Museum

I contend, contrary to current corporate creed, that there is value in public expenditures and public places. Plazas, parks, churches, and, for the purpose of today’s thought, museums .

A public museum is a marvelous place. Its purpose is always to arrange stories and show versions of reality. Sometimes bones or rocks, sometimes paintings or sculpture, sometimes any oddball mix of anything. Objects usually with a story attached to amaze, mystify, or educate .

There are claims that with the advent of virtual spaces on the internet, museums are obsolete. That may be true in terms of tagging objects. But another function of public places is as a setting for everyone’s street theater, to see and be seen by others. A crowd sharing some momentary focus. 

You protest that is also true of things like private parties and such. Sports events. I agree. The bounds are fluid. But by being open to all, a public space provides a wide variety of experience. To get back to the title, I love museums. Old, new, whatever. They make me consider what some other folks considered important. They let me see how contemporary peers react .

Such public interaction is a great binding experience, less frantic and directed than a stadium light show .

Undeserving Rich

Wealthy elites hire entertaining apologists to glorify and justify their position in society. One of the great meme inventions of such employees was the concept of the “deserving poor”. Those folks were wonderful people laid low by fortune. Obviously they deserved a helping hand .

That usefully left masses of other paupers (mostly those whose views and lifestyle the elite did not agree with) to be ignored and vilified as “undeserving poor”. Such groups should be kept miserable, oppressed, or removed for the general good .

In these days of wealth concentration I propose an equivalent expression of the “undeserving rich”. People who _ unlike Carnegie, Ford, or Gates _ did nothing to deserve their affluence. They gained it through inheritance, financial gambling (with other people’s money) or fraud. They do not deserve the adulation given to the deserving rich .

Specifically, the undeserving rich should pay a lot more to support society. Sure, limit taxes on the few magnates who actually work hard. But tax to the max their children or sycophantic associates. And stop respecting their suggestions about life, consumption, or politics .

I believe the undeserving rich should be targeted just as much as the undeserving poor. And that should give all of us just as warm and fuzzy a feeling when they are righteously oppressed .

Vision

Each one of our senses is miraculous and far more complex than we usually give credit for. I hesitate to claim I am primarily “visual” because I truly celebrate them all, but I am often greatly aware of what I see and how I perceive it .

Anyone who gives a moment of thought is amazed at colors, and lines, making sense of the environment by constructing objects in depth. Keenly tuned to any movement. Able to instantly assemble a worldview of depth and perception when we glance around. Focusing on anything for fight, flight, or manipulation. The list is endless, and there is no need to expand the craziness by trying to explain the mechanisms of the eyes, nerves, and brain .

My vision naturally works with everything else. If I hear a noise, I automatically try to see what caused it. Before I eat I view each morsel. When I walk I use my internal visual mapping to aim my steps and avoid bumping into things. 

And I am somewhat frustrated when my eyes cannot help . The wind and cold surprise me. Internal issues scare me. Other times I use eyes unconsciously as when I read and my mind ignores all the intermediate processing from printed symbols to dreamlike thought .

Incredible. Miraculous. Instantaneous. Always available. And – unfortunately – prone to errors, incapacity, and age .

Elder Myth

Most of us understand our lives as a narrative story. Elders tend to form that into a mythology. Like any good literature, the best exaggerate the highs and lows and often have a structure with a moral. Grandparents especially enjoy inflicting this on their young grandchildren. Or at anyone else when there is a holiday gathering. It’s a way of making a mark on the universe, claiming an importance almost as meaningful as in tales of heroes of old .

Nor is it wrong to do so. There is more to existence than daily meals and bedtime. Formulating one’s place in eternal mystery is important to all of us. And once in a while it is nice to share – even proclaim – that adventure .

Unlike many others, I do not think such tales actually help the young in their own lives. Life and circumstance were always unique, and the days change at a dizzying speed. At best this is just another form of entertainment with the added benefit of being (mostly) true .

Oh, perhaps there is some moral value. But really it helps everyone share and join internal narratives to feel far less lonely in the ineffable cosmos. 

Sanibel Sad

“You can’t go home again” -, well you can’t really go anywhere as it once was. Older folks are often wrapped in nostalgia. As one of them, I remember many places I was privileged to visit before great change. Often merely modernity, sometimes catastrophe. Sanibel Island was one of them .

When my wife and I visited years ago it was – like many places we went – caught between old and new. The new was glitchy, shiny, and inaccessably privatized. The old had a patina of history along with the comfort of the commonplace. 

Hurricane Ian exchanged all that, of course. New things are being rebuilt, but all is shiny, private, glitz. I find myself never wanting to revisit anywhere that once charmed me .

This culture is, I think, testing the proposition that private wealth is always better than public for anything but the most utilitarian needs. Mostly gaudy and ugly, but above all else tightly secreted away. With rare exceptions, America has no grand public spaces, and even fewer that are not merely an attempt at preserved wilderness .

It’s a forward-looking time. Ignoring real history in favor of myth, and ignoring the present in the race to the next great thing .

Sometimes an old man believes all the great things are gone with the wind .

Yeoman Artisans

Jefferson expected a country of “yeoman farmers” who would have self-sufficiency by day and discuss politics by night. Never happened. He certainly was not much interested for himself, at least if slaves were not available to do the work .

For a while we did have artisan farmers, who would grow some of their own food and sell specialized items for the rest. Soon enough, artisans stopped growing stuff altogether. Then the idea was suburban nuclear families, working for a large company to gain currency. Fuzzy effect of the ongoing industrial revolution on society, as workers were turned into machines. No politics by night, just entertainment .

Now I wonder. Is AI and automation the end of that paradigm as well? More and more we seem to become a nation of “yeoman artisans” bartering our own specialties for livelihood. Not quite worked out yet, but I wonder what work and life may become in the next decade .

Not Jeffersonian. And probably far from Utopian. But the real point is – nobody knows. And hardly anyone is even sure what they would like .

I enjoyed being an artisan computer professional. Artisan pride fit me well. But the other thing I wonder is if there will remain varied niches for varied folks to fit into .