I hate to admit it. But I miss Thomas Gassett a bit. All the blogs I frequent now are generally run by thoughtful or humorous people with an intelligent take on issues even when I don't agree with their perspective. But every once and awhile I miss being reviled by someone with no verbal impulse control. It's kind of like driving a great old muscle car. Most of the time you want to drive responsibly but every now and again you want to blow out the carburetor and stomp the pedal to the floor. Not that I would ever want him posting here but if from time to time one of you could call me names it would be nostalgic ;)
11.28.2008
11.24.2008
Resolution of cultural re-Discovery is an Endeavor best served by historical truth.
A lesson for our times.
I just finished reading Blue Latitudes by Tony Horwitz. I've read a number of other volumes on the topic but this one takes a very different approach. This book is a travel log of the author's journey to follow in the footsteps of Captain James Cook, the justifiably legendary English explorer whose three 18th century journeys about the Pacific Ocean opened up the map of the world we know today. By all truly historical accounts, Cook was a deliberate, detail-oriented observer. He was an attentive, and enlightened man for the times and he repeatedly demonstrated an interest, concern and fear for the cultures he encountered. He was far from a perfect man, being a ship's captain of the 1700's and he payed the price for his well known temper on the shores of the Big Island of Hawaii, but his accomplishments are even daunting today and his amazingly detailed charts and maps were used until 1994 in some areas of the South Pacific!
Sadly, in almost every place Horwitz recently visited, Cook was reviled as an invader, a devil, a destroyer of cultures. Harsh judgment for a man in charge of successful first contact with numerous indigenous cultures throughout the whole of the Pacific. A man who went to great lengths to narrow the distance between cultures. One particular case in particular stands out in my mind. Along the Northern coast of America he encountered a hostile looking tribe in canoes who, after a few tense initial moments, began to beat their oars and spears against their canoes in a fashion that Cook found rhythmic and musical. In a real scene that predated Close Encounters of the Third Kind by over 200 years, Cook ordered his men to play music in response. The tribesmen were enthralled and responded in kind. This lead to a peaceful exchange, similar to dozens that both preceded and followed it. Hardly the actions of a maniac or destroyer.
Yet disenchanted militant nationalist groups across the Pacific, eager to restore the real and imagined glories of their original cultures, almost uniformly revile this man. It's too bad. The true record of the man and his achievements has become a casualty of the historical revisionism and pseudo-political correctness that often accompanies such efforts. I suppose it is no shock that much of the early mudslinging about Cook came from some of the true despoilers of these cultures, the missionaries who proceeded to civilize the poor savages and expunge most of their uniqueness and teaching them a proper modicum of guilt. They educated the islanders and natives but at the price of submitting themselves to the will and control of the respective churches. All was lovely in paradise until the ungrateful serpents arrived. No doubt island cultures were wrecked in the aftermath of Cook's voyages by those that followed and the diseases they carried. They would never be the same. That time was lost forever. But the same is true of Europe of the time as well. These countries too changed partially in response to the opening up of the world by men like Cook. Basic assumptions and perspectives were altered.
The reality of island life before Cook wasn't exactly as idyllic as some would choose to recall through historical rose colored glasses. Human sacrifice, internecine warfare, slavery, gender subjugation, rigid class structures, absolute monarchical power, absent laws, stagnant learning; all these existed for generations before Cook ever laid eyes on these places. I'm not trying to be critical of these fascinating cultures just pointing out the obvious facts that peaceful hula dancing and communing with nature wasn't the sum total of island life before their contact with the Europeans. It was no doubt inevitable that someone would come and Cook just happened to be Johnny on the spot in most of them. But he didn't just happen to be there but arrived as a result of magnificent navigation, leadership and courage - the same way the Polynesians did it before him. Nothing of the true hardships suffered by indigenous peoples is minimized by treating Cook with anything less than contempt. It just makes the process less honest and probably less permanent. Misrepresenting the history of Cook isn't a necessary step in regaining a grasp of one's cultural roots.
Too bad we have so much trouble separating our frustrations from historical truth. And we don't do anyone any favors by sweeping the truth under the rug or simplifing complex issues. We in this country aren't immune to this problem. That's why I felt compelled to relate this little story. Right now apologists are busy (hello Wall Street Journal!) trying to rewrite the history of the last 8 years before the ink has dried on the facts. Maybe they just can't stop lying, who knows. But whether we liked or loathed the course this nation has taken, it's best to not lose sight of the events as they happened. It's the only way to learn the proper lessons unless preventing that is their game. The only reason we can piece together a pretty good picture of the real James Cook is from what was written at the time. But the events of the last month of his life are obscured by the fact that his journal has no entries for that period. For a guy who was so prolific in his journals up to then, it strikes one as odd. Maybe some well meaning revisionist thought something in those pages was not complementary to the late commander's memory. We'll never know now. Maybe I am more of a mutant than even I imagine. For me, the fact that people who accomplish great things are less than perfect makes those accomplishments even more remarkable rather than diminished. Plus future generations can have a clearer view of the complexities of our present and maybe avoid the mistakes we've made. What it ultimately all means will be up to the historians long after we are dead anyway. We learn nothing when we are less than truthful with ourselves though that is the hardest thing in the world to do well.
PS - Hope you enjoyed my mega pun....
I just finished reading Blue Latitudes by Tony Horwitz. I've read a number of other volumes on the topic but this one takes a very different approach. This book is a travel log of the author's journey to follow in the footsteps of Captain James Cook, the justifiably legendary English explorer whose three 18th century journeys about the Pacific Ocean opened up the map of the world we know today. By all truly historical accounts, Cook was a deliberate, detail-oriented observer. He was an attentive, and enlightened man for the times and he repeatedly demonstrated an interest, concern and fear for the cultures he encountered. He was far from a perfect man, being a ship's captain of the 1700's and he payed the price for his well known temper on the shores of the Big Island of Hawaii, but his accomplishments are even daunting today and his amazingly detailed charts and maps were used until 1994 in some areas of the South Pacific!
Sadly, in almost every place Horwitz recently visited, Cook was reviled as an invader, a devil, a destroyer of cultures. Harsh judgment for a man in charge of successful first contact with numerous indigenous cultures throughout the whole of the Pacific. A man who went to great lengths to narrow the distance between cultures. One particular case in particular stands out in my mind. Along the Northern coast of America he encountered a hostile looking tribe in canoes who, after a few tense initial moments, began to beat their oars and spears against their canoes in a fashion that Cook found rhythmic and musical. In a real scene that predated Close Encounters of the Third Kind by over 200 years, Cook ordered his men to play music in response. The tribesmen were enthralled and responded in kind. This lead to a peaceful exchange, similar to dozens that both preceded and followed it. Hardly the actions of a maniac or destroyer.
Yet disenchanted militant nationalist groups across the Pacific, eager to restore the real and imagined glories of their original cultures, almost uniformly revile this man. It's too bad. The true record of the man and his achievements has become a casualty of the historical revisionism and pseudo-political correctness that often accompanies such efforts. I suppose it is no shock that much of the early mudslinging about Cook came from some of the true despoilers of these cultures, the missionaries who proceeded to civilize the poor savages and expunge most of their uniqueness and teaching them a proper modicum of guilt. They educated the islanders and natives but at the price of submitting themselves to the will and control of the respective churches. All was lovely in paradise until the ungrateful serpents arrived. No doubt island cultures were wrecked in the aftermath of Cook's voyages by those that followed and the diseases they carried. They would never be the same. That time was lost forever. But the same is true of Europe of the time as well. These countries too changed partially in response to the opening up of the world by men like Cook. Basic assumptions and perspectives were altered.
The reality of island life before Cook wasn't exactly as idyllic as some would choose to recall through historical rose colored glasses. Human sacrifice, internecine warfare, slavery, gender subjugation, rigid class structures, absolute monarchical power, absent laws, stagnant learning; all these existed for generations before Cook ever laid eyes on these places. I'm not trying to be critical of these fascinating cultures just pointing out the obvious facts that peaceful hula dancing and communing with nature wasn't the sum total of island life before their contact with the Europeans. It was no doubt inevitable that someone would come and Cook just happened to be Johnny on the spot in most of them. But he didn't just happen to be there but arrived as a result of magnificent navigation, leadership and courage - the same way the Polynesians did it before him. Nothing of the true hardships suffered by indigenous peoples is minimized by treating Cook with anything less than contempt. It just makes the process less honest and probably less permanent. Misrepresenting the history of Cook isn't a necessary step in regaining a grasp of one's cultural roots.
Too bad we have so much trouble separating our frustrations from historical truth. And we don't do anyone any favors by sweeping the truth under the rug or simplifing complex issues. We in this country aren't immune to this problem. That's why I felt compelled to relate this little story. Right now apologists are busy (hello Wall Street Journal!) trying to rewrite the history of the last 8 years before the ink has dried on the facts. Maybe they just can't stop lying, who knows. But whether we liked or loathed the course this nation has taken, it's best to not lose sight of the events as they happened. It's the only way to learn the proper lessons unless preventing that is their game. The only reason we can piece together a pretty good picture of the real James Cook is from what was written at the time. But the events of the last month of his life are obscured by the fact that his journal has no entries for that period. For a guy who was so prolific in his journals up to then, it strikes one as odd. Maybe some well meaning revisionist thought something in those pages was not complementary to the late commander's memory. We'll never know now. Maybe I am more of a mutant than even I imagine. For me, the fact that people who accomplish great things are less than perfect makes those accomplishments even more remarkable rather than diminished. Plus future generations can have a clearer view of the complexities of our present and maybe avoid the mistakes we've made. What it ultimately all means will be up to the historians long after we are dead anyway. We learn nothing when we are less than truthful with ourselves though that is the hardest thing in the world to do well.
PS - Hope you enjoyed my mega pun....
11.20.2008
Spandicks on the Road of Life: Observations of a Bike Commuter
Today I became hardcore. It's cold, it's pouring, and it's dark and gloomy. And I sports fans rode my bike to work. I had enough rain gear on to survive a monsoon, my Day-Glo greenish road crew vest with reflector strips, and so many flashing LEDS that I looked like one of those deep sea fish but I was riding in the cold rain. I may have induced a couple of seizures with all those lights. Those of us who are hardcore are quick to label ourselves as such before anyone can substitute the obvious synonyms of moron, stupid, deranged, etc. Hardcore also implies dangerously stupid so regular people generally avoid us. A guy with a fancy bike rack called to me at a stoplight. First we exchanged one of those bobbing head salutes like you see prairie dogs use. Then, sensing that it was safe, he said, "dude I'm not even that hardcore." UUH! UUH! It became official.
Having ridden my bike to work for 2 years now (so as to be able to eat whatever fat-laden and disgusting thing I like without becoming a perfect sphere) has given me enough experiences to share some of my observations about the general state of American road manners. I have to admit when I first started riding to work I was concerned that bike commuting might be nothing more than an updated version of Frogger, but I have been pleasantly surprised - so far. It is interesting to see how people react when confronted by a gray haired middle-aged guy on his commuter bike ( a Trek Soho UUH! UUH! UUH!). Below are some of the groups of people I have encountered.
Having ridden my bike to work for 2 years now (so as to be able to eat whatever fat-laden and disgusting thing I like without becoming a perfect sphere) has given me enough experiences to share some of my observations about the general state of American road manners. I have to admit when I first started riding to work I was concerned that bike commuting might be nothing more than an updated version of Frogger, but I have been pleasantly surprised - so far. It is interesting to see how people react when confronted by a gray haired middle-aged guy on his commuter bike ( a Trek Soho UUH! UUH! UUH!). Below are some of the groups of people I have encountered.
Nice people!
Shockingly, this is the overwhelming majority of people I encounter. Many of them smile, wave, nod, or will wait for me to go ahead. I always reciprocate and thank them for whatever small kindness they grant. I consider myself somewhat of a biking ambassador so being polite, courteous and law-abiding is important. I try to follow the laws of the road though I will execute a rolling stop when no one is around so as to continue to enjoy the benefits rather than the liabilities of my considerable inertia. Maybe it's my age but most people are considerate of me on my bike. Middle-aged women seem to make up a disproportionate number of the people in this group but younger men are a surprising second. Perhaps they are saluting an old lion as he passes. Who knows but they tend to nod and acknowledge my presence. Families in station wagon analogs are also pretty well represented in this group - though not SUV's. Bikers of similar age and body shape also seem to fall into this group. Polite bikers also tend to be wearing helmets. Perhaps it's because their narcissism is bounded by enough sense to rebel in other ways than rejecting self-preservation measures.
Multi-taskers
When I become Emperor of the Universe, people will be required to accept the inconvenience of concentrating on their driving rather than viewing their car as a mobile, cafe', salon, saloon, workstation, entertainment center, communication command center, etc.. With the exception of people like the President (and somebody drives him while he does it) very few people need to be in constant contact or are so important that they can't wait until they turn off the ignition to get something done. If I get run over by someone making a sales call or discussing a grocery list I will come back as a very vengeful wraith... If you are going to kill me I demand that it be for real or presumed cause rather than inattentiveness . Most people aren't that good of a driver when they pay attention let alone discussing the critical points of 30 Rock or the Office. Driving is without a doubt the most dangerous task performed by the average person so c-o-n-c-e-n-t-r-a-t-e. Young women, anybody in a BMW, guys in suits and SUV's fall disproportionately into this category. Young people riding bikes without helmets, listening to their ipod, also fall into this group.
Clueless
Many Mercedes and Jag drivers. This group does not appear to need any multi-tasking distractions to ignore anyone else on the road. A fair number of elderly drivers fall into this category as well as they seem to have compromised situational awareness. Enough said.
Angry A-holes
Young men mostly but equal rights has produced a growing crop of young women who also fall into this group. They seem to favor the SUV and the Hummer and get very irritated if they have to wait a nanosecond before they can pass you (way too close of course to show their disgust), followed by the inevitable gunning of the engine to make up for lost time. Another tip off is the baseball cap. Baseball cap and SUV, and I go into threat response mode. They seem very perturbed by people on bikes though you'd think they'd love us because by biking I lessen fuel demand which means they can guzzle gas that much longer in their Tahoe. Some of them give me the eye at first but I have perfected a wonderful Germanic war face of steely coldness combined with just a glint of Charley Manson around they eyes that deters all but the truly insane. It's one of nature's wonderful warning signs and it keeps them in their snug leather seats. Again the young biker without a helmet often falls into this category as well. Strangest are the skateboarders. Some of them will skateboard down major streets during rush hour and get very belligerent when some one takes time to tell them they aren't allowed on the streets. One petulant young fellow I saw was holding up traffic by boarding right in the street. He flipped off anyone who protested. That is until a big dude stopped and popped the crud out of him for same. Ah life's lessons.
But all these pale in comparison to the group I truly loathe!
The Spandicks
Mostly rail-thin white males wearing skin-tight spandex, this group is by far the rudest of the rude. These guys comprise a certain percentage of hardcore riders. They are the ones always protesting how drivers fail to share the road which in their mind of course is staying completely out of their way at all times. They consider bike riding as example of their moral superiority over anyone in a car. They will often play chicken with cars and dare one of their moral inferiors to hit them. Spandicks apparently know very little about the physics of vehicular collisions, nor much about mass and velocity affects.
It's as if they imagine themselves competing in the Tour de' France while riding around town. Spandicks zip along, jump from the sidewalk to the street and back, dart in and out of traffic, ignore any rule that is not immediately convenient, behave rudely even to other biker riders and yell viciously at anyone in a car who they imagine has in some way slighted them - usually by narrowly avoiding smashing them. On two occasions this summer a Spandick passed me on the left less than 8 feet from an intersection and immediately turned directly in front of me to make a right turn. Heaven forbid he have to slow down and turn behind me. I caught up with one at a red light. I think he got the message about not doing that again - e-v-e-r... So please, Spandicks - work on being a little less full of yourself.
Like most things in life biking can be a pleasure as long as everybody just tries to be a little bit civil to one another.
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