“Trivialities”

One of my self-defining characteristics is an enduring love of bread products. Bagel, roll, croissant, pita, popover, naan, you name it. Having a separate, anomalous bread stomach has allowed me to consume large quantities with any meal. No butter required. So keep your Panerai, just give me Panera.

What our high school and college curricula need is a formal training course called “How Not To Be A Douchebag.” The Douche-Dex in America is at an all-time high, jet-fueled by the performative masculinity of Trump 2.0. I used to be of the opinion that women were generally excluded from that club. Then I observed the likes of Pam Bondi, Karoline Leavitt, and Kristi Noam who not only qualify but are prime examples of D-maxxing.

My friend JS calls it “silly season.” I’m now of the opinion that competitive endeavors should operate about at the level of non-league bowling. Because, honestly, who gives a shit what you roll or shoot or whatever? Our society is entirely too focused on score and outcomes. A “tennis ladder” ought to be those little stairs you climb to sit in the umpire chair and heckle your friends while they play using their off-hand. Lining up every two-foot putt for your Nassau bet is douchey (see above) and is ruining the game. “Good-good” is a great thing. Because at day’s end, nobody really cares. And winner buys lunch.

I’m ambivalent about this one. As above, our culture has become preoccupied with quantifiable comparison, particularly as it pertains to money. In cinema, it’s box office receipts. Awards follow but they are used, in turn, to goose the bottom line. It’s all about the ROI. In the art world, there is a hyperfocus on assigning monetary value to specific works and ranking each artist based on what they fetch at auction. One sad irony is that this value usually increases greatly after they are deceased. Vincent himself famously died poor and largely unknown. If only he could have had a bump from the Lego Van Gogh. But one might argue that any portal into art appreciation is invaluable. And while it smacks at first of commoditization, maybe it’s what’s needed to ground things again. This, however, comes at the risk of a cheapening. I feel this way about my favorite songs used in advertisements. It took seeing Sean Hayes in “Good Night, Oscar” to finally dissociate Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue” from that United Airlines spot. Maybe, in the end, we each have to keep these precious things in our own unique way. Qualitatively. Block out all the noise. Forget any transactional value. And remember what it was about any given piece, or book or play or song, that moved you in the first place.