From an article posted Friday in Slate, I learn that two names that were googled this year with a frequency matching Sarah Palin and John McCain were Heath Ledger and Miley Cyrus. Ledger I can understand, and I hope he gets a posthumous Oscar for his performance in The Dark Knight, which was simply amazing; as to the other search object, I'd certainly rather gaze on a pretty young woman, even chastely, than on McCain any day—but Miley Cyrus? Who is she and why should anyone outside her friends and family be interested in her? Two years ago, her name was an item that I included on a list of practice questions for my office trivia team; now, tickets to her performances are scalped.
Her notoriety this year came from the Annie Leibovitz photos in Vanity Fair, and if viewers of the pictures took exception to Leibovitz tastelessly posing Cyrus with her boneheaded father in ways that looked like boyfriend and girlfriend, I agree. It seems there are times when no one has less common sense than artists, as Peter Lynch showed, for instance, when he filmed the humiliating near-rape scene between Willem Dafoe and Laura Dern in Wild at Heart and called it "An episode of female empowerment" (I won't say "Hand me a barf bag" because that motif was another element all too evident in the film). But what got everyone searching for Miley was a single shot that revealed no more than my then-14-year-old daughter did when she donned her new Speedo and went swimming a few years ago: a bare back. Of course society must reject the prurient exploitation of minors, but the last time I checked, shoulder blades were not secondary sexual characteristics, nor their display pornographic.
It's ironic—in April, touring a restored mansion in the annual "pilgrimage" of ante-bellum homes in nearby Holly Springs, Mississippi, I was startled to see several photographs, in one room, of what I assume was the owner's 12-year-old granddaughter in various states of undress, though the photos were very tastefully posed and could not be taken as pornographic. For that matter, on another historic homes tour a year or two ago, passing through some private family rooms, I came across a nude oil portrait of a young woman, and a moment later, found myself face to face with the original (dressed, of course), trying to contain her amusement at the startled glances of the guests. Cyrus's photo is pretty tame compared to those instances, and it seems the feverish interest is based on "concern" over what might have happened had she not adequately draped herself; frankly, it's all beginning to sound to me like John Ashcroft veiling the statues in the lobby of the Justice Department. Let little 15-year-old Destiny Hope do her television show and worry about dating and leave the rest of us to recollect ourselves and consider when our fixation on a young woman's bare back reflects things about our own thoughts that we'd just as soon not reveal.
© Michael Huggins, 2008. All rights reserved.
Showing posts with label Palin. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Palin. Show all posts
Monday, December 29, 2008
Friday, December 5, 2008
The next voice you hear
Some of my fellow Republicans seem to be in a race to make the GOP deserve the name of "Know-Nothings." First, the Governor of Alaska was taken in by radio pranksters who convinced her that she was talking to the President of France, and now, Florida Congresswoman Ileana Ros-Lehtinen has hung up on Barack Obama, twice, refusing to believe it was he. Had she thought to ask him a difficult question, she could have told at once: intelligent as he is, he can't stop himself from blurting out "Well—" or "I tell you what—" before answering, when he anticipates that what he says may not be liked. From the first Presidential debate, I became convinced that Obama needs to hire a debate coach who will fire off a flare pistol whenever he does that. He has things to say, and he needs to say them, in the face of likely disagreement, without awkwardness or apology.
The President-elect regularly heads for the basketball court to work out and clear his mind; perhaps he should take up chess as well, since the rapidly emerging crises will force anyone to think several moves ahead. As Edward Tenner writes in the current Atlantic:
That sounds like an excellent analogy for what the new Administration faces, in both economics and foreign affairs. Of course politics has always resembled chess, but the rapid spread and relentless retention of information, forcing even the masters to vary their favorite strategies, seems peculiar to our own day.
Failure to think several moves ahead seems to have been a major contributor to the worst airline disaster of all time, the crash of KLM flight 4805 with Pan-Am 1736 at Tenerife, Canary Islands, in March, 1977. Airline pilot Patrick Smith's gripping account of the tragedy, appearing in Salon last year to mark the 30th anniversary of the event, describes not only its senseless horror but the irony that the individual more responsible than any other for the crash, KLM pilot Jacob van Zanten, was distinguished in the aviation world as a safety expert—indeed, on first hearing of the crash on the radio, KLM authorities tried to reach van Zanten, in the hopes that he could lead the investigation!
Van Zanten's last recorded words were "We gaan" (let's go), a phrase that, in the blind obstinacy in which it was spoken, might be a fitting epitaph for the Bush Presidency.
For memories of better times in aviation, see this fascinating gallery of early photos from Dayton and Kitty Hawk. I also like the photos of Wilbur and Orville Wright, both of whom look as if nothing could get past them. (Years ago, when saying her evening prayers, my daughter said, "Dear God, thank you for inventing the Wright brothers so we could fly to Granny's house for Christmas.") A quote from Wilbur is equally applicable to aviation and statecraft:
© Michael Huggins, 2008. All rights reserved.
The President-elect regularly heads for the basketball court to work out and clear his mind; perhaps he should take up chess as well, since the rapidly emerging crises will force anyone to think several moves ahead. As Edward Tenner writes in the current Atlantic:
ChessBase, introduced for Atari in 1987, is now a compendium of 3.75 million games reaching back more than five centuries. Compiling statistics, including the results from games just downloaded from the Web, it also shows percentages of games won after various alternative moves.
....Knowing thine adversary has never been easier. Even the victorious defending champion Viswanathan Anand has said he can’t afford to have a favorite opening. Under pressure because of efficient scrutiny through databases and analysis engines like Fritz (another popular high-level software program that works out new moves), top players must prepare more variations than ever.
That sounds like an excellent analogy for what the new Administration faces, in both economics and foreign affairs. Of course politics has always resembled chess, but the rapid spread and relentless retention of information, forcing even the masters to vary their favorite strategies, seems peculiar to our own day.
Failure to think several moves ahead seems to have been a major contributor to the worst airline disaster of all time, the crash of KLM flight 4805 with Pan-Am 1736 at Tenerife, Canary Islands, in March, 1977. Airline pilot Patrick Smith's gripping account of the tragedy, appearing in Salon last year to mark the 30th anniversary of the event, describes not only its senseless horror but the irony that the individual more responsible than any other for the crash, KLM pilot Jacob van Zanten, was distinguished in the aviation world as a safety expert—indeed, on first hearing of the crash on the radio, KLM authorities tried to reach van Zanten, in the hopes that he could lead the investigation!
Van Zanten's last recorded words were "We gaan" (let's go), a phrase that, in the blind obstinacy in which it was spoken, might be a fitting epitaph for the Bush Presidency.
For memories of better times in aviation, see this fascinating gallery of early photos from Dayton and Kitty Hawk. I also like the photos of Wilbur and Orville Wright, both of whom look as if nothing could get past them. (Years ago, when saying her evening prayers, my daughter said, "Dear God, thank you for inventing the Wright brothers so we could fly to Granny's house for Christmas.") A quote from Wilbur is equally applicable to aviation and statecraft:
It is possible to fly without motors, but not without knowledge and skill.
© Michael Huggins, 2008. All rights reserved.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Yon Cassius hath a lean and hungry look
When I read that Barack Obama was seriously considering Hillary Clinton for Secretary of State, I thought he had lost his mind. Looking at it again, I think it's a shrewd move. Resigning her Senate seat, she can't hinder any of his preferred legislation out of pique, and if she displays the same persona on the world stage that she did in the primaries, she will appear even more plainly for what she is, while Obama will only win sympathy for enduring her.
Michael Hirsh argues that the position of Secretary of State is as much subject to Presidential control as any other and cites three instances in which, rightly or wrongly, Secretaries of State were pushed aside. However, his argument seems to depend on the presence of an Acheson- or Kissinger-like figure in an Administration to take the place of the original appointee, while Obama specifically tries to avoid conditions that make such changes necessary to begin with. I hope that Newsweek's observation is accurate: that Obama is unusually detached and self-aware for a politician. The seven words that even waterboarding could never force from Hillary's lips were also spoken by someone of unusual detachment, who ate locusts and wild honey.
(A friend kindly passes along David Brooks's column from yesterday's New York Times; Brooks reminds us that Clinton, whatever else she may be, is one of a galaxy of daunting talent assembled by the President-elect. The Governor of Alaska, on the other hand, seems to be among those who embrace the creed, "Ye need not any man to teach you," though admittedly, the author of those words was speaking of a spiritual assurance and not knowledge of geopolitics. This week's Time notes that Palin will get a $7 million book deal, and Oliver Stone nominated her for Time's Person of the Year.)
Speaking of detachment, it appears that Obama is about to govern a nation in which, "According to a 2006 study by the Pew Forum on Religion & Public Life, a third of white evangelicals believe the world will end in their lifetimes." Michael Gross analyzed the effect of this strain of thought in The Atlantic a few years ago.) One zealous soul runs a web site that he wishes to be known as "the eBay of prophecy," a concept so amazingly oblivious to the context of its own religious origins that one hardly knows where to begin. Those who are less convinced that the dread day is upon us may have been among the admirers lined up at Wolfchase Mall in Memphis yesterday to get the autograph of Thomas Kinkade, "Painter of Light™." It seems that Kinkade's works hang in 1 in 20 American homes, a fact that, in itself, is enough to make one hope that the apocalypse is not so far off after all. Eighty-five years ago, the art of choice for 1 in 4 American homes was Maxfield Parrish's Daybreak. To be sure, Parrish was no Rembrandt, but at least his work reminds one of Alma-Tadema.
I was in 6th grade when Kennedy was shot. The Zapruder film became the horrifying precursor of YouTube. I remember seeing John Jr. salute his father's casket as it passed down Pennsylvania Avenue, though I had forgotten that his mother induced him to do so; I thought I remembered it as spontaneous. A classmate of mine visited Martinique the week after the assassination, and locals were asking him if there would be a coup in the United States.
© Michael Huggins, 2008. All rights reserved.
Michael Hirsh argues that the position of Secretary of State is as much subject to Presidential control as any other and cites three instances in which, rightly or wrongly, Secretaries of State were pushed aside. However, his argument seems to depend on the presence of an Acheson- or Kissinger-like figure in an Administration to take the place of the original appointee, while Obama specifically tries to avoid conditions that make such changes necessary to begin with. I hope that Newsweek's observation is accurate: that Obama is unusually detached and self-aware for a politician. The seven words that even waterboarding could never force from Hillary's lips were also spoken by someone of unusual detachment, who ate locusts and wild honey.
(A friend kindly passes along David Brooks's column from yesterday's New York Times; Brooks reminds us that Clinton, whatever else she may be, is one of a galaxy of daunting talent assembled by the President-elect. The Governor of Alaska, on the other hand, seems to be among those who embrace the creed, "Ye need not any man to teach you," though admittedly, the author of those words was speaking of a spiritual assurance and not knowledge of geopolitics. This week's Time notes that Palin will get a $7 million book deal, and Oliver Stone nominated her for Time's Person of the Year.)
Speaking of detachment, it appears that Obama is about to govern a nation in which, "According to a 2006 study by the Pew Forum on Religion & Public Life, a third of white evangelicals believe the world will end in their lifetimes." Michael Gross analyzed the effect of this strain of thought in The Atlantic a few years ago.) One zealous soul runs a web site that he wishes to be known as "the eBay of prophecy," a concept so amazingly oblivious to the context of its own religious origins that one hardly knows where to begin. Those who are less convinced that the dread day is upon us may have been among the admirers lined up at Wolfchase Mall in Memphis yesterday to get the autograph of Thomas Kinkade, "Painter of Light™." It seems that Kinkade's works hang in 1 in 20 American homes, a fact that, in itself, is enough to make one hope that the apocalypse is not so far off after all. Eighty-five years ago, the art of choice for 1 in 4 American homes was Maxfield Parrish's Daybreak. To be sure, Parrish was no Rembrandt, but at least his work reminds one of Alma-Tadema.
I was in 6th grade when Kennedy was shot. The Zapruder film became the horrifying precursor of YouTube. I remember seeing John Jr. salute his father's casket as it passed down Pennsylvania Avenue, though I had forgotten that his mother induced him to do so; I thought I remembered it as spontaneous. A classmate of mine visited Martinique the week after the assassination, and locals were asking him if there would be a coup in the United States.
© Michael Huggins, 2008. All rights reserved.
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