Noblese Oblige: Privilege and responsibility

Throughout Western history, since the Renaissance, Aristocracy has defined the standards and parameters of good taste. This seems to almost be a natural occurrence in any social structure with an upwardly mobile middle class. Style and fashion are engendered by those with education money and privilege, those with social aspirations follow suit, and the “latest things” then flow out into the provinces to be replicated as best they can be. Of course, the industrial revolution in the 19^th century made mass production possible. This means that, today, those living far from urban centers of style can have most of the same things those living in the cities have, and fads and fashions are produced in a range of quality and price, giving one and all as much style as they can afford to have. 

This was true up until World War 2. Two world wars and a world wide depression combined with the various effects and influences of modern civilization erased the social power of the aristocracy and the respect it once commanded. However, even as pop culture celebrities took over the reigns, guiding the future path of aesthetic innovation, there was still an overall attitude of aspiration in society. People endeavored to put on the best front possible; sincerely maintaining their “respectability” and superficially “keeping up with the Jones.” The only real difference was they looked to Hollywood instead of high society for inspiration. 

Over the past fifty years, however, the aspiration has faded. People have become increasingly satisfied merely watching their idols live out the collective fantasy of a “good life.” Part of this is undoubtedly the far too often ignored fact that the American dream is slipping further and further out of the reach of ordinary people. Another issue is the fact that the media has dominated every day life with images so unrealistic that ordinary lives seem impossibly small by comparison. But there is also the modern philosophy that all things are equal; “Culture” was just a snobbish affectation and the difference between symphony concerts and American Idol is nothing but a matter of taste. 

So, if that’s true, why should one want to aspire to anything beyond easy reach? As I always say, perhaps even too often, because the pleasure it adds to life is worth it. At least, I always find that to be true. However, I have to admit that, as a Southern Gentleman, a belief in Western Civilization runs deep in my blood. I was brought up believing I was the future patriarch of a “fine old southern family.” We trace or roots back to the earliest days of recorded English history. I always believed that depending on the exploits of ones ancestors was a poor excuse for personal pride. In fact, while my grand parents did take significant pride in our history, even they taught me that “fine old families” only stay that way by the continued success of future generations. As much as my past was something to be proud of, it was also something to live up to. 

The positive side of this, and the one relevant here, is that they gave me permission to both expect a lot out of life and to feel that I deserve it. A few weeks ago I mentioned the possibility that people shopping in Thrift store often think the best clothes there are “too nice.” That attitude pervades some people’s whole lives. I suppose it is a natural thing for people who feel permanently consigned to a life of poverty, where all the “good things in life” are permanently out of reach to psychologically defend themselves with reverse snobbism; the “important things” being those things within ones own reach. An Internet acquaintance recently confessed that his house unsuitable for entertaining. There was a mention of piles of plastic bins and the fact that having nice things in the ghetto was just encouragement to get robbed. But then he went on to say he hated dinner parties anyway, or any other reason to have to get dressed up and “act fake all evening,” and his friends had finally learned not to invite him over to their houses, either, unless the were just going to” kick back and hangout.” That attitude may salve ones feelings against envy, but it does so at the cost of the pleasure and experiences that one could have. 

Years ago I worked at a craft shop in the local mall, just outside of the main entrance to Rich’s Dept. Store (the upscale store in the south back then). One afternoon I was having a conversation with another clerk in food court and she expressed surprise that there was a craft store. When I told her where it was she replied “Oh, I don’t go to that end of the mall. I can’t afford Rich’s.” Half the shopping mall was off limits because the store at that end was “expensive.” In fact clothes there were as cheap or cheaper than Sears at the other end, when they were on sale, and generally much nicer. 

I have a small collection of silver serving pieces, several actually sterling and the rest plate, that I inherited. I’ve added to those with a number of silver plate items I picked up at the thrift store. Of course silver isn’t to everyones taste but I think it looks nice on a table. One recent purchase was a vintage 1920′s silver ice bucket complete withtilt top lid and mercury glass liner. I was feeling cheap so I waited for it to go half price, which took a whole month. I thought it would be gone and felt stupid for waiting. It’s certainly worth far more than the $15 they were asking. I’m stubborn, though, and when I feel cheap I’m as rigorously cheap as I can be luxurious at other times. Amazingly, it sat there for a whole month and I got it for $7.50. I can’t help but wonder how many $18 tacky plastic ice buckets WalMart sold during the same time. 

Have I been particularly blessed by that elitist side of my upbringing? Does one have to be “to the manor born” to aspire to the best of everything? This situation is something I wonder about and don’t have an answer for (comments would certainly be welcome).  Perhaps people who grow up without a sense of culture can’t ever take the initiative to reach for it. Judging from what seems popular on TV, they certainly haven’t lost interest in it. The sales of lottery tickets indicate a deep desire to get rich for some purpose. Will money give them permission to live well, or is the need to “get rich” simply a reflexive matter of habit; something they’ve been told to desire? I hope that’s not true.  If we can not find a sense of pride not just in the exsistential fact of being human, but in the very real fact of living human lives, then all hope for art and letters, and whatever dignity and granduer Western Civillization has had, is lost.

I regret there are no pictures this week. the unfortunate obligations of life has left me without time to arrange them. I hope my words are enough.

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Exquisite Serendipity

I had several ideas of what I might write this week tussling with each other in my brain. Part of the struggle is that they sort of overlap and link together. I don’t want to end up repeating myself. I’ll arrogantly assume my loyal readers will read everything and therefore don’t need to see it twice. Then out of “nowhere,” as it were, thought in fact it was an email from a very specific someone, I received a YouTube video that I have kept coming back to all day. It is the most charming thing I’ve seen in ages and if you think you have something more charming, please do send it to me!

This is just wonderful on every possible level! “My Modern Metropolis,” says this was done on the morning of March 23 at the Central Station in Antwerp, Belgium. The only downside is that I have to confess it was staged by the Belgian TV station as publicity for a reality TV show called “op Zoek naar Maria,” which I’ve seen interpreted as “In Search of Maria.” I don’t speak Dutch so forgive me if that’s not accurate. This is a version of a recent BBC show called “How Do You Solve A Problem Like Maria?” in which Graham Norton join forces with Andrew Lloyd Webber and West End producer David Ian in search of an unknown star to play Maria in a revival of “Sound of Music.”

 

It’s true; I hate reality TV with a passion. However, the difference between a snob and an elitist is that an elitist never argues with success. This video flashed onto the Netisphere in the last few days. I’ve received in two separate emails from different places today. YouTube says it’s been viewed over 314,000 times when I watched it (6 times) and the title pulls up over 125,000 hits on Google (which makes me wonder if the count on YouTube is accurate). People are smiling and “LOL!”ing on blogs around the world.I hope this blog aims a little higher than merely passing on Net spam, though.

Daphodil from the Hawley Green neighborhood planting in Syracuse, NY.

I was in a rather poor mood this morning before this brought a smile to my face. After I saw it I couldn’t stop going back to it. I started thinking about that. We desperately need more joy in the world. We need more silliness in the world. More play. We need random acts of serendipity! A group of people in my neighborhood got a community grant to buy several thousand bulbs. One Saturday afternoon, last fall, they ran around the neighborhood with auger drills planting bulbs around street signs, in random clumps along the edge of the sidewalk, and beside some people’s front steps. Spring is here and now, as if by magic, the whole neighborhood is breaking out in blooms. Not near as show stopping as 200 people dancing in a train station, but they are making people smile, and I’m sure it’s making them wonder “where those flowers came from,” too.

 

 

Someone, on one of the dozen or so blogs I’ve looked at today, searching for the back story to “Do Ra Me” called it “Guerilla Joy.” I think that’s perfect. In a world oppressed by Recession, wars, and terrorism, we desperately need Guerilla Joy. That morning, 200 people made several hundred others smile and tap their feet. It doesn’t stop there, though, they poured out of that train station across the city of Antwerp smiling at other people, being kinder than they might have been which in turn made other people smile. Now, like the proverbial bread cast upon the waters, the video is going around the world touching hundreds of thousands and every comment I saw about said “It made me smile!”

 

I know my readership is still small and unlikely to have much influence. Still, just imagine if this idea were to gain traction in the world. What if all those people wasting time watching reality TV got together with neighbors, Sunday school classes, high school drama clubs, Boy & Girl Scout troops, Masonic Lodges, and started plotting random acts of Guerilla Joy.

 

What better response to terror and hatred than laughter? About five or six years ago, hate monger Fred Phelps decided to picket a Gay bar (unfortunately I can’t remember where and couldn’t find it). The bar owner sent out an SOS to the local Drag Queens who, in a matter of hours had set up a “Pray-a-thon” in front of the bar where Phelps was demonstrating across the street. The queens were raising money for the local AIDS charity in the form of donations and pledges based on how many hours Phelps would pray. With donations on the “tote” board racking up at over $500 an hour, Phelps packed up and hit the road before the day was over.

 

Would it be possible to stage a “9/11″ of guerilla joy? What would it take? What would it look like? It’s something to think about. Imagine an act of random beauty so exquisite that it stopped the whole world in its tracks. So touching grown men weep. People calling each other saying “you’ve got to get to a TV…find this on the Web, now!” CNN running the clip over and over all day. Pundits shaking their heads “Well, Bob, what else can you say it…it…was just amazing.”

President Barack Obama addresses a rally of about 14,000 people at the Taco Bell Arena at Boise State University February 2, 2008 in Boise, Idaho.

The President calling a press conference to say, “My fellow Americans today marks a new beginning for mankind. We have awoken to a new world and things will never be quite the same. We must band together and carry this spirit forward…”

 

Maybe instead of a Department of “Homeland Security,” we need a Department of General Welfare and the Pursuit of Happiness. A “Corps d’Esprit” to fan out across the land and build the esprit de corps of our nation. A Peace (and Happiness) Corps to spread joy around the world. This week, put on some Boogie Woogie music and dance around your living room with the blinds up and the curtains open. Buy a handful of flowers and pass them out to people in your office (or strangers on the bus!) saying “Happy Spring!” or maybe just “Happy Monday!” Smile at strangers on the side walk. Spend a few minutes at least wondering…is it possible…dancing in a train station…something bigger… a laugh heard around the world.

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A Life Lived Conciously (Pts. 1 & 2)

A Life Lived Consciously (pt.1) 

It’s always been true that the majority of people live life with a minimum of deep thought. At least, it is true as long as life is relatively good and no particularly bad luck or misfortune disrupts the pursuit of whatever is popularly believed to be the ideal of the times. If all people thought deeply there would be little need for philosophers to do the thinking and then either cajole, or harangue, their fellowman with their insights. In fact, one of the perennial cornerstones of philosophy is the necessity of considering the facts and boundaries of one’s existence; as Aristotle said, “Know thyself.” That is easy advice to give, but not so easy to take. Looking deep into oneself honestly and clearly can often be a frightening prospect. 

Old Man In Sorrow- Vincent Van Gough

I’ve had to come to terms with two separate, difficult issues in my life that forced me to explore the very bottom of my soul. I’m gay and, for about ten years, from the age of fourteen or fifteen up into my mid twenties, I was depressed and suicidal. I suppose I was unusual in that my depression and contemplation of suicide had nothing at all to do with my homosexuality, despite that coming as a very unwelcome and disturbing surprise. What they do have in common is the fact that I feel the experience of coping with both of these issues made me far stronger and better person than I might otherwise have been. They have shaped me so profoundly I can’t imagine who I would be without those parts of myself. 

I won’t go into detail about how I came to be suicidal at the age of fifteen. Needless to say, it’s a long story. One of my therapists later summed it up by saying “You reached the age of understanding who you were as an individual and you couldn’t see any possibility of being ‘you’ in this world. With your absolute faith in life after death it made sense to put a quick end to this life and start over with whatever comes next.” Obviously, I survived, and I discovered ways to be me in this world. One can turn ones back on suicide but my experience is that one doesn’t recover. It’s like alcoholism. You can decide it isn’t a workable solution, you can avoid it thereafter, you can build a perfectly normal life far away from it, but it’s never gone. I haven’t seriously doubted my commitment to living in over 15 years but having overcome my fear of death, it’s always possible; not desirable, not acceptable, but never impossible. 

The bad side of this is vulnerability. A few years ago, I was in a difficult spot and a friend tried to buck up my courage by saying “When your back is against the wall you just have to fight harder!” I replied “M__, I don’t have a wall behind me; I have a cliff.” However, the good side is that life as a choice gives one power and forces one to take that power in one’s own hands. I can’t merely slump my shoulders in the face of disappointment and say “Well, I guess it’s the Lord’s will,” as many around me did when I was young. I look at people suffering the worst tribulations life can offer and I know I’m not likely to end up there because I can always end it and if it came to that, I would. 

This need to take good care of myself, the fact that having a life truly worth living is neither a luxury nor good fortune, but necessary for my survival is a large part of what drives me to “got to the trouble” to make my life, not just tolerable, but good! I can’t shrug my shoulders and ask “what can you do?” I have to find the answer and I do. As I said, though, this is empowering! I haven’t experienced it as a burden of constant vulnerability; constant fear of my weakness. On the contrary, I am constantly amazed and delighted by the opportunities that abound for those willing to simply reach out for them. Whether it is picking up a few exotic groceries at the Turkish market down the street, or finding second hand treasures at the thrift store, or starting a whole new career at the age of 45, a Good Life is really not hard to find. The other day a friend looked around my townhouse and said “This is beautiful. It’s like something from somewhere else. Somewhere better than this town.” It is the best I can possibly make it; nothing else would do.

My Livingroom- I'm pleased with it, although I don't think it's as outstanding as my friends do.

A Life Lived Consciously (pt.2) 

Realizing that I was homosexual was the beginning of a similar journey; a grasping for an identity that made life seem possible. I grew up Christian and heavily influenced by Southern Baptist theology. “Lust in one’s heart” was a sin, therefore I didn’t think explicitly about sex. I was almost 16 before my hormones burst through my righteous denial and I felt lust for the first time. The wrong kind. It wasn’t my fault. I knew that. I tried the silly things a boy with the vocabulary to read psychology books in the library, without the maturity to understand them, desperately might try in order to cure himself. They didn’t work. I prayed…hard and unceasingly. That didn’t work, either. I turned it over to “the Lord” and stopped worrying about it for several years. In 1980, there were no Gay Straight Alliances in high schools or gay couples going to the prom. I never even heard of any quack psychology conversion programs, so there wasn’t much to “do,” except wait to grow up. 

Everyone has heard the adage “That which doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” Being gay is that thing. It’s impossible to fully describe the experience of realizing in one afternoon that you are a social pariah.

Lonely Country Road- Perhaps in the Pacific North West

Imagine being teleported suddenly to the opposite end of the country. You are outside of everything you know, outside of yourself even, your life has self destructed, but you can’t tell anybody. Who would you go to and say “Excuse me, but I don’t live here. I live a thousand miles away but I went to the movies this afternoon and when I came back out I’m here instead of there and I need to get back but I don’t know how.” 

The average person lives in a cocoon of respectability. This is especially true if that person is growing up in a sheltered middle class suburban community, in the embrace of an “Old Southern Family.” Even people who might consider themselves estranged and excluded from the American Dream generally still have the assurances of family, an inherited cultural identity. They can consider themselves “normal” even if ostracized and discriminated against. Being homosexual wiped the slate clean, particularly twenty five or thirty years ago. I had every advantage a young straight white middleclass American male could ask for, until I realized I was a faggot. Fifteen years old, a thousand miles away- in the space of Saturday afternoon matinee- and the only choice is to walk down that long road alone trying to get back home. That which doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger. 

I think heterosexual people would benefit from “coming out” as much as gay people do. What do they have to come out about, you ask? That, indeed, is the question. Unfortunately, I’m not sure if it’s possible to go through that process voluntarily, although it’s really nothing, more than a question of courage. It isn’t that heterosexuals have some dark secret to confess. Rather, it is what they might gain by defining themselves rather than being defined by others; being defined by that vague idol of Respectability they pay homage to. Question any straight man’s masculinity, on even the flimsiest of grounds and chances are good he will either erupt in anger or be sputtering in self conscious defense. 

Anonymous man at the Toronto Gay Pride Festival

People ask “what is there about being gay to be proud about?” Gay people aren’t exactly proud of being gay as much as they are proud of surviving and having the courage to say they are proud to be Gay and no longer ashamed to be queers, faggots, homos, sodomites. That long road home is a journey toward finding the strength and courage to say “I Define Myself and ONLY I Define Myself!” In one of my performance art pieces I say “If you want to put a straight man down, call HIM a faggot! He cares.” I suspect that fear of (or envy of) that freedom from conformity is the real cornerstone of homophobia. That strength is the gift of being gay. 

Living life deeply, authentically, consciously, and truly independently requires courage and effort. Being gay has given me that courage and not fearing death has forced me to make the effort. I have a certain amount of sympathy for those who simply can’t rouse themselves out of the status quo. I can only say the rewards far more than justify “going to the trouble,” if you can.

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