Brad Warthen's Blog

OK, I THINK I've got the comment function on my new blog fixed

I know that at least bud has tried to post a comment at bradwarthen.com and failed. There have probably been others by now. Sorry.

I THINK I've got it fixed now. Please go try, and if you have problems, let me know here.

Brave new world of political discourse

By BRAD WARTHEN
EDITORIAL PAGE EDITOR
ONCE, NOT so long ago, serious people decried the reduction and trivialization of political ideas to the level of a bumper sticker. Some days, I long for the coherence, the relevance, the completeness of bumper stickers.
    Let’s knit together a few of the unraveled threads that have frayed my mind in the past week, shall we?
    Thread One: A Colorado congressman who takes pride in his technological savvy claimed partial “credit” for the demise of a newspaper, saying, “Who killed the Rocky Mountain News? We’re all part of it, for better or worse, and I argue it’s mostly for the better.... The media is dead and long live the new media.”
    Thread Two: Last week, I started working out again. I can’t read when I’m on the elliptical trainer because I bounce up and down too much, so I turn on the television. This gives me an extended exposure to 24/7 TV “news” and its peculiar obsessions, which I normally avoid like a pox. I hear far more than I want to about Rush Limbaugh, who wants the country’s leadership to fail, just to prove an ideological point. The president’s chief of staff dubs this contemptible entertainer the leader of the president’s opposition. Even more absurdly, the actual chief of the opposition party spends breath denying it — and then apologizes for doing so. See why I avoid this stuff?
    Thread Three: Two of the most partisan Democrats in the S.C. Senate, John Land and Brad Hutto, introduce a mock resolution to apologize to Rush on behalf of South Carolina so that our state doesn’t “miss out on the fad that is sweeping the nation — to openly grovel before the out-spoken radio host.” The Republican majority spends little time dismissing the gag, but any time thus spent by anyone was time not spent figuring out how to keep essential state services going in this fiscal crisis.
    Thread Four: At midday Thursday I post on my blog a few thoughts about the just-announced candidacy of U.S. Rep. Gresham Barrett for governor, and invite readers to share what they think of the Upstate Republican. As of mid-afternoon Friday, there were nine comments on the subject, and three of them were from me. By the same time, there were 66 comments about the Rush Limbaugh flap.
    Thread Five: A colleague brings to my attention a new Web site called SCTweets, where you can read spontaneous “Twitter” messages from such S.C. politicians as Anton Gunn, David Thomas, Bob Inglis, Nathan Ballentine and Thad Viers, with a number of S.C. bloggers thrown in. It’s the brainchild of S.C. Rep. Dan Hamilton and self-described GOP “political operative” Wesley Donehue (which would explain why Rep. Gunn is the only Democrat on the list I just cited). They see it as “a creative way to showcase SC’s tech-savvy elected officials.” It sounds like a neat idea, but when you go there and look at it... well, here’s a sample:

bobinglis Want a window into our campaign themes? Check out my recent letter at http://wurl.ws/9coX Join us if you can!

annephutto had a great lunch

AntonJGunn Having lunch with the Mayor of Elgin.

mattheusmei Prepare to have your mind blownaway http://tinyurl.com/b6w8w9 #sctweets, simply amazing!!!

RobGodfrey Beautiful day in Columbia. #sctweets

thadviers just had lunch with little Joe at Jimmy Johns.

    Perhaps this will be useful to someone, and I applaud Messrs. Hamilton and Donehue for the effort. But so far I haven’t figured out what Twitter adds to modern life that we didn’t already have with e-mail and blogs and text-messaging and, well, the 24/7 TV “news.” Remember how I complained in a recent column about how disorienting and unhelpful I find Facebook to be? Well, this was worse. I felt like I was trying to get nutrition from a bowl of Lucky Charms mixed with Cracker Jack topped with Pop Rocks, stirred with a Slim Jim.
    Thread Six: Being reminded of Facebook, I checked my home page, and found that a friend I worked with a quarter-century ago was exhorting me to:

* Grab the book nearest you. Right now.
* Turn to page 56.
* Find the fifth sentence.
* Post that sentence along with these instructions in a note to your wall.

    I followed his instructions. The book nearest to my laptop was the literally dog-eared (chewed by a dog that died three decades ago) paperback Byline: Ernest Hemingway. Here’s the fifth sentence on page 56:
“He smiled like a school girl, shrugged his shoulders and raised his hands to his face in a mock gesture of shame.”
    Not much without context, but you know what? I got more out of that than I got out of that Twitter page. At least I formed a clear, coherent picture of something.
    I just remembered that I said I would knit these threads together. OK, here goes:
    It occurs to me that Twitter and Facebook are the bright new world that the Colorado congressman who claims credit for killing The Rocky Mountain News extolled. In this world, political discourse consists of partisans prattling about talk show hosts and elected officials casting spontaneous sentence fragments into the dusty, arid public square.
    I was going to write a column for today about Congressman Barrett’s candidacy for governor. As I mentioned a couple of weeks back when I wrote about Sen. Vincent Sheheen entering the race, I’m trying to get an early start on writing as much as possible about that critical decision coming up in 2010, in the hope that if we think about it and talk about it enough, we the people can make a better decision than we have the past few elections.
    But I got distracted.
    I’ll get with Rep. Barrett soon; I promise. And I’ll try to write about it in complete sentences, for those of you who have not yet adjusted.

For links and more, please go to thestate.com/bradsblog/.

Bothering seagulls

My wife and I were walking on the beach this afternoon, and we saw this flock of seagulls -- the birds, not the guys with the weird hair -- snoozing on the dry sand, up above the tide line. It was cool walking into the wind, warm walking with it.

My wife mentioned that if Morgan were with us, she'd be scattering the gulls. That was one of her favorite activities. You remember Morgan -- I wrote about her back here. Best dog ever.

Anyway, the gulls seemed to be in such a torpor there in the sun that I thought they might let me get really close with the camera. Which they did, although their patience had a limit.

No, I didn't hurt them, so get outta my face. I just thought they were beautiful, and wanted to photograph them. Is that so wrong?

By the way -- a few feet away from the gulls was this concentrated pile of shells. They could not have collected this way on their own. My wife's theory is that someone, probably a child, had accumulated this collection in a pail, but had brought them back to the beach and deposited them here.

Giving back to the beach -- I liked that thought.

Working out is hard to do

Set that headline to the Neil Sedaka tune, which seems appropriate. After trying to get back into working out the last couple of days, I feel about as macho as Neil Sedaka. Not to cast any aspersions, but I haven't exactly been coming on like Ah-nold. I look in the mirror in the locker room, and I see a flabalanche.

How bad is it? It had been so long since I had worked out -- maybe once or twice the middle of last year, I guess -- that it took me at least 10 minutes to remember my locker combination. That has never happened to me before since I first learned to work a combination lock in the seventh grade. I've had this lock for years, and there I was sweating over the fact that I knew there was a 35 in there somewhere, and I had a general idea (within two or three numbers) of what another number was, but I had no idea in what order. And as it turned out, I was somewhat wrong about the 35, as I learned on about my 30th guess.

Anyway, on Monday I did 25 minutes on the elliptical trainer, and one circuit of light weights, then some stretches to close, and was worn out. Then Tuesday, I did 35 minutes on the elliptical, followed by five or six minutes on the rowing machine. And I experienced new vistas of being out of shape. That first day, the last five minutes on the elliptical -- the cool-down, during which I reverse the action just to work different muscles -- was ridiculously hard.

The only good news is that when you're 55, if you go by the charts, it's REALLY easy to reach your target heart rate.

Why do I mention this to you? Because I figure if I mention it to somebody, you'll help hold me accountable. I AM going to work out again today. Y'all hold me to it, please. To paraphrase John Winger in "Stripes," if I don't get into shape, I'll be dead before I'm 30. Or however old I am.

Down with team-building games

Count me among those who do NOT get worked up about city councils and other public bodies treating themselves to lunch. If you ask me whether taxpayers should have to pay for sandwiches for council members and staff during a meeting that stretches through meal time, I'll say no. But I'm not going to get worked up about it such petty-cash disbursements. It's the much larger spending decisions the elected officials make while they're chewing their pimento cheese sandwiches that matter.

I had to smile over Belinda Gergel's pot luck offering, and Mayor Bob's disclosure that he consumed two Life Savers, but paid for them himself. Mayor Bob can be a witty guy, in a dry sort of way.

But I DO get all worked up and indignant over learning that that same body, Columbia City Council, spent $3,000 on a "leadership seminar focused on team-building" at their retreat at the end of last week.

No, wait; I should clarify. It's not the $3,000 -- excuse me, $2,950. It's the fact that they spent anything, including the precious time, on such an exercise. No offense to Juan Johnson, the H.R. whiz who led them through such vital activities as the one in which they had to "work their way through a maze without talking to each other," but what possible good did this do? I mean, pick an issue (say, homelessness), and the council members have already demonstrated amply that they can wander in a maze without talking to each other.

To confess, I have a deep-seated prejudice against team-building exercises. The senior staff here at the newspaper used to have to undergo these embarrassing ordeals. One year we went whitewater rafting in North Carolina. Oh, you think that's bad? Another time, we went to Frankie's Fun Park, where we -- among other things -- played laser tag. I was mortified at the thought that a reader would see and recognize me, and tell the world before I could zap him. Besides, my laser gun didn't work, and I kept getting killed, which did not help my morale a bit.

Now, I'll confess that I can get into a game as well as anybody, and after griping and moaning louder than anyone in the room, I might end up playing more enthusiastically than anyone. (My favorite team-building exercise ever, which I actually had to go to Miami for: We were shown the first part of "Twelve Angry Men." Then we had to guess in which order the 11 jurors would change their minds and agree with Henry Fonda. I got them all right except for like the eighth and ninth, which I had switched.) But I have never fooled myself into thinking I wasn't wasting time. I've always been aware that I had work that needed doing, and this foolishness was getting in the way.

We don't do these things any more. Why? Because we don't have the money to waste, that's why. If we DID have the money, though, and were bound to waste it, I'd vote that we spend it on paving our sidewalk in gold, or something -- anything to avoid a team-building exercise. I'm not a curmudgeon about most things, but I am about this.

Do any of y'all have experience with these things? And have you, or your organization or its customers or anybody else EVER benefited from it? Maybe it's me; I've never had much trouble confronting people and telling them what I think, or working in teams, and have never seen any need for ice-breakers. Maybe they help some people. But I doubt it.

'That stupid ALTERNATIVE MINIMUM TAX!'

I just retreated up the stairs to my home "office" -- one of the rooms my kids have moved out of over the years -- because my wife was yelling about struggling to figure out "that stupid alternative minimum tax." She was telling me that if I wanted to do something useful, I could do something about that.

Mind you, this is about five minutes after we were having a conversation about how people are always coming to her with things they want ME to do something about, like the editorial page editor is in charge of the world or something. She said I have no idea how many things like that she deflects for me. I said I probably DO have an idea, because I get it all the time myself. It's weird. It's sort of like being the Godfather, with people coming to confide a problem, and you're saying in soothing tones, "What can I do for you, my old friend?..." It would be a big ego boost if I actually thought I had the power that some people seem to assume I have.

Anyway, five minutes after she's acknowledging how silly it is that people think I can do all of these things, she's asking me to do something about the alternative minimum tax. Hey, I don't even fully understand what it is. You know why? Because my wife does our taxes. Thank God.

Maybe, when things calm down a little downstairs, I should go down and think of something to do or say to express my appreciation for that, huh?

Maybe I'll tell her I gave that alternative minimum thing to one of the congressmen on the family payroll, and he's going to take care of it. That's what the Godfather would do...

Troubles in the private college sector

You know about all the budget cuts that have hit USC and other state institutions, but I was just talking to Caroline Whitson, president of Columbia College, and trying to operation a private college is no bed of roses these days, either. She had called me earlier in the day, and I got her back on her cell while she was walking the dog...

Most of the college's funds come from tuition (I had guessed it was from gifts, but I guessed wrong), and that's not exactly the most dependable funding stream at the moment. With so many families hurting, and student loans harder than ever to get, she said she's "not sure what enrollment is going to look like in the fall." So the college is looking at all sorts of contingencies.

As for gifts, well... whether your name is Pastides or Whitson, you tend to hear from a lot of people that their portfolios are down, and this just isn't the best time...

Me, I find it hard to imagine being in that situation, because I've never had a flippin' portfolio.

Real life anecdote follows: As I was getting off the phone with Caroline, my wife called on my cell to remind me that she'll be home late, so I might want to stop at the grocery on my way home if I want to eat. And I should remember that there is $15 in the checking account until I get paid, so don't go over that. Of course, as I recall she told me the day after I got paid LAST time -- after she'd paid the bills -- that there was only $11 in the account. I guess the additional $4 is all that's left from her pay after we paid some MORE bills.

You know how they say you should always have two months salary in an accessible account in case you lose your job? That always makes me laugh maniacally, because the only time I ever have two WEEKS pay is for about five seconds after I get paid every two weeks (and of course I never have two weeks gross, just net). And no, I'm not complaining. I know I'm well off. All I have to do is look around me -- at work, in the community, among friends and family -- to see how well off we are. But how other people build up portfolios, I don't know. Somehow, the world always knows EXACTLY how much is in my paycheck, and all the bills add up to that amount -- give or take $15. I don't know how they coordinate it. Actually, I don't think they do. You know what I really think it is? God doesn't want me to have money -- he knows me too well, and doesn't trust me with it or something. I'm not being facetious. I'll explain my theological view on that another time.

Oh, and when they call from our alma mater -- Memphis State, which has changed its name -- seeking contributions, I do not laugh maniacally, but only because I'm polite.

If you want to be a hero, then just follow me...

Moby Dick is a squitchy good read (Surprise!)

Doug Ross mentioning The Canterbury Tales back on this post -- which I never read (somehow, I escaped its being required of me in school) -- reminds me of something I'm reading at the moment and sort of enjoying, much to my surprise:

Moby Dick.

For years -- for decades in fact; almost four of them -- I refused to read Moby Dick on principle. You see, we spent like six weeks on it in my honors English class in the 11th grade at Robinson High School in Tampa, and I never did read it, at least not past "Call me Ishmael." And yet I got an A-plus on the six weeks test on the book. How? First, because it was an essay test -- which always gave me a leg up in school. Multiple choice can be such a brutally effective means of telling whether you actually know the material. With an essay, you can be careful to stick to what you know you know, and steer clear of your blank spots. And some, but not all, teachers are dazzled by a nicely worded essay. Although not all teachers -- I had one prof in college who wrote on one of my better B.S. efforts something like, "Nicely written; I enjoyed it. But obviously you are not familiar with the material." Enough teachers were snowed for me to get by, though. And I confess this played a not inconsiderable part in my decision to write for a living.

Also -- and this is the bigger point -- how on Earth could I possibly not be familiar with all the themes, characters and plot after six weeks of listening to people talk and talk and talk about it in class, even if I was only half-listening, which was probably the case?

Anyway, I took such perverse pride in that grade -- one of my most dramatic coups of skating without having done the work in my educational career -- that I avoided reading the book subsequently because I didn't want to spoil the perfection of my slacker record. I had read -- and enjoyed -- other books years after I was supposed to have read them in school. Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, for instance. But I kept myself pure on Melville.

But I picked up a copy recently, tempted by the fact that I'm such a huge fan of Patrick O'Brian's seafaring tales and thinking I might actually enjoy this one, although not having high expectations.

And you know what? While I doubt it will ever be my favorite novel, I've been really surprised by how accessible it is. I mean, I always had the impression (based on the way the people who actually read it in school groaned about the experience) that it was just something that no one in our era could possibly relate to, that it was way too 19th century for that (and not in a fun way, like Mark Twain). But on the contrary, I'm struck by how modern its tone and style is in parts. Also, it's very bite-sized -- the chapters are no longer than a typical newspaper column, and each one a well-crafted nugget all by its lonesome. So you can read a chapter, think "That wasn't so bad," then read another, and really feel like you're making progress without a lot of time invested all at once. (Try that with Dostoevsky, someone I actually did read and enjoy when I was supposed to in college, but not a guy you'd describe as "accessible" in the sense that I mean here.)

Far from being some boring old guy telling us stuff in boring old language, Ishmael as a narrator is actually sort of hiply ironic. He has a detachment and amusement toward his heavy subject material that is very late-20th century. And sometimes, the language itself goes along with the tone. For instance, in this passage very early in the book, describing a painting he puzzled over at The Spouter Inn:

But what most puzzled and confounded you was a long, limber, portentous, black mass of something hovering in the centre of the picture over three blue, dim, perpendicular lines floating in a nameless yeast. A boggy, soggy, squitchy picture truly, enough to drive a nervous man distracted. Yet was there a sort of indefinite, half-attained, unimaginable sublimity about it that fairly froze you to it, till you involuntarily took an oath with yourself to find out what that marvellous painting meant. Ever and anon a bright, but, alas, deceptive idea would dart you through.--It's the Black Sea in a midnight gale.--It's the unnatural combat of the four primal elements.--It's a blasted heath.--It's a Hyperborean winter scene.--It's the breaking-up of the icebound stream of Time. But at last all these fancies yielded to that one portentous something in the picture's midst. THAT once found out, and all the rest were plain. But stop; does it not bear a faint resemblance to a gigantic fish? even the great leviathan himself?

Who'd have thought Melville could have written such a line as "A boggy, soggy, squitchy picture truly, enough to drive a nervous man distracted?" That is a very New Journalism use of language; one could imagine Tom Wolfe or Hunter S. Thompson being responsible for it. Or, to speak in fiction terms, it can be almost as modern-feeling as Nick Hornby or Roddy Doyle. It strikes me that way, anyway. Way more modern-seeming than much-later writers such as James Joyce or Fitzgerald or even Hemingway (who sounded WAY modern in the 20s, I suppose, but not so much later on).

As I read on, Ishmael is not what I'd call a likable character -- he's too much of a wise guy for that, tossing out ironic comments about everyone and everything. But he's certainly accessible.

And that surprised me.

That's why I don't answer the phone

Someone in our newsroom sent out this e-mail globally a few minutes ago:

Has anyone else  gotten a call from the woman who wants to talk about movie reivews, The State and the SC Supreme Court not displaying the American flag, Daniel Craig in "Defiance,"
China and the Germans? Among other things.

No, thank goodness -- although that sounds just like a lot of calls I get.

When I became editorial page editor, I had to stop answering my publicized land line -- which I felt really bad about, since my whole career I had valued accessibility. But I found that editorial page editors get a kind of call that other journalists don't get -- the very nice people who, when they find out they're talking to the EPE, want to talk about every issue under the sun. And since they are nice people, I have a very hard time getting off the phone. When I DO make the mistake of answering it, it's not unusual for me to be trapped for half and hour, and sometimes more. Which I cannot do, and do all the other stuff I have to do in a day -- especially if I'm going to read my e-mail, and communicate with y'all here on the blog.

Once, I had someone to answer the phone for me -- and get me on the line if necessary. No more. Now I have to let the machine get it, and get back to people as I am able -- something I apologize for, but I don't know how else to manage the time.

If someone really NEEDS to talk to me (not just chat) and they're not available when I call them back, I leave my cell number -- which I always answer.

It's really, really imperfect, but I haven't figured a better way to get through the day. And yes, I've consulted people about time management, and you know what they always say? I try to do too much. Answering the phone is one of the few things I've given up.

What IS that heavenly body?

Any astronomers out there, amateur or otherwise? I feel really stupid asking this question -- in earlier centuries, any educated person would have known the answer to this, but in our light-polluted modern era, we take too little note of the heavens -- but I'm going to ask it anyway. After all, the valedictorian of my high school class used to ask the stupidest questions I ever heard -- our physics teacher's jaw would actually drop with incredulity -- but those of us who were too cool to ask dumb questions didn't get to be valedictorian. (My wife says her class valedictorian, her friend Mary, was the same way. And look at her today; she has a giant flat-screen HDTV and I don't.)

Where was I? Oh yes -- what in the 'verse is that superbig, superbright, object in the sky at about 30 degrees elevation, a little south of west as of 8 p.m. Eastern? Is it Mars? Venus? Some other planet, that has just wandered closer than usual? (I'm thinking Mars, because it seems to have a bit more of an orangish cast than the other, far less bright, stars and planets.)

It's the biggest, brightest thing I can ever remember seeing in the sky aside from the sun and moon.

Who can tell me what it is?