Last week, my wife was working on a television show.  As she was puling into the studio, she had to stop at the security gate.  As she was doing this, she was hanging up the phone with her father.  So, she said something like, “Dad, I have to go.  I love you.”  The Security Guard overheard this and said, “was that your father you were talking to?”  My wife nodded.  To which the woman replied, “I lost my father last June and my mother a year before that.  I would do anything to be able to talk to them again.”  Then, she began to weep.  My wife began to cry, struck by the incredible gravity of this moment, by the opened, broken heart and the weeping.  My wife reached out her hand and grabbed the woman’s hand.  They both cried and shared a rare and beautiful moment of human connectivity.  At that moment, this woman was not defined by what she did (in a uniform, at a security gate, mundanely checking names off a list).  She was defined by who she was; who she is.  A human being experiencing great loss.  So much so that her humanity broke down the walls of polite, pedestrian and innocuous interactions.  In a way, the hurried moments of time we were frozen by something far greater than our momentary destination.   This woman’s loss and vulnerability became my wife’s (and subsequently, mine) deep and humbling recognition that we both still have our parents, we both have people we can casually speak words of love to. 

When my wife shared the story, she began to cry and so then, did I. 

From a woman I will probably never meet comes the spirit of the human condition.  Fragile, hurting and seeking, we are human beings, not human doings. I mean, this woman is just one story, one story woven into our history.  When we have these brushes of deep connections with each other, it is imperative that we stop, think and take a deep breath of gratitude.  We are too busy for them to happen consistently.   

It is, once again, a reminder that we are not defined by what we do for a living.  Our jobs make a living.  Our characters make a difference.  Often, we think that because somebody serves coffee or checks names off a list at a security gate or waits on tables, that they are relegated to the confines of their job descriptions.  We cannot let ourselves slip into the tragic callousness where our mission, goals and accomplishments become more important than the people we meet along the way.  For the most part, I find that we’re all just trying to do our best to get by in this highly complicated, freakishly progressive and impossibly complex world.  Although we are all each so unique in our own right – bestowed with a select set of talents, skills and wonder that sets us apart from one another, human nature is not at all that different.  We all have needs, dreams, challenges, losses, ecstasies, frustrations, confusions, questions, ideas, anger, joy and a host of endless other human emotions and constructs that make this world what it is. 

I would suggest that we take a week, at least, to look at every human encounter as an opportunity to metaphorically touch the hand of another.  It doesn’t have to be literal, but it can be.  Whatever you make it to be.  My second suggestion is to pick up the phone and call at least three people you love and just tell them that you love them.   

My wife was not expecting such a remarkable encounter that will not soon leave us.  She was available, at a divine moment, to connect with another person and was reminded that each day is truly a gift.

 

 

In less than a week, we will have crowned the new Best Actor and Best Actress in the world; the best Director; the best film; the best supporting Actor and Actress; the best original score: the best performance by a Seat Filler; best animated feature; best animated supporting caterer; best adaptation of an embarrassing question posed by somebody from Access Hollywood; the best  swath of red carpet; the best dressed; the best original sound mix of an original visual effect; the best presenter; the best  everything… all of it, of course, a matter of opinion.  And, of votes.  5800 of them, to be precise. 

Almost every year, I tell myself I am not going to watch the award shows that span over the course of the brutally cold and rainy winter season in Los Angeles.

I watched The Grammys last week only for Radiohead and U2; more the former than the latter.  And, I have to admit, I have fallen prey to Beyonce’s irritatingly catchy “All the Single Ladies”.  My wife does an adorable rendition of this song in our small apartment, which adds to why I am fond of the song.   But, that’s neither here nor there.  We only have four basic channels on the television, so we couldn’t tune into the SAG Awards last month.  I don’t even remember The Golden Globes.  But, the big one is around the corner.  The Academy Awards.  The Oscars.  By the way, do you know where “Oscar” came from.

The "Oscars®" are officially known as the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences Awards®. They were inaugurated in 1928 as part of Hollywood's drive to improve its less-than-respectable image. Academy librarian and eventual executive director Margaret Herrick remarked that the statuette looked like her uncle Oscar, and the nickname has stuck ever since.

Membership in the Academy is by invitation only, with members divided into 13 branches. Each branch selects up to five nominees for awards in its area of expertise; the entire membership makes "Best Film" nominations and then votes on all the categories. Major awards are: Best Director, Best Actor/Actress and Best Supporting Actor/Actress.

The first ceremony was the only Academy Awards® which was not broadcast in some way. It was attended by 250 people and held at the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel. Today, no tickets are available for public sale and attendence at the event is strictly by invitation only. The tradition of the Academy Awards® dates back nearly 80 years, when the first "talkie" debuted in 1927 called The Jazz Singer.

Since then, the Academy Awards® have been held at Graumen's Chinese Theater(1928-1946), the Shrine Civic Auditorium (1947-1948), Melrose Avenue Theater (1949), RKO Pantages Theatre (1950-1960), Santa Monica Civic Auditorium (1961-1968), and Dorothy Chandler Pavilion (1969-1987). For two dozen years the event was shuttled between venues until 2002, where it has settled once again between the Kodak Theater and the Highland Center® in Hollywood.

www.history.com

I love how they misspelled “attendance” on their website.   See, nobody is perfect.

Anyway,  I am one part cynic and two part optimist and I find this “formula” most evident during award shows.  I have no idea what the “percentages” are, but my guess that there is a large percentage of  ulterior motivation at play in selecting what “the best” of anything is.  We are leaving our hard-earned money doled out at the box offices across the nation, personal aesthetic, subjective artistic integrity and a host of other factors that would otherwise determine the best to only 5800 Academy Members.   The cynic arrives when I think about the millions of dollars spent on marketing campaigns, screeners, advertisements, etc.   The cynic within bullies me mercilessly when I reflect upon the tremendous amount of politicking that tells us, “the American people”, what the best of anything is…

The cynic in me rears its ugly head during the pre-award show where somebody as annoying and inelegant as Joan Rivers puts all the concern on who is wearing what.  It is not a fashion show.  It is a show, I thought, celebrating excellence in the cinematic arts.  Granted, one must wear clothing to such an event, but when businessmen or lawyers get together to stroke each other in front of their peers, do we care what they are wearing?  You see, the whole “clothing thing” reveals how very influential Hollywood is to Joe the Plumber, or, more importantly, Joe the Plumber’s wife.  Award pre-shows are the finest in reality television, because it is highly produced and is set upon telling the less glamorous population how they can be glamorous if either they could make enough money to buy the real gown Nicole Kidman wore, or, in some entertainment show days after the awards, “experts” will tell you how to buy a facsimile of the dress so you can be Beverly Hills glamorous at Target prices.  Why is so much emphasis put on what we wear and how we look?  To the average American, we are convinced that actors roll off the set from a 15-hour work day looking perfect and put together.  They just show up casually to present or accept or win or lose an award and go back to set for another intensely easy and glamorous shoot day.  The dark underbelly reveals the reality my cynical self has been telling me all along – this is a business.  Sex sells as do the dresses that contain it.  This, of course, fuels the already deeply deranged egos that are influencing our culture.  More on this, in a bit.

Now, this year, I was impressed with the movies and know “Slumdog Millionaire” will take Best Picture and its director, Danny Boyle, will take Best Director.  Fantastic.  They deserve it.  It was the only film I saw last year that I didn’t know a single soul on screen.  I didn’t know their names, where they lived, who they were wearing, who they adopted, who they married or recently divorced, where they ate dinner or what politician they support.  I didn’t know any of this and it was glorious.  What made that film transcendent for me was that I was able to get immersed in sheer, audacious and wonderful storytelling.  It was a filmic triumph because it was film is supposed to be about – sweeping photography, simple and passionate story lines, terrific performances and the rare chance to escape to another world, another place and time.  

But, what makes me watch the award shows most are the acceptance speeches.  I am fascinated with gratitude and what form it takes, if at all.  I fondly recollect one Golden Globes years ago when Hugh Laurie won Best Actor for “House”.  He had put the names of the people he wished to thank on pieces of paper and had them mixed up in his pocket.  He drew three names randomly from his pocket and thanked whomever he pulled.   Brilliant.  Concise.  Memorable.

What I wait on when the envelope is opened and the winner announced is to see if and how the best expresses gratitude for standing before his/her peers.  There is always someone to thank and only so little time to do it.  Acceptance speeches range from heart-warming and sincere to awkward and pretentious and everything in between.  At the end of the day, no matter who you are or how much of a fee you command, you wouldn’t be standing on stage holding a gold statuette without a myriad of people who support you directly or otherwise.  No award-winner is an island.  No winner wins without a team of people protecting, advising, nurturing, inspiring and just plain helping.  So, that is my favorite part of award shows – to see who gets thanked and in what manner.  Everyone’s speech is different, but the ones that deeply impact me most are the ones who are brave enough to exhibit humility, wit and brevity.

Being celebrated for being “the best” in anything is a big deal, but it’s not big enough deal for the grossly disproportionate egos and attitudes that often accompany the moniker.   I would love to see an awards show that celebrated the best discoveries for the cures to cancer, AIDS, Lupus, Alzheimer’s, Diabetes, poverty etc.  Can you imagine all the doctors in one room who got together  for dinner, drinks and to celebrate how they made a difference in the world by curing diseases or at least, making breakthroughs toward the cures?   I think it’s important for Hollywood to get a grip on what they are really doing and what they are really winning awards for.  I am not knocking it because I’ll be the first to write my speech moments after being nominated for something.  

Although, one could argue, Hollywood and those brave independent rogues carving their own creative paths, may hold a cure themselves, if not a temporary one.  It’s not a real cure, of course; but a pretend one that can last for a few hours in a dark, mesmerized theatre.  By truthfully and authentically exploring the breadth of our humanity, with tears or laughter or both, there can be good reason to tune in this Sunday evening with friends, family and loved ones…  showing gratitude for the good fortune of being awarded for a role may turn out to be more transcendent than the role itself…

Here is a partial list of nominations by category from:

http://a.oscar.go.com/media/2009/html/print09.html?v2

Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences

- NOMINATIONS BY CATEGORY - 81ST AWARDS -

Performance by an actor in a leading role

Performance by an actor in a supporting role

Performance by an actress in a leading role

Performance by an actress in a supporting role

Best animated feature film of the year

 

"Bolt" (Walt Disney)

Chris Williams and Byron Howard

"Kung Fu Panda" (DreamWorks Animation, Distributed by Paramount)

John Stevenson and Mark Osborne

"WALL-E" (Walt Disney)

Andrew Stanton

 

Michael Albanese is a playwright, screenwriter and part-time poet. A recent transplant to Los Angeles from New York, he loves, in no particular order, all things Italian, art, films, music, theatre, food, wine, etc.  He drinks a lot of coffee and knows just enough about sports to get by.  He has vast experience in the hospitality and service industries and at one point in life, wanted to be a dentist.  He lives with his best friend, who happens to be his wife, who is likely to win an award before he does. 

 

Valentine’s Day

 

To-morrow is Saint Valentine's day,
All in the morning betime,
And I a maid at your window,
To be your Valentine.
Then up he rose, and donn'd his clothes,
And dupp'd the chamber-door;
Let in the maid, that out a maid
Never departed more.
(William Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act IV, Scene 5)

 

I am a hopeless romantic.  For the first year of dating my wife, I wrote her a poem a day for almost 18 months.  When I ran out of amorous inspiration or just got too busy or whatever happened the day I didn’t write her a poem, I compiled the hundreds of poems I had written and printed them out to one day be presented to her if/when I proposed to her.  Well, I did propose to her in Central Park, in a small corridor of trees and benches affectionately known as Poet’s Walk (the last time I saw this location was in the opening scene of the “The Happening”, the dreadful last M. Night Shyamalan film).  So, that evening, by a roaring fireplace in a quaint restaurant in the West Village, I handed my fiancé  her tome of poetry written over the first year or so of our courtship.  It was impressive, I have to say.  Not because I impressed with myself (well, maybe a little), but because that bound collection of words cost me nothing.  It cost me time and creative forethought, and when you have a subject of inspiration such as the one you love, it’s not really a cost as much as it is a gain.    

 

Being married only 5 years (in Hollywood, that is like dog years), I am no expert on love.  But, I do know a few things.  On one hand, love requires everything.  Your time, energy, focus and ability to fight our biggest epidemic – selfishness.  For my wife, one way for me to show love is to not crack my knuckles.  It drives her crazy.  I still do it anyway, because, I forget and I don’t think about doing it when I’m doing it because it is habitually impulsive.  In many ways, for love to be love, the demands are so high that it almost seems impossible to live up to them. However, and this is the wonderful dichotomy, love doesn’t cost much.  And, I mean monetarily.    

 

Did you know that an estimated one billion Valentine’s Day cards are sent worldwide every year?  Next to Christmas, it is the largest “holiday” or sending cards.  Imagine that each one of those billion cards had a $.42 stamp.  That is $420 million dollars on postage alone.  Imagine each card cost $2.99 (some are five dollars more if they sing when opened), but for the sake of simplicity, that is $126 billion on greeting cards.  This doesn’t count the flowers and chocolates and anything/everything else that is given  Is this possible?  Is this right?  Because I see an economic stimulus package hidden amongst the reds and pinks of Valentine greetings. 

 

Maybe Cupid works for the Treasury Department.

 

I am not condemning spending money on your beloved on this “holiday”.  I am suggesting taking a closer look at what is motivating us in our hearts. Because, if we are reserving February 14^th to be the one day out 365 that we celebrate love, then something is wrong.  Every day should be Valentine’s Day.  Every day should hold a small celebration for the love we give and receive, share and grow.  I am also suggesting that we take a look at the sheer commercialization of this holiday, or any holiday for that matter.  We are so “green conscience” these days.  We don’t want to waste or abuse our resources, but just think about the flowers and paper used alone for this one holiday.  Again, I am not placing judgment as much as I am trying to open my own eyes to the realities of how  much we consume, spend and invest in to “show love”.  Showing true love doesn’t come disguised in heart shaped boxes or flowers already on their way to a slow, withering death.   Daily, we have an opportunity to show love in so many ways, that if we just took a break for one year, the millions and millions of dollars we spend could be put toward those who don’t know love, those who don’t have affection, those who have nothing… the marketplace does not have the corner on love. 

 

As I reflect on this day and as I write this stream of consciousness, I am humbled by how fortunate I am to have a wife who loves me.  And, despite my shortcomings, knuckle cracking and impossible perfectionism, she still loves me.  That is something money cannot buy.  There is no price tag on true love. 

 

And, yet, I remain hypocritical, because as I write this, I stare at a big, red bag filled with cookies, a book on poetry, some clothes and the first poem I’ve written my wife in several years.  She is my Valentine, but not just today.

 

 

I was at the Beverly Center today in Los Angeles.  Not my favorite place in the world.  I dislike malls, but make the trek when I need to.  Today, I needed a Mrs. Fields Cookie.  Not for me; for my wife.  She loves the cookies there and I was on the hunt for a Valentine’s Day cookie.  Something heart-shaped and gooey.  While I was in line, half my attention was on the warm-baked goodness coming from the small, but industrial kitchen.  The other half of my attention was commanded by a woman and her three small children.  If I had to guess, I would say they were 9, 5 and 3 respectively.  Like me, the children were fascinated by the array of options available to them.  Unlike me, they were smashed against the glass – the only barrier between the germs on their hands and the purity of butter, sugar and chocolate lurking innocently behind it.  I could tell the mother was exacerbated, if not exhausted.  The kids were changing their minds.  “M&M’s”.  “I want that one!” Which one?  “That one!’.  The mother had to point to at least three cookies before the young girl nodded with glee, gazing at the carefully and correctly selected cookie of choice.  It took all of the mother’s effort and patience to place and order for three cookies, one for each of her children.  The woman behind the counter announced that when you buy three cookies, you get a fourth for free.  It took her a few attempts for the mother to understand, given the girl behind the counter’s heavy accent.  Finally, the mother comprehended that the three cookies she was intending to buy for her bratty children was going to yield a cookie for her .  She took a sigh of relief and you could tell a noticeable difference in her physical demeanor.  As if she was finally being rewarded for countless experiences where she had to make a choice from an endless tray of cookies, an endless shelf of fruit drinks, a boundless supply of candy… whatever it is or could be, I learned two things today.

 

1)    parenting is exhausting and the ultimate sacrifice

2)    there are too many options in the word

 

How can we possibly make a decision with so many options available to us?  What doesn’t have a options?  The post office, I guess.  The DMV.  Anything run by the government?  Now, here is an area where I wish we had more options…

 

 

I’ve been a bit nostalgic lately for New York and how the city and my 18 years there shaped me.  In many ways, the city gave me everything.  My faith, my wife, my friends, my artistic inspiration, my greatest struggles and my greatest joys.

 

I came across this letter I wrote to one of my landlords in the Village years ago.  He kicked my wife and I out of our apartment because, he claimed, a woman with child was moving in.  But, we all know he was raising the rent and didn’t want to renew the lease with us because he would have to give us a smaller rent increase.  I got a kick out of writing it and another one re-reading it.

 

 

Dear                                       ,

 

Thank you for your most recent letter rejecting our attempt to have you buy us out.  We understand.  I’m glad to have at least amazed you a bit.  I doubt you’re amazed often in your line of work.  I hope I amaze the audience during my play in August, which you’re invited to, by the way.  I’ll forward the dates and times once I know them.

 

Now to business.

 

Thank you for accommodating us by offering the option to vacate the apartment earlier than the lease term states.  This is most munificent of you.

 

This letter is to serve as our official notice that we will be moving out of your apartment, on or before August 1st.  Because we couldn’t find an apartment that would suit us and/or we couldn’t afford, we have decided to take residence in the woods of Alaska.

 

You are currently holding a security deposit of $2000.00 (plus accrued interest over the last 24 months).  We would like for you to apply this to July’s rent.  We trust you will find this agreeable.  We had every intention of paying July’s rent, but as you can imagine, we had to come up with funds to get us out of your apartment and into another, leaving us not only with no choice, but no money to apply towards rent for July.  Had we paid for July’s rent, we would not have been able to vacate our current apartment.  This would have caused an old-fashioned pickle. 

 

As mentioned in my last letter, we have thoroughly enjoyed our stay in apartment #1W these last two years.  We did everything in our control to take care of the apartment and create not just a temporary space in which to live, but an actual home.  My wife and I will miss it terribly.  We will also miss the prostitution and drug-use that occurs nightly underneath our window in the well of your apartment building.  It’s been a joy finding needles and condoms laying about from creatures that stir in the night.  That’s been one of the highlights of paying you rent these last few years.  You may want to look into this, particularly if a tenant, with child, is planning to move in.  This could greatly jeopardize the safety and cleanliness of their residency.  We’re just curious, by the way, is somebody with child really moving into apartment #1W, or are you taking advantage of the market and charging an arm and a leg for it? 

 

May we also ask a favor.  Would you kindly send us a letter of recommendation to bolster our chances of securing an apartment.  This would be most helpful in our paperwork and credentials.

 

Thank you.  We appreciate your accommodation, both in a physical apartment and for allowing us to vacate earlier than expected. 

 

 

Best wishes,

 

Michael Albanese

 

Michael currently loves his Los Angeles landlord.

Another great essay from another terrific author.

1946 – George Orwell

Most people who bother with the matter at all would admit that the English language is in a bad way, but it is generally assumed that we cannot by conscious action do anything about it. Our civilization is decadent and our language -- so the argument runs -- must inevitably share in the general collapse. It follows that any struggle against the abuse of language is a sentimental archaism, like preferring candles to electric light or hansom cabs to aeroplanes. Underneath this lies the half-conscious belief that language is a natural growth and not an instrument which we shape for our own purposes.

Now, it is clear that the decline of a language must ultimately have political and economic causes: it is not due simply to the bad influence of this or that individual writer. But an effect can become a cause, reinforcing the original cause and producing the same effect in an intensified form, and so on indefinitely. A man may take to drink because he feels himself to be a failure, and then fail all the more completely because he drinks. It is rather the same thing that is happening to the English language. It becomes ugly and inaccurate because our thoughts are foolish, but the slovenliness of our language makes it easier for us to have foolish thoughts. The point is that the process is reversible. Modern English, especially written English, is full of bad habits which spread by imitation and which can be avoided if one is willing to take the necessary trouble. If one gets rid of these habits one can think more clearly, and to think clearly is a necessary first step toward political regeneration: so that the fight against bad English is not frivolous and is not the exclusive concern of professional writers. I will come back to this presently, and I hope that by that time the meaning of what I have said here will have become clearer. Meanwhile, here are five specimens of the English language as it is now habitually written.

These five passages have not been picked out because they are especially bad -- I could have quoted far worse if I had chosen -- but because they illustrate various of the mental vices from which we now suffer. They are a little below the average, but are fairly representative examples. I number them so that I can refer back to them when necessary:

 

1.      I am not, indeed, sure whether it is not true to say that the Milton who once seemed not unlike a seventeenth-century Shelley had not become, out of an experience ever more bitter in each year, more alien [sic] to the founder of that Jesuit sect which nothing could induce him to tolerate.

Professor Harold Laski
(Essay in Freedom of Expression )

2.      Above all, we cannot play ducks and drakes with a native battery of idioms which prescribes egregious collocations of vocables as the Basic put up with for tolerate , or put at a loss for bewilder .

Professor Lancelot Hogben (Interglossia )

3.      On the one side we have the free personality: by definition it is not neurotic, for it has neither conflict nor dream. Its desires, such as they are, are transparent, for they are just what institutional approval keeps in the forefront of consciousness; another institutional pattern would alter their number and intensity; there is little in them that is natural, irreducible, or culturally dangerous. But on the other side ,the social bond itself is nothing but the mutual reflection of these self-secure integrities. Recall the definition of love. Is not this the very picture of a small academic? Where is there a place in this hall of mirrors for either personality or fraternity?

Essay on psychology in Politics (New York )

4.      All the "best people" from the gentlemen's clubs, and all the frantic fascist captains, united in common hatred of Socialism and bestial horror at the rising tide of the mass revolutionary movement, have turned to acts of provocation, to foul incendiarism, to medieval legends of poisoned wells, to legalize their own destruction of proletarian organizations, and rouse the agitated petty-bourgeoise to chauvinistic fervor on behalf of the fight against the revolutionary way out of the crisis.

Communist pamphlet

5.      If a new spirit is to be infused into this old country, there is one thorny and contentious reform which must be tackled, and that is the humanization and galvanization of the B.B.C. Timidity here will bespeak canker and atrophy of the soul. The heart of Britain may be sound and of strong beat, for instance, but the British lion's roar at present is like that of Bottom in Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream -- as gentle as any sucking dove. A virile new Britain cannot continue indefinitely to be traduced in the eyes or rather ears, of the world by the effete languors of Langham Place, brazenly masquerading as "standard English." When the Voice of Britain is heard at nine o'clock, better far and infinitely less ludicrous to hear aitches honestly dropped than the present priggish, inflated, inhibited, school-ma'amish arch braying of blameless bashful mewing maidens!

Letter in Tribune

Each of these passages has faults of its own, but, quite apart from avoidable ugliness, two qualities are common to all of them. The first is staleness of imagery; the other is lack of precision. The writer either has a meaning and cannot express it, or he inadvertently says something else, or he is almost indifferent as to whether his words mean anything or not. This mixture of vagueness and sheer incompetence is the most marked characteristic of modern English prose, and especially of any kind of political writing. As soon as certain topics are raised, the concrete melts into the abstract and no one seems able to think of turns of speech that are not hackneyed: prose consists less and less of words chosen for the sake of their meaning, and more and more of phrases tacked together like the sections of a prefabricated henhouse. I list below, with notes and examples, various of the tricks by means of which the work of prose construction is habitually dodged:

 

Dying metaphors. A newly invented metaphor assists thought by evoking a visual image, while on the other hand a metaphor which is technically "dead" (e.g. iron resolution ) has in effect reverted to being an ordinary word and can generally be used without loss of vividness. But in between these two classes there is a huge dump of worn-out metaphors which have lost all evocative power and are merely used because they save people the trouble of inventing phrases for themselves. Examples are: Ring the changes on, take up the cudgel for, toe the line, ride roughshod over, stand shoulder to shoulder with, play into the hands of, no axe to grind, grist to the mill, fishing in troubled waters, on the order of the day, Achilles' heel, swan song, hotbed . Many of these are used without knowledge of their meaning (what is a "rift," for instance?), and incompatible metaphors are frequently mixed, a sure sign that the writer is not interested in what he is saying. Some metaphors now current have been twisted out of their original meaning withouth those who use them even being aware of the fact. For example, toe the line is sometimes written as tow the line . Another example is the hammer and the anvil , now always used with the implication that the anvil gets the worst of it. In real life it is always the anvil that breaks the hammer, never the other way about: a writer who stopped to think what he was saying would avoid perverting the original phrase.

Operators or verbal false limbs. These save the trouble of picking out appropriate verbs and nouns, and at the same time pad each sentence with extra syllables which give it an appearance of symmetry. Characteristic phrases are render inoperative, militate against, make contact with, be subjected to, give rise to, give grounds for, have the effect of, play a leading part (role) in, make itself felt, take effect, exhibit a tendency to, serve the purpose of, etc.,etc . The keynote is the elimination of simple verbs. Instead of being a single word, such as break, stop, spoil, mend, kill , a verb becomes a phrase , made up of a noun or adjective tacked on to some general-purpose verb such as prove, serve, form, play, render . In addition, the passive voice is wherever possible used in preference to the active, and noun constructions are used instead of gerunds (by examination of instead of by examining ). The range of verbs is further cut down by means of the -ize and de- formations, and the banal statements are given an appearance of profundity by means of the not un- formation. Simple conjunctions and prepositions are replaced by such phrases as with respect to, having regard to, the fact that, by dint of, in view of, in the interests of, on the hypothesis that ; and the ends of sentences are saved by anticlimax by such resounding commonplaces as greatly to be desired, cannot be left out of account, a development to be expected in the near future, deserving of serious consideration, brought to a satisfactory conclusion , and so on and so forth.

 

Pretentious diction. Words like phenomenon, element, individual (as noun), objective, categorical, effective, virtual, basic, primary, promote, constitute, exhibit, exploit, utilize, eliminate, liquidate , are used to dress up a simple statement and give an aire of scientific impartiality to biased judgements. Adjectives like epoch-making, epic, historic, unforgettable, triumphant, age-old, inevitable, inexorable, veritable , are used to dignify the sordid process of international politics, while writing that aims at glorifying war usually takes on an archaic color, its characteristic words being: realm, throne, chariot, mailed fist, trident, sword, shield, buckler, banner, jackboot, clarion . Foreign words and expressions such as cul de sac, ancien r&eacutgime, deus ex machina, mutatis mutandis, status quo, gleichschaltung, weltanschauung , are used to give an air of culture and elegance. Except for the useful abbreviations i.e., e.g. , and etc. , there is no real need for any of the hundreds of foreign phrases now current in the English language. Bad writers, and especially scientific, political, and sociological writers, are nearly always haunted by the notion that Latin or Greek words are grander than Saxon ones, and unnecessary words like expedite, ameliorate, predict, extraneous, deracinated, clandestine, subaqueous , and hundreds of others constantly gain ground from their Anglo-Saxon numbers. The jargon peculiar to Marxist writing (hyena, hangman, cannibal, petty bourgeois, these gentry, lackey, flunkey, mad dog, White Guard , etc.) consists largely of words translated from Russian, German, or French; but the normal way of coining a new word is to use Latin or Greek root with the appropriate affix and, where necessary, the size formation. It is often easier to make up words of this kind (deregionalize, impermissible, extramarital, non-fragmentary and so forth) than to think up the English words that will cover one's meaning. The result, in general, is an increase in slovenliness and vagueness.

 

Meaningless words. In certain kinds of writing, particularly in art criticism and literary criticism, it is normal to come across long passages which are almost completely lacking in meaning. Words like romantic, plastic, values, human, dead, sentimental, natural, vitality , as used in art criticism, are strictly meaningless, in the sense that they not only do not point to any discoverable object, but are hardly ever expected to do so by the reader. When one critic writes, "The outstanding feature of Mr. X's work is its living quality," while another writes, "The immediately striking thing about Mr. X's work is its peculiar deadness," the reader accepts this as a simple difference opinion. If words like black and white were involved, instead of the jargon words dead and living, he would see at once that language was being used in an improper way. Many political words are similarly abused. The word Fascism has now no meaning except in so far as it signifies "something not desirable." The words democracy, socialism, freedom, patriotic, realistic, justice have each of them several different meanings which cannot be reconciled with one another. In the case of a word like democracy, not only is there no agreed definition, but the attempt to make one is resisted from all sides. It is almost universally felt that when we call a country democratic we are praising it: consequently the defenders of every kind of regime claim that it is a democracy, and fear that they might have to stop using that word if it were tied down to any one meaning. Words of this kind are often used in a consciously dishonest way. That is, the person who uses them has his own private definition, but allows his hearer to think he means something quite different. Statements like Marshal Petain was a true patriot, The Soviet press is the freest in the world, The Catholic Church is opposed to persecution, are almost always made with intent to deceive. Other words used in variable meanings, in most cases more or less dishonestly, are: class, totalitarian, science, progressive, reactionary, bourgeois, equality.

Now that I have made this catalogue of swindles and perversions, let me give another example of the kind of writing that they lead to. This time it must of its nature be an imaginary one. I am going to translate a passage of good English into modern English of the worst sort. Here is a well-known verse from

 

Ecclesiastes:

I returned and saw under the sun, that the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, neither yet bread to the wise, nor yet riches to men of understanding, nor yet favour to men of skill; but time and chance happeneth to them all.

Here it is in modern English:

Objective considerations of contemporary phenomena compel the conclusion that success or failure in competitive activities exhibits no tendency to be commensurate with innate capacity, but that a considerable element of the unpredictable must invariably be taken into account.

This is a parody, but not a very gross one. Exhibit (3) above, for instance, contains several patches of the same kind of English. It will be seen that I have not made a full translation. The beginning and ending of the sentence follow the original meaning fairly closely, but in the middle the concrete illustrations -- race, battle, bread -- dissolve into the vague phrases "success or failure in competitive activities." This had to be so, because no modern writer of the kind I am discussing -- no one capable of using phrases like "objective considerations of contemporary phenomena" -- would ever tabulate his thoughts in that precise and detailed way. The whole tendency of modern prose is away from concreteness. Now analyze these two sentences a little more closely. The first contains forty-nine words but only sixty syllables, and all its words are those of everyday life. The second contains thirty-eight words of ninety syllables: eighteen of those words are from Latin roots, and one from Greek. The first sentence contains six vivid images, and only one phrase ("time and chance") that could be called vague. The second contains not a single fresh, arresting phrase, and in spite of its ninety syllables it gives only a shortened version of the meaning contained in the first. Yet without a doubt it is the second kind of sentence that is gaining ground in modern English. I do not want to exaggerate. This kind of writing is not yet universal, and outcrops of simplicity will occur here and there in the worst-written page. Still, if you or I were told to write a few lines on the uncertainty of human fortunes, we should probably come much nearer to my imaginary sentence than to the one from Ecclesiastes. As I have tried to show, modern writing at its worst does not consist in picking out words for the sake of their meaning and inventing images in order to make the meaning clearer. It consists in gumming together long strips of words which have already been set in order by someone else, and making the results presentable by sheer humbug. The attraction of this way of writing is that it is easy. It is easier -- even quicker, once you have the habit -- to say In my opinion it is not an unjustifiable assumption that than to say I think. If you use ready-made phrases, you not only don't have to hunt about for the words; you also don't have to bother with the rhythms of your sentences since these phrases are generally so arranged as to be more or less euphonious. When you are composing in a hurry -- when you are dictating to a stenographer, for instance, or making a public speech -- it is natural to fall into a pretentious, Latinized style. Tags like a consideration which we should do well to bear in mind or a conclusion to which all of us would readily assent will save many a sentence from coming down with a bump. By using stale metaphors, similes, and idioms, you save much mental effort, at the cost of leaving your meaning vague, not only for your reader but for yourself. This is the significance of mixed metaphors. The sole aim of a metaphor is to call up a visual image. When these images clash -- as in The Fascist octopus has sung its swan song, the jackboot is thrown into the melting pot -- it can be taken as certain that the writer is not seeing a mental image of the objects he is naming; in other words he is not really thinking. Look again at the examples I gave at the beginning of this essay. Professor Laski (1) uses five negatives in fifty three words. One of these is superfluous, making nonsense of the whole passage, and in addition there is the slip -- alien for akin -- making further nonsense, and several avoidable pieces of clumsiness which increase the general vagueness. Professor Hogben (2) plays ducks and drakes with a battery which is able to write prescriptions, and, while disapproving of the everyday phrase put up with, is unwilling to look egregious up in the dictionary and see what it means; (3), if one takes an uncharitable attitude towards it, is simply meaningless: probably one could work out its intended meaning by reading the whole of the article in which it occurs. In (4), the writer knows more or less what he wants to say, but an accumulation of stale phrases chokes him like tea leaves blocking a sink. In (5), words and meaning have almost parted company. People who write in this manner usually have a general emotional meaning -- they dislike one thing and want to express solidarity with another -- but they are not interested in the detail of what they are saying. A scrupulous writer, in every sentence that he writes, will ask himself at least four questions, thus:

 

1.      What am I trying to say?

2.      What words will express it?

3.      What image or idiom will make it clearer?

4.      Is this image fresh enough to have an effect?

 

And he will probably ask himself two more:

 

1.      Could I put it more shortly?

2.      Have I said anything that is avoidably ugly?

 

But you are not obliged to go to all this trouble. You can shirk it by simply throwing your mind open and letting the ready-made phrases come crowding in. The will construct your sentences for you -- even think your thoughts for you, to a certain extent -- and at need they will perform the important service of partially concealing your meaning even from yourself. It is at this point that the special connection between politics and the debasement of language becomes clear.

In our time it is broadly true that political writing is bad writing. Where it is not true, it will generally be found that the writer is some kind of rebel, expressing his private opinions and not a "party line." Orthodoxy, of whatever color, seems to demand a lifeless, imitative style. The political dialects to be found in pamphlets, leading articles, manifestoes, White papers and the speeches of undersecretaries do, of course, vary from party to party, but they are all alike in that one almost never finds in them a fresh, vivid, homemade turn of speech. When one watches some tired hack on the platform mechanically repeating the familiar phrases -- bestial, atrocities, iron heel, bloodstained tyranny, free peoples of the world, stand shoulder to shoulder -- one often has a curious feeling that one is not watching a live human being but some kind of dummy: a feeling which suddenly becomes stronger at moments when the light catches the speaker's spectacles and turns them into blank discs which seem to have no eyes behind them. And this is not altogether fanciful. A speaker who uses that kind of phraseology has gone some distance toward turning himself into a machine. The appropriate noises are coming out of his larynx, but his brain is not involved as it would be if he were choosing his words for himself. If the speech he is making is one that he is accustomed to make over and over again, he may be almost unconscious of what he is saying, as one is when one utters the responses in church. And this reduced state of consciousness, if not indispensable, is at any rate favorable to political conformity.

 

In our time, political speech and writing are largely the defense of the indefensible. Things like the continuance of British rule in India, the Russian purges and deportations, the dropping of the atom bombs on Japan, can indeed be defended, but only by arguments which are too brutal for most people to face, and which do not square with the professed aims of the political parties. Thus political language has to consist largely of euphemism., question-begging and sheer cloudy vagueness. Defenseless villages are bombarded from the air, the inhabitants driven out into the countryside, the cattle machine-gunned, the huts set on fire with incendiary bullets: this is called pacification. Millions of peasants are robbed of their farms and sent trudging along the roads with no more than they can carry: this is called transfer of population or rectification of frontiers. People are imprisoned for years without trial, or shot in the back of the neck or sent to die of scurvy in Arctic lumber camps: this is called elimination of unreliable elements. Such phraseology is needed if one wants to name things without calling up mental pictures of them. Consider for instance some comfortable English professor defending Russian totalitarianism. He cannot say outright, "I believe in killing off your opponents when you can get good results by doing so." Probably, therefore, he will say something like this:

While freely conceding that the Soviet regime exhibits certain features which the humanitarian may be inclined to deplore, we must, I think, agree that a certain curtailment of the right to political opposition is an unavoidable concomitant of transitional periods, and that the rigors which the Russian people have been called upon to undergo have been amply justified in the sphere of concrete achievement.

The inflated style itself is a kind of euphemism. A mass of Latin words falls upon the facts like soft snow, blurring the outline and covering up all the details. The great enemy of clear language is insincerity. When there is a gap between one's real and one's declared aims, one turns as it were instinctively to long words and exhausted idioms, like a cuttlefish spurting out ink. In our age there is no such thing as "keeping out of politics." All issues are political issues, and politics itself is a mass of lies, evasions, folly, hatred, and schizophrenia. When the general atmosphere is bad, language must suffer. I should expect to find -- this is a guess which I have not sufficient knowledge to verify -- that the German, Russian and Italian languages have all deteriorated in the last ten or fifteen years, as a result of dictatorship.

But if thought corrupts language, language can also corrupt thought. A bad usage can spread by tradition and imitation even among people who should and do know better. The debased language that I have been discussing is in some ways very convenient. Phrases like a not unjustifiable assumption, leaves much to be desired, would serve no good purpose, a consideration which we should do well to bear in mind, are a continuous temptation, a packet of aspirins always at one's elbow. Look back through this essay, and for certain you will find that I have again and again committed the very faults I am protesting against. By this morning's post I have received a pamphlet dealing with conditions in Germany. The author tells me that he "felt impelled" to write it. I open it at random, and here is almost the first sentence I see: "[The Allies] have an opportunity not only of achieving a radical transformation of Germany's social and political structure in such a way as to avoid a nationalistic reaction in Germany itself, but at the same time of laying the foundations of a co-operative and unified Europe." You see, he "feels impelled" to write -- feels, presumably, that he has something new to say -- and yet his words, like cavalry horses answering the bugle, group themselves automatically into the familiar dreary pattern. This invasion of one's mind by ready-made phrases ( lay the foundations, achieve a radical transformation ) can only be prevented if one is constantly on guard against them, and every such phrase anaesthetizes a portion of one's brain.

I said earlier that the decadence of our language is probably curable. Those who deny this would argue, if they produced an argument at all, that language merely reflects existing social conditions, and that we cannot influence its development by any direct tinkering with words and constructions. So far as the general tone or spirit of a language goes, this may be true, but it is not true in detail. Silly words and expressions have often disappeared, not through any evolutionary process but owing to the conscious action of a minority. Two recent examples were explore every avenue and leave no stone unturned , which were killed by the jeers of a few journalists. There is a long list of flyblown metaphors which could similarly be got rid of if enough people would interest themselves in the job; and it should also be possible to laugh the not un- formation out of existence, to reduce the amount of Latin and Greek in the average sentence, to drive out foreign phrases and strayed scientific words, and, in general, to make pretentiousness unfashionable. But all these are minor points. The defense of the English language implies more than this, and perhaps it is best to start by saying what it does not imply.

 

To begin with it has nothing to do with archaism, with the salvaging of obsolete words and turns of speech, or with the setting up of a "standard English" which must never be departed from. On the contrary, it is especially concerned with the scrapping of every word or idiom which has outworn its usefulness. It has nothing to do with correct grammar and syntax, which are of no importance so long as one makes one's meaning clear, or with the avoidance of Americanisms, or with having what is called a "good prose style." On the other hand, it is not concerned with fake simplicity and the attempt to make written English colloquial. Nor does it even imply in every case preferring the Saxon word to the Latin one, though it does imply using the fewest and shortest words that will cover one's meaning. What is above all needed is to let the meaning choose the word, and not the other way around. In prose, the worst thing one can do with words is surrender to them. When yo think of a concrete object, you think wordlessly, and then, if you want to describe the thing you have been visualizing you probably hunt about until you find the exact words that seem to fit it. When you think of something abstract you are more inclined to use words from the start, and unless you make a conscious effort to prevent it, the existing dialect will come rushing in and do the job for you, at the expense of blurring or even changing your meaning. Probably it is better to put off using words as long as possible and get one's meaning as clear as one can through pictures and sensations. Afterward one can choose -- not simply accept -- the phrases that will best cover the meaning, and then switch round and decide what impressions one's words are likely to make on another person. This last effort of the mind cuts out all stale or mixed images, all prefabricated phrases, needless repetitions, and humbug and vagueness generally. But one can often be in doubt about the effect of a word or a phrase, and one needs rules that one can rely on when instinct fails. I think the following rules will cover most cases:

 

1.      Never use a metaphor, simile, or other figure of speech which you are used to seeing in print.

2.      Never us a long word where a short one will do.

3.      If it is possible to cut a word out, always cut it out.

4.      Never use the passive where you can use the active.

5.      Never use a foreign phrase, a scientific word, or a jargon word if you can think of an everyday English equivalent.

6.      Break any of these rules sooner than say anything outright barbarous.

 

These rules sound elementary, and so they are, but they demand a deep change of attitude in anyone who has grown used to writing in the style now fashionable. One could keep all of them and still write bad English, but one could not write the kind of stuff that I quoted in those five specimens at the beginning of this article.

 

I have not here been considering the literary use of language, but merely language as an instrument for expressing and not for concealing or preventing thought. Stuart Chase and others have come near to claiming that all abstract words are meaningless, and have used this as a pretext for advocating a kind of political quietism. Since you don't know what Fascism is, how can you struggle against Fascism? One need not swallow such absurdities as this, but one ought to recognize that the present political chaos is connected with the decay of language, and that one can probably bring about some improvement by starting at the verbal end. If you simplify your English, you are freed from the worst follies of orthodoxy. You cannot speak any of the necessary dialects, and when you make a stupid remark its stupidity will be obvious, even to yourself. Political language -- and with variations this is true of all political parties, from Conservatives to Anarchists -- is designed to make lies sound truthful and murder respectable, and to give an appearance of solidity to pure wind. One cannot change this all in a moment, but one can at least change one's own habits, and from time to time one can even, if one jeers loudly enough, send some worn-out and useless phrase -- some jackboot, Achilles' heel, hotbed, melting pot, acid test, veritable inferno, or other lump of verbal refuse -- into the dustbin, where it belongs.

1946

 

Most of us are doing the best we can to find whatever the right balance is . . .
For me, that balance is family, work, and service."  - Hillary Rodham Clinton

 

I am not a big fan of Hillary Clinton.  Never have been.  I know, I could be kidnapped and anchored to the bottom of the Pacific Ocean for saying it.  But, I’m a New Yorker and we’re known for our honesty at the cost of popularity.  But, this isn’t a diatribe against Secretary of State Clinton.  This is about my agreement with this quote.

 

Most of us are doing the best we can to find whatever the right balance is…

 

What is the “right” balance?  What is the wrong balance?  What is balance?

 

Here are the first three definitions of “balance” on www.dictionary.com

 

1.    A state of equilibrium or equipoise; equal distribution of weight, amount, etc.

2.    Something used to produce equilibrium; counterpoise

3.    Mental steadiness or emotional stability; habit of calm behavior, judgment, etc.*

 

I love looking up words; especially words I already know the meaning of.  Because, I realize that no matter how I define a word, there is always an objective definition that will always challenge us if we allow it.

 

I like the third definition best and it seems to be the most practical and relevant to today’s society.  Mental steadiness.  I’d like that.  Emotional stability.  Sign me up.  Habit of calm behavior?  I have a temper at times, so yes, some of that, please…

 

But, how do we achieve this “habit of calm behavior”… this equilibrium in life.  For many, it is through spiritual, faith-filled journeys… for others, it is a bi-monthly day at the spa… even still, for others, they are trying to figure it out and as Clinton says doing their best to find whatever the right balance is…

 

Within my community of friends, artists and colleagues, I find two governing mentalities.  Those who like to work, and do.  And, those who don’t like to work, and try not to.  For the former group (of which I fall into), the challenge is finding that work-life balance when the heavy demands of a job come calling on a daily basis.  Most of my friends are artists – actors, writers, musicians, directors, etc.  And, most of them have to work a “day job” to pay the bills.  Nothing uncommon there.  But, for those who pursue excellence in their day job to support the excellence they pursue in their artistic life, striking a balance between the two becomes progressively more and more difficult.  I know, because I’ve been trying to find that balance my whole life. 

 

When one is taken away from his/her passions in order to merely support the opportunity to pursue the passion, it creates a strange sensation and frustrating reality.  We have to do one in order to do the other; yet, at the same time, we are doing more of one and less of the other.  In fact, the more we do of one, it is almost guaranteed that we will do less of the other.  This is what I would humbly call “imbalance”.  I am going through it right now.  My job is demanding so much of me right now.  I am grateful for it. I love what I do.  I love who I work with – my second family (after all, we spend more time with the people we work with than the people we most love). 

 

Making art is not like paying bills or grocery shopping or mowing the lawn (for those who actually have a lawn).  Those are very specific tasks you can allot time for and are actually guaranteed to complete them, assuming, of course, you do them.  But, making art – writing, sculpting, painting, etc. – you can allot a chunk of time and nothing could come during that period.  Or, a good deal could.  The discipline is showing up to work – the miracle is when work is produced.  And, then 90% of what is produced is eventually discarded, whether by self, others or the “industry” (I hate that term – it’s so dehumanizing to artists).  So, although you set aside time and energy to create, there is no guarantee there will be creation. 

 

Which is why it is important to always remember that when we are NOT creating (at the day job, on the subway, stuck in traffic on the 405, mowing the lawn, etc.) we actually are most fertile because our “art” is not the centerpiece of our attention.  And, in some strange, inexplicable way, we are still creating by simply doing other, less profound activity.  That’s my experience, at least.    And, when we can begin to embrace that our lives and the balance we are all doing our best to find, is an ongoing work-in-progress, I think we will be in the best position to find – and enjoy – a work-life balance.  After all, this kind of balance can bring equilibrium, emotional stability and habit of calm behavior.

 

I certainly would agree with Hillary Clinton with what she finds to be an appropriate balance – family, work and service.  That is a good starting point. 

 

I really encourage us all to continue working hard to find the balance among the top priorities in our life.  We make time for what is most important and we would do well to do our best to find  whatever the right balance is.

 

 

Michael Albanese is a playwright and screenwriter. A recent transplant to Los Angeles from New York, he loves, in no particular order, all things Italian, art, films, music, theatre, food, wine, etc.  He drinks a lot of coffee and knows just enough about sports to get by.  He has vast experience in the entertainment, hospitality and service industries and at one point in life, wanted to be a dentist.  He lives with his best friend, who happens to be his wife.  He finds his pursuit for balance to often be quite imbalanced.

 

 

 

 

"No one ever attains very eminent success by simply doing what is required of him;

 it is the amount and excellence of what is over and above the required that determines

 the greatness of ultimate distinction.”  

 

I’ve always loved this quote.  I know it was coined by Charles Kendall Adams, an American historian.  And, if our words, our quotes are indicators of our character, he was a profound man. 

 

We live in profound times.  We are in a great economic recession.  The unemployment rate is off the charts (589,000 Americans filed for unemployment last month).  I can’t even begin to plumb the depths of the corporate greed of Wall Street, the deception of Bernard Madoff, the collapse of AIG and other titans of the financial world.  There is a long list of other social and economic injustices that have plagued our country in just the last 6 months. 

 

The world is changing at an alarming rate. 

 

(check out: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cL9Wu2kWwSY)

 

But, what doesn’t seem to change is human nature, more specifically, the human spirit.  Empires have come and gone, risen and fallen (perhaps we are the cusp of a fall right now?) but the human spirit seems to be the most enduring force throughout history. 

 

When I think of successful people, I measure their achievements by my own personal definition of success.  We all, inherently, have standards, or definitions by which we judge success.  Apparently, those on Wall Street who wrapped themselves up in “Ponzi” schemes define it this way.  Success = more.  When “more” is how you define success, it’s easy to stop at nothing to achieve it even if it means taking from or hurting others along the way.

 

But, it’s this brand of success, I’m afraid, that robs humanity of more than it’s assets.   It steals it soul and the very spirit which is challenged in tough times like these.

 

Another definition of success was witnessed last week when I met an older man who came to my office to clean the carpets. We needed a spot-cleaning, not a full job.  The gentleman who was in charge of the cleaning was friendly, polite and professional.  He assessed the carpet as the receptionist pointed out the most glaring, troubled spots (we are all coffee drinkers and spills are inevitable).   I asked the man how long the job would take.  He said it would take less than an hour.  That he has been doing this for over 30 years and that he is really fast.

 

As he began to pre-spray the carpet, he made as passing comment as I walked by.  He said that everyone seems to like their jobs and that there was a positive energy in the room.  I was appreciative of the observation.  I asked him why he thought that and he said it’s probably because everyone is grateful to have a job.  He went on to explain how he gets up every morning and thanks God that he has a job.  He is not blind s to how difficult it is “out there”, that place you either live in or just know about thanks to the newspapers. 

 

I was struck by this man’s optimism and his sheer attitude of gratefulness and acknowledgement for what he has, not to mention his ability to recognize it in others.  I mean, human nature might be dismissive in that moment and simply say, “but he cleans carpets.”  But, it’s the carpet cleaners, the street sweepers and the window washers that deserve the kind of attention and respect most seem to give because of how we define success. 

 

When I returned to work today, I noticed the entire carpet was clean.  Not just the spots.  Not just the required.   This man did not do what was simply required of him.  He went above and beyond the required, achieving the greatness of ultimate distinction.

 

You see, it’s not the Wall Street executives that received the 6^th largest end of year bonus in history ($18 billion in 2008!) that have me challenging my definitions of success.  It is not those who have gained “more” for themselves that have left an indelible mark on my mind.

 

It is this man, this carpet cleaner, who did more than what was required that has me provoked and humbled.

 

Like him, for those of us who still have jobs, we should wake each morning with an overwhelming sense of gratitude.

 

As the nation gets bailed out with billions of dollars… as the playing field becomes a bit more leveled… as we seek to be more responsible with how we spend and earn our money… it is time we revisit our definition of success. 

 

Ultimately, how we define this fleeting term will create the lens that we look at the world through.  It will shape how we treat one another… and ultimately, when we have a clean carpet to lay on, a clear window to see through and a clear street to walk upon, we’ll think more about the greatness of ultimate distinction and less about more.

 

Michael Albanese is a playwright and screenwriter. A recent transplant to Los Angeles from New York, he loves, in no particular order, all things Italian, art, films, music, theatre, food, wine, etc.  He drinks a lot of coffee and knows just enough about sports to get by.  He has vast experience in the hospitality and service industries and at one point in life, wanted to be a dentist.  He lives with his best friend, who happens to be his wife.  He is so grateful to have a job and hopes that he can one day meet his carpet cleaner friend again to thank him for the inspiration.

 

 

 

 

On December 16, 2005 (don’t ask me how I remember that), my wife and I were sitting in the very back row of the United Artist Theatres on 13^th & Broadway in New York City.  We were moments away from the previews and even several more moments away from watching Peter Jackson’s re-imagining of “King Kong”.  I’ll reserve my comments on the film for a more cinematically critical blog.  Imagine this.  My wife is sitting next to me on the left.  Next to her is an empty seat and next to the empty seat, there is a gentlemen sitting by himself.  Now, before I go on, you have to know… I am a huge film lover.  I love films, all kinds of them.  My mother took me to see Fellini films when I was six years old at the only art-house cinema in Atlanta.  My parents, when they couldn’t find a babysitter, too me to a drive-in to see “The Exorcist” and then, soon thereafter, “Scarface” as a kid.  My wife didn’t believe me when I told her and to this day feels this was some form child abuse.

I just love movies.  On big screens, small screens, reruns, independent, foreign, everything.  I’ve been to every movie theatre in New York City, including, countless times, the poorly designed, but cinema aficionado’s paradise, The Angelika.  I love popcorn and peanut M&M’s.  I pour the peanut M&M’s, occasionally, over my popcorn.  I love getting there early and finding the best seats.  I love previews.  I love the community of other like-minded individuals who enjoy the whole process as much as I do.  That is why I will never set foot into some movie theatres ever again.  They just breed those people who love to talk to themselves, or on their cell phone, and, worst of all, to the screen.  One time, I yelled out in the dark, “THEY CAN’T HEAR YOU!”, as a man was speaking to the on-screen actors.  I have been known to get into fights in the movies.  I am passionate about the experience, not only because I have paid for it, but filmmakers have gone through extraordinary heights and depths to get their films made.

Anyway, this particular day cold day in December in this particular movie theatre, on this particular row, there was a particular man three seats down from me that had his particular finger so far up his nose, my peripheral vision was constantly engaged.  I couldn’t believe it.  We sat there and watched him pick his nose, pull something juicy out of it, roll it between his thump and pointer finger and the WIPE IT IN THE CUPHOLDER.  He did this TWICE.  I was revolted.  Amazed.  Incensed.  I just couldn’t let this microbial injustice take place.  So, I leaned up and over my wife’s lap and proceeded to say, “Excuse me!  Sir!  I just saw you pick your nose and wipe a booger in the cup holder!  You need to leave this theatre immediately and wash your hands!”.  By this time, my wife had tears of laughter streaming out of her eyes.  1) she couldn’t believe we saw him do this 2) she couldn’t believe I confronted him for doing it and 3) she couldn’t believe that her husband, a grown man, used the word “booger” when confronting another grown man; a complete stranger.

Now, I’m not saying there are not nose-picking folks in Los Angeles, but I have yet to find one at the Arclight in Hollywood -- a place that is home away from home.  Look, I know it’s not perfect.  They have one rickety-ass parking validation machine per 9000 people.  That’s annoying.  The design is flawed at the Customer Service Desk.  There are several things I am not blind to, but as far as a full on movie-going experience, this is the place to do it.  Reserved seating (and, likely, you’re sitting next to, in front of behind true film lovers such as yourself), higher quality concessions (including homemade caramel popcorn), a loyalty reward program, clean bathrooms, a gift store, coffee, live human beings welcoming you to the theatre and on-deck in case of sound and picture mishaps.  There are no advertisements and, to date, no nose pickers.  And, it’s a terrific place for people watching.  A lot of characters on and off the screens.

I love the Arclight and think they offer the best movie-going experience I’ve found to date.  However, a friend of mine recently introduced me to Landmark Theatres and I equally enjoyed that experience for some of the same reasons. 

I’ve run out of things to say.  If you haven’t been to the Arclight and you love movies, check it out.

Michael Albanese is a playwright, screenwriter and part-time poet. A recent transplant to Los Angeles from New York, he loves, in no particular order, all things Italian, art, films, music, theatre, food, wine, etc.  He drinks a lot of coffee and knows just enough about sports to get by.  He has vast experience in the hospitality and service industries and at one point in life, wanted to be a dentist.  He lives with his best friend, who happens to be his wife, and has a stuffed dog because he won't commit to getting a real one.  He currently has 461 points on his Arclight card.

 

 

I have a great deal of respect for my father.  He may not know this, but I do.  He grew up in the Little Italy neighborhood of New York City and dropped out of high school to take a full-time job at a pizza restaurant.  He would hand over his paycheck each week to his mother to help ends meet for his family.  His father was an immigrant from Italy and a longshoreman.  Hard work, if you could get it.  My Dad drove a taxi, joined the Army (was spared from going to Vietnam), came back to New York and started work on Wall Street.  He had no experience or education.  Just old fashioned street smarts and a strong work ethic.  He eventually moved us to Georgia where he took a management job at the old firm, Dean Witter Reynolds.  He worked up the ladder and took the Series 7 exam, making him a bona fide stock broker.  He worked hard, provided for his family and retired 10 years ago. 

 

Several Christmases ago, I was home with my family in Georgia.  Visits home can range from relaxing to tormenting, depending on the family and the year.  This particular Christmas, I was having a heart-to-heart with my father.  He is retired with nothing but time on his hands.  He was bored and didn't seem to have any purpose or passion (something about retirement can convince us that it is time to stop progressing and developing).  His four children are all grown and have busy lives of their own.  The house is showing it’s real age.  It’s very cluttered, to be completely honest; something that has my sisters and I frustrated year after year.  During our talk I was looking around the house and saw nothing but potential for decreasing clutter while making a little extra money.  My father was intrigued… 

 

A little back story: my wife and I were married in 2004 and in the four years after our wedding, we moved four times.  We lived in New York and became urban nomads.  Moving from apartment to apartment (a lease would not be renewed, our apartment was sold, etc. – a few of the joys that come from renting in New York City).  Each time we prepared for a move, we were forced to take inventory of our physical possessions.  Clothes and furniture we would sell or donate to Housing Works (an amazing organization: Uhttp://www.housingworks.org/U).  Our books, DVDS and CD’s (oh, and our VHS tapes – remember those?) we listed on half.com, eBay or Craigs List.  We had great success with this.  The process was laborious, having to list each item individually with the ISBN number, etc.  But, I think we made something close to $1500 over the course of several moves just selling media.  In one apartment in the Village, we lived above a Post Office, so mailing sold items was very convenient.  The satisfaction of decreasing our personal belongings, lightening our proverbial load and making money was terrific.

 

I recommend it to anyone which brings me back to my father.

 

That Christmas, I sat down with him, logged onto my half.com account and showed him how it worked.  I listed a few of his books and made an agreement with him that if he listed books and they sold, I would send him a check (since the deposits would go into my account).  Well, weeks went by and one day, I had a rather large deposit in my account.  I was shocked to discover it was because of items my father had listed and sold.  A few months went by and I finally encouraged him (forced him) to open his own account so he could manage it on his own and have revenues deposited into his account. 

 

So, he did…

 

… and I created a monster. 

 

He became obsessed.  Not only did he sell almost every book and CD in our house, he started driving to local garage sales and buying all the books sold.  He would spend sometimes $5.00 on 100 books (people just want them to go and not have to deal with lugging them back in the house).  He would then list the 100 books and make a huge profit on his $5.00 investment. 

 

His new found obsession had him one day wander into a local used-book store to look for inexpensive inventory.  He started chatting with the employees.  He got to know them over time.  They, like him, were retired and had gone back to work.  Pretty soon thereafter, the good folks at the book store started putting a box of books aside every Friday for my father to collect.  They were not going to sell these books, so they just gave them to him, free of charge.  He, in turn, would turn them into profit.  Well, he started spending so much time at the book store that he was finally offered a job.  He went from being a customer to a part-time employee to a full-time employee.  All the while still generating revenues from on-line sales.  One day, my father met a customer who was as serious about books as he was.  He would come in every week and drop big money buying books to add to his growing inventory.  Through their business relationship, they became friends. 

 

But, one day, my father was terminated from the bookstore – he and the store’s owner didn’t see eye-to-eye.  This is a harsh reality for anyone, particularly a 67-year old man who came out of retirement and back to work full time.  Yes, it was difficult and embarrassing, but it was necessary.  Him getting let go was a very important step in setting him up for what happened next.

 

A few months after he was let go, this customer contacted my father and asked if he’d be interested in going into business together.  After all, my father was doing a steady monthly business and this gentleman had 20,000 books in personal inventory.  He was a previous IBM executive who was computer savvy (something my father was not).  Coupling this with my father’s street smarts and charisma, they put together a corporation, opened a small-business bank account and within their first month of business sold 1500 books on over 17 different websites with a 100% customer-service rating.   

 

They drive all over the southeast to yard sales, thrift stores and estates to buy books.  While I was home this past Christmas, I helped them unload over 6000 books they purchased from the home of deceased man.  They spent $300.  There is an untold amount of profit they will make from that one investment.  They ended up buying several scanners that scan the ISBN number directly into their inventory (sophisticated software developed by Amazon.com).  And, they just hired their first employee to pull books from inventory, pack and ship them to customers (this employee happens to be my mother, who also just lost her job of 20 years due to the economy).  Their next plan is to open a non-profit bookstore in the Spring.

I am amazed at what my Dad has accomplished in the last few years.  What began as a simple way to de-clutter his home and make a few extra bucks has turned into a passion and purpose that has changed the lives of two retirees and will eventually contribute to the needs of others less fortunate. 

 

They may never become multi-millionaires, but money, I hope we all understand, is not the ultimate definition of our worth!

 

Oh, by the way, their company is called Little Italy Books.  It all comes full circle... from pizza to books.

 

What have we learned (besides I can be very long-winded)?

 

1)       It’s never too late to do anything you put your mind and heart to.  Whether you work full time or are retired, there are opportunities around you —RIGHT NOW – to rejuvenate an old passion or discover a new one.

 

2)       In your house/apartment – RIGHT NOW – you have revenue generating goods to sell.  Take a real look at what you need vs. want.  You’ll be shocked, if you are honest with yourself, how much you can do without.  You don’t have to sell it.   You can donate it to the Goodwill or any other charitable organization for a tax deduction. 

 

Either way, our culture’s obsession with “stuff” has bogged us down, used up our hard-earned money and taken us away from one of life’s best luxuries – simplicity.

 

 

Michael Albanese is a playwright, screenwriter and part-time jack-of-all-trades. A recent transplant to Los Angeles from New York, he loves, in no particular order, all things Italian, art, films, music, theatre, food, wine, etc.  He drinks a lot of coffee and knows just enough about sports to get by.  He has vast experience in the hospitality and service industries and at one point in life, wanted to be a dentist.  He lives with his best friend, who happens to be his wife, and has a stuffed dog because he won't commit to getting a real one.  He recently was looking for the business book, “It’s Not About the Coffee: Leadership Principles From a Life at Starbucks”.  So, he checked in with his father, who didn’t have it in inventory.  Unfortunately, Michael had to buy the book from one of his father’s competitors.