Can't Pick A Pony? No Problem.

I usually find political quizzes inane and of very little use. This stems from the fact that most of them are rather poorly designed or "loaded" to give a certain response.

This one was seemingly different and the format is interesting.

Go check out Glassbooth and see what 2008 presidential candidate most closely mirrors your stances on issues. I particularly like the "points allocation" system...kinda like a voting system used elsewhere in the world that I find fascinating (if not without some significant flaws).

My results? They won't surprise you (if you know me well enough, that is).

Click here for that non-surprise.

So go on, take the quiz and pick your guy or gal...but ask yourself that classic question that works on so many levels:

So what?

Why It Matters That Tony Blair Is A Catholic

On the surface, this might seem to the casual observer to be a bit of a non-story. It was reported today, leaked really, that former British Prime Minister Tony Blair (1997-2007) is just about ready to convert to Catholicism.

For those who watch British politics and politicians, this surely came as no real shock. It had been speculated for some time that Blair, who's wife Cherie and children are all Catholic, would officially convert after years of genuflecting in private.

O.K. Great, so he's a Catholic. So what?

The speculation over this matter proffered several reasons why he would not just do it when he was still resident at No. 10 Downing Street: the situation in Northern Ireland, possible constitutional problems related to the Catholic Relief Act of 1829, would be seen as an unpopular and divisive act in what is more and more a secular country.

While these reasons (and others) seem plausible if debatable, I think the real importance lies in the fact that it became such a public concern in the first place.

It does bear repeating that, on the whole, Great Britain is become a more "secular" country, a process that has been ongoing for, oh, a hundred years or more. Secular in the sense that less people profess a belief in any certain religion, attend any religious service and don't think that faith of any sort informs other parts of their lives. See this BBC story for more details on this score.

This seems strange, given that a large part of the UK (Northern Ireland) has been wracked by sectarian violence for thirty-five years (in its current form). Perhaps this is not so odd, though. If your country (or at least part of it) were inhabited by people ready to kill each other and religion was one of the reasons why, wouldn't that cause you to rethink your beliefs in general?

Northern Ireland may be the exception that proves the rule, but Northern Ireland is always treated as a sort of asterisk after any blanket statement about anything in the UK.

So, in a (largely) secular country with lived experience of the violence that religion sometimes causes between people, why is the fact that a former PM is converting to another religion a big deal?

For me, the real importance lies in the fact that this is a public concern at all. It says a lot not only about how Britons relate to their politics and society generally, but also about how history really dies hard in how it shapes perceptions.

It is a curious relation that the average Briton has to the government and institutions of society. It can best be described as a love-it-but-can't-live-without-it sort of arrangement. They complain about how useless the monarchy is, yet polling data suggests that most would keep it, given a choice. Same goes for the Church of England, which is an arm of the state (the monarch is also the head of the church).

It is this strange relationship that lies at the center of the "Tony Blair's a Catholic" foofaraw.

This leads into the second reason why this is important: the persistence of history. People like to think that history is, well, history. It is old news, forgotten, swept away in the march of progress. As most of you know, however, history retains a strange hold on people and their world views. How many of you think that the British are staid and proper, the French are snotty, the Irish are drunks, the Italians/Spainards/Greeks are passionate and violent and the Germans/Russians are authoritarian?

Probably more than a few. These perceptions are couched in historically determined conceptions of "national character," an idea that emerged from the eighteenth century. It is just this sort of thing that informs the reaction to Blair's conversion.

The British (the English in particular) seem to have a deep-seeded distrust of anything that smacks of Catholicism. For a country that went through the Reformation in the manner that England did (fits and starts and wars and bloodshed...like most of Europe), this memory is part of the national story.

On the other side, the story of Catholics in Britain is a story, after about the reign of Elizabeth I (1558-1603) of an underground religious culture that was distrusted and marginalized. This is not even mentioning how Catholicism developed and reacted to British domination in Ireland (which one could write about for the rest of one's life and not reach a conclusion).

This historical mistrust seemed to rear its head when, even before he left office in June of this year, there were hints at Blair being a "crypto Catholic." This mistrust of Blair's religion seemed to awaken the old demons of sectarianism and division that were supposedly laid to rest.

It could just be (and I think there is something to be said for this) that some people just didn't like Tony Blair and found any percieved difference to pounce upon. It could also be that this rise in negative feelings toward a Catholic leader is but a part of a complex interaction of perception, reality, policy and public opinion that intersect in the life of a lot of public figures (a lot of everyone, really).

I think that there is a lot at work here: perceptions of a public figure's private life; old prejudices rearing up; dislike of a controversial leader; questions over the faith of an ever more diverse people; the role of faith in public life.

These are questions that, rightly or wrongly, we will keep asking of our leaders and interpreting their answers to our liking. While the inclination to do this is strong indeed, I just hope that people for once stop and consider why they believe what they believe and see if it makes any sense given the situation.

This may be too much to ask of anyone, but I think it should be considered by everyone.

These are the "big questions" that we all must face, like it or not.

A Real Fright For Halloween? Try Historians Partying.

I know, it seems like two things that just do not go together. It does, however, occasionally happen.

Perhaps I am not being completely clear; for lots of historians, it never happens. For some, it happens so infrequently as to be a real shock to the system. For others, it is a weekly occurrence. No points for guessing which group I'm in with.

Taken by itself, last night's festivities were great. One of our number got the whole thing sponsored by Pabst Blue Ribbon. Holly is a wonderful human being and a credit to the "drinking crowd" in the department.

As ever, I had to wonder why more people didn't show up when free beer is offered. Moreso because, even if beer is not your thing (as hard as that is for me to understand), it is a big departmental social event when we can come together outside of an official setting and, well, get to know each other as people and not just historical fields of specialization.

At least that's how I view it.

Others cannot seem to take off the historian hat for ten minutes and talk about anything else. It's always "I'm working on this" or "I am presenting that" or "preparing for prelims sucks (which it does)." I work hard, but I am a big believer in the notion of not talking shop after hours.

I understand that there will be a certain amount of this. Hell, it is all of our somewhat inexplicable interest in people and times long gone that brings us together as a group. Then it hit me: is this all that we have in common? Is the only "tie that binds," so to speak, the fact that we all happen to do the same thing for a living?

In many similar situations, I think that this is exactly it. Think of any corporate social event and you'll see what I mean. Strained conversations about the Johnson account or what Ted in Finance did in the copy room or aren't Post-It Notes grand, that sort of thing. This has not always been the case, as it seems that lots of corporate events don't involve as much booze as they once did. There is much less awkward drunken dancing, photocopying of buttocks (among other things) and watching the people who went home with each other avoid the subject on Monday morning.

There was plenty of booze at this thing last night, so that wasn't it.

So, does that make us, the history graduate students, different from other sets of people that work together. Well, yes and no.

No because of what I said before. What ties us together as a group seems to be precious little. But it is that precious little that I think is so interesting and infuriating at the same time.

We all do a job that is not something that most people in the general population care about or know a whole lot about. It is not normal (by many standards) to dedicate eight years of your life to something that pays rather poorly, makes you move all over the country and have regular and sustained contact with college students, an interesting group in and of themselves (I know: I was one). Does this make us special? No. Different, it would seem so.

What I want to know the most about my colleagues is, well, what got them here and do they do anything else than history stuff. The former desire springs more from curiosity than anything else. I was compelled to do this for a living and I want to know what drove others to the same decision. The latter springs from the first in that the "academic personality" is a fascinating phenomenon.

This personality type, such as it is, is a mix of many good and bad things (just like most people, I guess) that make us what we are and how we are percieved by others and ourselves. The admirable things come in the form of dedication to trying to answer some of those big picture questions like "who am I?" and "where did I come from?" It also comes from the notion that, at least as far as the humanities are concerned, we try and enrich those areas of life that make the whole damnable business of existence worth bearing. That is us at our best.

Then there's the bad stuff. The pretension, the elitism, the feelings that what we do is (in the larger scheme of things) not all that important. The embarassingly low pay doesn't help either.

So, where does that leave us? It shows that historians (and a lot of acedemics in general) might seem like a breed apart, like radically different sorts of people than "everyone else." Really, though, we are not. Lots of my colleagues don't like to admit it, but we are just people, trying to make our way through a world that doesn't make sense a lot of the time. We like to pretend that, in some way, we have a better grasp of things and have a deeper understanding of the world as a whole.

We don't, really.

All we do is look at the world with an interesting set of eyes and hopefully shine some light on issues and problems that face us all as we deal with the world around us. Or, to put it another way, historians are people too.

Sometimes we in the field need a reminder of this. Having this reminder in the form of a monumental piss-up doesn't hurt either.

Until you wake up on Ted from Finance's bathroom floor, that is.

Prepare To Be Enthralled...

...by the majestic, the haunting, "Old Turkey Buzzard."

(Thanks to David Letterman for sticking this song in my head for two months. I guarantee you will not be able to stop humming this song).

Rinse, Spin, Ponder

It's interesting the things that you get up to when you are stuck somewhere with nothing to do.

For me this evening, I went to the laundromat and forgot the reading that I had to do tonight. I could have gone to the tavern next door, but that seems too much like fun on a "school night." I already read the paper, parts of which from several days were strewn about the place. So, I bought an overpriced can of pop and surveyed my surroundings.

I have been doing my laundry at this place since I moved to Madison, but I realized that I never just sat there and watched life come and go (at least for the time when my giant slacks were being cleansed of their ickyhood.)

Tonight, it seemed that all of the regular characters were there. People coming in and out from the tavern, checking their laundry, some with drinks in their hands even (making me jealous, those bastards). Couple having a fight over the laundry which seemed to spill over into other aspects of their lives. Serious guy with a laptop who frankly struck me as the sort of guy who would hire a laundry service. Creepy guy in the corner just sort of staring (wait, that was me).

I guess that spending time in a laundromat allows you to, well, observe the lives of the sorts of people who use laundromats. Where I live, that means a lot of students and apartment dwellers who have landlords that don't provide laundry facilities. It also means a lot of homeless people who come in to wash their clothes, often using the bathroom to change. Lastly, it means people who are drawn in by the novelty and (frankly) convienence of a tavern next to a laundry. Even though there is a place in town that is a laundromat that serves drinks, that place is by campus and for jerks.

So, that's the scene as I saw it.

Great, you say, but why are you telling us this?

Well, I got to thinking about the sociocultural dynamics of the laundromat. It is an interesting place in that it brings a cross section of people who don't normally associate with each other in a place where they expose some of their most intimate things and are captive by necessity.

Doesn't it seem that it is the necessities of life that draw disparate individuals together. It can't really be called a community, as there is no sense of unity among the group, anything that can cause group cohesion and the only common thread is that the place has something that all these people seem to need for one reason or another. It is really not a group, but a collection of individuals.

That causes me to question the notion, first proffered by Ancient Greeks like Aristotle, that man is an inherently a social animal. Philosophers from Plato and Aristotle to the Thomist Schoolmen to Machiavelli and Hobbes and Locke and Rousseau have confronted this issue. It was only really Rousseau who questioned if society was good for us (he didn't think so, but he had a hard time proving it). In fact, that is one of the central questions of the human condition, namely what is the "atomic" unit of human life, the group or the individual?

I have always very much leaned on the side of the individual, but that is not to say that I think all people should be loners. Some of our associations we choose (family, friends, even work to a certain extent) and others we do not (usually situations where we are under coercion of some sort). In many ways, these situations that we do not choose are of necessity and as I mentioned before, cannot really be considered a group of any kind.

How does this relate to the laundromat? Well, it is really one of these very situations of unchosen association. Some might view that scene as proof of the alienation that all of us who live in supposed urban isolation confront every day. I really don't see it as that.

I see it as proof that the best associations we all have are those that we make the individual choice to form, out of some need. It is one of the features of "commodious living" that we all enjoy (in this country, at least).

I also see it as the vindication of that most elusive right, that right that the Supreme Court has never been able to define - the right to privacy. The best thing I ever heard on this score was actually from a former Supreme Court Justice, Felix Frankfurter. He defined the right to privacy as the right to be left alone. I could strike up a conversation with any of the "laundromat people," but I choose not to. I respect their right to be left alone and would never think of infringing on it.

There are a lot of situations that I find myself in where people don't respect this right. On the bus, in line anywhere, when I am eating alone outside. I have never understood what drove these people to begin talking to complete strangers. Most of the time, if not all the time, I just wish people would keep their comments to themselves and go about their business and let me do the same.

I feel in these situations, a personal right of mine is being violated. I and I alone choose the people that I associate with and no-one should presume that I want anything to do with them. Don't listen to my conversations, don't comment on my purchases, don't tell me about your grandkids. I don't really care.

Does this make me a cold, aloof and cruel person. To some, perhaps. I happen to think that the nicest people can do for each other is to leave each other alone to pursue their own paths.

Some people like being alone. I have always been one of these people. Maybe the preceeding commentary says more about me than a particular view of the world, but it is worth considering.

All of this because I forgot my book at home. I promise it won't happen again.

If it does happen again, I might tell you, I might not. Up to me really, isn't it?

Badger Game, Approximately

Right now, the Badgers are in the midst of their second game of the year against the Michigan State Spartans...should be a good one.

Wait, you say, why isn't Will at Camp Randall, like every football Saturday?

Well, I was there, but am not now. Let me explain.

Camp Randall Stadium holds about 82,000 people, about 25-30,ooo of that is the student sections. That is where I sit for most games. That is where I was to sit today (Section P, Row 20, Seat 36 to be precise). So far, so good.

I am inside the stadium, I am going to my seat and, as ever, there is someone sitting there. No problem, I'll just ask one of the friendly Per-Mar Security people to eject the interloper from my seat and we can get on with the show.

Upon asking the aforementioned Per-Mar person, I was told that there was plenty of room in rows above and to seek a seat there. Not something they normally do, but allright. I make my way to near the top of Section P and find a seat as instructed.

Does this clip need any set-up?

The people with the tickets for the seats that I commandeered showed up. I explained politely that I was told to find another spot as it is nigh on impossible to move thirty rows of people and that, as a matter of fact, I was not staying for the whole game (I am even now waiting for a bus to Milwaukee) and that, if they could handle the squeeze for about forty-five minutes, I would be gone.

They were having none of it. I was told, and I quote, "get out of our fucking seats, you fat asshole!"

Well, I never...

I left the seats, deciding that a fight with these people (drunk, but with no notion of how to deal with it) was not advisable as I was just one. I again sought out security, and they did offer to get me to my original seat, but by this point, I was so angry that I suggested to the people who displaced me some possible erotic activites to take place with their mothers and left Camp Randall, walked the several blocks to the Humanities Building and here I am.

What will come of this? An angry letter from me to Barry Alvarez, John Wiley, and Per-Mar Security that will be ignored.

What should have happened? Either I should have been given my seat the first time I asked for it or the fuckwads that made me move should have understood how game days go at Camp Randall and found another seat in the section.

According to the radio, I am missing a hell of a game.

So, to Per-Mar Security (for their idiotic employees), the UW Athletic Department (for not making the student sections general admission) and the amateur drinker assfuckers who caused this I say that I would not give you a squirt of my piss if you were dying of thirst.

Society And Culture: Who Needs Them?

Y'know, it's funny. Sometimes you read something and think that it is complete bullshit, an utter steaming heap of nonsense the first time you read it. Yet, given this gut reaction, the ideas presented therein won't leave you alone. Well, it happens to me...

Just such a thing happened to me this week when I read Jean-Jacques Rousseau's "Discourse on the Arts and Sciences." I thought, on first glance, his argument was weak, his evidence was worse and the whole thing smacked of sour grapes.

A little background is in order. Jean-Jacques Rousseau (1712-1778) wrote this piece, also called the First Discourse, in 1750 in response to what amounted to an essay contest held by the Academy of Dijon (and, no, it had nothing to do with mustard as far as I can tell). The question that was to be answered was: "Has the restoration of the sciences and arts tended to purify morals?”

Rousseau, in short, answered "no." He argues that societies, such as that of eighteenth century France, that concentrated on the arts and sciences to the detriment of what he calls practical skills, were certainly worse off for doing so. He claims that humankind was much better off before getting entangled with art, science and the whole of what he deems the useless decadence of society and culture in general.

His examples come from history, the most famous being ancient Athens and Sparta. Rousseau states that Athens, who had become complaisant by focusing on art and science, was overrun by the more practical, vigorous and therefore more virtuous Sparta. The larger argument, therefore, was that societies where arts and sciences were the height of culture often get toppled by societies where practical skills and the virtue of the "citizen" are central.

Rousseau won the contest, the prize and started his path to being one of the most influential thinkers (for better or worse) produced by the Western tradition.

Why the knocks against art and science? Rousseau asserts that these pursuits allow people to wear masks that hide their real thoughts, deeds and urges behind a facade of culture and learning. This allows people to lie to each other, causing widespread distrust and the aforementioned decadence. In other words, Rousseau would have hated PBS.

My reaction, as I hinted at above, to this was critical to say the least. He seems to elide over the fact that Sparta was basically a military dictatorship where people weren't free to pursue anything apart from what the state deemed necessary. His other historical examples are equally weak (like claiming that the "savages" of North America had no culture to "poison" them).

This is where the gut reaction came in.

Whenever things that we are always told are good are attacked, no matter how cynical or jaded we claim to be, we always recoil just a little. We are told from youth that culture, arts and sciences are good things and that we should be as interested in them as possible because, well, that's what makes us human. In a superficial way, I guess I can buy that.

What I had more trouble with was when I asked myself the question "what is so damned good about art and science, anyway?" To put it another way "did Rousseau get anything right?" Well, on one score, I think he was dead on.

Think about people you know who consistently beat you over the head with how "cultured" they are. These people who portray the image, in whatever form it takes, that they are "with it," "plugged in" and so far beyond you, you peon, that you would do well to emulate them in your every thought word and deed.

Yeah, a real bunch of assholes, right?

Above, when I say, "in whatever form it takes," that is intentionally broadly defined. These can be people involved in this "scene" or that, discussing/wearing/listening/watching/reading/consuming (really) whatever it may be. These people seem so involved in their "thing" that you must wonder if there is anything else to them. It calls to mind Winston Churchill's famous definition of a fanatic as someone who "won't change their minds and won't change the subject."

And that, friends, is why Rousseau wouldn't leave me alone, though he has been dead for 229 years. He put his finger on people who wear these masks of culture to hide their true selves, which are full of the same fears and hatreds that we all harbor.

Some might say that it is good that we have these masks, or life with other people would become unbearable. Rousseau would say that life with other people is inevitably unbearable and we should rethink the fundamentals of society. That is a discussion for another day.

So, do I agree with Rousseau? Not really, or at least I think he doesn't prove his assertions very well. What I cannot help but notice, though, is how right he seems to be about how people interact with each other.

Is it good that we hide our true selves away?

If Rousseau is wrong, how do arts and sciences lead to a "moral" life?

Can people ever be truly honest with each other?

Are society and culture really as bad for us as Rousseau thinks?

There are no simple answers to these questions. Just because of this, don't be put off of thinking about them.

We owe it to ourselves to consider these questions deeply.

I know I will.

Picture This...

Some of you (here and on Facebook and MySpace) have commented on my pictures.

Yes, it is true that I don't use real pictures of myself because, well, what's the point? Most of you know what I look like and the rest of you probably don't care.

Also, I give the excuse that no image exists of me online or in digital form to use.

That excuse is no longer valid.

So, if you really want to, click here and scroll down to "History 365." There you will find what I actually and really looked like as of Monday morning.

Did you do it? See...told you there was not much point to it.

Hey Nonny, Nonny! I Dislike Thee Greatly!

As I was walking from my office to the library, I happened upon and open air "meeting" of the campus chapter of these people. Oh brother, were they ever "meeting."

Fighting with fake swords and armor; dressing in tights and armor in the heat of the late summer; a fat guy in a monk robe...it was all there.

Why is it that these people bother me so much?

As a historian, actually, I have mixed feelings. If this is the way that some people decide to interact with the past, I guess I have no right to stop them. On the other hand, I think the thing that bothers me the most is that they choose to take the "good" parts of the Middle Ages and leave the rest.

They are happy to take the comely wenches, brave men in armor, traditional handicrafts, Busch Light drank out of pewter tankards, quaint speech and so on. What they seem to forget is that the Middle Ages (in most of Europe, at least; the Arabs in Andalusia were doing pretty well, thank you) was extremely nasty.

Even setting disease and the lack of sanitation aside (and that is a lot to set aside), people lived in political arrangements as little better than slaves, beholden to a series of landowners and ekeing out a subsistence existence. You also lived in constant fear of these temporal powers who marshalled spiritual powers to keep you in frightened subjection.

O.K., now add in the disease, stink, rotten food, worse water and sever killer bouts of the plague.

The worst part, in my opinion, was that things never got better. You could never hope to do much better than your father and you could have no such hope for your children. When did things like this start to change in Europe? Oh, about, around the late seventeenth century (like, well, maybe sorta 1690-ish).

I guess they are just hobbyists and if this is how they choose to spend their time, money and effort, hey, good for them. At least they are not dealing smack or writing horrid popular songs.

But you won't find me out there, poncing about, playing at medieval fun. I know too much about the past to have it be any fun at all.

What's more, I have no problem with that.

Thirty Years On

This past Sunday, September 9, 2007, at 3:57PM, I officially turned thirty years of age.

At that exact moment, I was paying for a pizza...yeah, typical, I know.

How does it feel to be thirty? This seems to be a question that people like to ask others on their birthdays. I think it is kind of silly, but I'll try to answer it nonetheless.

On one level, I always knew this day was coming. This is based on the fact that I never figured that I would die before my thirtieth birthday.

On another (more meaningful, less smartassy) level, I feel no different at all. So, I'm thirty now. Great. How am I supposed to feel? Older? Wiser?

Some people think of thirty as a milestone and time for reflection on the road behind and the road ahead. I am not really one of those people, but it cannot be ignored that it gives one a bit of pause. I, confronted with this notion, think "much done, much more to do" and get back to it. I know it is funny for a historian to say this, but there is little use to dwelling on one's own past. Oh, it is fun for moments of nostalgia and wistful remembering, but not as a regular diet. If we do, we cease to move forward and evolve and, in a real meaningful way, we die.

Will things in my life ever be the same as they were when I was (fill in the "milestone birthday" here)? A little yes, but mostly no, and thankfully so. I like to think that I am a more complete, better informed, more engaging person that I was in the past and I hope to keep evolving.

Is the world a different place now than it was in 1977? As ever, the answer is yes and no. There is no longer a President Carter, a Soviet Union, double digit inflation or discos in every village and town. There are still idiotic, out of touch leaders, looming and misunderstood foreign enemies, national financial jitters and silly cultural obsessions. So, same as it ever was on that score.

Did I think I would be in a different place at thirty than I am now? Honestly, I couldn't tell you. I just, as I always have, get up, work hard and take my advantages when they come. I guess that's pretty much what we all do. I guess I could say "fifteen or twenty years ago, I would have never thought I would be teaching Irish history to undergrads and trying to learn Latin." What good does that do, really?

I don't believe that there was some special path for me, some personal Sonderweg, where I am driving to some great, preset goal that I have had since birth. I just try to do my best, keep my nose clean and enjoy myself wherever I can. I have responsibilites, but they are far from onerous; I have my fun, but it is nothing outlandish. For a guy with strong opinions about things, in my daily life, I am pretty dull.

I guess, then, that balance between a lively life of the mind and a (relatively) placid outer life is the sort of balance that I like and need. If this is where I was meant to be at thirty, I didn't know it ahead of time, but I must say I don't mind it at all.

So, as I move forward from thirty, I like where I'm at, I know it won't last and I am ever moving ahead...whether it is to the sunlit uplands of success, the gray middling ground of monotony or the dark depths of oblivion, I cannot tell for sure.

All I can do is be as ready as I can, learn to flinch and have fun along the way because life'll kill ya.

Bring it on.

(I realize I made two Warren Zevon references in that one sentence...I should apologize, but Warren never did and neither will I.)

Sums A Lot Up, Really

Please read the post below this one on two funny men who celebrate birthdays today, but I thought this was interesting.

I ran across a great quote from the classic British film noir of 1949, The Third Man. It really sums up a lot about history, culture, society and the like. I guess it is a bit reductive and leaves a lot out, but I thought it was worth repeating nonetheless.

"In Italy, for thirty years under the Borgias, they had warfare, terror, murder and bloodshed - but they produced Michaelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci and the Renaissance. In Switzerland, they had brotherly love, 500 years of democracy and peace, and what did that produce? The cuckoo clock."

Happy Birthday, Bob and Pat

Today marks the birthdays of two of my favorite people. Both were indeed born on September 5, both in the Chicago area and I find both incredible amusing, but for completely different reasons.

These two people are, of course, comedy legend Bob Newhart and my brother Pat.

George Robert "Bob" Newhart, who turns seventy-eight today, is possibly my favorite stand-up comedian of all time. Starting with The Button-Down Mind of Bob Newhart in 1960, Bob captured the American imagination with his dry and witty one-man conversation routines. That album shot to the top of the Billboard charts, beating Elvis and the cast album of The Sound of Music, became the first "spoken word" album to do this, and earned Newhart three Grammy Awards.

The rest of his career was no less lustrous. Starring in The Bob Newhart Show from 1972 to 1977 and Newhart from 1982 to 1990 (which for my money still has the best final episode of any TV show ever), he also starred in films, other TV projects and kept right on performing live. Read more about Bob here, here and here.

His manner and material were, and are, something great. He is the definition of the "sane man in an insane world," affecting his trademark stutter of incredulity at much of what goes on around him. In his classic stand-up routines, his one-sided conversations show some of the best comedic timing since Jack Benny and never seem to show their age too much. His act typifies the put-upon everyman that we can all identify with at some level. From Abe Lincoln's PR man to the pilot on the Grace L. Ferguson Airline and Storm Door Company, from Dr. Bob Hartley to Dick Loudon, he is an American comedic icon and someone who never fails to make me laugh.

Another funny guy, not as well known and beloved of the American people, is my brother Pat. Patrick Michael Shannon, who turns twenty -seven today, is one of the funniest people that I personally know. What makes him funny? Well, his consistently off-the-wall perspective on any given situation, the complete unpredictability of what he will say next and one of the quickest come-back men I have ever seen.

Actually, an interaction between Bob Newhart and my brother would be interesting...Pat represents the insane world in which Newhart's characters often find themselves.

There is not much "Pat content" on the web, but you can visit his bands here and here and his employer here.

Apart from that, Pat is good to people around him, generous to a fault and a person who, when he asks you how you are doing, is actually interested in the answer.

Oh, and he is one of the people I will never challenge to a drinking contest. Ever. There would be no winners, only losers on their way to get their stomachs pumped.

So, on this September 5th, raise a glass and have a laugh for these two favorite comedic sons of the Windy City.

"Same to you, fella!"

When Courtesy Goes Too Far

I was waiting to cross the street yesterday at a fairly busy intersection on Madison's near west side. As I watched the traffic flow for the right time to launch my large frame into the intersection, I noticed a car in the oncoming lane stop and wave me across. Well, this really did me no good as the other lane kept moving. I tried to wave the car off, but he just sat there.

Then it got worse. Another car joined the first, thus allowing me to (theoretically) cross half way. This would have been fine...if there was a median in the center of the street. As there was not, I still stood on one side of the road, unable to cross as the other lane kept moving.

I tried to wave these people off, but they will not move at all, so I had to run across, barely getting to the other side ahead of a garbage truck careening down the street.

What caused this difficult situation? The same thing that causes problems in all facets of modern life...misplaced courtesy.

It is apparently a law in Madison that drivers have to stop at crosswalks to let pedestrians cross. It is, as you might imagine, a law that is sporadically followed and enforced...and this is where the difficulty starts.

It is one of those laws that would work if everyone followed it or no-one did. If just some people follow it, I think it makes you more likely to get hit because people are inclined to "take the driver up" on their "offer" to cross the street. Unless you can wait the "well-meaning" driver out, you have to take the chance of being hit instead of waiting until the opportunity presents itself to cross safely. If I wanted to cross at a more reliable pace, I would find an intersection with a stop sign or a traffic light.

In Chicago, this would never happen. People would never in a million years think of stopping to let people cross if the light was green. Never. Ever. Not kind, caring or concerned for the safety of your fellow man? Yes? More predictable? Absolutely. In Chicago, I can just assume that drivers are dangerous sociopaths who would gladly run me down in the street. The surety of that assumption allows me to react in more predictable ways.

This is just more evidence that the feeling in Madison that we are a kinder, more aware, more community-minded city is often a case of the heart being in the right place but the brain not considering the practical implications.

It is also further proof of another old saw, namely "the road to hell is paved with the best of intentions."

Use those good intentions for something that is really worthwhile and, since you won't be stopping at every crosswalk, you can get to it right away.

Problem solved.

Summertime Done Come And Gone, My Oh My

It hit me for the first time this morning. That feeling that summer is drawing to a close and that the academic year is again upon us.

You see, it has been raining in Madison pretty much non-stop since early Saturday morning (when I left the bar, it was not raining; when I got home, I looked like a pool guy with bad balance). The temperature has also become more temperate; as I write this, it is sixty-five degrees with drizzle outside. This change in the weather patterns has triggered an almost unconcious reaction in me.

It is telling me to meet with my advisor to hammer out TA details...it is telling me to get my office in order and review the texts for class...it is telling me to finish registering so that my refund check will appear and I can stop foraging...it is telling me, really, that the wheel has come around another rotation and that it is time to start another year.

I always have mixed feelings about this. I hate the summer weather, but like the feeling summer has - open and seemingly endless. I like the months spreading out before me, although I am used to the clausterphobia that schedules bring as well as any person in the modern, industrialized world.

I always look forward to school starting again (yes, I was always one of those sorts of kids...bored with summer by about the end of July). I also realize that, in my almost thirty years in this mortal coil, I have only not been in school for seven academic years (1977/1978-1981-1982 and 1999/2000-2001-2002). It is my life, my passion and I cannot wait to be a part of it again. Still...

There is a part of me that always misses the catch-as-catch-can feel of summer...the being able to, at the drop of a hat, drink beer, go to a ball game, sit by the lake and stare at the sailboats and the diaphenous haze over the surface of the water. Who wouldn't miss that?

This time of transition has always contained another milestone for me, my birthday. While I will comment at more length on my thirtieth birthday, suffice to say that this is more wrapped up than usual in my feelings at present.

So, as these last days of August give waay to September, I look back on a summer of some fun, some frustration, some accomplishment and some shortfall and, all in all, cannot wait for the coming storm. What can I say? I am a glutton for punishment.

Though this is undoubtely true, I will carry those happy moments of summer with me somehow, those last fading streaks of sunlight over the placid water.

These are the things that sustain us.

Elvis Aaron Presley, 1935-1977

Yesterday was the day. The thirtieth anniversary of the death of Elvis Aaron Presley (1/8/1935-8/16/1977). I felt reflective and more than a little sad, I must admit.

Elvis was always a part of my musical life. My dad is a huge Elvis fan, and it most certainly rubbed off on me and my brother. There is a story (apocryphal, possibly) that I was to be named Elvis because of the proximity of his death (8/16/1977) and my birth (9/9/1977)...as if I was replacing Elvis in the population.

But, and let's be serious, who could ever replace Elvis? He, throughout his life, represented American life, good and bad. He grew and changed with us, for better or worse.

His music was such a part of my young life, and became a part of my adult life. In my opinion, two of his greatest concerts were the 1968 Comeback Special (for musicianship, this is unparalelled) and 1972's Aloha From Hawaii (the first TV show to be simulcast from a satellite feed). Those concerts never fail to entertain, and they show Elvis at his best.

What has been said before should only be repeated briefly here...that he was the most influential pop artist of the 20th century, I'll buy that (excepting Frank Sinatra, but they were both symbols of their ages)...he died too soon (well, sure, but if you ingest as much perscription medication as Elvis did, something bad WILL happen.

I always liked Elvis's spirit, giving jobs to his relatives, handing out Cadillacs like they were breath mints...he was everything that was good and bad about post-war America rolled up in one man. He was, however, generous to a fault and he loved his momma...what could be better?

His best song? I guess this vaires between people, but for me, it is "Kentucky Rain." I could hear that a thousand times and call for it again.

So, let's all raise a glass to Elvis...America has had 43 Presidents, but only one King.

TCB, baby, TCB. If we could all be so dedicated.

Thank you, thank you very much and Elvis HAS left the building, but he has not left us.

Thanks, Elvis.

Thanks, That's Just What I Didn't Need

As I am within a month of my thirtieth birthday, I am beginning to reflect on what this milestone means to me...the results of said contemplation will be presented in this space as the date (September 9) draws nearer.

In these intervening weeks, and coupled with my contemplation, a piece of mail that I got yesterday gave me some pause.

Was it one of those inane "Over The Hill" cards from a "friend?" No.

It was an invitation to join AARP.

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

Well, I guess I laughed more than anything...seeing as it will be another twenty years before I can join the organization that assures that all people over fifty get deep discounts on hotels and a soul-crushingly boring magazine (it makes airline magazines seem like Playboy).

I am pretty sure that this was a case of sales of mailing lists being sold, and who knows has access to your address anymore. I guess I must do/buy/read something that a lot of more "mature" people do/buy/read.

Nevertheless, it did give me pause. I guess I am getting older, and though I am not fifty yet, I have had the personality of an old man for most of my adult life, so I've got that down.

I also have down the constant complaining, the tendency towards cheapness, the varicose veins, the salty attitude toward most children and my predeliction for "old man bars."

I guess if you consider these stereotypes of old men to be true and that age is a relative thing, I, in many ways, have been an old man for some time now.

Now, if those damned kids would turn that music and let me watch Andy Rooney in peace...

The One Where He Explains Himself (On Some Level)

Is this a retraction? Not really.

Am I pulling the old "I didn't mean it, I was drunk?" No, that is the lamest excuse ever. I am a firm believer in the proposition that you don't say anything drunk that you don't believe anyway...booze just lets things out.

What I am doing is wondering if my word choice was appropriate. Mysogyny was not really the correct term.

What is, you ask? Well...

Let's just say that what you all had confirmed is that I am an opinionated, frustrated, conflicted drunkard. You all know that by now, right?

I don't hate anyone...I am just not sure what to think about certain things.

When it comes down to it, furthermore, aren't we all like that on some level?

Thank you for your continued support. Goodness knows I need it.

The One Where Will Confirms His Mysogyny

So, I went to my local tavern tonight, what of it?

One thing that all people need to notice is the real masters of the situation....the bartenders.
ou
At this place, they are simply the best...no argument needed...they refill my Scotch glass with such frequency that it becomes scary..so, thanks all of you.

As for the hatred of women, what else could I do? I have been done over by so many women that it sucks. Really and truly.

It is good that I have decided that I never shall marry...perhaps for the best.

To all of you who say that "well, Will will come arpund," I say PISS OFF.

For my next trick, I'll need a voulnteer...

756*

Well, he done gone and did it. Barry Bonds has surpassed Henry "Hammerin' Hank" Aaron as the all-time home run king.

As a life-long baseball fan and something of a student of the game, what to think?

As for if it was going to happen, I never had any doubts. I perhaps thought that Bonds might (at the far, far end) might retire amidst the controversy that makes me so ambivalent about this accomplishment.

Whenever such a record is surpassed, it is a notable day for the sport in question, and for baseball, yesterday was no different. What I could not help but notice was that this story was about fifth in the network and PBS newscasts...whatever goes on in baseball, the rest of the mostly cruel joke of modern life goes on I guess.

On one level, I must say "bully" to Mr. Bonds, if for nothing else, for being here to do it. That was no easy record to break (even if it took the equivalent of lying to Congress to do it), and well, good for you.

Then there is the other level, where I feel indignant about the achievement of a true athlete like Hank Aaron being topped by a suspected steroid fiend like Barry Bonds and I get pissed off. "How dare he," I and countless others say. Hell, even Bud Selig phoned in his congrats. What the hell message does that send?

What it says is that, as Charles Barkley has always been trying to tell us, athletes are not role models nor should they be construed as such. They are people doing a job for large (almost inconceivable) amounts of money and what they do in their personal lives is none of the public's business and even less of a reason to admire these people.

But, wait, Bonds is suspected of reaching these heights through breaking the rules, so what then? Well, I guess he will end up like the greats Joe Jackson and Pete Rose, having all of his records with an asterisk next to them that explains the extraneous circumstances surrounding his feats of prowess. Fate worse than death? Hardly...he did really hit all of those homers, whatever strange chemical cocktail was coursing through his veins at the time.

Will he ever be stripped of these records and refused entry to Cooperstown? I suppose only time will tell on this one, but Pete Rose only gambled on his team and look what happened to him. In our messed-up, Puritan based society, drug use outpaces even gambling in the hierarchy of moral turpitude. If you were to throw in some juicy stories about hookers on the road, well, that would only serve to sweeten the pot, wouldn't it?

Is there a larger lesson to be learned here? If there is, it is a fairly simple one and (to your horror, dear reader) it relates back to economics. It is a simple fact (pointed out by many economists for whom setting up incentive schemes is a favorite indoor sport) that given the right incentives, anyone will cheat. This fact is intensified in such high risk, high reward, high potential for failure worlds as professional athletics.

So, to Barry Bonds, congrats I guess, and if you did break any rules, shame on you. You will have to live with the dreaded asterisk. You will learn to do this.

The real question, then, is will WE learn to deal with it? CAN we? SHOULD we?

A Tourist At Home, A Resident Abroad

This past weekend, I played host to my family here in Madison. Forgoing the regular trek to Lake Geneva, WI, they decided that they would get their summer Wisconsin fix (something many people from Illinois need) by coming to Madison to visit me.

They arrived on Thursday and left yesterday afternoon and I have to say it was a great time made even better by the chance to be with my family. I guess that's how family is: it does not matter much where you are, just that you are together for some good time with each other.

I then got to thinking about exactly what it was that went on over the weekend. First, I considered the interesting position of trying to be a tourist in one's own town. I live here while they are just visitors. Would it suffice to follow my normal weekend routine? Of course not; I suspect that they would find that boring and wonder why the only thing to see in Madison is cheap restaurants and the insides of taverns.

So, in planning for their visit, I tried to think what would be fun for everyone, both as a group and as individuals that would keep all entertained while giving them a taste of the place where I live. A somewhat convoluted task, but I think that I did well enough. If they didn't have fun, they at least did not tell me that.

What decisions did I make? Well, we really didn't do anything that I had not done before or gone any places that I do not go at least somewhat regularly (except the farmer's market...it goes on MUCH too early on Saturday for me to have been there at all). The hotel that they stayed in was even very near my house, although worlds apart where amenities are concerned (hotel: phone in pool area with direct link to room service, my place: well, there's a phone). It is one of the nicer hotels in town and a place that I all but recommended even though I had never stayed there nor did I know anyone who had.

Then it hit me. I guess that the difficulty with being a tourist at home begins with the fact that the traveler's presence is temporary while the resident's is permanent.

"No shit, really?" you are no doubt thinking to yourself.

Then I considered that while people who live in a fixed place (i.e. not nomads of some sort) have more time and a broader range of experience with which to interface with the world around them. There is a bunch of stuff that I know and have learned about Madison that would be of no use to someone just visiting for three days. I am sure it is the same for most people who have a permanent residence.

The traveler, on the other hand, gets only glimpses of the places that he or she visits. There is a noticeable lack of depth to these experiences. Does this extend to people who visit the same place over and over again? In a way, yes because there is always that knowledge that at some level, this experience is finite, will end and that this place is an outside place, part of my spatial experience but not at its core.

Do travelers ever get the depth of a single place that a resident gets? I suspect not because of this defining characteristic; the tourist leaves and the resident stays put. It is an extension of this to say that the tourist does not interface with the travel destination as much as he or she judges it against the place that they call "home," however this is construed.

So, to my opinion, there is no real point in seeking the "authentic" experience of a place as a traveler because your presence there is temporary. It takes the irrevocable knowledge that this is where I will be to spawn the process of forming an understanding of a place that is different.

Different, yes. Better? That is a matter of perspective.

Did I lure my family here to trick them into a falsely authentic experience of a place? No, I wanted them to come here to have a good time. Do most travelers understand this? Some do and some don't.

As long as a traveler understands that all his or her experiences away from home are fleeting and finite, that they have gained a certain sort of experience of a place that is different from a resident, then it is fine. What is not fine is taking a three day trip somewhere and then proclaiming that you know everything about the place.

I spent three days in Kentucky in October of 1997. I had a good time and learned a lot about a couple of things. Do I understand what it is to live there? Of course not.

None of this should stop people from travelling, if that makes them happy. What it should do is lead people to think in a different way about how we understand ideas like space and place, home and away as we journey across territory and through time.