The Review Revolution: Improving Culture through Kvetching

Yo, Glenn Beck! Stop Hijacking the Mormon Faith

This morning, I read with delight Phil Barlow's comments in the New York Times, about how Glenn Beck's remarks against social justice do not represent the heart of Mormonism. I was (as ever) inspired by Phil's example; he is one of Mormonism's most thoughtful, kind, and intelligent ambassadors, and I am so proud to call him my friend. Phil managed to put into gentle words my frustration with Glenn Beck and all the self-centered jingoism he stands for.

My response was to write this brief op ed piece for Beliefnet about the ways that Beck has ignored the teachings of the Book of Mormon, the lessons of our history, and the example of our beloved current prophet, Thomas S. Monson.

I am tired of people assuming that Glenn Beck is representative of Mormonism just because he has a loud voice and a bully pulpit. He does not represent the best of who we are as a people. Mormonism is about how, when you are in the service of your fellow human beings, you are always in the service of your God. (Mosiah 2:17, The Book of Mormon)

Jana

An Open Letter to My Daughter

Yeah, Mom is crying.  Again.  You're right that it's been a week since the election and I really should be over all this emotionalism by now.  This past week you have learned that tears don't always mean sadness or anger or pain.  Sometimes, we cry because we are so full of joy and hope that we can hardly contain it.  That's how I feel about the election.

Remember when you were five and you had that horrible abscess on your knee?  When you had it drained, you looked utterly shocked that there could be such a thing as a male doctor, like you didn't believe men could be real doctors.  It occurred to your dad and me that you had never had a male doctor, never seen a male dentist.  I was astonished, because I don't recall knowing any female doctors growing up.  The entire world has changed in one short generation.

And that's just the thing.  You totally don't get why this election is historic because you take it completely for granted that of course an African-American could do anything he or she wanted to do.  Of course racism is a thing of the past, and we are "over it" already.  That is the world you have grown up in.  At your public school, about two-thirds of your teachers have been black or biracial; your principal is an empowered, kick-butt African-American woman; your fellow students are every color of the rainbow; your textbooks encourage diversity; you study Native Americans and black history and women's history and have a holiday for Martin Luther King.  The entire world has changed in one short generation.

Here is what I remember from being a kid in a small Midwestern town in the 1970s and 80s: in the fifth grade, we had a U.S. history textbook that downplayed slavery by saying that most masters were kind to their slaves, didn't work them all that hard, gave them new clothes every Christmas, and let them have Sunday picnics.  That was "history."  In literature, we didn't study black writers until my junior year of high school, when some wonderful teachers introduced me to Langston Hughes and the Harlem Renaissance. There were no African-Americans in real leadership positions in education, town government, or the professions. In high school choir, the director (otherwise a lovely person) told one of the African-American singers that she stuck out because of the "color of her voice." The schools were technically integrated, but de facto segregated, and the worst thing is I didn't really even think about this as wrong until I was older. 

I took that world for granted growing up.  We all want something better for our children, and what I want you to take for granted is what's already happening: you assume outright that anyone can do anything, that race is not a barrier, that everyone is equal until their individual actions prove them worthy or unworthy.  So, yeah, I'm allowed a few tears of joy.  One thing I was taught in US history was that America is supposed to be a beacon of light to the world, a city on a hill.  Last week that dream came true for me.  I pray it is always true for you.

Love, Mom

The Redbook Manifesto

Now that I'm only working part-time, I find I have more time to read magazines and write letters to the editor.  Sometimes these are of the great-job-thank-you! variety, and some are critical.  Last week I begged an editor of a magazine that is Catastrophically Apostrophically Challenged to please, please, please hire a real copy editor.  The week before that, the mag in question was the schmaltzy Mormon periodical the Ensign, whose content and layout are fine if you have lost both your memory and your teeth.  And this week the target is Redbook,  which is one of the oddest mags around.  It can't decide whether it wants to be Cosmo or Good Housekeeping, and it winds up serving neither audience.  Here's the bulk of my nastygram:

*******************************
This year I have experimented with a trial subscription to several women’s magazines, and had already decided that Redbook was not for me; the focus on B-list celebrity gossip (Denise Richards?  Who cares?) and especially the silly monthly horoscope column are a waste of my time.  But a little featurette in your August issue has tipped the scales for me to take the time to actively cancel my subscription.  It may seem like a small thing to you, but “Talk Your Way Out of a Ticket” in your August issue (p. 24) is truly offensive.  Basically, your magazine is telling its readers, primarily women, to lie, cheat, and manipulate their way out of legitimate traffic tickets.  They are not to admit their driving mistakes, but “feign ignorance” and pretend they did not realize they were breaking the law.

What’s more, you devolve into some seriously retrogressive gender roles here.  The police officer is referred to exclusively as a male, and the author (a police officer himself!) draws upon some Fascinating Womanhood-style tactics for readers to abuse their femininity to get their way.  The article tells women to invent ailing parents and fabricate work crises to “tug at his [emphasis mine] heartstrings.”  What’s next?  Eyelash batting, crocodile tears, and a show of cleavage? 

I want my money back.  Even though my records show that I only paid you a paltry $6.67 back in January, which should be a firesale bargain for a monthly magazine, I’d rather spend it on an honest burger somewhere.  I’d like to have my money back, but if that’s not possible, at the very least you owe an apology to every police officer in America – the men and women who work hard to enforce the traffic laws that keep us all safe.  You might also consider following the example of the New York Times, Money and other publications by hiring an ethics columnist.

Sincerely,

Jana Riess

Die, Pesky Itch Mites!

Last week in eastern Cincinnati it was reported that we are having an outbreak of attacks by itch mites, which fall from oak trees and make bites that manage to make people absolutely miserable despite the fact that these critters are microscopically small.  Behold the itch mite at left, many times its actual size.  Could this bad boy be any uglier?  Plus it looks totally ticked off.  What's it got to be so mad about?  It's like the Napoleon of bugs.  It should be toasting its conquests with champagne, and it looks like a toddler having a tantrum.

I am among the itchy vanquished.  I went to the doctor early last week to get treated for some bites on my arm that had gotten nastily infected -- hot, itchy, rash; fever; and now some bruising at the sites.  I am feeling royally sorry for myself.  Apparently what I have is a mild cousin to scabies.  In fifth grade, we learned about scabies, and it did not sound pleasant.  And I just read lots of comments at this site of people who have had itch mites and the rashes lasted for months. 

I am all for biodiversity, but what was God thinking when these things were created, anyway?   

Hilla-guilt

Today (as all of you may know unless you have been dwelling in an Antarctican cave) is primary day in Ohio, Texas, Rhode Island and Vermont.  After Super Tuesday, when this contest was supposed to be all sewn up one way or the other, journalists don't even have a name for this day.  This morning CNN called it "Crucial Tuesday."  It's Do or Die Tuesday, Now or Never Tuesday, End of the Road Tuesday. Whatever it is, it's important.

Most Ohio voters never dreamed our primary would be meaningful at this late date.  So it's been surprising to come home these past two weeks after being out for just two or three hours and find several messages on my voice mail, all stumping for my vote.  Vote for Hillary's experience!  Vote for Barack's promise of change!  Vote for the Cincinnati public schools and the zoo levy!  I'm surprised the zoo didn't go door to door with dangerous wildlife, so desperate are those folks for this levy to pass.

What these callers don't realize is that I, like record numbers of primary voters, already cast my vote last month.  I knew I would be out of town today and got an absentee ballot.  Which brings me to the Day of Judgment: Yes on the zoo.   (Who can say no to hungry baby pandas?)  Yes--of course!--on the Cincinnati Public Schools.  And yes to that fledgling upstart, Barack Obama.

I would love to tell you that I voted for Obama because his political positions most approximate my own, that his plan to lift the embargo on Cuba is necessary and timely, blah blah blah.  I would love to tell you that after a careful study of the minute differences between his and Clinton's plans for near-universal health care, I sided with his position.  I wish I could tell you that it was because he voted against the Kyle-Lieberman amendment, while Clinton supported it.  But what it boiled down to was charisma, plain and simple.  I like the man.  I'm not heading toward "Obamamania" (and BTW, did you see the hilarious SNL debate sketch a couple of weeks ago?  Too, too funny), but I confess I feel hopeful and optimistic about an Obama presidency.  And at the end of the day, though we are loathe to admit it, most of us vote this way, and justify those gut-reaction ballots later with a political veneer.

The last time I felt this way about a political candidate was 20 years ago, when I was a brand-new voter.  At 18, I signed up to work on the presidential campaign of another Illinois senator, Paul Simon, may his beautiful soul rest in peace.  I adored Paul Simon.  I loved his politics, I loved his counter-cultural bow ties, I loved his passion for the poor.  I loved the fact that he had written books on history, politics, marriage, religion, you name it.  The guy was a true intellectual and a gentleman.  (Which, of course, is why he never had a chance.  Not long after I got the thrill of shaking Sen. Simon's hand at a Boston rally, he dropped out of the race.)

It's wonderful to feel a little hope again.  But this time, my joy is tempered with a strong dose of Hilla-guilt.  I feel terribly sorry for Hillary Clinton, who has worked so hard and done so much for America.  She has survived vilification and betrayal and come out on top, only to see her well-deserved nomination stolen by this rock star who came out of nowhere.  And she'll never have the consolation of being able to say, "It was just about politics."  It's not about politics; it boils down to personality, this year more than ever since her political positions are virtually indistinguishable from her rival's.  The bottom line is that despite being a Wellesley sister and a Democrat, and despite having great respect for her amazing achievements, I preferred someone else.  And I feel incredibly guilty about that.

But Hillary should cheer up.  She's got my husband's vote, so we will happily cancel each other out today.

Are We There Yet? Political Ads Stoop to All-Time Lows

Now that it's election day, I have only two things to say:

1)  Go vote.  Please, don't forget to go vote.
2)  God bless you, TiVo.

I'm not sure if this is the worst-ever year for political ads on television, or merely that we just moved to Ohio this summer and politicians play dirtier here.  But I have never been more appalled by the ads I've seen, or more relieved to have DVR/TiVo.  With technology, I've been able to blip right past most of them.  A fantastic innovation.

We have a very contentious congressional race here in Ohio's first district, between the Republican incumbent, Steve Chabot, and the Democratic challenger, John Cranley.  My first exposure to this race came when I saw an ad on TV for Cranley.  Or rather, I assume it was for Cranley.  I suppose it could have been by any poor sod who absolutely hates Steve Chabot.  The picture showed President Bush and the audio was a "Phone call" Bush made to Chabot, whom he chummily calls "Chabby" and thanks for his continued support, particularly regarding the "pesky" situation in Iraq.  The problem is that there was never any such phone call; the whole thing is engineered to capitalize on the plummeting public support for Bush and the war.  At first, I thought that the ad had taken snippets of Bush's speeches and twisted them together to make it sound like he made the call, but my husband says it was just an actor who sounds remarkably like the President.  In either case, the ad manipulates the viewer into thinking that "Chabby" is completely in Bush's pocket.  You want to do that by citing the guy's voting record, which was in line with Bush more than 90% of the time?  Fine.  But don't create an imaginary phone call out of whole cloth.  It's insulting, it's ridiculous, and it makes me  ashamed to be a Democrat.  And that's saying something: the party has been stooping so low in these last few years, and standing for so little, that my standards are already at an all-time low.

Chabot fired back with an ad so ludicrous that it was actually lampooned last week on the Daily Show, which was broadcast from Ohio in its Midterm Midwest Midtacular campaign.  Jon Stewart said the ad was an example of a more "direct visceral approach" that didn't bother with "the painstaking process of having ideas."  Basically, the ad goes for the jugular by claiming that while serving in the Cincinnati city council, John Cranley couldn't wait to use Tasers on little kids.  "John Cranley's judgment ranges from bad to bizarre," the ad goes. "Cranley voted to allow children as young as 7 to be Tased. Seven-year-olds! Tased! With 50,000 volts!"  Stewart offered hilarious satire on this scare tactic, saying that his own child is five years old and already misbehaving.  Stewart needs a Taser now to keep the kid in check. "I can't wait two years!" he exclaimed.

The San Francisco Chronicle ran a piece on Chabot's attack of Cranley, noting that "Of course, the ad never mentions that Cincinnati police regulations approved Tasers as a nonlethal way to subdue suspects ages 7 to 70. Cranley's alleged offense was joining a 5-4 City Council decision not to raise the age to 10 because council members feared batons or pepper spray would be used instead."

So the guy votes to approve police-recommended force and it turns into fodder for a scare campaign:  Cranley's going to be taking Taser guns to Ohio's playgrounds and stunning second-graders on sight!!  Aaaaaugh.  Good for the Daily Show for outing this, as only the inimitable Jon Stewart could do.  Shame on Chabot and all others who created this shrill and inane ad. 

But the worst of it is this: shame on them all.  No one is righteous, not one.  Every time I see one of these ads, for the right or the left, I worry for the future of our country.  What does all this BS say about us?

So please go vote.  Put us all out of our misery, at least for two more years.

A Frightening Health Scare

In the interest of public health I feel compelled to use the virtual pages of this blog to alert you to a very frightening pandemic that is sweeping our nation.  The same people who polluted our rivers with that dangerous chemical, dihydrogen oxide, have infiltrated our nation's food supply with a pernicious and addictive substance they call "bread."  Please save your family now by becoming informed:

http://www.snopes.com/food/warnings/bread.asp

Glad to do my part for the cause.
Jana

Beware the Ides of March!

There was a hilarious story on Morning Edition today, reminding us that it is indeed the Ides of March.  They interviewed an MIT chemistry prof who claims that Caesar's last exhalation is still out there -- every one of us on the planet has a molecule from his final breath.  (What was funny about it is that the prof said something like, "It's simple, really.  You just take that and multiply it to the 23rd power . . ."  He reminded me of a lot of the folks I knew at MIT.  Simple for them, maybe.)

So apparently the air we breathe has been around the block a bit.  As Qoheleth put it, there is nothing new under the sun.  What intrigues me about this idea is that it is profoundly Buddhist -- and Mormon, come to think of it, with matter already existing and just being organized in unique and different ways.  But I am fascinated to think I am breathing the same air as Caesar and Shakespeare and everyone who came before.

Maybe they gave me this cold that has knocked me down this week.  Um, thanks, Jules.