You, Sir, are a Nattering Nabob of Negativity

I am not one to crow but this could be the crowning achievement of my short career as a bloggist.
I had the rare good fortune to be able to dress down a very prominent and nationally syndicated conservative columnist.  The Philadelphia Inquirer, a newspaper known for its Pulitzer Prize winning reporting, decided to publish a letter to the editor I wrote in response to a column by the conservative political commentator Charles Krauthammer. A fellow member, I might add, of my own tribe, The Chosen People.  I only mention this in response to my previous blog post in which the target of my scorn implied that members of the same faith automatically have similar values.  We do not.
Here, then, is the article and my response:  Click on each link.

Krauthammer article link

Charlie

My letter to the editor link (scroll down to my letter)

Richie

Here is my letter reprinted in case the link is ever broken.  Reprinted from the Philadelphia Inquirer January 25, 2012:

Krauthammer is a Sore Loser

Charles Krauthammer's beloved Republicans haven't even lost the presidential election yet, but he is already behaving like a sore loser ("Republicans self-destruct," Monday). He readily admits that the president "is a very smart man." However, "if he wins in November, that won't be the reason. It will be luck."
Krauthammer is nothing more than a verbal bully who has to resort to cheap shots more suited to an elementary school yard game of tag. Calling a potential November victory by President Obama mere luck is an insult to our electoral process and is offensive to all Americans who will exercise their right to vote for the person of their choosing. Krauthammer should be ashamed for behaving like a child who hasn't learned good sportsmanship.
Richard Feuer, Woodbury

Us vs Them

This is a direct quote from the Philadelphia Inquirer January 19, 2012:
"Morality will be the deciding issue for me.  It's hard to trust someone who doesn't share your faith and values" (italics are mine).  So says Adam Burger, 31, a computer programmer from Lexington, South Carolina and a member of the First Baptist Church. 

I did not personally interview this person.  He might have been misquoted.  The statement might have been taken out of context.  He might just have been trying to make a point without fully thinking through its implications.  I don't know.  I am more Matt Drudge than Walter Cronkite so source verification is above my pay grade.  Mr. Burger was quoted in an article discussing the importance of the evangelical vote in S.C.  But to me this quote very clearly points out the fundamental flaw in political discourse today; the Us vs. Them mentality.  The use of the operand "and" when lumping faith and values together as opposed to faith or values is very telling for me and a key difference between free thinkers and fundamentalists.

I suspect this is why the writer felt it necessary to mention Mr. Burger's occupation as a computer programmer.  Perhaps it gives him some intellectual gravitas.  His vocation, after all, is of no significance to the point of the article or his opinions.  It only serves to emphasize the disconnect between faith and reason.  A computer programmer, at the very least, must be a logical thinker.  Algorithms, the fundamental building blocks of computer code, are ultimately based on logic.  If p implies q , and x follows y then blah, blah, blah.  So I am forced to conclude he is a logical thinker.  If Mr. Burger was a cashier at McDonald's, not that there's anything wrong with that, would we have felt something different toward his statement?  Perhaps.  But that would be just as judgmental as Mr. Burger's statement itself.

The statement " share your faith and values" can be very narrowly defined or, if we are being generous, we can think of it as being very inclusive.  The "and" modifier just makes this more difficult.  Granted, a society, in order to be successful in the long term, should share a fundamental set of values.  Respect life (a loaded proposition in and of itself), liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.  Whether or not these values are irrevocably connected to a single faith is the question at hand.  Though I assumed this issue was settled by Jefferson and Madison in 1787, but apparently not in South Carolina.  Or Iowa for that matter.

And what exactly does he mean by his faith?  Evangelical Christianity specifically?  Does he immediately distrust Jews and Catholics?  Western religious thought in general?  Does he only immediately distrust Muslims and Hindus?  Islamic terrorists aside, don't all faiths teach a respect for human life and dignity?  I could therefore assume he only mistrusts atheists, but since he was speaking within the context of the Republican primary I must assume he has Mormons (Romney), and Catholics (Gingrich) in mind. 

I never met Mr. Burger, but for some reason I  imagine he is a pretty good guy and I might possibly enjoy having a beer with him (the computer programmer thing.  He can't be totally unreasonable).  I further suspect he certainly does not think of himself as a bigot, but that is exactly what his statement says about him.  He is judging what would amount to be the overwhelming majority of the world's population, whom he has never met, to be untrustworthy just because they don't share his faith.  I guess it could be argued that what he meant was he doesn't trust a non-believing politician to vote for the things he values even if he says he would.  But that is not a matter of faith.  That is a matter of record.  So once again I am left to assume he specifically has Romney in mind since Romney seems to be the guy who has a history of flip flops. Mr. Burger even admits to such near the end of the above referenced article.  But what does flip flopping have to do with Mormonism?  People of faith have changed their views throughout all of history.  Just ask Galileo and Copernicus. Or Brigham Young. Perhaps Mr. Burger had the abrogation of polygamy by the Mormon Church in the nineteenth century in mind when he stated that he doesn't trust people of other faiths not to pull a switcheroo.  I doubt it. I am pretty certain he lacks even the most fundamental idea of the tenets of Mormonism.

I wonder if he has interviewed his dentist about his or her faith.  Does he trust that, no matter what their faith, his health care providers have his best interest in mind?  Of course he does.   I have many patients with whom I don't necessarily share their faith but they trust me very much.  It is because they trust my values.  Very, very different from faith. I have many patients who are deeply devout Christians but they trust me to do what is best for them.  Why?  They don't know a thing about my faith, but for the fact that I was born a Jew.  They trust me because they know I am a smart decision maker and I value their health over my purse.  Maybe my being for or against gay marriage is not so important when doing a painless root canal so the analogy is unfair.  I don't know.

A human being should never be judged solely by his or her faith.  To do so is bigoted and  in direct conflict with the spirit of the First Amendment of our Constitution.  I wish I could meet Adam Burger and tell him how deeply offended I am by his statement.  How deeply offended all of us should be.

No, It Most Certainly is Not All Good

I am beginning to notice an alarming trend in the vernacular.   A phrase once the province of teenage slackers is now being heard among the baby boomer set.  When spoken, it subtly pigeonholes the addressee into student footing while elevating the addressor to mentor status.  I am not usually interested in a lecture on what I am and am not supposed to be burdened by when I accidentally bump my shopping cart into the person in front of me.  Nor does being lectured about what my priorities should be when the contents of my gym locker spill out and my sweaty sneakers hit my neighbor's head.  Since when did the simple apology "excuse me" need to be answered with a short dissertation on how fair-minded the offended party is?  Indeed, just three words uttered in exculpation, "it's all good", is an indictment of an entire life devoted to the idea that "if we only strive for good enough, nothing will ever be good enough".

Of course every generation and culture has its own version of this tedious expression but this incarnation seems particularly vapid to me.  In Australia, if you accidentally happen to shoot your hunting buddy in the leg, you will be forgiven with a hearty "no worries mate".  This is analogous to our expression "don't worry about it" or don't sweat it".  Two expressions that specifically address the incident at hand, not the idea that no matter what, you are doing good.  The same is true of "no problem" or a simple "that's okay".  They excuse the immediate behavior as opposed to all behaviors past, present, and future. 

I used to attribute the retort "its all good" as an annoying verbal expression of the self-esteem generation.  But I can now recall at least five episodes in which a baby boomer, who should know better than to think it's all good, used the phrase to demonstrate that even though I might have accidentally butted in line I should take the long view that, like them, whatever I do is okay.  Perhaps it's just me, but I usually just get annoyed, not philosophical, when someone who obviously arrived at the deli counter after me, claims, "I am" when the clerk asks "who's next?".  And if they do realize their faux pas and apologize, I am inclined to respond with a non-judgmental "that's all right, just don't let it happen again asshole".

Go Ahead, Take It. I Dare You.

Will someone please tell me from whom the  Ricks (Santorum and Perry) want to take back America ?  I notice them intoning this sentiment at all of their campaign rallies-"Let's take America back!"  From whom???  Me?  What did I do? Vote for Obama?  What, I am not allowed to express a few words in support of Occupy Wall Street?  Have I stolen America  if I express my doubts about our economic future being left in the hands of a cadre of Wall Street executives and bankers who have already proven that the only deity they worship is the up arrow on the Dow Jones graph?  Do they think that my liberal World War II veteran Dad, who spent his early adulthood protecting our Atlantic coast from German U-boats, should relinquish the America he believes in and fought for?  An America that belongs to no single interest group and a government that guards against the tyranny of the majority?  A moral majority, btw, that doesn't even exist except in Iowa.


Did Thomas Jefferson want to take America back  from John Adams?  Okay, perhaps he did.  But that was about state's rights versus federal hegemony.  And we all know what that was about.  At least you should know.  Now that I think about it, maybe that is what they do mean.  That the states should take America back from the federal government.  It is possible I take their bombastic rhetoric too personally.  I'm no James Madison but I realize all that stuff about not infringing upon the free trade between the states and c. (that is how the founders expressed "etc") was about the North not infringing upon the slave based economy of the South.  Of course I am distilling 200 years of Federalist debate into one sentence but you get my drift.  John Rutledge wasn't so interested in fending off  federally mandated health care as he was in opposing a federally mandated economic system not based on enslaved three fifths of a human, human beings.

In any event, I don't even agree with this excessive emphasis on states rights.  Taken to it's logical conclusion, as expressed by the likes of Ron Paul and c., we might as well devolve into internecine tribes.  Not unlike Afghanistan.  Or Native America (not that there is anything wrong with that). Or pre-celtic Britain.  I have no idea what that means except I envision fur clad Vikings flinging scary looking maces at petrified villagers and catapulting flame engulfed tar balls at their grass roofed huts.  An analogy not so far removed from Newt Gingrich's campaign rhetoric;  metaphorical flaming tar balls hurled at any idea that did not originate in his own head.

For me the debate was settled when Ben noted that "We must all hang together or most assuredly we will all hang separately".  He was talking about the War for Independence of course, not about state's rights, but like Newt, I enjoy a good rhetorical flourish every now and then.  It took the thoughtfulness of many enlightened men to realize that compromise is the incubator of a civil society.  Let us not blow it now.

The Bully Pulpit

Here is my contribution to the current dialogue about the devasting effects bullying can have on a child (and the resulting adult):

I am utterly convinced that my fourth grade bully is now a Lexus driving, front row, center court seat owning Knicks loving asshole of a lawyer.  I have no proof of this as he has not bullied me in over 41 years but little pricks usually grow into big pricks.  And like a Viagra fueled penis, he is most assuredly a priapismic dickhead whose ego is permanently engorged with the love of his own thoughts.  This might seem rather harsh but my blog is my art and my art is my catharsis.  Besides, it's this or therapy and Google does not yet have a free therapy app, or do they?  Hold on while I check......Okay they do.  Click here for the site.  In any case this summer of discontent occurred back in 1970, yet unlike many of my fellow baby boomers the unease that had settled over me was not attributable to the War in Vietnam.  I was only ten years old at the time and besides, my parents had already promised us that we would love Canada if the war wasn't over by my brother's eighteenth birthday.

The bullying did not take place at my elementary school while I was attending the fourth grade.  Except for a few random purple nurples in the hallway or a goober or two hurled my way in gym class, I escaped elementary and middle school relatively unscathed.  And if any bullying did occur in school it was usually a one time deal.  To be honest, I can't say that I never hurled a verbal assault or two down the ladder myself.  But for some reason I allowed myself to be victimized while at summer camp between my fourth and fifth grade years.  And this was at a summer sports camp for nice Jewish boys.  When I asked my parents why they sent me to a jock camp in the first place they replied "because that's where all your friends went".  True, but I was no jock.  By third grade I had already rejected soccer and little league in favor of Boy Scouts and the Milben Beginner Chemistry set.  And at the age of ten I knew that one should always add acid to water not water to acid but I had no idea what the infield fly rule was. 

The main premise for the entire summer at Camp Alton was, in fact, an eight week long sports competition between two sides: The Gray team represented by even numbered bunks A through L and the Green Team represented by odd numbered bunks A through L.  In other words, right from day one the kids who slept in Cabin K1 were the mortal enemies of the kids who slept in Cabin K2 and B1 teens would never socialize with B2 teens even though we were all little Jewish kids from the suburbs.  Everything we did, and I mean everything, was judged and scored, then tallied up at the end of the summer to see which team won.  If our bunk beds were not made up properly we lost points.  If a candy wrapper was found under the bed we lost points.  Every arrow we shot and missed in archery and every strike out in softball was calculated, correlated, kept track of and used against your entire team at the end of the summer.  How's that for self-esteem building?  One half of an entire summer camp went home losers.  And I don't believe there were grief counselors in those days on the bus ride home from Lake Winnepesaukee.

So I imagine that right from the first pitch, on July first, it became quite obvious to my bunk-mates I was not going to be much help in securing the Green Team's brass nameplate being placed on the plaque in the dining hall, permanently proclaiming the winner of the summer of 1970.  And if my lack of batting power didn't seal my fate then the soft gentle weeping into my pillow at night because this was the first time I was away from home certainly did.  All these years later I don't even remember the details of the teasing but I do remember that it got so bad that my counselor marched me down to the camp director's office one morning for some fatherly advice.  This is what Chief (you read that correctly) had to say; "Just walk right up to Jeffrey [the bully] and punch him in the nose without any warning.  He will never bother you again".  This was the adult male camp director's advice to a homesick ten year old child.  And he further instructed my eighteen year old senior counselor to advise me when the perfect opportunity arose.  But much to my everlasting shame I never did the deed.  My older brother, who was in cabin G2, did it for me.  Bless his little twelve year old heart.  My brother did what I didn't have the guts to do.  He walked up to Jeffrey after he had been teasing me one afternoon and socked him square in the nose.  Knocked him right to the floor.  I don't remember if I got any respect after that but I knew at least my brother had my back. And ironically, Jeffrey became a camp celebrity because he survived an attack by an older camper.  He bragged about it all summer.

It might seem pathetic to still be thinking about this now that we are all adults and Jeffrey could very well be a grandfather by now.  But I was clearing out my Mom's attic one day and I came across the Camp Alton yearbook from 1970.  And there, on page 12,  were me and Jeffrey sitting and smiling along with our eight or so other cute little ten year old friends from cabin K1.  How could I have let such a cute little ten year old be so mean to me?  And staring down at his little innocent cherubic face all I could think about was how nice it would have been to smash my fist into it.


So Jeffrey R. from Long Island, NY, if you are out there, Facebook friend me because we need to talk.

No Parking Here to Corner.

There is a law in the town where I grew up. On-street parking is banned between midnight and 5:00 AM.  If you have overnight guests who can not fit their car in the driveway you must go down to the police station to get a special permit for overnight on-street parking.  This ordinance seems rather persnickety but it keeps the streets clear and prevents would be ne'er do wells from casing the well appointed houses.  To this day I resent  non-residents parking their car in front of my house for anything other than short local visitations.  Besides, having cars parked all over the street debases the suburban context of the neighborhood.  Especially if the owners live in the apartment complex a block away.  This isn't Philadelphia after all.  We have driveways for a reason.  And if my thoughts are subtly tinged with elitism then I plead guilty by cultivation. I hate cars parked in the street for the same reason I don't golf:  The only private golf course in my hometown of Rockville Centre, NY  had an unwritten exclusionary agreement that Jews were never to be admitted as members.  So when I grew up, cars were never parked in the street all night long and Jews simply did not golf.  At least no Jews that I knew of in high school.  Those notions are as much a part of my psyche as never being without a number two pencil and a pad of lined paper on which to keep track of the things I need to do.

That is why my latest agitation has so profoundly affected me.  The incident brought together these two fundamentally different, yet equally sacrosanct, principles in my life:  Don't ever violate residential parking rules and always have some form of lined paper on hand.  In this particular affair, I violated the first rule and the offended party violated the second rule.  And in this perfect axiomatic storm we can clearly see that two wrongs do not make a right.


The transgressions occurred on the evening of my office Christmas party (Jews might not golf but we do attend Christmas parties).  The restaurant we had chosen for the gala is in a residential neighborhood and there is little, if any off-street parking for the patrons.  So the street is normally crowded with cars parked in front of the homes near the establishment.  A situation which I, by the way, find abhorrent for the homeowners.  But I was not involved in the zoning decision to allow the restaurant to expand without a parking lot so what blame can I have?  None if you ask me.  Especially since it was dark and there was no sign stating "No Parking Here to Corner".  There is always a sign specifying this rule.  Even if the corner curb is painted yellow.  A very faded yellow, I might add, hardly even visible the next morning in the full light of day.  It just so happens that there was a driveway curb cut right on this corner so when I did park there I made sure to be at least two feet from the apron so as not to block the driveway.  And as I previously specified, I did not notice a yellow painted curb.  If I broke the law it was not due to a wanton disregard but rather an inattentive ignorance.

So when I arrived back at the car after a joyful night with my coworkers, I was rather shocked to find the following note tucked under my windshield wiper:

The note was presumably written by the homeowner in front of whose house I parked.  So I further presume he had access to whatever stationery supplies one normally has in one's home.  A stapler and some paper clips perhaps.  Maybe scotch tape especially since it is the week before Christmas and there are presents to wrap.  Or how about a legal pad and at least some form of writing paper?  And no, I cannot believe this particular homeowner has so fully embraced the paperless revolution as to use only an iPad, iPhone, and Word.  Because if that were the case then some inkjet paper would have at least been available.  This venomous note lost some of its gravitas not because of basic grammatical errors (who hasn't confused you're with your) nor because he dragged my innocent car into his double scatological metaphor (I may indeed be an asshole, but my automobile is certainly no piece of shit).  No, even though I truly feel horribly hypocritical for illegally parking in front of his house I cannot but help to lose some of my sympathy because his note was written on a sheet of Bounty paper towel.  As for the arrows over the i's I have not a clue.  I believe this guy must be the same one who showed up to every test in high school without a number two pencil.

I seriously flirted with the idea of knocking on his door to apologize but then I remembered that the guy who never owned a number two pencil was also the same one who gave me wedgies in the locker room after gym class and stole my desserts during lunch.  No, some amends are best left unsaid.

Maybe They Should Serve Sponge Cake After the Mass

This is a true story.  I have not twisted the facts to make my point.  In fact, I don't even have a point. Nor has it been Rashomonized because of any bias I may have toward the subject matter.  This anecdote is strictly observational in nature and you may glean from it what you will.  All I can say is, I don't even get it.  I have no explanation for the disconnect in the subjects I observed as they shuffled past me on their way home from Sunday Mass at My wife's Catholic Church.  My own spiritual experience with the Mass is by proxy....through my wife.  And while I might not get a religious euphoria after attending Mass with her, I  feel at least some camaraderie with my fellow human beings.  Well, I can see how they would feel fellowship toward each other anyway and perhaps all of humanity by extension.

On this particular Sunday I did not actually attend the service with Tammy.  As is sometimes my wont I walked to the Church near the end of the Mass to meet her outside, on the sidewalk, on her way home.  I have observed that no matter what has happened Saturday night, such as a major argument over the fact that her Church going puts a major dent in our Sunday plans, she always returns home from Mass with a skip in her step and love in her heart.  Praise the Lord.  So as I stood on the sidewalk warmly anticipating her smile as she left the Church, I felt a sodality with the other congregants as they walked passed me on their way home.  I was in a grand mood, because I knew Tammy would be as well, and I hadn't even attended the service!  Surely every churchgoer felt the same way.  I was ready with a smile and a hearty hello. But to my great dismay not a single person made eye contact with me as they walked past.  They walked with their heads downcast and to the man, a scowl on their face.  Not a single person said good day nor did they even acknowledge my existence.  I looked down at myself to make sure there wasn't drool or some sort of bodily discharge from a sneeze oozing down my shirt making me look like some crazed bum.  But no, as usual I was dressed better than most of the people who were leaving the service.

Twenty-five people must have passed me.  Were their sins not just forgiven?  Did they use up their allotment of  "peace be with you"s?  Could they sense my Jewishness?  I have no idea.  This incident, by the way, happened long before The Pope changed the Liturgy to better reflect the sentiments of the eighth century Latin speaking monks.  Because, you know, now everyone will feel even more connected to God.  Why let a little modernity ruin your relationship with a six thousand or so year old deity?  The Jews get it.  They read from an ancient papyrus scroll and sing and pray in archaic Hebrew.  And I know for a fact that they feel so happy after a service they will give their piece of sponge cake to any stranger who happens to be standing there.