Hunky

Note: For best effect, please listen to video while reading this blog.

“You don’t want to go in the pool, there’s a Hunky in there!” The comment was directed at a young girl by a group of boys nearby. The young Hunky in the pool was my father. The term Hunky was an ethnic slur aimed at Hungarians. Technically, my father was Russian and Polish, but the term was often used pejoratively towards anyone of Eastern European descent. You see, at the turn of the Nineteenth Century, the industrial revolution was in full stride and immigrants rushed in to fill the many factory jobs that promised them a better future. These immigrants, having made the daring break from the life they had always known, took whatever jobs they could find at whatever wages were offered. I think the first thing taught about a capitalist economy is the law of supply and demand: the greater the supply is of something in respect to its demand, the cheaper the cost. The result of such a massive influx of desperate workers into the job market must have severely cut the bargaining power of the workers that were already living in this country. The initial success of industrialization promised American workers a better life. But that promise was unkept when a new wave of foreigners took what people here thought was theirs. Ad to that the language and cultural barriers, and animosity inevitably arose. Ghettos sprang up around the nation, where people who spoke the same language, ate the same food, and worshipped in the same way tended to congregate. It is only natural that the new Americans were anxious to integrate, and I suppose it was only natural that the “Native” Americans were less than hospitable to them. I understand that, and I think my father did too. And yet the incident at the pool stayed with him, and he felt the need to tell me about it some fifty years after the event.
When I was growing up, Polish jokes were told quite often, much more than dumb blonde jokes are now. It never bothered me, nor did it bother my father, who was one of the first to pick up “The Official Dumb Polack Book”. The success of this book was followed by a sequel, followed by “The Official Dumb Polack/Dumb Italian Book, followed by the Dumb White Folks/Black Folks book. I’m not sure how far this went on, but I do remember the Irish being included at some point. I would often tell Polack jokes myself. If someone got insulted, I had as my defense my Polish heritage. But there were always some who took offense despite our shared ethnicity. After arguing my position, I would defer to their sensibilities.
Since early in my life I have been a collector. Comic books were not things to be looked at and then discarded, but part of an ever expanding whole. So it was with stamps and coins, always trying to add a new country to my collection. And so it was with friends, I have to confess. I would always ask a new found friend their nationality, hoping to add to my collection. A unique ethnicity added a little something to the particular person’s persona, added a little something to my perception of the world. So I swear to you that there was no racial malice when I did what I did. I don’t know my exact age, but I do remember I was in grade school, probably 8 or 9 years old. Children of that age sometimes flirt by exchanging insults, and this is what I was doing when I called Evelyn Lugo a Puerto Rican Pig. I didn’t know the meaning of the word alliterative at that age, but that’s what I was going for. When she quickly took offense to what I said, I immediately assumed it was the word pig that set her off. I tried to explain it away, tried to explain to her that she should not take that attitude with me, but it was to no avail. In an instant, it seemed that she had grown in maturity, as though I were talking to someone far older than myself. I truly did not understand the offense, but I understood that she was genuinely offended. Although I don’t blame myself now for my lack of understanding at that young age, I do blame a society that made a little girl grow up too soon. And as a member of that society, I recognize my responsibility to that young girl on a playground so long ago. Like my father before me, I understand and forgive, but it has stayed with me.
Perhaps need and greed shall always be with us. As long as they are, people will point fingers at those who speak, look, and act differently from ourselves. Ethnicity and nationality will be convenient diversions to the real problems of this world. But I am optimistic in this respect. I am reminded of something my older brother told me. In World War II, the Nazi invasion of the Soviet Union caused over 20 million deaths in the U.S.S.R. But in the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier in Leningrad, the song Traumerei (Dreaming) is played continuously 24 hours a day. It is intentional that a song by a German composer is played here, a reminder that there is no ill-will towards the German people. I have tried to find a clip of it on YouTube, but there is nothing really suitable. I did, however, come upon this. Here is Vladimir Horowitz, a Jewish-Russian, playing Traumerei before a crowd in Russia in 1979. Many in the audience are of an age that indicates that they had survived the most brutal war that has ever plagued mankind. On many faces can be seen tears, but no anger or outrage. It will forever stay with them, yet they can forgive.

I Don't Own A Cell Phone

I don’t own a cell phone. I’ll pause for a moment while you appreciate that fact. To be honest, there has been a time or two when one would have come in handy, but for the most part I am glad I don’t have one. It is a choice on my part, after all. I don’t feel obligated to have one just because everyone else does. Nor do I feel the need to have one just so people can contact me whenever they wish. I often feel that a cell phone is similar to what a prisoner out on bail must wear when he is on house arrest. Of course, whenever I try to call someone who I always see playing on their phone, it seems like I have to hire a bail bondsman to track them down.

I watch people with their cell phones and I am reminded of my former addiction to cigarettes. I see people as they sneak looks at it when they know they shouldn’t be. I see them texting or chatting when they’re driving and I feel less safe as a result. I see them unable to concentrate for any length of time on any one thing because of the compulsion to take another hit off of their phone. I see them ignore those around them as they become absorbed in a conversation that reads something like: “really? Lol.” I see it in a way they do not because I am not a user myself. I see it in a family gathered together for a holiday meal, each of them in their own little world.

But I see it in them because I too have the same compulsion. When on the computer, I often find myself slavishly clicking to the Window where Facebook is the second I hear the ding. I don’t salivate, but I do respond. I find myself checking various accounts and sites over and over again, experiencing the diminishing highs, doing it more and enjoying it less. I’ve felt that feeling before, while sitting in front of a slot machine. True, when immersed in my little online realm I’m not losing money, but I am losing time I will never get back again.

People are cautious by nature, unwilling to deviate too far from what they see as normal so long as they are on their own. But put them in a crowd and they’re quite willing to go off on an extreme tangent together. If cell phones were a rarity and you only had one friend who was constantly pawing at one like Gollum with his precious, it would be pretty easy to say his behavior was abnormal. But now that everyone is doing it, nobody seems to have the courage to point out this new addiction that has spread like a plague in the last few years. I see mothers ignoring their children as they eat dinner at a restaurant, taking pictures of their lunch to share on Facebook with friends whom they have never met. I see people walking their dogs, completely oblivious of the joys that a walk outdoors can provide, or the cuteness that a dog exhibits in a hundred different ways in the course of a mile stroll.

Over 200 years ago, William Wordsworth said: “The world is too much with us.” I can only imagine what his reaction to life today would be. We are never free of the things, and so are never able to truly relax, never able to get to the mental state that provides us with the true feeling of being comfortable with ourselves and our surroundings. We are in a constant state of expectation, always dealing with the immediate, never having time to deal with anything in any depth. Our very consciousness is being altered. Not to sound old-fashioned or conservative or anything like that, but shouldn’t that give us pause? Shouldn’t we worry just a little bit when our ability to think at any kind of deeper level is being compromised? But of course, you say, I can function just fine. I don’t need my cell phone, I just like to have it with me at all times. Change the word “alcohol” with “cell phone” and see if your argument still stands. Or better yet, “my precious”.

 

Update

 

I began writing this post yesterday and didn’t get around to finishing it (I was doing important stuff on Facebook). I arrived at work this morning to discover that a friend and coworker of mine had been fired because of his repeated abuse of the no-cell phone policy at my work. This father of two will not be able to provide his family with the kind of Christmas he had hoped to because of his need to share what was most likely a meme with his larger social network. Had he not been fired, perhaps the prior paragraph I wrote might have been different, but I suspect not by too much. Somehow, somebody put forward the notion that technological “progress” is inevitable and that it is futile to stand in its way and we all accepted it. God grant me the serenity to accept the things I can’t change, but let Him also give me the courage to change the things I can. Prevailing wisdom states that every advance in technology is not only inevitable but for the better. But maybe, just maybe that’s not true. Perhaps it is just the constant propaganda of the cell phone manufacturers, who are only interested in pushing their next-gen phone. At the very least, we should be mindful of the changes that technology brings, cautious of what we lose in the exchange of old for new.

What Is Freedom?

I’m not really sure what the word freedom means, but I know that it has something to do with Harley Davidsons and sanitary napkins. I know it’s something that we’re supposed to fight for and die for, so it must be important. I’ve also been told that freedom is a concept that never existed until the founding fathers of The United States of America decided it was of primary importance. I’ve often heard that freedom isn’t free, but that’s never helped me to understand it much. It seems that freedom always has corresponding responsibilities, which again undercuts the very notion of free. When you think about it, if freedom isn’t free, then what is?

It seems to me that every time someone tells you how important freedom is, that they are asking you for something. If patriotism is a scoundrel’s last refuge, then the concept of freedom is his first sales pitch. During the early days of the second Iraq War, we were encouraged to use the term “freedom fries” in place of French fries, in order to show our patriotism. Edward Bernays, marketing pioneer and nephew of Sigmund Freud, was given the task of increasing sales of cigarettes. His idea for doubling the amount of smokers was to market to women. Up until that time, there was a social taboo against women smoking. Cynical genius that he was, Bernays tied the idea of smoking to the growing women’s liberation movement. Using the term “freedom torches”, Bernays hired women to smoke cigarettes in public in order to link rebellion and freedom with cigarettes.

Now I’ve already admitted to not knowing what freedom is, but I know a thing or two about slavery, and addiction is just about the greatest form of slavery possible. That’s why pimps introduce drugs to their recruits, to get them used to not being in control of their lives. I was a smoker for many years, and I can tell you first-hand that the day I quit smoking was perhaps the most liberating day of my life. I still look back at the day I declared my freedom from nicotine, and that memory more than anything else gives me some appreciation of the word freedom. To think that some SOB would use the word freedom in an attempt to enslave half the world’s population is almost too horrible to imagine. And here again, I gain some appreciation of the concept of freedom. Because even the death that cigarettes deal to so many of those who become addicted to them is not as bad as the lack of control one experiences when one is a smoker. To know that someone or something has such control over some aspect of your life leads you to doubt your ability to control your life overall. In that sense, I can understand the sentiment of Patrick Henry when he said “Give me liberty, or give me death.”

Maybe freedom is just some adman’s pitch. Maybe freedom is a nebulous concept with no real meaning.

Then again, maybe freedom isn’t just a Madison Avenue invention. Perhaps it is such an important thing that those that wish to manipulate your emotions realize its strength and use it to control your behavior. Perhaps your freedom is the most important thing in the world. If that is true, then what exactly is freedom?

Hitler promised freedom from the communists and the Jewish conspiracy, and he delivered in a big way by killing every Jew and communist he could find. But freeing Germans from communism and an alleged international Jewish cabal did little to free them from Nazism. That’s the thing about freedom—you break free from one oppressor just to fall into the grip of another.

It can be an endless cycle, one in which we are all pawns moved across a board. Perhaps the most we can do to claim our own freedom is to be aware of the powers that push us back and forth. Take the time to get to know the world around you, get to know who is running the show, and who is trying to shape the way you think. And above all, be suspicious of those who tell you they are concerned about your freedom; it could very well that their only concern is their freedom to get rich at your expense. Freedom is in fact not free, the cost is constant vigilance, not so much of our borders but of our minds and those who would seek to shape them. There are people paid handsomely to get you to believe what you are supposed to believe, to make you see lies as truth, slavery as freedom. The key to freedom is knowledge, for the truth will set you free. One can be manipulated only as long as one is unaware. Once you know the truth, you will have not only the ability but also the desire to claim the freedom that was your intended birthright.

The Solutionist

 

Here’s an idea in its infancy, a mere babe in its swaddling clothes that could easily perish through neglect or disinterest. And yet the idea, though small as a mustard seed, has vast potential if people can find their way to it. It is not my idea, but already I think that just by my awareness of it, it has already grown somewhat beyond the sole ownership of its originator. See, that’s the thing; I don’t want to tell you what it is supposed to mean, rather I’d like to tell you what it means to me. And from there, you are welcome to share it with others as you see fit, allowing the basic idea to grow as people contribute to it.

Here is a link to a blog post I recently read: http://www.thesolutionist.us/?p=88

It goes beyond a simple question, actually. The author of that brief post is also the author of a book called The Solutionist, which can be found here: http://www.amazon.com/kindle/dp/B0076B3CII

The basic premise, if I may provide my own take on it, is that through working and communicating together we can make the world a better place by improving the processes we use in every area of our lives.

Again, it is a simple idea, but its simplicity does make it any less worthwhile. Most of us care about the world and the people in it and would like to do what we could to make it a better place. But most of us don’t do anything because we really don’t know where to start, or because we are really not sure which is the best way to go about it.

Well here is a place to start. As for the best way to go about it, let’s talk amongst ourselves and together fashion workable ways to solve the world’s problems. Which problems am I talking about? All of them, or at least whichever ones are important to you, whichever ones you think you can assist with. Here is a flag planted in the ground around which we can rally. Let’s start now and get the ball rolling. It can be done, we only need to have the belief required to begin the task. It is not a task any one of us can do alone, but it can be done when a determined group of people work together without personal agendas. It is not about one’s religion, politics, or philosophy, it is about changing the way we do things as a society in order to make the world a better place. It is doable, if we wish to do it. Let’s start today. The world's problems are not insurmountable, though it often can seem that way because we can not see above the ruts in which we are stuck.

As I said, this is my own personal take on the book and the idea of Joe Euclide. But I believe he would not claim the term “solutionist” to refer to himself alone, but to anyone desiring to find answers to the problems that face us today. And as I also said, this is but a single beginning, a rallying point for those interested in improving our world. Who knows what it could become? It has the potential to grow far beyond a simple blog, or a simple book. Where it goes is up to you, and to solutionists everywhere.

 

Amazon Sale of Perchance To Dream

Beginning November 26 at 8:00 a.m., my book, Perchance To Dream, will be on special promotion on Amazon for 88 hours. For the first 44 hours it will be available as an e-book for only 99 cents. For the next 44 hours it will still be discounted at $1.99. I urge you to check it out: http://www.amazon.com/Perchance-Dream-Amazing-Morse-Rozoff-ebook/dp/B00F7O5C20/ref=la_B00847RE9G_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1385433299&sr=1-3

It's the story of a magician who comes to realize there's more to magic than pulling a rabbit out of a hat.

Art Or Entertainment?

 

 

In an online group of writers of which I am a part, I read a thread about whether writing should be thought of as art or entertainment. I won’t share too much what others had to say, but I thought I might share my thoughts on the matter.

Why do people read? Is it to pass the time, to get some sort of thrill from it that in the end means nothing? Lets expand the question a little: why does one live, is it merely to try to derive some sort of enjoyment out of it, pass the time in the most pleasant of ways while we pass between one stretch of non-existence and another? Or do we desire some kind of meaning from existence? When we get to the end of our lives, will we be happy to say that we got through it being amused more often than not?

You may say it is unfair to compare life to literature. I will argue the point later, but please bear with me until I do. Many people do indeed go through life searching for one distraction after another. While there seems to be something to be said for having fun for fun’s sake, it doesn’t seem to provide enough in the long run. By the time we reach a certain age, most of us are looking for something more enduring than transient thrills. We want our lives to have meaning, we want our presence on this world to last beyond the brief moment of life that we get. So we seek to create, to accomplish, make things that will outlive us. We give birth to and raise children, desiring to pass along not only our genetics but also our values and hopes. And as fond as we are of our comforts and our amusements, we quite easily sacrifice them when we have a goal, a hope, or a child whose best interests we wish to advance. Even when we haven’t made the sacrifices ourselves, each of us thrills to the story of someone who has endured hardships in the name of a goal. And we cry and take to our hearts those heroes who have made the sacrifice of their very lives in the pursuit of goals that were bigger than the individual’s interest of comfort and amusement. So I would have to say that to the vast majority of humans life does have meaning.

Let us now get back to literature. Must it too have meaning? Because that after all is what art is all about to me, that it contains something more than the elements of a story artfully crafted to amuse a child or adult. My assertion is that, like food, a written work must do more than appeal to the taste buds. We know enough to at least try to refrain from eating a Twinkie because we know that while it entertains us, it does little to enrich us. And of course it is much easier to deny a child that Twinkie, knowing that while it may taste good, it does not possess the necessary healthful aspects that food is supposed to provide. We know that to be healthy and face life with the maximum of vigor, we should be careful about what we put into our bodies. But too often we neglect the fact that the mind too must be fed by organic, healthy “food” in order for it to act at peak efficiency.

I know, it all sounds so very utilitarian. Of course amusement has a place in our diet—it is the spice of life. But when we start eating Twizzlers for breakfast, we have lost sight of the concept of the occasional indulgence. When we read certain types of literature—which we freely admit are not art—exclusively, we deny ourselves the healthy aspects that reading can actually give us.

But isn’t reading supposed to be escapist? After all, the mere act of reading takes us away from more productive things we could be doing. I would respond to this by saying that reading a work of art does not take us away from life but in fact allows us to see life more clearly. If a book is written with a desire to speak truth, then the reader has an opportunity to broaden their appreciation for life.

Lastly, if life should have meaning, then all things should have meaning. Again, this seems like a heavy burden to place upon us little mortals, who have so little time on this Earth. But all the more reason to embrace the life we have while it exists. All diversions from life and the reality of the life we are living are like little deaths. String enough of them together and it’s not really living at all. In a sense then, art is life, or at least a mirror that allows us to see life as it truly is. We might be more amused to look into the mirror and see ourselves as princesses and mighty warriors, but we are better served, and perhaps happier in the long term, if we dare to look at life unflinchingly.

 

If literature, like life, should have meaning, then the book will continue to live on in the reader long after he has turned the last page.

Susan Boyle Meets Rocky Balboa

    

Buy my book! It's easy, just click on the cover that is situated to the right. And if you click on the cover of The Amazing Morse, it’s only 99 cents for the Kindle version.

Sorry, I’m not very good at marketing. I’m supposed to be engaging my audience, I’m supposed to talk about whatever’s hot at the moment. But really, all the work I do on Facebook, Blogger, about.me, etc. is just a complicated way to get you to buy my book. So do us both a favor and just buy it now.

It really is a good book you know. I put all my efforts into my actual writing rather than in marketing or blogging. At least take a look at it—Amazon will let you read a bit of it for free—and tell me what you think.

I’m not looking to get rich, but I dream of being able to write for a living. As it stands now, I work full-time in a factory. You may ask yourself what a factory worker knows about writing novels, but therein lies the appeal. It’s a classic Rocky Balboa or Susan Boyle story, the story of a person who fought against all odds to achieve a dream. This is even more unlikely, it’s like Susan Boyle fighting for the heavyweight championship of the world.

Like I said, I’m not very good at the marketing side of things. When I was in college, I started wondering what I was going to do with the English degree I was working on. I thought advertising was a natural fit, as it involved putting together convincing arguments. I even went so far as to do an internship with a television production company. It was there I learned such terms as “product placement” and “soft sell”. I really thought I could be good at that sort of thing. There was only one problem; it was evil. I didn’t want to use my hard-earned powers of persuasion to manipulate people’s minds and emotions, I wanted to show them the truth to the best of my ability. It was little different in my experiences with journalism. Again, it was advertisers before integrity. So I left the writing business for a time and found myself an honest job. But the 21^st Century has offered opportunities to the independents in the form of self-publishing. I at last have a chance to put forth something I truly believe in. Give it a look. You have my word that I respect what I do too much to give you anything that would not be good for you. And when you someday see my book in someone else’s hands, you can tell that person how much you helped that writer get his break. Thanks.