There's been much controversy about Nick Hanauer's talk for TED. He made an argument that shouldn't even have to be made: high levels of inequality are not only morally wrong but bad for the rich as well as the poor and middle class. At first, the head of TED, Chris Anderson, would not post the video because he claimed it was too partisan. This didn't shock me, because I think TED talks have a distinct bias. They are often very good, but they definitely push a particular socially liberal, economically conservative line. You'll never hear anything noticeably outside the Overton Window.

This afternoon, TED finally posted the video, saying that they would let viewers decide for themselves. There's a thought!

Ezra Klein, hardly a radical, noted that the speech was not partisan. "To my ears, Hanauer framed the issue in a way that was explicitly nonpartisan. The only mention of either party comes at the beginning" when he mentioned both parties disapprovingly.

Here is the whole six minute video. The only thing controversial about it is that it might not be welcome by some wealthy people. We live in a seriously screwed up country.


Shockingly, this video has only received 300 views thus far.

Scott Walker is a fine musician, with interesting ideas and a great voice. And yet, when I listen to this great Jacques Brel song, I can't help but think of it as I do Pat Boone performing Blueberry Hill:


As opposed to Fats Domino.

Here is Jacques Brel, debuting the original song, Mathilde:


Can it be that Walker doesn't understand the song? The agony and the ecstasy? It certainly seems that he doesn't. There is no doubt that Brel understands it—probably far better than we do.

I'm going to be out most of tomorrow, so I may not post anything (not that I've been all that consistent recently). But that's not why I'm posting this. It just struck me as too cool:


Taken from Daily Mail.

I'm very fond of Robert Reich, but I think he is fundamentally wrong in discussing how conservatives have public and private morality backwards. Yesterday, he noted that Mitt Romney thinks that banks—in particular, J. P. Morgan Chase—should be allowed to do whatever they want, because the market will figure it out. We all know how well that's worked historically.

At the same time, Romney thinks that people's private morality—whom to marry or when to have children—should be controlled by the government.

Reich writes:


Reich is right about this from a policy standpoint. But I don't think this is how the conservatives elites see it. Instead, they are looking for ways to remove all societal restrictions on what the wealthy can do. Taxes take away freedom from the rich. But abortion rights and even marriage laws do not affect them. They can buy their way around them. If a wealthy man wants to marry another man, he can set up the legal framework to have everything but the title "marriage." And if he really wants the title, he can just live full time in another country. As for abortion? If a wealthy man wants his daughter to have an abortion, he'll just fly her to Amsterdam.[1]

The morality of Romney and his peers is that of the aristocracy. The rich are rich because they are better than the rest of us. Therefore, there should be no limits on their behavior. And in general, there aren't.[2]

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[1] Note that this is largely what the Democratic Party has become since President Clinton. The people who fund the Democrats are socially liberal, but fiscally conservative. They still want to screw the poor. They believe in gay rights for rich people. A homeless gay man doesn't think that his life is bad because he can't marry another man. And so on among the various Democratic Party constituents.

[2] Here's a nice video that goes along with Reich's article:

This week on the game show Jeopardy! they are presenting "Power Players," which is basically media figures. Tonight the show featured evil spawn of an arguably great man, Chris Wallace; proof that anyone can become a doctor and have their own TV show, Dr. Oz; and hardly great but the British press are almost always better than their American peers, Katty Kay.

Early on, two "answers" really struck me. The first was, "The tax credit only poor workers qualify for." The answer (obviously) is "Earned." The second was, "Keynes' book 'The General Theory of this, Interest and Money'." The answer (obviously) is "Employment." Not one of these "Power Players" got these "questions."

This made me think that the reason must be that they don't have to worry about things like earning money and being employed. These are society's elite. They don't need to think about the stuff that occupies the Little People.

When the show started, I wondered, "Why would these people go on Jeopardy! when they might embarrass themselves?" I found the answer very quickly. The "answers" were trivial compared to those normal contestants ("Little People") face. You know, this is the way it has to be: the lives of these "Power Players" aren't easy enough.

This is arguably the greatest piece ever written for the flute. It is Francis Poulenc's Sonata for Flute and Piano. Here it is played by Jean-Pierre Rampal, the flutist the Sonata was composed for:



And here is the master getting funky with composer Claude Bolling (also on piano[1]):

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[1] When first performed the Sonata for Flute and Piano had its composer on piano. Unfortunately, I cannot find a recording of it.

Elmore Leonard is not one of my favorite writers, but I will allow that he has talent. And if forced to choose between Stephen King, J. K. Rowling, Danielle Steele. and Leonard, I'd pick Leonard. Faint praise, I know. It's no wonder that so many of his novels have become films, because that is about the depth at which he writes. He is the only writer I know who is still able to publish pulp novels.

A few years ago, he published a writing book. Actually, "book" is a kind assessment. In fact, even to call it a pamphlet would be to pump it up. It's about 500 words: one typed sheet of paper. And at $14.99, Elmore Leonard's 10 Rules of Writing is pretty expensive. Still, the rules are useful.

1. Never Open a Book With Weather

Here he telling writers to get on with plot. Don't try to set the mood—no one is interested in the mood. Many years ago, I saw Kurt Vonnegut lecture at my school. He provided this same information by saying, "Burn the first three pages of your novel, because you probably used it to describe a sunflower." Vonnegut also provided another rule that Leonard doesn't touch on, "Every story needs an Iago." I don't believe this, but the advice is good: it makes the writing so much easier.

2. Avoid Prologues

See 1.

3. Never Use a Verb Other Than "Said" to Carry Dialogue

This rule made me think. And I'm still thinking about it. In discussing this rule, Leonard writes, "I once noticed Mary McCarthy ending a line of dialogue with 'she asseverated,' and had to stop reading and go to the dictionary." I do, however, think there are times when something other than "said" is in order.

4. Never Use an Adverb to Modify the Verb "Said"

See 3.

5. Keep Your Exclamation Points Under Control

Boring advice, or just useless? You decide!

6. Never Use the Words "Suddenly" or "All Hell Broke Loose"

See 5. See also: cliches, writing of.

7. Use Regional Dialect, Patois, Sparingly

Lots of great writers do this. Think: Faulkner. And while I'm on the subject, it really bugs me when people spell mama, moma. Moma is the Museum of Modern Art.

8. Avoid Detailed Descriptions of Characters

I doubt this is a big problem for most writers. I know I describe characters only as much as absolutely necessary. I think people like some notion of what a character looks like. In my current novel, I provide three details about the main character: tall, thin, Jack Lord hair.

9. Don't Go Into Great Detail Describing Places and Things

See 1.

10. Try to Leave Out the Part That Readers Tend to Skip

See 1.

As you can see, Leonard's 10 rules are really just 5. Actually, you can boil them all down to this: write only action and dialog. And that's pretty good advice. But not worth $14.99.

Happy Mothers' Day!

I am very poor. It has been many years since I have been to any live concert, much less a symphony. But I received a card in the mail alerting me to an upcoming performance by the Santa Rosa Symphony. The conductor, Bruno Ferrandis, had brought his brother, flutist Jean Ferrandis, in for the season finale. Being an old flute player myself, I decided to get tickets for the "Discovery Open Rehearsal" because it was cheap.

The rehearsal was not what I had expected. I thought this would be like the dress rehearsal for a play. At one of these, unless the lead actor's hair catches on fire, the performance continues. The first thing I noticed here was that this was not a dress rehearsal; the musicians were mostly dressed in shorts and tank tops—it was 92 today in Santa Rosa. Then Bruno comes out and tells the orchestra, "Start at measure 22." Of course, he says it in an outrageous French accent, so it was still pretty cool.

After about 20 minutes of rehearsal, they perform the whole piece: Debussy's Jeux. It was unremarkable.

Then, Jean Ferrandis comes on stage with his flute. They are going to do the Mozart: the Flute Concerto in D—the lesser of the two flute concertos Mozart deemed to "write" (he did not like the flute, and I can't really blame him). The first two movements go well enough. Jean is my kind of flutist: clear and accurate with little showiness. Half way through the third—and best—movement, the orchestra stops. I'm not sure why. It seems that Jean wanted to do a little rubato and Bruno forgot. I feel for both brothers. On the one hand, rubato used in that particular phrase worked really well. On the other hand, this is really pushing Mozart—it wasn't meant to be!

At this point, there was a break. I was really thinking that I had wasted my money. Then the group came back together to perform Ibert's Flute Concerto. Wow. One of my most favorite pieces in the world is Francis Poulenc's Sonata for Flute and Piano. Ibert's piece is perhaps as good. And Jean's performance of it was exquisite, even though he didn't not have it memorized. (He seemed to have much of it memorized, but he was still dependent upon sheet music.)

Jean Ferrandis left and the orchestra performed a very capable version of Ravel's La Valse. It seemed a strange program: 3 early 20th century French works and one of Mozart's most banal adult works. Truly, it didn't work, but I suspect that the Mozart was thrown in as a bone to make up for all the airy and dissonant music. It can't have been that after all these years Jean still likes to perform it; I was bored with it at 17; then again, that may be what distinguishes a great artist from me.[1]

In the end, I wish I had ponied up the extra cash and saw a real performance. But certainly the Ibert was worth the entire cost.

And now for something completely different, a Cuban version of Für Elise:

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[1] The D Major Flute Concerto seems to be a signature piece for Jean Ferrandis. On his CV it says, "Leonard Bernstein was so impressed by his performance of the adagio from Mozart’s D major concerto that he remarked 'It is Pan himself!' and subsequently composed a cadenza for Mr. Ferrandis." On the front page of his website, there is an audio clip of the rehearsal of the concerto where Bernstein says this: "C'est pan lui-même!" Also, I don't mean to put down Mozart. He remains the composer I listen to the most. I just don't think he was at his best when composing these pieces, fun though they are.

I always look forward to Fridays, for many reasons, but especially because Eric Alterman releases his blog post that day where he also has at least one of his own articles and one by Reed Richardson. Last week, I clicked over to The Nation where Alterman keeps his blog, Altercation, and... Nothing! I knew he wasn't gone for good; he's an institution: a liberal curmudgeon—and so precocious! He just published The Cuase: The Fight for American Liberalism from Franklin Roosevelt to Barack Obama,[1] which I have, but haven't gotten to because I am too busy devouring Michelle Alexander's important The New Jim Crow and I got sidetracked reading some policy candy that I promised myself I wouldn't read: Paul Krugman's End This Depression Now!

So I figured that maybe Alterman took the week off. This did not stop me, however, from clicking to The Nation on Saturday morning, only to find his new page was up. I was so giddy that I sent off the following missive that he published this week:


Alterman appears to like my sense of humor, because this is the second cheeky letter of mine he's published this year. Or it could be that I'm the only one who writes to him. I like this approach to commenting on written works. The standard method in the blogosphere of everyone with an opinion piling on strikes me as largely a waste of time. The few good comments are overwhelmed in a sea of trash. I would rather go back to the old magazine model where only the few letters deemed worth while are published so that a reasonable number of people would actually take the time to read them. I understand that there is a strong narcissistic aspect to commenting (or writing) in any way. But in the new model, it seems worse because it is so much more useless.

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[1] The book is co-written with Kevin Mattson. According to Eric Alterman, Mattson wrote the first draft and Alterman greatly expanded it and wrote every word in this version. My question: why when Alterman does this, he's the first author in a larger font and when I do it, I'm handed a bit of cash and told to disappear?