Agape at Agape

 

1. agape - adjective - wide open; being in the state of wonder. 

2. agape - noun - highest form of love, fatherly love, charity 

Every Wednesday annually, I make a serious attempt (at which I am usually successful) at participating in agape. Along with a church group of about twenty good samaritans (actually, true Christians) in an old van, I venture out in my quest to enact agape (2) among the multitudes of the down and out, a.k.a. homeless people in a nondescript New Jersey city called Elizabeth. What usually leaves me agape (1) is how easy it is to bring divergent peoples together in one room and witness and live agape (2) full on via the distribution of food. 

What always impresses me is how the youngest members of the group, the middle school students, usually quite wayward by nature, can find self-discipline and parcel out meals to over a hundred hungry people off of the streets, proving that when one entrusts another with an important task, age doesn't matter. These kids overcome all obstacles met on the floor and enjoy the responsibilities given to them. Heck, they can even manage the adults quite well while learning what is known as a work ethic. (Sound familiar?) The process is painless. In fact, most of them consider the experience to be "fun." Who would've thought? I stand agape (1) at their willingness to meet all incoming challenges. They leave me with hope that the younger generations will be able to tackle the world's myriad problems. 

I am usually in the kitchen, ladling out potatoes, meatloaf, beans, bread, bananas onto to paper plates at incomprehensible speeds. It is astounding that most of the goods don't wind up on the floor. This talent of keeping everything on the plates comes with experience, of course. I figure that it must be like working on an assembly line in a GM plant except that the rewards transcend the monetary since all of us on staff are volunteers. Imagine that: doing a job for nothing but love. I see it as another verse to Lennon's "Imagine." "Imagine all the people working for the sake of love..." Why not? I'm sure John would have approved. 

Perhaps my favorite segment of the evening comes after all needy bellies have been satiated and have found their way back out on the streets and we "disciples" sit to recount where we saw God throughout the evening. The kids usually see God in themselves; the adults see God in the kids, and I see God in the homeless people themselves who, on their way out, often come up to the kitchen door to thank me and my staff of friends. They grin with appreciation albeit they have little to be thankful for. Love is, after all, kind, selfless. 

In this season that is all about agape, let's try to think more about disseminating love. Christmas, after all, is not about materialism although most advertisers at this time of year might try to convince you that it is. Ignore them. Get back to basics. Be brave. Make a difference, even if it is just in your own neighborhood. Don't just stand agape at agape. Embrace it. Let it become a portion of yourself. 

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The Color Vermilion

 

vermilion - noun - a brilliant red color (Google)

For whatever reason, lately I've been noticing colors, red in particular. Yes, I've been seeing red, but mainly in the positive sense. Perhaps it is because it is autumn in the New York area, and the trees that are still managing to hang on to their leafy headdresses are modeling their most brilliant hues, vermilion being one since the Japanese maple is common in these parts. Two days before Thanksgiving, the retail store owners are busily preparing for the upcoming holiday season, displaying garlands of Fraser fir, garnished with vermilion ribbons to festoon the tops of the in-store cases. Even the winter wreaths that droop from up high on the street lamps sport smiling vermilion bowties. Like a narcissist, red likes to be noticed.

Yet vermilion isn't seasonal. The ubiquitous signs of red generally exist to warn not to forewarn. But are we beings who are inured to the color becoming immune to their attempts to control our actions? I often think we are, intentionally or unintentionally. For instance, there is a huge vermilion plaque that is posted next to the pool in my health club. It reads: "Shower Before Entering" or something to that effect. It is large enough to be viewed and ignored. Seriously, I think people see it and do the opposite, thinking it is just a suggestion, not a command. Heck, even I ignore it because it has a dictatorial attitude that is off putting. Yet the belligerent majority goes unpunished since the apathetic lifeguards dressed in matching red T-shirts don't enforce it. Maybe they should because I've noticed that the dirt littering the concrete bottom of the pool is becoming more and more apparent. Maybe I'll set an example and obey the signage if only to be rebellious. Other vermilion signs are meant to direct traffic accordingly, and I have witnessed oblivion in regard to them as well. Yes, I'm talking about the stop signs and the red lights at intersections. Running these might cause vehicular injuries or deaths, and does; however, some still don't respond to vermilion posts. And they should even if it is inconvenient. 

In this busy world filled with complications and distractions, it is hard to stay on track, hard to see the vermilion sign posts that exist to save us from ourselves. Despite being human, wanting to change the course of history by not following the rules, we just have to sometimes because in doing so, the greater good becomes better, healthier, safer. I am hoping to live to see more in the way of red. Just sayin'. 

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American Public Schools: Ephemera?

 

ephemera - noun/plural form of ephemeron - things that exist for a short time

I watch very little programming on "the box," otherwise known as the television. But when I do, I tend to focus in on offerings that stimulate my brain. Albeit controversial, Bill Maher's Real Time is one of my weekly choices. I tend to agree with him on a number of fronts, particularly when it comes to public education, this week's topic for the hour's closing monologue. Talk about hitting the nail on the head when it comes to the state of the nation's schools (and parenting)! Taking advantage of freedom of speech, Bill didn't spare words, not that he usually does anyway. According to Bill, contemporary statistics surely point to the nation's public schools as being an example of impending ephemera if positive change is not enacted immediately.

Just in case you didn't already know, I taught English full time to myriad students in grades 6-12 and substituted for pre-K through five children for 25 years. Four of those years I spent being the only Presbyterian instructor in an all-girls Catholic school, a member of the legions of effective parochial schools Bill mentioned. And yes, it is true that the private schools in the country are doing much better when it comes to meeting educational objectives. Why? For one, they don't put up with smart phone usage in the classroom, something that public educators seem to care less about as they use their devices for personal reasons in class as well (I saw this myself). And of course, the parents are no angels as they insist on being in constant communication with their children and can't wait until they get out of class to ask them how their day is going. (This I witnessed as well.) Teachers who put their foot down and tell the students to put their phones away are either harassed, threatened, or beaten by the unruly natives. Now I will say that the violence is nothing new as in the 1980s, I had a public high school senior, posing as a sophomore, threaten to shoot me because I had told him to stop talking, but I suppose things are getting worse as the culprits known as cell phones are all too ubiquitous and addictive. No wonder there is an 86% teacher vacancy rate in public schools today. Common sense will tell you that no great young minds want to deal with shenanigans like this for barely enough money to meet rent. 

Of course, as Bill stressed as well, not all public schools (and parents) are guilty of carelessness, but too many are. Either positive change needs to occur or the face of education will turn in an alternative direction towards Catholic schools, expensive prep schools, or homeschooling (and who has time for that?). The public school system, founded by Ben Franklin himself, used to be an example of socialism at its best. Now it is transitioning into a bad joke, one that needs to be rewritten into an illuminating parable worthy of remembering. 

Just remember that all things are possible with a bit of effort :). 

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Public Domain: The Slow, Painless Death of a Classic (Review of The Great Gatsby: The Musical)

 

public domain - noun - the state of belonging or being available to the public as a whole, therefore not subject to copyright.

On January 1, 2021, F. Scott Fitzgerald's comparatively brief, literary masterpiece, The Great Gatsby entered the public domain after 95 years of copyright protection. With it, the doors to Jay's mansion were opened up to permit party crashers (present writers) to enter and reek anarchic havoc indefinitely on a flawless classic that deserves to be preserved since perfection needs no improvement.

The other night, a close friend of mine invited me to see the premiere of the new musical The Great Gatsby at the Tony-winning regional theater, the Paper Mill Playhouse in Millburn, New Jersey. As a Gatsby connoisseur, I gratefully accepted, hoping for the best.

On the plus side, the show's cast list reads like the Broadway version of Who's Who, and the production values are excellent, completely comparable to that of any present-day Broadway musical. The music is pretty much Disney-esque (think "Frozen" here). Surely, the producers must have high hopes to realize a continuation of the show on the Great White Way after the limited engagement at the Paper Mill ends in December. The entire run, apparently, is sold out, which is most unusual for a local New Jersey theater. For The Great Gatsby: The Musical, the buzz is loud and boisterous. But is the reality? Sadly, no.

Considering what it is, a musical loosely based on Gatsby, the title is all wrong. It should have been called, "Jay and Daisy, Nick and Jordan." Why? Perhaps ignorant of the original, yet conscious of the contemporary trend to erase the ugliness of history in favor of "woke" ideology, the updated version pays little attention to Fitzgerald's organization of events, realigning key moments and lines of dialogue so that they just do not make any sense contextually. It also reimagines the main characters (a buffoonish Jay; a manipulative, vengeful Daisy) as well as relatively insignificant secondary characters, changing them to significant ones by reconceptualizing their personalities, and adding contemporary dialogue to make all of them scarcely credible given the setting of the 1920s. Forget about Nick's first person narration as well. Meyer Wolfsheim enters on occasion from stage left as somewhat of a stage manager–for what reason, I have no idea. Further plot complications are also included (Myrtle Wilson winds up pregnant with Tom's baby, which makes Daisy guilty of double manslaughter), but definitely not needed. The jostling, rearranging, reimagining and adding amount to chaos. Yet apparently, the audiences are eating it all up, awarding the piece with standing ovations night after night. Do they not see that the Emperor is not wearing any clothes? "Ignorance is bliss." I'll say so. 

No doubt, the money from the box office receipts will continue to pour in, bolstering this parody of the original. If Fitzgerald were still alive and seated in the audience, he might have enjoyed it, but don't forget that he had a sense of humor (he married Zelda), needed the money desperately, and most likely would have been roaringly drunk at the performance. My guess is that the masterminds of The Great Gatsby: The Musical might be fans, not of Scott but of Mark Twain, embracing his idea that it is "easier to fool people than to convince them that they have been fooled." 

My hope is that the laws of public domain will be edited so that classic literature will be protected from slanderous imitation indefinitely. Tip for writers: Be original. Come up with your own ideas for musicals. Don't borrow from the greats just for the sake of the all-mighty dollar. You'll most definitely come up short, maybe not in this climate, but in the long run when people finally wake up to see that the Emperor is actually naked, recognizing what they might have thought was ingenious is actually rubbish. 

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Pool Personalities: Different Strokes for Different Folks

 

natatorium - noun - an indoor swimming pool

To keep in shape as a sexagenarian (I like the look and sound of this one), along with numerous others of miscellaneous ages, I swim almost three miles a week at the local health club's natatorium, a word that I've known for years but can usually never remember. (Thank goodness it doesn't come up at cocktail parties.) Three days a week, I am usually fighting to find a lane for myself. I'm usually lucky, but when I'm not and have to wait, I spend the minutes watching how other people swim. Since no one stroke for anyone is executed in exactly the same way, it is quite amusing to see just how many personal styles there are. Believe me, there are multitudinous pool personalities, different strokes for different folks.

For one, men swim differently then women, generally–and not surprisingly–more aggressively. In my experience as an observer, when most men hit the water to swim freestyle, they proceed to hit the water– literally, unintentionally (maybe) slapping it with open palms so that swimmers in other lanes get splashed in the face. If you happen to enjoy keeping your head above water (good advice in and out of the pool), then you can't escape the brutal spray, which, I would imagine, might be comparable to swimming laps in the Olympic-size fountain at the Bellagio Hotel, Las Vegas. Not fun. However, whenever the younger men who sport Speedos, wide, V-like shoulders, and six-pack abs approach the tank, you can bet they spent time swimming competitively. These men are perfect physically and are a joy to swim beside as they don't pound angrily. They alternate their arms, forming smooth arcs at the base of which are hands that dip quietly into the water, their legs beating out the right rhythm to guarantee forward moment with minimum wake. Ah! They are the sons of Neptune himself. A joy to observe and swoon over. (Too bad they don't come along too frequently.)

The women swimmers, on the other hand, can be idiosyncratic. For instance, there is one very petite Asian woman, a regular as I am, who likes to do the backstroke. Yet her stroke is more like that used in ballet. Her alternating arms move in slow motion to silent orchestration, her hands are splayed and her thumbs and forefingers, touching, like those of a plastic baby doll's. She doesn't get across the pool rapidly, but she composes her own aquatic poetry. Other women, the ones in my age group, tend to bring props like flippers and masks, noodles and such into the pool. They make me feel like I am on the beach at a resort hotel in the Caribbean, watching people snorkel among the shallow reefs. (I hope the club isn't thinking about making the pool into a salt water tank for colorful fish as it is kept healthy via bromide.) Perhaps these women at a young age were inspired by Aphrodite or Calypso albeit I can't imagine either in snorkel gear. 

Although I am not an athlete, I can still remember what I learned in fourth grade when our gym class had the unique pleasure of taking swimming classes at the local pool, conveniently located next door to our elementary school so that we could walk to the outdoor natatorium in June just before the end of the school year. I try to practice good pool etiquette when I can; however, I must admit that I disregard all signage that insists that swimmers take showers before diving into the pool. I have noticed that most people do ignore the signs. I guess we are rebels without much of a cause other than to get in and out of the pool sooner than later to free up lanes for others. After all, unselfishness is amphibious. I'd like to think so anyway.

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The Grass Is Always Greener: A Syndrome

 

"Grass is Greener" Syndrome - noun - the thought that there is always something better elsewhere, so rather than experiencing security, stability, and satisfaction in the present environment, there is the feeling that there is more or better elsewhere, and anything less than ideal is not acceptable (psychcentral.com).

syndrome - noun - a condition characterized by a set of specific symptoms (Google). 

I learned something new today: the aforementioned syndrome, GIGS. Previously, I had thought 'The grass is always greener" was strictly a proverb that applied to some dreamers who have a difficult time committing to person, place, or thing, or accepting (figuratively) the type of grass or even weeds and their shades of green in their own backyards or spaces. (I read somewhere once that there are about three hundred hues of green, but humans can only perceive a fraction of them. Which might mean that the person suffering from the syndrome will more or less, never be satiated. And yes, I am trying to be witty here.) 

After just spending nearly a week in SoCal with my thirty-something daughter, I have come to the unsettling conclusion that she suffers from the malady, GIGS. Her life-long dream has always been to live in the Los Angeles area as her passion–anything and everything having to do with making movies–primarily lies there. Before deciding to attend UCLA for her MBA in the field of entertainment, she had lived and worked in New York City, yet another location associated with dreams and dreamers and the entertainment industry. She was contented for a relatively short period of time before she lost the occupation wielding contentment and was catapulted feet first into two other jobs, one after the other, that could never quite equal the first. Looking west, she saw blue skies (literally) and the potential for verdant professional landscapes that the "magical" albeit black-and-white New York could not give her on a regular basis. And Central Park just wasn't the answer in terms of providing the ultimate green space. Now that she is fully ensconced comfortably in LaLa Land, where everything seems to be quite perfect (except for the freeways and "crazy" drivers on them) and green since they have had a lot of rain this past year, she misses New York. Ugh. GIGS. 

Do you have an adult kid who has this syndrome, too? If so, what advice do you give him/her/them, or every time that said relation complains, do you just make a sour face and shrug exaggeratedly with frustration knowing that unless you are on FaceTime (or the equivalent), she or he or they can't see you?

Yet for every problem, there is a solution, or so sayeth this optimist. For my daughter, it might be to find a job that is consistently propelling her back and forth like a tug-of-war between the two locations, which is not impossible to find, apparently, since many communications-oriented companies have offices in both cities. I am praying she finds this solution as I am tired of the whining from her end and the unattractive grimaces and vehement shrugging on my end.

Hopefully, you, personally, are not a victim of GIGS. If you are, just remember "no matter where you go, there you are." 

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Gullibility and the Royal Scam

 

gullibility - n. - a tendency to be easily persuaded that something is real or true. 

Could it be that we are ensconced in the era of gullibility? 

My first real encounter with the theme of gullibility on a large scale in literature came in 1985 when I was teaching Mark Twain's The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn to my tenth-grade students at an all-girls Catholic school. Just in case you have either 1. never heard of the tome or 2. read it so long ago that you remember nothing about it, it is a seething satire of humanity in 1885 (exactly one hundred years before my experience with it). Twain (a.k.a. Sam Clemens) depicts his own society as hopelessly, haplessly gullible so that they believe just about every nonsensical deed done and reported, even the most ridiculously farfetched. Sound familiar? Well, as I have probably mentioned before, human nature doesn't change, just technology. 

And despite a preponderance of said technology (A.I.), we have no more common sense than we ever had, falling for every royal scam out there, even political ones, not that that is surprising since politicians have been pulling the wool over both bespectacled and 20/20 eyes since the beginning of organized time. Mendacity is just the rule of thumb in that club. In some states, people have come down to voting for the most gifted of all con artists so that they can con their colleagues into whatever it is they want more effectively and efficiently and most likely unlawfully. (Huh? Is this really the right way to rationalize, my fellow Americans?)

As I continue to sell, sell, sell on Facebook, I am coming across more and more scammers, who, frankly, aren't terribly bright themselves. In case you want to sell anything on FB Marketplace, beware of the potential buyers who act like they are interested and turn around and ask for your phone number. Since Messenger is the rule of form, any other variation of communication is unnecessary. I'm guessing that once the charlatans obtain the numbers from the gullible, they sell them. (Never give out your phone number to anyone you don't know personally because your phone number can open many doors to your identity that you would rather leave shut and bolted.) The other day, a more sophisticated crook tried to hoodwink my daughter via Venmo. He nearly convinced her that his "business" account would credit her account $250, $200 of which she would need to send back since the item for sale was priced at $50. As you have probably already guessed, the deal wound up being bogus. He tried to scam her into believing that his account had been depleted of the amount, which she then owed him when in fact her account had never been credited. Seller, beware! These grifters are pretty convincing. But they can fool some of the people some of the time, but not all of the people all of the time. Be the latter, not the former.

The moral of the story is, of course, try not to be gullible. What is perhaps easier than honing common sense is not to trust anyone. Pretend that everyone, even the leading Republican presidential candidate, is not worthy of your certitude. If you were to do this, you'd feel a lot safer, more confident, and our democracy would be a lot better off :). 

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