Saturday, September 22, 2018

Reflections From Roma #10

Reflections From Roma #10
21 settembre 2018

Hello there… Rodger French here.

It doesn’t happen as often as you might imagine, but living in Roma does occasionally result in one having an experience that is picturesque to the point of being cinematic. Permit me…

A scheduling conflict resulted in Anne tending to bidness in Trieste (which is pretty scenic in its own right) at the same time that an old friend, with whom I had worked on some major musical/theatrical endeavors “back in the day,” was visiting Roma with her partner, whom I had never met. (OK, I think that’s clear.) In any case, I arranged to meet at their hotel for drinks and dinner.

[Inertial Dampening Sidebar- This was on a Tuesday evening - a “school night.” I dread going out on school nights, especially without A.J. But that was the deal.]

The hotel was downtown, near the ZOmbie Tourist Apocalypse™, in a neighborhood unfamiliar to me. After close consultation with Signore Google, I decided to take a bus to Piazza Venezia and walk from there. The bus experience was typical: Not too crowded to begin with, but increasingly packed as we neared the ZOTA™.

Arriving at IlMonumento Nazionale a Vittorio Emanuele II (in my clever disguise as un tourista gringo) and relying on my (più o meno) accurate map, I managed to get within one block of the hotel, at which point I saw (I) a sign on the building façade and (II) my friend leaning out a 3rdfloor window waving me in. This boded very well indeed.

We greeted, we hugged, we laughed… it was so great to see her again. Since our dinner reservation was for a later hour, we popped by a market, picked up some drinks, and repaired to their (charming) hotel, where she introduced me to her partner, who is also an accomplished musician and a very cool guy. The three of us fell into easy conversation until it was time for dinner.

It was a beautiful settembre Roman evening as we strolled through the back streets to the restaurant, a typical place that serves good food at a reasonable price and was, not unexpectedly, full of tourists, many of them Italians.

[PicturesqueLandmark Sidebar- Walking to our restaurant, we passed a small place - not even a piazza - where we came upon a single, grande, and ancient Roman column. No plaque, no sign, no indication whatsoever of its provenance or purpose. I love that.]

We ordered several yummy items and commenced to talk about… well, the usual catching-up-on-a-lot-in-a-short-time stuff. Which was great. But our conversation kept coming back to music. All three of us have been musicians forever and have accumulated a wealth of experiences and insights. We wandered into the weeds, as music geeks are wont to do, and shared one of the most substantial, connected, and fulfilling conversations about music and what it means to be a musician that I have ever had. It was an absolute joy. And I not only caught up with an old friend, but also made a new one.

[Cinematic Sidebar #1- During this lovely communication, we were intermittently entertained by: An enthusiastic running club, a parade of young Italians on a big night out, and a cavalcade of gringo tourists on Segways. At night. Which is impossibly surreal.]

After dinner, we walked to Piazza Navona to get a taxi, where I threw some coins in the hat of a local - say it with me - accordion player. (I can relate. In 1980, I worked with some friends busking in that very place.) As my hosts had one more day in Roma and I had to go to work the next morning, we made our inevitable reluctant farewells, promising to keep in touch. And then, arrivederci.

[Cinematic Sidebar #2- The ride home was perfect. We motored stately through the Eternal City, past well-lit monuments, cruising the now less frenzied streets. All the taxi windows were open and the breeze was intoxicating. I luxuriated in the glow of good food and friendship. And I felt glad to be alive and proud to call myself un musicista.]

Not bad for a school night.

Onward.

Rodger

Saturday, September 15, 2018

Selected Shorts #05 - Swagger

Swagger

To his credit, Secretary of State Mike Pompeo has been consistent in communicating with DoS rank and file in the field. After the unlamented reign of King Rex Tillerson, it is somewhat refreshing to have a boss who acknowledges and presumably values your existence.

Most of the Secretary’s email missives are, not surprisingly, in service of whatever “foreign policy” positions the Moron-in-Chief has flatulated following his daily briefings provided by the brilliant minds on FOX News. Other messages fall into the general category of “morale building,” which is not, in and of itself, objectionable.

But all of Secretary Pompeo’s communications consistently emphasize one overarching ideal: Swagger.

Swagger (noun):A very confident and arrogant or self-important gait or manner. (Verb): To walk or behave in a very confident and arrogant or self-important way.

Apparently, the U.S. Department of State was/is possessed of an insufficient quantity of swagger. Pompeo is constantly exhorting the troops to “get back our swagger,” “use your swagger,” and “swagger like it’s 1999.” (OK, that last one’s on me.) He employs the word so often that it has become a running gag, with some DoS wags proposing “swaggering talking points,” swagger evaluations,” and, of course, a “Bureau of Swagger Affairs.”

(The Secretary also signs his memos with gems such as “Keep on crushing it.” Because… your average American diplomat is a 25 year-old dudebro, maybe?)

Unfortunately, IMHO, the concept of “swagger” as an essential tool of diplomacy is some wrongheaded nonsense.

I am admittedly a low-level State Department employee. But since 2007 I have worked in a dozen offices in five embassies on four continents and observed that diplomacy appears to be conducted most successfully by people who are intelligent, confident, well prepared, and respectful. They do not strut. They do not dictate. They do not conflate bluster with strength.

And effective diplomats do not have a burning need to comport themselves like a former Tea Party Congressman from Kansas, much less a bellicose despot from Queens.

Tuesday, September 11, 2018

Reflections From Roma #09

Reflections From Roma #09
11 settembre 2018

Photo Update Alert:

www.photos.google.com
“Oslo”

(Continued from Reflections From Roma #08)

[Publisher's Note ZOTA™: ZOmbie Tourist Apocalypse]


Day 5 - Bergen is known for wet and changeable weather, although we had skated on the rain so far. After a last walkabout in Bergen and a sushi lunch, we decided to catch an early bus - in the rain - to the airport for the one-hour flight to Trondheim. The scenery was interesting and the trip was short but brief.

Day 6 - Trondheim is a very old (997), very lovely city and was once an important shipping port. After my customary fish breakfast (Anne is not really up for that), we made our way to the major tourist attraction in town: The Nidaros Cathedral. Built between 1070 and 1300 over the burial site of King Olaf II (although subject to numerous fires and rebuilding over the centuries), it is the northernmost medieval cathedral in the world and a wonderful place to poke around. We especially liked the fact that someone took the trouble to save numerous ancient gravestones and give them a place of dignity and repose in the church crypt.

The cathedral also features two excellent pipe organs and a killer gift shoppe.


We then made our way to the local fish market where A.J. had salmon patties and I the Bacalao, a stew made with salt cod, bell pepper, garlic, onion, tomatoes, celery, and potatoes. Good stuff. After lunch, more touristing, including an enjoyable visit to the Museum of Decorative Arts and Design. The tapestries by Hannah Ryggen were a particular fave. Finally, a scintillating dinner of surprisingly decent pizza served by a handsome Croatian waiter at an Italian restaurant.

Day 7 - After breakfast and the now customary last walkabout, we caught the train to Oslo, a journey of some seven hours. The scenery was simply magnificent and we arrived at Oslo Central Station relaxed and ready to once again do battle with the ZOTA™, which, it being a weekend, was in full force. Fortunately, we had reservations at our previous hotel, so I was also reunited with my camera when we arrived. Now that’s excellent customer service.

Day 8 - More walkin’ around, this time to the waterfront, lunch (salmon for Anne, reindeer patties for meg), and on to Oslo Cathedral (consecrated 1697). It’s not nearly as grand as Nidaros, but is sufficiently intriguing, especially the stained glass windows and a somewhat psychedelic ceiling by Norwegian painter Hugo Lous Mohr. (I actually did get a photo of this.) 

Since we were heading back to Roma the next day, we decided to get ahead of the curve and scout the train to the airport. This we did, and purchased our tickets in advance. After a bit of a rest at the hotel, we headed off to the waterfront (again) and dropped in on an international festival, complete with South Asian rap music and non-Norwegian (Thai, Filipino, Afghan, Mexican, BBQ) food stands. It was a very nice and familial scene.

Day 9 - Our flight to Rome didn’t depart until late afternoon, so we had time for one more Norwegian tourist adventure. Akershus Fortress is a medieval castle that has served as a royal residence, military base, prison, and government offices. Positioned overlooking the harbour, Akershus is also a popular recreational area for Oslo’s citizens.

Of particular interest to us was the Norges Hjemmefrontmuseet (Norwegian Resistance Museum), opened in 1970 and dedicated to the resistance against the Nazi occupation of 1940-45. It’s a small, but well-designed museum featuring a chronological gallery of photographs, documents, and equipment (e.g., hand-made radios and machine guns).

[Real Life Sidebar -1433 members of the resistance movement, of whom 255 were women, were killed by the Nazis during WW II. This museum is a sobering reminder of what can happen when fascism comes to your land, and that actual Resistance is not a casual matter.]

Then… back to the hotel to pick up luggage and catch the train to the airport in plenty of time for the not altogether heinous flight back to Roma. This was the first time either of us had been to Scandinavia and we had a lovely time. I’d like to explore the place again, given an opportunity… and next time I’ll make sure not to misplace my camera.

Onward.

Rodger

Monday, September 10, 2018

Reflections From Roma #08

Reflections From Roma #08
11 settembre 2018

Photo Update Alert:
  “Oslo

Hello there… Rodger French here.

We’re back in Roma after a very nice week in Norway, where it’s cool and clean, easy to get around, and the plumbing is fully functional. A nice break from the Eternal City, where we have already resided, amazingly, for an entire year. The tempus, it does fugit. In any case, here’s the play-by play, as advertised.

Day 1 - Took a flight (at a rational hour) to Oslo on a low-cost Norwegian airline, a tolerably miserable, as opposed to comprehensively horrible, airline experience. Caught a very handy train from the airport to downtown Oslo, where we schlepped up the main drag, Karl Johans Gate (“gate” meaning “street”), through the ZOTA™ to our hotel. After settling in, we strolled to the waterfront for dinner.

Day 2 - After a delicious breakfast featuring smoked salmon and mackerel, as well as pickled herring (Yum!), we boarded a ferry for a short cruise to Bygdøy, where we visited five of the six museums conveniently located there. The sea, ships, and exploration figured prominently. Examples:

- The Viking Ship Museum features three Viking vessels dating as far back as 820 A.D. that have been recovered from the muck and restored as much as possible.

- The Norwegian Maritime Museum is pretty much what you would expect, but the highlight of the place was a film called “The Cape Horn Road,” featuring B&W footage of clipper ships making the passage around South America from 1929-36. Shot onboard by Alan Villiers, it documents sailing of the highest skill, danger, and adventure.

- The FRAM Museum houses The FRAM and The GJØA, two polar exploration vessels. This museum also contains all the information about the great Norwegian explorer Roald Amundsen that one might likely ever need. 

- The Kon-Tiki Museum features the story of Thor Heyerdahl, who, since he had absolutely no sailing experience and did not know how to swim, thought it feasible to sail a balsa and bamboo raft across the Pacific Ocean. It is an incredible tale, made more so once you have a close up look at the Kon-Tiki itself.

Day 3 - Taking our leave of Oslo, we boarded a train for the 6.5-hour journey to Bergen, home of composer Edvard Grieg, homeport for ships servicing North Sea oil platforms, and gateway to the fjords. Norwegian trains are very comfortable and the ride was predictably scenic. And since The ZOTA™, especially the Asian version, is strong amongst the fjords, the passenger manifest included some Chinese tour groups.

The most noteworthy event of the journey occurred when the train made a brief stop at a particularly desolate but incredibly scenic high-altitude station. We saw an elderly lady get off the train and take some photoz. We heard the signal indicating that the train was departing the station. We observed the elderly lady running toward the train as it pulled away. We do not know if she managed to get back on.

[DumbAss Tourist Sidebar - No, not the nice Asian lady, although that wasa pretty dumbass move. I refer to myself. Here I am in one of the most scenic places on Earth and what do I do? I leave my camera at the hotel in Oslo. But I got lucky. Thanks to some very nice hotel staff in Bergen and Oslo, I am eventually reunited with my camera, sans photoz of Bergen and Trondheim, alas. Idiot check, my ass.]

We finally arrived in Bergen, where we checked in, reported the DumbAss Tourist Incident, then set off for a fine dinner at Enhjørningen Fiskerestaurant (The Unicorn Fish Restaurant), located in Bryggen, the historic wharf area that was once part of the German Hanseatic League trading empire. (The place reminds me of the shoppe houses in Singapore.) After dinner, a leisurely amble back to the hotel via the fish market, where I procured some excellent moose sausage.

Day 4 - We did not have the luxury of enough time to extensively explore the fjords, so we elected to take an express boat on Sognefjord, the “King of the Fjords,” the longest (206 km) and deepest (1308 km) - though not the most tragically scenic - in Norway. We cruised four hours (with scheduled stops) to Balestrand, where we spent five hours walking, eating, shopping, and taking mental snapshots. (It wasn’t nearly as boring as you might think.) Then, fours hours back to Bergen.

(Continued in Reflections From Roma #09)

Saturday, August 4, 2018

Reflections From Roma #07

Reflections From Roma #07
04 agosto 2018

Hello there, Rodger French here.

The first of our two Roman summers is upon us, so this seems a propitious moment to check in. As you may know, August is vacation season (“Ferragosto”) for Italians, when they hightail it to the seaside or mountain resorts. As a consequence, Embassy offices are eerily vacant and the hallways littered with tumbleweeds. The ”Eternal City” itself seems downright schizophrenic. If you’re in the vicinity of the ZOTA (ZOmbie Tourist Apocalypse™), the crush of ginormous tour buses and throngs of sun-bleached visitors is simply unbearable. Elsewhere, however, things are agreeably quiet, with less traffic as well as fewer people queuing up at the grocery - if, indeed, it is open - or for the bus. (Sadly, however, the trams are out of service until September.)

[Historical Recreation Sidebar - “Feriae Augusti” was introduced in 18 BC byemperor Augustus Caesar as a celebration of motherhood. The Catholic Church, ever amenable to co-opting popular pagan traditions, subsequently declared August 15 “Assumption Day,” the day when the Virgin (and ultimate mother) Mary ascended to heaven. But it was the Fascist dictator Benito Mussolini who really jumpstarted things when, in the 1920s, he organized mid-August vacation trips for the masses, available at discounted prices, utilizing the “People’s Trains of Ferragosto.” And thus the Italian tradition of skipping town in agosto was firmly established.]

August in Roma is hot, often beastly so. When we’re at home, A.J. and I hunker down, playing A/C roulette with our three “pinguinos” (portable air conditioners), attempting to keep cool without tripping the circuit breakers in our apartment. So far the Roman electrical grid has held. When we do have to walk somewhere (to work, to shop, to etc.), we are constantly on the lookout for l’ombra (the shade) and, of course, SPF 50 is a daily sacrament. We hope to luck out and not have to cope with the frighteningly extreme temperatures that are killing people elsewhere in Europe.

We’ll stay in Rome until the end of the month, and then it’s off to chill out for a week in Norway. (Of course, given that Sweden has been plagued by huge fires north of the Arctic Circle, who the hell knows what might happen.) This will be our first visit to Scandinavia and we expect to have a fine time riding the rails, cruising the coast, and “pining for the fjords.” And yes, this does mean joining the Norwegian ZOTA, a philosophically distressing but totally unavoidable eventuality. We’ll just have to muddle through somehow.

That’s the scoop for now. May your summer be tons of fun or, if that doesn’t work out, at least bearable. Keep cool and ci vediamo all'ombra.

Onward.

Rodger

Sunday, July 22, 2018

Selected Shorts #04 - Honkey, Please

Honkey, Please

I have a message for some of my fellow White peeps in the USA. I wish to assure you that, contrary to what you hear on a daily basis from our current President* and his media enablers, the people you think are out to get us are not out to get us.

- Immigrants are not out to get us. The overwhelming majority of them are, like our ancestors, people looking for a better life for their families in the Promised Land. And by the way, “They’re not taking our jobs. They’re doing our jobs.” (h/t, Jimmy Tingle)

- Black folks are not out to get us. They’re simply demanding a level playing field. That, and the luxury of not getting 9-1-1 called on their ass for no good reason and/or being killed by the cops for the crime of “existing while Black.”

- The government is not out to get us. Although it should be noted that a lot of White people are also falling through the cracks due to certain foolish social, fiscal, and trade policies. (Nothing personal - just collateral damage in the art of the deal.)

- The media is not out to get us. Seriously, the quantity of solicitous anthropological updates cranked out about “middle Americans” or “working class Americans” or “forgotten Americans” or whatever-the-hell euphemism du jour for White people is currently in vogue is stupefying. (Nothing personal - just good for business.)

I know that White folks, especially we White men folks, have gotten use to having the run of the place, but seriously, it’s just not all about us anymore. It’s past time to grow up, and enough already with the whining. Should you experience pushback for acting like a racist Honkey chowderhead, either (a) own up to your BS or (b) consider a different approach. For example, not acting like a racist Honkey chowderhead? That might be worth a shot.

If, however, some White people are so desperate to justify feeling dispirited, downtrodden, and generally put upon, well, I have a thought. Obviously, whoever came up with the notion of White racial superiority clearly wasn’t, dermatologically speaking, paying attention. The fact is that many (most?) so-called “White” people have skin that is susceptible to splotchy and cancerous ugliness. (I’m one of ‘em.) So…

Looking for an enemy? Try the Sun.

- The Sun abides, absolutely essential yet supremely indifferent to our very existence.

- The Sun does not register our complaints nor recognize White privilege.

- The Sun will - as a matter of course - burn, blister, and kill us if we are not vigilant.

Enemies? We don’t need no stinkin’ enemies; we already have a nemesis. That should be more than sufficient, even for White people.

Sunday, July 15, 2018

Selected Shorts #03 - Motivation

Motivation

I was maybe nine years old and had been playing the accordion for three years or so. I was pretty good at it, but because I was immersed in a pain-in-the-ass “I’m bored” phase, I had gotten lazy and was not practicing like I should. But every week, my Mom dutifully continued to drive me to lessons at the Central School of Music in downtown Louisville, where she would sit patiently in the corner, quietly observing the proceedings.

One week, I had a substitute teacher, a gentleman unknown to me. I was faking it, pretending that I had actually practiced my lesson assignment, when he stopped me. Turns out he had some points to make, politely, but in no uncertain terms:

1. You have talent, but you are lazy and unprepared.
2. You are wasting your time.
3. You are wasting my time.
4. You are wasting your parents’ time and money.
5. If you are not going to practice, quit.

All of this in front of my mother. I was mortified.

On the suddenly very long drive home, Mom didn’t say a word about this epic dressing down. In fact, she never mentioned it, like, ever. I am so very grateful to her for that.

After the initial shock and humiliation, I understood that I had a choice to make. More out of wounded pride than received wisdom, I decided that I would show this guy (whom, incidentally, I never saw again) and my mother that I was not about to give up. I was still a whiney-ass kid, but I realized what it would take to become a really good accordion player. So, I got serious about doing the work.

And it paid off. A few years later, I was placing in national competitions in the exotic municipalities of Chicago (twice), St. Louis, and - the ne plus ultra - Cleveland.

The more you practice, the luckier you get.

Saturday, July 7, 2018

Selected Shorts #02 - Nostalgia

Nostalgia

At the beginning of my eighth decade, I find myself immersed in resistance, and not simply the unremitting struggle to persuade people that human hatred, greed, and stupidity are screwing up, like, everything. Nope, I mean the personal age-related variety of resistance, in which all of us who are fortunate enough to achieve “old age” engage.

Since so much depends on genetics, we are immutably limited in what we can do about physical deterioration. Don’t smoke, eat right, exercise, avoid stress, wear sunscreen, all that stuff. The mental part is trickier, however, assuming one does not fall victim to some godless, horrible degenerative disease. Keeping the mind engaged and the spirit strong takes work.

In my case, I read, practice music, and every so often write snarkly (snarkily?) about the ultramaroons in power. And, though I refrain from making a habit of it, occasionally indulge in a bit of nostalgia.

Nostalgia for its own sake is not helpful. The whole “but things were so much better when…” perspective is inherently flawed and can lead to some world-class dumbass thinking. For example, the 50s and early 60s were indisputably a damned good time to be a White male living in the U.S., so why can’t we just MAGA (“Make America Great Again”)? Which is transparently NARB (Nostalgia As Reactionary Bullshit).

But once in a while…

In 1963, The Beatles recorded songs for a BBC radio programme called “Pop Go The Beatles.” One of these was a cover version of “Soldier of Love,” first recorded by Arthur Alexander, an American soul singer and great favourite of the Fab Four. I had never heard of this song before now. The lyrics aren’t all that special, but it has classic chord changes, and the Beeb recording features a great lead vocal by 22 year-old John Lennon with marvelous background vocals. (The Beatles may have been the first great “boy band,” but they also had their “girl group” chops down cold.) All in all, it is a terrific piece of pop music. Naturally, I had to check out the original.

The basic arrangement is the same, although Alexander’s version, in a different key, is slower and more soulful. The instrumentation is basically an R & B combo instead of a guitar band, and it is a better recording. (The sax part is all kinds of awesome.) But the effect of both versions - the original by a young Black man from Alabama and the cover by a quartet of young White men from Liverpool - was, for this 70 year-old White man from Kentucky, the same: Exhilarating.

This is music from my teens and, although I had never heard “Soldier of Love” before, it took me back. I was reminded of that brief time when the musical integration of Black & White artists, what we called “Top 40,” was a wildly popular radio format and highly successful business model. It was a glourious thing, but of its time and not likely to return. The recordings, however, are still out there.

Sometimes it only takes an echo to give the spirit a lift.

Tuesday, July 3, 2018

Reflections From Roma #06

Reflections From Roma #06
03 luglio 2018

Hello there… Rodger French here.

July 4, 2018

U.S. embassies typically organize two events to commemorate Independence Day. There is an official reception for host country dignitaries and assorted other poobahs, and a separate community event for American and local staff, and their families. These community gatherings tend to be more relaxed and fun, as there are no tricky protocol issues, fewer security hassles, and definitely no suits.

The Ambassador hosts the official July 4 affair at the residence, and sometimes, if the embassy is unable to accommodate the crowd, the community festivities as well (on a different day, of course). Since the Rome Tri-Mission compound is ginormous, the 4thof July community party takes place in the parking lot, complete with tents, BBQ, a band, and activities designed to distract the kids. All in all, not a bad day to be part of the embassy community and celebrate what we have somewhat arrogantly come to call “American independence.”

But not for me, not this year.

I am profoundly ashamed of and for my country. The ideals that we purportedly gather to celebrate on the 4th- truth, justice, freedom - are under premeditated and relentless attack. The current regime is hell-bent on destroying the institutions and social contracts, foreign and domestic that, however imperfect, have served us well for many decades.

My country is in the hands of sleazy grifters and remorseless extremists, enabled by constituencies malevolent in their greed, appalling in their cruelty, and breathtaking in their hypocrisy. There is apparently no limit to their destructive disrespect, and I find celebration to be a hopelessly compromised and inappropriate response.

Patriotic expression takes different forms. On this 4thof July, my love of country is rooted in and kindled by a deep, smoldering rage at, and resistance to what we as a nation are becoming: A racist, paranoid, isolated state; dismissive of our allies, manipulated by our adversaries, and indifferent to simple decency.

Perhaps some folks will look for a way to use this Independence Day as an opportunity to reclaim those ideals that have traditionally made this desperately flawed “American experiment” worthy of redemption. Good on them. I hope they succeed.

But not me, not this year. I choose to sit this one out. See you on the other side.

Resist. Onward.

Rodger

Thursday, June 28, 2018

Selected Shorts #01 - Civility

Civility

Talk about “civility” has been all the rage lately; which is something of an ironic joke, seeing as how the subject seems to come up only when someone perceived as “liberal” says or does something that offends the fee-fees of someone who is decidedly not. Apparently, rudeness is OK, nay, expected when it comes from quarters on the Right, but is otherwise untoward behavior, subject to pearl-clutching opprobrium.

Thus the spectacle of our most influential, allegedly liberal news sources reflexively equating actual violence against abortion providers with the act of informing an administration flunky, in very polite language, that she is not welcome in a restaurant. This is, to put it generously, a steaming pile of… false equivalency.

I’ve been observing this “civility” conundrum since I was a teenager. (I graduated from high school in 1965.) One example: I remember reading in Life Magazine that what really disturbed nice (white) middle-Americans about Vietnam War protesters was their use of “four-letter words.” Naively, I had assumed that the specter of useless slaughter and loss of loved ones might be more upsetting.

Another example: In the early 1980s, I attended a “Town Hall” held by our Congresscritter, a self-righteous slime worm… pardon me, Reagan Republican. This guy was a real class act, the kind of stalwart public servant who inevitably gets caught grifting and proceeds to blame his wife.

Anyway, there was much to “town hall” about, such as the incipient and illegal covert war in Central America and the planned evisceration of the social safety net. Serious stuff, so naturally they opened with a prayer. Some blow-dried Talibangelical called for God’s blessing and… wait for it… a “civil discussion” of the issues, thus presuming to represent any passionately rendered oppositional opinions as… what, unholy?

(I can only assume that his prayer was not meant to fall on the ears of the God of the Old Testament, a supremely uncivil deity.)

Look, I was raised to be a decent and polite person and still believe in “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. The rest is commentary.” But there are times when certain “others” manifestly do not give a damn, civil or otherwise, about basic decency and are committed to imposing their will regardless of the cost.

In times like these - like now - a variety of responses seems appropriate. Working in the State Dept. has reinforced my belief that civility is essential in creating constructive understanding. But I maintain that there is also a case to be made for letting people who are dedicated to making your life miserable know, with all due respect but in no uncertain terms, that they are free to go fuck themselves.