GOOD FRIDAY BLUES: Here’s my biggest problem. Some people find a place in life where they fit in; things go their way, they achieve a good reputation, they make a contribution to the world, they work hard, they have collegues and friends, they find the right husband or wife (e.g., those married couples you sometimes hear about who are both professors in a given field, who write books together, like the Bergers in Sociology), etc. Even a garbageman who fits in will feel good and get promotions and find friends in his world and a wife who fits in with that world. The rest of us struggle and bungle and lose jobs and get divorces and sometimes get nasty and steal or cheat or whatever to get by, or hold it in and get sick or cancer or whatever.

We all want to give something to the world. I really do believe in the phrase “give to live”. But the problem is, often the world asks us for what we don’t have, and disregards what we do have to give. For most of my own insignificant life, in most of the work and social situations I’ve been in, I’ve been asked to be an extrovert, to be ambitious, to be good with kids, to be highly sociable, to get enthused about little things, and to provide leadership. But I’m just not that kind of person. I’m an analyst, an introvert, a seeker of wisdom, and a solitary person, although I still do care about people (don’t want to see anyone get hurt). I wanted to think and analyze, but I didn’t want to just be a scientist or professor or mathematician or computer programmer. I wanted some greater connection with the senitent side of humanity, but without getting overwhelmed by humans. And in looking for the best of both worlds, I got lost.

Oh well … Dem’s the breaks. A lot of other people have got it a lot tougher, I know. Just a little bit maudlin tonight, that’s all.

Lately I’ve been reading Stanley Karnow’s book “Vietnam A History”, looking back on the Vietnam War, the “big war” of my youth. It’s still hard to get a grasp on what that war was all about. But then again, probably no war is as simple at its proponents would like the world to believe. Still, Vietnam was especially complex. Back in 1969 or so, you seemed to have two popular ways of looking at the Vietnam War. According to way number one, the war was necessary to stop Communism from taking over the world and ending the good life that we’ve come to know here in America (or at least most of us have come to know – people living in urban ghettos or poor mountain villages might not feel quite as enthusiastic about the Land of Opportunity). Way number two was heard mostly from the younger generation, the long-haired, colorfully dressed college crowd chanting “peace, pot, microdot” and “Ho, Ho, Ho Chi Minh” at impromptu campus demonstrations. According to this view, the Viet Cong were a people’s liberation army that was totally misunderstood by the over-30 crowd, the people that run this country. The problem wasn’t in Vietnam, it was here in the U.S., where the old fogies in charge were heartlessly sending thousands of young men to their deaths in Nam because of their political senility.

Well, even back then, I was somewhat suspicious of both of these popular viewpoints (I was never big on the Generation Gap, and I’m glad that the youth of today aren’t into it either, since I’m now an old fogie myself!). Unfortunately, amidst all the noise and shouting of the late 60’s, there wasn’t much opportunity for the truth about the Vietnam situation to be seen and heard. Over the past 30 years, it has become clearer and clearer that Vietnam could not and was not accurately being explained by the bigwigs such as McNamara, Rusk, Bundy and Kissinger when they stated that it was all about world Communism. Not that world Communism had nothing to do with it. But the historical, social and political situation in Vietnam was so complex and so tightly wound up, there was just no way that American firepower could build a new nation. We had lots of success in killing Viet Cong and North Vietnamese regulars; but we just didn’t understand what nation-building was about, especially in the context of that strange and far-off Asian land. We just didn’t realize that people there just don’t look at the world the same way that we do here in America.

Are there any lessons for our involvement today in Iraq? Do we understand the subtleties of “nation-building” any better three decades later? I have my doubts, and the horrible incident this past week in Fallujah only reinforces my view that the whole Iraq thing is not going to come out as our leaders had plannned (i.e., formation of a stable Arabic – Moslem democracy). We’re involved in a situation that we don’t understand. The boys in the Pentagon (and Ms. Rice) did a great job with the military tasks. They did the world a great favor by capturing Sadaam Hussein and taking out the remnant of his threatening military machine. But their “phase two” assumptions are not working out very well thus far. They told us that the people of Iraq would respond wonderfully once the evil shadow over their lives was gone. The Iraqis have lots of resources, not least of which includes their oilfields, and given a little bit of direction, they’d have stable, democratic institutions in place in no time. They will see us as saviors, not as invaders, and will cooperate fully in our efforts to set them on the road to peace and progress.

I’m obviously setting up a straw man here, ready to knock him down with the brazen anti-American attitudes that were evident in Fallujah this past week. But admittedly, perhaps I am being hasty. There is still a chance that a workable social compromise may emerge that will allow a better form of government in Iraq. Perhaps not a vigorous democracy as in India, but something much better than Sadaam, maybe something like Jordan or Egypt — imperfect, but better.

But the problem is, we’re in the middle of a situation where we don’t fully understand all the forces and motives involved. There seem to be powerful religious and ethnic undercurrents such that the people of Iraq may not be ready to share one nation. The Shiites and the Sunnis have long histories and contentious memories that aren’t going to go away overnight. And do the Kurds really want to share a Parliament and a Prime Minister with the Arabs to the south?

If we had the power and guts to just sit there in Iraq for a decade or two and run the place as an American colony (while absorbing continuing loss of life), a sense of nationhood might start emerging. The opposing factions would then have a common enemy, us, and might over time build up a tradition of cooperation that would carry on once we finally left. But I doubt if that’s going to happen. One way or another, the US is gonna cut and run within a year or two (at most). The Fallujah incident says to me that there are still deep fears and hatreds that will take years and years to overcome. I honestly don’t think that the crowds involved in that riot hate America for being America. As Sunnis, the favored minority in Iraq over the past 30 years, they know that our democratic institutions will shift power to the Shiites, the unfavored majority. And they’re scared as hell of that – payback is a bitch. So they’re trying to scare us out before we open the polls. I’m not an expert, but from what I’ve read thus far, the Shiites aren’t being entirely gracious about sharing their newly-realized power either. Whether or not you sympathize with them, the Sunnis probably have good reasons to be fearful. And most everyone else is distracted with shortages of basic things like power, water, jobs and education. It may still be a long time until we have all of that back in working order. Would there really a good time for elections in the next five years?

So just what is the solution? Well, this is the kind of thing that the United Nations was supposedly made for. Unfortunately, over the past few years the USA has taken a lot of air out of the UN’s tires. I agree that committees usually don’t do good jobs of designing things, and nations are probably no exception. But at least the UN would have more moral authority for a long-term oversight and peace-keeping mission in Iraq until the people there were a bit more ready for democracy, until the basic infrastructure could be fully restored, until the religious and ethnic wounds had more time to heal, until people could learn to trust in government. The UN is far from perfect, but it still seems to me like a better option than some quickie election and US pullout, followed by who-knows-what kind of instability, maybe even civil war.

To all of my two or three regular readers, sorry for not doing much blogging lately. I’ve been looking for a new apartment, and it’s been kicking my butt. Just too many real-world factors involved. Real estate — where the greediest and ugliest aspects of humankind manifest themselves. Arg. Hopefully I’ll settle on something before long, move in, and get on with life, somewhat the poorer for it. My old landlord helped me to save a few coins by keeping the rent low (in return for much angst), but he’s just about history (just sold the place).

So, instead of reading and studying and writing and thinking great thoughts, I’m all wrapped up in ads and phone calls and apartment viewings, and soon I’ll be writing checks and buying new furnishings and filling out multiple change of address forms. Oh, what joy. But then again, a guy like me can’t always live inside his head, even though I’d like to. Once in a while, real life forces me to get out there and scoop up some raw experience (and it is very raw). But hopefully, I’ll be back in my perch before long, a new perch at that, with bundles of newly gathered experience data to mull over and analyze. Yea, what the heck.

My beer supply was getting a bit low, so I stopped into a liquor store yesterday looking for a six-pack or two. The glory days of the mid-90’s are long gone, when microbrews had just invaded the scene and were pushing Bud and Miller and Coors back from their dominant position on the shelves. But despite their retreat, most stores here in northern NJ still keep a few micros in stock – there are obviously still a few beer drinkers out there with standards, people who won’t settle for malt-flavored water with plenty of advertisement.

So, I was looking over the refrigerator shelf where the micros still hold out, and I saw something new. Well, actually, that’s not so surprising. The liquor stores around here seem terribly anxious to replace a really well made microbrew (e.g., Shipyard) with some novelty brand that might catch the eye of the Bud crowd, e.g. Three Stooges beer. The new brand I saw yesterday was definitely a novelty item, something meant to sell you on concept and not necessarily on quality. It is called “He’brew Genesis Ale”. Yes, a Jewish Kosher microbrew. Brought to you by the Schmaltz Brewing Company. The label does the Jewish angle to the max. Aside from a drawing of a nerdy rabbi-looking guy with a flat hat and beard waving beer bottles over a synagogue, you have the following inscriptions: “the chosen beer”, “chutzpah never tasted so good”, and “to life! l’chaim!”. The logo is the star of David amidst wheat ears. And then there’s the credo, with elements from the Torah and the Passover table: “Why is this beer different from all other beers? In the beginning …”

Well, I hate the idea of getting suckered into buying a product based on advertising and image. I mean, what is there in all of this that indicates that I’m going to drink a good beer if I plunck down $8 for it? I turned away from the refrigerator door, but something called me back to it. I’m not a Jew, but there’s something about Jewishness and especially Jewish humor that tugs some of my strings. And there was something poetic about the conclusion of the label credo: “may HE’BREW join in the blessings of your lives”. Well, OK, I pluncked down my $8, hoping that I wasn’t being taken in too badly.

I had one with dinner tonight. So how is it? Well, turns out to be a microbrew after all, something much better than the watery lagers that define mainstream American beer tastes. It has a strong nose, an opaque body, a lacy head and a nice, round mouth feel to it. As to the taste, it’s a bit on the hoppy / bitter side, which is not really a bad thing. It reminds me of how the mainstream beers like Piels and Rheingold used to taste back in the early 60s. I was just a kid back then, but my parents used to let me take an occasional sip; I very well remember those bitter hops, the taste of beer before the early 70s when the MBA types started reformulating the traditional brewmaster techniques so as to maximize profits (add more water, less hops, and plenty of highly targeted advertising).

Yea, this is an old world beer, perhaps like what they drank in the ghettos of Berlin and Warsaw before the darkness of the early 20th Century descended. There is substance behind all of the hard sell, significance behind the schmaltz. As with Jewish culture in general. Perhaps I’ll open one up after sundown on April 5th.

Oh, one more thought that relates to Judaism, but also to Islam and to Christianity. The Atlantic had a review of novelist John Buchan, a Scotsman from the early part of the last Century. In one of his international adventure novels (Greenmantle), he was mulling over the fervor of Islamic fundamentalism, apparent even in 1916. He made a point that was bigger than any particular ayatollah, something that addresses the question of why the world’s most influential religions all originated in the Middle East:

“It is the austerity of the East that is its beauty and its terror … they want to live face to face with God without a screen of ritual and images and priestcraft.”

Well, I’ll drink to that. But I’ll also keep on praying that the raw spirits emerging from the deserts of austerity can be channeled toward the waters of peace, and away from the wastelands of destruction and death.

I haven’t had much time this past week to think and write, because of some landlord problems. Looks like I’m gonna need some new digs. And that takes a lot of time and energy, energy that could otherwise go into thinking and writing. Oh well, that’s life. I guess you’ve gotta have a roof over your head before you can think and write.

One of my present landlord’s worst sins is his demand that I remove some of the books and magazines that I have piled up in my apartment. He’s the kind of guy that probably doesn’t have a lot of books in his place. Not exactly a book lover, this fellow. This is the last time that I live in an apartment in the same house with the owner. They’re little fascists about their precious little estates, always telling you not to do something or not liking the way that you dry your dishes or whatever. My landlord is now trying to sell the place (as he and his wife are tired of having tenants, and the values around here have skyrocketed lately because of the new train service to Manhattan). That has pushed him well into the tyrant zone. Time to go, especially since any new owner with any brains is gonna totally re-do this place, and thus kick us all out anyway.

Because of all this housing turmoil, I haven’t had much time to bring down any of the mini-brainstorms and mental associations that drift thru my head over the course of the week, which are the raw material for this blog. Therefore, I’ll have to reflect on some of the more raw, primal things of life for now. Like perfume. There are a lot of women, old and young, where I work. But rarely do any of them wear perfume (which is just as well). However, last Thursday, I noticed two of them wearing it. Two in one day!

The first woman was an older hen, a secretary whose been there for decades and decades. She had to leave early to go to the dentist that day. I guess that back in her time, going to the dentist was an occasion for a woman to spray on a bit of cologne or whatever. I guess that kind of thing was once a social requirement for a women; any formal occasion, including consulting a health professional, required a splash of scent. Well, the scent in question here was also quite an old one, something that reminded me of the flowery, sweet and cloying perfumes that my mother used to wear (for going to the dentist or whatever – maybe even the supermarket!). I never liked those scents; I had to open the windows in the car even if it was a cold winter day. And then if my dad lit up a cigarette (maybe as to drown out the smell of my mother’s perfume), it was totally disgusting. Burning tobacco and cloying flowers – no wonder I used to throw up so much when I was a kid!

The second woman was a bit younger, and was wearing something quite different. She was a clerk from the homicide unit, just bringing some paperwork over to the desk next to me. She wasn’t dressed up or anything, the usual slacks and pull-over shirts that clericals who handle a lot of files wear. But for whatever reason, she was wearing some new-generation perfume, something that starts out smelling like clean linen, and then mixes in a variety of citrus and herbal tones. As she passed me (I don’t know her, although I’ve seen her around), it was like, whoa, what’s this nasal symphony in the air? The woman in question was nothing to fall in love with, but her taste in perfume was to be commended (although you’ve still got to wonder about her judgement – why would she put on a splash just to walk over to the Administration Unit? We’re not like dentists or anything).

Hmm, glad to know that they’re now making more interesting kinds of perfumes than the ones that my mother wore (and the older secretary still wears). Although we don’t think about it too much, smells are still an important thing in the daily life of species homo sapiens. (As is having a roof over your head).

One of the biggest, if most basic, issues of philosophy is the relationship between goodness and truth. Both are generally desirable things (if in fact they can be called “things”; they’re not touchable, they’re both abstractions). Truth is supposed to be objective – if some proposition is true, it should be true for everyone, everywhere – whereby goodness is often subjective, judged by the needs of a particular person. What’s good for you may not be good for me. However, what’s true for you should be true for me too. Of course, the question then comes up as to what truth is. The statement that “John is everyone’s friend” may not be able to be classified as a “true statement”, because it could not practically be verified. The idea of “everyone” is too broad. How could you ever know if John is considered to be a friend by everyone currently living on the planet? You could limit the statement to “John is everyone’s friend on the football team”. Then you could test the statement, and if the whole team agrees that John is a friend, the statement enters the rank of “truth”. Otherwise it remains but an opinion, like “God is everyone’s friend”.

And as to goodness – can there be an absolute form of goodness, something that is good for every sentient observer? Or does all good depend on the characteristics of the observer, and thus generally varies based on that observer’s needs? Are there any objective goods, or is good inherently subjective?

I miss the days of college, when questions like these actually meant something. They got some interesting discussions going.Too bad that this kind of stuff just doesn’t matter too much in most everything you do after college. It would be a better world if it somehow did.

I enjoy those web sites that have lists of often-mistaken song lyrics. I’ve misinterpreted the lyrics to a whole bunch of songs in my life, often being corrected with great hubris by some know-it-all type. One of the classic misheard lines was in Credence Clearwater Revival’s “Bad Moon Risin”, where the refrain, “there’s a bad moon on the rise”, was often though to be “there’s a bathroom on the right”. Then there was that crazy line in REM’s “The Sidewinder Sleeps Tonight” that actually went “call me when you try to wake her”, but was heard in all sorts of ways, some having to do with Jamaica. My own favorite misinterpretation for that one was “come on in, tiebreaker” (imagine a baseball game with a guy on third threatening to steal … well, never mind).

I just discovered that I’ve been mishearing another line in a song for the past few months. Luckily I discovered the right line on a web site, before anyone had noticed my error. My latest blunder was Nickleback’s “You Remind Me of What I Really Am”, which I heard as “You Remind Me of What I’ve Never Had”.

Actually, though, I think that my incorrect title is more interesting than the right one. I recently started in on my “Great Minds of the Western Intellectual Tradition” CD’s, and I just got thru Plato. One of Plato’s more interesting developments of his key concept of “the forms” regards love. According to Plato, when you fall head-over-heals in love with someone, the excitement really stems from the fact that your soul is suddenly reminded of the perfect beauty and truth that it knew in a past life up in heaven, before it fell into our nasty world in order to become you. During the rush of affection and attention that happens in the early stages of love, your soul, which is homesick for the nicer world that it once lived in, believes for a short time that it is back amidst the perfect forms, and it gets all excited.

And gee, Aristotelian empiricist that I am, I thought it was all just hormones and other physical processes that developed through evolution to insure the reproduction and continuation of the species.

Well, maybe one could view it both ways. When you find someone whose looks and voice and personality and “soul” intrigues you and sets your heart racing and gets your internal chemistry flowing, your immediate reactions are a natural and scientifically explainable process. The chemical and hormonal reactions in your body alter the images in your mind, and filter out all the imperfections of reality for a while. But then there’s the soul, the mythical soul, which looks out on the world through your mind. In general, the soul does not get very excited about what it sees. Our world is not at all like where the soul came from. But then love comes along, and the picture inside the mind changes due to the magic of interpersonal chemistry. For just a little while, the soul sees something that looks a lot more like home. So it feels darn good about things. Unfortunately, the erotic chemistry doesn’t hold, the illusion fades, and the soul eventually gets back to its usual blah-ze state, just another day of quiet desperation.

(And what’s even worse is that most guys keep on pretending that sex is the ultimate thing in life and that they’re strong or rich enough to get it from their women whenever needed. Guys, once you hit your late 30s, put away the caveman pretenses and admit that sex never did fulfill what you really long for, and never will … and neither will money or power, for that matter.)

Well, this is an extremely mythical and unscientific interpretation of love and the human mind, and doesn’t have much practical value these days. And yet, I myself find a certain gut appeal to it. Even if not true, it’s an intriguing theory: the young women who caught my fancy many years ago were reminding me of something that I never had … not in this life anyway.

And given the way that love goes here in this rough-cut world, what they were reminding me of is something that I still haven’t had and probably never will. There is something compelling about the ideal of “perfect love”, even though we never realize it. Yea, if you want a really good example of what Plato meant by his “forms”, just think about your own longing for true love. That’s the mother of all the forms. So if you can suspend your disbelief for just a few moments, then indeed, let that longing remind you of what you’ve never had.

I pass this building on the way home from work, and a few months ago I noticed this attempt to inform potential visitors where the front door is. You’d think that they’d have gotten out the dictionary, or would have asked somebody beforehand. But obviously these guys paint first and ask questions later. And as to their choice of color … whoever runs this building isn’t doing much for the enlightenment of our youth, either in terms of basic spelling or in terms of exterior decorating. Hey, I’ve made spelling errors myself, but I’m not ashamed to go back and correct them. But whoever runs this building is not in any more hurry to protect the mother tongue than they are to keep their building in shape. In a world of decay, language loses its sacredness and power. (Still, someone thought that this message was enough like a sentence to add a period at the end!)