Overwhelmed

I just finished reading the article in the New Yorker about Esalen and tech.  The inventors and CEO's are pondering "What have we wrought?" They are attending workshops (called playshops), meditating, and engaging in earnest conversation. They realize they've been messing with our brains.

It reminds me of when Al Gore travelled the world sounding the alarm about global warming and how we were messing with the planet.  It was punctuated by Melissa Etheridge's stirring song.  Seems like a long time ago doesn't it?  And, maybe it's too late.

 When is being smart too dangerous?  Could we even have stopped ourselves in mid-stride?
Again, the essential questions.

Hot Seat

Memo to John McEnroe:  If you want to have one of your tantrums today, it would be justified.  He was on his tour of ESPN talk shows promoting the U.S. Open Tennis Tournament opening today. I first saw the ex-badboy and now great commentator with Mike Greenberg.  Mike is lonely at the network in his love of tennis, but has enough clout to be able to mention the game from time to time.  John got about two minutes to hope Serena wins another major, gush over the elderly big three, and lament that the young men are lacking in either talent or heart to break through.

By the time he got to the First Take table with Stephen A. and his disciples, you could tell he was a little ticked at how anxious they were to dismiss him.  Who cares about tennis when there is so much more to say about Andrew Luck!  No matter that it's been non-stop Luck since Friday.

I'm proud that John gave them a little stare when they actually told him he'd have to give up his seat.  There's a football player waiting!

I love the Open.  If we get one match close to as brilliant as the one we got from Federer and Djokovic at Wimbledon, I will once again be grateful for being here during the all time glory days of men's tennis.

McMean

"There's nothing worse than a bad boss,"  I cried.  I was in the drive-thru (yes, I've succumbed to their spelling) at my local McDonald's.  One of the pleasures of stopping at the window to pay is "oh-ing and ah-ing" over the marvelous nails on the girls.

Colors I never saw before.  Sparkles.  Once, red, white and blue on July 4th.

So I was startled and disappointed today when my favorite nail model handed me my change with short, colorless stubs (like mine.)  "What happened?"  "The new boss says no nails, no polish or we get fined."

Okay, maybe the boss was thinking about germs under the long talons.  More likely, she was just jealous or mean.

Another tiny light goes dark.

Jury Duty

Jean Fritz was a wife and mother living in Des Plaines.  When she showed up for jury duty in 1969 she had no idea of her upcoming attachment to history.   How could anyone?  Jean ended up on the sequestered jury that produced the verdict for the "Conspiracy Seven." And, because of her determination and bravery, she played a big role in the fate of the accused.

Eight jurors wanted blood.  They bought everything that Hoover, Mitchell and Nixon were selling.  Four jurors saw through what the government was doing.  Both sides held firm.  When Judge Hoffman refused to let the jury see transcripts, and when he threatened to keep them sequestered indefinitely, the four decided they had to agree to a compromise:  innocent of conspiracy but convicted of a lesser charge.

Eventually, Jean and one of the other jurors agreed to an interview which revealed the "inside story" to the public.  The jurors were called back to a special hearing.  While the others retreated to faulty memory, Jean and one other juror told the real story.  The criminal charges were overturned.

I heard this compelling story (in harrowing detail) on the Ben Joravsky podcast for Tuesday, August 6.  Jean's daughter, Marjorie Fritz-Birch runs the Edgewater Historical Society and she is displaying her mother's papers at an exhibit commemorating the 50th anniversary of the trial.

To Stare or Not

I was having coffee at Dunkin Donuts with my friend David.  A woman came in with two children, probably about 3 or 4.   They ran around the place screaming.  I waited a little while and then finally put my finger to my lips indicating the shhh signal and gave the woman a stare.

She said: "What do you think this is?  A Michelin five star restaurant?  It's only Dunkin Donuts!"  I thought: "Now that's an interesting concept.  Civilized behavior is only expected now for the 1%?"

I was reminded of the incident a few years back when the owner of Taste of Heaven on Clark Street received national attention for asking women with boisterous toddlers to leave.  He got a lot of flack but I think there's still a little sign in his window describing his stance.

Bill and Marguerite quickly caught on how to behave in restaurants.  Here's a belated but heart felt pat on their back.

He Didn't Fit In

At a time when many of us are being asked to imagine how it feels to be an "outsider" and the deadly consequences of being in that position, the Al Franken case is worth thinking about.  No, it's not life or death.  It is instructive.

Like one of his genius sketches on Saturday Night Live,  Al actually becoming a United States Senator is a dive into the absurd.  If Minnesota wasn't such a "clean" state, I'm sure his razor thin vote margin would not have held. Shortly before his fall, he wrote a book about it.  Six long years of keeping an almost invisible profile while he worked on convincing his fellow lawmakers that he could be useful.  And with his trademark chuckle, he tried to explain to the clueless when "it's a joke" applied.

Sorry Al.  It was hubris.  From the beginning, the Gods knew the joke was on you.

Bad for the Game

Dear Nick Krygios:

Please don't ruin what's left of my tennis watching years.  Yes.  You have amazing shots and a killer serve.  Just the kind of firepower that makes tennis so compelling.  Yes.  Tennis is the game where you are out there all alone with every tic on display.  That would, and has, unnerved the best. Yes. I'm trying to reach you.

I've made peace with the inevitable departure of Federer, Djokovic, Nadal and both Williams. When time decides their fate, I'm ready to welcome the next crop of winners. But when you aimed your 100+mph forehand straight at Nadal's chest, the crowd and I screamed in horror.  Is this what time has brought us?  No!

Nadal stayed nimble and classy.  He was able to contain his fury enough to win.
Where talent lands is a mystery.  It is always a seed.  Only a seed.