Big Hot Rant

Before I came to Huntsville I didn't have a lot of time for the news via the web. Since moving here I've had plenty of time. I look at THE Times, THE Post, MSNBC, CNN, sometimes even Fox, and the HuffPost just about daily. I know what I'm talking about here.

You know how it used to be: you'd get a half-dozen letters to the editor on the OpEd page of any newspaper in the country, and those would usually be evenly divided on an issue or just single shots at an issue. And some poor wretch had to sit in his smoke-clogged cubicle and edit them for spelling, grammar, punctuation, and the like.

It don't work that way electronically. You get sometimes thousands, usually hundreds, often scores of commenters on any article whatever. And they are not edited, nuh-uh, nossiree, Bob.

Used to be, in the days of newspapers and electric media, that I was disappointed in my people, based solely on reading--or listening to--the news. I'm no longer disappointed. I have fallen into utter contempt for the vast majority of my people. Their unedited posts reveal not only bad grammar, no punctuation/capitalization and bad spelling, but that they are brainwashed or ignorant (it's hard to be both), stupid and venal. And the dumber they are, the meaner they are. Most of these people are poor white Republicans who have swallowed the RightWing bromide that they might become rich any day now; all they need to do is work harder, God love 'em. These are the folks who are 'taking their country back' from that 'condescending,' 'arrogant,' 'narcissistic' 'man-child' in the White House. They don't care about spending or debts or 'houses in fiscal order' or taxes or anything; they just want that You-Know-What and his big-ass wife and that party run by Jezebel gone. And soon.

I've found that most of the letters to the Times are very well-written and well thought out, whether I agree with them or not. As are those written into the HuffPost, usually. But all other letters to all other outlets are truly something to behold, courtesy rules notwithstanding. And I gotta tell ya: in general, and by quite a margin, those on the Left spell, punctuate, and obviously think better than the represented Conservatives, who most often resort to name-calling ('Odumbo') and in many other ways just play with their own feces. Liberals are smarter than Conservatives, is what I'm saying; and conservatives don't have an original idea in their heads; they're quoting the same talking points that they hear from the air-heads on Fox or in DittoHeadLand. They're unquestioning--and obedient--as all get out, which of course is what the Lords of the coming, Renewed Middle Ages want: nice little serfs who know their place in the scheme of things.

Dredge up H.L. Mencken, P.T. Barnum, Bill Maher, George Carlin and Elmer Gantry on the state of the American soul and brain if you want. You could probably add a few of your own by now, too.

Among other things, the DebtCeiling Debacle revealed, though, that it isn't really the economy that's in trouble, it's the state of the collective American frontal cortex. By and large, this country is f****** stupid.

Coming soon to a weblog near you . . .

. . . a post by me about the pernicious effects (on me) of comments by readers to news releases on the internet. It ain't pretty, folks.


(BTW, knee arthroscopic surgery to right meniscus (48 hours ago) went pretty well, but mobility severely hampered: I'm really slow, even with the walker. Today, though, I can put a bit of weight on the knee as I scrape around the house. Minor pain yesterday, none yet today, 48 hours later).

Politics Again . . .

. . . and it's about time, say you, being tired of all that failing health crap you've been reading on these pages. Actually, its about politics and money.

***

So, see, my mind was wandering around the other day and I noted that most if not all of the rabidly conservative billionaires started with inherited money, the Kochs (pronounce any way you like) and Richard Scaife among them. In other words, they didn't earn their original wealth at all, but garnered it simply by being separated from the placenta and drawing a breath. The rest was easy. That's how the Bushies got their money, too.

The three most famous wildly liberal billionaires, on the other hand worked for their money, Bill Gates, Warren Buffet and George Soros among them.

Interesting, yes? Wish I could do some kind of survey and find out how many rich conservatives simply inherited (rich liberals, I've noticed feel a certain degree of noblesse oblige that most conservatives don't).

Anyway, I'll bet most of them. I've often said that the only way to riches is either through inheritance or theft. Simple thrift, competence, hard work, and morality will not get you there, yet skeendie seven million middle class and poor, brainwashed Republicans think that they, too, can become rich so they refuse to raise taxes on the rich, despite Warren Buffet's insistence on doing so ('Why should I be taxed at a lower rate than my secretary?')

One of the nice things about retirement is I don't have to withhold political opinions as I did while a professor. But even then, on a tour where to pass bus-time I allowed ten questions from the chorus, I was asked what my political party was and why. My response? Here:

'I'm a Democrat because I have observed that it is the party that truly cares about those of us who have to work for a living.'

That was in the early '80s, I think, during the reign of St. Ronnie (though his canonization by the Right Wing--for all the wrong reasons--came much later).

I was right then and I'm right now.

'Pastime with Good Company'

Tom, Buddy, Lisa, Ethan, TJ, Jodi, Karen, Lauren, Dan, Chris, Rob, James, Shinnshill, Ariel, Chung-Uk: Saw more than a dozen former USC graduate students at ACDA in Chicago, some of which I may have forgotten to list here but can add from time to time. And of course too many former professional colleagues to list here. It was also fun seeing Bruce, Starr and Steve from the UOP days, not to mention Bill Bausano from NMU days. Not to mention former CCC singers Rich and Ginger Colla, as well as Hugh Davies and Don Brinegar.

It was also very gratifying to have strangers come up and introduce themselves as fans of my book and even of my recent Letter to the Editor of the Choral Journal, wherein my Blast from Bama got right up into the grill of my collegiate colleagues for the paucity of music before 1900 on their convention programs. In fact, the best program of the convention in that regard was that of Fountain Valley High School, conducted by Kevin Tison--my college friends (and enemies, of which there are many because of my big mouth) ought to take a close look at that one and draw a lesson or two from it.

I also enjoyed judging the student conducting competition finals along with Joe Flummerfelt, Sandra Willetts, Simon Carrington and William Hall.

It was all a wonderful reminder of why I did what I did for almost forty years and why I would do it all over again, given the chance.

But that chance won't come, now, will it? All the more reason to enjoy the present state of things.

***

Speaking of which, I got around fine with my walker but got tired really fast, especially after climbing stairs one at at time using more arm than leg power in the Chop House and Miller's Pub. Whew. I THINK I've improved a bit since my surgery of 8 February but it's hard to tell because things move so slowly. I do believe I move unassisted for longer distances now with only the occasional touch of something to maintain balance.

I resume upper body weights and begin gentle post-op physical therapy tomorrow.

(Just keep moving, Dehning).

ChristmasCard

I remember exactly when I encountered this poem but won't relate the circumstances here because they really don't matter. What matters is the beauty of it, whether one believes or not. Sometimes belief--or lack of it--is best suspended at times and this may be one of those times: stoned out of my mind with jet lag after flying 16 hours east, awake way too early and looking forward to flying up to a White Christmas in Wisconsin with Erin and her family, while at the same time wishing I could also be with my daughters, son-in-law and grandsons.

***

Apparently there is/was an old English/Celtic/Anglo belief that on Christmas Eve at midnight all the animals in all stables and mangers throughout the world get on their knees in devotion to commemorate the birth of the Christ child. Who knows? Could be . . .

You will have to look up 'barton' and 'coomb,' but otherwise the piece speaks clearly beautifully to all of us, even those among us who doubt or don't believe at all.

The Oxen

Christmas Eve, and twelve of the clock.
'Now they are all on their knees,'
An elder said as we sat in a flock
By the embers in hearthside ease.

We pictured the meek mild creatures where
They dwelt in their strawy pen,
Nor did it occur to one of us there
To doubt they were kneeling then.

So fair a fancy few would weave
In these years! Yet, I feel,
If someone said on Christmas Eve,
'Come; see the oxen kneel,

'In the lonely barton by yonder coomb
Our childhood used to know,'
I should go with him in the gloom,
Hoping it might be so.

--Thomas Hardy

Taipei

Am having an absolutely marvelous time here in Taipei with a superb chorus, the Formosa Singers. Their conductor, Julian Su, did a stunning job of preparation prior to my arrival, leaving only some Poulenc notes to fix and some harmonic minor seconds and major sevenths to get in tune. All the rest has been fun, though I still sweat. Have had three very productive three-hour (!) rehearsals with them, working primarily on phrase, musicality, drama, and English diction, of course. Four more rehearsals to go, then the two performances, the second of which is in the National Concert Hall, where I performed with the USC Chamber Choir in 2006 on our tour of East Asia. That was a mountain top experience and I am looking forward to another one in that wonderful hall.

The singers and accompanist/translator are great, the hotel is first-class (Ritz Landis), the food is fun, and all seem to be enjoying my work. There's even a big concert publicity poster of me in my hotel lobby, just to the right of the Christmas tree. I'm famous again.

They only put up the tree yesterday and I heard Christmas carols (ala quasi-techno-Euro-funk) in the dining room just this morning, so they don't work it to death here like they do in the US. Then, too, most of these people are doomed, godless Buddhists, so what do they care? Only three of the 32-member chorus are Christians. What a relief! Such a delightful contrast compared to the sanctimony of the US and even Korea. I know, I know: I'll burn in hell.

Julia Tai's mom and dad have already taken me out to dinner twice, and I'll have lunch with dad again on Friday. They have been really sweet to me. I guess they think I did OK with Julia during her master's degree work at USC.

Looking forward to the big concert on the 21st (winter solstice), then fly home to Bama, pay bills and repack, and fly up to Green Bay on Christmas day, joining up with Sam, Erin and her family.

Glad to be here; glad to have music in my life; glad that I'm still highly potent in front of a really good ensemble; glad to have so much to look forward to.

Merry Christmas, y'all.

Rolf . . .

. . . died today of pneumonia in Stockton, California at 9:15 PST. He was my brother and he was 62. He had been hospitalized with mental illness--undifferentiated schizophrenia--since he was 16. Most who read this are unaware that I even had a brother. It wasn't that I was embarrassed or ashamed, far from it. It was simply very sad to talk about him at all, even sadder to visit him.

He was born of a manic-depressive/schizophrenic mother who only survived and managed to care for herself until her death thanks to the discovery of lithium. Most of her illness got passed on to him, I guess. In addition, he was born with a large birthmark on his upper left cheek that was clumsily removed while a patient at the University of Minnesota during the second time my Mom was hospitalized at the mental facility in Moose Lake. It left a large scar. As if that weren't enough, he was also born with a paralyzed seventh facial nerve, a condition that forced him to smile only on the right side of his face because the left side wouldn't move. So here's a boy with a scar and a strange smile whose brother and mom were gone (I left them when I was 13 and he was 8, not long before Mom got removed to the Ha-Ha Hotel again) and who'd been banged from pillar to post.

You'd go nuts, too. If you weren't already, that is.

He came to live with me, my dad and my stepmother in California when he was 10, which was immediately after the U of M incarceration. This was after a series of foster homes while my mom was at Moose Lake. He never really adapted out west, and though quite smart became more and more inward over the next 6 years, said crazy things, laughed at all the wrong times and at all the wrong things.

And so on.

I'm not going to give any more history here. He will be cremated in Stockton, and his ashes sent to Minnesota for interment next to his mother, grandparents and an uncle. There won't be an epitaph on his marker other than to say that he was the son of Hazel Dehning. What else should be on it but won't be?

Here, I'll tell you:

He Never Had a Chance.
Or maybe even, in the language I don't think he even knew I could speak,

Pace, Fratello; Finalmente, Pace a Te.