Timothy Cooper's Blog: 2020: A Politically Divine Blog
September 5, 2015
IF I RAN FOR PRESIDENT...
Walls are in this year. Big walls, little walls, every length of wall… And it’s all thanks to Donald Trump. By now just about everyone’s heard about his proposed anti-immigration wall-- all 1200 miles of it. At that length, it might just be visible from the moon. Trump—for all his faults-- is talking about building one big long serious wall. And for that he gets credit.
However, Trump’s rival, Scott Walker, is not to be undone. He’s all heated up about building a wall, too. This one clear across Canada. That, my friends, is one HUGE wall-- a 3,000-mile wall, not some shrimpy wall that just about any self-respecting immigrant could get around. Which is probably why Walker dreamed it up in the first place. It’s a form of One-Walls-Manship. Scott’s out-trumping Trump and succeeding. It’s about time someone stepped up to the plate to keep out all those Canadian rapists and murderers who scurry across America’s northern borders
So I say good for Trump and double good for Walker. These guys are onto something. Building walls is good for presidential politics. The longer the wall, the greater the number of votes. Anyone smart enough to propose building a Great Wall of America is obviously smart enough to be the next president of the United States of America.
But look—it’s not as if these guys have this idea patented or anything. Not by a long shot. I checked with the U.S. Patent Office. So if I ran for president—something I’m toying with seriously—I certainly wouldn’t stop where those guys did. Not even close.
If I ran for president, my fellow Americans, I’d propose building the Greatest Wall of All.
Not one wall, not two, but three and four walls. Yes, that’s right, my fellow Americans--four very, very long and very, very high walls. I’d wall-in America, folks, and make America great again. I’d even propose changing our name—to Fortress America.
Imagine—just image a beautiful tall concrete walls going up and down the East Coast. From Maine to Florida—1,600 miles of the Great American Wall. Then I’d build another one. From Washington State down to Tijuana. Another 1,200 beautiful miles of concrete wall. But, of course, I won’t stop there. No, I’d make Trump’s proposed wall look very, very small. After all, he’s proposing such a dinky wall to make America great again. Only 1200-miles of wall. Can he be serious? My southern border wall would stretch from San Diego to Florida. That, my friends, is 4,000-plus miles of wall. Put that together with another 2,700 miles of northern border wall, and we are talking about one very presidential wall. And you thought Trump and Walker were so damn smart.
My wall goes beyond any wall that’s ever come before...
Lest there be any doubt, let’s look at the World Book of Records: First there was the Great Wall of China. Started around 220 BC by Qin Shi Huang, it was completed in 1600 AD, during the Ming Dynasty. As anyone who’s ever walked it knows, it’s a pretty damn good-sized wall. About 5,500 miles of Wall, in fact. So neither Trump’s nor Walker’s walls come even close to matching it. And they say they’re going to be tough negotiating with the Chinese!
Still, both Trump’s and Walker’s walls beat out what used to be the Berlin Wall. For all the bother it caused over thirty some odd years, it was a relatively puny wall. Only 87 miles of wall to be exact. In my opinion, it hardly deserved to be called a wall at all!
Then there’s the West Bank Barrier. Now that’s a halfway respectable wall. Fairly long and quite high, too. 430 miles of wall, when all is said and done. Certainly no match for China’s Wall, but then Israel’s not China, and it hasn’t taken the Israelis nearly two thousands years to build it, either.
So let’s review: There’s China’s Great Wall and the old GDR’s Berlin Wall and the Israeli’s West Bank Barrier. And then there’s Trump’s southern border wall and Walker’s northern border wall—and then, my fellow Americans, there’s MY wall--the grandest, the greatest wall of all.
I’m not proposing building a 1,200-mile wall, not a 3,000-mile wall, not even a 5,000-mile wall. My wall would be a 10,000-mile wall!
All I can say is that this is a beautiful time to run for president in the United States of America. I mean, all you need to do is propose to build a wall and you surge ahead in the polls! Is this a great country or what?
So thank you, Donald. Thank you, Scott. You really have been such wonderful inspirations. Without your leadership, I’d never have proposed building any kind of wall at all, let alone the Greatest Wall of All. May the candidate with the longest wall win!
The only thing is I kind of feel sorry for Hilary, because she’s missing out. I mean, Hilary hasn’t proposed building a single mile of wall. Yet she thinks she can win the presidency! Good grief!
So, please, vote for me—Timothy Cooper—the proposer of the 10,000-mile Wall.
However, Trump’s rival, Scott Walker, is not to be undone. He’s all heated up about building a wall, too. This one clear across Canada. That, my friends, is one HUGE wall-- a 3,000-mile wall, not some shrimpy wall that just about any self-respecting immigrant could get around. Which is probably why Walker dreamed it up in the first place. It’s a form of One-Walls-Manship. Scott’s out-trumping Trump and succeeding. It’s about time someone stepped up to the plate to keep out all those Canadian rapists and murderers who scurry across America’s northern borders
So I say good for Trump and double good for Walker. These guys are onto something. Building walls is good for presidential politics. The longer the wall, the greater the number of votes. Anyone smart enough to propose building a Great Wall of America is obviously smart enough to be the next president of the United States of America.
But look—it’s not as if these guys have this idea patented or anything. Not by a long shot. I checked with the U.S. Patent Office. So if I ran for president—something I’m toying with seriously—I certainly wouldn’t stop where those guys did. Not even close.
If I ran for president, my fellow Americans, I’d propose building the Greatest Wall of All.
Not one wall, not two, but three and four walls. Yes, that’s right, my fellow Americans--four very, very long and very, very high walls. I’d wall-in America, folks, and make America great again. I’d even propose changing our name—to Fortress America.
Imagine—just image a beautiful tall concrete walls going up and down the East Coast. From Maine to Florida—1,600 miles of the Great American Wall. Then I’d build another one. From Washington State down to Tijuana. Another 1,200 beautiful miles of concrete wall. But, of course, I won’t stop there. No, I’d make Trump’s proposed wall look very, very small. After all, he’s proposing such a dinky wall to make America great again. Only 1200-miles of wall. Can he be serious? My southern border wall would stretch from San Diego to Florida. That, my friends, is 4,000-plus miles of wall. Put that together with another 2,700 miles of northern border wall, and we are talking about one very presidential wall. And you thought Trump and Walker were so damn smart.
My wall goes beyond any wall that’s ever come before...
Lest there be any doubt, let’s look at the World Book of Records: First there was the Great Wall of China. Started around 220 BC by Qin Shi Huang, it was completed in 1600 AD, during the Ming Dynasty. As anyone who’s ever walked it knows, it’s a pretty damn good-sized wall. About 5,500 miles of Wall, in fact. So neither Trump’s nor Walker’s walls come even close to matching it. And they say they’re going to be tough negotiating with the Chinese!
Still, both Trump’s and Walker’s walls beat out what used to be the Berlin Wall. For all the bother it caused over thirty some odd years, it was a relatively puny wall. Only 87 miles of wall to be exact. In my opinion, it hardly deserved to be called a wall at all!
Then there’s the West Bank Barrier. Now that’s a halfway respectable wall. Fairly long and quite high, too. 430 miles of wall, when all is said and done. Certainly no match for China’s Wall, but then Israel’s not China, and it hasn’t taken the Israelis nearly two thousands years to build it, either.
So let’s review: There’s China’s Great Wall and the old GDR’s Berlin Wall and the Israeli’s West Bank Barrier. And then there’s Trump’s southern border wall and Walker’s northern border wall—and then, my fellow Americans, there’s MY wall--the grandest, the greatest wall of all.
I’m not proposing building a 1,200-mile wall, not a 3,000-mile wall, not even a 5,000-mile wall. My wall would be a 10,000-mile wall!
All I can say is that this is a beautiful time to run for president in the United States of America. I mean, all you need to do is propose to build a wall and you surge ahead in the polls! Is this a great country or what?
So thank you, Donald. Thank you, Scott. You really have been such wonderful inspirations. Without your leadership, I’d never have proposed building any kind of wall at all, let alone the Greatest Wall of All. May the candidate with the longest wall win!
The only thing is I kind of feel sorry for Hilary, because she’s missing out. I mean, Hilary hasn’t proposed building a single mile of wall. Yet she thinks she can win the presidency! Good grief!
So, please, vote for me—Timothy Cooper—the proposer of the 10,000-mile Wall.
August 24, 2015
TRUMP'S SORRY SQUALOR
In the first heady days of The Trump’s candidacy, I wrote a blog that marveled at his er—shall we say, unorthodox candidacy? Those initial moments had about them a certain refreshing jubilance of candour. The truth, according to Trump, was everywhere to be heard.
That was then; this is now.
To be sure, his initial bash-‘em-up-side-of-the-head brashness—how do I say this nicely?—help me out here—was as pleasurable to the palate as this year’s Beaujolais. But his subsequent truth-spewing has left something to be desired: it’s changed that fruity taste of wine to Heinz vinegar.
In fact, it’s become evident that Trump’s truth-in-politics offensive is dangerous to the American ethos as a whole, and is one that threatens to shift fundamental American values. What we have here is the flame-throwing rhetoric of a rising (or flying) demagogue.
His vitriolic denunciations of illegal immigrants represent the soiled underbelly of shame and prejudice. They embody all that is unhappily hateful about racism in America. This time however it’s not being leveled at African-Americans by white Southerners. This time it’s being dispensed by a white New Yorker at Latinos who illegally crossed the border five and ten years ago—over 13 million of them, including 4.5 million children—now U.S. citizens by birth—parented by at least one illegal immigrant.
Now Trump’s merciless truth dictates that these children be instantly removed. Now Trump’s harsh truth mandates that the 13 million or so illegals—nearly 50% of whom own homes in the United States—should be forcibly corralled like wild ponies and herded in a stampede across the U.S.-Mexican border in the name of making America great again.
To do that, of course, Trump would seek to turn American into an illegal immigrant police state. He would gleefully pump up the number of immigration enforcement officers to the level at least as large as a pretty decent-sized army. And that’s only for starters. Then he’d build his Great Wall of America, which would probably be visible from the surface of the moon, stretching 1300 magnificent miles, a good-sized gnash across the southern belly of America. His vision of a greater America includes hundreds of internment camps along the border and millions of raids on Latino families in the small hours of the night. But according to Trump these actions are necessary to let America rise again to its proper place in his new age of anti-compassion. His bright new vision is this: Fortress America, land of Free, home of the Brave, country of the Terrified.
Oh but of course there will be a great big beautiful door on the other side of the wall to let the worthy come back in, eventually, after their lives have been ruined by his this side of xenophobic policies.
But there’s more. Under a Trump Administration, the IRS will most certainly be tasked with seizing all of that illegal immigrant money (earned of course by very hard honest work) being wired back to their needy families south of the Tijuana. You have to give Trump an “A” for audacity. America could then collect a billionaire’s fortune in cold cash and use it to pay for his immigration army and their combat gear. America’s streets will become battle zones. But America will be great again, for sure.
I’ll give this to him, he’s brilliant. Creating a new million-plus professional army to round up many millions of illegal immigrants and their U.S. citizen children and funded with their own cash meant for their impoverished families living in Central America is even more creative than Ronald Reagan’s Iran-Contra deal.
Trump is really smart with cash. Under his plan, there will be plenty of greenbacks to cover the costs of the latest army combat army, including, I’m sure, night vision goggles. And oh yes, there'll be no problem funding millions of orange jumpsuits (junior sizes, included) and vast numbers of human warehouses, so many they’ll likely be visible from the moon, too. This is why America will be great again. Although come to think about it, America never was a Gestapo state. But never mind, “great” is an elastic word. All-inclusive of just about anything, including mass deportations.
But those who’re seeing new light in Trump’s vision of greatness should demand even more from him. After all, Trump is singing their song and they’re empowering him. Indeed, they might propose to him that if elected president he tweak one of America’s most profound symbol’s of greatness--the Statue of Liberty, that enduring gift from the people of France to America, which is said to represent “Liberty Enlightening the World.” Yes, our man Trump, in keeping with his panache for candour--politically incorrect or otherwise--should be counseled by them to remove the grand lady from New York Harbor and re-locate her down south, somewhere along the Laredo, Texas border. Then to make their point as bluntly as possible, they should have her flaming torch unceremoniously removed and replaced with a raised middle finger, aimed in the direction of Mexico--towards wherever all those illegal immigrants and their desperate children might come from.
Politically incorrect, I know. Crude, too, for which I apologize. But a Trump presidency would spell death to America’s ethos of immigrant compassion. Worse, it could usher in a horrifying new era of America as illegal immigrant police state. Is that the kind of American greatness Trump's talking about? If so, there’s no greatness there, only a sorry, dangerous squalor.
That was then; this is now.
To be sure, his initial bash-‘em-up-side-of-the-head brashness—how do I say this nicely?—help me out here—was as pleasurable to the palate as this year’s Beaujolais. But his subsequent truth-spewing has left something to be desired: it’s changed that fruity taste of wine to Heinz vinegar.
In fact, it’s become evident that Trump’s truth-in-politics offensive is dangerous to the American ethos as a whole, and is one that threatens to shift fundamental American values. What we have here is the flame-throwing rhetoric of a rising (or flying) demagogue.
His vitriolic denunciations of illegal immigrants represent the soiled underbelly of shame and prejudice. They embody all that is unhappily hateful about racism in America. This time however it’s not being leveled at African-Americans by white Southerners. This time it’s being dispensed by a white New Yorker at Latinos who illegally crossed the border five and ten years ago—over 13 million of them, including 4.5 million children—now U.S. citizens by birth—parented by at least one illegal immigrant.
Now Trump’s merciless truth dictates that these children be instantly removed. Now Trump’s harsh truth mandates that the 13 million or so illegals—nearly 50% of whom own homes in the United States—should be forcibly corralled like wild ponies and herded in a stampede across the U.S.-Mexican border in the name of making America great again.
To do that, of course, Trump would seek to turn American into an illegal immigrant police state. He would gleefully pump up the number of immigration enforcement officers to the level at least as large as a pretty decent-sized army. And that’s only for starters. Then he’d build his Great Wall of America, which would probably be visible from the surface of the moon, stretching 1300 magnificent miles, a good-sized gnash across the southern belly of America. His vision of a greater America includes hundreds of internment camps along the border and millions of raids on Latino families in the small hours of the night. But according to Trump these actions are necessary to let America rise again to its proper place in his new age of anti-compassion. His bright new vision is this: Fortress America, land of Free, home of the Brave, country of the Terrified.
Oh but of course there will be a great big beautiful door on the other side of the wall to let the worthy come back in, eventually, after their lives have been ruined by his this side of xenophobic policies.
But there’s more. Under a Trump Administration, the IRS will most certainly be tasked with seizing all of that illegal immigrant money (earned of course by very hard honest work) being wired back to their needy families south of the Tijuana. You have to give Trump an “A” for audacity. America could then collect a billionaire’s fortune in cold cash and use it to pay for his immigration army and their combat gear. America’s streets will become battle zones. But America will be great again, for sure.
I’ll give this to him, he’s brilliant. Creating a new million-plus professional army to round up many millions of illegal immigrants and their U.S. citizen children and funded with their own cash meant for their impoverished families living in Central America is even more creative than Ronald Reagan’s Iran-Contra deal.
Trump is really smart with cash. Under his plan, there will be plenty of greenbacks to cover the costs of the latest army combat army, including, I’m sure, night vision goggles. And oh yes, there'll be no problem funding millions of orange jumpsuits (junior sizes, included) and vast numbers of human warehouses, so many they’ll likely be visible from the moon, too. This is why America will be great again. Although come to think about it, America never was a Gestapo state. But never mind, “great” is an elastic word. All-inclusive of just about anything, including mass deportations.
But those who’re seeing new light in Trump’s vision of greatness should demand even more from him. After all, Trump is singing their song and they’re empowering him. Indeed, they might propose to him that if elected president he tweak one of America’s most profound symbol’s of greatness--the Statue of Liberty, that enduring gift from the people of France to America, which is said to represent “Liberty Enlightening the World.” Yes, our man Trump, in keeping with his panache for candour--politically incorrect or otherwise--should be counseled by them to remove the grand lady from New York Harbor and re-locate her down south, somewhere along the Laredo, Texas border. Then to make their point as bluntly as possible, they should have her flaming torch unceremoniously removed and replaced with a raised middle finger, aimed in the direction of Mexico--towards wherever all those illegal immigrants and their desperate children might come from.
Politically incorrect, I know. Crude, too, for which I apologize. But a Trump presidency would spell death to America’s ethos of immigrant compassion. Worse, it could usher in a horrifying new era of America as illegal immigrant police state. Is that the kind of American greatness Trump's talking about? If so, there’s no greatness there, only a sorry, dangerous squalor.
July 28, 2015
TRUMP, THE TRUTHSAYER
The month of July has been most generous to U.S. presidential politics. The Republican primary season has been shocked—seismically. Donald Trump, a.k.a., The Trump, has risen from the frothing mists of reality television stardom like helium balloons at a child’s birthday party. Yes, it’s been that entertaining. Not since the first days of Sarah Palin’s frontal assault on all things Liberal have we, the spectator public, been gifted with such good theater. The Trump gets the credit. The rest of us get front row seats, as he delivers below the belt blows to Senator John McCain (R-AZ) and excoriates other faltering standard-bearers of the Republican presidential primary elite.
The Trump—now a bona fide one-man political tsunami—is capitalizing on a technique honed to perfection by one of America’s more respected presidents: Harry S. Truman. He of course was known for his eloquent “plain speaking.” The Trump speaks plainly, too. And look at all the beautiful attention it’s getting him! So who can blame him? At Trump’s hour of political transcendence, he appears poised to take control of the Fourth Estate and remake it into “The Political Apprentice” reality TV show. Love him or hate him, that’s some kind of work in just a few short weeks—so long as it lasts.
Which it might not because this time around it’s The Trump who’s applying for the job of the most powerful person in the world and the voting public’s the one doing all the hiring and firing—not him. So get ready, Mr. Trump, for a dose of your own medicine. But no matter what happens, I’m pretty sure he can take it because elected or not Trump’s truly an American success story. Remember, this is the same man who seemed to wither in the fuzzy shadows at the White House Correspondent’s dinner years back when President Obama called him out over his bizarre endorsement of the birther movement.
But that was then; this is now. Now The Trump’s dancing in the sweet spot of media limelight and is polling at the head of the pack. Add to this his considerable financial resources, funds a-plenty to bankroll even a Kepler 452-b probe, and there’s no mistaking what’s happening here: These are the Days of Donald Trump and ordinary politicians had better beware. In fact, politicians the world-at-large had better take note because the Trump’s prepared to hire and fire everyone out there, including the Putins, Ali Khameneis and, oh yes, the ali Abu Bakr al-Baghdadis of this volatile world and tell them what he really thinks. You’ve got to hand it to The Trump, what he lacks in verbal tact, he more than makes up for in his showboat confidence. He’s become his own roving Truthsayer. Telling the politicos of yesterday The Truth, according to The Trump, today.
Which is why Trump’s my kind of candidate, for the simple reason that he’s a rather disruptive example of how NOT to be a mere politician! And it’s working for him. He’s dominating America’s political landscape wearing a non-politician’s skin. His mother must be very proud.
What The Trump brings to a very old game is his genius for speaking his version of Truth and Trump to Power. And people are listening to him. He can do this, of course, because he’s got absolutely nothing to lose, which must be mighty nice and a pretty good incentive for us all to go out and make a couple of billion, too. The truth is the world needs more un-politician politicians like The Trump. Those willing to speak out in ways less calculating, less afraid to ruffle the peacock feathers of the Establishment elite.
So no matter what fate befalls Trump’s political ambitions, he won’t have to return to reality television. He’ll have more important things to do. Like fund a Truth-in-Politics program at Harvard’s elite School of Government. That way a whole new generation of truthsayers, from the Democratic, Republican and even the Green Party, can learn the art of speaking Truth to Power and truth to truth. In fact, this could be the best result of Trump’s 2016 presidential candidacy. And it just might be precisely what America needs to vitalize its opaque and moneyed-influenced politics. And such a result would be as refreshing as Spearmint gum—a brand new era of candid politicians.
That and the adoption of public campaign financing which is an alternative way to free up the hearts and minds of America’s politicians so that they, like Trump, can likewise become truthsayers and speak truth to power 100% of the time, instead of tailoring their messages to meet the funding needs of their next election campaigns.
So thank you, Mr. Trump, for your disruptive candidacy. I may not always agree with your truth, but I respect the fact that you speak it as you see it.
The Trump—now a bona fide one-man political tsunami—is capitalizing on a technique honed to perfection by one of America’s more respected presidents: Harry S. Truman. He of course was known for his eloquent “plain speaking.” The Trump speaks plainly, too. And look at all the beautiful attention it’s getting him! So who can blame him? At Trump’s hour of political transcendence, he appears poised to take control of the Fourth Estate and remake it into “The Political Apprentice” reality TV show. Love him or hate him, that’s some kind of work in just a few short weeks—so long as it lasts.
Which it might not because this time around it’s The Trump who’s applying for the job of the most powerful person in the world and the voting public’s the one doing all the hiring and firing—not him. So get ready, Mr. Trump, for a dose of your own medicine. But no matter what happens, I’m pretty sure he can take it because elected or not Trump’s truly an American success story. Remember, this is the same man who seemed to wither in the fuzzy shadows at the White House Correspondent’s dinner years back when President Obama called him out over his bizarre endorsement of the birther movement.
But that was then; this is now. Now The Trump’s dancing in the sweet spot of media limelight and is polling at the head of the pack. Add to this his considerable financial resources, funds a-plenty to bankroll even a Kepler 452-b probe, and there’s no mistaking what’s happening here: These are the Days of Donald Trump and ordinary politicians had better beware. In fact, politicians the world-at-large had better take note because the Trump’s prepared to hire and fire everyone out there, including the Putins, Ali Khameneis and, oh yes, the ali Abu Bakr al-Baghdadis of this volatile world and tell them what he really thinks. You’ve got to hand it to The Trump, what he lacks in verbal tact, he more than makes up for in his showboat confidence. He’s become his own roving Truthsayer. Telling the politicos of yesterday The Truth, according to The Trump, today.
Which is why Trump’s my kind of candidate, for the simple reason that he’s a rather disruptive example of how NOT to be a mere politician! And it’s working for him. He’s dominating America’s political landscape wearing a non-politician’s skin. His mother must be very proud.
What The Trump brings to a very old game is his genius for speaking his version of Truth and Trump to Power. And people are listening to him. He can do this, of course, because he’s got absolutely nothing to lose, which must be mighty nice and a pretty good incentive for us all to go out and make a couple of billion, too. The truth is the world needs more un-politician politicians like The Trump. Those willing to speak out in ways less calculating, less afraid to ruffle the peacock feathers of the Establishment elite.
So no matter what fate befalls Trump’s political ambitions, he won’t have to return to reality television. He’ll have more important things to do. Like fund a Truth-in-Politics program at Harvard’s elite School of Government. That way a whole new generation of truthsayers, from the Democratic, Republican and even the Green Party, can learn the art of speaking Truth to Power and truth to truth. In fact, this could be the best result of Trump’s 2016 presidential candidacy. And it just might be precisely what America needs to vitalize its opaque and moneyed-influenced politics. And such a result would be as refreshing as Spearmint gum—a brand new era of candid politicians.
That and the adoption of public campaign financing which is an alternative way to free up the hearts and minds of America’s politicians so that they, like Trump, can likewise become truthsayers and speak truth to power 100% of the time, instead of tailoring their messages to meet the funding needs of their next election campaigns.
So thank you, Mr. Trump, for your disruptive candidacy. I may not always agree with your truth, but I respect the fact that you speak it as you see it.
July 25, 2015
THE MONTH OF MARVEL
Though there's not a word posted about the cosmic event on the Washington Post's website now, the headline burns everywhere else across the sky: "Kepler unearths 'Earth 2.0.'" No doubt you've read by now the news. The people of Earth may have found a second home. One day, it--or one like it--may provide us--or our children's children's children's children's--a very fresh start. So long, of course, as intelligent life doesn't already exist there, which of course it definitely might. In which case, we'll go on. But make no mistake, at least according to those who should know, a place out there awaits.
Yes, these are fabled times. It's the dawn of a breathy new age inter-planetary habitation, and the fields of spatial dark appear to be awash with luminous discoveries. It's enough to thrill the heart and brain, power them by sustainable solar energy.
Thanks to the folks at NASA, new frontiers of light summon us out into the crystal night, even as we toil in earth-bound fields populated by the likes of ISIS, Donald Trump and bankrupt Greeks. (I'm referring to you, too, Putin.) Yes, even as our fragile planet hots up and oceans rise and marine life shrinks, there is a new great light in the sky. Thanks to NASA--and all those men and women with really good right brains--a stupendous gift has been given us: Inter-planetary inspiration of the highest order. And I thought New Horizon's Pluto fly-by did it for me.
It's been the Month of Marvel.
So I guess it's official: We live in truly fabled times. We now reside on a highway bound for our human destiny, if not what may pass for eternity. With that knowledge comes an accelerating hope, traveling at the speed of light. Or so it seems. For we've been offered a second human home. Well, maybe. But you can bet the manufacturing of brand new magic carpet ride to galaxies is somewhere on the agenda. No doubt entrepreneurs like Richard Branson are on it even now, putting on drawing boards imaginative plans for this world's first commercial shuttle to "Earth 2.0". There's no stopping us now. Or so I prefer to hope.
With any luck, humankind-- with all its lively if not endearing foibles as well as its unending capacity for committing unspeakable atrocities in the name of contradicting ideologies, may, just may, one day get there. It may, in fact, a long, long way down the road, take multiple steps down the pathway to an evolving human destiny, leapfrogging from planet to planet, all the while growing evermore worthy of advancing to the next step by living better, more compassionate lives. Who knows? It could happen.
But between now and then when Branson's granddaughter's granddaughter's granddaughter perfects her first inter-planetary shuttle, we need to collate our lessons, the hard lessons learned right here on "Earth 1.0". And then get ready to strive like hell to get it right before we go another round.
Still, let's pause for a moment and enjoy this very merry month of marvel, and welcome the stunning idea that humankind may have, at last, found a new home.
Yes, these are fabled times. It's the dawn of a breathy new age inter-planetary habitation, and the fields of spatial dark appear to be awash with luminous discoveries. It's enough to thrill the heart and brain, power them by sustainable solar energy.
Thanks to the folks at NASA, new frontiers of light summon us out into the crystal night, even as we toil in earth-bound fields populated by the likes of ISIS, Donald Trump and bankrupt Greeks. (I'm referring to you, too, Putin.) Yes, even as our fragile planet hots up and oceans rise and marine life shrinks, there is a new great light in the sky. Thanks to NASA--and all those men and women with really good right brains--a stupendous gift has been given us: Inter-planetary inspiration of the highest order. And I thought New Horizon's Pluto fly-by did it for me.
It's been the Month of Marvel.
So I guess it's official: We live in truly fabled times. We now reside on a highway bound for our human destiny, if not what may pass for eternity. With that knowledge comes an accelerating hope, traveling at the speed of light. Or so it seems. For we've been offered a second human home. Well, maybe. But you can bet the manufacturing of brand new magic carpet ride to galaxies is somewhere on the agenda. No doubt entrepreneurs like Richard Branson are on it even now, putting on drawing boards imaginative plans for this world's first commercial shuttle to "Earth 2.0". There's no stopping us now. Or so I prefer to hope.
With any luck, humankind-- with all its lively if not endearing foibles as well as its unending capacity for committing unspeakable atrocities in the name of contradicting ideologies, may, just may, one day get there. It may, in fact, a long, long way down the road, take multiple steps down the pathway to an evolving human destiny, leapfrogging from planet to planet, all the while growing evermore worthy of advancing to the next step by living better, more compassionate lives. Who knows? It could happen.
But between now and then when Branson's granddaughter's granddaughter's granddaughter perfects her first inter-planetary shuttle, we need to collate our lessons, the hard lessons learned right here on "Earth 1.0". And then get ready to strive like hell to get it right before we go another round.
Still, let's pause for a moment and enjoy this very merry month of marvel, and welcome the stunning idea that humankind may have, at last, found a new home.
July 4, 2015
364 DAYS OF THE YEAR IN AMERICA
Folks in America had better be on the lookout today—July 4th. America’s birthday. Hated to say that. Really I did. But evidently, the phantoms of the incredibly nasty Daesh or ISIS—lurk. Or at any rate, could be lurking. From the issued reports beign aired everywhere, the FBI couldn’t be more clear: A Daesh-inspired lone wolf could be out there and an attack could be in the offing. Who knows where? At a parade; near a monument; next to a police station. Or at Times Square? Who knows. It’s a pretty sickening thought that this could happen anywhere, and at any time, but these are the bad days. And they could get worse. Since July 4th’ is America’s most patriotic day, it’s the perfect day for a lone wolf to snarl and strike out . Let’s hope not. But it could happened. Please keep your eyes pealed.
But as horrible a prospect as a July 4th attack may be—any such strike, should it occur, will likely not be so very different from the violence that’s routinely perpetrated on innocent Americans—not by Daesh-influenced lone wolves—but by their fellow Americans during the other 364 days of the year.
I think you and everyone else in America knows what I’m referring to. I’m referring of course to America’s near acquiescent attitude and cynical resignation about the mass slayings that happen year in and year out at the end of the barrel of a gun between the Pacific and the Atlantic coastlines. The violence that’s meted out with shocking regularity by the loner, silent types, like Dylan Roofer, not some would-be Islamic State terrorist set on realizing his or her messianic vision of an antiseptic world by slaughtering the so-called infidels, or rather the ones who believe in tolerance.
But who wants to give those guys airtime today, especially on America’s national holiday. We have something equally important to talk about. Let pause, shall we, just for a moment, to reflect on the senseless, homegrown terrorism perpetrated with real guns against real people within our shores over the past few number of years.
Here are some numbers. Make of them what you like, these numbers are the numbers and worth reviewing once again. The U.S’s homegrown Wall of Shame:
26 slaughtered by gunfire at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newton, Connecticut by Adam Lanza, including 20 children; 9 whacked by Dylan Roofer at a Charleston African-American church; 13 dead courtesy of Dylan Klebold and Eric Harris at Columbine High School; a gruesome 32 mowed down at the hand of Seung-Hoi Cho at Virginia Tech; 7 dead by gunfire at UC Santa Barbara campus, thanks to Elliot Rodger; 3 cut down at Fort Hood; 13 shot to death at the Washington Navy Yard by Navy contractor, Aaron Alexis; 5 blown away by John Zawahri in Santa Monica; 3 killed by former Marine Radcliffe Haughton in Brookfield, Wisconsin, Radcliffe; 6 gunned by Andrew Engeldinger in Minneapolis, Minnesota; 6 more slain at a Sikh temple at the end of Wade Michael Page’s gun; 12 finished off by James Holmes at a movie theater in Aurora Colorado; 7 slaughtered in Oakland by One L. Goh; 8 assassinated, one after another, by Scott Dekraai at Seal Beach, California; 6 lives snuffed out by Jared Lee Loughner in Tucson; 8 more unceremoniously slain by Omar S. Thornton in Manchester, Connecticut; 3 cut to shreds by Amy Bishop in Huntsville, Alabama; 5 mowed down by Selejman Talovic at Salt Lake; 8 exterminated by Robert Hawkins in Omaha; 5 murdered by Steven Kazmierczak in Delkab, Illinois; 13 wiped out by Jiverly Voong in Bingingham, N.Y.; another 13 lives ended with gunfire by Maj. Nidal Malik Hasan at Fort Hood, Texas. And the list will go on.
Now those examples are only since 2007. According to USA TODAY, there have been 900 ordinary people who’ve died in mass shootings in the past 7 years. That’s on average 112 people wiped out by domestic violence, national terrorism each and every year. And oh yes, I left out entirely the innocent bystanders who were wounded in the mayhem that ensued in the shootings listed above. That number hovers around 190. Not inconsiderable.
900 dead. Just from America’s very own mass shootings. Shootings that are as home grown as salt water taffy. No Daesh involved there. Just guns and violence and very, very bad luck.
Of course, those figures represent only a tiny, tiny fraction of all gun-related homicides in America that happen each year. They’re reflective of just 1%. Yet the national horror goes on. And on.
But you can forget about passing any new gun laws any time soon—even after Dylan Roofer. According to the Washington Post, the congressional authors of a gun bill that would have made background checks compulsory on all gun purchases, otherwise known as Manchin-Toomey, won’t be resuscitated any time soon, at least according to its authors, West Virginia Democrat Joe Manchin and Pennsylvania Republican Pat Toomey. That bill failed to win a 60-vote supermajority necessary to get a full Senate vote, even after the Sandy Hook Massacre. And that was when the Democrats were in charge.
So, my fellow Americans, America’s got no good answer for how to stem its chronic cases of mass killings. It’s not such a happy thought.
So while everyone should be incredibly vigilant today and take extreme caution against a Daesh-led attack by one or two twisted persons, that same advice should, regrettably, also be applied during the other 364 days of the year in America.
But as horrible a prospect as a July 4th attack may be—any such strike, should it occur, will likely not be so very different from the violence that’s routinely perpetrated on innocent Americans—not by Daesh-influenced lone wolves—but by their fellow Americans during the other 364 days of the year.
I think you and everyone else in America knows what I’m referring to. I’m referring of course to America’s near acquiescent attitude and cynical resignation about the mass slayings that happen year in and year out at the end of the barrel of a gun between the Pacific and the Atlantic coastlines. The violence that’s meted out with shocking regularity by the loner, silent types, like Dylan Roofer, not some would-be Islamic State terrorist set on realizing his or her messianic vision of an antiseptic world by slaughtering the so-called infidels, or rather the ones who believe in tolerance.
But who wants to give those guys airtime today, especially on America’s national holiday. We have something equally important to talk about. Let pause, shall we, just for a moment, to reflect on the senseless, homegrown terrorism perpetrated with real guns against real people within our shores over the past few number of years.
Here are some numbers. Make of them what you like, these numbers are the numbers and worth reviewing once again. The U.S’s homegrown Wall of Shame:
26 slaughtered by gunfire at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newton, Connecticut by Adam Lanza, including 20 children; 9 whacked by Dylan Roofer at a Charleston African-American church; 13 dead courtesy of Dylan Klebold and Eric Harris at Columbine High School; a gruesome 32 mowed down at the hand of Seung-Hoi Cho at Virginia Tech; 7 dead by gunfire at UC Santa Barbara campus, thanks to Elliot Rodger; 3 cut down at Fort Hood; 13 shot to death at the Washington Navy Yard by Navy contractor, Aaron Alexis; 5 blown away by John Zawahri in Santa Monica; 3 killed by former Marine Radcliffe Haughton in Brookfield, Wisconsin, Radcliffe; 6 gunned by Andrew Engeldinger in Minneapolis, Minnesota; 6 more slain at a Sikh temple at the end of Wade Michael Page’s gun; 12 finished off by James Holmes at a movie theater in Aurora Colorado; 7 slaughtered in Oakland by One L. Goh; 8 assassinated, one after another, by Scott Dekraai at Seal Beach, California; 6 lives snuffed out by Jared Lee Loughner in Tucson; 8 more unceremoniously slain by Omar S. Thornton in Manchester, Connecticut; 3 cut to shreds by Amy Bishop in Huntsville, Alabama; 5 mowed down by Selejman Talovic at Salt Lake; 8 exterminated by Robert Hawkins in Omaha; 5 murdered by Steven Kazmierczak in Delkab, Illinois; 13 wiped out by Jiverly Voong in Bingingham, N.Y.; another 13 lives ended with gunfire by Maj. Nidal Malik Hasan at Fort Hood, Texas. And the list will go on.
Now those examples are only since 2007. According to USA TODAY, there have been 900 ordinary people who’ve died in mass shootings in the past 7 years. That’s on average 112 people wiped out by domestic violence, national terrorism each and every year. And oh yes, I left out entirely the innocent bystanders who were wounded in the mayhem that ensued in the shootings listed above. That number hovers around 190. Not inconsiderable.
900 dead. Just from America’s very own mass shootings. Shootings that are as home grown as salt water taffy. No Daesh involved there. Just guns and violence and very, very bad luck.
Of course, those figures represent only a tiny, tiny fraction of all gun-related homicides in America that happen each year. They’re reflective of just 1%. Yet the national horror goes on. And on.
But you can forget about passing any new gun laws any time soon—even after Dylan Roofer. According to the Washington Post, the congressional authors of a gun bill that would have made background checks compulsory on all gun purchases, otherwise known as Manchin-Toomey, won’t be resuscitated any time soon, at least according to its authors, West Virginia Democrat Joe Manchin and Pennsylvania Republican Pat Toomey. That bill failed to win a 60-vote supermajority necessary to get a full Senate vote, even after the Sandy Hook Massacre. And that was when the Democrats were in charge.
So, my fellow Americans, America’s got no good answer for how to stem its chronic cases of mass killings. It’s not such a happy thought.
So while everyone should be incredibly vigilant today and take extreme caution against a Daesh-led attack by one or two twisted persons, that same advice should, regrettably, also be applied during the other 364 days of the year in America.
June 21, 2015
JEB!, LITTLE SISTERS, BIG SISTER
JEB! is up and running for president of the United States. Some may be horrified, in light of his familial pedigree; others probably delighted because he appears to be really quite an affable guy, Texas gentile, exuding an aw-shucks kind of down-on-the ranch kind of folksy. I know him not at all but to me he seems on the outside, soft like marshmallow; unlike his ex-president big brother, George, who painted himself with a grilled Texas steak veneer, hot-off a mesquite barbecue.
This makes JEB! politically approachable, and dare I say—even likable. He may not have been able to divine that the Charleston shooter Dylann Roof was racist right off the mark because he couldn’t connect the dots between a white boy shooting nine innocent African-Americans in the sanctuary of their own Church after sitting with them for an hour and racist motives. But never mind, his good nature and facile sincerity may trump such a dim misstep. Why? Because people are more likely to give candidates the benefit of a doubt when they’re impressed by their humility. To say nothing of making a campaign point out of letting it be known that they walk with a high degree of religiosity, which JEB!, of course, does.
And as you’d expect, JEB! is prepared to protect and defend his definition of religious freedom in the name of ascending the ladder of good old-fashioned Republican presidential politics.
Even before he stepped out of the starter’s box as the first official candidate to ever launch a presidential campaign with no surname, he’d already blasted President Obama in a speech before the righteous religious crowd at Liberty University in Lynchburg, Virginia defending the issue of religious freedom. He roasted Obama and the federal government more generally for his so-called “use of coercive federal power” against God-fearing Americans who were attempting to practice their faith. He was referring, of course, to the challenge put forward by the group of Catholic nuns, otherwise known as the Little Sisters of the Poor, who’re seeking to defeat a provision of the Affordable Health Care Act, a.k.a. “ObamaCare” that mandates employers’ insurance plans provide contraception coverage. He told the evangelical crowd, in what has been described in some quarters as a fairly moderate and nuanced speech on religious freedom by a right-leaning candidate that “I’m betting that when it comes to doing the right and good thing, the Little Sisters of the Poor know better than the regulators at the Department of Health and Human Services.” He went on to say that “From the standpoint of religious freedom, you might even say it’s a choice between the Little Sisters and Big Brother – and I’m going with the Little Sisters.”
Certainly there’s a good debate to be had over what constitutes what degree of religious freedom. But to state that a bill debated and passed by the United States and secured into law by the signature of the President and later upheld as constitutionally valid by the U.S. Supreme Court represents the black hand of “Big Brother” seems to me a bit of a stretch. Certainly there’s not a whole lot of nuance there.
The other point to be made here is that I don’t understand where the Little Sisters of the Poor, as benevolent, constructive and linked to the divine as they may be, get off trying to impose their interpretation of their faith on other people who are not necessarily of the sisterhood? I mean, look, given their vows, it’s reasonably clear that they have no need for contraceptives themselves. So how is it they have standing—social, political or moral--to object to other people using them who haven’t taken those same vows of chastity? Especially when they’ve been sanctioned by democratic law.
I suppose a case could be made that the Little Sisters of the Poor are actually advocating the predominance of their faith, one that trumps faith in the will of the people and democratic governance in a country founded on the separation of Church and State. That could put JEB! in a fairly uncomfortable spot, especially since his elder brother, whose name everyone recalls other than JEB!, was down-right gung-ho on defending human liberties and democratic freedoms around the world when he sat in the Oval Office. Such sacred liberties in a democratic society should by all rights include the right to choose contraceptives without the interference by Big Sister.
This makes JEB! politically approachable, and dare I say—even likable. He may not have been able to divine that the Charleston shooter Dylann Roof was racist right off the mark because he couldn’t connect the dots between a white boy shooting nine innocent African-Americans in the sanctuary of their own Church after sitting with them for an hour and racist motives. But never mind, his good nature and facile sincerity may trump such a dim misstep. Why? Because people are more likely to give candidates the benefit of a doubt when they’re impressed by their humility. To say nothing of making a campaign point out of letting it be known that they walk with a high degree of religiosity, which JEB!, of course, does.
And as you’d expect, JEB! is prepared to protect and defend his definition of religious freedom in the name of ascending the ladder of good old-fashioned Republican presidential politics.
Even before he stepped out of the starter’s box as the first official candidate to ever launch a presidential campaign with no surname, he’d already blasted President Obama in a speech before the righteous religious crowd at Liberty University in Lynchburg, Virginia defending the issue of religious freedom. He roasted Obama and the federal government more generally for his so-called “use of coercive federal power” against God-fearing Americans who were attempting to practice their faith. He was referring, of course, to the challenge put forward by the group of Catholic nuns, otherwise known as the Little Sisters of the Poor, who’re seeking to defeat a provision of the Affordable Health Care Act, a.k.a. “ObamaCare” that mandates employers’ insurance plans provide contraception coverage. He told the evangelical crowd, in what has been described in some quarters as a fairly moderate and nuanced speech on religious freedom by a right-leaning candidate that “I’m betting that when it comes to doing the right and good thing, the Little Sisters of the Poor know better than the regulators at the Department of Health and Human Services.” He went on to say that “From the standpoint of religious freedom, you might even say it’s a choice between the Little Sisters and Big Brother – and I’m going with the Little Sisters.”
Certainly there’s a good debate to be had over what constitutes what degree of religious freedom. But to state that a bill debated and passed by the United States and secured into law by the signature of the President and later upheld as constitutionally valid by the U.S. Supreme Court represents the black hand of “Big Brother” seems to me a bit of a stretch. Certainly there’s not a whole lot of nuance there.
The other point to be made here is that I don’t understand where the Little Sisters of the Poor, as benevolent, constructive and linked to the divine as they may be, get off trying to impose their interpretation of their faith on other people who are not necessarily of the sisterhood? I mean, look, given their vows, it’s reasonably clear that they have no need for contraceptives themselves. So how is it they have standing—social, political or moral--to object to other people using them who haven’t taken those same vows of chastity? Especially when they’ve been sanctioned by democratic law.
I suppose a case could be made that the Little Sisters of the Poor are actually advocating the predominance of their faith, one that trumps faith in the will of the people and democratic governance in a country founded on the separation of Church and State. That could put JEB! in a fairly uncomfortable spot, especially since his elder brother, whose name everyone recalls other than JEB!, was down-right gung-ho on defending human liberties and democratic freedoms around the world when he sat in the Oval Office. Such sacred liberties in a democratic society should by all rights include the right to choose contraceptives without the interference by Big Sister.
June 13, 2015
TED CRUZ, GOD, GREEN EGGS AND HAM
TED CRUZ is running for president. That’s not necessarily a bad thing. He’s not my guy, but I like the fact that everyone– and anyone– can run for president in the U.S., so long as they’re over the age of 35 and are natural born citizens. The U.S. Constitution fails to mandate an intelligence test for those seeking to run, which is a good thing, actually, because intelligence and its various kinds and forms, is wide-open to debate. Suffice to say, good judgment is the most salient ingredient. Oh, and maybe a knack for politics.
In any case, every four years, the issue of presidential candidates and their faith surfaces. Whether it should or not is another matter. However, it being that time again, I recently stumbled across an article about the avalanche of prospective candidates, especially on the Republican side, and questions about their faith in a nifty little article in “Christian Today.”
The article, written by Lucinda Borkett-Jones, highlights the general knowledge out there today about the candidates’ attitudes towards their own faiths and the question of religion in politics—a question that generally interests me.
The article starts off, as you’d expect, with an overview, courtesy of Pew Research, dated 2014. It states that 53% of Americans “would be less likely to vote for a presidential candidate who doesn’t believe in God.” That number skyrockets to 70% among Republicans, as you’d expect, and it stands in stark relief when compared to Democrats who claimed to Pew that it mattered to only 42% of them whether or not their presidential candidate believed in God.
Which brings us back to Ted Cruz.
Of course, he got very famous for his theatrical filibuster in the U.S. Senate in 2013, when he pulled an all-nighter and read bedtime stories (Dr Seuss kid’s classic, Green Eggs and Ham, to be precise) to the snoozing U.S. Senate in order to pass the time, and in hopes of sinking Obamacare by blocking a continuing resolution—a motion to fund the federal government. Such tactics, I’m all for, well, in certain limited cases, at least. I’m pretty much a fan of the wildly romantic notion of a single person holding up the workings of the U.S. Government—or at least the so-called greatest deliberative body in the world– by reading bedtime stories. (Okay, okay, it wasn’t technically a filibuster, I know—more like a 21 hour and 19 minute very, very, very, very long speech; and though it wasn’t at the same level as Jimmy Stewart’s filibustering theatrics in Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, it was close enough to capture every Senator’s attention—at least when they weren’t napping—to say nothing of the national media.) Of course, the speech didn’t actually stop the passage of the continuing resolution, but it certainly helped motorboat Cruz’s fledgling career. That very, very, very, very long speech gets the credit for getting him where he is today—running for president and talking about his faith and having people actually listen.
Which brings me to my point. Ted’s invocation of his faith as he drives his campaign a thriving politician. This is where Ted surprised me. His position was totally unexpected. And welcome. I mean, Ted’s a leading Tea-Party guy and a serious conservative, and according to a newspaper article (I can’t remember where I read it), a gifted debater–a talent honed during his rambunctious Harvard College days. (So good for him. That’s swell. America needs good debaters.)
Anyway, Ted, a Southern Baptist, stands strong against same-sex marriage, which is what you’d expect. He advocates letting states decide, which the U.S. Supreme Court may or may not agree with him on. Evidently, the voters at the Values Voter Summit sponsored by the Family Research Council thinks he’s fairly hot, too. He got the largest percentage of support when he and other likely candidates went before their conference last year and pitched themselves.
But here’s what cool about Ted Cruz—and I can’t believe I just wrote that. In a Christian Broadcasting Network (Christian insiders refer to it as CBN) interview in 2013, Ted said this about religion and politics: “At the end of the day, faith is not organized religion; it’s not going to a church. It is a personal relationship with Jesus Christ as your Lord and Saviour.” Then he went onto chastise other politicians for mixing the toxic blend of religion and politics—for their to own advancement and advantage, of course. He urged politicians “to avoid being a Pharisee, to avoid ostentatiously wrapping yourself in your faith, because I think in politics, it’s too easy for that to become a crutch, for that to be politically useful.”
So it’s a statement like this that gets my respect. No, you won’t likely find me casting a vote for Ted come November 2016, but his statement (whether he actually campaigns by his word instead of his deeds is another question altogether) suggests a sense of self-awareness and decorum that I, for one, wish other politicians would follow.
When Cruz launched his presidential campaign at Liberty College this year, he finished his speech by saying, “God’s not done with America yet.” Well, let’s hope not. I only hope that politicians are done with invoking religion to get votes.
In any case, every four years, the issue of presidential candidates and their faith surfaces. Whether it should or not is another matter. However, it being that time again, I recently stumbled across an article about the avalanche of prospective candidates, especially on the Republican side, and questions about their faith in a nifty little article in “Christian Today.”
The article, written by Lucinda Borkett-Jones, highlights the general knowledge out there today about the candidates’ attitudes towards their own faiths and the question of religion in politics—a question that generally interests me.
The article starts off, as you’d expect, with an overview, courtesy of Pew Research, dated 2014. It states that 53% of Americans “would be less likely to vote for a presidential candidate who doesn’t believe in God.” That number skyrockets to 70% among Republicans, as you’d expect, and it stands in stark relief when compared to Democrats who claimed to Pew that it mattered to only 42% of them whether or not their presidential candidate believed in God.
Which brings us back to Ted Cruz.
Of course, he got very famous for his theatrical filibuster in the U.S. Senate in 2013, when he pulled an all-nighter and read bedtime stories (Dr Seuss kid’s classic, Green Eggs and Ham, to be precise) to the snoozing U.S. Senate in order to pass the time, and in hopes of sinking Obamacare by blocking a continuing resolution—a motion to fund the federal government. Such tactics, I’m all for, well, in certain limited cases, at least. I’m pretty much a fan of the wildly romantic notion of a single person holding up the workings of the U.S. Government—or at least the so-called greatest deliberative body in the world– by reading bedtime stories. (Okay, okay, it wasn’t technically a filibuster, I know—more like a 21 hour and 19 minute very, very, very, very long speech; and though it wasn’t at the same level as Jimmy Stewart’s filibustering theatrics in Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, it was close enough to capture every Senator’s attention—at least when they weren’t napping—to say nothing of the national media.) Of course, the speech didn’t actually stop the passage of the continuing resolution, but it certainly helped motorboat Cruz’s fledgling career. That very, very, very, very long speech gets the credit for getting him where he is today—running for president and talking about his faith and having people actually listen.
Which brings me to my point. Ted’s invocation of his faith as he drives his campaign a thriving politician. This is where Ted surprised me. His position was totally unexpected. And welcome. I mean, Ted’s a leading Tea-Party guy and a serious conservative, and according to a newspaper article (I can’t remember where I read it), a gifted debater–a talent honed during his rambunctious Harvard College days. (So good for him. That’s swell. America needs good debaters.)
Anyway, Ted, a Southern Baptist, stands strong against same-sex marriage, which is what you’d expect. He advocates letting states decide, which the U.S. Supreme Court may or may not agree with him on. Evidently, the voters at the Values Voter Summit sponsored by the Family Research Council thinks he’s fairly hot, too. He got the largest percentage of support when he and other likely candidates went before their conference last year and pitched themselves.
But here’s what cool about Ted Cruz—and I can’t believe I just wrote that. In a Christian Broadcasting Network (Christian insiders refer to it as CBN) interview in 2013, Ted said this about religion and politics: “At the end of the day, faith is not organized religion; it’s not going to a church. It is a personal relationship with Jesus Christ as your Lord and Saviour.” Then he went onto chastise other politicians for mixing the toxic blend of religion and politics—for their to own advancement and advantage, of course. He urged politicians “to avoid being a Pharisee, to avoid ostentatiously wrapping yourself in your faith, because I think in politics, it’s too easy for that to become a crutch, for that to be politically useful.”
So it’s a statement like this that gets my respect. No, you won’t likely find me casting a vote for Ted come November 2016, but his statement (whether he actually campaigns by his word instead of his deeds is another question altogether) suggests a sense of self-awareness and decorum that I, for one, wish other politicians would follow.
When Cruz launched his presidential campaign at Liberty College this year, he finished his speech by saying, “God’s not done with America yet.” Well, let’s hope not. I only hope that politicians are done with invoking religion to get votes.
May 12, 2015
"2020 or My Name is Jesus Christ and I'm Running for President" Interview
The guy who did this interview with me--a Brit named Nick Wale--calls it, "The First Exclusive interview with Author Timothy Cooper." Almost embarrassing, I know. But what can you do? How else do you bring one's novel--cast into a sea of other worthy novels--to light, but by shouting out about it? It's a bit like howling at the Harvest Moon.
So by way of introduction to my blog and to my novel and to me--I give you my first book interview.
Disclaimer: The opening paragraph was written by the Interviewer--not by me. I claim no responsibility for it! I just have to grin and bear it, with gratitude.
The Interview
This interview is the first with Timothy Cooper author of “2020 or My Name is Jesus Christ and I’m Running For President“– a book that is currently chasing it’s way up the Amazon bestseller listings and collecting followers around the world. Steel yourself for the ride of a lifetime with the very talented Timothy Cooper.
What is your fascination with humorous fiction?
Mostly, it’s the fact that it’s not tragic, not dark. The opposite, in fact. The world’s drenched in a blight of dark dramas. They roll across the world like steamrollers. So humour provides a spectacular relief, a bubble of solace, a rainbow of what shall we say, transcendental… fun?
It steps us away from the teary miseries and the unbearable tensions and tosses us into pools of laughter, lightness. How great is that? It lets us float on clouds of mirth, lets in the dazzling light of levity. Most importantly, it permits us to not take ourselves oh-so-seriously. Plus, it makes life far more democratic. Politicians, the high and mighty, the exultant, they all stand before us on humour’s stage, characters in our happy comedy. Humour’s the ultimate equalizer… and we are its beneficiaries.
So that’s why I’m fascinated with humorous fiction. Of course, Mark Twain’s works were inculcated at an early age, too. Thank you, St. Albans School for Boys. And, of course, I utterly endorse Ernest Hemingway’s conclusion about Twain’s magnificent work, “Huckleberry Finn.” Don’t remember what he said? Well, I always have. He said that all American literature comes from one book. That book. The fact that it was a resoundingly humorous work of fiction, as well as yes, serious, tells you something very important about America. As a democracy, America enjoys a crucial safety valve in public discourse, balances its mighty seriousness with relentless waves of high and low humour. The quality of American humour is extraordinarily high. That’s for sure. And it’s become a part of America’s soul. Politicians, preachers, movie stars, whomever, beware. All eyes in search of good humour are on you!
It’s far better than aspirin, whiskey or cocaine to smooth the pain. So much pain, so little humour. We need to start a global campaign for more humour, especially in places like North Korea, China… Oh, the list could go on and on.
If I were president of the world, I’d mandate that humour be inserted into our global constitution. It might not mitigate the effects of war, famine and disease, but it would go a long way to being a positive force for good. And good’s not half bad in a world fraught with civil wars and genocide and conflagration.
Did I mention ISIS? I read recently that one of the tools used by Middle East activists was to use comedy against them and their recruiting campaign. Now that says something important about humour’s true power. Humour can be a righteous sword, as well as a salve on humanity’s blistered soul.
Who is your intended audience, and why should they read your book?
This is a question every author is dying to answer because the answer is so obvious! My novel is obviously intended for EVERYONE! Ages 18-plus, of course. Not that it’s a bit like D.H. Lawrence’s “Lady Chatterley’s Lover” or John Cleland’s 18th century novel “Fanny Hill.” Actually, I guess those books would be considerably downright quaint in the Internet Age, but at least they sparkled the imagination in a way few things cyber can possibly do nowadays. Anyway, “2020 or My Name is Jesus Christ and I’m Running for President” is a novel has everything for everyone. Okay, well, maybe not absolutely everyone, but nearly so, at least as it exists in the frontiers of my imagination. But look, take me at my word: what other novel has as its lead characters Madonna, Bono, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Nancy Pelosi, Jesse Jackson, JLo, Tom Cruise, Mel Gibson, Oprah and Martha Stewart? Plus a couple of Hells Angels. And I haven’t even mentioned the real stars of the novel— Jesus Christ Himself and his good-for-nothing stepbrother Beelzebub, or Lucifer, or the Devil—or whatever you want to call him. And the list goes on and on. My characters are a smorgasbord of first-tier celebrities. I’ve even thrown in some nice bits with members of our esteemed Supreme Court—Chief Justice Clarence Thomas, anyone?, as well as late night talk show hosts and infamous radio DJs.
So what’s not to like?
It’s not only a novel for Christians—Episcopalians, Catholics and Baptists, and whatnot, but it’ll also work just fine for Republicans (including Tea Party members) and Democrats. Okay, so it might not be a top pick for Rick Santorum, but no novel can be everything to everyone! Also, it’s definitely a Hollywood kind of novel. I mean Hollywood’s got some seriously smart and creative types, so naturally it’s a good fit for a community of geniuses who fan American culture and turn lively characters into the sweet, entertaining stuff of cultural and cinematic myth. It’ll also work for Neo-Cons and Flaming Liberals, alike. Possibly Nancy Pelosi will give it a thumbs-up, too. Obama? Well, who knows? Does he even read fiction? Still, he’s got a stake in the outcome of this novel, too. So my recommendation would be for him to pick it up. Or rather download it off Amazon Kindle! Today, preferably.
So back to the question: why should they read it? Because it’s a literary blast, capable of shaking the bones of their existence, and then some. In any case, who doesn’t want to read a novel about the divine and in the case of Jesus’ stepbrother, the not-so-divine…
We’re talking serious conflict here, and very, very high humour. Something to tell your grandchildren about. Or at least your next-door neighbour.
Do you prefer to write series of books rather than standalone novels?
Standalone. Standalone. Definitely standalone. It would be too hard to cope with a string of successes! I’d much prefer stand-alone successes. One at a time, if you please. I’m not greedy about these things. On the other hand, if I were J.K. Rowling, I would change my mind. Take it all back. A seven-book series will certainly NOT be enough. There would be an eighth, a ninth… and possibly several dozen more.
What do you find to be the greatest aid a writer can have?
Time. The heavenly gift of time. It’s more valuable than gold bullion, a Phantom Rolls-Royce and a house on Lake Como. (But not necessarily a nice apartment on Ile St. Louis in Paris…) For most people, writing fiction is incredibly difficult, an insanely meticulous task—a brain drain—a spirit drain—a soul drain. And it requires a vast, if not for a time, a limitless mental space where one builds the house, the city, the country, the world, in which the sequence of events and birth and growth of characters take place. You can’t do that without time. To say nothing of all of the oceans of time necessarily required to make serious grammatical choices–like should I use a period or a semi-colon to create just the right emphasis, cadence, in any given sentence. Those choices are always a battlefield inside one’s self. And one side always loses. It’s a shame, but what can you do?
The next most important thing you need to have is true grit or the equivalent, like the characters in the old John Wayne movie. Because when you write nobody cares, nobody loves it (because it’s a million miles away from being done yet), and nobody gets it—not even you. So you’re pretty much in an intergalactic orbit of your own making. You’re a pioneer rocketing through your own skies, so you need to take on a space pilot’s sense of faith, of belief, that once you lift off you’ll eventually make a safe landing one day, and hopefully to the applause of at least your own NASA’s Mission Control Center, if not the New York Times Book Review, because that would be pretty nearly as great, too.
Which brings us to the central point, easily lost on everyone, most especially myself. To write is to write is to write. That one can control. The rest is left up to the true empowers of the writer—the reader. Maybe they love it, perhaps they like it, possibly neither of the above. You can’t control anything after you land. All you can ask yourself is this: Is it the best writing of your life? If it is, then it’s time to move on and get better in yet another galactic orbit that even you won’t understand—until you do. It’s then that the flight makes sense. It’s then that you’re rewarded, with your own prize of accomplishment. It’s as good as it gets—and that’s not too bad.
I think every devoted writer should get a prize, but the world absolutely doesn’t work that way; so you have to be prepared to present and accept your own reward–for your commitment, for your pursuit of excellence, for your achievement, whether the rest of the world or even your neighbourhood agrees. And who knows? Maybe someday the world will acknowledge your sentences, your pages, your e-book vision… Maybe. What was it that Jonathan Cape’s editor Dan Franklin said? “I’ve always believed that if someone is good enough, eventually they’ll get discovered. And I don’t think it’ll be in one’s lifetime, necessarily.”
We all know that it’s pretty much the equivalent of a writer’s Moon shot, but real accomplishment requires such fabled quests, like crossing the Silk Road in 200 AD. It necessitates astonishing risks. Perhaps not quite comparable to carrying bundles of silk on your back from China to the Mediterranean, but a different kind of fierce risk. There can be no transcendence without personal risk. The only question is: What’s an acceptable risk for you, because there’s plenty of risk that’s simply too risky, right? You have to ask yourself: How much risk is worth creating something of true and possibly lasting value (at least in your eyes), in art, in business, in life? But this is not such a humorous line of questioning, so let’s more on! It’s too risky.
Have you ever had problems killing characters off?
Yes, I do, because I think all my characters should live forever.
Have you ever hated one of your characters?
No, author as parent needs to love all of his or her characters. It goes with the territory. After all, no matter how despicable a character may be, any good writer will always endow even the evilest of characters with certain recognizable human attributes that mitigate the hate, at least somewhat. Take Germany’s Minister of Propaganda, Joseph Goebbels, for instance. He loved his children, and they loved him. To write him best would be to include that side of him. Although, I must hasten to add that one truly has to gag at the thought of him poisoning his own six children with cyanide in Hitler’s bunker in Berlin as the Russians closed in. Pretty darn hard to find anything not to despise there, but nevertheless, the truth is he loved his kids. How terrifying is that? I think we should quickly return to the subject of humour, don’t you?
Are any of your characters based on the personalities of people you know?
Since I don’t personally know Jesus Christ or his evil stepbrother Beelzebub, the answer is an unequivocal, No. As for the panoply of stars and celebrities tripping throughout the novel, I must confess that I don’t know any of them either. (Who doesn’t want to do lunch with Madonna?) So what I write about them comes out of the public record and from my imagination. However, I do know Jesse Jackson and Nancy Pelosi, and respect them enormously. I’ve never met Terry McAuliffe, on which the character who exists in the frame for the novel is based, although I’ve observed him on the sidelines and know him to be a spectacular political fundraiser. (He was President’s main fundraiser for years.) Now he’s the Governor of Virginia, and a capable one it appears. One of his foremost abilities was, of course, making serious money—seas of it. Well, good for him. In any case, his character in the novel as head of the Democratic National Committee holds what I believe to be a distinguished place in the novel, and I thank him for his inspiration. That aside, the most important question is: Will he help me raise money to write my next novel?
How long does it take you to write a book?
“2020 or My Name is Jesus Christ and I’m Running for President” was started in 1990. Oh, my God. Really? Yes, really! The serious work on it took place after 2003, and it was finished after numerous drafts in about in May, 2010. In Bangkok, Thailand, of all places. Minor updates were completed in 2012. Between about 2005 and 2010, I wrote three drafts, each draft over 500 pages. So I like to say that it took about 10 years to get it to be the best I had to offer. That’s a consequential period of time. As a result, I’m all for the U.S. Congress passing legislation prohibiting authors from spending any more than 5—count ‘em—5 years on any one novel. I’d like to think it would pass. And if I were in the House or the Senate, I’d certainly cast a Yea vote in favour of it.
But look, F. Scott Fitzgerald spent five years writing “Tender is the Night,” a fact that I was astonished to learn at the end of reading it. I think he finished it in Zurich, Switzerland, if I recall correctly, which I thought was monumentally cool. My first reading of it was about forty years ago. When I saw that it took him five years, I almost fell over. An incomprehensible amount of time, it seemed to me then. Now I understand. Now I get it. More importantly, I understand that level of commitment to creation, that soaring devotion. Of course, F. Scott was and is a magnificent American writer. My only regret for him was that he died while trying to complete “The Last Tycoon.” To my mind, at least, it was a masterwork in the making. I was living in Laurel Canyon then—LA, so that the fact that he was writing about Hollywood in the 1930s coloured my affection for it, enough so that years later, I actually visited his gravesite in Rockville, Maryland and placed a bouquet of red roses on his grave. Carved on his granite slab is the ending to the “Great Gatsby”: “So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.” And of course, now I get that his idea in a way that I could never have understood it back then. I certainly don’t write like him, but his writing, for me, was a seminal inspiration…
Scott’s and Ernest Hemingway’s. I loved his “Green Hills of Africa.” Prose so clear, so clean, so eloquently simple. His long, strung-on sentences read as fast and light as Swiss wind raking Lake Geneva. Love his cadences and silent rhythms. Always will.
Outside of writing—what are your hobbies?
I take everything too seriously to have hobbies. But I do compose and perform solo piano music and have released two CDs, with a third on the way. “Light on the Water” is one. “East Wind” is the other. A third is done but not yet released. It’s called “Global Skies.” And I’ve just produced a compilation CD of solo piano artists, from a group called Enlightened Piano Radio Artists, which is dedicated to the theme of world peace. A good theme in a world attacked by ISIS, et al. Not sure what we’ll call that one yet. I just recorded my contribution, a piece titled, “The Light After.” Begins with the sounds and heartaches of war; ends with sounds of joy in places of peace. Art should speak.
I also do serious fine arts photography, and have for decades. My chief works, “World Lights” and “World Walls,” are online. Hope to do a major exhibition at the very end of the Silk Road, so to speak. Photographic art is a gorgeous universe, and there’s so much resounding talent out there. My only regret is that in the Internet Age, most of the images that we see are thumbnails. Minute imitations of what they were meant to be. When in fact they should be showing up in towering museum walls!
Do you prefer a film of a book—or the book itself?
Well, the two mediums rarely go together like milk and honey. What I may like about the film I may not see in the novel and visa versa. But once in a while they each, in their own fashions, rise to the sublime. Take, for instance, the BBC’s original film version of John Le Carré’s novel, “Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy” and its sequel, “Smiley’s People,” starring Alec Guinness. The novels represent Le Carré at his best (well, the “Little Drummer Girl”—the novel— is pretty darn good, too.) But the BBC’s film versions, one directed by John Irvin, the other directed by Simon Langton, stay true to his novels, but also amplify the visual atmospherics and swim even deeper into his characters (How could they not with Alex Guinness playing George Smiley?) So that’s a good example of complimentary works—fiction and film succeeding equally.
On the other hand, many of Graham Greene’s novels have been produced as films, “The Human Factor,” “Brighton Rock,” “The Quiet American,” “The End of the Affair,” “The Heart of the Matter,” “The Honorary Consul,” “Loser Takes All,” “Monsignor Quixote,” “Stamboul Train,” and the “Third Man,” for example, and I can’t think of one where I prefer the film over the novel. Of course, we’re talking Graham Greene here…
In general, I much prefer original screenplays to adaptation. But that’s not to say that “2020 or My Name is Jesus Christ and I’m Running for President” won’t make a stunning adaptation—in the right hands, of course. Naturally. Those hands would be mine….
Ok, dream on…
But look, I’d like to try to help give Johnny Depp’s career a friendly boost. So if he’d really, really like to play the role of Christ in “2020,” yes, please, I’d appreciate him contacting my agent.
What’s next for you?
Next is a state secret. Too hot to be announced. At least, today. Tomorrow, maybe. But suffice to say, it’ll be fraught with drama of the first instance, and swirling controversial, and likely challenge the unchallengeable, and succeed. Or so I think. Naturally, it will have astonishing risk and hopefully equal reward. Artistically speaking, of course. New frontiers, that’s what it’s all about. And much reading. Will plough through all of Dickens’ novels next, having almost finished a complete survey of Greene’s. I’ve become an addict to reading all of an author’s works at one time. Novels A-Z. One’s appreciation of the totality of their talent, their work, their visions of humanity, runneth over. I’d recommend that approach to everyone. These writers have seen and interpreted human nature as no one else ever has or ever will. There’s nothing like walking with the Greats to remind you of just how far you have to go. You can never be too humble in the face of the Greats.
*****
This Interview may also be found at: http://tiredoftalkingaboutmyself.blog...
So by way of introduction to my blog and to my novel and to me--I give you my first book interview.
Disclaimer: The opening paragraph was written by the Interviewer--not by me. I claim no responsibility for it! I just have to grin and bear it, with gratitude.
The Interview
This interview is the first with Timothy Cooper author of “2020 or My Name is Jesus Christ and I’m Running For President“– a book that is currently chasing it’s way up the Amazon bestseller listings and collecting followers around the world. Steel yourself for the ride of a lifetime with the very talented Timothy Cooper.
What is your fascination with humorous fiction?
Mostly, it’s the fact that it’s not tragic, not dark. The opposite, in fact. The world’s drenched in a blight of dark dramas. They roll across the world like steamrollers. So humour provides a spectacular relief, a bubble of solace, a rainbow of what shall we say, transcendental… fun?
It steps us away from the teary miseries and the unbearable tensions and tosses us into pools of laughter, lightness. How great is that? It lets us float on clouds of mirth, lets in the dazzling light of levity. Most importantly, it permits us to not take ourselves oh-so-seriously. Plus, it makes life far more democratic. Politicians, the high and mighty, the exultant, they all stand before us on humour’s stage, characters in our happy comedy. Humour’s the ultimate equalizer… and we are its beneficiaries.
So that’s why I’m fascinated with humorous fiction. Of course, Mark Twain’s works were inculcated at an early age, too. Thank you, St. Albans School for Boys. And, of course, I utterly endorse Ernest Hemingway’s conclusion about Twain’s magnificent work, “Huckleberry Finn.” Don’t remember what he said? Well, I always have. He said that all American literature comes from one book. That book. The fact that it was a resoundingly humorous work of fiction, as well as yes, serious, tells you something very important about America. As a democracy, America enjoys a crucial safety valve in public discourse, balances its mighty seriousness with relentless waves of high and low humour. The quality of American humour is extraordinarily high. That’s for sure. And it’s become a part of America’s soul. Politicians, preachers, movie stars, whomever, beware. All eyes in search of good humour are on you!
It’s far better than aspirin, whiskey or cocaine to smooth the pain. So much pain, so little humour. We need to start a global campaign for more humour, especially in places like North Korea, China… Oh, the list could go on and on.
If I were president of the world, I’d mandate that humour be inserted into our global constitution. It might not mitigate the effects of war, famine and disease, but it would go a long way to being a positive force for good. And good’s not half bad in a world fraught with civil wars and genocide and conflagration.
Did I mention ISIS? I read recently that one of the tools used by Middle East activists was to use comedy against them and their recruiting campaign. Now that says something important about humour’s true power. Humour can be a righteous sword, as well as a salve on humanity’s blistered soul.
Who is your intended audience, and why should they read your book?
This is a question every author is dying to answer because the answer is so obvious! My novel is obviously intended for EVERYONE! Ages 18-plus, of course. Not that it’s a bit like D.H. Lawrence’s “Lady Chatterley’s Lover” or John Cleland’s 18th century novel “Fanny Hill.” Actually, I guess those books would be considerably downright quaint in the Internet Age, but at least they sparkled the imagination in a way few things cyber can possibly do nowadays. Anyway, “2020 or My Name is Jesus Christ and I’m Running for President” is a novel has everything for everyone. Okay, well, maybe not absolutely everyone, but nearly so, at least as it exists in the frontiers of my imagination. But look, take me at my word: what other novel has as its lead characters Madonna, Bono, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Nancy Pelosi, Jesse Jackson, JLo, Tom Cruise, Mel Gibson, Oprah and Martha Stewart? Plus a couple of Hells Angels. And I haven’t even mentioned the real stars of the novel— Jesus Christ Himself and his good-for-nothing stepbrother Beelzebub, or Lucifer, or the Devil—or whatever you want to call him. And the list goes on and on. My characters are a smorgasbord of first-tier celebrities. I’ve even thrown in some nice bits with members of our esteemed Supreme Court—Chief Justice Clarence Thomas, anyone?, as well as late night talk show hosts and infamous radio DJs.
So what’s not to like?
It’s not only a novel for Christians—Episcopalians, Catholics and Baptists, and whatnot, but it’ll also work just fine for Republicans (including Tea Party members) and Democrats. Okay, so it might not be a top pick for Rick Santorum, but no novel can be everything to everyone! Also, it’s definitely a Hollywood kind of novel. I mean Hollywood’s got some seriously smart and creative types, so naturally it’s a good fit for a community of geniuses who fan American culture and turn lively characters into the sweet, entertaining stuff of cultural and cinematic myth. It’ll also work for Neo-Cons and Flaming Liberals, alike. Possibly Nancy Pelosi will give it a thumbs-up, too. Obama? Well, who knows? Does he even read fiction? Still, he’s got a stake in the outcome of this novel, too. So my recommendation would be for him to pick it up. Or rather download it off Amazon Kindle! Today, preferably.
So back to the question: why should they read it? Because it’s a literary blast, capable of shaking the bones of their existence, and then some. In any case, who doesn’t want to read a novel about the divine and in the case of Jesus’ stepbrother, the not-so-divine…
We’re talking serious conflict here, and very, very high humour. Something to tell your grandchildren about. Or at least your next-door neighbour.
Do you prefer to write series of books rather than standalone novels?
Standalone. Standalone. Definitely standalone. It would be too hard to cope with a string of successes! I’d much prefer stand-alone successes. One at a time, if you please. I’m not greedy about these things. On the other hand, if I were J.K. Rowling, I would change my mind. Take it all back. A seven-book series will certainly NOT be enough. There would be an eighth, a ninth… and possibly several dozen more.
What do you find to be the greatest aid a writer can have?
Time. The heavenly gift of time. It’s more valuable than gold bullion, a Phantom Rolls-Royce and a house on Lake Como. (But not necessarily a nice apartment on Ile St. Louis in Paris…) For most people, writing fiction is incredibly difficult, an insanely meticulous task—a brain drain—a spirit drain—a soul drain. And it requires a vast, if not for a time, a limitless mental space where one builds the house, the city, the country, the world, in which the sequence of events and birth and growth of characters take place. You can’t do that without time. To say nothing of all of the oceans of time necessarily required to make serious grammatical choices–like should I use a period or a semi-colon to create just the right emphasis, cadence, in any given sentence. Those choices are always a battlefield inside one’s self. And one side always loses. It’s a shame, but what can you do?
The next most important thing you need to have is true grit or the equivalent, like the characters in the old John Wayne movie. Because when you write nobody cares, nobody loves it (because it’s a million miles away from being done yet), and nobody gets it—not even you. So you’re pretty much in an intergalactic orbit of your own making. You’re a pioneer rocketing through your own skies, so you need to take on a space pilot’s sense of faith, of belief, that once you lift off you’ll eventually make a safe landing one day, and hopefully to the applause of at least your own NASA’s Mission Control Center, if not the New York Times Book Review, because that would be pretty nearly as great, too.
Which brings us to the central point, easily lost on everyone, most especially myself. To write is to write is to write. That one can control. The rest is left up to the true empowers of the writer—the reader. Maybe they love it, perhaps they like it, possibly neither of the above. You can’t control anything after you land. All you can ask yourself is this: Is it the best writing of your life? If it is, then it’s time to move on and get better in yet another galactic orbit that even you won’t understand—until you do. It’s then that the flight makes sense. It’s then that you’re rewarded, with your own prize of accomplishment. It’s as good as it gets—and that’s not too bad.
I think every devoted writer should get a prize, but the world absolutely doesn’t work that way; so you have to be prepared to present and accept your own reward–for your commitment, for your pursuit of excellence, for your achievement, whether the rest of the world or even your neighbourhood agrees. And who knows? Maybe someday the world will acknowledge your sentences, your pages, your e-book vision… Maybe. What was it that Jonathan Cape’s editor Dan Franklin said? “I’ve always believed that if someone is good enough, eventually they’ll get discovered. And I don’t think it’ll be in one’s lifetime, necessarily.”
We all know that it’s pretty much the equivalent of a writer’s Moon shot, but real accomplishment requires such fabled quests, like crossing the Silk Road in 200 AD. It necessitates astonishing risks. Perhaps not quite comparable to carrying bundles of silk on your back from China to the Mediterranean, but a different kind of fierce risk. There can be no transcendence without personal risk. The only question is: What’s an acceptable risk for you, because there’s plenty of risk that’s simply too risky, right? You have to ask yourself: How much risk is worth creating something of true and possibly lasting value (at least in your eyes), in art, in business, in life? But this is not such a humorous line of questioning, so let’s more on! It’s too risky.
Have you ever had problems killing characters off?
Yes, I do, because I think all my characters should live forever.
Have you ever hated one of your characters?
No, author as parent needs to love all of his or her characters. It goes with the territory. After all, no matter how despicable a character may be, any good writer will always endow even the evilest of characters with certain recognizable human attributes that mitigate the hate, at least somewhat. Take Germany’s Minister of Propaganda, Joseph Goebbels, for instance. He loved his children, and they loved him. To write him best would be to include that side of him. Although, I must hasten to add that one truly has to gag at the thought of him poisoning his own six children with cyanide in Hitler’s bunker in Berlin as the Russians closed in. Pretty darn hard to find anything not to despise there, but nevertheless, the truth is he loved his kids. How terrifying is that? I think we should quickly return to the subject of humour, don’t you?
Are any of your characters based on the personalities of people you know?
Since I don’t personally know Jesus Christ or his evil stepbrother Beelzebub, the answer is an unequivocal, No. As for the panoply of stars and celebrities tripping throughout the novel, I must confess that I don’t know any of them either. (Who doesn’t want to do lunch with Madonna?) So what I write about them comes out of the public record and from my imagination. However, I do know Jesse Jackson and Nancy Pelosi, and respect them enormously. I’ve never met Terry McAuliffe, on which the character who exists in the frame for the novel is based, although I’ve observed him on the sidelines and know him to be a spectacular political fundraiser. (He was President’s main fundraiser for years.) Now he’s the Governor of Virginia, and a capable one it appears. One of his foremost abilities was, of course, making serious money—seas of it. Well, good for him. In any case, his character in the novel as head of the Democratic National Committee holds what I believe to be a distinguished place in the novel, and I thank him for his inspiration. That aside, the most important question is: Will he help me raise money to write my next novel?
How long does it take you to write a book?
“2020 or My Name is Jesus Christ and I’m Running for President” was started in 1990. Oh, my God. Really? Yes, really! The serious work on it took place after 2003, and it was finished after numerous drafts in about in May, 2010. In Bangkok, Thailand, of all places. Minor updates were completed in 2012. Between about 2005 and 2010, I wrote three drafts, each draft over 500 pages. So I like to say that it took about 10 years to get it to be the best I had to offer. That’s a consequential period of time. As a result, I’m all for the U.S. Congress passing legislation prohibiting authors from spending any more than 5—count ‘em—5 years on any one novel. I’d like to think it would pass. And if I were in the House or the Senate, I’d certainly cast a Yea vote in favour of it.
But look, F. Scott Fitzgerald spent five years writing “Tender is the Night,” a fact that I was astonished to learn at the end of reading it. I think he finished it in Zurich, Switzerland, if I recall correctly, which I thought was monumentally cool. My first reading of it was about forty years ago. When I saw that it took him five years, I almost fell over. An incomprehensible amount of time, it seemed to me then. Now I understand. Now I get it. More importantly, I understand that level of commitment to creation, that soaring devotion. Of course, F. Scott was and is a magnificent American writer. My only regret for him was that he died while trying to complete “The Last Tycoon.” To my mind, at least, it was a masterwork in the making. I was living in Laurel Canyon then—LA, so that the fact that he was writing about Hollywood in the 1930s coloured my affection for it, enough so that years later, I actually visited his gravesite in Rockville, Maryland and placed a bouquet of red roses on his grave. Carved on his granite slab is the ending to the “Great Gatsby”: “So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.” And of course, now I get that his idea in a way that I could never have understood it back then. I certainly don’t write like him, but his writing, for me, was a seminal inspiration…
Scott’s and Ernest Hemingway’s. I loved his “Green Hills of Africa.” Prose so clear, so clean, so eloquently simple. His long, strung-on sentences read as fast and light as Swiss wind raking Lake Geneva. Love his cadences and silent rhythms. Always will.
Outside of writing—what are your hobbies?
I take everything too seriously to have hobbies. But I do compose and perform solo piano music and have released two CDs, with a third on the way. “Light on the Water” is one. “East Wind” is the other. A third is done but not yet released. It’s called “Global Skies.” And I’ve just produced a compilation CD of solo piano artists, from a group called Enlightened Piano Radio Artists, which is dedicated to the theme of world peace. A good theme in a world attacked by ISIS, et al. Not sure what we’ll call that one yet. I just recorded my contribution, a piece titled, “The Light After.” Begins with the sounds and heartaches of war; ends with sounds of joy in places of peace. Art should speak.
I also do serious fine arts photography, and have for decades. My chief works, “World Lights” and “World Walls,” are online. Hope to do a major exhibition at the very end of the Silk Road, so to speak. Photographic art is a gorgeous universe, and there’s so much resounding talent out there. My only regret is that in the Internet Age, most of the images that we see are thumbnails. Minute imitations of what they were meant to be. When in fact they should be showing up in towering museum walls!
Do you prefer a film of a book—or the book itself?
Well, the two mediums rarely go together like milk and honey. What I may like about the film I may not see in the novel and visa versa. But once in a while they each, in their own fashions, rise to the sublime. Take, for instance, the BBC’s original film version of John Le Carré’s novel, “Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy” and its sequel, “Smiley’s People,” starring Alec Guinness. The novels represent Le Carré at his best (well, the “Little Drummer Girl”—the novel— is pretty darn good, too.) But the BBC’s film versions, one directed by John Irvin, the other directed by Simon Langton, stay true to his novels, but also amplify the visual atmospherics and swim even deeper into his characters (How could they not with Alex Guinness playing George Smiley?) So that’s a good example of complimentary works—fiction and film succeeding equally.
On the other hand, many of Graham Greene’s novels have been produced as films, “The Human Factor,” “Brighton Rock,” “The Quiet American,” “The End of the Affair,” “The Heart of the Matter,” “The Honorary Consul,” “Loser Takes All,” “Monsignor Quixote,” “Stamboul Train,” and the “Third Man,” for example, and I can’t think of one where I prefer the film over the novel. Of course, we’re talking Graham Greene here…
In general, I much prefer original screenplays to adaptation. But that’s not to say that “2020 or My Name is Jesus Christ and I’m Running for President” won’t make a stunning adaptation—in the right hands, of course. Naturally. Those hands would be mine….
Ok, dream on…
But look, I’d like to try to help give Johnny Depp’s career a friendly boost. So if he’d really, really like to play the role of Christ in “2020,” yes, please, I’d appreciate him contacting my agent.
What’s next for you?
Next is a state secret. Too hot to be announced. At least, today. Tomorrow, maybe. But suffice to say, it’ll be fraught with drama of the first instance, and swirling controversial, and likely challenge the unchallengeable, and succeed. Or so I think. Naturally, it will have astonishing risk and hopefully equal reward. Artistically speaking, of course. New frontiers, that’s what it’s all about. And much reading. Will plough through all of Dickens’ novels next, having almost finished a complete survey of Greene’s. I’ve become an addict to reading all of an author’s works at one time. Novels A-Z. One’s appreciation of the totality of their talent, their work, their visions of humanity, runneth over. I’d recommend that approach to everyone. These writers have seen and interpreted human nature as no one else ever has or ever will. There’s nothing like walking with the Greats to remind you of just how far you have to go. You can never be too humble in the face of the Greats.
*****
This Interview may also be found at: http://tiredoftalkingaboutmyself.blog...
2020: A Politically Divine Blog
A writer's life is like anyone else's, except when it's not. It's a pitch of contradictions, really, dream-states mixed with real-states. It's a blend of isolation and consternation, with a bit of the
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