Nip slip

  
     We stayed at a modest motel in Traverse City on our way back from our son's wedding in July. The place was next to a suburban neighborhood and, for want of anything better to do, we took a pre-dinner stroll through the vicinity, ambling toward a nearby park of no particular distinction.
     A few blocks in, I spied ... well, what would you make the picture above? I pondered the phrase, "There seems to be an enormous breast peeking out from the side of that garage." I didn't say that. What I said was, "Let's go this way." We ambled over.
     In the seconds it took for the thing to parallax from behind the house, I tried to imagine what use the perky mammary gland would have among these neat homes. Some carnival game perhaps. An huge 1970s paper mache artwork by a young Michigan version of Richard Lindner, preserved with a mixture of shame and pride by his conflicted parents. 

   Soon what came into view was something almost as incredible. A homemade hot dog cart. I immediately wondered what this said about my frame of reference, that I immediately thought "breast" and not "hot dog." I was also tempted to knock on the door and inquire about it. I am, after all, a graduate of Vienna Beef's Hot Dog U. Practically an official representative of Chicago hot dogs. I have a right to know. So ... for use at Boy Scout jamborees perhaps?  

     The impulse passed as quickly as it formed. This was Trump country — flags welcoming his next presidency flapped in the breeze over pristine homes and well-tended flower gardens. I figured someone could just as well shoot me for approaching their house, and they'd probably never spend a day in jail because of Michigan's stand-your-ground law. "Why yes, officer, I honestly and reasonably believed that this frightening Jewish person was about to rape my wife and murder me in order to take possession of my highly valuable custom hot dog wagon..."

     Mystery solved, well enough, we continued on our way.

Not a problem that can be killed away.

Pro-Palestinian protest, Chicago 2014

     This is the high octane version of today's column, the way it read when turned into the newspaper Tuesday morning. If you'd rather read the print version that ran in the Sun-Times, you can find that here. 

     During the recent Democratic National Convention I attended a reception for the Israeli ambassador and found myself face to face with the husband of a member of the Netanyahu administration. The situation called for small talk. But what to say?
     "If I had a choice between getting rid of Hamas and getting rid of Netanyahu, I'd choose Netanyahu," I began, in my artless fashion. "There will always be another terror group to take Hamas's place. But I don't think Israel can ever have a worse leader than Netanyahu."
     He spun on his heel and strode away. So much for dialogue. I'd be more embarrassed at my rudeness, but obviously am not alone in this opinion, judging from the hundreds of thousands of Israelis who filled the streets of Tel Aviv and Jerusalem after this weekend after six hostages were found executed in the tunnels underneath Gaza.
     I don't write about the Israeli-Palestinian mess much because nothing ever changes. I could pluck a column from 2004 or 2014 and post it and it would be just as current and just as futile as what I'll be writing today. To apply a logical concept — it's time someone did — both sides are making what is called a "category error." A category error is when you misinterpret the essential nature of what you're dealing with. Such as if you come home, find a tiger prowling your living room and welcome it as a stray feline and hope it will get along with your other cats. What you categorize as "potential pet" should in fact be seen as an "immediate lethal danger."
     The Palestinians traditionally treat Israel as a military problem. An approach which failed spectacularly in 1948, 1956, 1967 and 1973, and that was when they had Arab armies behind them. They've been going it alone for the past 50 years, achieving greater levels of failure, leading to suffering, death and a dwindling area of land they actually possess.
     Israel, on the other hand, views the Palestinians as a long term management issue, instead of a pressing moral call to immediate action. That is, rather than solve the situation that fate has left on their doorstep, they blame the Palestinians' admittedly corrupt and — Oct. 7 notwithstanding — bumbling leadership, shrug, make do, and let another decade slide by. Rather the way Chicago handles its pension problem.
     Both sides have a policy of focusing exclusively on their own humanity, decrying their own tragedy while ignoring the tragedy they inflict, calling on the compassion of a public that, while often capable of extravagant displays of sympathy for the Palestinians, at the end of the day can't fix the problem and doesn't really try.
     Admittedly, logic doesn't do much in a highly charged emotional issue like this, with children dying every day and kidnapped babies being hidden in tunnels. It's like bringing a slide rule to a knife fight. I'm a little embarrassed to bring it up, except it would be nice to get past the current disaster so we could proceed to the next one.
     Speaking of category errors, I'd like to suggest that the "from the river to the sea" chant hurts, not Jews so much, who see its genocidal implications and feel more uneasy than usual, but Palestinians, hindering their ability to improve their situation by inflating their expectations. Israel has one of the strongest militaries in the world. Trying to fight their way back to an imagined past, they lose any hope of an actual future. Or to put it another way: Oct. 7 was not a convincing demonstration of their desire to live in peace.
     But if you bring up Oct. 7, Palestinian supporters instantly counter that, given the colonial crime that is Israel, in their estimation, they have a "right" to resist.
     Sure they do. And I have a right to jam my hand into a grinder. Doesn't make it a good idea. Was Oct. 7 a good idea? How's that working out? I'd suggest not so well, but I'm biased. Those urging a cease fire now should ask themselves what a cease fire achieves if the war starts up the next day after the next barrage of missiles.
     The first anniversary of the war is coming up. I won't write about it til then. Meanwhile, protests will disrupt college campuses, frighten passing Jews, and accomplish little. The war continues, the blood flows, and the sides seem further apart than ever. I wish they'd finally realize they can't kill their way or blame their way to a solution. They're tried that before and are trying it now. It doesn't seem to be working. The solution is where it has always been, in their own hands.

"You must live for others"

Bust of Seneca at the University Club (actually, the "pseudo Seneca," as I discuss in a post 10
years ago. The real Seneca, a rich man at the court of Nero, was far chunkier).

   MAGA types coined a term, "Trump Derangement Syndrome" to describe those who, in their estimation, focus too much on the man who was recently the president of the United States and will be again if we're don't fight hard against him and maybe even if we do. 
     While, like so much of their rhetoric, TDS isn't real, but just a negative term attached to something which is in fact positive — caring for your country intensely and wanted her not to be run by a demagogue and madman is a good thing. Yet sometimes I wonder if I'm not seeing Trump in places where I ought not to.
    For instance. The Roman philosopher Seneca does not write about current events. He killed himself on orders of his former student Nero, speaking of deranged tyrants, in 65 AD. Yet I was reading his Letter No. 48 on Monday (hey, don't judge me — it's a free country, for now; we may still read what we like) and came upon this:
    "No one can live happily who has regard to himself alone and transforms everything into a question of his own utility."
    And I heard, "Trump," as clearly as if someone in the room had spoken his name. The guy never seems very happy, does he? It's his own boundless and inflamed ego, an insatiable hunger to be the center of all things, eating himself alive. Then Seneca offers up what could be a precise, dozen-word synopsis of the liberal mindset: "You must live for your neighbor, if you would live for yourself." (In Richard Gummere's 1917 translation of "Alteri vivas oportet, si vis tibi vivere" in volume 75 of the Loeb Classical Library. A more updated translation would be, "You must live for others if you want to live for yourself.")
    I might have left that be — if I wrote about every noteworthy passage I find in classical literature, it's all I'd ever do. Then Seneca sets the stage for the 2024 election:
    "Lo, Wisdom and Folly are taking opposite sides. Which shall I join? Which party would you have me follow? ... The one wants a friend of his own advantage; the other wants to make himself an advantage to his friend."
     It is shocking that this choice is still a head-scratcher for many Americans, but Seneca dives right into that: "It is clear that unless I can devise some very tricky premises and by false deductions tack onto them a fallacy which springs from the truth, I shall not be able to distinguish between what is desirable and what is to be avoided!"
     Bingo Lucius (Seneca's first name). 
     He urges his friend not to turn his back on others:
    "Men are stretching out imploring hands to you on all sides; lives ruined and in danger of ruin are begging for some assistance; men's hopes, men's resources, depend on you. They ask that you deliver them from all their restlessness, that you reveal to them, scattered and wandering as they are, the clear light of truth. Tell them what nature has made necessary, and what superfluous; tell them how simple are the laws that she has laid down, how pleasant an unimpeded life is for those who follow these laws, but how bitter and perplexed it is for those who have put their trust in opinion rather than in nature."
    That last part surely overstates the case. You can respect nature and observe law yet somehow not enjoy a "pleasant and unimpeded life." But still, grist to chew on in 2024, doubly impressive in that it was written nearly 2,000 years ago, found in a book first published in 1917. Lies curdle quickly — that's why Trump has to keep spewing them, to replace them as they fester and fall apart. The truth never grows old.

Labor Day also time to honor co-workers, clients

     Anne. Dale. Mike. Steve. When I think of my first job at a daily newspaper, at the old Wheaton Daily Journal on Schmale Road, the actual tasks — opening mail, making calls, reporting stories, editing copy — are completely forgotten.
     The people I worked with, however, leap to mind, clear and vital after 40 years. Anne's precise manner of speaking. Steve's useful life advice delivered over whiskey — "Be careful where you put it."
     When we talk about employment, we usually focus so much on our jobs — the labor we do — and so little about who we do it with. Which is a shame, really, because those human interactions, the conversations, collaborations, friendships, rivalries, tend to set the tone for our working lives, far more than the specific duties we're fulfilling, tightening a bolt or selling a car or composing a sentence.

With Ashlee Rezin at Roseland hospital.

     On Labor Day 2024, those of us lucky enough to have jobs should remember we work with, and for, human beings.
     I've been working continually since I was 9 and began delivering the Berea News Sun. What I remember most, beside how much I hated that electric alarm clock whining to life at 4 a.m. and muscling the big green Schwinn Typhoon with its double newspaper baskets jammed with folded papers through the pre-dawn darkness, were the subscribers.
     Some were friendly and paid on time. Some didn't answer the door even though they were clearly at home. Maybe money was tight. Maybe they realized they could dodge a boy holding a hole punch and a ring with well-worn cardboard cards, yellow for those who paid bi-weekly, purple for prepaid subscribers.
     Through open doors I'd catch glimpses of other people's lives. My route covered Whitehall, the curving streets of identical newly built ranch homes set along cul de sacs where we lived, and Sprague Road, a busy road lined with older, more run-down houses.
     In the seven years I had the route, I learned the blue-collar subscribers on Sprague Road had less but tipped better than the comfortable suburbanites on Whitehall. A life lesson never taught in school.

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Some insults cannot be ignored

 

    Yesterday morning, EGD hit 10 million pageviews since it began on July 1, 2013. That seemed a big, round number, so I took at screenshot of the blog odometer and tweeted it, then went about my business. 
     A significant moment. Though it didn't strike me as hugely significant. Yes, quite a bit of clicks. But half are from China, meaning they're not actual readers, but some kind of robot spider doing ... God knows what. Trying to break in. Good luck fellows — that's like tunneling into a abandoned elementary school. Not sure what you're hoping to find.
     A more significant figure is 680 — that's the number of real live subscribers following the blog. Every morning I fire off a mass email to my mailing list, giving them each the day's post. A steady trickle of new people ask to have their names included on the list, and every so often someone asks to be taken off. I politely thank them for their previous interest, and never think to refuse — I don't want to force my words on anyone. If you aren't happy, then this isn't for you. I set you free.
     Until Saturday, that is, when I got this unprecedented email, from John F. Take a read:  

     Hello Neil…I’ve enjoyed your masterful writing, insights and turns of phrase. Brilliant, all of it. Except you’ve proven to be way too much Chicago-centric for me and, unrelated but relevant, your unnecessarily snide remarks about CNN’s ongoing political coverage (yes, based on the Harris/Walz thing) smack of too much Trumpism for me, and ANY defense of Trumpism, even the slightest, is way too much for me. Under the cloak of guilt by association, he and his cult-like followers are too much evil, in ALL ways, for me. Please remove my email from your list. Thank you.

    As much as I liked his beginning — "masterful!" —  and am guilty-as-charged for Chicago-centric, I have to admit I was gobsmacked by the rest. First, I didn't find fault with CNN's ongoing coverage — I don't watch it — just this one particular program. 

     Second, I've been accused of being a lot of things, but offering "too much Trumpism" is not one of them. If you read Saturday's post, it wasn't critical of Kamala Harris or Tim Walz in any way. Just a fairly moderate expression of disappointment with CNN for being trivial in its Thursday interview with the candidates. They asked nothing about abortion, or the opioid crisis, or a dozen other hot button issues.  Merely served up Trump's insane "she's not Black" calumny to get a reaction (which Politico promptly and nutsily cast as Harris skirting the issue) and asked about a dramatic photo, about Gus Walz crying. Tangential stuff. Frankly, I was worried I was just disgorging the general liberal opinion of the interview that I had absorbed on X. But I had to write something...
    I considered John's accusation. My initial thought was, "You work for CNN, don't you?" Then I thought harder and wrote back:

     Typically, I add people when requested, and also delete them when requested. I don't want to be anywhere somebody doesn't want me to be. That said, your suggestion that my post today is somehow a defense of Trumpism cannot be simply accepted unchallenged.
     I've been ridiculing Trump since the 1980s, when I wrote for Spy magazine. Yes, as a debater, I know that sometimes you yield a point in order to win a larger one.    But your accusation is sui generis — no one has ever said anything like that before — and rather than let you depart in error, I would humbly request that you stick around and perhaps look more closely. I'll start by saying that extremism is a Trump crime, and so taking a manichean view of him does his cause more benefit than harm. As Nietzsche said, when battling monsters, one must take care not to become a monster. I will not let you go and become a monster. Here, read this piece I wrote about Trump six years ago. That is not a man defending him in any way. Please reconsider.

     Nothing back from him yet, and I'm starting to think I never will hear anything. That's people for you. Honestly, I wondered if this isn't a Trumpie play-acting, trying to jam a barb through the armor — really, how could any sentient being come to that conclusion? But no Trumpie would make up an email like that.

    Not a biggie. For a blog as popular as mine — 10 million hits and counting! — I feel like I'm still delivering personal attention to my readers. I hope that maybe I've inspired John F. to step away from his way unfair assessment.  My entreaty could work. "A kind word turneth away wrath." If he persists in wanting to exit the fold, of course I'll grant his wish, cut him loose and let him drift off and be forgotten. You really can't argue with folks anymore — they're too set in their ways. But that doesn't mean a person shouldn't sometimes try, just for the sake of general principles.

Postscript:

     To file under "Hope, There Still is." I received this Sunday morning:

     From one not-a-monster to another, I can’t help but admire the fact that you turned my anti-Trump screed into EGD column fodder. Good on you, but note my pointed use of “any” and “in the slightest” referring to the vile, indeed monstrous scourge of Trumpism, those words meaning too much for ME. I stand behind that belief.
     Know that I didn’t mean to ruffle the feathers of your defenders, now that I know you (and they) agree with us that the Orange Scourge truly is an existential threat to our very way of life. Project 2025 is no kidding matter.
     As for dredging up the ghosts of manichean (new to me, so I looked it up and actually learned something) and Nietzsche (didn’t he play for the Packers?) now THAT’s name-calling!
     Know too that I meant no harm, just a bit of friendly rhetorical jousting, which you’re VERY good at, every goddamn day.
     Carry on, Kind Sir, and yes, keep me on your favored list of 600 or so staunchest admirers.
     Cheers,
     John F,

Made you look!

 

    Yes, we tuned into CNN Thursday night to see how Kamala Harris and Tim Walz did in their first interview after the Democratic National Convention. Because the interview had been ballyhooed into an Event of Significance. My wife and I wanted to see how they did. 
     What we got was CNN triviality interspersed with bald attempts to catch the pair in a contradiction. What did Harris think when Trump said she wasn't Black? Didn't Walz once say he had carried a weapon during wartime? What about that cool photo the New York Times took of one of Harris's nieces watching her speak? What about Gus Walz crying?
     All deflected away more or less deftly — more by Harris, the former prosecutor, less by Walz, the former football coach.  The next morning WBBM prominently aired the quote where Harris squelched the "changed race" gambit with "next question." Emotion over substance. So what was all that blustering about "policy" about? Isn't not being a traitor policy aplenty? We can hash out their position on the Law of the Sea later.

     The bottom line that keeps drifting out of sight for the major media is this: they're running against Donald Trump. The liar, bully, fraud and traitor. Convicted felon. Who led an insurrection against the country and will do so again, given the opportunity. Who cares what Harris said about fracking in 2020? Who could possibly care? CNN apparently. It's like the old joke where the flight attendant pushes the cart down the aisle and says, "For dinner, we have chicken, or shit mixed with broken glass" and the passenger replies, "How is the chicken prepared?" 

Don't hold your breath waiting for that new Illinois flag

The Illinois state flag, below. Just about anything would be an improvement.

     Social media gets a bad name. But there are wonders to be found. Brooklyn graphic artist Max Kolomatsky started noticing crude handmade signs in his neighborhood, then redesigned them and photographed the vast improvements next to their inferior inspirations, posting the shots on TikTok. Seeing the result is like taking a lungful of sweet air after being underwater too long.
     The joy of good design does not get the press it deserves. Thus Illinois, an island of cool blue sanity in a churning red sea of backward-straining discord, should be lauded for holding a contest to find a new state flag. Kudos to Gov. JB Pritzker, who last year created the Illinois Flag Commission, and to Secretary of State Alexi Giannoulias, who followed through Wednesday, announcing a contest to find a replacement.
     To quote Phil Connors, the TV weatherman trapped in an eternal Feb. 2 in "Groundhog Day," "Anything different is good."
     OK, not strictly true — Elon Musk-owned X is different though not an improvement. Fear of making things worse pushes people to prefer errors of omission over errors of commission. We become frozen, nostalgic and change-averse.
     The penny was a great idea when the United States began minting the Fugio cent in 1787. Now, pennies are a waste and an embarrassment. Like you, I never use the copper slugs, but, should the United States finally scrap them, I'd leap up and start doing one of those ecstatic Greek dances. Because, if we can finally do that, maybe we can, oh, make the leap into universal health care. Small steps.
     Not that Illinois is exactly a pioneer, flagwise. Utah, Georgia and Mississippi are already updating their flags, and Minnesota adopted its new flag in May. Their old state banner looked like someone had set a white dinner plate on a blue carpet and then thrown up on it. An indecipherable mess, replaced by a clean, simple, beautiful standard with two shades of blue and a single star. Illinois should do so well.
     As this might be read by someone who saw the story in the Sun-Times Thursday and is already busy with their crayons, a word of advice: Put the work in.

     Chicago has a particularly beautiful municipal flag, adopted in 1917 after a contest, albeit one conducted the Chicago way. The winner was a writer named Wallace Rice, who, in classic we-don't-want-nobody-nobody-sent fashion, suggested the competition, wrote the rules, judged the entries and declared himself the winner. Sometimes the best candidate for a job really is the boss' cousin.

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