I’ve been reading Aldous Huxley’s Perennial Philosophy, which I have found to be a gem of a book. It’s an overview of different mystical and religious traditions through history, in which Huxley takes short passages from various religious texts, selected by theme, and offers short commentaries on each. In this way he shows many of the similarities that bind them together. I highly recommend it, no matter what your beliefs are. For agnostics or atheists, it is still a perceptive book from which you can learn much about religion and its motivations. For the religious, it will show how much you share in common with believers of different faiths.
I came across the following passage as I was reading and felt it was incredibly prescient, given the constant barrage of bad information with which most of us are constantly deluged today.
“Agitation over happenings which we are powerless to modify, either because they have not yet occurred, or else are occurring at an inaccessible distance from us, achieves nothing beyond the inoculation of here and now with the remote or anticipated evil that is the object of our distress. Listening four or five times a day to newscasters and commentators, reading the morning papers and all the weeklies and monthlies nowadays, this is described as ‘taking an intelligent interest in politics.’ St. John of the Cross would have called it indulgence in idle curiosity and the cultivation of disquietude for disquietude’s sake.”
Today I met with my four-year-old’s teachers to discuss his progress this year. He is a wonderful boy (yes, I’m biased), and they were happy to tell me all about how he’s been doing. I thanked them for creating such a warm and welcoming environment for all their students. My son talks about them daily and clearly loves and respects them. That is the highest praise I can imagine.
I told these teachers how highly he esteems them, and how his feelings for them made me feel they were great people. It takes a really special person to be a preschool teacher. Of course I think my son is amazing, but I’m not so sure how I would handle SIXTEEN four-year-olds in a classroom all day. I, like most of us, would be out of my depth and unable to cope with their needs.
There are a great many overpaid people in this world doing work that has little meaning in the grand scheme of things. Just look at the tech bros actively making everything worse for everyone. Politicians. Dishonest investors. The current thugs in charge of our government is a tale I don’t wish to get into here, but they are destroying everything around them and are paid handsomely to do it. The list of highly paid humans doing lousy things is almost endless.
What all these jobs have in common is that not one of them can hold a candle to a good preschool teacher, not in terms of what they give to society, nor in the difficulty of their jobs. Preschool teachers are caregivers, educators–they nurture the most vulnerable population in the country. They deserve our praise and respect, and they’re severely underpaid.
If you’re reading this, be sure to thank an educator. Right now, they are under assault in this country. I have absolutely no respect for people who think teaching is easy, or that teachers get summers off, or that they have easy hours. Such talking points show a vast, dangerous ignorance as to what teachers do. There is no more important job anywhere. Without good teachers, this country would be in even worse shape than it is. When I drop my son off, I am entrusting his teachers with the most valuable thing in the world. Surely they deserve better than the way we treat them in the US.
“We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.”
–Kurt Vonnegut, Mother Night
Today I saw a wild-eyed fellow with a t-shirt that said “Russian Asset” and I immediately looked away from him, since in my experience the sort of nutbag who would wear such a shirt usually wants more than anything to get some kind of reaction from you. I saw him again a few minutes later and he had a hat on that looked just like Elon Musk’s MAGA hats, but instead read “Make America Get Apartheid.”
I was enraged and wanted to knock it from his head. How could someone walk around with this kind of message? What is going on in this country when someone can proudly wear this? In the most generous reading of it, is it possible he was, I don’t know, being ironic? Was this his idea of satire? It really doesn’t matter what his intent was, because YOU CANNOT IRONICALLY WEAR A NAZI SYMBOL. It’s hard to believe this even needs to be said.
Yesterday, the vice president of the United States went to Greenland and said “We must have it” and that “We can’t ignore the president’s desires.” Most Trump supporters I know would probably say he is exaggerating, that it’s all a joke. We have heard this refrain over and over, every time the administration, or Trump, does something outrageous or cruel or warmongering. But they mean everything they say. JD Vance definitely looks on Trump as some kind of God-Emperor, like we’re in DUNE, which is why he speaks of his ‘desires’ as if they’re the immutable will of some divine presence. And all Trump’s followers know this isn’t a joke, even if they say it is. We’re teetering on the abyss, and there’s nothing funny about it.
My opinion of the new Jethro Tull album doesn’t make much difference, but here it is anyway: it’s a total joy to even have one. Since I was a teenager, this has been my favorite band, and there will come a day that I won’t get any more new ones, so I’m enjoying the hell out of it.
We’ve been lucky enough to have three new Jethro Tull albums since 2022, and all of them have been fantastic. The Zealot Gene was a tour-de-force of biblical proportions, mingling sacred text and modern life, while 2023’s RokFlote was an epic exploration of Norse myths. Curious Ruminant is perhaps more down to earth, more contemplative, but no less searching–it’s a truly impressive artistic journey that gets better with repeated listenings.
The album should be listened to straight through, in one sitting, if you can manage it. As with all of Ian Anderson’s best records, this one ebbs and flows and gives the listener the feeling they’re looking at a giant canvas, revealed bit by bit, or reading a complex book and learning more in each chapter.
The opening song is the high-energy ‘Puppet and Puppet-Master,’ a reflection on the songster and his audience. We know we’re in capable hands as the band shows its chops with some fine electric guitar, organ and flute solos as Anderson delivers his tongue in cheek dramatization of what it’s like to get up there every night and play. “Holding court on a black box stage, dangling from the strings, I twirl and face the music,” he sings; the subject matter reminds me of ‘A Raft of Penguins,’ from his excellent 2003 album, Rupi’s Dance, which was a song about his nervousness in playing with an orchestra.
“Dunsinane Hill” is a real treat if you’re a Tull fanatic who also loves Shakespeare, like me. Having grown up in Scotland, one can only imagine how much MacBeth must have inspired Ian over the years. I absolutely love this song and it’s conceit: intrigue between two politicians discussing betrayal. Here the flute plays a merry folk tune even as the narrator says “I look over my shoulder/To see my brother warrior, damned spot to wash away.” I give this reimagining of the bard ten out of ten stars.
“Stygian Hand” is a sort of companion to Dunsinane thematically. Have you ever been nervous walking down a dark street alone? Here’s a song to help you. Bring a symbol of faith to ward off the devil and hope for the best. The accordian features prominently on this one. It’s a fun song and gives bit of levity to the otherwise fairly serious proceedings on this album.
“The Tipu House” is another up-tempo number, and here Anderson is singing of ‘All God’s children’; the subject is a tenement Anderson saw in Barcelona, and the residents, including young kids playing in less than ideal conditions. The flute is as manic as on any Tull track, the melody will leave you humming. It’s neat trick, to get an audience feeling empathy for their fellow man even while tapping their feet and singing along.
Other songs in this collection continue to encourage us to recognize our shared humanity, including the nearly 17 minute “Drink from the Same Well,” a fantastic piece of music that’s a meditation on differences that drive people apart. It seems a plea to remember that we’re all human and are worthy of respect, much as Aqualung was. The music is eastern-influenced, and Anderson said the bulk of the instrumental work dates from 2007, which explains why it would not sound out of place on his albums of that era.
“Over Jerusalem” is a song of lament for Israel that sounds like it could have been the twin of ‘Swing it Far’ from Thick as a Brick 2. You get the sense that Anderson, who has played in Israel many times over the years, donating all the money to charity, is as deeply saddened by the current situation as anyone.
“Savannah of Paddington Green” is a song about ecology, a subject Anderson has written of before, most famously in “Skating Away,” way back in 1973. “Threatening species, we turned on ourselves, like others before us, now left on the shelves,” he sings, wondering what the future may hold for our planet.
The final track on this one is a sort of goodbye, called “Interim Sleep,” a meditation on one’s final act. Most of us don’t want to think of the end, but I suppose Mr. A feels the weight of time.
“When interim sleep takes me
I want you close beside
No tears, no sad goodbye
I am calm and still as a fallen autumn leaf”
This is really quite sweet, and moving, as well as very unlike most Jethro Tull songs in that it’s personal and straightforward. Anderson has always preferred things that are more abstract, but that isn’t to say he lacks emotion. After all, his most famous song is a searing heavy rock number about a homeless vagrant, featuring a face melting guitar solo that Jimmy Page himself approved of as it was played. The best Tull songs are like this, melding high and low, profane and holy, mundane and beautiful.
The title track has the classic sound of this band–heavy guitar, flute, coupled with philosophical lyrics. Anderson is pondering life, ‘asking why am I here, answering, why am I anywhere,’ and ending with ‘cogito ergo sum.’ At 77, he’s as much a seeker as he ever was. I’m glad he’s taken us all along for the ride, and I sure hope it doesn’t end anytime soon.
I’d been hesitant to post anything since election day. What can anyone say about this situation that hasn’t already been said? In my opinion, all you need to do is look at the decline of reading and critical thinking skills to understand the second rise of the sexual assaulting felon. When an entire electorate stares at screens 80 hours a week, don’t or can’t read anything challenging, and believe all kinds of disinformation and nonsense, guess what happens?
During his last term, I read more American history than is usual for me, hoping to see some similarities to our current times in our past. We have seen much worse days than this, and survived as a nation. In some of our most tumultuous eras, it was never certain that we would make it through, but somehow, we did.
I don’t know what the next few years will bring, exactly, but I will be surprised if the great dictator doesn’t try to suspend elections. He’s already talked about doing that, as well as rounding up millions of immigrants. His proposed cabinet members are a farce and a disgrace, unqualified people who hate the government agencies they’ll be running, just like last time. His voters wanted this, and we’re all about to get it.
One thing I heard a lot of from 2016-2020 are variations of ‘this is not who we are—we’re better than this.” No, we aren’t. This is exactly who America is and what we want. We can take a little solace in the millions who voted against him, but that’s cold comfort. A man as mendacious and vile as this should have been thoroughly repudiated.
My job is to just try and make sure my children are safe and happy. There is little else we can do. Locally, you can try and make your community better. You can volunteer and try and make your corner of the world a little more humane. Make your voice heard to your elected representatives. Beyond that, we can just hope for the best.
My wife and I don’t talk politics around our children, since that would be a crazy thing to do, and we want to let them enjoy their childhoods. We did look at an electoral map together, and they are aware who won. My nine-year-old daughter, who is a brilliant artist and incredibly smart and perceptive in ways that I was not at her age, summed things up perfectly afterward. “Bruh—it was a girl’s turn after all this time. And that guy is so dumb, and such a mean bully. Just look at him.”
Children intuitively understand things, no matter what adults might say. She knows a lying creep when she sees one. I have never seen a picture of this man where he is smiling and it looks natural, because he is a deeply miserable human being who hates himself and continues to take it out on the entire world. As soon as he starts talking, this is self-evident.
The religious people who voted for him could be the topic for an entire book. All I can say about them is that they ought to be deeply ashamed of themselves, but I’m sure they are not. He’s an imperfect vessel on a mission from Jesus, after all.
And that’s enough about elections. I refuse to follow news cycles for years on end. I’m turning it all off. It will be hard to miss the worst of what he’ll do, but there is little point in following it week after week with every new outrage.
In other news, I have a few writing projects I’m working on, and a deadline I have to meet in a few weeks. I’ll have plenty to keep me busy through the end of the year and the start of next.
The Labor Day holiday invariably reminds me of my father, a shop steward and union rep for many years, who worked many long hours at a job he wasn’t crazy about to support his family. He always told me how important his union was, how lucky he was to have it at New York Telephone for forty years–his job supported us all (six kids) on one salary. This song reminds me a lot of him. He was a tireless man who still had time for kid activities, coaching, volunteering at the church and scouts, and too many other things to name. He was a great guy and I miss him.
Happy labor day to everyone, especially those of us working at jobs where we are perhaps underpaid or unappreciated. Your families understand–you’re what makes our country work.
I’ve been thinking of my dad, a man who never made a fuss about father’s day, or about anything else. Born during the great depression, he grew up without having very much. He often told me stories of going to the movies for a nickel when he was growing up during World War II. His father would give him a dime on Saturday, and he’d have to decide whether to buy comic books or go to a movie. He had a bike at one point and rode it around Riverhead, but it was stolen one day, and his father could not afford to buy him a new one. That story stuck with me. He loved the bike and he wanted a new one, but his father, a carpenter and house painter, didn’t have enough money to buy him another.
As a boy he had various odd jobs, including one as a caddy. He made good money doing that, and had some hilarious tales of the caddyshack, as it was in the 1940s. He once won a huge pot in a craps game and was nearly attacked by an angry older caddy, but ran away and brought the dough back to his parents. He then stayed away from the golf course for a week, from fear of his vengeful nemesis.
After graduating high school, dad joined the air force. He would tell me that he felt very lucky—the Korean War was going on, and he knew people who perished in that conflict, but he was sent to Germany and worked on a base there. He served at other bases in the early fifties, then returned home to try and start a career. All the while, this penniless man sent money home to his mom and dad, as plenty of soldiers of that generation did.
My dad was a smart man, who read a lot of history and politics, and he would have been an excellent teacher, lawyer, or professor. But he wasn’t inclined to take advantage of the GI Bill. He was a practical guy and had to make money right away to help his parents. He worked at a few different jobs, including RCA, a surveying job for the department of agriculture, and finally found work with New York Telephone. He stayed in a rooming house in Hempstead NY at first, living there during the week, and commuted home to be with his parents on the weekends. Eventually he was able to secure a job with NY Telephone in Riverhead, the town where he had grown up and where his parents lived. He got the job and stayed there for more than forty years, moving up from a janitor to eventually a switchman, which had much better pay.
As a boy, I remember him working very long hours, overnight shifts, taking all the overtime he could get to support his large family. Never once did he complain. He just did it. A devout Catholic, he was unfailingly kind to everyone he ever met. Despite the loss of one of his sons, he never felt sorry for himself–he didn’t view life as a tragedy, more as a comedy. He always had a twinkle in his eye and a terrible joke or pun at the ready. He was always smiling, always happy to come home and see his wife and children, no matter what kind of day he had.
There were six of us children, and I cherished the times I got to spend with him. He took great pride in all of us. Despite how busy he was, he always had time to be the little league coach or to go on scouting trips or take us to the city for baseball games. He was a true family man. Never drank, never swore (very often) and never yelled at us. He doted on my mother and his family was his great joy. He was as strong as they come.
I miss my dad, who passed away in 2013. I was happy he got to enjoy retirement for the last thirteen years of his life. He certainly enjoyed it, filling his days with visits from friends, reading the newspaper, watching old gangster movies and westerns, and watching his Mets. He had heart trouble, but he never complained about that, either.
The other day, someone I know mentioned the kinds of ‘sacrifices’ modern parents make. I understood what he meant, he was simply saying that we do stuff for our children, we always make choices. But I disagreed with him, and I told him so. In my view, these are not sacrifices, not remotely. If you decide to have children, this is simply your job, and what’s more, it is the most important job you have. You must do it. If you don’t, you’re not living up to your work as a parent. So I don’t like hearing of sacrifices in this way. Just do what you’re supposed to.
At times, sending out stories and manuscripts and getting no response can get frustrating. But that’s the way it is, and complaining about it doesn’t do any good. It is maddening when you see some of the awful things that become bestsellers, that get all kinds of attention and large publishing deals. Unfair, maybe, but that’s how it goes. First, you must write a great book, and then you must either know someone, or be in the right place at the right time. Some writers will beat the odds, so I keep plugging away, and in any case, I write for myself and won’t stop no matter what happens.
Which brings me to the subject of criticism, and gatekeepers. There are many of these that writers need to ignore. I was thinking of that curious thing, the writing workshop. In my experience, most of these were not at all a supportive environment; in fact, they were quite the opposite, in most cases, with students attacking each other’s work in an effort, I guess, to impress the instructor, a person who had published something and whose approval many in the class usually craved.
The comments on my stories were sometimes helpful, sometimes not, occasionally rude and off putting, and I listened to almost none of it except those written honestly. And yet, even an honest critic might be wrong. Gatekeepers at publishing houses, as well as literary agents, are quite often wrong about a great many things. Just check out the mountains of rejection letters received by people like Ursula LeGuin, Stephen King, Frank Herbert, and plenty of others.
Last night, I couldn’t sleep and was listening to Led Zeppelin, one of my favorite bands. As I sometimes do with artists I admire, I went and looked up contemporary reviews of their groundbreaking records, which have sold over a hundred million copies. One snob said Robert Plant’s lyrics were awful. Rolling Stone wrote that the whole office laughed in mockery at “In Through the Out Door,” the band’s final album, recorded in the terrible wake of the death of Plant’s son. Quite hilarious, you bunch of hipster morons, was all I could think. What a terrible record that brought nothing but happiness and sold tens of millions of copies. Yep, Zeppelin sure were a laughingstock.
I’m now fifty, and I don’t do reviews of new books very often anymore. I used to years ago, for a couple of online sites, but I found that unless I want to spend a lot of time digesting a book, and can say something thoughtful and supportive, there is little point. These things are so subjective, and a random critic has as much to say on the topic of a new book as any thoughtful reader, of which there are a great many. Instead, I’ll do goodreads reviews of books I enjoy, sometimes. And I’ll let my friends and contacts know which books I’m reading. Major outlets like the New York Times and other venues might help a reader decide whether to buy something, I suppose, but more often it is a badge of honor that the author of the book can proudly wear. It may help boost sales. Or if it’s a negative review, they may never live it down.
As the years pass, I’ve realized that apart from a very few trusted book critics, I’d rather just read a book and make up my own mind. The opinions of editors and agents and others in the publishing business are meaningless. In the end, there are your words, your story, and you tell it as best you can. You hope someone likes it, but whether they do or not hardly matters at all. You’re left with your honesty and your effort, and that’s about all you can do. Anything less is not enough, no matter what accolades other people might want to give you. And if you stick to your own vision and work, you can never lose, no matter what any critic says.
Christopher Tuthill 