The Day After Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving Day was fine. We gathered out in Front Royal, VA. with my wife's family, as per tradition. A few people couldn't make it but we still had a crowd, close to thirty people, some of whom we hadn't seen in awhile. A good time was had by all.

Yesterday, the day after, was even finer. My wife and I stayed in the living room all day long reading, her in the chair, me on the couch. We listened to no radio, watched no television, read no blogs, did no posting. We did take a two-mile walk around 4 o'clock just to shake out the cobwebs but other than that it was a lazy, do-nothing day. Being a lazy do-nothing in general, I love those kind of days. Neither of us wanted to do anything more than read our books, her Laura Hillenbrand's brand new Unbroken: A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience, and Redemption, me Paul Johnson's A History of Christianity, which I'm reading in conjunction with listening to The Teaching Company course, The Catholic Church: A History. Hillenbrand, who wrote the terrific Seabiscuit, apparently has another winner: my baby couldn't put it down, gobbling it up in a couple of days.

As for me, this particular autodidact is realizing that he has lots of gaps in his learning, among them Christian and Catholic Church history and theology, so I've set out to do something about it. I'll follow this Teaching Co. course with another that looks brilliant: History of Christian Theology. So far I'm enjoying both the book and course immensely. Paul Johnson has always been one of my favorite historians - I've read ten of his books - so picking his history in this case was an easy call. Besides, I purchased it years ago and it's been sitting downstairs on my bookshelf, patiently waiting to be picked up. Johnson is a master of synthesis, which one must be to condense 2000+ years of Christian history to a little over 500 pages. Each sentence in this book seems loaded with information, and Johnson can satisfactorily summarize the arguments about particular points of doctrine, many that went on for centuries, in a few succinct paragraphs. It does mean that one must read carefully, slowly, to catch everything Johnson is trying to convey.

I also knew I couldn't go wrong with Professor Cook, the instructor for the Teaching Co. course, having previously listened to his course on Dante and The Divine Comedy. He is unfailingly interesting. (As a sidebar my wife and I have also begun watching his DVD series on The Cathedral - ain't we cultured!)

But I am digressing from my main point: yesterday was a lovely day, spent in the company of my wife, a good book, and also, late in the evening, some good music. My eyes got heavy and I knew sleep would come soon if I continued to read so I closed the book and popped in my iPod earphones and listened to some Beethoven, Bruch, Bach, and Schubert. Then to bed. Today it's back to real life. Many of us are heading downtown to visit the World War II memorial and tonight we will gather for dinner to celebrate a birthday. Hope you're enjoying the holiday break as much as I am.

Excerpt

"...[I]t is easy to see that the moral sense has been bred out of certain sections of the population, like the wings have been bred off certain chickens to produce more white meat on them. This is a generation of wingless chickens, which I suppose is what Nietzsche meant when he said God was dead."

Flannery O'Connor, The Habit of Being, pg. 90

"[Neitzsche] saw God not as as an invention but as a casualty, and his demise as in some important sense an historical event, which would have dramatic consequences. He wrote in 1886: 'The greatest belief in recent times - that "God is Dead", that the belief in the Christian God in no longer tenable - is beginning to cast its first shadows over Europe.' Among the advanced races, the decline and ultimately the collapse of the religious impulse would leave a huge vacuum. The history of modern times is in great part the history of how that vacuum has been filled."

Paul Johnson, Modern Times, pg. 48

Excerpt

"I believe that the writer's moral sense must coincide with his dramatic sense and this means that moral judgement has to be implicit in the act of vision. Let me make no bones about it: I write from the standpoint of Christian orthodoxy. Nothing is more repulsive to me than the idea of myself setting up a little universe of my own choosing and propounding a little immoralistic message. I write with a solid belief in all the Christian dogmas. I find that this in no way limits my freedom as a writer and that it increases rather than decreases my vision. It is popular to believe that in order to see clearly one must believe nothing. This may work well enough if you are observing cells under a microscope. It will not work if you are writing fiction. For the fiction writer, to believe nothing is to see nothing."

-Flannery O'Connor, from The Habit of Being, pg. 147

So I Was Rereading Kierkegaard...

“I suppose I read Aristotle in college but not to know I was doing it; the same with Plato. I don’t have the kind of mind that can carry such beyond the actual reading, i.e., total non-retention has kept my education from being a burden to me. So I couldn’t make any judgment on the Summa, except to say this: I read it for about twenty minutes every night before I go to bed. If my mother were to come in during the process and say, `Turn off that light. It’s late,’ I with lifted finger and broad bland beatific expression, would reply, `On the contrary, I answer that the light, being eternal and limitless, cannot be turned off. Shut your eyes,’ or some such thing."

-Flannery O'Connor, The Habit of Being

I read Ms. O'Connor's marvelous collection of letters years ago and you can find it on my bookshelves heavily highlighted with a yellow marker. Indeed, there is a terrific quote on every page. I did not remember this one, and that goes right to the heart of this post - like Ms. O'Connor, I don't remember much of what I read. Rather, the quote was called to my attention by Patrick Kurp over at Anecdotal Evidence - read his entire post. I got a kick out of the quote because it's the first time I've thought of my own aptitude of non-retention as a gift rather than a curse, something I should be glad of. Otherwise, we'd all end up being insufferable bores, quoting the Summa Theologica, right?

I read constantly: books, magazines, blogs, etc. And I read smart people, good writers, great polemicists, experts in their fields. For years I have thought that if I could only recall a tiny percentage of what I read I'd be able to hold my own in any conversation or argument, whether it be about politics, history, literature, movies, music. People would find me interesting. Problem is, I retain next to nothing. I feel really smart while I'm reading someone really smart. Two hours later I'm a dummy again. I've come to realize (actually I realized it long ago) that it's only through long and varied engagement with a subject that one can become conversant in it, can really know it.

Kurp also claims to be "blessedly unburdened by my education. The university was no more than an intellectual match-making service, an instrument of exposure – to writers and a large library that permitted me to read them."  This recalled for me a passage from Joseph Epstein from the chapter on higher education in his book Snobbery: The American Version: "Most people come away from college, happy souls, quite unscarred by what has gone on in the classroom. The education and culture they are presumably exposed to in college never lay a glove on them."

So I guess I do recall some things, but the point is, I had to look it up. Epstein's book is open on the table in front of me right now, and only because I'd read the passage recently and the book was still on the dining room table in the next room.  If I had to go downstairs and rummage through multiple Epstein books trying to find the exact quotation for this blog post, well, forget about it. I am far too lazy to be constantly looking things up in books just so you might find my post interesting.  And that's where the Internet comes into play, and Google. By recalling that someone said something interesting about a subject once, I can google it and come up with the quote in no time, then cut and paste it into my post. Reading the passage might remind me of something else that someone else once said. So I google that. And so on. Before you know it, I have a post put together that I'm satisified with and which a few people might find interesting. People might think I'm the intelligent one, whereas all the knowledge in this post comes from Mr. Kurp, a really smart man, Joseph Epstein, one of the finest minds of our time, and Flannery O'Connor, one of the best writers America has ever produced.

This post's title comes from Robert Greenberg in a lecture from his terrific Teaching Company course How to Listen to and Understand Great Music. During one of the digressions that are part of what makes him such an interesting instructor, Mr. Greenberg advises the listener that if they are ever confronted with a snob at a cocktail party, the way to impress them is to mention, not that you're reading Kierkegaard, but that you are rereading him, and to say it in the most pretentious voice possible.  Another possibility is to say, not that you were listening to Mozart's G Minor Symphony, but that you were listening to Mozart's Köchel 550, again in an preposterously highbrow voice. My wife and I still use that example whenever we run across a snob. It's great fun.

Of course, as Mr. Epstein argues, we all have varying degrees of snobbery in us.  So now, back to Kierkegaard....

Interlude

And now The Beatles' version of "If I Fell":

[audio:IfIFell.mp3]

My Fifteen Favorite Beatles Songs

Since Apple announced that The Beatles' catalog is now available on iTunes, there's a new meme going round the Internet (started by Ann Powers, picked up by Alex Ross, where I found it): name your fifteen favorite Fab Four songs. I will submit my list with pleasure but with the caveat that The Beatles produced such a voluminous amount of high-quality music during their heyday that separating fifteen songs as 'favorites' is a difficult task. I could name fifty Beatles songs off the top of my head that I love and there is little difference in my feelings about #1 and #50. That stated, here goes, and in no particular order:

1. "I Saw Her Standing There": Paul McCartney kicks off the revolution with his marvelous "One, Two, Three, Fah!!"


2. "There's A Place": The Beatles were accused of being lightweights due to the beauty of their melodies and vocals, but even that can't hide the sophistication of this song, both musically and lyrically ahead of its time. Perhaps their finest song?


3. "Twist And Shout": The greatest scream in rock and roll history.


4. "It Won't Be Long": Nothing to say, it's just great.


5. "Money": Greil Marcus called it perhaps the toughest piece of rock and roll ever recorded, The Beatles answer to The Stones.


6. "You've Really Got A Hold On Me": The only song on my list not written by a Beatle, a tribute to Smokey Robinson, one of the few people in rock and roll whose songwriting ability approached theirs. Smokey's version is fabulous; The Beatles' is better.


7. "What You're Doing": An answer, in my opinion, to "Be My Baby", another tribute, this one to Phil Spector. Another contender for their best song.


8. "If I Fell": Gorgeous, and the inspiration to Diane Keaton's finest moment as an actress.


9. "Ticket To Ride": Ringo's finest moment.


10. "I've Just Seen A Face": The intro to their best record, Rubber Soul, a tune impossible to get out of your head - not that you'd want to.


11. "In My Life": Their finest love song, and sophisticated beyond just about any rock and roll up til then.


12. "Nowhere Man": Scintillating vocal harmonies.


13. "It's Only Love": My oh my.


14. "I Should Have Known Better": My favorite song when I was eight years old, and I still love it. Reminds me of those days when we were so excited about the music.


15. "Don't Let Me Down": The only post-Sgt Pepper song on my list, a great, bluesy triumph.  Another statement ala "Money", in my opinion, from John Lennon, telling everyone that The Beatles could do anything they wanted when they wanted, and better than anyone else.

Again, I could go on and on with this list but I the songs above are probably the ones I listen to most, along with a hand full of others. Feel free to agree or disagree.

Oh, you're wondering about the Diane Keaton moment I mentioned above? See below, from the great, under-appreciated movie Shoot The Moon:

[youtube]2LBy7gbgXAk[/youtube]

American Narcissus

Everyone else is talking about it so I might as well too: Jonathan Last's cover story on the latest issue of The Weekly Standard, American Narcissus, regarding you-know-who and his staggering self-regard. To reach the level of self-love Obama has one apparently must start cultivating it early:

People have been noticing Obama’s vanity for a long time. In 2008, one of his Harvard Law classmates, the entertainment lawyer Jackie Fuchs, explained what Obama was like during his school days: “One of our classmates once famously noted that you could judge just how pretentious someone’s remarks in class were by how high they ranked on the ‘Obamanometer,’ a term that lasted far longer than our time at law school. Obama didn’t just share in class—he pontificated. He knew better than everyone else in the room, including the teachers. ”

Read the whole thing.

More Bach

I listened to Bach for hours last night, picking and choosing my favorites from the violin concertos, the Brandenburg concertos, the violin sonatas, the cello suites, and the cantatas. When I retired for the evening, my wife, who'd been upstairs working on the computer, told me she'd enjoyed listening very much. And this morning she asked for more. "What was that Bach you were listening to last night? I want to hear it again." There was a lot to choose from but I was pretty certain she wanted to hear this, the first movement from the 3rd Brandenburg. When it was over she said, "I think that was the beginning of rock and roll." Which made me laugh but you can see her point - if this doesn't make you move not much will. I'd always considered Beethoven the first rocker but maybe Bach had him beat by eighty years or so. Enjoy:

[audio:1-08ConcertoNo.3inGmajor.mp3]

Excerpt

Bach's Chaconne is "not just one of the greatest pieces of music ever written, but one of the greatest achievements of any man in history. It's a spiritually powerful piece, emotionally powerful, structurally perfect....there's a religious, exalted feeling to it."

- Joshua Bell, from Gene Weingarten's Pearls Before Breakfast.

Interlude

Bach's Chaconne in two parts, by Viktoria Mullova, a tender, gentle, lovely rendition. Listen to it all, and then do it again. You'll come back for more, guaranteed:

[youtube]6VL9TFvYyKI[/youtube]

[youtube]cW1WXZqiQCM[/youtube]

What Makes a Genius?

The word is thrown around lightly these days, isn't it? Anyone who is good at something inevitably gets called a 'genius' by one of their fans or admirers at some point. My own view, expressed in this space previously, is that most of what rightly is characterized as 'genius' is actually God-given talent improved and mastered by hard-work,  extremely hard work. Tiger Woods and Jack Nicklaus had God-given talents which may be called genius, but they didn't just walk on the golf course and become the greatest golfers who ever lived. They worked hard, with focus and dedication, at their craft. Same goes for say, Dostoevsky or Flaubert, Dylan or Sinatra,  Hitchcock or Bergman, etc. The great ones must work for it, in all cases. Those with 'genius' become renowned as the finest in their fields; those without it but who put in the work are the decent middle-tier journeymen who make up the vast majority of all professions; those with it but who don't put in the work are the sad-luck stories of what might have been.

Terry Teachout's column this in the Wall Street Journal this morning is about Andrew Robinson's new book, Sudden Genius: The Gradual Path to Creative Breakthroughs, which argues something similar to my point above. Hard work is necessary but their must be the spark of creative genius to begin with. Robinson and Teachout both reject the elitist notion that there is no such thing as genius. From Terry's column:

It's easy to see why the Ericsson-Gladwell view of genius as a form of skill-based expertise has become so popular, for it meshes neatly with today's egalitarian notions of human potential. Moreover, there is much evidence for the validity—up to a point—of the 10,000-hour rule. My own favorite example is that of Charlie Parker, the father of bebop. As a teenager, he embarrassed himself by sitting in at Kansas City jam sessions before he had fully mastered the alto saxophone, thereby acquiring a citywide reputation for incompetence. In 1937 the humiliation overwhelmed him, and he took a summer job at a Missouri resort and began practicing in earnest for the first time in his life. Eight years later, he had metamorphosed into the glittering virtuoso who teamed up with Dizzy Gillespie to record "Ko-Ko," "Groovin' High" and "Salt Peanuts," thereby writing himself into the history of jazz.

The problem with the 10,000-hour rule is that many of its most ardent proponents are political ideologues who see the existence of genius as an affront to their vision of human equality, and will do anything to explain it away. They have a lot of explaining to do, starting with the case of Mozart. As Mr. Robinson points out, Nannerl, Mozart's older sister, was a gifted pianist who received the same intensive training as her better-known brother, yet she failed to develop as a composer. What stopped her? The simplest explanation is also the most persuasive one: He had something to say and she didn't. Or, to put it even more bluntly, he was a genius and she wasn't.

Mozart is the person most often thought of when we argue genius due to his prodigious and obvious gifts as a child. Rightly so. I would point out though, that the vast majority of what we now listen to of Mozart is his later work as a mature composer: his operas, piano concerti, chamber works and major symphonies all come from the Vienna days when he was past the age of twenty-five. He had the genius to start with, without question, and he wrote some fine music when he was young. But he developed that genius through years of hard work and became arguably the greatest composer of them all. If Mozart had died at the age fifteen rather than thirty-five, he'd be a little known curiosity today.

Also in the journal today as part of their Five Best series is David Thomson's First-Rate Tales Of Making Movies, which lists Pauline Kael's "The Citizen Kane Book" as one of those tales. I think he gets Kael and her intentions wrong though:

It's clear in "The Citizen Kane Book" that Pauline Kael meant to put the knife into Orson Welles and deflate what she regarded as an overrated film. So she set out to show how screenwriter Herman J. Mankiewicz had been cheated of proper praise and credit. Kael printed a draft script and the movie's final cutting-continuity instructions—both revelatory of Mankiewicz's vital role in forming the movie—along with an extended essay on the importance of smart, cynical writers in the 1930s and on the jazzy élan of America's best talking pictures. The book is unfair but riveting, and it had the effect of drawing attention to the uncanny genius of Welles and his movie, helping to establish it as the all-time champion in critics' polls. Scripts don't often read well, but "Citizen Kane" is an exception. The book, in addition to showing us how unkind Kael could be in her exhilaration, was the closest she came to publishing a full-length study, as opposed to her collected reviews.

I've read "The Citizen Kane Book" many times, and as recently as a few months ago, and I've never gotten the feeling that Kael was trying to 'put the knife into Orson Welles and deflate what she regarded as an overrated film." On the contrary, she acknowledges the films greatness, and Welles'. Her point, it seems to me, is to undo an historical inaccuracy which gave Welles full-credit for the movie at the expense of Mankiewicz and others. If she's trying to deflate anything it is not the movie itself, but rather some of the overblown reverence for the movie that cites it as a masterpiece that transcends film itself. Rather, she was trying to fit it into its proper place in film history, at the pinnacle of the great screwball and newspaper traditions of the thirties. If she slights Welles at all, it's in not spending enough time on the story-telling and camera techniques that were new in "Citizen Kane."  Thomson even admits that Kael's essay, "had the effect of drawing attention to the uncanny genius of Welles and his movie." How one draws attention to someone's uncanny genius while at the same time taking a knife to him is a mighty feat indeed, one I'm not sure even the brilliant Ms. Kael was capable of. And that Welles was some sort of genius is pretty much a given these days (for a delightful take on his genius rent the movie Me and Orson Welles, a fictional account of the making of Welles' historic Broadway production of "Julius Caesar") it does us no good to simply bow down to that genius and not look further into the man. It's too long to excerpt here but reading the final pages of Kael's essay finds her defending Welles from his undeserved reputation as a failure, as "the man who let everyone down":

He has lived all his life in a cloud of failure because he hasn't lived up to what was unrealistically expected of him. No one has ever been able to do what was expected of Welles - to create a new radical theatre and to make one movie masterpiece after another - but Welles' "figurehead" publicity had snowballed to the point where all his actual and considerable achievements looked puny compare to what his destiny was supposed to be. In a less confused world, his glory would be greater than his guilt.

Sounds more like an attempt at rehabilitation than deflation.

"Bloodbath...

...of a night for Democrats." That's what Politico called last Tuesday's election, as Peter Wehner details in this terrific post over at Contentions. To me, as I mentioned yesterday, perhaps the most important statistic is the Republican takeover at the state level:

• Republicans picked up 680 seats in state legislatures, the most in the modern era. In the 1994 GOP wave, Republicans picked up 472 seats. The previous record was in the post-Watergate election of 1974, when Democrats picked up 628 seats. The GOP gained majorities in at least 19 state house chambers. They now have unified control — meaning both chambers — of 26 state legislatures. And across the country, Republicans now control 55 chambers, Democrats have 38, and two are tied. (The Nebraska legislature is unicameral.)


• Republicans have not enjoyed this much power in state capitals since the 1920s.

This is rather amazing. A few years ago on this blog I was bemoaning the fact that the old Reaganite coalition had fallen apart and the future looked bleak for conservatism. Amazing what someone like Barack Obama can do. When it comes to reinvigorating the conservative movement, well, yes he can.

Update

Yes, I've been scarce around here, but that's how it goes. I go through periods where I lose the urge to blog, or read, or watch sports, or....well, a lot of things. I've always been like that. Something seems fascinating, or at least interesting, for awhile, then a switch goes off and it becomes dull, ordinary. A little time off and it seems interesting again. Anyone else like that?

Clearly I'm in a don'tfeellikeblogging mood.  Or have been. This morning I feel like it. No guarantees about tomorrow.

So, there was an election recently, right? Just kidding - the mid-terms took up most of my interest over the past few months. I'm afraid I, like a lot of conservatives, got caught up in the mega-wave fever and got my hopes too high. Election day itself was terrible. Work was a disaster, a stress-filled day of putting out fires. I voted immediately after work only to arrive home and find out that my brother had been rushed into emergency surgery (he's fine now.) And then the election results started coming in and....nothing. I had set up my computer with open pages to all my favorite blogs and political information sites, hoping to keep abreast of any breaking news. And, as I said, nothing. Around 7 pm I realized what was happening, or what was not happening: the mega-wave. Oh, it was a wave for sure, but that was already a given. By election day 60 house seats and 7-8 Senate seats were what everyone was predicting. But 80-90 seats and 10 Senate seats were clearly not going to come that night. Depression started to sink in and it continued on into the following morning.

It wasn't until Thursday morning that I began to feel better. Years from now when they write about this election they won't be talking about how many of us were disappointed with the results. They'll talk about the historic gains in the House, substantial gains in the Senate, but perhaps more importantly, the gains Republicans made in governorships and state houses. That's where the real landslide occurred, and a good deal of them in very important states, i.e. Ohio, Pennsylvania, Michigan, West Virginia, Indiana, Wisconsin. The old rust belt states that are so important to control during presidential election years. Barack Obama's chances of getting re-elected went down last Tuesday, no doubt. Also, having control during the reapportionment will also help Republicans.

So, all in all, I feel much  better about the election than I did the morning after. The important work is just starting though and we will see if the Republicans are up to it. But if I think about that too much depression will start to sink in again. So let's talk about other things.

NOTE: the depression thing is just a figure of speech. The proper term for what I was feeling election night and the day after is letdown. I don't think I've actually ever been depressed. My normal disposition is happy, content, and I can't keep it down for long. I can get mad, I can be sad, I can feel bad about something, but never for long.  Not sure why I needed to point that out except I don't want to give anyone the impression that I'm the morose type. Far from it and God forbid.

What else? Well, we just got back from New York City again, our last night at the time share. We have a time share at The Manhattan Club at 56th and 7th Ave, kitty korner from Carnegie Hall, a few blocks from Central Park and Columbus Circle, close to Times Square, 5th Avenue, and the Upper West Side. We had no daytime plans when we woke up on Monday but just before we left home I found out that there is an Edward Hopper exhibit at the Whitney Museum at Madison and 75th. We'd never been to the Whitney and we like Hopper (we saw and enjoyed the Hopper exhibit here at the National Gallery a few years back). So we decided to go there. It had rained all morning in New York and while it had stopped by the time we arrived, it was still cloudy and windy. That's no problem. I love New York best in lovely spring weather but I love it at all times - it's personality changes with the weather. I always feel like I'm in a movie when I'm in New York. Cool, cloudy, and windy is just a different movie. So we bundled up and head up Madison, heads into the wind, taking our time, stopping at some of the chi-chi stores along the way. My wife and I agreed that they make all the clothes in these stores for tall, slim, young people. We'd look a bit ridiculous in most of the styles on display, though my baby could still pull some of them off, minus the ridiculously high heels. She pointed out to me that all the women were wearing the tall boots that went up to the knee, usually over some sort of leggings. She likes the style so we stopped at more than a few shoe stores. We almost never shop when we're in the city but we had nothing planned so I went with the flow, even looking for a few things myself. We bought nothing though - everything I liked was at least double what I was willing to pay. You might call me cheap but I'll call it frugal.

Anyhow, about 74th street it hit me that it was Monday and most of the museums are closed on Monday. We walked the next block to the Whitney entrance and discovered that, yup, it was closed. Oops. I suggested we walk over to the Metropolitan Museum at 80th and 5th, though I was certain that it was closed on Monday also. Yes, it is. Oh well. We walked back down the other side of Madison, recalling a few places we'd been before (most specifically a few delis where we've grabbed some good food for picnics in the park.) When we got back to midtown it was 4:00, check-in time, so we headed back to the MC, checked in, and relaxed for an hour before dinner.

We ate at Il Melograno, at the corner of 51st and 10th, and it was very good. We realized right away that it wasn't really a tourist restaurant but more of a place where the locals come to eat - the owner and the waitresses seems to know most of the people who were there. The food was terrific and the prices very reasonable.  Appetizers, I had a salad, two meals, two bottles of sparkling water, two beers, a tiramisu and espresso for dessert, all for $91. And very informal. We were dressed for the show but we didn't need to be. Jeans would have been fine. We decided to remember this place for those times when we wanted to stay casual all day. Highly recommended.

And then we went to see The 39 Steps at The New World Stages theatre on 50th, between 8th and 9th, a spoof of the great old Hitchcock movie. And it was delightful, very ingenious, terrificly acted. Lots of fun, lots of laughs. Again, highly recommended.

And then back to the Manhattan Club and too sleep, perchance to dream. I was tempted just to check the bags in the morning and spend the day in the city but we decided to just head home. I get that urge always in New York - I never want to leave. I've never had enough.

Now we're back home, back to the bland routine. I'm on vacation this week so that's why I'm sitting here blogging on a Wednesday morning. I'm going to try to enjoy the next few days off  as work has been very stressful the past few months and I really want a break from it. I plan to listen to some podcasts, read some blogs, do a little blogging myself, listen to some music, do some reading. A lot of what I read will come from this link, The Best Magazine Articles Ever. I love the long form book review, essay, magazine article, i.e. something you can sit with for an hour or more and sink into. I'll make my way through most of these, many of them this week. I've read the Gay Talese Sinatra piece last night, a brilliant piece of writing that captures the man better perhaps than anything I've ever read about him. For instance, consider this, about "In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning":

It is a lovely ballad that he first recorded ten years ago, and it now inspired many young couples who had been sitting, tired of twisting, to get up and move slowly around the dance floor, holding one another very close. Sinatra's intonation, precisely clipped, yet full and flowing, gave a deeper meaning to the simple lyrics -- "In the wee small hours of the morning/while the whole wide world is fast asleep/you lie awake, and think about the girl...." -- it was like so many of his classics, a song that evoked loneliness and sensuality, and when blended with the dim light and the alcohol and nicotine and late-night needs, it became a kind of airy aphrodisiac. Undoubtedly the words from this song, and others like it, had put millions in the mood, it was music to make love by, and doubtless much love had been made by it all over America at night in cars, while the batteries burned down, in cottages by the lake, on beaches during balmy summer evenings, in secluded parks and exclusive penthouses and furnished rooms, in cabin cruisers and cabs and cabanas -- in all places where Sinatra's songs could be heard were these words that warmed women, wooed and won them, snipped the final thread of inhibition and gratified the male egos of ungrateful lovers; two generations of men had been the beneficiaries of such ballads, for which they were eternally in his debt, for which they may eternally hate him...

As readers of this blog know, I'm particularly interested in Sinatra's period of transition, the few years when he began to redefine himself and became Sinatra the adult icon, the man other men patterned themselves after, the years 1952-54. He'd been down and out, had lost his crooner's voice, was starting to be considered a has-been. And he redefined himself. I'd never considered how much Ava Gardner had to do with this. The career descent coincided with his obsession with her; his ascent coincided with his leaving her behind. He'd gotten hold of himself and determined that from that point on he'd do things his way, damned the consequences. A few years later, he owned the world.

Anyhow, if the rest of these articles are as good as the Sinatra article, I'm in for a treat.

I also read the article Pearls Before Breakfast, by Gene Weigarten, which appeared in the Washington Post Magazine a few years back. I remember the episode: The Post had entreated world famlous violinist Joshua Bell to play his instrument in the subway, posing as a street musician, and see how many people recognized him or appreciated the music. The results were depressing, with only a few people stopping to appreciate the music and only one who actually recognized Bell. I didn't read the article at the time but it's a great read and has inspired me to go listen to Bach's "Chaconne" a few times, and almost certainly again as soon as I'm done typing.

Finally, for you political wonks who love a good discussion, CSpan had Jonah Goldberg on for three hours the other day and a more enjoyable three hours you will not find. Go here to see it again.  Jonah is one of the funniest people around, and also one of the smartest.

And now, back to my vacation....