Truth is Nearly Always One-sided.

This is the graphic to which I alluded in my previous blog post. The comment to which I responded said, "Isn't this about a one sided as it gets. "Liberals Taking Our Country Back" by Cynthia Yanez. They don't bang the drum they use C4."

You make an interesting point, David, a point that the far right is generally unwilling to admit: Truth is nearly always one-sided. The graphic makes three statements of fact reflecting well-known Republican positions, but you deem it "a (sic) one sided (sic) as it gets."

Unfortunately, you fail to make any actual assertion about error in the claims; you only suggest that these political claims are not impartial or that they are hyperbolic in the extreme.

1. "Republicans voted against equal pay for women although it passed anyway. " This is clearly in reference to the Ledbetter Act, which was defeated in 2008 by the Republican minority, but passed with a vote along party lines in 2009. It can't have been about the Paycheck Fairness Act of 2014 because that was blocked by every member of the Republican minority in the Senate participating in the procedural filibuster to prevent it from being brought to a vote.

2. "Republicans are against a woman's right to choose." Is there any doubt about this one? The Republican Party Platform of 2012 states, “We support a human life amendment to the Constitution and endorse legislation to make clear that the Fourteenth Amendment’s protections apply to unborn children.” Paul Ryan, the Republican vice-presidential candidate in 2012, was quite explicit about his opposition to abortion, even in the case of rape or incest.

3. They want to force women to have kids when raped (see Republican Platform and Ryan note above) and give the rapist visitation and custody rights. These "rapist's rights" already exist in 31 states. In Ohio, a law has been introduced to overturn the parental rights of the rapist prompted by the kidnapper who kept two women captive for ten years and who fathered a child by raping one of them; he has demanded to see his "daughter." The legislation has been blocked in committee by the Republican committee chairman.

Apparently, you were looking for something more balanced, something like this:

1. "Republicans voted against equal pay." True, but those sluts don't deserve equal pay to a man: after all, the man is the breadwinner; the woman is subservient to the wishes of the man. It says so, right there in the bible, about a thousand times. Here's one fine example: 

1 Timothy Chapter 2
11 Let the woman learn in silence with all subjection.
12 But I suffer not a woman to teach, nor to usurp authority over the 
man, but to be in silence.
13 For Adam was first formed, then Eve.
14 And Adam was not deceived, but the woman being deceived was 
in the transgression.
15 Notwithstanding she shall be saved in childbearing, if they 
continue in faith and charity and holiness with sobriety.

2. "Republicans are against a woman's right to choose." Damn right, they are against all those baby-murdering Democrats and those whores and doctors of whores who want to kill their zygotes and fetuses; those women and health care providers are criminals and murderers who deserve to be imprisoned or even killed, by terrorist vigilantes if necessary, to carry out the Lord's work [See Timothy 1:2:15 above].

3. "They want to force women to have kids when raped and give the rapist visitation and custody rights." Well, DUH! See number one and two above. Hell, "If it’s a legitimate rape, the female body has ways to try to shut that whole thing down" (Rep. Claude Akin, Republican ), and "The incidence of rape resulting in pregnancy are very low" (Rep. Trent Franks, Republican) [Actually, about 32,100 pregnancies result from rape each year]. "The facts show that people who are raped — who are truly raped — the juices don't flow, the body functions don't work and they don't get pregnant....To get pregnant, it takes a little cooperation. And there ain’t much cooperation in a rape” (Rep. Henry Aldridge, Republican)

According to the San Francisco Gate, "Aldridge had the floor during the committee meeting as he was trying to apologize for earlier remarks implying that victims of rape or incest are sexually promiscuous" (as quoted in policy.mic).

As for Rapist's rights, Paul Ryan's Fetus Rights Bill (aka, Sanctity of Human Life Act) H.R. 23, which he has repeatedly submitted to Congress intends: "To provide that human life shall be deemed to begin with fertilization."

Section 2(2) states, “The Congress affirms that the Congress, each State, the District of Columbia, and all United States territories have the authority to protect the lives of all human beings residing in its respective jurisdictions.” Initially, this asserts that this is a states' rights issue; however, taken to its logical conclusion, the rapist has a right to prevent his rape victim from terminating her pregnancy, even if she resides in a state where abortions are still legal. Having thus prevented the abortion sought by the woman, he could then claim visitation and custody rights in at least 31 states that currently do not bar such action.

So, there you go, David, both sides get to speak for themselves. And thanks for the invitation to C4. Now let's try to Cclearly.

"The Greatest Threat to Democracy is Hypocrisy! Seek Truth! Speak Truth!" 
Tim McMullen

Satan, Santa and Stephen Crane

I saw this posted on a friend's FB page today. Normally, I would either "like" or ignore a graphic like this, but for some reason (perhaps the fact that I had just spent the previous hour responding to a comment on another post that I felt deserved a complete response) I felt moved to respond to this.

I get the sentiment, and I agree to a great extent, but I am afraid that it oversimplifies. Being an atheist is okay. Being a smug, arrogant, belligerent, self-righteous prig is not okay, whether you are religious or not.

Sadly, most religions shame themselves not merely with their intolerance of other faiths or points of view, but through practices that demean both the individual and "the other," including waging war against "infidels," "heretics," and "non-believers" in the name of God. Let us not exclude predatory priests, evangelical con artists, genital mutilation and female subjugation, to name but a few "religious" practices that deserve to be shamed, including defiance of science.

Furthermore, I know that it's meant to add levity, but reindeers don't have red, shiny noses, and perpetuating falsehoods and fantasies as anything other than literary fictions, no matter how telling and meaningful they are for the human condition can have dire consequences.

Insisting that the physical laws of nature can be ignored or circumvented has dangerous, real world consequences. Seizing a Holy Book—from whatever religion and regardless of how many times it has been translated and retranslated, collected and collated, reconfigured and re-collated, and no matter what wildly improbable or physically impossible events are claimed to have occurred (remember Leda and the Swan?)—and claiming that said Holy Book must be taken absolutely literally while failing to acknowledge any possible ambiguity or obvious contradictions can have devastating effects on an individual, a society, and our world.

I do not disdain religion nor those who see themselves as either religious or spiritual, and I admire many of the important tenets from many of the world's religions, but I decry those practices and practitioners who advocate the suppression or subjugation of people based on origin, nationality, race, gender, sexual orientation, or social status.

Stephen Crane wrote:

"And the sins of the fathers shall be visited upon the heads of the children, even unto the third and fourth generation of them that hate me."

Well, then I hate thee, unrighteous picture;
Wicked image, I hate thee;
So, strike with thy vengeance
The heads of those little men
Who come blindly.
It will be a brave thing.

I concur with Crane's analysis. Most read this as a blasphemous attack on God, but it clearly is not. He is not offering a hatred of God; he is stating a hatred for that particularly "unrighteous picture" of God.

As if to explicate this idea, he later wrote:

I stood upon a highway,
And, behold, there came
Many strange peddlers.
To me each one made gestures,
Holding forth little images, saying,
"This is my pattern of God.
Now this is the God I prefer."
But I said, "Hence!
Leave me with mine own,
And take you yours away;
I can't buy of your patterns of God,
The little gods you may rightly prefer."

I believe the "peddlers" are the problem. "To each his own" seems to me to be a very virtuous statement when it comes to religious or spiritual beliefs.

PS: I liked the colors in the clouds, too.

A Deep Personal Loss

We are very sorry to inform you of the passing of our very dear friend, Laura Dearden Davidson, of a heart condition, only a couple of months before her 65th birthday. 

Laura is Carolyn's oldest and dearest friend. Carolyn has known her since they were in grade school together, and I have known Laura since 1969. She was a kind and loving soul who shared her enthusiasm, her wisdom and her joy with countless thousands as a teacher, a principal, and District Administrator, and as a loving wife, mother, sister, and, for us, a remarkable friend.

With their high school friend, Debe Sherman, Carolyn and Laura had enjoyed a number of special, girlfriend getaways to the Wine Country, Pasadena, Catalina, and Ashland, as well as annual Christmas visits and summer visits.

There is a hole in the hearts of so many tonight, as her friends and family seek to assuage the loss of our dear friend with the untold joyful memories. Our deepest condolences to Laura's husband, Marv Davidson; their sons, Aaron and Ryan; Laura's brother, Jeff, and her sister, Nona; and her myriad friends.

Laura Dearden Davidson at Huntington Library and Gardens in San Marino, CA, May, 2012.

Carolyn Swanson and Laura Dearden Davidson at 

The Abbey of New Clairvaux winery in Chico, CA, Summer of 2011. 

Debra Sherman Thorne, Carolyn Swanson, and Laura Dearden Davidson at Laura's wonderful retirement celebration attended by over 100 of her friends and colleagues in 2008.

Carolyn Swanson, Debra Sherman Thorne, and Laura Dearden Davidson at the wedding of Debe's son, Miles, June 7, 2014. This was the last time that we saw Laura, but we are eternally grateful to have been able to spend the whole afternoon and evening in the wonderful company of Laura and her husband, Marv Davidson.

"Technical Difficulties"—A Short Story

TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES

I'm scribbling this hastily in the linen closet; it's dark in here, with only the light which creeps in under the door, and I know that if they find me, it's all over. But, I may be the only one who knows, and there's nobody in here that I can talk to—nobody I can trust. They're not about to get me that way. So, my only hope—our only hope—is to get this to someone on the outside. Someone who can do something.

My name is ---------no, that doesn't matter—why make it easy for them? For the last six years I've worked security for a local corporation. But don't get me wrong, I'm not one of those law and order types. My job was to sit in front of a battery of monitors and check the corridors and the labs for unauthorized personnel. Only once in my six years did anything untoward occur, and that turned out to be a maintenance man who got off on the wrong floor.

The truth is, I took the job because I love the tube. I guess you could say I'm a video nut. As a kid I spent all my summers glued to the TV while the other kids were out playing. I watched everything: cartoons, game shows, soaps, talk shows, sit-com reruns. But most of all, I loved the old movies, and I watched them whenever they were on. It's a tragedy that they don't show those old black and whites anymore. Too old, I guess; too “phony” for today's kids.

Anyway, that's why I got the job, because it seemed the perfect way to get paid for doing what I like to do best. On the night shift, after all the offices and labs have been closed and everyone's gone home, we hook the front hall monitor up to a TV tuner. The higher-ups know about it, and nobody cares. Anyway, about a year ago, I began to notice something peculiar.

Have you ever been sitting in a theatre watching a movie when words come out, but the person who is supposed to be speaking didn't open their lips? That's called “voicing over.” They didn't used to do it much, but they do it on everything nowadays.

It's very subtle. Most of the time you never even notice, but once in a while a careless cut might throw out the sync and the voice won't fit the lips. Sometimes the levels are wrong, creating a disparity between the different voices. Other times the actors on the screen aren't talking at all, but they're far away, and they figured you wouldn't notice a few extra words.

But, I did! Then, it got worse. Even programs that were supposed to be live began to look dubbed. They're very good. It takes a practiced eye to catch them. Usually, they're only a fraction of a millisecond off. But they're off! Even the news reporters aren't really live anymore.

It all fell into place about three months ago, though, when I was home watching the President on TV.

“We all know that the best defense is a good offense,” he said, “And so I am instituting a new program that will show the world, both our enemies and our allies, that we will not stand still and watch our world be imperiled by evil, Godless monsters.” He frowned, to show that he meant business, then he smiled and continued. “Therefore, in order to fight these VICIOUS, GOD-FORSAKEN HOOLIGANS, the following steps will be taken....”

Well, you know all about the steps. The whole world does. But, you see, I was watching the President. They tried to pull back from him and show the the flag and the Oval Office, but I saw it! The President was over-dubbed! The words that we were hearing were not the words that he was speaking.

I couldn't even begin to fathom the implications of that truth. I still don't have it all worked out, but at the time, I about flipped. I burst out of my place and took the stairs to Leo and Melanie's apartment three at a time. Melanie came to the door; Leo was still sitting in front of the set.

“Well,?” I said, “Did you see it?”

“Sure,” he said, “but it wasn't all that exciting to come running up here about! Besides, I've seen it before a million times. It is a kick, though, when Lucy starts stuffin' those candies down her blouse.” Melanie started giggling and Leo laughed hard.

“NO!” I shouted, “I mean the President's speech. Didn't you see the President just now? His 'Cleansing the World' speech?”

“Oh, no,” said Melanie. “We always catch him on the Eleven O'clock News.”

“But they don't show the whole speech on the news!” I said.

“No, but they show you the important parts, and they tell you what he said,” Leo answered and then frowned. “What the hell is all this about, anyway?”

“That wasn't the President speaking!” I said, raising my voice. Suddenly, I thought of all the speeches that I'd seen on the news: The anchor smiling sincerely and summarizing what some person said, while a picture of the speaker is superimposed on the background. Maybe they let you hear a few words by the speaker—rarely more than a sentence—before switching to a new story. You don't really get ANY of the speech!

“What the Hell are you talking about?” Leo said.

Old Leo can get pretty testy, but I was surprised at such an antagonistic tone.

“Yes, Scott, Darling,” Melanie chimed in cheerfully. “Whatever are you talking about?”

But this time I was watching. She was over by the wet bar fixing a vodka water. She had her back partially turned from me; nevertheless, when she spoke, her voice level sounded slightly off, and I could've sworn that the voice started before her lips began to move. Oh, they're very good, as I've said, but I saw.

“Oh...I...uh...was just joking,” I stammered. “I mean, it was a great speech ... Better than usual, I mean.”

“They're always great,” Melanie said, but she was looking at me queerly, almost suspiciously. Leo wore the same puzzled but accusing look.

“Hey, you okay, Buddy?” he asked. His eyes showed concern, but his lips were off. Nearly imperceptible, I'll grant you, but off!

Needless to say, I got out of there post haste. I've tried not to raise their suspicions, but now I realize they must be everywhere. The desk sergeant, the doctor, most of the nurses: they're all a part of it. The terrible thing is, I don't know how they can tell us from them. Some of them are so good that you'd never notice if you weren't really watching, and, of course, watching is a dead giveaway.

So I don't watch their lips, except on the sly. And I don't talk to anybody. I figure that's the most likely way for them to recognize us, and like I said, they're not going get me if I can help it.

I'm going to try to hide this letter in the outgoing laundry and hope that it gets to someone on the outside. I can't give my name or where the asylum is because they could find me. If you're not one of them, though, you've got to warn people. And remember, WATCH THEIR LIPS!

From the short story collection, So, It's All Done With Mirrors; That's No Reflection on You

©1985 Tim McMullen

All rights reserved

Only MY Gazillionaire, NOT!

• In reference to a comment that I made about the unintentionally humorous and ironic rationale of Justice Kennedy in the recent 5-4 decision on affirmative action and the opportunity to use that rationale to easily overturn both "Citizen's United" and "McCutcheon" (and all other Supreme Court decisions), an acquaintance from high school with whom I had not conversed in well over forty years (he is not my FB friend, but the "friend" of the FB friend to whom I was commenting), said the following:

  
  

  "Oh Puleez. Stop pretending this is principled. The only gazillionaires you want to have free speech are those who agree with you."

  
  

  To which, I responded:
• 

  Tim McMullen Hi, xxxxx. I find it rather amusing that you can infer my desire to stifle one side of "civil discourse" from the comments above. You do not appear to be speaking to anything that I actually said in my analysis of the recent Supreme Court decision, and I am not certain as to which "this" you are suggesting is unprincipled. Nonetheless, I would be happy to attempt to respond to your comment and, hopefully, disabuse you of your erroneous assumptions.
  
  The original post was about finding a way to overturn "Citizen's United"; you might have rightly concluded from my comment above that I find the underlying rationale of that decision to be either disingenuous, fatuous, or brazenly hypocritical. I am unwilling to claim to know their actual motivation; I can only attempt to consider possibilities. 
  
  The decision, like so many of this court—including its followup in "McCutcheon," appears to be predicated on "free market principles" (if that phrase is not an oxymoron). I would suggest that thousands of years of history have proven that even if Adam Smith's conjectures about a "freer market," the simple rationale of which boils down to the magic of supply and demand, are true in principle, they are not and cannot be true in fact. More importantly, since Milton Friedman and Arthur Laffer's contributions in the early 70's, like the misappropriated fragments of Ayn Rand's hypocritical idolatry of selfishness, the "free market" rationale is merely code for a social Darwinism intended to bilk millions out of the "suckers," i.e., consumers and citizens, in the name of "free" enterprise.
  
  I am guessing, from your brief and seemingly unrelated dismissal of my argument about the irony and illogic inherent in Kennedy's affirmative action decision, that you are not really interested in a discussion of the merits of the case. Perhaps I am wrong, and I welcome the dialogue. 
  
  The Supreme Court has decided that the free speech provision in the Bill of Rights protects the free and unfettered use of money in the political system. I would argue that this interpretation (like Scalia's flagrant, hypocritical and self-serving error in Bush v. Gore) misunderstands the equal protection under the law premise as well as free speech in our political system. Thomas Pinketty's new book (which I have not read; I have only seen summaries, but the conclusions, though based on extensive research and analysis, should be obvious to pretty much anyone who has lived through the last forty years) shows how the moves to deregulate industry have created significantly disproportionate gains in wealth for the few and actual loss for the many. The point is that a true free market is an unachievable fantasy because it will always be manipulated and misappropriated by fraud, misdirection, and political tampering. Always. Therefore, predicating our democracy on the rights of the wealthy to unlimited access to the tools of persuasion and governmental manipulation cannot be based on justice, fairness or equality. 
  
  Here is an example of a legitimate attempt to make access to political funding more equitable and egalitarian. I offer this only as a simple example. Limit political contributions to $100 dollars per voting age citizen. It can all be given to one candidate or one cause, or it can be distributed to as many as twenty different causes or candidates. Some people will choose not to participate at all merely out of disinterest, and poverty will still be somewhat restrictive on participation, but that amount, if the individual is interested, would be achievable for nearly all. Yes, this will drastically limit the profit of media conglomerates, but why should the political process in a democracy be a profit making enterprise? We have also completely lost track of the premise of "public airwaves" through radical deregulation, again sacrificing the public good on the altar of a profiteering free market. Carve out a brief time, prime time, for a certain amount of weeks or months prior to an election during which candidates and causes can put forth, for example, two minute radio and TV ads at a prescribed time. People can tune in or tune out as they are so disposed. A person running for office has the right to commit the same $100 dollars as anyone else, but no more. They may use it on themselves or on any campaign of their choice. 
  
  Granted, these ideas are simplistic, arbitrary, and radical, but they come much closer to the democratic goal of "one person, one vote" than either the system as it had evolved either before or after the "Citizens" and "McCutcheon" decisions. As you may have noticed, such a plan does not favor one side's gazillionare over another, and it is, in fact, predicated on an attempt to be principled in achieving a desirable goal. And if my guy wins, more's the better (that's a slight nod to humor), but such a scheme would not favor wealth or poverty, the right or the left or the center. It might actually engender a more active and interested populace, and it might actually promote MORE "FREE" and more creative, thoughtful, and engaged speech in the process. "Puleez."
  
  "The Greatest Threat to Democracy is Hypocrisy! Seek Truth! Speak Truth!" Tim McMullen

The Attack - A Short Story

I was inspired to post this today by a great little video of a kid playing imaginary games and the video maker (I am assuming that it was his father) using video magic to enhance the results of his game. 

The story came, in part, from a line in my song, "Michael," and from a wonderful story I stumbled upon years later by Roald Dahl, called "The Wish." Another story with a similar premise (it was once the second part of this story) is entitled "Crack-up." Both are from my collection of short stories, So It's All Done With Mirrors, That's No Reflection on You!

THE ATTACK

A Short Story by Tim McMullen

“YAH-YAH-YAH-YAH-YAH!” The shrill whoop pierced the afternoon haze; like deer put to flight, six Indians shot from the scrub brush and circled the fortress, their banshee cries echoing across the dying summer grass. 

Within the beleaguered outpost an uneasy silence reigned. The courageous, but weary, faces looked anxiously around, trying to conceive of some idea, some plan, that might halt the onrushing doom. 

“Well, Joe, we may be done for,” whispered the captain, “but we're gonna' take a few of them with us.” He motioned for them to step closer. “Look, here's the plan.” 

“You, too, Runt! Listen up!” Joe spat the words out cruelly at their diminutive companion. Then all three knelt down and huddled together; one whispered orders; the others nodded assent. 

After a sinister quiet of several minutes, it came. 

“YI—YI—YI—YI—YIEEEEE!” 

Over the ankle deep grass they ran, raising their dreadful yowling to the waning day as they descended upon the enemy fort. 

“YAH-YAH-YAH!” came the harrowing howl, “YI-YI-YI-YI-YI-EEE!" 

The captain motioned silence to his companions, bade them wait for the right moment, and then prepared himself. He crouched down and made as if to check his ammunition. Reassured, he held himself ready and waited. The little fellow saw Joe grimace disdainfully in his direction; it was Joe's way of visually reaffirming his often-repeated conviction that the Runt was a worthless liability. 

When the Indians were within ten feet of the outer wall, the Captain gave his men the sign. All three sprang as one. Lifting his part of the roof aside, "the Runt" raised his hand and bellowed. 

"P—KEW! P—KEW! P—KEW!" the sound rang out. 

A wave of pride and relief swept through the young soldier as a surprised Indian clasped his hands to his chest and begrudgingly fell dead before him. As he ducked beneath the safety of his covering, he realized that he had seen two more Indians fall, one each for Joe and the Captain. The sun, he knew, was on their side now; the Indians would probably not try another attack before sundown. 

Suddenly, with God-like intervention, it was over. 

"JOHN—NY! RA—ALPH!" rang the cry. 

"AW...!" cursed one of the dead Indians. "Okay!" he shouted as he rose and headed toward the porch of the yard four doors down. Ralph, or "Joe," as he was known to his cavalry buddies, emerged from the lawn chair and tree branch fort and shot a frustrated frown in the direction that his younger brother had taken. 

The Indian braves and the clever cavalrymen began to drag reluctantly off to their respective homes. Quickly then, the plains and hills of the Indian badlands succumbed to the curbs, lawns and driveways of a suburban afternoon. 

Steven, "the Runt," began to fold up his father's lemon-colored lawn chairs. His flaxen hair floated about his four-year-old face in wispy curls. Heaving a work-laden sigh, he pushed his hair back with an exaggerated sweep of his arm like a longshoreman wiping a sweaty brow. The delicate pallor of his broad forehead made his skin seem almost transparent while the acute angle of his chin completed his elfin triangle a face. 

He jerked hard on a branch that was tangled in one of the folding chairs; the knobby bark jabbed sharply into his palm, and he let go with a yelp. The force of his tug and his unexpected release sent him sprawling backward toward the curb. A yip like an injured and terrified puppy escaped his lips, and he plopped ignominiously in the grass. 

He had often watched proudly as his brother Anthony, "The Captain," led the other kids in Cowboys 'n' Indians or Follow-the-leader. Because he was the youngest, and small for his age, little Stevie would bring up the rear. He chased and trailed after them as they trampled through an obstacle course of fences, bushes, planters, sprinklers, and other outdoor paraphernalia. But invariably, when the pack came to dance at the curb's edge, Steven suddenly ceased the chase. 

It was only when he got close to the curb, and even then, it was only occasionally, that he felt the change. Inexplicably and without warning, the asphalt and concrete of the little cul-de-sac would surge and stretch and swirl until the cliff and the sea appeared. The houses were gone, the cars were gone, and the laughter and the shrieks of the others were submerged and drowned by the growling roar of the crashing waves against the cliff face. 

Whenever the change happened, he would hurl himself back and cling to the ground. If any of the children noticed his reaction, especially Ralph, who perpetually tormented him when Anthony wasn't around, they would sing out, "Scaredy Cat! Scaredy cat! Runty is a Scaredy Cat!" This chant broke the spell of the ocean, and he listened shamefacedly to their jeers and laughter. 

Now, as he lay sprawled on his back, he heard someone shout, "The cliff! Watch out for the cliff! Don't fall in the ocean!" 

He tensed, but he breathed a sigh of relief when he realized that they were teasing. There was nothing but curb and gutter and cars and houses as he looked toward the street. 

"AW, he's a 'fraidy cat! He won't come to the cliff and look down…he's afraid!" taunted Ralph, still angry at being called in. 

"No, he's not!" Steven heard Anthony say. "He's my brother, and he's not afraid. He'll do it. I'll betcha'!" 

"Yeah, how much?" said Ralph. 

"Five puries and a cat's eye, okay?" 

"Okay!" 

"C'mon, Stevie!" said Anthony coaxingly. "Tightrope walk the curb." 

Steven looked at his older brother who stood in the driveway motioning for him to cross. He had never discussed the cliff with anyone, not even Anthony. 

"C'mo-o-on, Ste-e-v-e-e," goaded Ralph, wiggling his finger in an exaggerated "come-on" sign. 

Stevie looked around. All the other kids had gone in except for Ralph and Anthony. He looked back at his brother and then down at the curb. Reassured, he said, “Sure!” He wasn't about to lose Anthony's marbles if he could help it. 

He came to the curb slowly. Hesitantly, he placed his right foot near the curb and looked down. He saw some foil from a gum wrapper and some dry grass clippings in the gutter. There was a trickle of water left over from their running through the sprinklers earlier in the day. With his eyes forward, he confidently walked the distance of the curb from driveway to driveway. 

Having completed his ordeal, he beamed proudly, not only because he had shown Ralph that he wasn't chicken, but also because he had added six great marbles to his brother's collection. 

"Good boy!" said Anthony patting him on the head. "Told you, Ralph!"

Anthony laughed, put the marbles in his pocket, and ran toward the house. Ralph shrugged his shoulders and turned to follow. Reaching back, he gave Stevie, the cause of his defeat, a little shove. 

The shove, coming so unexpectedly, startled Stevie and sent him hurling toward the curb. In that instant, the old fear raged through him. He tried to stop his momentum by throwing his arms out and grabbing at the air. Below him, the churning ocean crashed, and the sea spray spattered his face and arms. 

Hovering on the edge of the cliff, he tried to scream but could only gasp. His fingers clawed madly. Ever so slowly, ever so desperately, he felt himself going over. With one final effort, he twisted his body and grabbed for Ralph, who stood laughing at his childish terror. His frantic grab at Ralph's sleeve allowed Steven to right himself, but the tug upset Ralph's balance. In an alarmingly comical aerial ballet, Ralph somersaulted forward, flailing and shrieking in rage and despair. 

When questioned later, little Steven, staring intently at the gum wrapper and the grass clippings in the gutter, admitted truthfully that he really had no idea where Ralph was. Then he shrugged his shoulders and smiled. 

©1985 Tim McMullen

All Rights Reserved

That's What Makes You Strong—The Passing of Jesse Winchester

We have lost one of our very finest. Jesse Winchester has left the building. 

Such exuberant joy, such tender innocence, such melancholy longing, such wit and whimsy, such deep philosophical and spiritual wisdom all served up in a two to three minute song with the most delightful and moving melodies and powerful performances.

Whenever we go on a road trip, we make sure to have at least one or two Jesse Winchester cd's in the mix. I once collected his first seven albums into five CD's rearranging his songs into a two-CD collection—"The World According to Jesse"—which contained 46 of his philosophical and spiritual musings; and three single sets: "Mock and Roll" (his humorous songs, his rock songs, and his songs about music), "Pop and Cover" (his own "pop-style" songs and his renditions of other people's songs), and "Love and Loss"
(the contents of which are obvious). I have never done anything quite like this with any other artist. This, I must point out, was before the days of digital playlists and mp3 players.

Jesse Winchester is also my primary example of why a live, solo performance of a truly great songwriter is better than the best recordings. Jesse's albums are pure joy, but his live performances shared an immediacy, intimacy, and intense interpretation that was nearly impossible to capture in the studio.

I love the work of many great songwriters and performers, but if I were doomed to choose only one performer whose catalogue I could listen to, I don't hesitate to say that it would be Jesse Winchester's.

"When I do fall, I will be glad to go," Jesse sang, and I hope that it was true for him. There are many of us who are not glad that he had to go so soon. But as Jesse Winchester sang,
"I wave bye bye
I pray God speed
I wish lovely weather
And all the luck that you need"
Ihttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_yoD-7QpcqI

Reviews of Rotten Tomatoes, Walter Mitty, Inside Llewyn Davis, and American Hustle

I have been using Rotten Tomatoes for years now—it is a very valuable tool— but I have not felt compelled to comment until today after watching "The Secret Life of Walter Mitty.”

I have been noticing a specific phenomenon lately; it is somewhat alarming but still useful. Mediocre films by "top level" directors get absurdly high "critic" ratings, but the audience’s “liked it" ratings run well below those percentages. Whereas some fine movies get mediocre reviews, and some mediocre movies get complete trashings (“47 Ronin”), yet those critical reviews are countered by positive audience responses.

Take, on the other hand, films like “Inside Llewyn Davis” or “American Hustle,” both of which received 93% from the critics. I lived through and loved the folk era—I recognized the Dave Van Ronk album cover and the obvious Tom Paxton references. I also saw the Mark Spoelstra reference (The Five and Twenty Questions album) which no reviewer seems to have noticed, and the Peter, Paul and Mary and Al Grossman references as well. I was a fan of Jim and Jean and the Clancy Brothers as well as Van Ronk and Dylan, and I loved Dave Van Ronk’s wonderful autobiography, “The Mayor of MacDougal Street” upon which this movie was purportedly based. Unfortunately, the movie was tedious and lifeless with a complete disdain for the real musicians and the music scene of the time. The Coen’s have every right to create a story about a crass, selfish, self-important loser, but it is wrong to make so many direct references to real individuals while making no attempt to make that depiction have any basis in reality. The bit with the cat was the only redeeming virtue in this piece with the possible exception of a couple of song performances and John Goodman’s obligatory Coen Brothers’ cameo. This is either a mirthless comedy or a pointless, mean-spirited dramedy, but clearly the filmmakers could not make up their minds. The audience, of course, could make up their minds and only gave it a 75%, which is still rather generous.

“American Hustle”? More mediocrity: unfunny slapstick; aggressive scenery chewing by nearly all cast members (as much as I enjoy both female leads); missing motivation and inexplicable actions; a painfully predictable plot—even if you don’t know the “history”— with no real tension or suspense (unlike, for example, “Argo”); and nothing at all noteworthy about the actual style of the film. Critics: 93%  Audience: 81% (I would argue highly overrated by both).

“The Secret Life of Walter Mitty” is, on the other hand, quite a masterful piece of movie making. The fact that it has much more in common with the Danny Kaye movie of the same name than with the James Thurber short story is forgivable. It would be nearly impossible to film the actual story today. For one, it is extremely short (only a few pages); for another, it is a very harsh and sarcastic, though amusing, attack on a daydreaming nebbish who is a menace to himself and those around him. There is not one whit of romanticizing about foolishly fantasizing Walter and his necessarily domineering wife.

Stiller’s “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty” is a thoroughly engrossing new take on the theme of breaking out of one’s box and taking a chance on life and love; an old story but nicely envisioned and reinvigorated. From the first instant of the very clever opening credits, the viewers understand that they are in an unusual world, a world that is an overlapping of fantasy and reality. The filming of both the “real life” and the fantasy scenes are truly noteworthy. The intertwining conceits of online dating and a mystery surrounding the final cover of the iconic Life Magazine create a compelling premise that takes the viewer on a nice set of turns along the way (and I don’t just mean the skateboard). The action sequences and the wonderful vistas are legitimately breathtaking while comfortably fitting the outlandish story. This movie is gentle in its humor—plenty of chuckles but few guffaws—yet certainly funnier than either of the other movies with which it is compared above. This movie, though, was not going for guffaws, it was going for heart, which it has in abundance. I defy anyone to find any real heart in either of those “top rated movies.”

“Walter Mitty” has only a 49% rating from the critics, but a 79% from the audience, and I predict that this assessment will rise as word of mouth allows the Stiller film to overcome both the completely unjustified critical “write-off” as well as the “I just don’t like Ben Stiller” prejudice. This is extremely well written, well acted, well filmed, and well directed, and it deserves a much wider audience.

Saving Social Security: Both the program and the larger concept of SOCIAL security.

My friend, Ben Rich, wrote the following comment on a post that I shared about Social Security:

This is a very serious problem, not only for our generation, not only for senior citizens (now). Think about our children, now working, looking toward their own retirement. I certainly think that people should save and invest. But, real incomes are in decline making it harder to save and invest. What will our children face after 30 - 40 years of work?

You are right, Ben. We really need to come at this problem from both ends. Workers used to have pensions; after working for forty years for a company, they had expectation of a modest pension and their Social Security. In other words, part of what might have been their "pay" went into company pensions and another part of their pay went into Social Security. CEO's made ten to fifteen times what an ordinary worker made.

Then, in the late 70's-early 80's, everything changed. People who had worked their way through the company from the stock room to the board room became irrelevant because knowledge of the particular business was supplanted by knowledge of "business," and rather than spending forty years with a company, top level executives could move from running a cardboard box manufacturer to a soda company to a pharmaceutical company without any knowledge of that particular business. More importantly, those changes were made more and more often so that the "boss" had no real familiarity with the company or its personnel. Employee loyalty was no longer valued, and the perks that helped to engender that loyalty, like pensions, health benefits, etc. were rapidly eliminated.

As a result, companies immediately had much more profit and fewer responsibilities to the employee. Rather than sharing this largesse with the workers, that increased wealth went to the management and stockholders. Then, under Reagan, corporate mergers, creative bookkeeping, and contract breaking under Chapter 11 bankruptcies, tax havens, drastically lower tax rates for corporations and the wealthy allowed even further erosion of income for the middle class and the working poor.

The so-called "market" has become a rigged game that has nothing to do with Adam Smith's conception of capitalism. Those at the top agree to give themselves an ever larger share of the pie while reducing everyone else's share, and they pay politicians to grease the wheels for this unjustified transfer of wealth.

The cap on Social Security at barely over $100,000 dollars has the average worker pay a significant percentage of their income into the pool while the truly wealthy pay a pittance in comparison. Furthermore, those who make much of their income from investments pay a much lower tax rate than those who do the work of this country. At present, companies are rewarded for outsourcing jobs or downsizing, when "downsizing" merely means those who are left do much more work for the same or less pay.

We need a real movement to regulate financial markets, make boards and CEO's responsible to both stockholders and employees, get unlimited anonymous money out of politics, make corporations and industries responsible for the actual damage that they do to the environment and prevent that damage from continuing, and drastically strengthen the social safety net for children, workers, retirees, the infirm, and the downtrodden. We need to stabilize the banking and financial industries so that fraud and foul play cannot jeopardize a lifetime of savings in one quick downturn. We need to control medical costs so that one illness cannot destroy a lifetime of savings. We need to have a fair wage so that people can even begin to accrue a lifetime of savings.

The irony and the tragedy of our current state of affairs is that we were on a hundred year run toward realizing these progressive ideals when we were train-wrecked thirty years ago by uncontrolled greed. We can set the train back on the tracks, but first, we have to realize that it has actually jumped the tracks. The current powers that be are doing their utmost to convince those of us on the train that despite all these bumps and crashes we are still on the tracks. A vast majority, of course, realize that the profiteers and exploiters are wrong, but we are not yet convinced that it is within our means to right ourselves. It is within our means to set things back on the correct, progressive path, but the longer we wait, the harder it will be.

Honoring OUR Veterans on Veterans' Day

 Mel McMullen, WWII gunner 

                         Jim McMullen, WWII pilot and career USAF officer

Mel and Jim with their father, our grandfather, James McMullen, WWI veteran.

 Jennifer and Mel McMullen, former National Commander of CBI (China, Burma, India) Veterans' Association and member of the Distinguished Flying Cross Society.

Today, and everyday, we honor you, not merely for your military service, but for being who you are and for helping to make us who we are. Thank you!

Happy Halloween—"Through the Darkness"

Through the Darkness (Nosferatu)

Through the darkness eyes came shining

Like a torch to guide her way—

Like a fire through her soul—

And they seemed somehow to say,

“Through the darkness I will lead you—

Only trust and you will know

Just how much I really need you,

And why I can’t let go!”

Through the darkness of the shadows,

Something tapping at the pane;

Though her heart begged her to run,

She knew she would remain.

The hunger in her lover’s eyes:

Like a dream inside a dream—

Like a knife blade through the silence—

Like a scream inside a scream!

In the mirror in the moonlight,

She can see her trembling face.

In the mirror she’s alone in an empty room,

But she feels his warm embrace.

“Through the darkness I will lead you—

Only trust and you will know

Just how much I really need you,

And why I can’t let go!”

As he knelt there at her bedside,

She knew her will was gone,

And she felt just like a stranger looking on.

The hunger in her lover’s eyes:

Like a dream inside a dream—

Like a knife blade through the silence—

Like a scream inside a scream!

In the mirror in the moonlight,

The door is broken down,

But they can’t explain how the lady died...

Or the blood at the neck of her gown.

But through the darkness

Her eyes come shining

Like a torch to guide your way—

Like a fire through your soul—

And they seem  somehow to say,

“Through the darkness I will lead you—

Only trust and you will know

Just how much I really need you

And why I can’t let go—

How much I really need you...

I need.........”

© 1979  Tim McMullen ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Performance from the Steve Gillette Songwriter's Workshop, Saturday Evening Concert, March 25, 2012