ISSUE III, VOLUME II

Happiness is a Warm Gun

Guns don't kill people. Gun-Show sales and trades don't kill people. The lack of background checks doesn't kill people. The availability of semi-automatic military-style weapons doesn't kill people. The lack of an ammunition sales cap doesn't kill people. The inability to prevent gun purchases by those on the FBI's “no fly” list doesn't kill people. Avoiding waiting periods doesn't kill people. Preventing public health research into gun violence doesn't kill people.

It's the combination of all of the above that kills people.

In 2013 there were 33,636 firearm deaths in the US. There can be no doubt that many of them were preventable, but for the actual access to the weapon. We're not even talking about murders: I am certain that a large number of the suicides and all of the accidental shootings would have been avoided if guns were not so readily available. As to the murders, well, how many of them may have been averted if they were spur-of-the-moment killings, with no premeditation? There can be no argument that the proliferation of weapons in the US (300 million, at recent count) is at the root cause of many avoidable deaths, with the vast majority committed by using a handgun. The notion held by some among us that this is somehow an acceptable “price to pay” in order to protect our “right to bear arms” is morally corrupt, and downright disgusting.

The Second Amendment to the Bill of Rights of the US Constitution states "A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed." Many scholars believe that the Framers' intent was to insure that states would be allowed to raise and maintain a militia, that “the people” (being the several states) would be permitted to maintain their own cache of weapons, and that Congress would not be able to “infringe”, by future legislation, on this right. In any event, an “Open Carry” AR-15 or AK-47 assault rifle brandished in a public place (you'd be surprised how many gun nuts are out there doing just that) is as far from the trusted musket over the fireplace as one can possibly get.

The idea that this inelegant sentence is somehow an absolute guarantee of a US citizen's right to own and operate weapons and related ordnance is a relatively new premise, emanating from the US Supreme Court decisions “DC v. Heller” (2008) and “McDonald v. Chicago” (2010), both decided on the narrowest of all margins, a 5-4 vote. Prior to those decisions it was understood that states and municipalities may enforce controls over possession and use of firearms. Now, thanks to a misguided court and a massive lobbying effort by the NRA (which misrepresents itself as an association dedicated to representing the interests of gun-owners, but actually is funded by and operated on behalf of the gun industry) our nation has become the Wild West, with Congress paralyzed by the fear of offending the gun lobby, despite the fact that most Americans (and a solid majority of gun-owners) desire change in the manner gun purchases are regulated. Unfortunately, that's not going to happen anytime soon.

If our society wasn't so gun-crazed we should have taken measures to limit the spread of weapons. An outcome of the horrific 1996 Port Arthur mass killing (35 dead, 23 wounded) led to a series of strict weapon regulations in Australia, including a massive government buy-back and destruction of guns, and sensible laws about ownership, storage, and proper usage. The result: there has not been a mass shooting in Australia since.

The US must take action regarding gun ownership: while it is too late in the game to confiscate weapons from legal owners, we need to enact compulsory safety classes, annual or biannual re-certifications, and a mandatory personal liability insurance policy, just like the one required of car owners, nail salon operators, and healthcare providers. If you have the capacity to maim or kill, you should at the very least have some coverage. Reasonable limits on ammunition ownership (and approved types) are called-for. And we absolutely must move to a standard national screening system preventing handguns from falling into the hands of minors, criminals, and the mentally impaired. Don't be telling me that this infringes on your constitutional rights; even if those exist, they are trumped by my own inalienable rights for life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

Home Remedies

Harry Golden, patron saint of the “Carolina Israelite”, once offered-up Cato the Elder's hangover cure: If I remember correctly, it involves ingesting six leaves of raw cabbage in advance of imbibing, apparently acting as some sort of preemptive strike against the more common results of over-indulging. I cannot recall if Harry himself ever employed this preventative action, but history gave this a thumbs-up.

I wish to continue this tradition, and provide two additional home remedies which I've utilized with great success over the years:

The first has to do with getting rid of “Earworms”, those pesky tunes that get stuck in our head for days at a time. Usually an overplayed pop tune or children's song, they seem to replay in our brains endlessly. I picked up the following remedy about twenty years ago from “The New York Times” and it has never failed me. Quite simply, once you realize that a song is playing in a continuous loop in your mind, start humming or singing to yourself the Brazilian Bossa Nova classic “The Girl from Ipanema”:

“Tall and tan and young and lovely, The girl from Ipanema goes walking And when she passes, each one she passes goes, “Aaah…”

The offending song will be instantly erased from your consciousness, yet, amazingly enough, the Girl from Ipanema will just keep on walking, without leaving a new “Earworm” in her wake.

The second remedy is even stranger, but equally effective. It is for the common hiccups, and it is credited to the wonderful aunt Augusta Bertram, she of Graham Greene's “Travels with my Aunt” fame, who instructs her nephew Henry Pulling (late of the bank) to cure his hiccups by forming an imaginary cup with his hand and “drink” from the opposite rim. As she explains, no cup or liquid are necessary. I discovered this when I was a teen and it seems to be consistently successful, although I have no idea why.

The Hills Ain't Alive

This sounds like a terrible, mean-spirited, cold-hearted thing to say, but I hate every aspect of Rodgers and Hammerstein's “The Sound of Music”. I consider it one of the worst musicals ever, on multiple counts: First off, the lyrics are sappy and don't move the story along. Second, the music is as syrupy and sickeningly sweet as  those Austrian sugary confections. And lastly, the storyline. Well, not exactly. I suppose that part of the plot is anchored in the history of the von Trapp family, so I can't knock that. It's the setting that makes me squirm. The year is 1938, the Nazi's have been in power for five years, and it's the eve of the “Anschluss”, the “forced” annexation of Austria (Hitler's homeland) which for several decades sold the world on its “Victim Theory” (supposedly Austria was the “first victim” of the Third Reich) so it could avoid coming to terms with its complicity and participation in the Nazi regime and its many atrocities. So as all of this is transpiring, Jews, Roma, Homosexuals and other “undesirables” are being rounded-up and sent to their deaths, the nuns are singing and dancing on the hills around Aigen, and the children are frolicking with Nazi friends at a villa, which later (in real life) will be occupied by no less of a nobleman than Reichsführer Heinrich Himmler. You all know the plot. I find it to be tasteless and vapid, the worst Rodgers and Hammerstein had to offer. The last song they wrote was the saccharine “Edelweiss”, which to this date is thought by many to be an authentic Austrian folk song, but is really, like everything else in this monstrosity, to borrow a word from the German, Ersatz.

Contrast that, if you will, with Kander and Ebb's fearless “Cabaret”, set in Berlin in 1931, during the rotting of the short-lived Weimar republic, using the setting of the Kit Kat Club as a microcosm of the decadence of the era amidst the rise of Nazism. Based on Christopher Isherwood's “Goodbye to Berlin” it tells the story of cabaret performer Sally Bowles who single-mindedly focuses on advancing her career and station in life, all the while oblivious to the new world order emerging all around her. The dialog and music (in both the stage and movie versions) sparkle, the songs advance the plot, and the music pays homage to the jazz sound of the era, with a nod towards composer Kurt Weill, he of the “Threepenny Opera” fame. One emerges from the theater, as is proper, with a strong sense of the doom Europe was facing. It does all that while being both highly entertaining and offering a social commentary and political point-of-view so sorely lacking in “The Sound of Music”. In the movie (directed by the legendary Bob Fosse) Liza Minelli delivers a career performance as Sally, Joel Grey forever affixes his star to that of the “Master of Ceremonies”, and Michael York shines as Brian Roberts (representing the original author Isherwood), the English teacher who is Sally's love interest. The movie won eight Academy Awards, and the only reason it did not win “Best Picture” was that alas, they were up against “The Godfather”... It remains the movie which has won the most Oscars without garnering “Best Picture” honors.

Next time you feel like watching Nazi-era singing and dancing, forget them thar Austrian hills. Just remember that “life is a cabaret, old chum, come to the cabaret”.

Pat and Teddy

There has been a bit of discussion recently about NC Governor Pat McCrory being considered as a presidential running-mate. It is true that as our beloved Tar Heel state grows in size and political influence, we should expect to see more North Carolinians play a national political role in the future. But Pat McCrory as VP?

This reminded me of the Republican party bosses who were sick and tired of New York Governor Theodore Roosevelt's reforming and muck-raking up in Albany, so they decided to “kick him up” against his wishes and selected him as William McKinley's Vice President. He grudgingly went along “for the sake of the party” (he was the most popular politician of his time) and accepted the dead-end, powerless position of VP, which he considered to be the end of his political career. Of course, six months later, in September 1901, McKinley was assassinated, and US history changed forever.

If Governor Pat is not seen as conservative enough by the state party, a successful “Draft Pat” campaign would clear the deck for a new 2016 gubernatorial candidate with a stronger right-wing cred. Stay tuned.

The Chairman of the Board

We recently noted the 100th birthday of Ol' Blue Eyes himself, Francis Albert Sinatra. I never had the privilege of seeing him in concert, but have been a life-long admirer, especially of his earlier torch songs. Not only the greatest vocalist the US has produced, Frank epitomized to generations of American-born children of immigrants the opportunity manifested in our country. He certainly was, and remains, the most famous and revered Italian-American, and I defy anybody to enter an authentic Italian restaurant (no, not those restaurant chains decorated by experts from Columbus, Ohio) to this day and not find his picture on the wall.

Our wedding dance was “Fly Me to the Moon”, performed by a jazz quartet my wife assembled for the event. Imagine how we felt many years later, long after Sinatra's passing, when we were trotting fast up the Las Vegas strip, to the fountains at the Bellagio hotel that were just about to start the top-of-the-hour show, and as soon as we get there, the familiar bass-and-tom intro starts, the waters shoot up towards the heavens, and Frankie croons:

“Fly me to the moon Let me play among the stars Let me see what spring is like On Jupiter and Mars In other words, hold my hand In other words, baby, kiss me”

'twas, indeed, a moment.

Trump

Donald J. Trump will not be the United States 45th president, and here are two reasons why: First, the American electorate has never put in office a Chief Executive who lacked the temperament to govern the country and command the military. Never. As diverse as our body politic may be, and as divisive some of the current issues are, the American people have always entrusted the highest office of the land to candidates with the right set of values and responsibility towards the Republic. Even our worst presidents (Warren Gamaliel Harding and Richard Nixon come to mind) had effective foreign policies and put our Republic first (in Nixon's case resigning and not forcing a constitutional crisis). Even those who are completely at odds with the current administration or with the possibility of Hillary Clinton becoming president realize deep-down  that Trump simply does not have the character and personality which the job calls for. And American voters have always been the world's greatest judges of character.

And second, there really is no such thing as a National Presidential Election; it's more like fifty-one separate contests, each requiring a massive grassroots organization to “get out the vote” and address the myriad of items which require attention on the local level. As legendary Speaker of the House Tip O'Neil famously noted, "all politics is local". There is nothing in Donald Trump's background, qualifications, or message which can inspire the creation of a mass, localized movement. The Republican party will most certainly not pull out all stops to get him elected, should he win the nomination. In fact, they might take steps to block him in the General Election.

My prediction: a Donald Trump General Election candidacy will drive a 1972 Nixonian landslide win (49 states!) for Hillary Clinton. A Marco Rubio/Chris Christie/Jeb Bush candidacy will result in a much closer race.

Not Quite a Manger

Being born on a major holiday presents lifelong complications surrounding future birthday celebrations. Sometimes the day-of-birth itself creates some challenges:

Our youngest was born December 25, 1999. Some of you may recall the general anxiety surrounding what was referred to as the “Y2K” bug, which caused many people to expect that on the stroke of midnight, New Year's Eve, 2000, all electronic items would cease to operate, planes would plummet to the ground, and our power grid would collapse. Of more realistic concern was that hospital-based equipment (such as monitors and IV pumps) would shut themselves down as they attempted to self-calibrate on an “impossible” date (01/01/00). Naturally, my wife and I were relieved when we realized that our son would arrive a week earlier, not only avoiding any Y2K mishaps, but gaining a legitimate IRS deduction for the entire year, at the cost of less than one week's dependancy. $3,000 in our pockets! As this was our third child we were old hands at this, and I was especially looking forward to the complimentary catered “couple's celebration dinner” which the hospital had a tradition of serving the happy parents: a well prepared meal, scrumptious dessert, accompanied by a split of champagne. Twice before I relinquished my parental feeding rights to my Mother-in-Law so that I could coordinate the many activities surrounding a newborn's first homecoming. Not this time: this feast was to be mine.

We arrived at the hospital to witness utter bedlam. Numerous expectant mothers were admitted, and there were a total of eleven concurrent deliveries, with nursing staff spread very thin. The women's center (were our first two children were born) was a beautiful, well-appointed, hotel-like facility, with gorgeous suites that rapidly converted into delivery rooms, and back again. Did I mention the catered dinner? Unfortunately, due to the massive Labor Movement underway, shortly following our son's delivery we were unceremoniously dumped from said Women's Center and rolled into a completely empty room in a deserted wing of the hospital. Well, I didn't grow up in Israel for nothing, and immediately set upon scavenging the empty rooms for items which might improve our stay: I collected a recliner, table and chairs, and a too-short sofa. (You can always tell the Israeli at a restaurant; he's the one rearranging the tables as soon as he walks in). At the appointed time the food cart rolled-up, and the server slapped a couple of hospital trays on my newly-acquired table. Shocked, we inquired about our much-anticipated catered meal; “Oh, they stopped with those after the last round of budget cuts” was the devastating response. Sheepishly, we asked about the champagne: “Oh, we had a couple of situations where we accidentally served it to under-age mothers, so they made us stop that as well. Would you like some apple juice?”

I stayed overnight with my wife in the abandoned hospital wing, sleeping fitfully on my scavenged love seat. You can imagine my non-holiday state-of-mind when, after the umpteenth hospital nurse, orderly, functionary, case worker and volunteer congratulated us on having a “Christmas baby”, I ended-up snapping back: “We're Jewish; its been done.”

Bah humbug! (and Happy New Year!)