SYTYCD Begins with a Bang–and a Crash!

Looks like it is going to be a very strong season, with dancers hand-picked to represent the finest of their genres.  How come SYTYCD’s transparent acknowledgement of ‘casting’ strikes me as so much more honest and acceptable than AI’s?  Yet another way this show is superior to its sister show.  Last Wednesday’s performances were phenomenal almost without exception, and have really whet my appetite for the show again this season.  So hard to pick my faves, but I would like to highlight the five that I thought were truly spectacular, so here goes:

Melissa & Ade:  Classically Beautiful

Contemporary, choreo’d by Mandy Moore
Right Here Waiting by Richard Marx

“What we get to see every once in a while [tears up] … is special.  That was so special.” Adam Shankman
“You can’t deny training, Melissa you are spectacular.  Ade … you are a gentle giant…quiet, powerful.” Mary Murphy
“Choreographed as a pas de deux … beautifully by Mandy Moore.  America has got so much more to look forward to with you two.” Nigel Lythgoe

This was a breathtaking routine, stunning for three key reasons:  Melissa’s grace, Ade’s strength, Mandy’s skill.

Adam and Mary mentioned how important Melissa’s classical training was to the ultimate quality not just of this piece but, they implied, to all dance.  And it is so abundantly clear here:  watch her form, points, lines, control, balance, flexibility.  (In the full vid, including intro, see 2.30 to 2.35 and 3.00 to 3.08, in particular–which is not even the great power lift in the middle).  If she wasn’t so good, he wouldn’t have been able to lift her.  That said, I wouldn’t be a bit surprised to learn that Ade also has a strong classical foundation (as so many of the contemporary dancers do).

This routine was not so much story, as it was just pure emotion and beauty through movement.  It is going to be interesting to see these two in other styles, and see in particular whether Melissa can translate her training into believable character and story elsewhere.  She was like a bird, and Ade the tree around which it flies.  His challenge will be to be something more than background; hers to spread her wings in other genres.

Kupono & Ashley:  Weirdly Wonderful

Jazz, choreo’d by Wade Robson
Felt Mountain by Goldfrapp

“What the hell am I looking at? … Wade, you are one sick puppy.” Adam Shankman
“Sometimes I go on the trip with you, sometimes I don’t.  Tonight, I was there…” Mary Murphy
“What I think was genius about this is he gave you both characters which you adhered to throughout.” Nigel Lythgoe

“Essentially the duet is about living life like you’ve never been hurt.” Wade Robson

Even though this routine was praised by the judges, and the dancers were also given their due, I felt it actually was underpraised.  It certainly received mixed reviews on the PBP thread.  I came out in favour, and upon rewatching, I have grown to enjoy it more and more.

The movement Wade used to create character and tell the story was so very unique.  Through it, the story and characters became a metaphor, which was moving and multi-layered in the way that transformed the choreography into a heightened state of artistic expression.

As Nigel said, Robson gave Kupono and Ashley each a character and the personality of that character–he, traumatized and shaken, fearful and afraid to get too close lest he be further hurt; she, outgoing and open, nurturing and curious, able to fully experience and engage because she hasn’t been subjected to the same trauma.  These are not inanimate crash-test dummies, these are human beings like you and me.  Watch how Kupono’s character recoils and protects himself from her; watch how Ashley packs so much expressiveness into each of her moves, her lines and movement are more expansive free-ranging, where his are tight and cautious.  While you have to work for the emotional connection perhaps a little harder than in some other, more obvious contemporary dance routines, once you get there, it is truly powerful.

The question that Wade must have asked himself, in coming up with this choreography, is how would crash test dummies think, feel and love if they were humanized?  And then he created a vocabulary of movement, and a story arc, that allowed us to empathize so very deeply with these characters, to think and feel as they do.  The result was touching, poignant, sad but optimistic at the same time.  The life lesson taught, profound.  All in a minute-and-a-half of dance.  These are the moments that make this show so special, and so important in bringing dance into the homes of so many millions who might not otherwise ever see or pay attention to it.

Randi & Evan

Jazz, choreo’d by Tyce Diorio
I Only Have Eyes For You by Jamie Cullum

“You both danced like you were 8 feet tall.” Adam Shankman
“The stars have just come out tonight…that was smouldering and fluid and beautiful and absolutely believable.” Mary Murphy
“You have just become a couple that people will recognize and talk about.” Nigel Lythgoe

I agree with those who have compared Randi & Evan to Gev & Courtney from last year–they have the cute factor in spades, although we need to see a few more performances to see how they really gel as a couple.  Also agree that Evan, who has already been typecast as Broadway, showed a surprising quality and the potential for cross-genre flexibility.  The lines and lifts in this performance were quite phenomenal–see 3:00 to 3:08 in the clip with intro–Tyce’s jazz choreography has a contemporary flair, and I find it far and away better than his broadway.  Randi and Evan overcame any hesitation or discomfort to evoke an intimacy that belied the newness of their relationship and the season, and overcame any of their own limitations.

Max & Kayla

Samba, choreographed by Louis Van Amstel

Jum Bah Day by House of Gypsies

“Max, I’m assuming you were in the number … [laughs].  She could have never looked that good without you.” Adam Shankman
“I can hear it, I can hear it … I can hear a train …. whooooo hooooooo.  Whoooooo hoooo …. Whooooooooooooooooooooo.  You are on the hot tamale train. WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.” Mary Murphy
“That was truly sensational.  You have topped an absolutely brilliant night tonight.” Nigel Lythgoe

Stunning! The passion, the energy, the technique.  She surprised everyone by being so good, but put a hot blonde in a bright fuscia-fringed dress — and how could you lose!  She rose to every challenge, and where she could have been the weak link, pulled all eyes to her.  And good on Max — from the very beginning he showed himself a true professional and a consummate gentleman–even going so far to say “This is a fantastic opportunity to help out Kayla.”).  He had the self-confidence and strength to let his partner shine.  Fantastic!!  My very favourite kind of ballroom (I can live without the foxtrots and waltzes, but give me a good, hot samba, rhumba or paso doble any ole’ day… as long as it’s danced like this!)

Jason & Caitlin

Bollywood, choreographed by Nakul Dev Mahajan

Jai Ho from the Slum Dog Millionaire soundtrack)

“YOU GUYS ROCKED!” Adam Shankman
“I’m glad that Bollywood came to Hollywood.” Mary Murphy
“Not only are you following what went on this evening, you are following our memories of that fantastic routine [Josh's and Katee's from last season].” Nigel Lythgoe

The signature move here was Caitlin’s handstand and the way that set the tone for the Bollywood style.  This is bastardized Indian cultural dance, of course, infused with some contemporary, some hip-hop, maybe even a little jazz thrown in. The melange works brilliantly, combining as it does athleticism, micro-movement, the need for impeccable syncrony, and balletic grace.  These two — who could easily have failed given the standard set by Josh and Katee — brought Bollywood to life.  In fact, I’ve now rewatched Josh’s and Katee’s from last year (review it <a href=”http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6fM-PRfnZFQ”>HERE</a> and the choreography Nakul created for Jason and Caitlin was even more complex and demanding.  Like he said, a risk for the Top 20 and so soon in the competition before we even know the capabilities of these contestants, but it was a risk that more than paid off.  This was a fantastic routine, danced with strength and precision.

Leo

(aka The Cowardly Lion)
January (?) 1990 – March 12, 2009

If animals could speak, the dog would be a blundering outspoken fellow; but the cat would have the rare grace of never saying a word too much. ~Mark Twain

I let Leo go today. I had been waiting for him to tell me when he was ready, and readied myself for his decision. Not that you are ever really ready, and not that it is ever easy. And not that I don’t think he would have tried to stick it out a bit longer. But I am calm and at peace with the decision that I made and, even though I would have loved to have another day or week, I know that it was inevitable and it was the kindest thing to do.

My vet, and my pet-sitter (who works at my vet) were wonderfully supportive, gentle and compassionate. They made him as comfortable as possible, with a soft blanket and lots of quiet time, gentle hugs and soothing voices. And then, they cried right along with me. They have known Leo for as long as I’ve lived where I do now — so that’s about 8 years, or almost half his life.

I knew Leo for 19 years. Longer than any relationship (save for my immediate family) I’ve ever had. He was with me through several nasty break-ups; a cross-country move (and back); and the deaths of both of my parents. He was endlessly patient and uncomplaining of my sometimes complete lack of attention or even presence, requesting nothing more of me than I was able to give. He was my feline hot-water bottle, always there for warmth, comfort and a gentle head-butt when I was sick, down or just needed a friend who wouldn’t say too much, ask too many questions or provide any unwanted advice. Just listen and offer up an ear or chin to scratch, and velvety coat to stroke.

Even though he was well into middle age at the time, he tolerated with remarkable grace and a complete lack of spite the new fur creature who came into my life: the endlessly exuberant, almost dangerously bouncy Molly. They came to be fast friends, although Leo never gave up the upper hand, err, paw, to Molly. Even though twice her age and half her size, Leo was totally the boss of her. They shared the sofa, the bed, the pull-out couch in the TV room and my affections equally. Leo knew he had the preferred spot curled up at the top of my pillow at night, and Molly curled at my side. Frequently, after a long day at work, I’d come home to find them curled up together. Over the past few years, they certainly have spent more time with each other than I’ve spent with either of them, and for that I feel a not inconsiderable amount of guilt. I was glad, though, that they had each other.

From his humble beginnings caught in a raccoon trap, through to his gradual emergence out from under my bed where he cowered for the first six weeks, through to becoming one of the most sociable cats it’s possible to have, Leo graced my life. As my first cat, he taught me about cats–their subtleties and their charms. How they can speak volumes with a flick of their tail or a backwards glance. The special kind of joy that comes from watching them pounce on a toy, and the unique solace that only a purr can give.

I will miss you, Leo and I thank you for being my friend.

Time Is Running Out

This is a story that starts in a shopping mall in Toronto and ends in a small village in Gashora Region, Rwanda. It was a journey I took just yesterday, Christmas Eve day 2008.

Let me start with a blanket statement: I don’t like shopping. People who shop as a hobby mystify me. I find the entire activity distasteful–the endless quest for “things,” the con job advertisers do to get people to buy, buy, buy regardless of necessity and only to spur on the competitive spirit of acquisitiveness that gets people to buy buy buy even more.

At this time of year, I find the challenge of shopping intensifies and everything I hate about it comes to a boil. I leave my Christmas shopping to the very last minute, because I am usually so conflicted about what to buy for people, and how awful the whole experience makes me feel.

Then I feel awful about feeling awful, because after all, these are people that I love and I should be much more generous and thoughtful.

The true spirit of Christmas is not about the gifts, of course. And there are dozens of other ways to express thoughtfulness and generosity that don’t require standing in line with my bank card at the ready. But, despite that, I find it difficult to follow through completely on those principles: I can’t imagine showing up at my brother and sis-in-law’s with nothing in hand but a plate of homemade baked goods and an offer of never-ending babysitting. Hence, my conflict.

I get in a mall at this time of year and I quickly realize that no one I know actually needs anything. In fact, very few of us here in North America need anything. True, this year is different: people have lost their jobs or are worried that they are going to lose them; people are struggling to pay their bills, hold on to their homes, save up money for their kids’ educations … and much worse.

And I feel for the retailers: they too are simply cogs in the great economic engine. If everyone shared my disgust for shopping, they would go out of business and millions more would lose their jobs. Our great capitalist system would grind to a halt and our quality of life would decline considerably.

Despite all my protestations, I enjoy the benefits of our great capitalist system, even when I rage against its inequities.

Here in Canada, and certainly in my circle, the current economic hardships that many are experiencing remain remote. I know that I am among the more privileged. I also know that that privilege is largely a factor of luck. Being born in the right place at the right time to a loving family. I have a good job, I have skills, I have an education. I am in good health.

Lest I experience some devastating mental or physical health crisis, it is unlikely I will lose my home or my livelihood. (Even so, I keep my fear of becoming a bag lady–mumbling and cursing as I push my shopping cart full of empty bottles to and from my cardboard shack under the bridge–close to the surface as a way to ward off its eventuality. That is my own idiosyncratic superstition and way of managing that particular anxiety.)

And I am also always conscious of the even more basic things I enjoy: I can turn on the tap and get clean water. If I am sick, I have easy access to health care, and when I go to the pharmacy, I can be assured that I will get proper medication that will help me get better. I live in a very safe neighbourhood, in a clean, well-maintained building with 24-hour security, and in a comfortable home with all kinds of “stuff” in it–much more “stuff” than one person (and two furchildren) could ever need.

Jean Paul does not have any of those things. He is an eight-year-old boy who lives with his parents in a very poor area of Rwanda, just southeast of the capital city of Kigali. Both of his parents are unemployed and too sick to care for him.

I “met” Jean Paul today in the mall, when I was finishing up my Christmas shopping. I had just spent hundreds of dollars on luxury items–among them, an Aveda gift basket with a $31.00 moisturizer and an $18.50 aromatherapy oil in it; two Lululemon hoodies at close to $100 each; a $22 tin of sugar cookie mix from Williams-Sonoma and a $45 box of Godiva chocolates. Ridiculous, frivolous, decadent things that will provide momentary pleasure, but that “cost” me almost nothing in the grand scheme of things. I didn’t feel guilt buying them, or have any second thoughts about whether I could afford them. I didn’t feel much of anything at all, except a generalized annoyance that here I was on Christmas Eve day buying stupid things that will mean little to the people who receive them, and that mean even less to me.

The things that I bought cost more than Jean Paul’s family would spend on food in an entire year, probably.

This was my state of mind when I passed the World Vision display in the mall. I don’t know why I stopped, except that there’s been a raw emptiness yanking at my sub-conscious for much of this year: a feeling that I am wasting my time here on Earth; that I am not contributing or giving anything back that will have much impact after I’m gone. Maybe it’s a mid-life crisis, maybe it’s the fact that I have no children of my own and thus, no one to live on after me.

Psychoanalyst Erik Erikson coined the term generativity to describe the key developmental stage of individuals in middle adulthood. According to Erikson, people aged 40 to 65 have “a concern for establishing and guiding the next generation; a need to make a difference with one’s life, to give back, to take care of one’s community and planet.” Whether you buy that theory or not, it pretty much sums up how I have been feeling.

World Vision Motto

The World Vision display, with its bright orange backdrop and plethora of tent cards with pictures of children on them demanded that I stop in front of it and strike up a conversation with the two people staffing the booth. During that conversation, I asked whether they were getting much uptake from the shoppers. Sadly, no. “The economy is bad …” said the lovely Indian woman in the booth, her voice trailing off. Clearly, she didn’t believe this was much of an excuse. Nor do I. I plunked down my shopping bags and pulled out my wallet.

I went to the mall, and I ended up shopping for a child. Read that as you will.

This was no impulse purchase. In fact, I have been thinking about doing this for quite some time, but simply hadn’t been prepared to take the leap. I was too busy, had too much to think about, was too unsure of what it would entail–not the financial commitment, but the emotional one.

World Vision is a Christian organization. Another reason for my hesitancy. Historically responsible for horrific oppression in the name of eternal salvation, I have mixed feelings about the Christian mission movement. “You wanna be a missionary? Got that missionary zeal? Let a stranger change your life … how’s that make you feel?” Paul Simon’s lyrics were ringing in my head as I stood by the WV booth, but yesterday, I was hearing something else: There but for the grace of God go I. When I say this, I mean it in as secular a way as possible. Just as, in reading World Vision founder Bob Pierce’s quotation, pictured above, I can share that sentiment without dragging faith and religious belief into it.

And if I’m being really honest, I was a little worried that this is simply an easy way to assuage my white, North American guilt. Natural disaster in Indonesia? Humanitarian crisis in Darfur? Drought in Ethiopia? Genocide in Rwanda? Whip out a chequebook or a credit card, and believe you are doing something to help. And you are.

But it’s not my kind of charitable act if my convictions and commitment last only as long as it takes to recite my credit card number to the helpful operators standing by to take my call.

Sponsoring a child is different: it’s a minimum year long commitment (and I intend to extend that as long as necessary). I will write letters. Jean Paul will, I hope, write back. I will learn what his life is like–really like–there in his tiny village in Rwanda, a country that has been through such a tremendous amount of tragedy and that has one of the highest HIV/AIDS rates in all of Africa. I will be able to help, in some small way, not only him but also his family and his community.

It was disconcertingly similar to the purchases I had made a few minutes earlier. I was asked did I want to sponsor a girl or a boy? From any particular country? Other than knowing I wanted to sponsor a child in Africa (unlike Sarah Palin, I actually know it’s a continent), how could I possibly answer these questions? It seemed too crass, and too difficult a choice to make. The kind lady with whom I was speaking saw my distress–in fact, I became quite emotional during the process. Such a relief–to actually feel something when pulling out my credit card in a mall!

It was recommended that I sponsor a boy (the pretty little girls get more attention; the stoic looking little boys have a tougher time of it). I was asked if I was willing to spend an extra $5 per month to sponsor a “HopeChild”–code for a child whose family is suffering because of HIV/AIDS. Maybe not him (they don’t tell you who, in the family, is affected). Later, when reading the description of Jean Paul’s circumstances, the gentleman in the booth helped me decipher more of the “code.” We can surmise that both of Jean Paul’s parents are sick. His own health is listed as “satisfactory.” That one word contains a world of pain, as do his beautiful brown eyes gazing out at me from his picture. He is not smiling, and his look is one of deep distrust–even challenge. It is as though he is saying, I will stand here for this picture, but while you claim you will help me, I’ll believe it when I see it.

I will meet that challenge, Jean Paul.

Incidentally, World Vision is very careful not to identify who, in a community, has HIV/AIDS–it can be devastating for the entire family, as there is such stigma and fear about the disease. In Africa, AIDS is invariably a death sentence. They can’t get anti-retrovirals to all the people who need them, not only because so few can afford them, but mostly because of poor distribution systems and the shame, stigma and poor education that prevent people from taking them correctly or taking them at all, even if they can get them. HIV/AIDS has and will wipe out entire communities and societies in Africa. It is worse than any genocide could ever be. Standing by and watching it happen, without doing something to help, is as great a crime as any other instance when we in the developed world have refused to intervene in other genocides. End of public service announcement: you probably know all this.

Yes. Yes, let me sponsor a HopeChild and let him be in an area that is most in need of that help. At $40 a month, it is less than I spend on Starbucks. I will spend $480 per year, less than half what I was contemplating spending on a new flat-screen TV that I don’t need.

For the first time in such a long long time, I feel like I’ve put my credit card to good use.

Woman. Dog. Not me or Molly.

Woke up to snow this morning (some yesterday too) and a blistering blue sky that only now has clouded over.  The snow was that powdery early winter stuff–fine as sugar, blown away by the strong winds but still clinging to fence posts and grass.

Molly and I followed a trail of compressed snowprints:  two boots and four paws in front of us, stuck to the paved path where we walk, the warmth and weight of master and pet having been enough to cement their steps to the asphalt while the remaining snow had blown away to reveal a kind of reverse snowtrail.

It inspired a (not very good) haiku:

white winter morning
bootdogpaw embossed footprints
companions in snow

I’ll work on it.  I am reading The Story Of Edgar Sawtelle.  It’s about a boy and a special band of dogs that he and his family breed and care for, so my own and others’ attachments to their dogs is in the forefront of my mind these days.

JFK & Jackie - The Early Years

Don’t let it be forgot
That once there was a spot
For one brief, shining moment that
was known as Camelot.

(from the Broadway play by Lerner & Loewe)

I was conceived somewhere roundabout September 1963, two months prior to JFK’s assassination, and 11 months after the Cuban Missile Crisis.  When sorting through some of my mother’s books after her death in 2000, I found a pamphlet nestled between Dr. Spock’s Baby & Child Care and a book of baby names.  As to the latter, under consideration:  Constance, Judith, Rebecca and Stella, among others.  I ended up a Jennifer, from the Welsh “Gwenhwyfar”, as in Guinevere, the Queen of Camelot.  An interesting coincidence, as Jackie Kennedy didn’t coin the term to describe her husband’s presidency until after his assassination, in an article in Life magazine.

The Holy Grail by Dante Gabriel Rossetti

So while I’d like to think my parents were drawing both a political and literary allusion, they were probably responding less to what was swirling about in the zeitgeist, than to the name’s feminine prettiness and growing popularity (they were actually ahead of the wave on that one…).

The pamphlet, however, was a dramatic juxtaposition to Dr. Spock and the baby names.  As I recall, it was a deep, blood red with somewhat shocking blue and yellow type on the front, probably 8 or 12 pages long.  I think my brother still has the box of books; I must go and try to dig it up.  It was entitled:  “How To Build A Backyard Bomb Shelter.”   It was startling to find it there, and know what must have been going on in my parents’ minds as they started their family.  What those times must have been like for people:  to have had such hope and belief in the future, and then to watch the events unfold as they did–assassinations and riots and the ongoing threat of nuclear annihilation.

High Hopes

I can honestly say that the two forces:  Dr. Spock’s psychoanalytic humanism, applied as diligently as possible by my two loving parents, and the political turmoil of the 60s with the fall-out residue of anxiety, pervaded my formative years and of course made me into who I am today.  Hopeful, but anxious.  As I read around the Internet, it seems many of us are the same.  It was rare to read or see anything about the JFK anniversary without some parallel being drawn to President-Elect Obama, who reminds so many of JFK and of the struggles of that time.

The Kennedy presidency started out with an incredible sense of optimism and hope, and ended so tragically.  Still today, according to a documentary I watched on the History Channel last night called Oswald’s Ghost, more than 70% of Americans believe that there was some kind of conspiracy behind Kennedy’s assassination, and that Lee Harvey Oswald did not act alone. What do you think?  (While you’re here, why not take the poll in the sidebar?)

The filmmaker, Robert Stone (no relation to Oliver, I don’t believe) was interviewed by NPR when the film came out last year. You can listen to the entire clip below. Stone has a unique perspective and sums up how I and many others feel, that the Kennedy assassination kicked off a chain of events–political assassinations, protests over the war in Vietnam, Watergate–that made us who we are today, and that caused a deep questioning and a fundamental cynicism about our political and social institutions and leaders.

JFK & Jackie Arriving Dallas 11-22-63

Which is why I think you find, among Obama supporters of about my age, that sense of anxiety, even fear, underlying the hope, optimism and belief in change.  It’s fear that a bullet will put an end to the Obama presidency, yes; but it’s also a less literal fear.  It’s fear that the change it is hoped he will bring will be exterminated before it gets any traction.

Click here for the NPR interview with Robert Stone on the Kennedy assassination, conspiracy theories and the impact of these events on our worldview.

JFK’s campaign song was, if you can believe it, “High Hopes”–a song that my parents must have loved as  I recall it being played a lot in our house.  It brings back a visceral nostalgia in me, even today. I just found a remarkable video on youtube of a Sinatra version done especially for the campaign.  According to the youtuber, polkadotbox2, only 1,000 copies were pressed and they weren’t distributed commercially, but rather in pubs, bars, bowling alleys, etc. around the DC area in 1960.  Enjoy:

And in case you need the comparison driven home literally, here is another youtuber’s video:

I’ll be damned.  After rewriting my post on the New World Order, juxtaposing Obama’s vision of the future with Gene Roddenberry’s political theories, I find I’ve hit some kind of left-wing, Trekkie vein in the zeitgeist.

I’m not much of a Star Trek freak myself, so this is probably obvious to all but me.  Nonetheless, check out Paul Rosenberg’s Star Trek Socialism on the Open Left blog.

Geeks and lolcatz rule.

Don't try this at home.

Just tidying up the ole’ blog this afternoon.  Seems when I changed visual themes, the Mindgames page and its sub-pages blew up.  I couldn’t figure out how to fix it.  The irony of that alleviates my annoyance just a tad.

So now, I’ve created two separate pages:  one for the Mensa Brainteasers (now called Mindgames) and another for the Jigsaw Puzzles (now called JigZone).

Those hadn’t been updated in a while, so I’ve added new puzzles to each page in celebration of last week’s historic event.  Enjoy!

I promise to get back to writing silly flights of fancy soon, but I’m not quite done processing my thoughts around the momentous events down south yet.  I’ve tried to do a little of both here in this re-written (11/08/08) blog post.

Barack Obama’s 1994 autobiography, Dreams From My Father: A Story of Race and Inheritance, has shot to the top of the amazon.com and other bestseller lists. However, if you want to know what Barack himself is reading, you might want to check out Fareed Zakaria’s new book: The Post-American World. Zakaria is the editor of Newsweek International, and I caught an interview with him this a.m. on Nov 6th on CBC Radio 1.

Prior to that, I had an exchange with aurora*raby on gawker about what the next step is for the U.S. (this was Nov 2, before Obama won).  The left-leaning,  educated, predominantly northeast, urban gawker audience was raging against and in some cases vehemently insulted by an article in Germany’s der Spiegel calling the U.S. “a superpower around the globe, but a Third World country at home…” and making a number of other inflammatory (albeit closer to true than false) accusations. In a moment of sanity on a thread that was degenerating in somewhat surprising ways to me given the gawker demographic, aurora*raby commented:

“we prove ourselves to be one big alcoholic family (Bush’s, no doubt) if we lash out at constructive criticism. We are very close to throwing off the yoke. Let’s start thinking about the next step.”

It prompted me to think about the next step.  Also, over the next week, about leadership, globalization and the Starship Enterprise.  To get in the proper frame of mind, I suggest you click on this youtube vid for the soundtrack to the rest of this post.

More, after the jump.

Have you got Imagine up and playing?  Good.

To aurora*raby, I replied:

“The next step is an evolution of how a superpower like the U.S. can wield influence and act as a force for change within the international community.

To do that, the U.S. will need to rebuild its standing among its allies, including Germany. Start listening–even when the message might sting a little. Start acting collaboratively not unilaterally.

International relations take on an entirely different flavour. No longer founded on the moral authority or political power of the individual superpower state, which the U.S. can no longer claim, but by its ability to build a community of like-minded states acting for the common good.

Hmmmm. Wonder who might be the best leader of the free world to do that?”

This thought was reinforced this Thursday morning listening to Zakaria.  Now is the time and Barack Obama is the leader to create an entirely new world order.  While people have been focusing on the racial barrier that Obama has broken through, there is another leap forward that needs to–and I believe, is about to–be made.  The traditional world order, in which countries exist in tense polarities based on economic strength, political inclinations or geographic proximity (developed or developing; established or emerging), and where the U.S. has been the central reference point, is evaporating with globalization and the completely reshaped international community it has spawned.

“Imagine there’s no countries … it isn’t hard to do …” — John Lennon

Having a global view necessitates having a long-term view.  Obama alluded to it in his Grant Park speech on election night when he said:  “A new dawn of American leadership is at hand … This victory alone is not the change we seek – it is only the chance for us to make that change.”  He did not just mean repudiating the Bush legacy, or some allusion to ‘change’ as a reactionary slogan to capture the popular imagination.  He means change as a process and an evolution…as the next step. He means that the world has changed, America has changed, and in order to assume leadership in this new world, an entirely new type and kind of leader is required.  Just over 52% of Americans believe that Obama is that leader.  Upwards of 75% of the rest of the world does.

Obama also said, in a moment that was reminiscent of MLK Jr’s “I may not get there with you …” from his I Have A Dream speech that:

“The road ahead will be long. Our climb will be steep. We may not get there in one year or even one term, but America – I have never been more hopeful than I am tonight that we will get there. I promise you – we as a people will get there.” — Barack Obama

This is great speech writing.  But it is also more:  it is a demonstration of Obama’s breadth of vision and his understanding of his place in history.  He additionally understands that he is but an instrument of that change.

The change that must and is about to take place, regardless of who is in power in the U.S., is going to move the entire world into the future.  It seems to be incredibly clear:  we–as in, the entire planet–either continue growing, building, creating, unifying and better managing our people and our resources for the good of all, or we fester, degenerate and decline…ultimately weakening the human race and depleting the planet’s resources to our eventual end as a species.  We either take a long-term view, or a short-term one.  We either think globally, or we think locally.   We are either progressive or reactionary; creative or destructive.  We either act with optimism and for the greater good, or we act out of fear and self-interest.

Those were the two choices in front of the American people.  One leader represented growth, collaboration, optimism and hope.  The other represented stagnation, isolationism, fear and destruction.

The author’s view (I haven’t read the book yet; only listened to the interview) sounds to me both optimistic and realistic, much like Obama’s.  While his book was written well before Obama was even elected leader of the Democratic party, and certainly before he became President-elect, Zakaria is a long-time Obama fan.  He reflected on what Barack Obama’s challenges are in leading the U.S. at this time and–even more importantly–what qualities he brings to the role. In short, Zakaria contends that of every candidate for both parties at the start of the campaign two years ago, only Obama exhibited the personal qualities and vision to lead the U.S. in a “post-American world.”

The new world order will be based on the ability to build consensus, listen with an open mind, and not just tolerate but integrate a wide variety of points of view.  It requires a leader who not only has, but can execute, a vision–a vision that is far more externally and globally focused than has ever been the case among U.S. leaders, and certainly among Americans in general.* The U.S. can no longer expect to wield power as the world’s only remaining superpower; instead, it will exert influence by rallying a community of like-minded nations behind a common goal.  It will need to create optimism and the belief that collaboration is not only the necessary thing to do, but the right thing to do.

* with the exception of Gene Roddenberry of course.  His political theory, including the United Federation of Planets‘ Charter, extrapolated from the UN’s charter and postulated a future united world government founded on universal liberty, equality, justice, peace, and cooperation. I’m being only slightly facetious with a reference to Star Trek … Gene Roddenberry, may he rest in peace, was fully as visionary and at this point even more influential than Obama.

Back to the change that is a-comin’.  This will require a leader with the ability to form alliances, inspire confidence, and instill hope.  And even more, it will require one whose strength is founded on exceptional humility.  It’s not an adjective that typically leaps to mind when describing an American president.  But it’s a quality that Americans have chosen in their newest president, even if it is a quality that is less obvious and more foreign to many of them than the blackness of his skin.

As an observer from above the 49th parallel, I rejoiced in the election of Obama for not just his political platform and stand on the issues, but his personal characteristics and vision for what the U.S. can and must become on the world’s stage.  I am looking forward and will be watching to see how this extraordinary man performs, and feel heartened to know that a thinker like Zakaria (and I hope one like Roddenberry) is on his reading list.

“You may say I’m a dreamer.  But I’m not the only one.  Maybe some day, you’ll join us.  And the world will live as one.”  –John Lennon

Congratulations to the American people for electing Barack Obama the 44th President of the United States.  This landmark event is of significance to all people, all over the world who have fought and will continue to fight for justice and human rights.

Rosa sat,

so Martin could walk,

so Obama could run,

so our children could fly.

author unknown

Tea Time With The Coven

I live in a condominium that consists of two 12-story towers, built about a year and a half apart. The original marketing for the first building, where I live, was targeted at empty-nesters and retirees. The marketing for the second was to the young and hip. I fall into neither category, which suits me just fine, ‘coz then I get to observe the goings-on from an outsider’s vantage point, as is my wont.

The nice thing about living on the old people’s side is that the women here have formed quite the little community. (The men, for those women who are not widows, are infrequently seen and even more rarely heard, except during annual general meetings when they attempt to insert themselves as authorities on the ‘business’ of the condo. So it goes.)

The condo ladies do movie nights and bridge tournaments and coffee klatches. Sometimes they arrange bus trips to exotic locales like nearby farmers’ markets and dinner theatre productions. I regularly see them trundling off to the party room in the basement, their homemade bits ‘n bites and tuna casseroles in hand, to chat and gossip; plot and plan.

Photo: Diane Arbus

One of the things they plot and plan at this time of year is the annual Hallowe’en give-away. In a Diane-Arbusian feast for the eyes, they turn, literally, into a coven of witches, a gaggle of fairy godmothers, a belfry of old bats luring the neighbourhood children into the lobby with offers of candy.

I take an inordinate amount of delight in this event every year, solely for the pleasure of seeing them there in the lobby behind the treat bag table, with  their caked-on make-up and slightly-askew false eyelashes, their frothy polyester costumes and gaudy Dollar Store accessories like light-up jack-o’lantern pins and sequinned bat earrings.  In front of them, their handiwork:  hundreds of cellophane bags filled with donated goodies and tied with orange and black ribbons, craft-scissor curls lovingly done with arthritic, age-freckled hands.

These gals do it up right.  And, they are doing what women have been programmed to do from time immemorial…nurturing community.

I’m certain I’m the only one who revels as I do in the weird irony of how they look–my fascination mixed with slight shame (for they are having such fun!  And have worked so hard! I am not mocking them, truly I’m not!).  This year we had a batwoman, a fairy princess and a geisha handing out treats to the toddlers and schoolkids, some dressed so similarly it throws the grotesquerie into stark relief.  There is a macabre return-to-innocence look to them which is oh-so-perfect for Hallowe’en, even more so as it is accidental.

Photo: Xavier Bonghi

“Old fools become babes again,” as Shakespeare wrote, intending it not as criticism or insult, just an observation tinged with empathy, as do I.

Being as non-participatory as I am, I am unlikely to end up like these women.  I will become my very own version of an eccentric old bat, I am sure.  But I know what happens down there in the condo party room. I share the genetic history–”herstory” as the Fems like to say–of the XX-chromosomed.  I can feel how the petty jealousies, the passive-aggressive hostilities, the snap judgements are formed intuitively through auto-cognitive processing of the equation: hair + face + clothes + behaviour = character and virtue.

But I also know about the genuine kindness and compassion.  The natural inclination to consensus and peace-keeping among these women who have landed in Canada from Poland, Ukraine, Chechnya, Germany, Britain and Russia, and for whom even the old wars between their countries feel like recent history, and some of them are still ongoing.  These women could easily dwell isolated by their differences, but instead–compelled by evolutionary psychology to gather and cohere in social groups–smooth over these cultural-bred political and personal antagonisms and life-long resentments with small-talk and seasonal rituals, for the greater good of the community in which they find themselves now.

These women are demonstrating how social groups are formed in every culture, every society. The internal dynamics of their groups are as familiar to me as the back of my own hand, and I have the slight added advantage of understanding the social psychology of it from an academic perspective as well.  They are communicating in precisely the same ways as they have throughout their own personal histories, and throughout time as all women have:  as schoolgirls, as young “housewives,” and now as condo-dwelling retirees. The very set-up of a “condo,” with its joint-ownership and management of community property–Socialism!!  Egads!!–is a petrie dish for growing this kind of instant community and allowing those of us so-inclined to observe it as it evolves.

Also, they all remind me of my mom.  She would have been right at home among them as she was a lifelong “joiner” and never failed to be appalled at my dad and me, who were content to watch and analyze from afar, collaborating from our lone observation posts like forest fire spotters in the great north woods. While I rarely interact with the condo ladies, save to say hello as I pass by in the hallway, I take comfort in the fact they are there, running things efficiently behind the scenes in age-old ways, as only women do. Gathering berries, creating community–it’s built in to our genes.