Kool Aid, Pt 2


In a post a couple days ago, I'd mentioned some crazy unhinged stuff floating around the right wing conspiracy-o-sphere. Who knew that anyone, except the spiritual zombies who eat that stuff for lunch, even paid attention to any of it?

Obviously, our President knows good joke material when he sees it. Oh, and also turn it around and totally marginalize his critics while he's at it. Well done.

Wednesday Bach Blogging: Coffee Cantata, BWV 211


Apollo's Fire, the Cleveland Baroque Orchestra, in a performance of Johann Sebastian Bach's comedy opera, the Coffee Cantata. Part 1 above; parts 2 and 3 below.

Credits:

Apollo's Fire
- A Multi-Generational Concert (Young Artist Apprentices in collaboration with guest artists & principal players)

* Madeline Apple Healey, soprano
* Jeffrey Strauss, baritone
* Corey Shotwell, tenor

* Sarah Lynn, traverso
* Karina Schmitz, violin
* Augusta McKay Lodge, violin
* Cynthia Black, viola
* René Schiffer, cello

* Young Artist Apprentices of Apollo's Fire

Jeannette Sorrell, Musical & Stage Direction

A live performance:
January 22, 2015 • Mixon Hall • Cleveland Institute of Music

Performed in English, translation by Jeannette Sorrell


The only secular, non-church related vocal ensemble composition written by Bach to have survived, and possibly the only comic narrative piece he ever wrote, the short comedy opera Coffee Cantata is a delight from beginning to end, just like a good cup of coffee. Besides the concertos and orchestral suites (which were basically dance music) that he composed earlier in his life before settling in Leipzig and a career as musical director at St Thomas Church, this is a rare look into J.S. Bach's inner man, and we find that he was actually a pretty fun guy!

A quick review at Open Culture:

"J.S. Bach's Comic Opera, The Coffee Cantata  Sings the Praises of the Stimulating Drink

From the time that a nameless genius in either Ethiopia or Yemen decided to dry, crush and strain water through a berry known for making goats nervous and jumpy, coffee has been loved and worshiped like few other beverages. Early Arab doctors proclaimed the stuff to be a miracle drug. Thoroughly caffeinated thinkers from Voltaire to Jonathan Swift to Jack Kerouac debated literature, philosophy and everything in between at coffee houses. Author Honoré Balzac even reportedly died because of excessive coffee drinking (it was either that or the syphilis.)

Johann Sebastian Bach (1685-1750) was also apparently a coffee enthusiast. So much so that he wrote a composition about the beverage. Although known mostly for his liturgical music, his Coffee Cantata (AKA Schweigt stille, plaudert nicht, BWV 211) is a rare example of a secular work by the composer. The short comic opera was written (circa 1735) for a musical ensemble called The Collegium Musicum based in a storied Zimmerman’s coffee house in Leipzig, Germany. The whole cantata seems very much to have been written with the local audience in mind.

Coffee Cantata is about a young vivacious woman named Aria who loves coffee. Her killjoy father is, of course, dead set against his daughter having any kind of caffeinated fun. So he tries to ban her from the drink. Aria bitterly complains:
Father sir, but do not be so harsh!
If I couldn’t, three times a day,
be allowed to drink my little cup of coffee,
in my anguish I will turn into
a shriveled-up roast goat.
          Ah! How sweet coffee tastes,
          more delicious than a thousand kisses,
          milder than muscatel wine.
          Coffee, I have to have coffee,
          and, if someone wants to pamper me,
          ah, then bring me coffee as a gift!


The copywriters at Starbucks marketing department couldn’t have written it any better. Eventually, daughter and father reconcile when he agrees to have a guaranteed three cups of coffee a day written into her marriage contract. The lyrics in German and English can be read here."

PlayBuzz has an article with 10 fun facts about the Coffee Cantata, and a somewhat more scholarly short essay about the opera can be found on the Bach Choir of Bethlehem's website.


"Literally Face Down In The Kool Aid"


This morning, longtime Republican strategist Mac Stipanovich told NPR that supporters of Donald Trump "have absolutely lost touch with reality, they're literally face down in the Kool Aid". That's an interesting metaphor, but what does it allude to, what does that mean?

Jim Jones was a "charismatic" religious leader and self-styled prophet from Indiana who started his own church in the 1950s. Moving with his followers to South America to escape what he considered to be religious persecution, Jones and his flock found, in 1978, the ultimate escape. A summary at About Education has a quick historical take on the cult's end: "On November 18, 1978, Peoples Temple leader Jim Jones instructed all members living in the Jonestown, Guyana compound to commit an act of "revolutionary suicide," by drinking poisoned punch [cyanide mixed with Kool Aid]. In all, 918 people died that day, nearly a third of whom were children." Oddly, when the bodies of the almost 1,000 dead were found, they were all laying face down.

Unfortunately, sales of the classic powdered drink never fully recovered after the incident and its associated bad publicity.


In the decades since Jonestown, "Drinking the Kool Aid" has come to mean someone or a group losing the capacity for independent thought or self volition, and diving headlong into a new belief system, often at odds to their own best interests. Mac Stipanovich may be the first to use the term "face down in the Kool Aid", and by that he may be suggesting that a large proportion, maybe even a majority, of his own party might be committing political suicide.

How has the Republican party come to this particular spot on the road? Stipanovich refers to Trump's followers having lost touch with reality, but in fact they have merely substituted the world that the rest of us sees, with an alternate reality, a new thought bubble more or less free of objective fact. Nourished on a steady toxic diet of Fox News, multiple right wing hate radio networks, and fringey conspiracy theory laden web sites such as Drudge, Breitbart, and Infowars, somewhere between 30 and 35 percent of the American public have come to inhabit a newly created social fabrication so real to them that no matter how outrageous, crazy, or demonstrably false the statements made by their candidate or his surrogates may be, they will always believe them.

As an example of the sort of crazy social cyanide available for self administration, here's Trump ally and campaign advisor Alex Jones on his webcast and AM radio show, in a transcript dated Oct 10, 2016:
"ALEX JONES (HOST): I'm never a lesser of two evils person, but with Hillary, there's not even the same universe. She is an abject, psychopathic, demon from Hell that as soon as she gets into power is going to try to destroy the planet. I'm sure of that, and people around her say she's so dark now, and so evil, and so possessed that they are having nightmares, they're freaking out. Folks let me just tell you something, and if media wants to go with this, that's fine. There are dozens of videos and photos of Obama having flies land on him, indoors, at all times of year, and he'll be next to a hundred people and no one has flies on them. Hillary, reportedly, I mean, I was told by people around her that they think she's demon-possessed, okay? I'm just going to go ahead and say it, okay?
They said that they're scared. That's why when I see her when kids are by her, I actually get scared myself, with a child -- with that big rubber face and that -- I mean this woman is dangerous, ladies and gentleman. I'm telling you, she is a demon. This is Biblical. She's going to launch a nuclear war. The Russians are scared of her.
[...]
Imagine how bad she smells, man? I'm told her and Obama, just stink, stink, stink, stink. You can't wash that evil off, man. Told there's a rotten smell around Hillary. I'm not kidding, people say, they say -- folks, I've been told this by high up folks. They say listen, Obama and Hillary both smell like sulfur. I never said this because the media will go crazy with it, but I've talked to people that are in protective details, they're scared of her. And they say listen, she's a frickin' demon and she stinks and so does Obama. I go, like what? Sulfur. They smell like Hell."
Voices like Jones are the drivers behind the alternate reality bubble that many of our neighbors, co-workers, and family members currently live in. Republican vice presidential candidate, Indiana Governor Mike Pence, who plays the role of a devout Christian on TV, has been for some years an outspoken supporter and advocate of the unscientific and psychologically damaging procedure known as "Gay Conversion Therapy". I wonder if there's a "Right Wing Conversion Therapy"?

Don't mean to be selfish, but I want my old good, decent and non-crazy America back.

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For an update to this post, see Kool Aid Pt 2.

This was previously posted at Blue Mountain Winter.


Kirk Douglas on The Road Ahead


Today, Sunday, October 9, 2016, a lot of us are obsessing on some of the more titillating political gossip, and to a lesser extent, tonight's second presidential debate. There isn't going to be a lot of movement in public perception until tomorrow morning; in the meantime, here are a few words of wisdom from someone who has been a witness to history, and been a part of it as well:

The Road Ahead

I have always been deeply proud to be an American. In the time I have left, I pray that will never change. I am in my 100th year. When I was born in 1916 in Amsterdam, New York, Woodrow Wilson was our president.

My parents, who could not speak or write English, were emigrants from Russia. They were part of a wave of more than two million Jews that fled the Czar’s murderous pogroms at the beginning of the 20th Century. They sought a better life for their family in a magical country where, they believed, the streets were literally paved with gold.

What they did not realize until after they arrived was that those beautiful words carved into the Statute of Liberty in New York Harbor: “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses, yearning to breathe free,” did not apply equally to all new Americans. Russians, Poles, Italians, Irish and, particularly Catholics and Jews, felt the stigma of being treated as aliens, as foreigners who would never become “real Americans.”

They say there is nothing new under the sun. Since I was born, our planet has traveled around it one hundred times. With each orbit, I’ve watched our country and our world evolve in ways that would have been unimaginable to my parents – and continue to amaze me with each passing year.

In my lifetime, American women won the right to vote, and one is finally the candidate of a major political party.An Irish-American Catholic became president. Perhaps, most incredibly, an African-American is our president today.

The longer I’ve lived, the less I’ve been surprised by the inevitability of change, and how I’ve rejoiced that so many of the changes I’ve seen have been good.

Yet, I’ve also lived through the horrors of a Great Depression and two World Wars, the second of which was started by a man who promised that he would restore his country it to its former greatness. I was 16 when that man came to power in 1933. For almost a decade before his rise he was laughed at ― not taken seriously. He was seen as a buffoon who couldn’t possibly deceive an educated, civilized population with his nationalistic, hateful rhetoric.

The “experts” dismissed him as a joke. They were wrong.

A few weeks ago we heard words spoken in Arizona that my wife, Anne, who grew up in Germany, said chilled her to the bone. They could also have been spoken in 1933:

“We also have to be honest about the fact that not everyone who seeks to join our country will be able to successfully assimilate. It is our right as a sovereign nation to choose immigrants that we think are the likeliest to thrive and flourish here…[including] new screening tests for all applicants that include an ideological certification to make sure that those we are admitting to our country share our values…”

These are not the American values that we fought in World War II to protect. Until now, I believed I had finally seen everything under the sun. But this was the kind of fear-mongering I have never before witnessed from a major U.S. presidential candidate in my lifetime.

I have lived a long, good life. I will not be here to see the consequences if this evil takes root in our country.  But your children and mine will be. And their children. And their children’s children.

All of us still yearn to remain free. It is what we stand for as a country. I have always been deeply proud to be an American. In the time I have left, I pray that will never change. In our democracy, the decision to remain free is ours to make.

My 100th birthday is exactly one month and one day after the next presidential election. I’d like to celebrate it by blowing out the candles on my cake, then whistling “Happy Days Are Here Again.”

As my beloved friend Lauren Bacall once said, “You know how to whistle don’t you? You just put your lips together and blow.”


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Kirk Douglas is a contributor to The Huffington Post, where this article was originally published.

Trumpists Threaten Civil Rights Museum After Photo Op Denied


We'd like to think that something like this would be unthinkable, except for the fact that it involves Donald Trump's presidential campaign.

The Civil Rights Center and Museum in Greensboro, North Carolina is built on the site of the Feb 1, 1960 sit in protest of racial segregation by four young college students that became a seminal moment in the history of the civil rights movement. On that day, Franklin McCain, Joseph McNeil, Ezell Blair, Jr. and David Richmond sat in the "Whites Only" section of the lunch counter at the Woolworth's department store in Greensboro; the media attention from that event resulted in widespread awareness throughout the country of the segregationist racial policies then existent in the southern states.


Representatives of the Trump campaign requested that the museum close its doors to the public for five hours on September 20th in order for the candidate to stage a publicity photo op. Possibly, the word requested is a bit mild; according to museum staff, Trump's reps were "aggressive, rude and bullying". After the museum declined participation, reaction among Trump's fans was immediate, and fairly extreme, although sadly almost predictable.

Museum CEO John Swaine told The Greenboro News and Observer on this past Tuesday that since then, museum staff members have received numerous threats via phone calls and social media. Using foul language and racial epithets, “The callers were threatening to come over and burn down the building and to shoot up the building,” he said. “They’ve lessened in frequency this week, but they’re still coming in.”

When contacted, the Trump campaign declined to comment.

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This was previously posted at my commentary blog, Blue Mountain Winter.

Sometimes, Not Recycling Feels Better


Sometimes, doing the right thing doesn't feel like the right thing, at all.

We've had an old iBook laying around unused for some years. It was on the shelf next to the stereo for awhile, as an on-line and mp3 music server, but one day it couldn't do YouTubes anymore, so it's been sitting out in the garage ever since. A couple weeks ago I had the idea to remove the hard drive, and donate the rest of the iBook to the local tech recycling place.

Got on iFixit, went to the iBook disassembly procedure and got started. But. Someone had been in there before me, and a few of the screws had stripped heads. What to do? If they were bigger, I could use "easy-outs", but these were so tiny that not even Donald Trump's odd tiny T-Rex sized arms and hands could have gotten a grip on them, assuming he had ever learned to use a screwdriver ("Believe me, nobody knows more about screwdrivers than me!!", holds the wrong end...). A quick bright idea: really carefully drilling out the heads with a new, hard bit. That worked, but heck, the shanks were still down in their holes, nixing any thought of reassembly; so, not so bright.

What happened next I didn't even think about: grabbing a small pry bar and a big screwdriver, I proceeded to dismantle the old laptop gorilla style, prising into and under panels and boards, and grabbing, yanking, and tossing the pieces out the open garage door, onto the driveway. Then I screwed the disc drive onto a pine board, got out the Bosch 1/2" hammer drill and tore its guts out, and did a long arcing 2-pointer right smack dab into the middle of the hoop trash can. Swept the dead tech bits into a pile and took a picture. Went and grabbed a beer, and sat at the workbench again, admiring my handiwork - a job well done!

All the other iBook bits went into the trash, too. Oh sure, the "right" thing would have been to take it all in a bag to the recycling place and paid their, what, $20.00 (?) haz waste recycling fee, but a) 20 bucks buys a lot more beer, and b) what few heavy metals and toxic materials there may be in this little obso-Mac is going to the land fill to join the 93 million metric tons of baby-poop filled disposable diapers and kitty litter that's already there.

No, I ain't no hero, but I didn't ask to be born into this particular point in the Earth's story arc. At least I don't have a bunch of old junk cars with MAGA bumper stickers, sitting around my trailer out in the country. Just six or seven cool old bikes hanging from the garage ceiling, and I recycle all of my micro brew bottles.


Exhibit "A"


No words can better describe the sort of get down, get rowdy and let it all hang out level of enthusiasm that occurs at a Donald Trump rally, than the above video from the New York Times. Fired up by their idol's borderline incoherent, but very effective, rhetoric, his fans happily and loudly revel in the stew of their collective hatred and bigotry.

Anyone who might suppose, possibly in a spirit of finding balance, that anything even remotely similar has ever happened at one of Hillary Clinton's speeches, would be disappointed. Part political demagoguery, part tent show revivalism, and part wrestlemania, this sort of behavior is, in our country, unique to Trump's events.

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This was previously posted at Blue Mountain Winter.


I Met A Color Changing Spider


    A couple of weeks ago, we brought some past their prime hydrangea blooms inside, and put one bunch of them in an old colored pickling jar, and placed that on a shelf in the downstairs restroom, as a decoration. This room is known facetiously in the realty trade as a "1/2 Bathroom", although of course, no bathtub. I guess you could take a sort of a bath in the sink, but that seems tedious.

A few days later, I noticed that a spider had built a web between a hydrangea flower and the shelf; looking closer I saw that it was one of those spiders you see in the garden that have an adaptive color changing capability. We've seen these same critters in the back yard almost totally white, inside a Star Gazer lily, and mostly dark-brown, hanging around the seed cluster of a sunflower. Friends say they're called Orb Weaver spiders, but maybe the ones we have aren't. Got the camera, took a couple shots, and then let the spider be - maybe it would pick off a couple mosquitoes.


Pretty cool colors, huh? Anyway, to get on with this story (and if you have a fear of spiders or bugs in general, please stop reading this post, right now):

Maybe a week later I went into the restroom to straighten up a bit and do some light cleaning. Bent down to pick up the waste bin near the toilet, and as I was walking out it felt like a leaf had fallen onto the top of my head, which was impossible, so I ignored it. Maybe an hour after that, I sat down at the office desk with a hot cup, turned on the iMac, and checked emails and made a quick run through of my usual morning go-to web sites, while sipping what Captain Picard would call "Tea. Earl Grey. Hot." Once, I felt a tickling on my neck, next to the shirt collar; scratched it a bit, then hit another bookmark and kept reading. Later it felt like something was moving on the left side of my head - I instinctively did a brushing away motion, and then heard something small go "plop", right into the now empty tea cup. Looked down into it, and sure enough - there was that little color changing spider.

I should have grabbed a phone or camera and taken a picture, but I didn't; it would have made this story complete. My first impulse was to quickly pick up the cup, walk out into the back yard, and hold it next to another hydrangea bloom. The spider rather calmly (or so it seemed) walked right onto the rim of the cup and settled on a petal, staying motionless for a bit. I imagine it's out there still, or, since it's been getting chillier at night lately, done whatever these creatures do to prepare for the coming winter. I hope it's been getting plenty to eat. Especially if it's mosquitoes.


Manzanar And The Lessons Of History

   At first glance, the photograph at the top of this post looks like it might have been taken at a US military encampment somewhere on the far side of the world. There are neat rows of uninsulated tar paper covered temporary barracks, facing onto a central, dust-swirled bare dirt parade ground, an American flag flying prominently, all in the shadow of high, almost indescribably beautiful mountains. A closer look, however, shows a very human, very non-military detail: children running through an otherwise static scene.

Manzanar

In reality, this picture was taken at a United States concentration camp. In 1942, over 110,000 men, women and children of Japanese descent, the vast majority of whom were US citizens, were rounded up at gunpoint, their homes and property seized and forfeited, and transported, along with only those few possessions that each could carry in their hands, to various camps such as this one at Manzanar, located in the high desert of California's Owens Valley.

Herded into crudely built, inadequately heated shacks with questionable communal sanitation, and forced to work in plantations surrounding the compound, none of them knew how long they would be held, or if they would ever be free again. One detail seldom mentioned today are the eight guard towers that were placed around the perimeter of the facility, each with multiple, permanently mounted large caliber machine guns capable of a high rate of fire, manned 24 hours a day, pointing directly into the residential area.

In a testimony to the resilience of the human spirit, the detainees were able to maintain their dignity under almost intolerable conditions. A patchwork social structure was soon established out of a population that up until then were mostly strangers to each other; what they all had in common, besides sharing a heritage, and the reality of their detention, was a basic sense of honor and courage in the face of adversity, passed down through Japanese families over centuries. Schools were established; sports, music instruction, art classes and other recreational activities encouraged, and those with prior medical education and training cared for the ailing and infirm. And throughout the years of their imprisonment, they never let go of the hope that some day, they would be released from their long exile.

After the end of World War II in 1945, these Japanese prisoner of war families were allowed to return "home" to rebuild their lives, although the houses they once owned were no longer theirs, their businesses and financial assets seized, their jobs long gone. It is a supreme irony that, even while our nation was fighting, in the noblest of causes, against the oppression of Fascist powers overseas, we engaged in a certain amount of tyranny ourselves.

These events aren't taught in U.S. history classes, but luckily, this one small part of the American experience has been well documented, and anyone wishing to really dig into the history of the so-called "war relocation camps" can do so easily. Also fortunately, there are numerous photos taken at the camps, by such well known photographers as Dorothea Lange and Ansel Adams, as well as by some of the internees themselves, like Toyo Miyatake.



After Manzanar

Although I'm not old enough to have been a witness to that time and place, I did meet many others of Japanese descent who were. My family moved to the US from Japan not very long after the camps were closed, and settled in a town that had a sizable Japanese community. The interesting thing is, that even though I grew up among, and had daily interaction with families whose older members had themselves been incarcerated, I was totally unaware until much later in life that anything so momentous had ever happened: they simply never talked about it.

The Japanese families of my youth lived in neat, well kept houses, unsegregated, alongside everyone else in what was then a dynamic, multi-ethnic working class town, among first and second generation Italian, Yugoslav, Polish, Hungarian, and Jewish families, as well as long time US residents, and other immigrants from all over the world. Many of the new arrivals had their own stories to tell, as refugees who fled the horrors of war torn Fascist Europe, but they didn't dwell on it; instead, they were all busy becoming, or getting back to being, fully American.

The Lessons Of History

The story of Manzanar and the incarceration of an entire nationality of people is just an example of an essentially good and decent society collectively having a really bad idea, fostered in a climate of xenophobia and fear, and turning that bad idea into reality. It's nice to think that we can learn the lessons of history, and that nothing like this could ever happen again, but - we might just be wrong about that.

When the eventual nominee of one of our major political parties came down a gold plated escalator and announced his intention to run for the office of the Presidency of the United States, he immediately made clear what was to be the focal point of his candidacy. From the beginning, and throughout the long campaign season, the former television "reality" show star has demonized those of Mexican descent as thieves, rapists and murderers, and threatened a crackdown on followers of Islam. For the first time in the history of our country, a presidential campaign has been explicitly based upon bigotry, religious intolerance and openly voiced racism. Nothing underscores this point better than the fact that every Neo-Nazi and white supremacist group, including the Ku Klux Klan, has endorsed the Republican candidate.

Deliberately using fear as a rhetorical device, and stoking resentment and hatred among his followers, a disproportionate majority of whom are white males, the Republican party nominee has called for the rounding up of millions of immigrant families of Hispanic descent, repeatedly denigrated members of other nationalities, encouraged violence at his political rallies, and suggested the assassination of the opposing party's candidate. He has portrayed the press as corrupt, mocked the disabled, demeaned the service of veterans and aid workers, and regularly directs derogatory language and fat-shaming towards women. Endangering both our economic stability and national security, he advocates cancelling international trade agreements, backs the dismantling of long standing multi-nation treaties and non-aggression pacts, and has considered the use of nuclear weapons in Europe and the Middle East.

As extreme as this candidacy may appear, the Republican party's leadership has nevertheless given their blessing and full backing to the nominee, effectively endorsing his policies and positions. Since that party currently controls the other branches of government, there is the very real possibility that the outcome of this year's presidential election will not only determine the short term political landscape, but also alter the very fabric of our nation's society, in ways we may not be able to imagine.

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A final note (thanks to Charles Pierce for the info): Korematsu v. United States, the legal case argued before the Supreme Court in 1944, which by a vote of 6-3 upheld the government's right to mass incarcerate U.S. citizens of a given ethnicity or nationality, has to this day never been overturned.



A Honeybee In Crocus


    Poking around the back yard early this morning, I realized I hadn't noticed that some late summer crocus had popped up, as is their habit - not here one day, but suddenly, here they are. Then again, I've been gone for a few days. We never know how many we'll see in any given year; they don't seem to spread much, but that may be due to our crummy volcanic clay soil, which we don't amend much. Lazy gardeners.

Took a picture, just to capture those lovely shining dew drops on the blooms. When I was reviewing the shot, I noticed a honey bee atop one of the petals. It was early enough that the sun had barely hit this part of the garden, and it was still cool under the shade of the young maple. So, like me, the bee was just getting started, moving slowly.

Put the camera in macro mode, moved up closer to the crocus, and snapped another shot. I don't know why I like honey bee faces so much - they're just another flying bug, but something about them appeals to me. Fly faces seen up close, on the other hand, are terrifying; maybe I've seen too many horror movies. Bees (but not wasps or hornets), in comparison, seem almost friendly. Bee-nign, maybe.