danajohnhill.org

If any people exhibit the very essence of courage, it is the British. Even at the climax of the Blitz, when over 40,000 civilians were killed, and countless homes were destroyed, the citizenry remained resolute. When you consider how, night after night, Londoners slept in subway stations while, above ground, many of their most hallowed landmarks were leveled by bombs, and gutted by fire, and then consider that in the morning they all woke up and went to work, it goes to show that the British are astonishingly brave.

To now see the United Kingdom struggling with a new wave of terrorist incidents is distressing. I am earnestly hoping that the two near misses yesterday in London, and today’s attack in Glasgow, are mere isolated coincidences, and not an ominous prelude to a bloody July 7th anniversary.

Whatever happens, even a cursory knowledge of history makes clear that the British are simultaneously the most civilized and toughest people on earth. That’s why I love them.

I don’t want to give the iPhone any more publicity, since Apple has already accomplished total media saturation. But I feel compelled to say, go to hell, iPhone. I have a threshold when it comes to advertising, and the iPhone has crossed it. That is actually saying something, considering how little time I allot to watching commercial television, and when I do it is almost always time-shifted via DVR, allowing me to skip commercials.

Apple, apparently aware of my viewing habits, has engaged in a relentless marketing campaign, encompassing every imaginable medium. It isn’t just television and magazines and internet sites. I imagine there are city buses and taxis emblazoned with iPhone posters; movie theaters with iPhone trailers before the show; college students awakening from a night of drunken partying with iPhone tattoos. I could tolerate almost all of that, iPhone, but you took it too far. You invaded my workspace.

I work for non-commercial public radio. In spite of this, there hasn’t been a day in the last two weeks when I haven’t heard something or other about the iPhone, from reviews of the product to features about how Apple is letting a lot ride on its success. Sure, these are all passed off as timely tech-news. But then I see it again on NBC Nightly News, with lines of people waiting outside Apple’s New York City store to be the first to have this wonderful new device. Well, here’s a question: how great is the need of these people for a do-it-all gizmo like the iPhone, if they can afford to sit on the sidewalk for a week waiting for it to go on sale? They obviously don’t have jobs.

Then, last night, as I fast-forwarded through the commercials during back-to-back episodes of The Office, I couldn’t help but notice that the iPhone was advertised during each and every break. How expensive must that be? I’ll give Apple credit, getting journalists to talk about the iPhone is a clever source of publicity, albeit unscrupulous. It’s also free. The billboards and full-page, glossy ads are decidedly not free. I really have to wonder if this contraption couldn’t maybe cost about $200 less had Apple not pumped hundreds of millions of dollars into its marketing campaign.

In any event, it doesn’t matter. Because the iPhone offers nothing of any practical use to me. I don’t want to watch a movie on a tiny screen; I don’t want to read a newspaper on a tiny screen; I don’t want to dial numbers on a tiny screen; I don’t want to spend $600 on an electronic device that doesn’t do anything better than other electronic devices I already own.

I’m listening right now, for the first time, to Barbirolli’s recording of Otello. I am struck by how many huge edits there are. Nevertheless, Gwyneth Jones is a really sad and lovely Desdemona, her Ave Maria exquisite; James McCracken was a better Otello than people give him credit for; and, though Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau is clearly odd in Italian repertoire, especially Verdi, his characterization of Iago is thoughtful. Plus, he avoids the cackling at the end of the Credo, which I appreciate. This is out of print, of course, and I forgot I even had it. Wow, Jones is good.

I get so angry when I see members of the mainstream media repeat as Gospel what amounts to Republican talking points. In today’s Washington Post, Ruth Marcus, in a column otherwise devoted to laughing off Vice President Cheney’s criminal behavior, writes the following:

“This is Cheney’s version of the $400 haircut/I voted for the $87 billion before I voted against it/I invented the Internet — a moment whose importance is magnified because it fits with jigsaw precision into an existing template.”

This type of writing follows a pattern common in American journalism today - a pattern in which, for a variety of reasons (none of them legitimate), every criticism of a conservative figure is “balanced” with a criticism of a progressive figure. Ergo, the reference to John Edwards’ expensive hair-do and John Kerry’s unfortunately worded explanation of an otherwise reasonable Senate vote. During the 2004 election cycle another media critic pointed out that George W. Bush could say the sun rises in the west, and John Kerry could say the sun rises in the east, but the newspaper headlines would read “Opinions Differ On Sunrise”.

This brings me to the the real irritating part of Marcus’ column: the Al Gore stab. Al Gore never claimed he “invented the internet”. That simply never happened. You can read all about it here, but the gist is that for years, conservative politicians, pundits and publications have misquoted and outright misled the public to try and make Al Gore seem like a liar.

This all amounts to lazy writing, and a cowardly fear of being accused of “liberal bias”. Republicans know that, in fact, it’s the truth that’s biased against them. They also know that conjuring up the specter of an elite “liberal media”, and repeating the accusation often enough, cements it in the minds of those who are no longer paying attention - no longer paying attention to avoid the regular parade of incompetence, corruption and carnage wrought by people like Vice President Cheney.

By coincidence, I have lately been immersed in all things Van Gogh. It began with Miriam’s mom listening to Don McLean’s “Vincent”, which is about the saddest non-Irish song I know. Then, last week on PBS, I saw British author Simon Schama’s Power of Art. Schama is a bit over-the-top in terms of descriptive language, but Van Gogh’s art is transcendent, and his biography touching. Yesterday I watched a 1956 film starring Kirk Douglas entitled Lust for Life, which, rather melodramatically, depicts the artist from his early days as a missionary, to his tragic demise in Auvers-sur-Oise.

A week or two ago on television I watched a tribute of sorts to Al Pacino from the AFI. One of the speakers was Andy Garcia, and he made what I consider a bizarre, and, really, ludicrous statement. In so many words he said that Pacino was “the Van Gogh of actors”.

I acknowledge that Mr. Pacino is a talented actor. And, I have nothing personal against Mr. Garcia either. I love hyperbole as much as anybody. I’m the greatest exaggerator in the history of the universe. But to compare a world-famous, A-list, super-celebrity like Al Pacino to Van Gogh is to make a remarkably ignorant metaphor.

Van Gogh’s life was a parade of heartbreaking rejection and misfortune wrought by mental illness, and his gift was nearly missed. Under other circumstances, he might have remained a teacher or preacher. Had his love been requited, he may never have become such a vagabond. Has his brother not been so devoted, Vincent might have wasted away in complete obscurity.

A sad fact of life is that, sometimes, true genius is the crushing burden of terribly troubled people. However it is manifest, it can be both their ruin and redemption. In his lifetime, Van Gogh never enjoyed accolades. He would never know that over a hundred years after his suicide, throngs of people like me would line up every day outside museums around the world to see his paintings, and recognize them as unrivaled masterpieces.

Again, nothing personal against Mr. Pacino, but if in the year 2107 rappers still have Scarface posters on the wall behind their crunk cups, I’ll eat my hat.