The Long and Short of It

Today being Friday, things were more casual at Peet's; some of us had jobs to go to, notably Jocelyn and Doc (who doesn't practice dentistry any more); Mike had some interviews he had to file, and although a freelancer, that still counts as work. Jerry has an obligation to get his editor the final fifty pages of a novel, but he didn't seem to mind too much; Paul has done his last class until September; Susan, Diana, and Melinda have chores in mind, but they do not count as work; ditto for me, with things I could be doing, should be doing, but free in a Friday free kind of way, and Jim Alexander wears a blue t-shirt which means he is at leisure, possibly even thinking of sneaking in some literature.

Even Dr. Koper, although suited and dapper, is clearly headed for a day of patients as opposed to a day of surgery, and Gregg Newman is looking as though this will be a chemo-less Friday for him, perhaps consultations, but no preparation of cocktails for his patients.

It is a Friday of ease and mischief, a day where the tease is on, the good-natured, easy-with-only-a-slight-edge tease.

But first another latte, the grind today being the mild, slightly fruity Major Dickinson's.

Soon enough, the tease is on me, with suggestions being offered on the word length of my weekly book review. It is the reverse of an eBay auction, the numbers starting around 700 and quickly heading toward 100 from the usual 1250-1500 words. It is a balmy, sunny morning and although I am somewhat sleep deprived, I'm in good form. Perhaps too good. Blown up by my own torpedo, hoist by my own petard, etc, I venture: If you had any originality at all, you'd limit me to a haiku. Five, seven, five. Syllables.

Somehow, the tease has slipped off me as though it were a spray of water on Sally's back, the focus shifted to Paul, who is challenged to teach an entire class without once using the pronoun I, and then to engage in a critical discussion where he cannot use the word genius for twenty minutes.

But I am frozen back with the notion of haiku book reviews and so I neither join the tease on Paul nor climb on board when the subject switches to house painting and the fact that Jim Alexander's painting arm is more articulately muscled than his TV baton arm.

As Jack Benny was wont to say in reflexive moments, I'm thinking, I'm thinking.

Moby-Dick

Awake, O great whale
To employ thy splendid tail.
Ahab's comeuppance.

The Catcher in the Rye

David Copperfield
Had a great issue of self.
Me, too; kid. Me, too.

Apologies, or at Least a Nod to Raymond Carver

...or what we talk about when we talk about Scooter.

There was neither surprise nor drama to the commuting of Ivan Lewis Libby's jail time; the wingnuts' spin of the punishment being harsh had begun not to soon after the verdict came through and the sentence meted out. As things stand now, at least one presidential candidate had contributed to Scooter's defense fund and indeed the incumbent President ventured forth his belief that the sentence was out of proportion to the crime.

What we talk about when we talk about Scooter is cronyism, a bonding and group behavior condition long known to anthropologists, archaeologists, and sociologists. We speak of it as loyalty when we speak of it coming from roommates at Yale, or fraternity brothers and sorority sisters. The curling of the lip into active sneer does not begin until we speak of tribalism, clans, moieties in nomadic cultures; then we expect cronyism. When we do it, it is a lady's or gentleman's agreement; when they do it we haul out the implications of primitive behavior.

In some ways, the behavior of this President of the United States is reminiscent of King Creon. You don't know about him without you have read the adventures of Antigone by Mr. Sophocles, but that ain't no matter. "This is law and order in the land of good King Creon," Antigone says at one sticky point in the play." Although Creon has nothing against Antigone and quite a bit against her brothers, he is forced by Antigone's behavior to threaten her life if she does not stop trying to bury one of her brothers who has died in battle.

If you were to see Antigone as a metaphor for the Rule of Law, or even more basic than that, the United States, you would get a picture of the position the President is maneuvering himself into.

A few days ago, it was Ahab, from Moby-Dick.

There will invariably some classic figure because this President sees himself as a classic figure, and very much like Hector, of Iliad fame, this President wants his legacy to be the President who was a classic figure.

Okay, so what about George Follansbee Babbitt?




The enclosed pictures have nothing to do with Ivan Lewis Libby or the man who commuted his sentence, or cronyism, but having been pressured to post images, I have chosen these: