treppenwitz

And now for your dining and dancing pleasure...

...something a tad less morbid than what I wrote this morning:

I present for your enjoyment the absolutely meanest blond joke ever!

As always, don't thank me... I'm a giver.

The finger of G-d

It has been my experience that many people who have even a passing belief in a higher power (and amazingly, even some who don't) tend to lay events at G-d's doorstep under two specific sets of circumstances:

Why Me?:  People seldom ask "Why me G-d?... what did I do to deserve this?" when they win lotto, have healthy children or experience any similarly positive miracle.  But when tragedy strikes, the same people will quickly beat a path to G-d's door and demand explanations.  I'm guilty of this to some extent.

Poetic Justice!  This is the external, mirror-image version of 'Why me?'  People seldom look at positive events or windfalls that happen to someone they hold in high esteem and say "Gee, I can't think of anyone who deserves that more!", because, well, sure we can... we deserve it more!  But let tragedy befall the perceived villains in our lives and too often you'll hear things like "Aha!... that's just proof that there is a G-d!" coming out of our mouths.  Again, I'll admit to having stooped to such petty behavior in a moment of weakness. 

At this time, while the fate of a human being named Ariel Sharon remains unclear, I think it would be extremely unfortunate for anyone to make gleeful claims of 'poetic justice' or to ascribe the Prime Minister's stroke to punishment administered by the hand of G-d.

Yes, as a religious person I like to assume that the influence of the Creator's hand is felt, at least passively, in all events.   But to single out the misfortunes of those we oppose as proof that G-d shares our agenda is (IMHO) the height of arrogance. 

It seems to me that those who are publicly engaging in this unseemly claim of partnership with the Creator are risking, if not an outright slap from the hand of G-d... then at least a well-deserved gesture from one of His fingers.

[Source and explanation here.]

By all means, watch the news... speculate intensively on what the political landscape might look like tomorrow... even indulge in a little well-placed anger at the media for once again deliberately misleading you by underplaying the gravity of Sharon's stroke 18 days ago.  But please don't let me see anyone I know and respect saying stuff like this today.

Still shutting up and listening

I have to say it was fun this morning spending my usual writing time just surfing around and reading people that I sometimes don't have time to visit.

During my predawn travels around the blogosphere I stumbled across this gem on White-Pebble:

In order that all men may be taught to speak the truth, it is necessary that all likewise should learn to hear it.

— Dr. Samuel Johnson

It was nice to be reminded by the likes of Dr. Johnson that listening is an under-rated skill.

Just one side point about the Caroline Glick piece I linked to at the end of yesterday's post:

I don't think she really intended a literal comparison between either Israel or the US's mainstream media and that of North Korea.  The point I took from the article was that both country's press seems to have adopted an unhealthy monolithic political positions amidst what should be very complex/diverse national ideologies.  This has stifled national debate and made dissent seem akin to treason.

In the US there is the issue of very one-sided and incomplete coverage of events in Iraq.  Casualties are reported scrupulously and in great detail (with a nearly constant attempts to evoke comparisons with Vietnam), while victory/progress are notably absent (from the coverage, not the actual events).

In Israel, the opposite is happening.  The media has so completely embraced the worldview of Ariel Sharon that almost all the Hebrew dailies have come to sound like the Prime Minister's press office rather than the people's watchdog.  Anyone (or anything) that is not in line with the PMs current thinking or statements is quickly vilified and treated as a dangerous, unpatriotic enemy.

I've already written more than I'd intended today.  Seeya.

Sometimes it's good to just shut up and listen

[Important... update your links:  Treppenwitz is changing location.  Assuming you'd like to continue coming here you'll probably want to change any bookmarks or blogrolls linking to this site to the following: www.treppenwitz.com .  It seems I will probably not be staying with my current hosting service for much longer, so by changing your links to www.treppenwitz.com , you'll automatically be able to continue coming here no matter where my site may end up being hosted in the future.  Please do it now... I'd hate to lose you.]

OK, back to business:

In the midst of a potentially contentious discussion here the other day, I opted to take a step back and recused myself from my own comment board.  The basic reason I did so was that I realized belatedly that I had taken a stand on something about which I didn't have nearly enough background information.

An article that Imshin posted on her site brought home for me how little I actually knew about the intricacies of land ownership in this part of the world. I still feel my initial hypothesis was sound, but I didn't like the feeling of espousing or defending an opinion based on gut instinct rather than historical fact.

It really isn't enough to be right.  A lucky guess or educated hunch can be a dangerous thing in the wrong hands.

I think most people who come here realize that I frequently bring up topics in order to explore my own ideas rather than to publicly espouse a clearly defined position.  But even such tentative treatment of a topic requires a modicum of homework... and clearly I hadn't done mine.

I have to say that stepping back from the discussion was a liberating experience.  Too often we become besotted with our own opinions, positions and self-righteousness... and we forget that if we'd only shut up for a few minutes there is a whole world of information out there just waiting to be weighed and considered.   

Sometimes as we listen we get welcome confirmation of our most deeply held beliefs.  And other times, as scary as it may be, we notice a bit of validity in an opposing argument.  It's interesting that the people who always seem to be in 'transmit mode' are the one's who are least interested in hearing that hint of a valid argument from the other side. 

Going forward I'm going to make a concerted effort to spend at least as much time listening as I do talking.

Speaking of information worthy of consideration (and of information you might not be allowed to consider)... if you haven't read this brutally frank current assessment of the 'fourth estate' (both here and in the US), please go read this article (hat tip Avi). Just set aside what you think you know... and read.

Don't thank me... I'm a giver.

Things haven't changed that much...

Like most of my friends in elementary school, I took piano lessons.  We all went through basically the same piano books and many of us even shared the same piano teacher.  What none of us realized back then was that a sinister agreement had been struck between the piano teacher and our parents.

Basically the agreement (written in blood), looks something much like this:

Practicing Clause: The piano teacher agrees to assign weekly mind-numbing scales and exercises as well as new impossibly cutely-named pieces to master each week.  It is the parent's responsibility to cajole, bully and threaten the student into at least appearing to practice for at least 15 - 30 minutes per day.  Those students who are successfully cajoled, bullied and/or threatened into performing the minimum amount of practice will be rewarded with either gold or silver stars being pasted into their current piano book at the following lesson.  Those who show up to the lesson unprepared will receive a double portion of cajoling, bullying and threats during the following week. 

Color-Coded Piano Book Clause: Each progressively more difficult piano book will be of a unique color so that all students taking piano lessons with the same teacher will be able to immediately identify the slower students in their midst.  Ideally the most current piano book should be carried during school hours... even on days when piano lessons aren't scheduled.

Scheduling Clause:  All piano lessons will be scheduled so as to conflict with at least one desirable/cool after-school activity or club, making it necessary for students to respond to repeated queries from cooler friends, "No, I can't take Karate... that's when I have my piano lesson".

Recital Clause (and sub-clauses):  In return for cajoling, bullying and threatening the student into performing daily mind-numbing scales and exercises (not to mention providing ongoing financial remuneration), the parents shall receive from the teacher at least one (1) recital every three months during which time students will be afforded the opportunity to demonstrate their growing musical proficiency in front of their peers, their peer's parents and their peers siblings.

a) All recitals will be held either in the teacher's home, or at the home of whichever student has the combination of the smallest living-room and most randomly maintained/tuned piano.  Preferably the latter.

b) Recitals should involve a sufficient number of participants to ensure an audience of parents and siblings large enough to give each student a combination of night sweats and stage fright for a minimum of two (2) days prior to the performance.

c) Wherever possible, it is preferable that recitals feature multiple students performing the same impossibly cutely-named piece of music.  Preference is to be given to pieces that almost, but not quite, sound like works of the classical masters. 

c#) During holiday season, most or all selections performed by students should be whimsical adaptations of seasonal favorites arranged by the teacher so as to be almost recognizable.

d) Students should be instructed to make at least one heart-seizing mistake in the middle of their most familiar selection in order to allow their parent's to fully share in the performance anxiety that the student has experienced over the previous two (2) days.  The effect is enhanced if the mistake occurs in a piece that the student could perform flawlessly at home in his/her sleep.

d♭) Mistakes that are so obvious and avoidable as to induce student nightmares well into mid-life will be rewarded with extra gold stars at the next lesson.

e) There must be at least one impossibly cute, small, young, student performing at each recital so that no matter how flawlessly any or all of the older students perform works of infinitely greater difficulty, the impossibly small, cute, young student will receive thunderous applause for simply being able to climb up on the piano stool and find middle 'C'.

Guess where our family was last night?

Waiting to perform (note look of terror in Ari and Gili's... and my eyes):

Ari performing:

Gili performing:

I promise that I am not making any of this stuff up.

Happy, um, whatever

Once upon a time I fully embraced the whole New Year's Eve thing.  As a kid it was a treat to be allowed to stay up and watch the lighted ball drop in Time's Square on TV.  And as a young adult I admit having enjoyed more than a few festive New Year's Eve parties.

I know intellectually that I should really try to get more worked up about New Years.  After all, I live in the modern world and it is the start of at least one of the calendars around which my life revolves.  But it holds about as much fascination for me as when my car's odometer turns over to some nice round number. 

In short, it's neat, maybe even important, to observe... but (IMHO) not really worthy of a party.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not one of those people who likes to pretend that the Gregorian calendar doesn't exist, or that it should be shunned like some form of idolatry.  I guarantee that If I look over the shoulder of some religious zealot who pretends to completely eschew the solar calendar that I won't see Kislev or Tevet printed on their car registration.  We simply can't ignore that at least a small part of our lives is tied to the secular calendar.

But I think it would be disingenuous of me to give the impression that my disinterest in New Year's was entirely a rational decision.  No, the thing that really put paid to New Year's Eve celebrations for me was an event that was shared by a fellow musician and regular treppenwitz reader back in the early '90s. 

We had been rehearsing with a '30s/ '40s-style Jazz 'Big Band' that met weekly in a studio on 42nd Street in Manhattan.  The band had the occasional gig, but its raison d'être was simply for the chance to play the classic arrangements from the swing era. 

One day the wife of the bandleader (who did all the booking/scheduling) pulled me aside and asked if I was free the evening of Dec. 31st.  It seemed that the band was booked to play a fancy New Year's Eve ball at the 'Downtown Athletic Club', and she was trying to put together the roster.

For those of you not familiar with the Downtown Athletic Club, it is a very posh private club in a stately old building near Wall Street that claims, among its many honors, to be 'the home of the Heismann Trophy'.

Although I usually got a call every year for some sort of New Year's Eve gig, I jumped at the opportunity to play such a fancy-shmancy party.  This was the sort of affair most people only see in old movies... hell yes I wanted to play the gig! 

New Year's eve arrived and I showed up early at the D.A.C. wearing my best tuxedo with my trombone gig bag slung over my shoulder.  I felt like someone had turned back the clock and I was some swing-era sideman showing up for a swanky radio broadcast on New Year's eve.  It was really exciting.

We played the first couple of sets to an appreciative audience.  The ambiance was everything I could have hoped for... elegant, festive decor... well-heeled party-goers dancing gracefully around the room or chatting in small groups... and liveried waiters passing seemingly endless trays of hors douvres and Champagne.

After the second set the band was directed to a small table in an adjoining room where a nice spread of food and drink had been laid out for us.  I seem to remember that this other treppenwitz reader (who also played this gig), and I anticipated the whole kosher food issue by bringing along some deli sandwiches from Shmulke Bernstein's, but I may be remembering that bit incorrectly.  Whether or not we had thought to bring kosher food is really besides the point of the story. 

Of one thing I'm crystal clear: We were seated with the band at this private table when the bombshell was dropped.  The bandleader came over to the two of us, and without preamble unapologetically said, "The host asked me to tell you two to take off your yarmulkes."

I doubt that the two of us were the only Jews in the orchestra, but we were certainly the only two observant ones wearing yarmulkes/kippot at the time.  We were both wearing very unobtrusive plain black kippot on our heads, and unless someone was really looking closely they wouldn't have even noticed them.  But clearly at least one of us had been noticed... and someone close to the party organizer had taken offense.

I remember inwardly flinching at being told to remove a religious head covering.  I mean, for kripe's sakes... I'd worn a kippah on my head while serving on a Navy frigate in the US Pacific fleet!  Who the hell were these people I'd supposedly been protecting to tell me I couldn't cover my head while playing their New Year's Eve party? 

But at the same time I also felt that as part of an ensemble (and as a sideman on someone else's bandstand), I really didn't have the luxury of refusing or making a scene. 

We played at least one more set after that, including an endless rendition of 'Auld Lang Syne' while confetti and balloons cascaded from the ceiling. But for me the magic had gone out of the evening. 

Instead of a 1930s-esque society party, the room had taken on the washed-out look of a cheap movie set.  The guests weren't dancing as gracefully as I had originally thought, and the quiet elegance I had seen through my rose-colored glasses at the beginning of the evening now seemed forced and contrived.

That event really finished New Year's Eve for me.  With the exception of a very pleasant New Year's eve wine & cheese party Zahava and I attended a few years ago at the home of some close friends, I really haven't marked the date in any significant way since that ill-omened D.A.C. Ball. 

Maybe that's for the best. 

I wouldn't think to make a big party out of my car's odometer turning over to show a fresh bunch of zeros... so why force a celebration out of the calendar equivalent of such an event? 

When my car hits certain milestones I obviously mark them and take stock of the car's overall condition (tune-ups, scheduled service, etc.).  A wise person would do well to mark the new Gregorian year by performing the same kind of things (physical exams, dental check-ups, mammograms or prostate exams, etc.).

So, for me there really isn't much to celebrate... but plenty to think about. 

I'm off to work today, because here in Israel, January 1st, 2006 is just another start to a busy work week... and nobody seems to mind what I wear on my head.  :-)

So, happy whatever!