As soon as I hear squeaky voices
of young commentators on television I switch the channel back to the movies of
the 1930s and 1940s for comfort and wisdom.
I am told that the untrained throaty singers
who now are presented as serious artists are the result of more than fifty
years of tradition. I would rather say
they are the result of the domination of dumb-bell radio disk-jockeys,
lack-luster recording studio executives and neurotically-bored listeners.
In retrospect, elevator music was closer to the
classical composers of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.
Only thirty years ago you could travel
nowhere without a driving license as proof of identity. Today without tiny little i-phones and
reading-pads you have no identity to prove.
The newspapers, the television reports, and
the hand-held information sources display multiple terrorist outrages in the
Near and Middle East, massacres in the major cities of Western Europe by
unassimilated immigrants into the third generation, and numerous individuals
and groups arrested days or weeks before planned atrocities against airliners,
public spaces, and peace-activists, yet I am supposed to believe the clash of
cultures is a right-wing hoax.
Someone boasts of two years preparation for
an informative study of this or that. I
give myself ten to fifteen years to reach the point where I can start to focus
clearly on the subject.
Alfred Dreyfus mused that if it were not him
at the heart of the matter he probably would not have been a Dreyfusard. I have to be for his cause now so he could
tell me that.
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