Crowd Pleasing

We all love a crowd-pleasing act. It is fun to be amazed and entertained by improbable performances that lift us out of our ordinary thoughts. We willingly spend time and money to enjoy the show .

Every crowd pleaser starts as a clown. Bright clothes, exaggerated gestures, loud sounds, and crazy antics. No magician wants anyone to be looking at the sky while they pull a rabbit out of a hat. They must keep us focused all the time on what they want us to see. A wonderful moment, when all goes well .

But is it any way to run a country? Democracy relies on it. Other systems may use brute force, or rigid tradition, or even intellectual logic. But votes (real free votes, anyway) require a massive crowd-pleasing act, first to grab attention, then to follow through on what must be done .

All systems have flaws. The exact type of the democratic tradition matters. Technology and situations radically change things. In a rainstorm a magic show doesn’t work. There’s no reason to believe crowd pleasers are worse than any other kind of ruler .

The only problem – in all methods – is when the audience is too small, too isolated, too ignorant and begins to believe it represents everyone else, or a god, or the universe. Then the performer becomes purely a cult leader rallying fanatics – and often only trying to maintain a tiny audience’s attention and duration .

Wind and (A)I

Long Island has so far been spared most of the more severe aspects of climate change. A little drought, more rain during storms. Rising sea levels in the bays wreaking havoc with ecologies and worrying shoreline property owners. Oh, and wind …

I was walking in the park yesterday into a cold fierce gale. Now, climate deniers will say there have always been such things, but in my experience they seem to be increasing. Anyway, cold, cutting, but benign enough. I smiled into the frosty blow, leaned forward, and enjoyed the minor adventure .

That in a nutshell is why being human is not simply being an intelligence. I feel the wind and experience the world at an animal level that cannot be wired into a machine. My hormones and flesh react into an engulfing experience .

Now, I know AI will be able to measure the wind, maybe use it to adjust things like turbines, record it, “speak” to others of the “facts”. But it does not now – and I claim never will – feel it as I do .

That’s why I pity and fear those who claim they hope to pour themselves into artificial intelligence. Smarts with personality. I think that in so doing their pure logic will be horrific, untethered from the reality of experiences like that wind .

All of that is beyond my influence. I commit once more to enjoying my animal nature deeply and with appreciation .

Conventional

I consider myself fortunate to have led a fairly conventional life. By that, meaning to have fit in, done well enough, a little ecstasy, not too much heartbreak. Accepting of most of the rules and tradition of society .

Conventional connotates the core of a civilization, even in its various groups. What the conventional peasants do, what the conventional rulers might direct. The basic conservative principle that keeps tribes from falling apart, and which helps individuals support each other to face the world .

Lately, conventional has also come to mean fashionably correct within a given cult. Conventional leftists, apparently, are all snowflakes who think the world should be cotton candy sweet. Conventional right, on the other hand, believe bitter harshness is the only survival skill in a hostile universe .

The center that I thought I inhabited has apparently melted away. It’s too boring for the young and restless, too naive for the old and cynical. Nobody wants to just try to improve things little by little – time to tear it all up and start over .

Perhaps the fringe fanatics are right. I think not, but none of them (nor anybody else) cares what I think. So I sit in my conventional backyard and, as Voltaire would say, concentrate on growing my equivalent of vegetables .

Future Jobs

Imagine for a moment that civilization survives its many current existential crises. Automation and artificial intelligence would surely fulfill their promise and do all the unpleasant and necessary jobs. In fact, the very idea of having a “job” would vanish .

Of course, that also requires that we imagine a world of plenty, where machines equitably provide endless bounty for everyone. But suppose that happens. What remains? Traditional moralists, naturally, claim that with no “jobs” people lose purpose and degenerate. Those very moralists often emerge from an elite strata of wealth that abhors the idea of “job”. Aristocrats find purpose in many things – social games, hobbies, whatever .

I imagine such a future would be filled with nothing but aristocrats, good and bad, who resemble the aristocrats of old without requiring servants or peasants to support their needs .

Others might claim there are two equally likely outcomes. One is a new society that resembles European explorers’ vision of South Sea Island Paradise, where everyone is happy and lazy and all needs are supplied by nature. The other is the garden of Eden, where all is peaceful and wonderful as long as you don’t anger the AI running the show .

Ah, but that’s all just imagination of the destination. Getting there – or wherever – is going to be a lot more interesting, and maybe unpleasant as well .

Bavarian Daffodils

Once again daffodils are blooming in Huntington. As I am sure they did in the spring of 1938 in England and Bavaria. No doubt folks as old as I am tottered out of their cabins and admired the sight, dreaming of warmth and summer gardens .

There is, of course, always trouble in an unknown future. People mostly stay sane by ignoring the possibilities and concentrating on the exact day in the immediate neighborhood. Events just move along and we deal with them as best we can when and if they impact us .

I imagine that like today some people had strong resentments based on old horrors and current difficulties. Some yelled loudly. Some hoped things would work out. Few 78-year-olds thought they had much say in how the world was run .

The daffodils bloomed again a few years later, in spite of bombs and tanks. But life had changed drastically for most of the old folks who gazed at them fondly in that final spring of relative calm .

Well, I also go out and admire the daffodils. I touch the internet gingerly. I’m afraid I strenuously avoid thinking about possible futures .

It is not a good time to dream of what may come. Anyway for now, after the daffodils, surely the roses .

Relaxed Art

Off and on through the years, I have sketched and painted seriously. As many people have discovered, art (or serious craft) can be magical. There is a wonderful sense of accomplishment and a re-enchantment with the world .

Decoration has served many purposes throughout the ages, and I am not one to judge degrees of worth. These days of abundance surround us with inexpensive beautiful artifacts, often in limitless quantities, turned out by machines. A miracle in itself, also enriching our lives .

Now Joan and I participate in an art group, and I have reason to contemplate what I am doing, why I want to do it, where I want to take it. I’ve always tended to be hasty and immersive – I like to totally “lose myself” in what I am doing for as long as necessary. I rarely linger over detailed cleanup after the trance fades .

I cultivate the exploitation of my enthusiasm, my limitations, my ambitions, my competence. I do not try to outdo the machines. I find little joy in reproducing machine work. I don’t like working off photographs – too much detail, two little focus, and often artificial viewpoint .

Creating as a child. Others have their own ways and their own valuations. We all are expanded by doing something active .

Old Mr. Gibbon

I’ve just finished volume three of Gibbon’s Decline and fall of the Roman empire. I know I probably skimmed through it many years ago, when I purchased the full modern library edition. But his story is far from the “gladiator” cliches .

Consider the examination of human nature. Gibbon considered the Roman empire to have functioned continuously until the final fall of Constantinople to the Turks in 1453. He reviewed extensive documentation regarding the follies of ruler and ruled, wise men and fools, passions of the day, and the odd beliefs that motivate people to good, evil, or simple daily life .

Lately, I’ve become enamored with historians like Gibbon. They were not so focused on comparisons to today as our current writers. They could be very intellectual, assuming a certain degree of decent education for their readers (which, alas, current writers cannot.) And they were unafraid in calling things as they saw them (although Gibbon did have to be obscure about sex and coy about Christianity) .

All that makes for a deep, provocative, powerful read. I took my time this time through. Much more engrossing than modern digital melodramas. Made me appreciate my own life and times all the more .

A grand subject, to be sure. An obsessive historian, sometimes tedious and confusing (all those names! Dates! Events!) But now, what a fine thing to rediscover .

Deregulation

Laws and regulations are both necessary and infuriating. It all depends. We imagine they have been around in one form or another forever – sometimes as traditions or taboos, sometimes merely as the whims of the strongest ruler or group. It is impossible to imagine a society without them .

And that is really the key to the problem. Because with social tribes, we imagine things to be more fluid. “Let me do what I want or I’ll go somewhere else!” We believe that as civilization takes hold, every individual becomes encrusted with responsibilities and prohibitions until he or she cannot breathe. “What is not mandated is forbidden .”

We further imagine the frontier as freedom. Cities are confining. Run away to open space, where each can do as each desires. There may be some truth in that, but people are complex. For some reason, throughout history, folks often ran away from rural pastures and small farms to the great cities .

The advantage, of course, has been anonymity. In a city you feel free because the mobs (usually) don’t know you. In spite of those pesky regulations on everyone .

Regulations do tend to hinder innovation and progress. Keeping them “under control” or focused on “common sense” is difficult. Yet cities usually manage to work it out .

It’s when the rural yokels with little experience take charge and get rid of regulations that things really fall apart .

Art Owner

As a would-be visual artist, I was always annoyed that once a painting was sold nothing remained to the creator. Music and film had “residuals”, books had copyrights. But once a painting was sold (or traded for a meal) the new owner had any right to its future earnings – even if it sold next year for millions of dollars .

Digital copying has evened that out, of course. Very little remains to most originators. Truthfully, even at its peak, most of the people helping the prime creator – backup musicians, studio assistance, even gallery owners – never reaped a future windfall .

Now the art market is entirely strange, where a banana taped to a wall can sell for 3 million. Some of this is simply potlatch behavior from the filthy rich “look what I can do”. Mostly, though, in certain areas – again among the wealthy – it is simply that demand is high everywhere, but supply of most tangible things is vast_ even gold and diamonds once precious. So anything in limited supply – actual painting from a known artist, Bitcoin, ancient automobiles – skyrockets in value .

Why? Mostly so those people can taunt each other with calls of “I have it and you can’t!”

Fortunately, for most artists, creation is its own reward. As, indeed, it must be .

Mercenary “Warriors”

It’s a truism that the military always prepares for the last war. A new element is that our current leaders want to prepare for war as depicted in movies and video games. Manly men who can savagely destroy all opposition with increasingly massive personal weaponry .

Of course we’re not quite sure what the “last war” was for the US, but we didn’t seem to win it. On the other hand, the Ukraine conflict seems to prove that any tween in her city bedroom can wipe out a squad of bazooka toting cowboys with a remote drone strike .

And if a “real war” starts, both the cowboys and tween are one nuclear blast – delivered hypersonically – away from oblivion .

But manly men want jobs and the military life seems to fit a certain psychology. The problem is that building an elite group of well-paid volunteers (aka mercenaries) who follow politics – which seems to be the current goal of the administration – will surely lead _ as it always does (witness the Praetorians, Mamalukes, Janissaries) _ to that cadre getting rid of leaders they don’t like (i.e who don’t pay them enough .)

Obviously, I am hardly a fan of manly men syndrome. But personal squeamishness aside, I just think the idea is ineffective, historically inaccurate, stupid, and based on adolescent male fantasies .