The Death of Satire…the New Yorker Obama Cover

New Yorker Obama CoverIt’s hard to miss all the controversy raging over the New Yorker Magazine cover, depicting Barack Obama as a flag burning Muslim and his wife, Michele, as an Ak-47 toting radical guerrilla. The media is apoplectic. Pundits and politicos are practically dripping with self-righteousness. As I sit and write this, Bill Bennett blunders about its bad taste while James Carville defends the cover in the name of the New Yorker’s time honored history of satire. At any moment peasants with pitchforks will gather before the New Yorker offices, demanding the head of its Editor-in-Chief, David Remnick.

Let me say at the top that is is far from my favorite New Yorker cover. In fact, this wouldn’t make the top twenty . Nothing will ever compare to the iconic and monocled snooty man in his high hat or the graphic depiction of a New Yorker’s perception of the fair island of Manhattan compared to the seemingly menial expanse of the the rest of the country. No, this cover doesn’t possess by half that kind of aesthetic quality. But it is selling magazines.

At a time when all print media is hurting, this cover has arguably more to stimulate interest in the New Yorker than just about anything else. Forget the fact that its covers for decades have established a benchmark for graphic quality in magazines. It’s cartoons are smart, incisive and actually funny. Historically speaking, some of the best writers in our nation have contributed to its pages. David Remnick defends the cover as satire. He claims the cover is to draw attention to all the misconceptions about Barack Obama and his alleged Muslim and anti-American past.

By animating public concern to a cartoon caricature, the cover , Remnick claims, is designed to put the lie to Michele Obama’s alleged dislike of America. While I believe the cover could have been better, I believe Remnick and the New Yorker has accomplished what they set out to do. Everyone is talking and light is being shed on the darker corners of a series of spurious allegations about Obama. That, overall, is a good thing. You can believe he is the best person for President, or you can think otherwise. The main thing is to understand who is really is and what he isn’t.

When ten to twenty percent of the nation still believes he is a Muslim, that he was sworn in to the Senate on the Koran, and all the other foolish allegations, we have a problem. More so, clearly the regular media, the sincere media, isn’t getting through with all if its soppy ingenuousness. Lord knows, we have seen enough and heard enough as the media has milked this campaign for all it is worth. But, still, a quarter of the population thinks he is a Muslim, has been a Muslin, may be a Muslim…what’s a Muslim?

So enter satire, doing service where it does it best. Going over the top to elucidate a murky discussion that no truckload of pundits with all their stiff necked sincerity can ever accomplish. Enter satire, although, sadly, most fail to recognize it for what it is. Most have been so programmed, so dumbed down by relentlessly bombastic media that they can’t differentiate ingenuousness from exaggeration. This is disturbing.

This could mean that that satire is all but dead. One of the great vehicles in history, one of the best means of shedding light on an issue by infusing it with humor and hyperbole is dying slowly in our very literal world. That and irony are, if not lost arts, are arts losing the battle of attrition against an increasingly closed minded and literal world.

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To support this rather horrific theory, unintentionally, of course, CNN’s commentators asked people on the street to interpret the cover. They didn’t get it. Not a clue. Maybe it was a bad survey sample, but everyone of them didn’t see it as satirical. They saw it as racial, offensive, threatening, and horror beyond horrors…negative. Oh, my, negative. We live in such a positive world, after all.

We are a nation that clamors for photos of our celebrities’ children. We are a media that will pay millions for photos of our celebrities’ babies, or for that matter any scrap of lurid knowledge about the most inconsequential people. And this is a nation that wants to kill off the satirical form and render irony to its marginal place among the twelve remaining people who can perceive it.

Why? Because we are literal. It is convenient to be such. We are intolerant. We are, culturally speaking, a bore. While we proclaim individual and social freedoms with our hair, tattoos, music, religious practices and personal hygiene or lack of it, we are increasingly a constrained and stultified nation that is on brink of being able to recognize an original thought. Or distinguish satire from reality. Somehow we got it in our heads, we have the right to not be offended. Nothing should impinge upon our social, political or religious sensibilities.

No contrarian should go over the top in making our point of view look ridiculous. Somehow we have garnered some convoluted interpretation of the First Amendment to where we believe that nothing offensive should pass through our ears or by our eyes. We do not want to our life perceptions threatened by another point of view. So whether we are politically correct or politically inept, we kill anything that challenges our senses. The worst thing is we don’t even know what we risk losing.

If we haven’t killed satire, we have dealt its tradition a terrible wound. We have stomped its relativity with our Crocs and Thongs. And tomorrow, we will probably feel better for it. We will feel safe and less threatened by that awful bugaboo, a magazine cover.

Perhaps sometime in the distant future a more enlightened population will find great works of satire under the rubble of our literal thoughts. They might even find the dreaded New Yorker Magazine cover of Barack and Michele Obama. I wonder what they will think of it.

The Soul of the Machine

Automated Content Will Unmake Existence

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Hug a writer today

Chess is one thing, but if we get to the point computers can best humans in the arts—those splendid, millennia-old expressions of the heart and soul of human existence—then why bother existing? For the entire article go to webpronews.com

I truly enjoyed reading Jason Lee Miller’s article. Not only does he explore some excellent points, but anyone who can cite Jorge Luis Borges in this day and age will always garner my respect and attention.

I am a writer. I have been a writer since my latter teen years when I was first paid by an Urban Weekly, Nightlife Magazine, to write short pieces on the various politicos and characters who frequented the night clubs and bars in North Philadelphia. It was there I found true affirmation of the power of the word among the semi-literate folk who read this politically oriented paper, published by a pair of brother-in-laws. Here in this modest publication, they were able to see what was written between the lines in the mainstream press, or not at all, with regard to local social and civil issues.

Since then I have written damn near everything. I have written for newspapers, have written ad copy, public relations pieces. I have published novels and non-fiction books and have had scripts produced for television and film. Along with the world of background checks and corporate investigation, I have immersed myself in the arts for more decades than I care to disclose.

And what does this mean, exactly? It means one thing. It means that in no time either in history, or in the future will the automated process every capture the heart and soul of the art created by a living human being. To do so, one most suffer, and if not suffer at least experience. Automated content has no experience, only the simulation of experience. And despite the multitude of stale novels and paint by numbers screenplays, there is no substitute for the expanded experience of life.

Experience builds soul. And from soul comes the heart of creation and the ring of truth and the insight conveyed by our better art. No algorithms or data banked sequence of events will ever capture the emanations of the human soul. That is to say, it may be possible to emulate sentimentality and perhaps even muster up a half decent action movie or predictable love story. But no algorithm will every explore the minute but significant differences Milan Kundera ventured forth in his “Unbearable Lightness of Being.” There will be no exploration the dark Southern History as evidenced in Faulkner. You can forget about experiencing the mad mix of mathematics, magic, passion and soul found in Garcia Marquez’s “One Hundred Years of Solitude.” And no set of algorithms will delve into the consciousness and subconsciousness like our good friend Borges.

“Shakespeare in Love.” It just ain’t happening. The list goes on. But by now you get the point. I do however caution that the machine, as with many archetypal science fiction work, may well take over the delivery of content. And how can that happen? When we no longer care about the quality of art. When art is so dumbed down it looks like another episode of the wonderful and predictive film “Idiocracy,” where the population has democratized to the point of abject stupidity and total acquiescence to branding and cliche`.

It could come at a time when the society as a whole proclaims as did Rhett Butler in “Gone with The Wind,” “Frankly my dear…I don’t give a damn.” When people, even the more discerning souls, can no longer qualify and distinguish good art from bad, then it really won’t matter whether content is generated by humans or by machines. We will subscribe to imprecise jargon and vague generalities. We will be colored coded people in a paint by numbers world. The quality of art we generate as a civilization will no longer serve to mark the richness of our culture. What we generate as art, simply won’t matter. And that would matter. In fact, that would be a crying shame.

Shelly Berman and Lily Tomlin Are Finally Off the Cell Phone

Californians are finally acquiescing to the new laws prohibiting one handed cell phone use in the car.

California Moves to Curb Bad Habits of Motorists

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LOS ANGELES — On any given day on a California freeway, it is not uncommon to see a young woman, phone cradled against one ear, carefully painting her nails a winsome shade of crimson, looking up now and then to inch her car forward in traffic.

Long commutes and a passion for the auto have long combined to make the California car a second home. But that way of life is being chipped away slightly, with a series of new laws — and more being contemplated by state legislators — that take aim at the bad habits of the state’s 22 million drivers.

Last week, California became the fifth state to require that all drivers use a headset with their cellphones. Drivers under the age of 18, under a separate law, may not use a wireless telephone of any form while operating a motor vehicle, a law shared with 13 other states. (Adults can be pulled over just for the cellphone infraction; teenagers have to be committing another offense to be cited for yakking.) For the entire article go to New York Times.com

Okay, we all know the story. Drive down the street and you see in almost every car someone talking on the phone. That someone might even be you. Whoever it is, they tie up traffic and cause accidents, losing their thoughts to their conversation, rather than driving.

True, we are a multi-tasking civilization. But there was a time when it actually required a modicum of focus to drive around in a two ton car. Now, suddenly, it seems we know longer require that focus. We, the population with the attention span of a demented newt, are suddenly not required to focus on little things like avoiding damage to life and limb. And property. Pretty amazing. Throw a TV in there, a computer, and hey, the same people that can’t walk and add at the same time are suddenly talking and driving with one hand clasped up to their ears.

No more. At least in California. According to this article, some are calling it a lifestyle change. Well, it is. Now you have to shut up and drive, or at least be able to drive with two available hands. No more of those ugly, wide swinging turns because you only have one hand to guide the wheel. No more gabbing to your friends that you just saw five minutes ago.

What is it, really? Are the distractions so necessary because we can’t bear to be alone? And how much is there to talk about? You hear people walking and talking on the street and in the super market, and, let’s face it, no great nuggets of wisdom are being issued through the cell phone speaker. So shut up and drive, and stop whining about it.

Some like to argue that it is not the one handed driving that results in accidents, but rather the distraction. Yeah, sure. Maybe both. But common sense dictates that controlling a car with one hand free is more difficult, come and emergency, than driving with two. You wouldn’t scale a cliff with one hand, would you? Unless you were a one armed cliff climber. Not many of those around. You wouldn’t make love with one hand. Unless you were making that love to yourself. You wouldn’t dress with one hand or cook with one hand. You wouldn’t fight with one hand or shop with one hand. So what makes you think you can drive with one hand?

Some complain the law is too harsh. Oh, my. I don’t think it is nearly harsh enough. Forget about the fines. I truly believe that for first offense, getting caught driving with a cell phone up to your ear, is punishable by having that cell phone shoved deep enough into your posterior that the vibration setting has sexual overtones. For second offense, it can be removed with a chainsaw. Anybody with me on this? Probably not. Oh well, we’ll just have to go for the fines.

Despite the fines, the law and the rest of it, when you drive through the streets of LA you still see people one handing their cell phones. I guess they believe it is their right to do so. It seems it’s always a certain type of ignoramus that didn’t read the memo.

Well, here’s a word of advice. Shelly Berman, noted stand up comedian made a comic act out of using the phone. Very funny. Lily Tomlin, as the immortal Ernestine, did a wonderful sequence of comic sketches using the telephone. I’m sure I am forgetting others. But as for you, unless you have a great comic act or in some way can achieve immortality by employing the cell phone, only use it hands free while driving. It’s not only the law, but it’s also the smart thing to do. Who knows? Maybe when you are off the phone you may actually take time to look around and enjoy the moment.

Sex acts on Provincetown beaches prompt outrage

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Frisky sun worshipers are flocking to have sex on the beach in Provincetown – but are sending horrified family vacationers packing, officals said.

Angry Cape Cod National Seashore officials said they are cracking down on public sex acts along the picturesque shoreline after the number of citations for public sex acts more than tripled, from an average of 40 to 132 last year. For the entire article go to bostonherald.com

All right, most of us have got to admit that this is pretty funny. Maybe not to the officials and some of the people of Provincetown. And surely not to the particular tourists who are offended by such visual stimuli. But the notion of various beach goers engaging en masse in sexual congress is reminiscent of the seals here in California comporting on the rocks in similar fashion.

No doubt, I can see where this offensive. I can see also where this is painful to the participants. Beach sand has a way of abrading the sensitive parts of the body, even when you are just lying there, taking in the sun. So this exhibitionist display has to rank somewhere between horniness, desperation and a touch of masochism thrown in.

We as a culture are imprinted with some of the more memorable sex scenes. The film, “From Here To Eternity,” ranked among the first and foremost, with Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr rolling around in the moonlit Hawaiian sand. It was pure romance, very hot and the kind of visage that has been talked about for years. But then the beach was deserted, the sex took place at night, or at least day for night, and it was only the two of them. Burt looked great and so did Deborah Kerr. If you are going to stare at two people making love, then that was, indeed, a good place to do the staring. And then of course there was the romantic, musical strings to accessorize the act.

But this, they say, is far from a deserted beach. It is not at night, but in broad daylight. No flashlights required for viewing. And for the most part the people don’t really look like Deborah Kerr and Burt Lancaster. They look more like Floyd and Lloyd. And even then neither Floyd nor Lloyd has the build and looks of Burt Lancaster. Few do.

As for the romantic music. Hardly the lush strings of a cinema score, if there is music at all. Probably the main background sound is that of mournful sound of Fiddler Crabs, bemoaning their territorial losses. And at best the music is probably tinny in sound; it is the beach after all.

The whale watchers may be getting more than they bargained for, as do the families out for a picnic by the sea. It’s quite possible that if the Pilgrims who first landed at the not all that far away Plymouth Rock stumbled on this grunting tableau they might not have canceled out the new world concept and sailed on back to the old one. They were puritans, after all.

Part of the better ethic is to leave a place as you found it. In this case, leaving it sane, secure, and capable of conducting businesses without hearing a raft of complaints. With the economy bad enough, there is no reaosn for the insensitive to drive away the much needed business of any community.

Then there is the matter of aesthetic sensibilities, since this group groping does little to enhance it. And then the beach is a public place to be enjoyed by everyone without having to witness bad taste from any sector. I suppose, in the end, the group gropers should heed the time honored admonition and “get a room.”

Hang ‘Em High

Botox Lifts: The Next Breast Thing?

Cosmetic Toxin Used To Improve A Woman’s Posture, ‘Lift Up’ Breasts

Plastic Surgeons Disturbed By Practice, Warn Against ‘Off-Label’ Uses

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NEW YORK (CBS) ― It is one of the most powerful, poisonous, and paralytic proteins known to man, yet why is dermatologic wonder-drug Botox – the cure-all phenomenon that’s taken the cosmetic world by storm – being injected into women’s breasts these days?

“Dermatologist to the Stars,” Dr. Patricia Wexler, proudly advertises the answer to that question at her Manhattan practice. The Murray Hill-based doctor, who has her own cosmetic line and has been featured on “The Oprah Winfrey Show,” recently began offering Botox injections in the breast as a quick-fix for women who want to non-invasively give their breasts a temporary lift.

For the entire article go to wcbstv.com

Perhaps in some parts of the world, or at least in this country, there will be some who view this doctor as a bold new pioneer. And it may be true. Those women who wish to engage in the eternal war against gravity may find Botox injections to the breast a most useful weapon in their arsenal.

But then by the same token when scientific studies are starting to report the potential harmful effects of botox, I think it would give one pause before she stuck her breasts with a particular chemical solution that starts its own career in the universe as Botulinun toxin ,a deadly poison. In fact, as Wikipedia points out, it is one of the more deadly toxins in the world. A small amount can kill you.

It is deadlier than strychnine, which nearly everyone regards as a deadly poison. While it would take about six metric tons of strychnine to kill everyone in the world, it would take only a few hundred grams of botulinum to do the same nasty job. On lesser levels, meaning illness resulting in less than death, botulinum, even of the cosmetic variety, can cause muscle paralysis or such pesky little difficulties as respiratory failure, drooping eyelids or the ability to smile. While a small quantity of unadulterated botulinum can result in death and, as botulism, which is food ingested, can result in serious illness, we know little about the side effects about the extended effects of the cosmetic variety.

Only now are the suspicions about the cosmetic variety starting to emerge. What happens over time, well we just don’t know. But, hey, until the other shoe drops, you will have no worry lines and a really nice rack. Of course we may prove our suspicions that with enough injections the cosmetic form does travel into your brain stem. This is a bad thing, by the way, for those less initiated in diseases of the world. It is rumored that you actually do need a working brain, although after spending a day in LA traffic, you can’t necessarily prove it by me. What breast injections would do over time to a pair of breasts, may be equally as alarming.

I hardly blame anyone for trying Botox, the best known, as well as the other cosmetic versions of bolulinum that are manufactured by a variety of companies. There is a great deal of pressure on women not to age and to look good. Then there is the matter of vanity, sexual attraction and the self-awareness that you can still turn heads when you enter a room.

On top of which, there are a great deal of medical applications for the drug. It is used for excessive sweating, excessive peeing in children, and TMJ disorders. TMJ deals with your jaw and is painful and annoying. Any help is welcome help. The drug is also used for diabetic neuropathy and for healing wounds. So, like many other things, you have to take the bad with the good, right?

And there really is no actual bonafide proof that injecting cosmetic forms of botulinum has any adverse effects. Rumors, maybe. Suspicions. Empirical evidence. In conclusive studies. But no real proof. While I hat to rain on anyone’s parade, I remember the years spent in the great cigarette to lung cancer debate. In fact, back in the days of your I worked very briefly for a research group that was contracted by the tobacco lobby in an effort to prove cigarettes were not harmful to your health. So perhaps it will take a few more decades before we really know anything about the cosmetic effects of botlunim. It’s not like our usual study group, prison inmates who volunteer as subjects for such research, have a big desire to eliminate their frown lines or hike up their hooters.

The thing is that while we have a ribbon for nearly everything, including a pink ribbon for breast cancer, we contemplate injecting toxins into our bodies that may prove fatal or result in any matter of diseases. There is no doubt breast cancer, or any cancer, is a serious disease and warrants maximum concern. We are warned about BPA in plastics, phtalatesin cosmetics and perfumes, detergents, etc. We freak over the parabens in shampoos in skin care and hair care product. And we have fund raisers for those stricken by the variety of diseases these chemicals appear to bring on. But yet, while parade, have walks, runs, marathons, we turn around and pay good money in rough economic times to shoot a deadly toxin into our bodies. Are we not a schizophrenic world, or what?

Well, so far we have not selected a ribbon color for those suffering from long term complications of having cosmetic botulinum seeping into the brain stem. So far, anyway.