The Persistence of Magic

In the midst of George Orwell’s essay, “Notes on Nationalism,” he makes a reference to sympathetic magic: “Nationalist thought often gives the impression of being tinged by belief in sympathetic magic – a belief which probably comes out in the widespread custom of burning political enemies in effigy, or using pictures of them as targets in shooting galleries.”

I’d never thought of it that way, but I don’t spend much time thinking about magic.  I’m familiar with such pop-cultural references to things like voodoo dolls but never thought much about them, either (until zombies began popping up in Miami.)

Intrigued, I turned to that infallible source for occult knowledge, Wikipedia.  According to this unimpeachable source (I have no reason to disbelieve this particular entry), the term “sympathetic magic” was coined about a century ago by anthropologist George James Frazer, who described two types – one that acts by similarity and one that acts by contact or “contagion.” Continue reading »

Just Saying

I have a book I never finish reading.  (It’s not Finnegan’s Wake; I haven’t even started that one.)  It’s George Orwell’s Essays and as it lands with the thud of 1,363 pages of political, cultural and literary criticism, I feel entitled to a bit of leeway.  I don’t try to plow straight through, but keep it around for between-other-book reading.  (Yes, incessant Orwell reading does explain my personality.  Got a problem with that?)

This week, I read his 1945 “Notes on Nationalism.”  George begins by expressing his dissatisfaction with the term nationalist as imprecise. The phenomenon in question isn’t always tied to a nation state, but “nationalist” was the closest word he could think of to describe “the habit of identifying oneself with a single nation or other unit, placing it beyond good and evil and recognizing no other duty than that of advancing its interests.”

What may have been an exceptional observation 67 years ago is blatantly obvious today.  In this country, the disease is particularly pernicious when it comes to those who put the interests of their group ahead of the interests of the nation.  People afflicted, Mr. Orwell says, think, “solely, or mainly, in terms of competitive prestige.”

A tour of our political horizon demonstrates how far this notion has expanded its boundaries.  Not enough that the media obsesses over trivialities of the never-ending national campaign, but a good deal of what passes for debate – at federal, state and local levels – lands at or below the standard of schoolyard taunting.  This is true in Vermont as a whole and Burlington, two places which tend to have more enlightened debate (to my mind, at least) than many other parts of America and yet the puerile pap that flows from the mouths of politicians, even those I tend to support, makes me want to be done with the whole process.  The strength of conviction required of a citizen today is considerable.
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Can I See Some ID?

I was in Washington a few weeks ago and attended an event at a bar.  I showed up with my colleague Charlie; we’re both in our 50s, our hair is gray or thinning or both, our faces seamed by decades of care.  No one could mistake us for teens, but we pulled out our photo IDs and showed the bouncer.  We had to; otherwise we couldn’t get in.

Eight years ago, I wrote in this space that I possessed one of the few non-photo driver’s licenses left in America.  I finally submitted to the tyranny of the camera when I renewed my license in 2009.  Between frequent flying and DC bar-hopping it was just too much of a hassle to remember to always bring my passport.

Later, Charlie and I talked about how reflexive and normal the reach for ID has become.  It used to irritate me (as many things do) and tempted as I was to engage pointless, philosophical discussions with bouncers (“Really?  What’s the likelihood I’m under 21?”) I knew they were trying to hang onto not-very-remunerative jobs in a tough economy (and they were, after all, bouncers).
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We Are Still Married

“I have overwhelming respect for the sanctity of marriage,” says Vin Scully, voice of the Los Angeles Dodgers for 62 years in today’s New York Times.  Mr. Scully was referring to the marital discord of Frank and Jamie McCourt, the gajillionaires who lost control of the Dodgers in a messy divorce.

While I have not conducted systematic research, I feel safe in saying Mr. Scully’s is one of the few statements on marriage in today’s news that is not a reaction to President Barack Obama’s endorsement of same sex marriage yesterday.

Mr. Obama’s outing (so to speak) on this issue was forced by Vice President Joe Biden’s remark Sunday that he feels comfortable with same sex marriage.  Some people called it another Joe Biden gaffe, some said it was a tactical move, who knows?  Who cares?  The point is that it’s long overdue for the president to stand up and say the right thing.

Civil unions were legalized in Vermont in 2000.  It was forced on the legislature by the Vermont Supreme Court; there was huge hue and cry, anti-abortion activist Randall Terry showed up in a full-length fur cot and predicted the end of civilization.  Then- Governor Howard Dean signed the bill into law behind closed doors and allowed no photos to be taken of the historic event.  Bet he’s screaming at himself now.
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Global Warming, As It Pertains to Me

Friday evening I was tying old shower curtains around my grape arbor.  The temperature was dropping quickly and all along our block, neighbors were busily wrapping fruit trees, to protect the blossoms from two nights of predicted well-below-freezing weather.

The wind was up as the front moved in, the light through the clouds held a blue tint and worried though I was, I had to admit a certain exhilaration.  The loose ends of the shower curtains (we use retired shower curtains for drop cloths, etc.) flapped furiously as I ran up and down the stepladder with a Barlow knife and bits of twine.  I worried my knots would prove ineffectual; that I’d wake in the night to see the arbor fluttering like a banshee and I’d have to resign my seat in the Greenpeace Knot-Tyers Club.

The knots held, the freeze passed us by, all the plants seem to have survived and while I’m still trying to hold to my weather observing resolution, I have to admit global warming has hopelessly intruded upon it and may never be ejected.
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Who Else is Peeing?

Every morning, I get out of bed and first thing, relieve my bladder.  This is neither unusual nor restricted to the middle-aged and above crowd.  What might be unusual (probably is), is the question that so frequently comes to mind in that moment: Who else is peeing?

Let me be clear up front, I’m wondering about demographics, not individuals.  (“Is Newt Gingrich peeing right now?  Is Callista?”  That’s just sick.)  I apologize (really!) if that image is now stuck in your head and I further apologize for all the numbers I’m about to throw at you, but demographics is number intensive and again, think of the alternative.

WikiAnswers says the average daily urine output is 1.5 liters (or about 49.8 ounces).  For simplicity sake, let’s say the average person evacuates her or his bladder four times a day for 30 seconds each, making equal contributions of 11.8 ounces per visit to the WC.

Since WikiAnswers did so well on the urine question, we’ll take its word that global population is 7.009 billion people or seven billion to make it easy on ourselves.
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Accountability

What is a reasonable cost for a conference for 300 civil servants from across the western US?  Airfare, food, lodging, conference facilities, speakers, prep, etc., etc.  From the news stories, it’s clear that $823,000 is way too much.  Next year’s conference, I’m just guessing, will be substantially less extravagant, so let’s say $300,000.  That means the General Services Administration overspent by $523,000.

That’s a half million dollars Americans had to give the government whether they wanted to or not (or at least working and middle class Americans, rich folks seem to have an “or not” clause in the tax code).  That’s the reason for all the indignation.  I think of myself as a cheerful taxpayer; I’m happy to chip in for all those things that we need to share in common.  My own vacations are pretty modest and I don’t want to be forced to send the people who work for me to resorts I can’t afford to visit myself.

At the same time, I don’t need to see a bunch of hearings with Congressmen (who are themselves overpaid and coddled) bloviating at GSA bureaucrats.  That doesn’t make me feel better.  Getting the money back, that’s what’ll make me feel better.  Accountability. Take the top ten people at GSA and charge them $523,000, divide it up however you like.
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