other day, Nightvid Cole posted something that really blew me away:

When a parent lashes out by hitting a child in response to something the child says, it is "corporal punishment", but when a child does exactly the same to a parent for exactly the same reason, it is a "temper tantrum". This doublethink is precisely what is so wrong about the concept of "maturity" -- it is essentially defined to pre-suppose that the parent or adult is objectively correct no matter what simply because they are the adult. Therefore, using "immaturity" as an excuse for depriving the young of rights is often just circular reasoning in disguise. If this example seems silly, note that a very similar double standard has been used to deny teens the right to refuse medical treatment, as for example in the case of Cassandra C., the Connecticut teen who lost the legal battle to avoid forced chemotherapy. She was considered "immature" by the judge, largely because she ran away from home to avoid forced chemotherapy. But the entire idea that "running away from home" is "immature" rather than "assertive" when faced with a forced invasion of basic bodily autonomy, is the same type of self-serving adultist doublethink as the distinction between "corporal punishment" and "temper tantrums", except at a much higher level.

This is why I think that youth liberationists should question the concept of "maturity" rather than simply arguing that all or some youth are "mature". When you live in a world where you are forced to live by decisions made on your behalf without your input, it is only natural that you would sometimes behave in ways that are outside the bounds of the social norms that were put in place by the oppressor class. Using that as an attempt to justify unequal rights is one giant Catch 22 -- and the individuals doing this are guilty of participating in a dehumanizing disregard for the position of the oppressed.

Now, this is a great insight, and I'd like to discuss this some more. Circular arguments are grist for the mill of ageists. They will argue, for instance, both "You shouldn't have any legal rights because you're still in K-12 school", and "You need to attend school because you don't have any legal rights". Or the variation: "Teens need to stay in school because they don't have the life experience to choose otherwise", and "Teens don't have enough life experience because they're still in school". They will tell their children both "You have to follow my rules because you live in my house", and "You have to live in my house because you have to follow my rules". They'll say, "Children shouldn't swear, because profanity is inappropriate", but also "Those words are inappropriate because children might hear and learn them". (If the only thing wrong with those words is that children might learn them, rather than something inherently evil about those words, then what's the big deal if children learn and use the F-word or the SH-word?) Some will even argue "We need compulsory education because some parents are abusive fascists who try to indoctrinate their kids with KKK values", but also "Parents need to have the power to make whatever strict rules for their kids they feel are appropriate, because otherwise how would they make sure their kids go to school and do their homework?"

If you google the word "immature", the dictionary that pops up will provide to you the definition: "having or showing an emotional or intellectual development appropriate to someone younger". When lexicographers are forced to find a definition for "immature", all they come up with is acting the way younger people act and thinking the way younger people think.

Firstly, it is awfully presumptuous to say that something is "bad" or undesirable because younger people do or believe it. Today, teens are less likely than fiftysomethings to be homophobic, or even to believe that homosexuality is morally wrong. A 2018 Pew poll found that Millennials (born 1979-2004) are less likely than Xers (born 1964-1978), Jonesers (born 1958-1963), Boomers (born 1943-1957), or Silents (born 1925-1942) to consider global warming unsupported by science, or merely natural rather than anthropogenic. (The Pew Poll used somewhat different generational boundaries from me, defining Silents as 1928-1945, Boomers as 1946-1964, Xers as 1965-1980, Millennials as 1981-1996, and "Generation Z" as starting in 1997. I'm not down with breaking late Millennials off as "Gen Z" -- the real change starts in 2005 with the birth of those too young to remember life before the Crash of 2008, which changed the zeitgeist more fundamentally than 9/11, and even then the name "Generation Z" is derivative of "Generation X" and then "Generation Y" (a much worse name than "Millennials"; "Generation Y" sounds like a linearly progressing extreme version of Generation X). I call the kids born 2005 to today the Fifth World Generation, because most of them have their first memories of the world during the Fifth World, as per the Mayan calendar.)

In fact, if one looks at the generational conflicts over the course of history, one sees the pattern that it has been the older generation that was in the wrong and the younger generation that was in the right, for everything from the Vietnam War (Boomers vs. the Greatest Generation (born 1911-1924)) to the emancipation of African-American slaves (the Transcendental Generation (born 1792-1821) vs. the Republican Generation (born 1742-1766)). When kids are 4, 5, 6, they have the ability to question authority and think positively of other people, without becoming leery of outgroups. Thirtysomethings, twentysomethings, teens, and even children have led new social movements, including such movements of today as Black Lives Matter, March for Our Lives, Antifa, the Battle for Seattle, Occupy Wall Street, the Global Climate Strike, the Free the Music movement, Boobquake, and, yes, the youth rights movement.

Youth rights opponents like to use the argument that youth have brains that have "not finished developing", but if they believe that, then shouldn't they support the ideas that under25s have, since their brains are supposedly still malleable enough to be open to new ideas whereby people can see injustices and systemic problems to which previous generations were blind? When the Interbellum Generation (born 1901-1910) was young, they wore T-shirts as outerwear and their young women smoked (smoking was viewed as a male activity at the time, and society believed T-shirts should be undershirts only). Interbellumers had sit-down strikes to fight for the labor reforms of the Great Depression, and often became Communists, socialists, or anarchists. When the Interbellum Generation became middle-aged, they were still accepting of women smoking, T-shirts, and leftist economics, but the Old Left couldn't handle the even newer innovations of the New Left: gay rights, cohabitation, interracial dating and marriage, miniskirts. Today the same Boomers who were, and are still, perfectly fine with blue jeans, Black boys dating White girls, the Rolling Stones, and couples living together before marriage are shuddering at music piracy, sexting, JUUL, suffrage for 16-year-olds, and non-binary teens who ask to be called "they" or "zie".

Secondly, this kind of circular thinking and concern with "maturity" and "life experience" creates a vicious circle. Because teens are believed by society to lack maturity, current laws abrogate the right to make most decisions, even simple decisions like what clothes kids may wear, to the parents, hold parents responsible for keeping their kids safe, and even punish parents for their minor children's misdeeds (punishing Person A for the wrongdoing of Person B is unspeakably wrong, but that's a topic for another day). Because of this, parents then say, "I'm responsible for my child until s/he is an adult", and become very circumspect about whom they allow their kid to see and where they allow their kid to go. They micromanage what courses their kid takes at school and how their kid spends his or her time. This helicopter parenting then creates learned helplessness and infantilized kids ("learned helplessness" and "infantilization" are two hot words within the youth rights community). These helpless overgrown babies are then made into Exhibit A as evidence that today's teens "aren't mature enough" to be trusted with even basic and essential "adult" rights, like, oh, getting vaccinated even though their parents don't want them to. Reasoning in circles correlates with vicious circles.

Thirdly, it is too easy to fall into the fallacy I call "blaming the rebel". Ageist adults will see a teen, or a whole generation of teens, filled with angst or righteous indignation about school uniforms, or a curfew, or gestapo parents who won't let their sons be (platonic) friends with girls, and then said ageists will latch on to the emotionally charged rage, the righteous tone, the subsequent disobedience which they've come to believe is always "irresponsible", and they'll argue, "If teens react like this to something adults believe is in their best interest, these hysterical, petulant, irresponsible kids don't deserve rights".

But what if those restrictions on teens didn't exist, and teens enjoyed all the same legal rights and socially recognized freedoms as 35-year-olds (recall the vicious circle mentioned above)? Then that angst and those "petulant" behaviors would not exist, and there would go ageist adults' argument for why teens don't deserve rights. In his Scientific American article "The Myth of the Teen Brain", psychologist Robert Epstein explains how for most of human history and in hunter-gatherer societies into the present day, people Anglophones would call "teen-agers" were simply young members of the adult community; juvenile delinquency and teen angst are nonexistent problems in those societies. Epstein writes:

Even more significant, a series of long-term studies set in motion in the 1980s by anthropologists Beatrice Whiting and John Whiting of Harvard University suggests that teen trouble begins to appear in other cultures soon after the introduction of certain Western influences, especially Western-style schooling, television programs and movies. Delinquency was not an issue among the Inuit people of Victoria Island, Canada, for example, until TV arrived in 1980. By 1988 the Inuit had created their first permanent police station to try to cope with the new problem.

As a matter of fact, the uppity behavior of young people ias been used before as an argument against affording teens new rights that people now take for granted. Back in the sixties and seventies, when Boomers were fighting to get the voting age lowered from 21 to 18 because of the draft in Vietnam, the old guard leveraged the unrest among college students as an argument that 18-year-olds weren't mature enough to vote. Stuart Goldstein, who fought to lower the voting age in New Jersey to 18, said: "It was kind of an uphill battle for us trying to convince people young people were responsible, because it was an era when, from a national political point of view, the national leaders were pitting young against old. Our thing was, 'We're going to try and work within the system.' There was all this tumult going on across the country. We didn't think that would help us convince people that they should lower the voting age." And yet 18-year-olds got the vote not long thereafter, and have been using it well.

Blaming the rebel has been done not only to youth, but also to other oppressed groups throughout history. In 1851, Samuel A. Cartwright, a physician who practiced in antebellum Mississippi and Louisiana, posited a mental disorder called drapetomania. He identified drapetomania as a mental illness whereby Black slaves would run away from their masters, attempting to become free. Cartwright wrote that this was the result of masters who "made themselves too familiar with [slaves], treating them as equals". (That line makes me flinch, because it reminds me a little too much of the "Be a parent, not a pal" line directed towards permissive parents today.) This was an argument levied against granting freedom to African-Americans, as if it were innate to the Black race to "irresponsibly" disobey. Today, virtually all Americans realize that fleeing slavery was only a perfectly proper response to humans being legally treated as someone's property, and would find the idea that Black people are somehow undeserving of the right to be free by virtue of their Blackness to be preposterous.

Also, are you really so sure we would not see rage, uprising, even tantrums, if an age restriction were imposed on Boomers today? Howe & Strauss attribute to Boomers a tendency to be idealistic, impassioned, quick to anger, emotional, easily outraged. A recent comment on the NYRA Youth Rights Discussion group put it so well: "If all age restrictions were applied at both ends of standard 'adulthood' we would see much less of this shit. Boomers would fume if they couldn't buy alcohol after age 52."

Would this fuming be proof that sexagenarians were unworthy of the right to drink, vote, drive, sign contracts, or make their own medical decisions?

I say no. What say you?

#maturity #millennials #baby boomers #interbellum generation #voting age #drapetomania #blaming the rebel #learned helplessness #helicopter parenting

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jjohnsonwriter · 5 years ago

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OK, Boomer

The generational divide between the baby boomers and Generations Y and Z (gen X is relatively silent on the issue, having long ago been neutered of any political or social capital) in 2019 is at its widest point in recent historyIn the wake of activists like Greta Thunberg, 25 year old New Zealand parliament member Chlöe Swarbuck's two word retort (‘OK, Boomer’), and the phrase in question, which was recently equated by one New York radio host with the N-word, objectively the most harmful and historically loaded slur you can really say in modern society (Riotta 1).

I think its important to note that my parent’s generation voted for a lot of stuff which helped destroy the world, is fundamentally not to blame for their past ‘mistakes’. The schism between the generations we’re undergoing now as a society are one part nature (because the old and the young have been in conflict pretty much ever since there was an ‘old’ and a ‘young’) and one part nurture: because there’s money to be made (specifically by the most wealthy people) by putting us at each other’s throats.

It’s important to remember the majority of a society isn’t going to be some hyper woke paragon of foresight who can gather all the facts and understand everything going forward. That would be an unreasonable metric by which to judge a society: Is everyone in the top 75th percentile of a population going to be the cultural judge of everyone else?

It’s possible to convince some of the smartest people of something that’s fundamentally crazy, and there are many examples of this in societies (The Red Scare, Hitler). But it’s also worth noting that a if your goal is to get power and use it to advance your own goals, of course you can’t just walk around saying: “Hey everybody, look at me! I’m going to fuck you over!” Otherwise you’ll never get elected.

Case in point: What do you think of Senators Chuck Shumer, Dianne Feinstein, and Dick Durbin? Last I checked, I thought these leaders of the democratic party were all beltway insiders who should have been kicked out of office years ago, but at least they oppose some of Trump’s imperialism. They’re all democrats, so they might share similar ideologies in my goal of a liberal political project, but they also voted for the Iraq war in 2003 (Cohn 6). That’s a war that's still going on. At least they’re probably to be reliable votes for impeachment, even though impeachment is at this point is basically impossible because you need a two thirds vote (Impeachment 1). Out of 100 seats, there are 53 Republicans, 45 Democrats, and 2 independents, both of whom caucus with the Democrats (Party, 30). That would mean that every democrat would have to vote for impeachment. The numbers on impeachment have shifted drastically in the past two months, from a September poll by FiveThirtyEight indicating just 37% of Americans in favor and 54% Opposed in September to 51% in favor and 42% Opposed as of Halloween (Matsumoto 1).

And guess what? All those people who voted for Iraq, and are still in power? They’re not boomers, they’re members of the silent generation: the people born from 1925-1942 (Howe 1). My point here is that, as someone I know personally lamented “They just won’t die!” Am I calling for people to die? Obviously not, that's fucking insane. I even pondered (for about five seconds) if we should disenfranchise people who choose to retire, but then you instantly run into the problem of the fact that if you take away the right to vote for one group, you can pretty much take it away from any group, not to mention the fact that it’s just immoral to take away anyone’s vote anyway, despite what the republican party tries to do. Princeton professor Sam Wang points out, while both parties gerrymander, the GOP is the one doing the lion’s share of the work (Wang 2).

But you really can’t blame republican voters either. They’re in the same boat as the rest of us: a group of people who corporate and political (so basically extended corporate) interests are constantly trying to hoodwink. Major cash has gone into creating a media machine that pretty much forms the beginning and end of millions of American’s view on the world.

The Gerrymandering problem is an important one when we consider who’s in control of most of the republican states, both on the state legislative level and on the national level: Old white people. Now, moving out to all four corners of the 50 states can’t solve the problem of gerrymandering, but even so: the continued solidification of specific demographics (boomers) in specific areas (‘flyover country’) can only consolidate conservative power, so we’ll have to start spreading. Be the one to move out to Wisconsin and start that new gaybar! Be the one to drop everything, pick up in Arizona, and start your new life in the suburbs. Don’t just move to the cities, oh no! We’re taking over the neighborhood! Hey, you always wanted to own a home, and they’re cheap out there!

Sources:

Cohn, Jonathan. “Iraq War at 15: Who voted for it, who didn’t, and where are they now?”. Medium.com, Medium, 20 Mar. 2018. https://medium.com/@JonathanCohn/iraq-war-15-who-voted-for-it-who-didnt-and-where-are-they-now-595d1654bf9e.

Howe, Neil. “The Silent Generation, “The Lucky Few” (Part 3 of 7)”. Forbes.com, Forbes Media LLC., 13 Aug. 2014. https://www.forbes.com/sites/neilhowe/2014/08/13/the-silent-generation-the-lucky-few-part-3-of-7/#584865ef2c63

“Impeachment”. Senate.gov, United States Senate. https://www.senate.gov/artandhistory/history/common/briefing/Senate_Impeachment_Role.htm.

Matsumoto, Ryan. “Impeachment inquiry vote’s strong support from Democrats spells trouble for Trump”. Nbcnews.com, NBC Universal, 31 Oct. 2019. https://www.nbcnews.com/think/opinion/impeachment-inquiry-vote-s-strong-support-democrats-spells-trouble-trump-ncna1074661.

“Party Division”. Senate.gov, United States Senate. https://www.senate.gov/history/partydiv.htm

Riotta, Chris. “Right-wing radio host compares ‘boomer’ to the N-word”. Independent.co.uk, Independent Print Limited, 5 Nov. 2019. https://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/americas/ok-boomer-bob-lonsberry-n-word-baby-dictionary-radio-a9186396.html.

#okboomer #politics #leftisbest #millenial #millenials

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surveysonfleek · 7 years ago

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462.

5000 Question Survey Pt. 20

1901. You're real life is an rpg and you have to choose your stats. Choose your race (you can't pick whatever race you are right now): mixed Choose your alignment: huh? 1902. Now, divide ten points between these stats for yourself: Strength: 3 Charm: 3 Luck: 2 Magic: 2 1903. Now pick 2 skills for yourself: (alchemy, animal taming, blacksmithy, carpentry, cartography, healing, lock picking, music, magic) healing and lock picking. 1904. Do you and your parents like any of the same bands/singers? yeah, probably. 1905. Do you know who lives three houses down from you? nope.

1906. What chore do you absolutely hate doing? sweeping and mopping. 1907. If you could choose anyone, who would you pick as your mentor? i haven’t found the right person yet. maybe at my next job. 1908. What would you name the autobiography of your life? undecided. 1909. What do you miss most about being a kid? not having to worry about real problems. 1910. Why is there an entry for the word 'dictionary' in a dictionary? because why not? it’d be stupid to skip it. 1911. How does glue not stick to the inside of the bottle? lack of oxygen in the bottle maybe. 1912. What do you plant to grow a seedless watermelon? a seed. 1913. If you dislike your family, are you obligated to spend time with them? Show up at family functions? Help them out in their time of need? Is a family even relevant anymore – especially when you have a close circle of friends? you’re definitely not obligated. i feel as though if they’d attend your events or help you out in a time of need, you’d owe it to them to do the same. if not, fuck it. 1914. How would you live your life if you had a week to live? How would you live your life if you had 5 years left to live? How would you live your life if you were going to live forever? one week: spend every day doing something on my bucket list. five years: make goals and plan out something special to do every month. forever: i’d study as much as i could about anything and everything. 1915. Is a day spent watching movies when you could’ve been working a day wasted or well spent? it depends if i had more important things to do. 1916. Can we ever be sure that our perception of things is right – without consulting other people? If we do consult others, how are we to know whether theirs is true or if we’re both deluded? we’ll never know... 1917. Would your life be better or worse if you knew the day, time, and place that you were going to die? worse. it’s all i’d think about. 1918. What is honor? Does honor matter anymore? sure it does. 1919. Are the stories we tell ourselves about our past true, or do we bend the truth so we can create our stories? If the latter is true, than what worth is there in the stories if they aren’t true? if you don’t intentionally bend the truth, it’s still your story, it’s just how you remembered it. 1920. What would happen if you never wasted another minute of your life? What would that look like? i’d never sleep. 1921. How much control do you really have over your life? full control. 1922. Does your happiness depend on where you live? For example, if you owned Santa Monica Real Estate, some of the most expensive in the world, would you truly be fulfilled? not at all. life would definitely be sweeter but it doesn’t define my happiness. 1923. How much does your happiness depend on your health? haha hardly. 1924. What is more difficult for you; looking into someone's eyes when you are telling someone how you feel, or looking into someone's eyes when they are telling you how they feel? maybe looking into someone’s eyes and telling them how i feel. 1925. What are 3 things that make you beautiful? mind, body, soul hahaha. jk. 1926. Have you ever sacrificed self respect for love? yeah. 1927. If you had to be stuck in a fairy tale, which one would you choose? cinderella. pretty good ending. 1928. What activities make you lose track of time? watching shows/movies and reading. 1929. Have you ever wondered why they leave blank pages at the back of the books? never wondered. 1930. If a habitual liar tells you that he is a habitual liar, will you believe him? i mean, you can’t lie 100% of the time. 1931. Would you ever be willing to move to a distant country knowing there would be little chance of seeing your current friends or family again except on trips? probably not. unless i could travel to see them very constantly. 1932. If you woke up tomorrow with no fear, what would you do first? apply for a million jobs. 1933. What was your biggest worry five years ago, do you still feel the same about it at this minute? nope. 1934. What promises have you never carried through for yourself? idk. 1935. When did you last do something for nothing in return? i forgot haha. 1936. What must you do daily to keep yourself ‘sane’ ? get enough sleep. 1937. When did you last judge someone who you didn’t know? tonight. 1938. How would you hate to be described? rude. 1939. Would you fall head over heels in love with you? haha no. 1940. What in your life exhilarates you? Do you do enough of it? traveling. and not lately. 1941. What makes you indispensable? idk. 1942. Do you follow at least 20 blogs in your field? no. 1943. When was the last time you said or wrote something someone disagreed with? i forgot. 1944. What do you bring to the world that is truly yours? my spirit. shit, idk. 1945. What one word do you want people to think when they think of you? memorable. 1946. What one image do you want people see when you cross their mind? happiness. 1947. What one feeling do you want people to feel when they think of you? happy. 1948. What one thought do you want in people’s minds about you? omg i don’t knowwww. 1949. Why are so many people depressed? idk. either mental health or they’re just not happy with their lives. 1950. When is war justifiable? hardly ever. it never turns out well, people will die. 1951. What does it mean to live in the present moment? make the most of things? 1952. What is the greatest quality humans possess? power of the mind. 1953, What is it that prevents people from living to their full potential? addictions. 1954. Are we all one? no. 1955. Are the senses meant to be starved and destroyed or given in to and relished? given in to and relished. 1956. What are some things that you wished people knew about you? nothing. 1957. What makes it so hard to break away from things or people that we care about dearly? not having them in your life. 1958. Which was an incident in your life that totally changed the way you think today? not sure. 1959. Why can only 2 people fall in love with each other, why can't 4, 5, 6 or 12 people fall in love with each other? Why just a couple and not a triple, quadruple or more? i mean, have you seen sister wives? polygamy is alive and real mate. 1960. What do you know that you really know? And how do you come to know that you know? ooookay... 1961. Why are pirates usually depicted wearing eye patches? idk. 1962. Is there someone you wish to teach a lesson, and still haven't? nope. 1963. Who do you sometimes compare yourself to? my friends. 1964. What can you do today that you were not capable of a year ago? drive to work on my own. 1965. What do we all have in common besides our genes that makes us human? our ability to think. 1966. What’s something you know you do differently than most people? the way i tie my laces. 1967. If you could instill one piece of advice in a newborn baby’s mind, what advice would you give? be kind to others. 1968. Can you describe your life in a six word sentence? no. 1969. What is your most beloved childhood memory? my birthdays. 1970. What is the difference between innocence and ignorance? there’s a purity in innocence whereas none in ignorance. 1971. Would you rather lose all of your old memories or never be able to make new ones? that’s tough... not sure. half and half. 1972. What’s the difference between settling for things and accepting the way things are? settling is not striving for anything more whereas accepting the way things are is more about accepting things you cannot change. 1973. When have you worked hard and loved every minute of it? uni i guess. 1974. What have you done in the last year that makes you proud? traveled. 1975. Why do we idolize sports players? a lot of them have inspiring stories. 1976. What do you do to deliberately impress others? nothing lol. 1977. What’s the best part of growing older? learning more about life and yourself. 1978. What’s the biggest lie you once believed was true? santa. 1979. What is the most spontaneous thing you’ve ever done? rocked up to a stadium during a stomry night and randomly bought ice hockey tickets. turned out to be the best seats in the house. 1980. Do you like the city or town you live in? Why or why not? it’s okay. it’s still quiet and fairly safe. 1981. What’s the best part of being you? idk. 1982. If you could have a gift certificate to have one service done for you every day for an entire year (getting your hair styled, getting a massage) what would you pick? massage for sure. 1983. Who is your mentor and what have you learned from them? no one. 1984. Would you rather your child be less attractive and extremely intelligent or extremely attractive and less intelligent? more intelligent. 1985. What is the biggest change you have made in your life in the last year? nothing as of yet. 1986. What is the biggest conscientious change you have made in your life ever? idk. 1987. When should you reveal a secret that you promised you wouldn’t reveal? if it’s a means of life or death. 1988. If you could live forever but you would be the only one, would you want to? Why? no way, how lonely. 1989. What are some recent compliments you’ve received? my makeup looks nice. 1990. What is the number one quality that makes someone a good leader? being relatable. 1991. What do you love to practice? nothing. 1992. What is something you have always wanted since you were a kid? a dog. and i got it. 1993. When in your life have you been a victim of stereotyping? all the freaking time. 1994. How important does a person have to be before they are considered assassinated instead of just murdered? household name status i guess. 1995. Why is it that doctors and lawyers call what they do 'practice' but other professions don't? How does your profession sound when referred to as a practice? idkkk. 1996. What are 5 topics you follow on twitter? i mostly follow my friends. 1997. If you had to get one sentence tattooed on your body, what would it be? none omg. 1998. At what point will you be good enough? When are you self-improved enough to accept yourself? if i reach all my goals. 1999. What are the three "nevers" of your life? never doing hard drugs (even though i have), never taking anyone i love for granted and i’m never going to settle. 2000. What is your first priority when you wake up? check the time.

#survey #surveys #quiz #bored #questions

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philippmichelreichold · 6 years ago

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Existentionalism and Personal Significance in Roger Zelazny's Doorways in the Sand #scifi #review

Existentionalism and Personal Significance in Roger Zelazny's Doorways in the Sand

Home I have enjoyed reading all of my life. When I was ten, while other kids were outside playing ball, I was sitting on the porch reading the dictionary. Eventually, I discovered science fiction, which I have read avidly for many years. Of all the story's I have read, the pivotal one for me is the story that prompted me to return to school and seek a BA in English Literature: Roger Zelazny's Doorways in the Sand. Doorways tells the story of Fred Cassidy, a professional student and his involvement in the quest for an alien artifact, the Star Stone. This story helped me to realize that, like Fred, I enjoy the pursuit of knowledge for its own sake. It also has given me insight into my own life and helped me develop an understanding of how I fit in with the rest of the universe: somewhere between Zelazny's passion and Camus' futility. In a memorable and for me significant part of this story, Fred reflects on the time a college adviser told him he was, "a living example of the absurdity of things" (Zelazny 27). He alludes passingly to a French novelist and goes on to describe the absurdity of the situation in which he as found himself. He has been staked-out in the desert by men who demand to know the location of the Star Stone; information he does not have (Zelazny 27-36). Besides arousing my curiosity about French existentialism, the comparison opened the way for me to examine the absurd in my own life. One absurdity in my life is that I perform well in a profession I loathe: nursing. I have been bound by monetary chains to nursing for more than twenty years. Unlike Fred, I lack a not quite dead uncle who can afford to sustain me in a career of scholarly pursuit (Zelazny 6). Financially, I am on my own. Thus, if I seek a career doing what I enjoy, learning for its own sake, I must first sacrifice my income to attend classes. If I reduce my income too greatly, I cannot afford school. Conversely, if I work too much, I cannot give my studies the attention they deserve. The best answer is a compromise, in which I work part time and attend classes part time. Although Fred's life has its share of absurdity, he deals with life in a more active and dynamic faction than Camus' stranger or his judge-penitent. Fred is like Mersault and Clamence in that he is able to maintain a remarkable sense of detachment and objectivity. This is shown by his dispassionate summary of his torment by two of the story's villains (Zelazny 29-34). He differs from Camus' characters in his outlook on offenses and his emotional engagement with life. Mersault declaims, "The more I judge myself, the more right I have to judge you. Even better, I provoke you into judging yourself, and that relieves me of that much of the burden" (Camus, Fall 140). Thus, he condemns the world and himself. Like Clamence, Fred realizes that humans are not angels and seldom act from divine motives. Despite this, Fred reserves reserves judgment for those who have gone out of their way to injure him. However, he is still willing to forgive others if he can understand the circumstance that lead to their behavior. For instance, although Paul Byler has ransacked Fred's apartment and assaulted Fred in a desperate attempt to locate the stone, Fred understands his motivation and is willing to work with him to solve the problem (Zelazny 12-16). However, he avoids Clamence's morass of treating all offenders equally, as is seen in his treatment of the author of his woes. He does attempt to save this final culprit, but it is a utilitarian act rather than one of magnanimity (Zelazny 167). Although Fred shares the Stranger's sense of detachment, he lacks his callousness and sense of alienation. Mersault, who behaves as though numb during the first half of the novel, expresses no feeling except a vague sense of guilt caused by what he surmises to be the feelings of others, even at his mother's funeral (Camus, Stranger 11). An active participant in life physically and intellectually, he has separated his feelings from life. Not until the second half of the novel, when his life hangs in the balance, does he express an interest in living (Camus, Stranger 135). Still, he feels that nothing has mattered, or will matter, or could matter because, all alike would be condemned to die one day. . ." (Camus, Stranger 152). Unlike Mersasult, Fred is fully engaged in his life and is appreciative of it. Though he may die one day, he is determined to live life on the best terms he can arrange. For instance, when his livelihood is terminated, he expresses and acts out of anger, punching the man responsible in the eye (Zelazny 87). On a more positive note, he goes out of his way to sustain and nourish his friendships. First he attempts to salvage his relationship with his girlfriend, sharing a weekend with her in which he takes obvious delight (Zelazny 168). Toward the end of the story he goes out of his way to take a gift to an old friend. Fred's delight in giving this gift, a new and exotic cognac, is evident (Zelazny 175). From these examples it is clear that Fred is determined to live, while Mersault has died long before his execution. If given a choice, I should rather live than die, regardless of life's absurdity. According to Cruikshank, Camus wrote that whether or not life is worth living is the ultimate question (Cruikshank 212). For Clamence, the answer is "yes," or he would have jumped into the river long before he engages the audience in his one-sided conversation. I suppose he enjoys misery or hopes one day to improve his life-- "se la vie" with a question mark. Mersault wants to live, but has failed to learn how. Fred leads a life of the sort that is only read about; no one really lives this way-- "se la vie" in bold face and with an exclamation point. As for me, I am convinced there is no such thing as a meaning to life per se. If my life is to have any meaning, then I must be the one to define it. As I hurry through each day, paying lip service to my mortality, I sometimes forget to cherish my life. This, I think, is Mersault's real crime: that knowing his life would someday come to an end, he failed to cherish each moment as though it were his last. This then is my resolve: to cherish each day for whatever it brings. Se la vie. .

Works Cited

Camus, Albert. The Fall. Trans. Justin O'Brien. NewYork: Random House, 1956. ---. The Stranger. 1942. Trans. Stewart Gilbert. New York: Random House, 1972. Cruikshank, John. "Albert Camus." in The Novelist as Philosopher. Ed. John Cruikshank. New York: Oxford University Press, 1962: 206-229. Zelazny, Roger. New York: Harper and Row, 1976. Copyleft of my material Essentially, my work is Creative Commons Attribution-Required, Share Alike. Adapted from their Attribution 4.0 International (CC BY 4.0) license summary--

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tialovestelevision · 8 years ago

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Wrecked

{*\../*} : So, here we are continuing our watch of the pivot of Season 6. Thank you all for bearing with how much longer these dialogues are than the usual posts. We’re enjoying doing them and there’s a lot of meat to chew over on these bones, plus it makes it a little easier for Tia not to pull her pretty hair out by the roots.

T: Ex. Ter. Mi. Naaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaate.

We are superior.

{*\../*} : Let me just de-Dalek her and we’ll get started with “Wrecked.” Maybe it can make some sense of the bizarre theme jumble that was “Smashed,” huh?

T: “I am confused/I watch the show.” Previously On happens. They should sing the Previously Ons. Stop fucking spike, Buffy.

{*\../*} : I’m just... we go from a shot of them crashing through the floor mid-fuck to a dancing dog with a newspaper. Which is being watched by Dawn and Tara, who are asleep on Buffy’s couch in a classic mom-and-daughter pose - Dawn curled up under a blanket and Tara tucked into the arm of the couch with her shawl wrapped around her. Those images SHOULD NOT FOLLOW EACH OTHER. It is horrible and wrong.

T: I think I recognize that cartoon. But I can’t place it in my mind, nor can I find which one it is in a Google search. This is very disconcerting. Dragon found it. It’s called “Ding Dong Daddy,” and is a 1942 Merrie Melodies short. In it, a dog falls in love with a statue and does self-destructive things while also earning the ire of a massive bulldog. The statue eventually gets turned into a shell, which detonates when the dog kisses it. I think this might be the most plot-important incidental detail Buffy’s thrown at us.

{*\../*} : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8UHupHDwJJQ

Anyway, on with the show for those who choose not to spoil themselves. Tara wakes up, startled, followed by Dawn. Her first line is “What time is it?”

T: The cartoons at 7 AM mean it’s Saturday, so Dawn’s not missing school.

{*\../*} : Nobody is home. Neither Willow or Buffy came home to a house where they did not know Tara would be. As far as they left a fifteen year old girl alone all night without notice. This is the kind of thing that causes young girls to steal mystical amulets as an attention seeking behavior, people!

T: Then they get kidnapped by musical fire demons. Seriously, you have to deal with this. She just stopped being a Key to the apocalypse!

{*\../*} : Tara making excuses for them (“I’m sure they just lost track of time”) is just so painful. I’m literally in tears over here. All you people except Tara ought to have your parental rights revoked.

T: Tara is the only sane adult in Dawn’s life. Tara is the only functional adult in Dawn’s life. Given that she apparently has no living relatives who are interested in having her around (Buffy’s still legally dead, her father’s absentee), I’d say Tara ought to adopt the girl.

I’d watch Tara the Witch and her Daughter Dawn. That sounds like a good show!

{*\../*} : Amen to that. Cut to the ruins of a house and someone’s naked foot. It’s Buffy. She looks around, and then down at Spike. “When... when did the building fall down?” “I don’t know. Sometime between the first time and the... uh...” Spike replies. Buffy: “Oh. Oh my God” in a choked, horrified voice. Smash cut to....

T: Opening sequence. No Tara.

{*\../*} : Buffy is in a hurry to leave and looking for her shoes. She at least seems to be aware she left Dawn alone all night. Spike is making innuendo. “Not going to happen,” declares Buffy. “Last night was the end of this freak show.” Spike proceeds to grab her and hold on to her while she grunts in pain. He’s saying words which I’m sure are meant to be important but all I can see is a (nominal) man’s holding a woman against her will after she’s expressed the desire to leave and not continue a relationship with him. Holding her in place while he dictates to her what she should or shouldn’t say. On Buffy. She actually says “Stop” and “no and they go on kissing and then fucking. And then he says something that’s frankly mild dirty talk and I’m supposed to get riled with Sarah about that? Really? And then she verbally cuts him, really cuts him, and I’m supposed to care about the feelings of the goddamn vampire (still no soul!) that was jumping right on the rape line about thirty seconds ago. I now hate both of these people.

T: This scene might actually be worse than Giles poisoning Buffy in “Helpless.” It’s aggressively bad, in a painful, toxic way. Not in the “This is building drama to either string me along or move toward a satisfying conclusion” way. This scene has X-Pac Heat. In fact, X-Pac has This Scene Heat.

It’s not even cleverly written the way so much of the dialogue in “Smashed” was. It’s just bad, through and through. How did this slip out of the writer’s room?

Spike is whining. And Buffy is again telling him to let her go. “I may be dirt, but you’re the one who likes to roll in it, Slayer.” And Buffy is threatening his undeath if he tells anyone. He pulls out her panties. She punches him. I. Hate. All. Things.

Oh, good. Tara. Decent Person Tara. Tara, who I want to be watching a show all about now. Tara, one of like four characters the show hasn’t destroyed my sympathy for in the last hour. Hi, Tara. Please do something good and kind and decent. Like make pancakes. Pancakes are good.

Dawn is worried about everyone. She wants to call Xander. They might be dead in a ditch. Tara sympathizes but wants to let people sleep, because it’s early and Saturday and Tara is a decent person.

{*\../*} : And Willow is walking in with Amy like it’s no big thing right up until she sees Tara. Who is giving her death eyes that I wish I didn’t want to be so literal.

T: I like Xander better than Willow or Buffy right now. Xander! You know, Hyena Possessed Me And Made Me Less Creepy Xander? HIM? Yeah, I’m pining for a Xander scene.

Willow introduces Amy and Tara. And Amy talks up Willow’s power.

{*\../*} :Tara’s eyes. Oh dear. Tara’s eyes. Also, she’s stuttering again.

T: Tara’s eyes. Dawn’s face, too. Tara does not want to talk to any of them. Buffy just came in. She has bruises and soreness and is lying about it.

{*\../*} : Both Willow and Buffy are letting each other off the hook for not coming home. In front of Dawn. While giving each other the guilty looks.

T: Willow, don’t fix the pancakes with your magic. Please. Wait… did she just not fix the pancakes? Amy is leaving. Buffy is apologizing to Dawn… I don’t think Willow did that. Willow apologized to Buffy and to Tara.

{*\../*} : And now Buffy and Willow are going upstairs. To bed. Leaving Dawn alone. Again. “I’ll just go find some awake people,” she says. Look in the dictionary under ‘neglect’ and you will find this.

T: There is one group of people doing their jobs in this episode. The actors are given a script and direction and told to sell those things to the audience. They’re doing that as well as anybody could. Amber Benson and Michelle Trachtenberg are kind of the stars of the episode so far, but everyone’s doing a great job with their performances. Their wonderful, wonderful performances of their awful, awful direction.

{*\../*} : The writing is actually pretty good at the scene-execution level - the dialogue has good, bleak flow and the scenarios play out in-character. But on the conceptual level, what this is telling us about the characters of these people is horrifying.

T: We’ve got the show paused on Willow going into the bedroom - the bedroom that was Joyce’s, before Buffy’s death. I’m noticing details here. The very old-fashioned light switch, the wallpaper. This is a place Joyce Summers would have felt at home, but the bedding is very Willow and Tara.. The set design in Buffy isn’t talked about much, but it’s really good.

{*\../*} : The way Alyson flows down on the bed, still wearing her clothes, is like someone took all her bones out. She’s selling the hell out of someone who’s simultaneous depressed and coming down off an all-night high. If good acting could save this plot by making it make sense, these people would be saving it. Even Spike as acted by James Marsters is internally consistent - a semi-lunatic abuser of a man who’s convinced he’s a romantic.

T: I’ve met “Wrecked”-Spike. I expect you have too.

{*\../*} : I certainly have, though he wasn’t that good looking or charismatic. And I think “Oh God” would be my reaction to waking up next to him, too, even with the looks and charisma and even if I wasn’t a hard Kinsey 6.

T: Willow can’t close the blinds with her magic. She - a woman who can wound gods and strip time and space of meaning, partied so hard she can’t close the blinds. We go to Xander and Anya and Buffy doing research. Anya is reading wedding magazines. Martha Stewart is apparently a witch. We get references to dark powers, “which is ridiculous ‘cause witches they were persecuted wicca good and love the Earth and women power and I’ll be over here.” This is a relatable form of crazy - wedding planning has made better people than Xander, which is most people, mental. Buffy is making excuses for Willow, and Xander and Anya don’t look like they’re buying it. I… I hate to bring this up, given that this episode is this episode, but Anya voluntarily took a job which led to a far longer life than Angelus had of murder and mayhem, and there’s that time Xander blackmailed a girl (Amy!) into casting a spell to strip his ex-girlfriend of her free will and it went wrong and affected everybody and the parallels there are enormous.

It must be bunnies.

{*\../*} : The extent to which everyone in this episode is way too hung up on their own personal headspace to notice that Willow is having a full-on meltdown is painful. Everyone except Tara and Dawn, one of whom she’s abused out of her life and the other is a fifteen year older girl dependent on her for, you know, survival.

T: To be fair, Buffy is too hung up on her own full-on mental breakdown, which Willow isn’t noticing either.

{*\../*} : If she’s having a full-on mental breakdown, could the show communicate that more clearly? Because the direction and broader theme-writing is selling her as making a bad set of relationship decisions, but how bad the decisions are is more like “I am a danger to myself and others.” Maybe the writing staff can get on the same page about which it’s supposed to be?

T: It’s Amy and Willow. Willow’s powers are coming back slowly. Amy knows this guy who uses spells that last for days.

{*\../*} : And now we’ve gone right to magic-as-drug-metaphor territory. “Is it dangerous?” Willow asks. “Would that stop you?” says Amy, playing senior junkie here.

T: Not to mention, isn’t “I know this guy” basically Hollywood-ese for “There is a drug dealer?”

{*\../*} : That or “I know who to take out a hit from,” which with magic could be both. But yeah, we have definitely made the metaphor transition now. Which helps with the internal logic of this episode, but turns the broader arc of Willow’s relationship with magic into a tangled hash. Well done, Season 6 folks!

Oh yeah. Discarded pallets, junk-strewn street. This doesn’t look like a drug den at all. Oh wait, yes it does. Completely.

T: And it’s cloaked. Amy and Willow are inside now. And it looks even more like a drug den inside. The guy’s name is Rack. He’s played by Jeff Kober, who also played the Council’s escaped pet murder vampire in “Helpless.” This is a good omen!

Fuck.

Rack immediately wants to see Amy and Willow. Commercial break.

{*\../*} : Always get your product in the hands of the new meat first. Your regular junkies will wait as long as they have to unless there’s a competing product in town. Reading and watching David Simon’s work should not be coming in as handy as it is right now. I am so squicked I literally have no words for it, and Alyson’s terrified face is making my skin crawl.

T: Creepy bastard likes how much power Willow has. He doesn’t want money or computer help. He says he’s not gonna hurt her, but she has to give a little to get a little. Amy’s reassurance isn’t reassuring. Now Rack is doing a thing. I don’t know how to read it, but he says he’s gonna “take a little tour.” Then he leans in and stage-whispers in her ear, “You taste like strawberries.” Pardon me, I have to go shed every ounce of my sanity.

{*\../*} : That is a blatant sex/high metaphor. Blatant. Wow. Amy’s doing a spinny-high thing and Willow looks out of her head. And they’re doing the drug music in the background.

T: Willow, why are you on the ceiling? Get off the ceiling, Willow. The ceiling isn’t for laying on or hallucinating on. Dafuq? There was a demon and it politely terrified Willow off the ceiling. But now she’s space-hopping and has all-black eyes. And now she’s on the floor again. In her bedroom. She’s showering and sobbing and laughing. Now she’s leaving the bathroom in her robe, wearing an expression that would have been at home on the face of a sad Season 2 Willow. She gets Tara’s dress out of a box. Not the one from “Once More With Feeling,” though basically all of Tara’s dresses are lovely. Then she magically inflates it or something? And lays her head in the lap she made in it.

Dawn is in the kitchen, making quesadillas with no turner. She says spatula, but spatulas are those things with rubber blades that you stir with and turners are the things you flip things with.

{*\../*} : She’s making food with strange ingredients and lightly burning herself in the process. On her own. In the kitchen. Please refer to my earlier comments on neglect.

T: So very much neglect. I don’t know if they have any food other than peanut butter, bananas, and tortillas in the house, but given the way the adults in her life are behaving? I assume not. Willow doesn’t want. She wants water. She has bottled water. Willow isn’t stopping Dawn from cooking on the stovetop with her bare hands. Dawn is done cooking. Buffy has called a lot today, but she also didn’t come home. Willow finally apologizes. Dawn says she’s fine on her own, which is also a lie. Willow offers to go to a movie with her. She also offers her dinner. The quesadilla didn’t turn out well. Now Buffy is getting home… the house is empty-ish. She hears something upstairs. She does not go straight to the fridge. Willow and Dawn aren’t home. Willow’s magic supplies have been ransacked. Buffy catches Amy running. Buffy asks where Willow is. And we finally, at long last, exploit the drug metaphor for a bit of dialogue that’s almost clever. Amy: “That’s not what you think it is! It’s sage!” Buffy: “That is what I think it is.” Damn it, “Wrecked.” Buffy asks where Willow and Dawn are. Amy just gave away that she broke in. Very drug metaphor. Amy tells Buffy about Rack. Buffy immediately gets angry that Willow took Dawn. Now we’re on Willow and Dawn talking about their burgers, and we get ACTUALLY clever dialogue. It’s a penis joke, but it’s a GOOD penis joke! Yay! Willow didn’t eat. Willow asks about Dawn’s day with Tara. Egads, this conversation.

{*\../*} : We are now getting the “asking about my ex through our kid” vibe. And oh shit, Willow is actually taking Dawn to her dealer to get magical drugs. I know this is TV, but that escalated insanely quickly even for a drug metaphor.

T: Dawn is nervous. Rightly. Remember the last time Dawn visited a sketchy arcane guy’s house? That guy who turned out to be a worshipper of Glory and who cut her open and created the situation where Buffy had to sacrifice herself and thus Dawn lost yet another parental figure? Ye gods, Willow. Ye gods.

She asks Dawn to hang here a minute and she’ll be back. And she promises they’ll make it for the movie at 9. She dismisses the trailers. Dawn likes the trailers. Commercial break.

Back from break. It’s past 9. A sketchy guy sits next to Dawn and smokes, so she gets up and moves away. Rack has Willow on the ceiling again… he’s throwing lightning at her and she’s hovering in a shield or something. Maybe she’s in space. Drug space. Magic drug space. Isn’t that where the Flash Gordon movie is set? A demon comes in carrying a limp body and she starts to scream.

Buffy is at Spike’s and threw a candle at him to wake him up. She tells him to get dressed because Dawn’s missing. At least her priorities are right at the moment? Spike suggests getting a Lo-Jack for Dawn.

{*\../*} : “Again,” Spike says, when Buffy says Dawn is missing. Which would be a funny ha-ha joke if we hadn’t just come off him being violent with Buffy and flirting with raping her. It doesn’t really have the right tone anymore to be funny.

T: Buffy brings up Rack, and Spike is suddenly taking things seriously. Ish. Only witches and vampires can find Rack’s place.

{*\../*} : It’s 11. Oh God. Willow is coming out and tripped as fuck. Also her eyes are black.

T: Dawn starts to yell at Willow but gets worried about her when she sees her eyes. Dawn wants to go home. Willow is making fun of her. Something’s following them… it’s the demon from Willow’s drug moments. Buffy and Spike are looking for Rack’s. Spike is actually trying to find the place, and Buffy is focusing on arguing with him.

{*\../*} : And now we’re getting kinky sex jokes while looking for Dawn. This is not amusing.

T: God, I hate this moment. … And that moment. That right there. Buffy: “I want you out of my life, out of my home…” Spike: “Too late. You invited me in already.” I… don’t think vampires are capable of understanding withdrawn consent.

{*\../*} : It’s perversely almost right. Almost. Because it drives a hard line under the fact that Spike is a vampire. Not just blood-wise, but emotionally too. And the correct response to that is to stake him, but the show is now going to carry on like there is a reasonable discussion to be had here with the eldritch evil embodied as a hot blonde English guy. And you can pick whether I mean blood-sucking vampires or rape culture for said evil he’s embodying.

T: Spike’s behavior now makes sense, which puts him in a club only inhabited by Tara and Dawn prior to that line. He’s evil embodied, but he’s acting within a set nature. I don’t like him or how the show wants us to respond to him, but there’s rhyme and reason here.

Dawn wants to go home. Willow is sending her home on her own. In a dangerous town with a Hellmouth. Something’s following them. Dawn is running away… and there’s a demon. That’s not a cat. Willow says he’s not real. And he cut Dawn’s face. Dawn kicks the demon and they run. Dawn says he’s too fast. Now they’re stealing a car. With magic. Willow is giggling while magic drives the car. Willow spins the car around. She’s joyriding. And the car crashes. So now our high-on-magic-drugs girl has stolen a car and wrecked it with a girl she helped raise in the passenger seat.

Dawn has come to. She gets out of the car and starts to move around it. Willow is unconscios in the driver’s seat, and there’s the demon. Buffy and Spike hear Dawn screaming… the demon is hauling Dawn out from uner the car. Dawn is being remarkably resourceful here, but she’s badly overpowered. Buffy hits the demon out of nowhere. Starts to fight it. Spike is checking on Dawn while Buffy fights the demon. It’s tossing her around like a rag doll, but the dmon is shaking now. It’s… dissolving? Burning? Unsummoning? Something. Willow is up now… Buffy is giving her a Look. But she’s distracted by Dawn crying. Spike and Buffy are getting Dawn to the hospital. Willow is trying to apologize, but Buffy tells her to stay away and Dawn slaps her. Now Willow is on the ground sobbing. Buffy lets Spike lead Dawn away while she goes to look at Willow. She tells Willow to get up, and Willow blubbers a bit before Buffy hauls her to her feet. Willow is sobbing and saying she needs help, and begging Buffy for help. Buffy is hugging Willow and letting the bloodsucking being that borderline-raped her walk off with her injured, traumatized, bleeding sister who he can eat if he lets her drop dead first.

{*\../*} : So we’ve skipped straight to the sobbing junkie “I can’t stop I need help save me” speech by the end of the hour. For something with a lot of build-up, they certainly blew through that in a hurry, didn’t they? And now Willow’s showered and sitting on the bed in Joyce’s old room in a towel while Buffy gives her a brittle, arms-folded look from the door. Dawn’s sleeping because she needed pain meds for the fracture in her arm. And Buffy’s giving Willow a gentle interrogation.

Willow - “If you could be plain old Willow or Super Willow, which would you be?”

Buffy - “You don’t need magic to be special.” Willow - “Who was I? Tara didn't even know that girl.”

And now Buffy and Willow are having a conversation about the importance of giving things up for the good of the family unit. “Because it’s over.” “Exactly. It’s over.” And they both look away from each other.

T: And now Willow’s in bed having withdrawal tremors. Buffy’s got a million cloves of garlic and a cross and is sitting awake.

The episode was dedicated to J. D. Peralta, Marti Noxon’s personal assistant. She passed away of cancer at 31.

So… I feel like there’s a lot to talk about there, but there’s a lot I really don’t want to talk about, but I think it needs to be talked about. Where should we start?

{*\../*} : So I really think the last five minutes of the episode come desperately close to saving it. You’ve got Willow and Buffy, their joint crises having brought them together on the far side of their terrible decisions in this two-parter to a fragile resolution to give up the toxic decisions they’ve been making and protect their family. Willow frames the choice as being about magic and spells and her not being able to stop using them, but there’s a raw and fresh vulnerability to the way that she talks about the choice between “plain old Willow” and super-powered magic Willow - Alyson really makes those lines sing. It’s certainly possible to take the reading that Willow’s problem isn’t magic at all, per se - it’s the way she’s been using magic for years to assuage her crippling personal insecurities by proving she can be useful through spells, and now that Tara’s left she’s trying to pour enough magic on the problem to get away from her hurt (hint: pouring any amount of anything on your self-loathing won’t drown it. Never works. Never.).

But the narrative incoherence about what exactly magic is and the sheer violent speed with which we’ve whipped through the drug/junkie metaphor in this episode takes the legs out from under it, and the weird way the show can’t make up its mind on how to treat Spike lets the air out of Buffy’s parallel scene, and the whole thing sort of lands with a wet thud. At least, that’s how it felt to me.

Plus the fact is that taking the only reading that really makes any sense - that Willow’s real problem is massive insecurity and Buffy’s real problem is trying to hide from her trauma and desire to not be back in the world by screwing Spike as a masochistic release - unwinds a huge amount of character development for both of them and leaves both characters in really ugly, unsympathetic places that the show doesn’t seem to want to fully commit to. The whole Xander and Anya spiel about “responsible people” and how they can’t help but lose control from “Smashed” starts to sound a lot like excuses being made in advance to let Buffy and Willow off the hook for their choices.

T: Yeah… that the show can’t commit to a specific interpretation (though it did settle on “magic is drugs,” which wrecks a ton of other stuff the show’s done up to now) kind of kills a ton of the emotional impact of the episode. Or misdirects it? I’m feeling things, for sure. Loathing. Annoyance. A desire to be away from these people who, just a few episodes ago, I loved or at least found funny. I don’t think that was the intended goal. I can see, after that final scene, where they were going… but the route they took to get there was really destructive to my ability to enjoy the show. Not saying it can’t come back - we did “Helpless” and I fell back in love with Giles, for example - but it’s going to be a hard road.

{*\../*} : I don’t know. I think a serious argument could be made that the production staff is caught in the same self-destructive bind that Buffy is - throwing themselves at a terrible idea with desperate force as a way to resolve their own issues, then waking up the next day (week/month/season) to find that they’re covered in bruises and scrapes and have lost most of their respect for themselves.

T: Also, they’re making out with an artillery shell.

{*\../*} : Yeah. And on that note, I think we’ll sign off for the night and see if “Gone” can restore our hopes. But next time, back to Angel!

T: Oh god. Darla’s going to have a kid.

Calm down, Tia. Breathe. There’s the Holtz story. And Sound! Euphonium.

Anybody want to watch some Star Trek with me?

#buffy the vampire slayer #wrecked #buffy season 6 #season 6

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secondsightcinema · 5 years ago

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Of Monocles and Mystery: Charles Douville Coburn

As Stanwyck’s shipboard cardsharp “father” in All About Eve (1942)

He’s one of the preeminent character actors of the Golden Age of Hollywood, and, like Sydney Greenstreet and Marie Dressler, among the small club of performers who started hugely successful movie careers around age 60, which at the time was not “the new 50,” it was less Golden Age than Golden Years—time to sit on your laurels and yell “Hey, kids, get off my lawn!” Instead, having only months before lost Ivah, his beloved wife and professional partner of 31 years, Coburn got on a train to Hollywood for a one-picture deal at Metro and immediately became as indispensable to the movies as he had been to the American stage for nearly four decades.

I’m as fascinated by the latecomers as I am by the Rooneys, Garlands, and Dickie Moores who started their screen careers when they were barely out of diapers. I love to watch people grow up and find their voices, see how they chart their uncertain course in the business and in their personal lives. But those who come late to the party, fully formed and with full lives already behind them, are equally intriguing. What’s the story they carry in their voices and faces, where did they come from, what did life throw at them along the way, and how did they respond? What did life make of them, and what did they make of life?

In Coburn’s case, he was prominent enough that I figured there’d be a full-length biography, or if I got luckier, even a memoir.

I didn’t get lucky.

So after the obligatory stops at his Wiki and his entry in David Thomson’s Biographical Dictionary of Film, I started nosing around for other blog posts. I read just one—Cliff Aliperti’s at his Immortal Ephemera site, mainly looking for clues and sources—and started poking around for online links.

This kind of research always puts me in mind of Citizen Kane, and I indulge in an entirely unearned identification with the nameless reporter character who spends the better part of a week trying to plumb the mystery of identity before wanly saying No, he hadn’t found out what Rosebud was, but in any case it wouldn’t have revealed who Kane really was—it was just a piece in a jigsaw puzzle.

Some of you know what this is like. You find contradictions and errors, or intriguing little factoids that raise way more questions than they answer.

With Coburn, this begins at the beginning, with his birth. Some bios say he was born in Savannah, Georgia, but it was actually, per Coburn himself, Macon, Georgia, in 1877, and it was a few years after that his family moved to Savannah. So Coburn was born in the heart of the Confederacy, where veterans of the war would have been everywhere and as Faulkner famously said, “The past is never dead. It’s not even past.” Do the place and era of his birth explain the fact that Coburn was supposedly a member of White Citizens’ Councils, white supremacist groups? He was a proud son of Georgia who left his papers to the University of Georgia. I ran across one reference to his railing against the 14th Amendment in a late-life interview. It is painful to confront things like this about a beloved actor, someone you feel as if you know. But of course, you don’t, and people are complicated.

All accounts say he began his theatrical career at the Savannah Theatre as a program boy, though he said he was 13 and other sources say 14—I’m inclined to go with his own recollection, though one can’t ever be sure the source isn’t exaggerating for effect….

But all sources including the primary one, our boy Charles, agree that having risen through all available jobs at the theater, when he was 18, he became the Savannah’s manager. This would make it 1895.

I found no references to his parents or the circumstances of his upbringing. Was he at the theater out of love, or did his family need the money? I’m thinking here of Claude Rains, who began his work in the theater at the age of 10, his childhood one of grinding poverty. But of Coburn, at least with what I found poking around online, we have to speculate or leave it alone.

Rich, pervy Uncle Stanley, In This Our Life (1942)

In 1901, he moved to New York. That leaves six years between 18 and 24 for him to practice his trade and prepare to take on the big time. He says he originally hoped to become a “light opera comedian,” but when he saw a Shakespeare play, he was lost, or maybe found. The classics would always be the foundation of his passion for theatre.

What was that New York like? Now I’m thinking of Marie Dressler in Dinner at Eight, her eyes misting with nostalgia as she recalls the New York of her greatest years, when she was the toast of the town, young, beautiful, talented, successful, and surrounded by adoring swains. She pictures snow, and carriage rides to Delmonico’s. Dressler could probably have drawn on her own memory for that moment. Coburn’s turn-of-the-century New York was probably a bit less misty, but it’s always a good idea to have one’s salad days in one’s youth, when one is strong and has a high tolerance for squalor.

But look, by 1905 he starts his own company, the Coburn Players, and meets Ivah. They marry in 1906 and until her death in 1937, they are partners in life and work. Supposedly they had six children. Supposedly one of them became an auto mechanic who married a teacher, moved to California, and fathered movie star James Coburn. Is this true? I do not know.

I found that Playbill has a terrific site with a database of old programs, and while it doesn’t list all of the 30-something Broadway shows in which Coburn was actor, director, producer, or all of the above, it did provide a bit of background for this largely ignored part of his career. Here’s Coburn’s bio from WHO’S WHO IN THE CAST of Around the Corner (1936); according to Playbill, it ran for only 16 performances:

WHO’S WHO IN THE CAST

CHARLES COBURN (Fred Perkins), one of America’s foremost actor-managers, was honored last June by Union College with the degree of Master of Letters in recognition of his services to the American theater. Having embarked to the “enchanted aisles,” that marital and professional partnership known as Mr. and Mrs. Coburn entered upon a lifelong devotion to the classics and other nobilities of the theatre, with a repertoire eventually accruing of sixteen plays of Shakespeare, one of Moliére, three from the Greek and more than a score of the Old English, early American and moderns. They have played under the auspices of a hundred colleges and universities and once—the only actors ever invited to do so—they gave an evening performance on the White House grounds. Some of Mr. Coburn’s most important New York appearances have been in “The Better ‘Ole,” “The Yellowjacket,” “The Imaginary Invalid,” “So This Is London,” “The Farmer’s Wife,” “French Leave,” “The Bronx Express,” “Old Bill, M.P.,” “Falstaff,” “The Plutocrat” and “Lysistrata.” Mr. Coburn was in the all-star casts of “Diplomacy,” “Peter Ibbetson,” “Trelawney of the Wells,” and The Players’ production of “Troilus and Cressida.” He was Father Quartermaine in “The First Legion.” Last season he was starred with William H. Gillette, and James Kirkwood in the revival of “Three Wise Fools,” and last June he played the title role in The Players’ revival of George Ade’s comedy, “The County Chairman.” Ol’ Bill, Falstaff, Macbeth, President of the Senate of Athens, Bob Acres, Rip Van Winkle, Col. Ibbetson, and Henry VIII are among the fine portraitures in his gallery of stage characters. At the invitation of President Dixon Ryan Fox of Union College, Schenectady, the Coburns have been importantly engaged during the past two summers in organizing and directing at that college The Mohawk Drama Festival and the separate but related enterprise, The Institute of the Theatre. The central feature of the Summer Session is a festival of great drama, presented by a distinguished professional company, now established as an annual event of national significance taking on a character similar to that of the Stratford and Malvern festivals in England. /

The Coburns were part of the top echelon of the New York theater scene. For the 31 years of their marriage, they moved in those circles. I found this 1942 New York Times piece on Coburn, which has some wonderful color and detail about his life, where he lived, his sense of humor.

“Piggy,” Lorelei Lee’s dishonorably intentioned diamond mine owning friend in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (1953)

NYT, 1/18/42, p162, by Theodore Strauss via TimesMachine

A Man and His Monocle Charles Coburn, Traditionalist, Keeps Step in a Changing (Show) World

Charles Coburn is 63, a fact which alone gives him the right to appear in public with a monocle. Happily he also has the rather special sort of face a monocle requires, a certain paternal austerity, a benign aloofness—in short, the countenance of a man well fed upon a rich tradition. If the man is also of a height ordinarily reached by other men only on stepladders, that helps greatly too. Most of all, however, it is the tradition that counts, and in Mr. Coburn’s case he has aplenty. He has been a pillar in our theatre for longer than most of us can remember, and if latterly he has made a pretty farthing by displaying his talents in the West Coast Shangri-La in such items as the forthcoming “King’s Row,” it is a tribute to his culture and attainments that Hollywood is the place where he works contentedly eight months a year. New York is where he lives. It is understandable, of course. Mr. Coburn was nurtured in a mellower climate than that which made Sammy run. Though by no means an old fogy to sit in slippered state at The Players, his mind is solidly furnished; it has the bright polish of old brasswork. It is stocked with reminiscences of those years before the theatre became prohibitively expensive and movies alarmingly cheap, and it is strewn as full of Shakespearean quotations as a brook with pebbles. Over the years his mind has obviously assumed a sort of protective coloration that blends well with the comfortably old-fashioned furnishings of the lofty-ceilinged studio salon near Gramercy Square.

Charles Coburn, Esq. Mr. Coburn first moved into the premises in 1919 when Bohemia still stood on a bearskin and daubed pigment on six-foot easels. Somberly paneled, and with a fireplace large enough to roast a fair-sized midget, the room itself is a veritable museum of carved mahogany, portrait paintings, and assorted abracadabra. Most of the furnishings, Mr. Coburn explains, are props accumulated from that long line of plays in which he and Mrs. Coburn appeared and often produced, from their marriage in 1906 until her death several years ago. “I couldn’t sell the stuff for a nickel,” he confides gently. “But it’s a kind of reminder. It reflects the lives of a couple of people who lived here for quite a long time.” Like an elder craftsman who can wear the toga with authority, Mr. Coburn is apt to become troubled over the future of the art of acting. America, he says, has not produced an outstanding actor since 1926. Personalities, yes, and glamour boys and girls, but not an actor who can play a gentleman one night and a guttersnipe the next with equal effect. The old stock companies, where a young actor could spend his apprenticeship among experienced performers, are gone, and the colleges, where acting could be taught in concert with more mature talents, have thus far failed. The result, Mr. Coburn gloomily believes, is an art dying in the hands of those who could still pass it on.

Cycles and Bicycles Mr. Coburn himself began early. At 13, he took a job as program boy in the Savannah Theatre and five years later became its manager, the youngest entrepreneur in the country. During the two years under his aegis he saw such stars as Henry Irving, Ellen Terry, Maxine Elliott, Mrs. Fiske, Modjeska, Otis Skinner, Richard Masterfield and Stuart Robson walk across his stage. Meanwhile he in turn was preparing for a career as a light opera comedian in amateur productions of “The Mikado,” or “The Little Tycoon,” and he still remembers the lingering glow of that night when Emma Abbott, a reigning favorite, snatched him from a crowd of enthusiasts and kissed him roundly. Ever since, he has been “flattered beyond words” by requests for autographs—thinking that perhaps some youngster may feel as he did. “That is as it should be,” he says, falling into quotation. “It is a world of make believe, and it is in ourselves that we are thus and so.” In later years, and before his long association with Mrs. Coburn as an actor-manager, he spent his apprenticeship as utility man, advance agent, and once, as a means of making a living while looking for work in New York, as a member of the “greatest bicycle racing team of all time.” But when that career threatened to take him from his Broadway precincts, he pawned his bicycle for $29 and hasn’t been on a wheel since. In fact, Mr. Coburn no longer cares for healthy exertion as its own reward. “Look at all those people who exercise regularly,” he exclaims. “What happens to them? They die!”

Listen to that—he sounds just like Charles Coburn!

And then in December, 1937, Ivah died, leaving Coburn bereft of his companion, his wife, his theatrical partner. But a man of such energies, an entrepreneur who had acted, directed, produced, and run his own touring company for decades, was not ready to fade away from grief at 60. Ten months later, in October, 1938, he got on a train and headed out west to begin his next act, the one we know him from.

NY Times, 10/10/37, no byline CHARLES D. COBURN TO APPEAR IN FILM Stage Actor Leaves for Coast for Role in “Benefits Forgot,” His First Motion Picture

Charles D. Coburn, stage actor, the director of the Mohawk Drama Festival at Union College, Schenectady, NY, left by train for Hollywood yesterday afternoon to appear in what was said to be his first motion picture.* He is to play in “Benefits Forgot,” a Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer production, in which Walter Huston will be starred. J. Robert Rubin, vice president and general counsel for M-G-M, said that Mr. Coburn had been signed to a one-picture contract with an option on his future services. Production work on “Benefits Forgot” will start next week, he said. As director of the Mohawk Drama Festival, held every summer at Union College, Mr. Coburn has repeatedly voiced the belief that there is now a “crisis in the American theatre” because there were no stock companies to serve as a training school for young players. Mr. Coburn appeared on Broadway in March in “Sun Kissed” and in 1936 played with the late William Gillette in “Three Wise Fools.” For many years Mr. Coburn appeared on the stage with his wife, the former Ivah Wills, who died last December 27.

A few months later, he’s comfortably ensconced in his Hollywood Blvd apartment, throwing a reunion for cast members of a popular show he had been in 30 years before. I’ve boldfaced names you’ll probably recognize…

NYT, 1/3/39, “Old Bill” Holds Reunion Coburn is New Year’s Host on Coast to ‘Better ‘Ole” Actors Special to the New York Times

Hollywood, Calif., January 2—Survivors of “The Better ‘Ole’” company made New Year’s the occasion of their first reunion in twenty years as guests of Charles Coburn, the original Old Bill, at his apartment here. Stage and film celebrities turned out to greet him and the others comprising “three muskrats,” Charles McNaughton, Bert, and Collin Campbell, Alf. Others of the old troupe present were Mrs. Kenyon Bishop, the original Maggie; Lynn Starling, who played the French colonel; Eugene Borden, the French porter, and, collaterally, F.H. (Frankie) Day the Gramercy Park greeter of the dawn who played with Mr. Coburn in the sequel play, “Old Bill M.P.” The “muskrats,” the Tommies created by the wartime crayon of Captain Bruce Bairnsfather, donned white aprons in their post-war “pub” and served guests, who included several members of The Players in New York and many once associated with one of the five companies that played “The Better ‘Ole” on Broadway and on the road. Among them were Mr. and Mrs. Guy Kibbee, Mr. and Mrs. Monte Blue, Mr. and Mrs. Kenneth MacKenna, Mr. and Mrs. Patterson McNutt, Walter Connolly, Nedda Harrigan, Mr. and Mrs.Charles Judels, Pedro de Cordoba, Fritz Leiber, P.J. Kelly, Thomas Mitchell, Andre Charlot, Janet Beecher, Olive Wyndam, Marcella Burke, Georgia Caine, Emma Dunn, Marjorie Wood, Frieda Inescourt, Esther Dale and Irene Rich. Mr. Coburn is the only living Old Bill. The others were DeWolfe Hopper, James K. Hackett, Maclyn Arbuckle and Edmond Gurney. In the New York company, the late Mrs. Ivah Coburn played Victoire, the French maid.

So the years pass, with Coburn occupying himself on screen, stage, and radio, splitting his time between L.A. and New York.

Then, in 1959, the second-to-last mystery I found: his second marriage.

NY Times, 10/19/59 Charles Coburn Marries LAS VEGAS, NEV., Oct. 18 (AP)—Charles Coburn, 82-year-old actor, dropping his famed monocle only to kiss his 41-year-old bride, today married Mrs. Winifred Jean Clements Natzka, widow of a New York Opera Company basso. The ceremony took place in the chambers of acting Justice of the Peace J.L. Bowler.

…and this leads to yet more questions. Did he marry for love, or for a tax deduction? He railed about tax rates in some of his late-life interviews, using the issue as a hook to promote You Can’t Take It With You, the show he was then touring.

And the final mystery: Most sources say this second marriage produced a child, a daughter. To which I say, seriously? Is an octogenarian Coburn supposed to have been up to siring a child? On the other hand, he managed to sire six of them 50 years before, and he was obviously a man of remarkable stamina. But perhaps his bride was pregnant by the opera singer who had widowed her, and that’s one reason why she was interested in marrying a man twice her age?

So, like Rosebud, none of these things definitively answer the riddle, Who was Charles Coburn? But they fill in some important blanks, they give us the flavor of his life in the New York theater, and the life he carried around inside himself when he made all those glorious movies we’re still watching.

And also like Charles Foster Kane, on August 30, 1961, death came for human dynamo Charles Douville Coburn, then 84, following minor surgery at Lenox Hill Hospital in New York City. One obit said his wife and one of her two sons from her previous marriage were with him when he passed.

Not a word about the baby daughter, or, for that matter, any of the other six Coburn offspring, either in this obit as survivors, or mentioned a month later in a piece about his will and estate.

So if I ever get to have a cocktail with him in that cozy little bar in the sky, I’ll see if he can clear any of this up.

This was written for the 2019 What a Character! Blogathon, hosted by Aurora, Kellee, and Paula. Please go take a look at the other fabulous entries—you’ll be glad you did.

from Second Sight Cinema | https://ift.tt/2ppTglK via https://ift.tt/2XrDBz8

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thatsnotcanonpodcasts · 5 years ago

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Experiments, Manga & Child Safety

WOW!!! This week’s episode is out of this world and filled with Lunatics, parks and just outright fun in the powder or snow. NASA is planning on sending people back to the moon and are starting to plan missions in advance with an eye to researching developments for future exploration. That’s right folks, it may not be 1999 but Moonbase Alpha is finally looking at becoming a reality. Plus there are going to be new buggies and other equipment being sent to the moon so the Astronauts will have something to play with when they arrive next. Wonder if they will find that hidden base full of Nazis on the dark side of the moon or transformers?

Next we look into why Manga sales are taking over the U.S comic sales. Could it be the fact that the subject matter is just so much cooler, fun and broad? Or is it part of some plot to take over the world and they are brain washing us all? Hmmm, if this was an anime episode we would now include a musical interlude. The scene, while our heroes wander the country looking for the answer our work on computers calculating and plotting what is happening. This is when the nutty and bumbling sidekick runs around in circles and makes a mess and eats lots of fried chicken. Jeepers, we are living in an anime, now I want my ramen and feel an overwhelming need to run down the street with my arms flung behind me screaming. Nope, not happening, oh well, such a shame.

In response to a request from a listener we have had the Professor look into child safety measures in gaming such as the new Harry Potter Wizards Unite. We have a number of articles linked in the notes that have information that can help parents develop strategies aimed at helping protect their dirt magnets, children or teenage food disposal units. There are some really good points and suggestions in this, but as we aren’t parents we are unable to offer any expert advice. This is a really huge topic and it is something we took extremely seriously. If you have any suggestions please feel free to post them on the page and share with each other.

Now, it is that time where we have the usual shout out, remembrances, birthdays, and special events. Be careful of those surprise mechanisms that try to loot you like a politician with eight arms. Take care of yourselves and look out for each other, stay hydrated and we will catch you next time. Cya!

EPISODE NOTES:

Experiments on the moon - https://www.space.com/science-technology-payloads-nasa-moon-artemis-program.html

Manga sales taking over U.S comic sales - https://comicbook.com/anime/2019/07/06/anime-executives-manga-taking-over-us-comic-sales-anime-expo/

Child Safety in mobile games

- https://aic.gov.au/publications/tandi/tandi379 .

- https://nianticlabs.com/privacy/en/

- https://policies.warnerbros.com/privacy/children/en-us/html/children_privacy_en-us_1.0.0.html

- https://www.childnet.com/blog/a-parents-guide-to-harry-potter-wizards-unite

Games currently playing

– Mortal Kombat 11 - https://www.playstation.com/en-us/games/mortal-kombat-11-ps4/

Buck

– Mafia 3 - https://store.steampowered.com/app/360430/Mafia_III/

Professor

– Harry Potter Wizards Unite - https://www.harrypotterwizardsunite.com/

Other topics discussed

Snow falls on Queensland

- https://www.abc.net.au/news/2019-06-04/snow-falling-in-stanthorpe-cold-weather-queensland/11174962

List of Apollo Missions

- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Apollo_missions

Luna Park

- Melbourne - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Luna_Park,_Melbourne

- Sydney - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Luna_Park_Sydney

Iron Sky (2012 movie)

- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Iron_Sky

Mickey Mouse as a Warhammer 40k character

- http://www.coolminiornot.com/pics/pics2/img3e1fc14857e56.jpg

Space Shuttle retirement

- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Space_Shuttle_retirement

Virgin Galactic

- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Virgin_Galactic

Chinese Anime

- https://www.ranker.com/list/best-chinese-animation-anime/ranker-anime

Asur illustrations

- https://www.facebook.com/asur.illustrations/

Tik Tok fails to remove predators

- https://www.bbc.com/news/blogs-trending-47813350

Mom blames Pokémon Go

- https://gamerant.com/girl-hit-car-pokemon-go/

Finsta (Instagram trend)

- https://www.today.com/parents/parents-you-know-about-instagram-do-you-know-finsta-t117541

Cuban American mob

- https://crimereads.com/the-birth-of-the-cuban-american-mob/

Igor (character)

- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Igor_(character)

Channing Tatum (American actor and singer)

- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Channing_Tatum

This Is The End (2013 movie)

- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/This_Is_the_End

The Prestige (2006 movie)

- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Prestige_(film)

Shoutouts

9 Jul 1958 - The 1958 Lituya Bay earthquake occurred with a moment magnitude of 7.8. The strike-slip earthquake took place on the Fairweather Fault and triggered a rockslide of 40 million cubic yards (30 million cubic meters and about 90 million tons) into the narrow inlet of Lituya Bay, Alaska. The impact was heard 50 miles (80 km) away, and the sudden displacement of water resulted in a megatsunami that washed out trees to a maximum elevation of 1,720 feet (520 m) at the entrance of Gilbert Inlet. This is the largest and most significant megatsunami in modern times. - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1958_Lituya_Bay,_Alaska_earthquake_and_megatsunami

9 Jul 1981 – Donkey Kong, an early example of the platform game genre was released. In the game, Mario (originally named Mr. Video and then Jumpman) must rescue a damsel in distress named Pauline (originally named Lady), from a giant ape named Donkey Kong. - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Donkey_Kong_(video_game)

11 Jul 1969 – David Bowie Space Oddity inspired by Stanley Kubrick's film 2001: A Space Odyssey was released during a period of great interest in space flight. The United States' Apollo 11 mission would launch five days later and would become the first manned moon landing another five days after that. - https://www.abc.net.au/news/2019-07-11/david-bowies-space-oddity-50-years-old-moon-landing-anniversary/11297134

4 Jul 2019 – Mad magazine ends publication of future issues will no longer feature new content, with the magazine instead relying on classic content from its nearly 67-year history. - https://www.theguardian.com/culture/2019/jul/04/the-end-of-satire-mad-magazine-to-cease-regular-publication

Remembrances

6 Jul 2019 - Mandla Maseko, aimed to be the first black African in space. In 2013 he was one of 23 winners out of a million entrants to a competition by the Axe Apollo Space Academy to attend a US space academy, in order to be the first black African in space. He was nicknamed "Afronaut" and "Spaceboy". He went to the Kennedy Space Centre for a week to do tests, such as skydiving and a journey on a reduced-gravity aircraft, ahead of a planned one-hour suborbital flight on board a XCOR Lynx Mark II that was planned to take place in 2015. However, the flight did not happen as XCOR Aerospace went bankrupt in 2017. He would have been the second South African in space, after Mark Shuttleworth in 2012. He died at the age of 30 in a motorbike accident in Pretoria - https://www.abc.net.au/news/2019-07-09/man-destined-to-be-the-first-black-african-in-space-dies/11290548

9 Jul 1856 - Amedeo Avogadro, was an Italianscientist, most noted for his contribution to molecular theory now known as Avogadro's law, which states that equal volumes of gases under the same conditions of temperature and pressure will contain equal numbers of molecules. In tribute to him, the number of elementary entities (atoms, molecules,ions or other particles) in 1 mole of a substance, 6.022140857(74)×1023, is known as the Avogadro constant, one of the seven SI base units and represented by NA . He died at the age of 79 in Turin - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amedeo_Avogadro

9 Jul 1978 - Zoltán Aladár, Transylvanian composer, music critic and teacher (The Goat and the Three Goons). He died at the age of 49 in Târgu Mureș - https://www.encyclopedia.com/arts/dictionaries-thesauruses-pictures-and-press-releases/zoltan-aladar

9 Jul 2014 - Eileen Ford, was an American model agency executive and co-founder of Ford Models with her husband, Gerard "Jerry" Ford, in 1946. Ford Models was one of the earliest and internationally recognized modelling agencies in the world. She died at the age of 92 from complications of meningioma and osteoporosis in Morristown, New Jersey. - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eileen_Ford

Famous Birthdays

8 Jul 1894 - Pyotr Kapitsa, was a leading Sovietphysicist and Nobel laureate, best known for his work in low-temperature physics. He discovered superfluidity in 1937 when he observed liquid helium flowing without friction – in other words with no loss of kinetic energy. He was born in Kronstadt - https://www.famousscientists.org/pyotr-kapitsa/

9 Jul 1942 - Richard Roundtree, is an American actor and former model. Roundtree is noted as being "the first black action hero" for his portrayal of private detective John Shaft in the 1971 film Shaft, and its four sequels, released between 1972 and 2019. For his performance in the original film, Roundtree was nominated for the Golden Globe Award for New Star of the Year – Actor in 1972. He was born in New Rochelle, New York - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Richard_Roundtree

9 Jul 1971 - Marc Andreessen, is an American entrepreneur,investor, and software engineer. He is the co-author of Mosaic, the first widely used Web browser; co-founder of Netscape; and co-founder and general partner of Silicon Valley venture capital firm Andreessen Horowitz. Andreessen is also a co-founder of Ning, a company that provides a platform for social networking websites. He sits on the board of directors of Facebook, eBay, and Hewlett Packard Enterprise, among others. Andreessen was one of six inductees in the World Wide Web Hall of Fame announced at the First International Conference on the World-Wide Web in 1994. He was born in Cedar Falls, Iowa - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marc_Andreessen

10 Jul 1856 – Nikola Tesla, was a Serbian-American inventor,electrical engineer, mechanical engineer, and futurist who is best known for his contributions to the design of the modern alternating current (AC) electricity supply system. His alternating current (AC) induction motor and related polyphase AC patents, licensed by Westinghouse Electric in 1888, earned him a considerable amount of money and became the cornerstone of the polyphase system which that company would eventually market. Tesla became well known as an inventor and would demonstrate his achievements to celebrities and wealthy patrons at his lab, and was noted for his showmanship at public lectures. He was born in Smiljan, Austrian Empire (modern-day Croatia). - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nikola_Tesla

Events of Interest

9 Jul 1893 - Daniel Hale Williams III repairs the torn pericardium of a knife wound patient, James Cornish, without penicillin or blood transfusion. - https://www.onthisday.com/people/daniel-williams

9 Jul 1922 – Johnny Weissmuller swims the 100 meters freestyle in 58.6 seconds breaking the world swimming record and the 'minute barrier'. - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Johnny_Weissmuller

9 Jul 1955 – The Russell–Einstein Manifesto calls for a reduction of the risk of nuclear warfare. It highlighted the dangers posed by nuclear weapons and called for world leaders to seek peaceful resolutions to international conflict. The signatories included eleven pre-eminent intellectuals and scientists, including Albert Einstein, who signed it just days before his death on 18 April 1955. - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Russell%E2%80%93Einstein_Manifesto

9 Jul 1971 - British battleship HMS Vanguard explodes at Scapa Flow (the result of an internal explosion of faulty cordite), killing 804. - https://www.onthisday.com/photos/hms-vanguard-disaster

Intro

Artist – Goblins from Mars

Song Title – Super Mario - Overworld Theme (GFM Trap Remix)

Song Link - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-GNMe6kF0j0&index=4&list=PLHmTsVREU3Ar1AJWkimkl6Pux3R5PB-QJ

Email - [email protected]

Twitter - https://twitter.com/NAmalgamated

Spotify - https://open.spotify.com/show/6Nux69rftdBeeEXwD8GXrS

iTunes - https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/top-shelf-nerds/id1347661094

RSS - http://www.thatsnotcanonproductions.com/topshelfnerdspodcast?format=rss

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bloggerblagger · 6 years ago

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85) Hashtag Strap-on. Edinburgh Fringe 2018, explored, explained, and reviewed.

If you have a spare few days left in August, drop everything and take advantage of my top holiday tip. Take the high road or the low road, the plane or even the train (provided you’re prepared to stand for four or five hours) and hightail it to the Athens of the North.

The Edinburgh Fringe is truly a once in a lifetime experience. And that’s an understatement. Because once you get the bug you may very well find yourself - like me - going back year after year.

Never mind that the weather is often, inevitably, dreich. (Dictionary definition: Scottish dialect for ‘Bleak, miserable, dismal, cheerless, dreary.’ And pronounced and meaning almost exactly the same as ‘dreck’ which is Yiddish for lousy. How curious.)

Worry not that the restaurant prices are ludicrous - in a bad way. Nor that you’ll be lucky to get a room you could swing a kitten with dwarfism in, no matter how much you’re willing to pay - ‘how much?!!!’. Nor even that the pavements are so crowded - ‘OMG, will you just get out of the fucking way?!’ - you have to walk in the road if you want to travel above sub sloth pace.

Because, really, who gives a shit? What’s the occasional near death experience compared to the non stop adrenaline rush of the Fringe.

If there is a better legal high available, answers on a postcard please.

Do mind the quality and still feel the width.

It is said there are 3000 shows on during the Fringe and that, during August, the population of Edinburgh doubles. Frankly when you’re there it feels like these are gross under estimates.

Every lecture hall, every room - very possibly every broom cupboard - in the University campus becomes a theatre. Every basement in every pub and every loft above every bar seems to have a mic and a makeshift stage. And every doorway in every street seems to lead to a stand up comedian, or a sketch show, or a play, or to music or magic or mime.

The standard length - and it rarely varies - of any performance is one hour and shows begin at 9a.m and go on to 1 or 2 the following morning. If you had the stamina and could survive the sensory overload, you could, theoretically, do ten shows a day. But even if you did, you would still see less than 10% of what is available.

And the standard is astonishing. True, every so often you come across a dud but, in my experience - three years now - for a show even to be average it has to be pretty damn good.

Essential Fringe primer.

Eight super-cunning tips (in no particular order).

1) If you want to know the best things to see, find a friend who has been and ask them. LIKE ME! My reviews are below and as regular followers of my blog know, I am never wrong. Failing that, Google the recommendations from The Guardian, the Beeb and The Scotsman.

2) It’s useful to understand the basic ‘architecture’ of the event because there are several events going on in parallel in Edinburgh.

First, the original Edinburgh Festival festival which takes place in proper venues and is sort of proper culcher and proper expensive.

Second, the Edinburgh Fringe which, as it name suggests, exists outside the Festival proper, began nearly 50 years ago, has grown like the Beanstalk on steroids, and in which, shows, generally speaking, charge £10-12 for entrance.

Third, there is the Free Fringe, in which you find acts, so far as I can tell, that are not in the actual Fringe and for which you can get a separate programme, and which, as the name suggests, don’t charge.

(There are also lots of other things going on - like the Edinburgh Book Festival - but I am not sure where they fit into the scheme of things. Might be part of the actual Festival, but not really relevant.)

3) Download and use the Edinburgh Fringe App. It’s really cleverly designed and once you’ve worked it out, it’s a great way to narrow down the insane choice, to find out what tickets are available, and offers an easy way to buy them. (I didn’t even bother getting the hard copy brochure/guide. Who wants to schlep a telephone directory around?)

4) There are lots of shows you can take children and young teens to, but if you want to avoid a lot of the kids, go on August 15th or afterwards. Because, as odd as it seems to us non-Scots, Scottish schools return for the autumn term in mid-August. I am inclined to think that is the best time to go anyway. After a couple of weeks the shows will be properly grooved.

5) If you are part of a couple try it to make sure you are there on a Monday and Tuesday. There are lots of two for one offers available to all on those days.

6) Couples going for a few days or more, should get a Friend of the Fringe membership. Costs £35, and there lots of other ‘two for one’ offers available every day to FOFs.

Otherwise, to see 3 or 4 shows a day (the right level, for a serious and hardy Fringe goer, I would say) you need to budget about £40 per day per person for entertainment before costs of food, drinks, accom etc. Well, I never said it was cheap. ((By the way, my max fringe binge this year was five shows in one day.)

7) Build your schedule around the plays at the Traverse theatre. The Traverse, known as one of Britain’s leading centres of new writing, is not strictly part of the Fringe nor part of the Festival but hovers somewhere in between. HOWEVER, its programme is included in the Fringe. (No, I don’t quite understand either, but that’s what I was told.)

Anyway, notwithstanding that, they put on about half a dozen plays of about 60-90 mins length - why aren’t all plays that short? - cuts out nine tenths of the snoring - and they rotate them so they play at different times every day. Invariably brilliant stuff and probably all sold out this year. But they do get RETURNS. Call them on 0131 228 1404 to find out how to get one.

8) My strong advice is to book accommodation as far in advance in possible - like right now for next year - even if you are not 100 per cent sure you are going. You can always cancel. I stay 20 miles out of town with friends - lucky me! - and this year, hired a car and every day drove into a Park n’ Ride (50p per day) and caught the train in for the last 5 miles. Inexpensive and just about manageable, although it took some organising. So if you have some mates in striking distance, blag a room.

If you have a ‘winibago’, you could do as a few enterprising Fringe goers do and take your leviathan and park in a Park ’n Ride. (There are quite a few situated all around the borders of Edinburgh.) Not sure I would want to stay in the Hotel Park n’ Ride but I saw people who did it.

This year’s BloggerBlagger reviews.

I went to twenty three things in all. (22 performances of one kind or another plus 1 something else.)

These comprised, again in no particular order:

Five straight plays.

Games. A two hander based upon the story of two Jewish women at the time of the Berlin Olympics and simply stunning, as were Borders and Angels, the last two fringe offerings written by former comedian Henry Naylor. Henry, (who I am pleased to call a friend from the time I directed him in a Direct Line campaign 20 years ago - yes, funny old world) was bracketed by one reviewer with Athol Fugard after the recent off-Broadway production of ‘Angels’.

His standard does not drop. ‘Games’ is gripping from first to last and subtly draws chilling parallels with the era of Trump. Commit murder to get a ticket. (You may have to.) Five Bloggerblaggerstars.

Freeman. Half a dozen actors, with no scenery, constantly switch between different roles and different centuries to produce a riveting commentary on the sins of slavery and it’s rippling effect into the present day. Wonderful performances. Great imagination. Utterly compelling. Not on any account to be missed. Five Bloggerblaggerstars.

Revenants. A more conventional piece of theatre set in 1942 in which Queen Mary (widow of George V) is portrayed as a game old bird with a touch more brain power than the Royal Family are usually said to have. Surprisingly this too, turns out to be a story about race.

Had its moments but didn’t quite do it for me.Three Bloggerblaggerstars.

Underground Railroad Game. A theatrical experience like no other I have ever experienced. Once again this is about slavery, a mesmerising two hander at the Traverse presented in a constantly shifting context and style. Sometimes comedic, sometimes tragic, and sometimes explicitly and, even for a man of the world like me, shockingly sexual, it never stops surprising.

Two wonderful performances, particularly by Jennifer Kidwell, an actor of astonishing power. You may have to commit a murder for this one too, but well worth a lifetime in prison so go for it.

My joint pick of the week.Five Bloggerblaggerstars Plus.

Chihuahua. A clever one woman performance that switches between the life of a character in an Edith Wharton novel and that of a waitress in a coffee shop in Scotland; two women who are linked in a not very defined way by chihuahuas. This was presented in a much smaller venue than the other plays I saw, and also unlike those, it was only half full.

I thought the actress and writer, whose name I didn’t write down and now can’t locate on the internet, was heroic in the face of such a small audience. I think the title might be the problem. I am sure there must be something that would grab a passer-by or a flicker-through with much more grip. Three and a bit BloggerBlaggerStars.

Two plays with music.

What are Girls Made Of?. Another Traverse presentation, this one with four excellent actors, three of whom were obviously at least as gifted as musicians, and the fourth of whom sang wonderfully. Apparently she would have danced too had she not suffered a nasty injury at some previous performance, a misfortune that the disembodied voice of the artistic director of the Traverse told us about at the outset, before apologising for the show’s relative shortcomings and begging the audience’s indulgence. She needn’t have bothered her invisible head.

Cora Bissett, the injured singer, was so assured in this tale of the sudden rise and precipitous fall of a young rock star, told as she approaches forty, that neither she nor we missed a step. She was completely convincing in the role, unsurprisingly in a sense, since it was her own true life story she was telling, and, of course, she wrote it. Five Bloggerblaggerstars.

Vulvarine. Much more authentically Fringe in that it was conceived and performed by five fresh faced performers with great verve and obvious talent but with the odd rough edge still to be professionally smoothed. ‘Vulverine’ is a more than creditable attempt at a musical comedy with a sort of ironic feminist theme and has some quite decent tunes and lyrics and more than a few genuinely funny bits.

Allie Munro, plays the lead part of boring Brony Buckle who is transformed into Superheroine Vulvarine, and she was, I thought, terrific. Likewise the rest of the cast with one obvious exception. But given the youthful gusto that made this show so much fun, it would seem mean to name the culprit so, should you go, you can decide for yourself who I meant. Four Bloggerblaggerstars.

Four other musical shows.

21st Century Speakeasy Andrea Carlson and the Love Police. Andrea Carlson, who, I would guess, is comfortably north of fifty, has a sweet voice, vaguely reminiscent of Blossom Dearie if you are old enough to know who that is or maybe Maria Muldaur if you’re a little bit younger.

Sadly she had a rather faded quality - her costume seemed a little contrived and dated - and I don’t think it was intentional. The tunes were, by and large, pleasant enough and she and her rather elderly backing musicians performed faultlessly, but the whole thing felt slightly tragic to me, an impression not helped by the only half-filled room. Two Bloggerblaggerstars.

Jess Robinson - No filter. This was not a name I knew but she played to a packed audience in a relatively large venue so evidently a lot of people knew what I had been missing. Jess Robinson seems to be not just a singer, but an impressionist and has, according to Wikipedia, been on the telly quite a bit, in Dead Ringers amongst other things. (She also nearly made the final of Britain’s Got Talent, seventh series.)

Regrettably I didn’t know many of the people she was impersonating as her cast of characters didn’t include Vera Lynn or Gracie Fields or Marie Lloyd or Mrs.Patrick Campbell. My companion on the night described it as a bit ‘low rent’ which I thought was a tad harsh, but I knew what she meant. Two and a half Bloggerblaggerstars.

Johnny Woo’s Brexit Cabaret. Not a terribly clever musical revue with nothing very original to say about you know what. I didn’t realise Johnny Woo was a drag artist and I probably wouldn’t have gone if I had. (More fool me for not perusing the blurb closely enough.)

I have never understood the point of drag - never got panto dames or Danny LaRue - although I suppose I do remember liking the film of La Cage Aux Folles. And in the modern world, where, happily, everyone in enlightened countries has the opportunity (theoretically anyway) to be what they want to be - drag seems to me to be somehow redundant. Slick but shallow is about the best I can say of this effort. Two Bloggerblaggerstars.

Frau Welt. Another drag show, though this time, I had a better excuse as it was the only show on in the place where I was, at the time I was there, and I was determined to see something, anything. This one was full-on screaming camp and I found the first ten minutes spectacularly unamusing. One word kept coming to mind: WHY? Then I left. Zero Bloggerblaggerstars.

Five stand ups.

All the stand-ups I saw this year, apart from the polished old stager, Fred MacAulay - whom I caught in the second half of The Best of Scottish Comedy, which a friend smuggled me into after I had fled the horrendous Frau Welt - were just a little disappointing. None were remotely bad, but none got me guffawing uncontrollably.

They were all watchable and, every so often, amusing and applaudable but, apart from Maisie Adams, none seemed to me to have any stardust sprinkled on them. She has a routine in which she discusses her own epilepsy, and at 24 - she told us that - is clearly a natural performer. But she wound up by telling us how she had overcome her disability, and being the ancient curmudgeon that I am, I found that bit a touch self-congratulatory.

AAA (Batteries Not Included) with ChrisTurner

Gràinne Maguire

Jan Lafferty: Wheesht!

All two point six seven three ( why not?) Bloggerblaggerstars.

Maisie Adams Three and a tad Bloggerblaggerstars.

The Best of Scottish comedy: Fred MacAulay. Four Bloggerblaggerstars.

Three other comic turns (I think you would classify them as ‘absurdist’)

Siblings. This two girl comedy duo is made up of the Bye sisters, who, as the ultracognoscenti know, are the real life daughters of Ruby Wax. (And Ed Bye - poor bloke, never gets a mention.) I saw them last year and thought they were hilarious, but, as I remember it, their routine was slightly more conventional, in that there was a logical thread that you could just about follow.

This year it seemed to have a larger element of out and out bonkersness which didn’t really work for a couple of the people I had insisted accompany me. “You will LOVE them” I had said, but it was quickly evident they were just baffled. I would say (the) Siblings probably weren’t quite as funny as last year but I really can’t be sure because all I could think about were the fingers of blame that would be jabbed at me afterwards.“You said we’d love them.Love WHAT?”

Three Bloggerblaggerstars. (My friends are superannuated old gits, so what would they know.)

The Kagools. Another female duo, Aussies Claire Ford and Nicky Wilkinson, who have a completely word-free act that is simply ingenious. They interact with a film of themselves so that they are live on stage one moment and the next vanishing behind the screen to reappear in the film. It is clearly rehearsed to the millisecond because the timing is absolutely perfect - a moving arm is half live and half on film at one point, seemingly without a join.

The really impressive thing though is that, despite the precision, it all seems completely spontaneous. The technique never gets in the way of the comedy and The Kagools are simultaneously wonderfully silly and completely charming. An absolute delight, they are the other half of my joint pick of the week. Five Bloggerblaggerstars Plus.

Claire Sullivan, I wish I owned a hotel for dogs. Another Aussie, Claire takes absurdist comedy to new heights - or to new records of excess in whichever dimension absurdism exists. Think Vic and Bob on acid. And then some. Quite honestly, I didn’t have the faintest idea what was going on at any time, but she has a winning way which can’t but help force a smile. I did like her but I really don’t know why. Two and a half Bloggerblaggerstars.

One acrobaticky sort of show.

360 All Stars. Five blokes in baseball caps worn at various angles doing tricks on BMX’s and with basketballs and breakdancing mentally and doing somersaults and all that sort of thing. Probably great for the ten and unders and not too bad for the rest of us. But I wouldn’t be falling over myself to go again. Seen better Circusy things at the Fringe.Two and a half Bloggerblaggerstars.

Two ‘well known names’ shows.

Maureen Lipman. As those with knowledge of my murky advertising past will know, Maureen and I go a long way back, so in aiming for proper objectivity, I might have to have be more critical than I normally would be. In which case, she was even better than I thought, and that was very, very good indeed.

Her show was a splendid mixture, of comedy monologues, jolly good jokes and some excellent music supplied by Jackie Dankworth (Cleo and Johnny’s daughter I assume), a fine pianist and, extraordinarily, on guitar, Harry Shearer, legendary Simpsons’ voice and co-writer and co-star of Spinal Tap.

At 72 - don’t think I’m giving away secrets there - and now in Coronation Street, Maureen has, despite achieving national treasure status, most definitely not run out of creative steam. Sadly you can’t get tickets for this show no matter who you kill, because her run has finished. Five Bloggerblaggerstars.

Nina Conti. *And now, at last, to the explanation of ‘hashtag strap-on’. Nina Conti’s show began with another pre-performance announcement, this time to tell us that there was a Tourettes sufferer in the audience and to ask for our understanding. She turned out to be sitting a few rows behind my seat and began to randomly pepper the show with lots of very audible ‘biscuits’ and suchlike. I can’t say this wasn’t slightly off-putting while at the same time provoking an occasionally guilty giggle, and it would have been a fearsome challenge for most performers.

Fortunately much of Nina Conti’s incredibly clever ventriloquist’s act - I was in the front row and never saw her lips move once - is ad-libbed and she somehow contrived to incorporate one or two of the Tourettisms into the show, notably ‘tortoises’. (Really can’t explain but it was both utterly surreal and bloody funny.) The highpoint came when Nina, who uses volunteers from the audience as her dummies by fitting pigs’ masks on their faces, and operating the lips with a hand control, was fiddling about with one of the velcro ties that holds each mask in place. ‘Hashtag Strap-On’ shouted out the Tourettes lady and almost literally stopped the show. Five Bloggerblaggerstars.

One participation game-show (no audience)

Werewolves. A parlour game with twenty participants paying a tenner each, played at midnight every night, masterminded by an Australian (they’re everywhere in Edinburgh) called Nick who sports a long beard, a topper and full Edwardian costume including an ankle length fur coat that must be a fraction too warm even in a Scottish summer.

The rules are a bit too complex to explain but think of it as a sort of super de luxe, infinitely wittier version of the game where you wink at people to kill them. I warn you. It is addictive. Having made my debut last year, I played three times last week- meaning I was still up at two on three mornings! - and loved it. (Also a winner - twice! Not that I’m one to brag.) Totally recommended.

Twenty Five Bloggerblaggerstars at least.

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thejoydaily-blog · 7 years ago

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Evangelist Bill Piper: Fundamentalist Full of Grace and Joy

Evangelist Bill Piper: Fundamentalist Full of Grace and JoyDesiring God 2008 Conference for Pastors

Resource by John Piper

Topic: Biography

The title I have given this message about my father is “Evangelist Bill Piper: Fundamentalist Full of Grace and Joy.” That title is meant to carry several apparent incongruities or paradoxes or ironies. I expect you to feel tension between the word fundamentalist and the phrase “full of grace,” and between the word fundamentalist and the phrase “full of joy.” But the lead word is evangelist. Underneath being a child of God, redeemed by the blood of the Lamb, and justified by faith, and possessing all the riches of the glory of God in Christ—underneath that most basic identity, my father’s chief identity was “evangelist.” Independent, fundamentalist, Baptist evangelist—full of grace and joy.

The Paradoxical Christian Identity

It seems to me that any serious analysis or exploration of a human being’s life will always deal in paradoxes. It will see tensions. Again and again, the serious effort to understand another person will meet with ironic realities. Here is what I mean by irony: It’s the “incongruity between what might be expected and what actually occurs." The dictionary gives this example: “Hyde noted the irony of Ireland’s copying the nation she most hated.” In other words, it’s a great irony to imitate the people you like the least.

It seems to me that there are very deep and basic reasons why every serious effort to understand another person—especially a Christian—forces us to deal in irony or paradox. One of the most basic reasons is that Christians are both fallen and redeemed. We are saved (Ephesians 2:8-9), and we not yet saved (Romans 13:11). We are adopted (Romans 8:15), yet we wait for adoption (Romans 8:23). We are pure in Christ, but not yet pure: “Cleanse out the old leaven that you may be a new lump, as you really are unleavened” (1 Corinthians 5:7). What an irony that unleavened bread should be told to become unleavened.

Our citizenship is in heaven (Philippians 3:20); we are sojourners and exiles here (1 Peter 2:11). But the earth is the Lord’s and everything in it (1 Corinthians 10:26); and “all things are yours, whether . . . the world or life or death or the present or the future—all are yours” (1 Corinthians 3:20-21). We were bought with a price and are slaves of no man (1 Corinthians 7:23). Yet, “Be subject for the Lord’s sake to every human institution” (1 Peter 2:13). Our lives are hidden with Christ in God (Colossians 3:3). Yet Jesus prays that we not be taken out of the world (John 17:15). Indeed, “some of you they will put to death . . . but not a hair of your head will perish” (Luke 21:16, 18). In fact, you have already died (Romans 6:8). So consider yourselves dead (Romans 8:11). How ironic that dead should be told to consider themselves dead.

In other words, irony and paradox and incongruities are found in every Christian life because our very identity as Christians is paradoxical. That’s what it means to be a Christian. If you’re not a paradox, you’re not saved. In fact, I would go even farther and say, if you’re not a paradox, you’re not a human. What could be more basic to fallen humanity—and what could be more ironic—than that those who are created by God in his own image should use that God-like personhood to deny their Maker? Like a digging ant denying the earth; or a flying bird denying the wind; or swimming fish denying the sea.

Bill Piper: Human, Christian

So there are these two great reasons why, as I have pondered my father’s life, I have found him to be a paradoxical person: He is a Christian, and he is a human. Does it not seem like a strange incongruity—perhaps not a real one—that a blood-earnest, soul-winner, who hammered away at the temptations of the world and the dangers of the flesh should in his sixties celebrate the body of his wife with words like these:

Her hair is like an auburn sea, Wind-whipped, waved, mysterious. Her forehead, like a wall of pearl Stands majestic, proud, serene. Her wide-set eyes are like clear, sparkling, hazel-green pools, calm, compassionate, penetrating. Her finely chiseled nose stands firmly between cheeks that are fair, like pillows of down. Her mouth is soft, pleasant and ruby rich. Her skin is like the feathers of a dove. Her breasts are like rose-tipped apples of ivory, And her belly is like a ocean wave, smooth and restful. Her legs are like pillars of granite, strong and firm. And her feet like those of a deer, swift and beautiful. Her breath is like sweet nectar, Her kisses like perfumed flowers, And her love like paradise.

Perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised that Bob Jones University should produce soul-winners that write like Song of Songs. Maybe the incongruity is just biblical faithfulness. But almost everywhere I turned in my father’s life, there were these seeming paradoxes. He was human, and he was Christian.

Corporate Paradoxes

And he lived with other humans and other Christians, who together created corporate paradoxes. Does it not seem like a strange incongruity—perhaps not a real one—that the most fundamentalistic, separatistic, worldliness-renouncing school in America, Bob Jones University, where my father graduated in 1942, should have as part of the commencement celebration in those days a performance of “As You Like It” (1939) and “Romeo and Juliet” (1940) both written by William Shakespeare, who in his own day ridiculed the Puritans, and whose Globe Theater was demolished by the Puritans in 1644? Isn’t it a strange irony how three centuries can turn worldliness into “a delightful comedy”—as the BJU program said in 1939?

So whether personal or corporate, my father’s life appears to be permeated with paradoxes. And under the title “Evangelist Bill Piper: Fundamentalist Full of Grace and Joy,” I hope to capture some of them in a way that gives you hope in the grace of God through the gospel of Christ.

An Old-Fashioned, No-Nonsense Rearing

William Solomon Hottle Piper—named after a Bible expositor that his father admired—was born in Reading, Pennsylvania, January 8, 1919. He was the third and youngest son of Elmer and Emma Piper. His father had been a machinist (I couldn’t forget that he was missing half of one finger), but after his conversion, he became a self-taught Bible student and then the pastor of West Wyomissing Nonsectarian Church. My father told me that he wouldn’t have been surprised if his father could quote virtually the entire New Testament from memory. My guess is that this was an overstatement, but it signals the massive priority of the Bible and Bible Study that passed from my grandfather to my father to me.

The upbringing of the three boys, Harold, Elmer, and Bill, was old-fashioned, no-nonsense, and strict. He gives us a glimpse into the discipline of his father in one of his sermons.

Behavioristic psychologists teach that temper tantrums and defiant attitudes are normal and healthy. To curb them is dangerous. If you discipline the child you will develop within him inhibitions and warp his personality.

I’m glad I had a father who believed otherwise. I got “warped” a good many times, but it wasn’t my personality! . . . O, yes, we had plenty of counseling sessions but generally he did the talking and when he finished I said, “Yes, sir.”

Old fashioned? Indeed it was! Scriptural? Absolutely! Right to the letter.

The strictness of his father had some surprising side effects that were profound. He told me about one of them. It turns out that both Bill and Elmer had disobeyed their father. Elmer was the older, so his father said that he was the more responsible and that he would get the whipping for both boys. My father told me with tears in his eyes a few years ago that he could hear the belt on the backside. Though he was just a boy, he said it was one of the most vivid pictures in his life of the substitutionary atonement of Christ in our place.

In a sermon about the salvation of children, he tells us about his own conversion to make the point that young children can be saved.

That children can be saved I know from my own experience. I have a brother who was saved at the age of seven and another who gave his heart to Christ when he was eight. I received Christ as my Savior when I was a boy of six. Certainly there were many things I did not know, nor need to know. I knew enough to be saved. I knew I was sinful and needed a Savior. I knew that Christ was that Savior I needed. I knew that if I would believe on Him and confess Him as my Savior He would save me. That is all I needed to know and that all any child needs to know to be saved. I trusted Christ and he saved me.2

The Call at Age Fifteen

Besides his conversion at the age of six, probably the most decisive event in his teenage life (and I mean even more decisive than his marriage to my mother at age nineteen) was what happened when he was fifteen.

He told me this story face to face several times over the years, and he always came to tears as he said it. He saw it as a moment of supernatural confirmation on his divine calling that never left him and that stamped his entire life. I will let him tell the story from his book The Greatest Menace to Modern Youth.

I can vividly recall the thrills that accompanied the delivery of my first Gospel sermon. I was fifteen years of age and had just surrendered my life fully to the will and service of Christ. The young people of our community had joined together to promote a city-wide revival and had invited a well known evangelist.

For the Saturday night service, the evangelist decided to turn the entire service over to the young people. For some reason I was asked to bring the message and to give the invitation.

I had been reared in a Baptist parsonage. All my life I had heard great preaching but I had never tried to do it myself. This was to be my first attempt. I didn’t know how but I tried. My heart was filled with zeal and I wanted to do my best for the Lord. The big night came. For my message I had selected some thoughts on about a half dozen Gospel tracts. At the time of the sermon I spread these tracts all over the pulpit and I simply preached from one tract to the next.

I don’t recall a thing I said. It probably was a poor sermon. But the thing that mattered was that when I gave the invitation to receive Christ [this is where the tears would inevitably come], ten precious souls left their seats, came weeping to an improvised altar and surrendered to the Lord Jesus Christ.

The thrill that came to me then is still with me many years later. I knew that Jesus had walked on the water but I felt as I left the building that night that I was walking on air! Believe me, I was on cloud nine! And, better still, I’ve never come down. What thrilled me most was the sudden realization that I had immeasurable power at my disposal. That the God of heaven, the God of the Bible, was willing to speak through me in such a way as to touch other lives and transform them and change their destinies.

I never dreamed such a thrill was possible for me. I had not known such power was at my disposal. I said then, “God, let me know this power the rest of my life. Let me be so yielded to Thee that I’ll never cease to know the thrill and joy of winning others to Christ.” And I can say with honesty, I am just as excited right now [this book was published in 1980, forty-six years later] about the soul-winning power of God as I was at the age of fifteen.

From that day on, my father’s face was set like flint to be a full-time evangelist.

Beside his name in his senior yearbook are the words: “He wants to be an evangelistic preacher.” He never turned back.

Bill and El: The Gospel Songsters

In the last two years that he and his brother Elmer were in high school together they had their own radio program on WRW in Reading, Pennsylvania, called “Bill and El, the Gospel Songsters.” They sang and preached. Their theme song was a song called “Precious Hiding Place.” Until you hear it, you can hardly imagine how different the teenage world was seventy-five years ago.

Perhaps my wife is right in her analysis: When she saw a video of Bill and El, she pointed out that in 1936 adolescence as a distinct cultural phenomenon hadn’t yet been created. There was no such thing as a vast teen culture. There was no teenage music. Frank Sinatra was born four years before my father. He is usually considered the first teen idol. The beginnings of a distinct youth culture was just about to begin. So when my father was in high school the overlap between the music that mom and dad liked and what teens liked was much greater then than now.

In other words, my father grew up much more quickly than I did. He skipped a good bit of the usually-wasted years called adolescence, or what later was called the “teenage” years—the term teenager did not occur in the English language until 1941. He graduated from high school with his sweetheart Ruth Eulalia Mohn in 1936.

You can see from the note in her senior yearbook that her heart was bound together already in the calling of his life. Hers reads: “She intends to take up evangelistic work.”

Marriage to Ruth, College at Bob Jones

After graduation, my father traveled with the Students’ League of Nations and studied at John A. Davis Memorial Bible School in Binghamton, New York. Then on May 26, 1938, he and his brother Elmer in the same wedding ceremony married Ruth and Naomi. Elmer married Naomi Werner. And Bill married Ruth Mohn. Bill and Ruth were both nineteen.

They moved to Cleveland, Tennessee, to attend Bob Jones College. The school had moved to Cleveland in 1933 from near Panama City, Florida, where it was founded in 1927. Ruth and Bill both enrolled. My father was an average student and a very gifted speaker and actor. He had leading roles in several Shakespearean plays. He developed a deep admiration for Dr. Bob Senior, the founder of the school, and quoted him often the rest of his life. My father loved the education he got at Bob Jones. He never belittled the school as an educational institution. When the time would come for cutting off ties with the school, it was a deeply painful thing.

He graduated in 1942 and entered full-time evangelism. My sister Beverly was born in 1943, and I was born in 1946. That same year Bob Jones moved to Greenville, South Carolina, and our family moved with them. Greenville became the base of Daddy’s evangelistic ministry for the rest of his life. This is where I grew up.

The Rhythm of Leaving and Coming Home

Life, in my memory, was a rhythm of Daddy’s leaving for one week or two weeks or as long as four weeks, almost always on Saturday, and then coming home on Monday. When I dedicated the book Desiring God to him, I wrote

I can recall Mother laughing so hard at the dinner table that the tears ran down her face. She was a very happy woman. But especially when you came home on Monday. You had been gone two weeks. Or sometimes three or four. She would glow on Monday mornings when you were coming home.

He had been elected to the board of trustees of Bob Jones before coming to Greenville in 1946, the youngest board member ever elected at that time. In 1952, the University award him the Doctor of Divinity degree in recognition of the impact of his ministry in the churches of the United States.

Over the next decades, he preached in all fifty states, half a dozen other countries, held over 1,250 evangelistic crusades, recorded over 30,000 professions of faith, and published seven books of sermons.

The Challenges of Full-Time Evangelism

The personal toll this took on him, and what it cost my mother, was extraordinary. What keeps you going to hard new challenges week after week when it means you must leave the ones you love again and again? Here’s what he wrote in his book Stones Out of the Rubbish.

As an evangelist, my work necessarily keeps me away from my sweet wife and children much of the time. Some have asked me, “How can you endure being away from them? Why don’t you get a church and settle down?” There is but one answer. When I was a boy of fifteen, I sold out to the will of God. His will since that day has been the supreme passion of my life. There have been failures, mistakes and sins since then, but His blessed will has remained more important to me than family, home or friends. God called me to be an evangelist. I said, “Lord, this will mean homesickness, separation from loved ones, loneliness and sacrifice, but NEVERTHELESS, if that is your will, ‘I will let down the net.’” The blessings He has given have often been more than I could contain. The fruit I have seen has repaid me a million times over for whatever sacrifices I may have made.”5

Part of the burden he carried was the sordid stereotype of itinerant southern evangelists. It grieved him, but it didn’t stop him.

There is a reason why the words “evangelism” and “evangelist” meet with a feeling of nausea and disgust in the minds of thousands of thinking people today. . . . All emotionalism worked up in the energy of the flesh, deliberately aroused for outward results, or toyfully played upon by the impression-seeking preacher can leave nothing but bitterness in the bottom of the cup.

Not Your Typical Evangelist

My father was not your typical evangelist. He was a doctrinally driven, Bible-saturated evangelist. When he preached to save sinners, he explained doctrine. One outline from his sermon notes goes like this—and it is typical of the sort of preaching he did:

Christ is our redemption

Christ is our propitiation

Christ is our righteousness

Christ is sanctification

Christ is our Example

Christ is our Expectation

Christ is our Completeness

He believed that the best way to call for repentance and faith was to unpack the glories of Christ in the gospel, which meant unpacking doctrine. He had about 200 sermons in his arsenal. He told me that about twenty of them were blessed above all others, and he would return to these again and again. What marked out his evangelistic preaching as unusual was not the stories, but basic doctrines of man’s helpless condition in sin, God’s holiness and wrath and the imminent danger of damnation, the glorious fullness of Christ’s saving work on the cross, and the free offer of forgiveness and righteousness to any who believed.

He was the most Bible-saturated preacher I have ever heard. When he took up the reality of the new birth, for example, the message was full of the Bible.

My father loved the Bible. He believed the Bible. He built his life on the Bible, and he preached the gospel at the center of the Bible with unashamed authority and almost no frills. And God used him mightily in the salvation of sinners.

Separation and Exile

In 1957, something happened that broke his heart and changed the scope of his relationships. I don’t know all the details. I just know that in June of 1957, Daddy called Bob Jones from a meeting in Wisconsin and resigned from the board of the school. The ways parted. I was eleven years old. Before that I had watched soccer games at BJU and seen films that they made. The campus was just across the highway from our home. But after 1957, there was no more connection. We were not welcome.

The larger issue above the particular details was the issue of separation. Christian fundamentalism today is defined largely by the doctrine of separation. The issue of whether to separate from Billy Graham and renounce his work became pivotal in 1957. His New York crusade began on May 15 and ran nightly for four months. The supporters of the crusade were not all evangelical. And the lines of separation became blurred. My father would not renounce Billy. And in the end, there was a division between my father and Bob Jones. This was one of the great ironies of his life. The movement that nurtured him and shaped him, the school that he loved and served, would no longer support him. Only near the end of his life was there a reconciliation as Bob Jones III reached out to my father. It was a sweet ending to a long exile.

Death of Ruth, Marriage to LaVonne

In 1974, my mother was killed in a bus accident in Israel. My father was seriously injured but survived. They had been married thirty-six years. A year later, God gave my lonely father a second wife, LaVonne Nalley. I performed the wedding ceremony in December of 1975.

The effect of my mother’s death and my father’s second marriage was profound on our relationship. It took my father one more step away from closeness to me. LaVonne was a southern lady with deep roots in family and place. In the twenty-eight years of their marriage, LaVonne never came to Minneapolis. My father came twice. Since we only saw each other once a year or so, the relationship with the new relatives was cordial but not deep. It never felt very much like family. So it felt like my father had been drawn into an intimacy that was no longer focused on the family he fathered but the new relationship he had with LaVonne.

My relationship with my father had always been one of admiration and respect and tremendous enjoyment when we played games together or fished. But we never talked much about personal things. And with the death of my mother, and the movement of my father’s heart into a new world of relationships, the distance that I felt grew even greater.

In the Shadow of Evangelistic Effectiveness

It never changed my basic feelings for him. I felt a tremendous affection and admiration for him. In fact, in my adult years, I felt a huge compassion or pity for my father, first because of the sacrifices he made to do the work of evangelism, and then because of the death of my mother, and then because of his increasing dementia. My emotional default reaction to my father was never resentment that he wasn’t home enough. My reaction was: How can I show him that I love him and help him to know how much I esteem his work and the faithfulness he has shown?

I always felt supported, loved, and admired by my father. He spoke well of me. He thought I was crazy for leaving my professorship at Bethel to be a pastor, since he thought I was exactly where I belonged. But when the decision was made in 1980, he supported me and loved hearing news from the church. Most of all he loved hearing stories of conversions.

I have always lived in the shadow of my father’s evangelistic effectiveness. I think it’s been good for me, because my father’s life is like a living parable of the priority that God puts on the salvation of one sinner who repents. “I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance” (Luke 15:7). My father’s life is a constant reminder of that truth. I am thankful for it.

Homecoming

During the years after my mother’s death and my father’s increasing inability to travel in evangelism, the Lord opened an amazing door with the creation of international correspondence courses that my father wrote. Rod of God Ministries grew up with tens of thousands of people in Africa and Asia taking these courses. That ministry continues today under the leadership that my father put in place. It was a thrilling gift to him as he aged because he was able be involved in writing and teaching into his mid eighties.

Only in the last couple years was his memory so impaired that he couldn’t serve in that way. His second wife LaVonne died August 4, 2003. After a brief stay in independent living in Anderson, South Carolina, near his church, Oakwood Baptist, that cared for him so well, we moved him to Shepherd’s Care in Greenville, owned and operated by Bob Jones University. It was, in my mind and his, a kind of homecoming—to the school he loved and to the fundamentalism he never really left—and paradoxically never really belonged to. I look back on God’s mercy in my father’s final days with tremendous gratitude. The Lord took him on March 6, 2007.

Self-Designated Fundamentalist

After his deepest identity as gospel-glorying child of God, my father’s identity was most essentially evangelist. This defined his life from age 15 to 88. In the last days, his unreality that his mind created at Shepherd’s Care was not casual times with his family but evangelistic crusades. “Across the lawn there is where the meeting will be tonight.” From beginning to end, he was defined by evangelism.

But he was also a fundamentalist. By his own self-designation. It was not a term of reproach but of honor. In the first decade of the twentieth century, liberalism was gaining a foothold in most denominations. The common word for the liberals then was modernists—those who believed that modern science had made some essentials of the Christian faith untenable. My father defined modernism like this:

By “modernists”, we mean ministers who deny the truth concerning Jesus Christ: His miraculous conception, His absolute deity, His vicarious atonement for the sins of mankind, His bodily resurrection, and His personal visible return to this earth. Modernists also deny the need of regeneration by the Holy Spirit and the fact of a literal hell.7

In other words, in the early days of the fundamentalist-modernist controversy, the battle was not for marginal doctrines or behaviors but essential doctrine—“fundamentals.” When J. Gresham Machen wrote his response to liberalism in 1923, he did not title it Fundamentalism and Liberalism but Christianity and Liberalism because he believed liberalism was not Christianity at all.8

Two years before my father was born, the four-volume set of books called The Fundamentals was published (1917). In 1922, Harry Emerson Fosdick fired his shot across the bow of the ship of the church called “Shall the Fundamentalists Win?” My father grew up in this super-charged atmosphere of modernism threatening the very life of the churches in America. In his early sermons in the forties and fifties, he returned to this battle again and again:

Christianity is in the throes of a gigantic conflict with the enemies of the Lord. The followers of Satan have shown their colors and the Faith is being blatantly denied and rejected. Corruption and disintegration have begun in a dozen denominations where the enemy had spread his deadly poison.9

The breach between modernism and fundamentalism keeps getting wider. . . . “The faith once for all delivered unto the saints” has been shunned in favor of bloodless faith which glorifies man, denies his depravity, rejects the absolute authority of the Bible and the Deity of Jesus Christ.10

In fact, by the time my father was ten-years old, most people recognized that the battle to save the mainline denominations from liberalism was being lost. Then the question became how to deal with this, and the debates about degrees of separation altered the meaning of the term fundamentalism in the 1930s. It ceased to mean “orthodox Christianity” over against those who denied essentials, and came to refer one group of orthodox Christians, namely, the ones who believed that the biblical way forward was strict separation from denominations, groups, and relationships that were not fully orthodox and were not separated from those who were not fully orthodox.

Bob Jones University was and is one of the strongest representations of this development of fundamentalism. And my father embraced it and was defined by it—up to a point. For him, the heart of fundamentalism was the true doctrine. His passion was evangelism—saving people from perishing in hell by leading them to the divine Savior and his substitutionary work on the cross. In other words, if the fundamentals were not true, the gospel is a false hope, and evangelism is misleading. Therefore, the note struck more clearly than all notes was the doctrinal importance of fundamentalism:

Though fundamentalists do not agree upon every point of doctrine, they are definitely agreed upon the essential elements of the Christian faith: the total depravity of man, the absolute deity of Christ, the vicarious, substitutionary atonement for sin through the blood of Christ, His bodily resurrection, the need of the new birth and the blessed return of Christ to the earth.11

Another dimension of fundamentalism that he embraced was authoritative preaching that was willing to name evil and defend truth.

Too many present-day pulpiteers are soft pedaling the Gospel. Even many who are robed in the vestments of fundamentalism are void of a semblance of holy boldness in their preaching. They handle sin with kid gloves, avoid great issues and shrink from declaring cardinal doctrines. Pussyfooters in the pulpit! What a tragedy! They are a blight to the Church and a blockade to the Holy spirit’s blessing.

Then there was the fundamentalist vision of separation not just from false doctrine but from all forms of worldliness that weaken the boldness and spiritual power of a Christian.

Every Christian who indulges in the sinful pleasures of this world is a compromiser and a stumbling-block. No dancing, theater-going, card-playing, gambling Christian can hope to be a soul winner or have a testimony for God. If men see this world in you, you will never point them to the next.13

I grew up in a home where it was assumed we would not smoke, or drink, or gamble, or play cards, or dance, or go to movies. We were fundamentalists. So why didn’t I kick against this growing up? I have never thought ill of my parents for these standards. I have never resented it or belittled it. When I was in my early twenties, I was indignant in some of my classes at Fuller Seminary when certain young faculty members were cynical and sarcastic about fundamentalism. They sounded to me like adolescents who were angry at their parents and their backgrounds and couldn’t seem to grow up. I never felt that way about my parents or about the fundamentalism of my past. Why?

Fundamentalist Freedom

I think I know why. My mother and my father were the happiest people I have ever known. This strikes many as an incongruity, a paradox. But this is the key to my father’s influence on me and, I believe, one of the keys to the power of his ministry. The fundamentalist forcefulness in the pulpit, the fundamentalist vision of “the razorsharp edge of truth,”14 the fundamentalist standards that move from the Ten Commandments down to dancing and card-playing—all of this was enveloped in a world of joy and freedom.

Freedom? Fundamentalistic freedom? Yes. I’ll illustrate. When I was in the seventh grade, our class, Mrs. Adams’ homeroom, won the attendance award for the year. The award? The whole class would go a movie at the Carolina Theater on Main Street during school time. My heart pounded. I went home and asked my mother—Daddy wasn’t home—what should I do? She said, “Do what you think is right.” I weighed all the factors, and I went.

The next year, in the eighth grade, a girl called me one night and asked if I would go with her to a dance. It was one of those Sadie Hawkins events where the girls invite the guys. She was a pretty girl. My heart pounded again: Uh . . . I don’t dance, I said. She said, We don’t have to dance, we can just sit and watch. Uh . . . just a minute. I went and asked my mother what I should do. (Daddy wasn’t home.) She said, “Do what you think is right.” Then she checked her calendar, and we were going to be out of town. Saved.

What was my mother, speaking for my father, doing? She was saying: We have standards, son, but they need to come from the inside. If they don’t come from the inside, they are worthless. On these issues, you’re old enough now to discover who you are deep inside. When my parents said, “Do what you think is right,” they were not foolish relativists. They were wise fundamentalists.

“Truthing in Love”

Soon I was old enough to start talking about these issues with my father. Daddy, why is there a split between you and some other fundamentalists? One thing I remember above all about these conversations. He went to Ephesians 4:15 over and over and reminded me that in all our devotion to the truth we must “speak the truth in love.” He used to love to play on the Greek verb and translate it “truthing in love.” He felt as if fundamentalism was losing the battle mainly for spiritual and attitudinal reasons, not doctrinal ones.

Already in the 1940s, there had emerged in my father’s preaching and teaching and writing a warning about the dangers of fundamentalism. For the careless listener, this could sound like he was abandoning the ship of fundamentalism. Some would say he did. He would surely say he didn’t. I don’t think he did. Let me try to capture the spirit of this warning from his own words:

Some professing Christians, often those who boast of their fundamentalism, are given to a grievous censorious and critical attitude toward everything and everybody. As one man I knew has said, “Some people are born in the objective case, the contrary gender and the bilious mood.”. . . For one to profess to know Christ and have real religion and at the same time to manifest a sour, critical, negative attitude is disgusting and abhorrent even to the ungodly. Certainly anyone with such an unsavory nature could never hope to be a “savour of life unto life.”15

Critiquing Fundamentalism

Then there is this amazing passage that folds the critique of fundamentalism in with a much wider concern and shows the scope of my father’s burden. He is not picking on anyone here, he is groaning over the lost power of the church and longing for the day of great revival.

When backslidden Christians confess their waywardness and return to God; when worldly Christians stop their smoking, drinking, dancing, card-playing and show-going and heed again the message of separation; when pharisaic negative religionists who boast loudly of what they do not do, forsake their contemptuous pride, covetousness and carnality and return again to their “first love”; when slothful, sleepy, negligent Christians are filled with the Spirit and feel again the thrill of their salvation; when stagnant fundamentalism is replaced by aggressive evangelism; . . . when anemic sermons are red again with the crimson blood of Jesus; when the average church ceases to be merely a center of social interest and becomes again a source of spiritual influence, does more praying and less playing, more fasting and less feasting, showers of revival fire and blessing will again fall on America.16

He said that there is a world of difference between being separated and being consecrated. If we don’t move beyond separation to consecration, our separation is worthless. This is what my parents were saying to me when mother said, Do what you think is right, Johnny. The issue in this family is not whether we keep separation rules, but whether we have consecrated hearts.

I have seen many Christians who are separated but far from consecrated. They boast pharisaically of what they do not do and fail to see that they are doing almost nothing for God. . . . Consecrated Christians are Christians who are so busy serving the Lord that they have neither time or taste for the things of the world. They have found their joy and complete satisfaction in Christ.17

Fundamentalism ceased to be a term my father could use for himself without profound qualification. And this didn’t change for forty years.

If Christianity, as he said, is not rules and dogmas and creeds and rituals and passionless purity and degrees of goodness, and if the devil himself is a fundamentalist (because he knows all the fundamentals to be true), then what is the heart of the matter? What is Christianity? What was it that undergirded and overshadowed everything else in our home and in my father’s ministry?

Stunned by the Gospel

The answer was gospel-rooted, Christ-savoring, God-glorifying joy. My father was stunned by the gospel. He exulted in the gospel. Everything in fundamentalism was secondary to the glory of Christ enjoyed in the gospel. The gospel meant salvation, and salvation meant, in the end, total satisfaction in Christ:

Other religions are spelled, “Do,” but Christianity is spelled, “Done.” If you would be saved, you must place your trust in the finished and perfect work of Christ on the cross. In Him all sin was punished and God’s holiness was vindicated. God is satisfied with Christ as to the perfection of His life and righteousness, and as to the completeness of His work in the sinner’s behalf. God’s only requirement for salvation is that you, too, be satisfied with Christ and His work.18

Satisfied with Christ

Where did I learn that delight in God is our highest duty? Before Jonathan Edwards and before C. S. Lewis and before Daniel Fuller, there was Bill Piper, unsystematically, unapologetically, and almost unwittingly saying: God’s only requirement is that you be satisfied with Christ.

Long before John Piper read C. S. Lewis’ The Weight of Glory and learned about the folly of making mud pies in the slums because one can’t imagine a holiday at the sea—long before that—he was hearing his father talkabout the cow and the barbed-wire fence by the road.

I have often seen a cow stick her head through a barbed wire fence to chew the stubby grass bordering a highway, when behind her lay a whole pasture of grass. I have always been reminded of Christians who have not learned to completely trust Christ, reaching out to the world for sensual pleasure when rivers of pleasure were at their disposal in Christ.19

“Everyone Wants to Be Happy”

Long before John Piper ever read, “All men seek happiness”21 in Pascal’s Penses, he was absorbing from his father these very truths. This from a sermon in the 1940s: “Everyone wants to be happy. Sinners seek it in pleasure, fame, wealth and unbelief, but they seek in vain. Christians have found the answer to happiness in Christ.”22

And what are these pleasures that this fundamentalist is so ravished by? Like Lewis, my father answered: They are everywhere.

The devil never made a rain drop or a snow flake. He never made a baby smile or a nightingale sing. He never placed a golden sun in a western sky or filled the night with stars. Why? Because these things were not his to give. God is the creator and the possessor of them all and he lovingly shares these things with us.23

Christ Himself, The Supreme Delight

Is it any wonder my father was a poet? Poets are people who see the indescribable glory everywhere and will not be daunted in their passion to make language serve its revelation. My father found reason to rejoice everywhere he looked. He had an invincible faith that all things serve God’s wise purpose to reveal his glory. Even in his final years of dementia, he rejoiced. In the last month that he was able to keep a journal (April of 2004), he wrote, “I’ll soon be 86 but I feel strong and my health is good. God has been exceedingly gracious and I am most unworthy of His matchless grace and patience. The Lord is more precious to me the older I get.”

In other words, not the pleasures that lie strewn everywhere in life, but the pleasures of Christ himself are the supreme delight. “Every believer has in Christ all the fullness the world longs for. Christianity, therefore, far from being dull and dreary or a harsh system of rules and regulations, is a gloriously free, real, victorious and happy life.”24

And, he adds, it never ends:

His grace is infinite. It is fathomless as the sea. In glory, throughout the ages to come, we who are saved will behold an endless display of these riches which we now have in Christ Jesus. [Then, always the evangelist, he says, and I say] I trust that you all are sharing this wealth. If not, you may. Simply place your faith in Christ and start reveling in the riches of God’s grace.25

“Fully Satisfied with Him Alone”

One last thing, lest he fail to get all the credit that he should: He preached a very provocative message once called “Sanctifying God” from Isaiah 8:13(“Sanctify the LORD of hosts himself; and let him be your fear, and let him be your dread.”). What was his answer to the question, How do we “sanctify” God—how do we esteem him and honor him and set him apart is the supremely valuable Treasure of our lives?

He gives his answer in the form of a very personal discovery: “I knew . . . that God was sufficient, abundantly able to supply my every need and the need of all who would trust Him. But to sanctify Him as such, I realized that day that I must live a contented life, a life fully satisfied with Him alone.”26 Or to quote the echo of the father in the son: God is most sanctified in us, when we are most satisfied in him.

What an evangelist! What a fundamentalist! What a soul full of grace and joy!

Thank you, Daddy. Thank you. Under God, I owe you everything.

Endnotes

1 Bill Piper, The Greatest Menace to Modern Youth (Greenville, SC: Piper’s Evangelistic Publications, 1980), p. 30.

2 Bill Piper, A Good Time and How to Have It (Greenville, SC: Piper Publications, 1964), p. 65.

3 The Greatest Menace to Modern Youth, pp. 22-23.

4 John Piper, Desiring God (Sisters, OR: Multnomah, 2003), pp. 13-14.

5 Bill Piper, Stones Out of the Rubbish, (Greenville, SC: Piper’s Publications, 1947), pp. 63-64.

6 Stones Out of the Rubbish, pp. 27-28.

7 Bill Piper, The Tyranny of Tolerance (Greenville, SC: Piper’s Publications, 1964), p. 28.

8 J. Gresham Machen, Christianity and Liberalism (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1923), pp. 49-50.

9 The Tyranny of Tolerance, p. 38.

10 Ibid., p. 19.

11 Ibid., p. 29.

12 Ibid., pp. 10, 11, 17.

13 Stones Out of the Rubbish, p. 62.

14 The Tyranny of Tolerance, p. 10.

15 Bill Piper, Dead Men Made Alive (Greenville, SC: Piper’s Publications, 1949), pp. 28-29.

16 Stones Out of the Rubbish, p. 33.

17 Ibid., p. 62.

18 Dead Men Made Alive, p. 24.

19 A Good Time and How to Have It, p. 48.

20 The Greatest Menace to Modern Youth, p. 22.

21 Blaise Pascal, Penses (New York: E. P. Dutton, 1958), p. 113, Thought # 425.

22 Dead Men Made Alive, p. 30.

23 The Greatest Menace to Modern Youth, p. 39.

24 A Good Time and How to Have It, p. 70.

25 Dead Men Made Alive, p. 62.

26 A Good Time and How to Have It, p. 17.

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janiklandre-blog · 8 years ago

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Saturday, March 25, 2017

10:10 already on this here - cloudy but warm - distractions this morning - answering some of my emails - I love getting them - but then again I do try to limit my time at the computer - still wish I had one again on my desk upstairs - though yesterday my friend pointed out to me I can even do email on my smart phone - but that's tiny - and then these is this forever troubling me ipad - that I did buy to replace a computer upstairs but simply cannot find a human being who is able to teach - they all go, bing, bing, bing, this is so simple, what are you, an idiot - sadly, I am old. Ken had the patience.

Then a neighbor dropped here - the other night she rang my bell, her Time Warner phone had gone on the blink - now she came to tell me that a man who came spent four hours, she changed from Verizon to Time Warner but did not change her phone numbert and that messed up everything - well - that is why I stay with verizon. We all like to tell these stories at length and I have found out people hate to be interrupted - once in the park a Caroline was telling me an endless story and I finally said, I have to go - she did not speak to me for a year. And here I'm back to offended - one friend pointed it - the German "beleidigt" actually tranlated to "insulted" - and that reminds me also of a long story in the NYT about Webster's dictionary - never knew they publish in Springfield, Massachusetts - and how cataloguers ponder words for weeks - my father worked I think a couple of years in Frankfurt for a company putting out a catalogue - must have been around 1954 - he loved that job, alas it was temporary. When he read newspapers he was always outraged about the wrong use of words - just occured to me - I must have gotten my love of words from him.

I know, I could go to google, but much prefer the dictionaries I do not have within reach in this here computer room - to analyse the diffrence between offend and insult. Someone once pointed out to me that my feel for English obviously is not native and that I often use words that are too strong. Is insulting worse then offending? Will ponder it.

My best readers do point out errors to me - in a gentle way - also give me excellent advise on how to deal with insults, offenses - thankfully very rarely does the desire grab me to confront the offender - but this time it has - bringing so much to my consciousness POWER in a group - in this case the CW - and how power plays out - and is abused.

I also did yesterday continue dwelling on what we in German call "kleinbuergerliches Benehmen" - the conduct of the petit bourgeois - is small minded an equivalent?

Do the small minded request conformity? Have a narrow scope for the forms of human behavior? Names of people long ago come to my mind - long out of touch - any reason not to mention the full name - or - superfluous - why the urge to mention the full name? His name was Bob Benson. It may even have been Columbia where he got his Ph.D. in philosophy - anyway he met Christine F. about whom I often write in Schwabing, the artist district of Munich where her mother had a 30 year lease on an apartment - in what must have been 1966 or 1967 and fell madly in love with her. He was around for many years - a native of Staten Island he got one of the very last jobs still avaialbe to teach philosphy in a small Protestant college on Staten Island, I forgot the name. Later he rented a house right on the water - I much enjoyed our ferry rides, he came with his car to pick us up at the ferry and we had the most wonderful barbecues, wine, gin tonics and we made a good threesome. I even remember swimming in the not all that clean water there.

In my first years with Christine he was much in the picture - along side other men - all vying for her favors - and they all liked me too. When she first came he was still in Munich and would write her endlessly long letters detailing his ideas on marriage - we all looked to Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir who advocated what we later came to call open marriage - that I suggested to Robert G. in 1964 - alas - what he wanted was a petit bourgeois arrangement.

Christine did not have much patience for these long letters - I read them - as other letters of a similar nature were also given to me in Paris by my friend Alex. I don't think Bob Benson minded me reading them thought I don't remember ever mentioning it. Christine did have amont many good skills to turn lovers into life long friends (I most obviously was not meant to be a life long friend) - so for all I know, Bob Benson now also 70 plus may still be around - but the reason all this comes to my mind, for this odd remark that we sometimes remember. It may have been in the 80's that Bob B. one day said to her: Thank God you have not turned into an excentric. - Obviously to him - also of petit bourgeois background like most of us, I too from my mother's side - being an excentric meant to him something very undesirable - while - in the realms of the free spirits I always have wanted to be part of - being an excentric can be an honor.

Living somehow in freer spheres - understanding and accepting a wide range of behaviors - being free of prejudices - rising above pettiness - living life a lot more freely than I have been able to do. Looking back I do see my life constricted, restricted - once I already did mention how utterly unthinkeable it was for me in 1951 to give up a scholarship to a fancy college - really not my cup of tea - join the artists who were inventing the lower East Side - NYY exhibit at the Gray Gallery - artist who did come to America like I after 1945 and did find so much freedom then in New York - apartments for next to nothing - and I still do see myself overwhelmed by the masses of food, so cheap then, the automats!, jealopies, gas 20 cents a gallon. the subway a nickel, the NYT 3 cents - I could have shacked up with my loving boyfriend - I do see him showing me the Bowery, riding on a double decker bus up 5th Avenue - while I was getting seriously depressed at Mount Holyoke - thanks to this degree impressed Robert G. - and my good looks - for three years still avoiding marriage - but then giving in to my oh so worried about me mother, whom Robert had visited, I had sent her money from California for her first flight - to the Paris she so loved, where she met up with him and they had a great time. She was 53 then - he 24 - unthinkeable to either of them to touch each other - she loved him, I did not.

And well, so I came to live the life that I have lived - for eight years the dream American family - brilliant ivy league grads - movie star looks, the most wonderful two boys, he loved restaurants, my mother objected to the money wasted and suggested we buy land in the Ticino, Tessin, a beautiful Swiss region where she had friends and where she would have loved to have a house - yes, I am glad I did get to tell him that I am grateful for those years, he worked very hard - work he loved - but I got in these years my fill of what money can buy and came to realize - there was more to life. By the time he divorced me I was 35 - and a sociologist, Vladimir Nahirny - story I have written but I am afraid it burned - had told me: You are a bohemian. Only once I met Paco in 1972 I came to live that part of my life - and there I learned my lessons too - last not least also how male dominated the world of art was and in many ways still is. He producing prolifically art that could not be sold was work - I writing stories that could not be sold was silly play. Still much of our many years together was good.

And now, her I am, an old excentric, with time to contemplate it all - and telling myself today - be the free spirit you aspire to be - don't hold grudges - do stand above it all - pray for them, as suggested, they don't know what they are doing. And perhaps - petit bourgeois.

Well, this here my enjoyment of these extended blogs will soon be interrupted by - the cataracts. Some say a better diet would have prevented them. Alas, I have them - soon I hope my friend will arrive who wants to help me - but then I'll have to go for three check ups and then do eye number two and three more check ups - this will take up my mornings - a lot less fun than writing this here blog.

Yesterday - an interesting call - Joel G. - another story, I did visit him in his West Virginia house and also on Moshulu Parkway in the Bronx where he lives in an apt where his family had to move in 1942 when their Manhattan apt was confiscated near the Ldexinton Ave. armory for military purposes - his rent is minimal. The man is brilliant - very excentric - no potential as a close friend - one of my many occasional friends. Then off to the church, fish, the Columbian women were there, I sat next to the mother who has less interest in me, the daughter was reading the NYT. By the way I did read Krugman later - he blames everything on the media - mea culpa - I sinned - they did not, do not,of roles, but still I think it's more complex. And then - once again I slept longer than planned - a little worried - waning energies? - by 5 p.m. in Washington Square Park - read in my Columbia U. alumnae journal about 77 year old sociologist, coming there three afternoons and writing a book about the park, sure to be published, paid - I went home and happily listened to the news about Trump's troubles, the health bill - then my friend came - animated conversation - more reading - sleep a bit restless, temp 80 in my apt noise on the avenue - this morning getting out of house at 8 a.m., nyt, stop at Bean short talk with Dinah - walk - nes caffee and a little cake - and here I am - it's noon - a little lunch - to call a friend at 5 - would like to get back to Central Park but do kind of enjoy present routine - trip to Central park long, $2.70 round trip - will see adios Marianne

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