Herman Cain and the American Dream

Regarding the Occupy Wall Street protests, ABC News quotes presidential hopeful Herman Cain as saying that people who are not rich have only themselves to blame. "Don’t blame Wall Street," he told protesters, in an interview with the Wall St. Journal. "Don’t blame the big banks. If you don’t have a job and you’re not rich, blame yourself. It’s not a person’s fault because they succeeded. It is a person’s fault if they failed. And so this is why I don’t understand these demonstrations and what is it that they’re looking for."

In the same article, a Wall-Streeter tweets  "A protester sees my Benz, and wants to rip me out of it. A real man sees my car, and wants to work hard so he can buy it one day."

I have been blessed with a personality that feels deeply about issues of social justice, and cursed with a personality that does not express or argue those feelings well.  I tread lightly, keeping the peace and not wishing to provoke or offend people with different ideas, income levels, and value systems.  I try to find areas of common ground, and centrist positions on which we can all agree.  I don’t like to argue with friends, with family, or even with strangers when nothing good can come of it.

All of that stated, Mr. Cain and Mr. Wall Street, yours is the kind of horse shit that comes out of the flapping lips of people of means every day. 

Say that you, reader, want a private jet and a house in the Bahamas.  If you do not achieve this in your lifetime, have you failed, per Mr. Cain?  Is it your fault?  Do you just need to work harder until you can buy your jet?  Is your inability to obtain this simply a factor of the choices that you made – because you became a cop rather than a Wall Street banker, or took a career in the military instead of becoming a hedge fund manager?

America is a place of dreams, and a place of opportunity.  It is also a place in which social mobility has become harder and harder to achieve, where the middle class is evaporating, and in which jobs are harder to find.  It’s a place where one working person in a family could buy a house in the 50’s, two in the 70’s, and maybe two in the 2000’s with the help of a no-doc jumbo mortgage that balloons in 3 years, with a HELOC buying the new appliances.  After all, appliances are part and parcel of the middle class.

America is a place in which education is better for the upper-class who can afford private schools with better teachers and an Asian girl who can take their daughter’s SATs.  If you live in the ghetto, you could be functionally illiterate when you graduate with straight A’s, and when you can’t write a college entrance essay, Community College won’t even look at you.

Anyway, about that Benz that I’m simply not working hard enough to achieve – it must be very easy to look through the windshield of it every day, instead of through the bars that you so richly deserve to be looking through, and tell the people who are upset at your existence to shut up. 

Glory days.

Today is my last day at sea aboard M/S Carnival Glory.  By early tomorrow morning, I will have returned to the port of New York, and the staff will be pushing us onto the pier.

I’ve enjoyed the ports of call.  I finally got to see Old North Church in Boston (I’m told I’ve seen it before, but have no memory of it). Portland, Maine was wonderful, and the Public Gardens in Halifax, NS were remarkable. 

Even taking the ports into consideration, however, my favorite spectacle throughout the journey, has been the crowd of people on the boat.  The people-watching began the first night of the voyage, when I was in the photo gallery and heard a man say “Can I buy a picture of the cross-dresser?  She’s in every other photo! Standing up, sitting down, glasses on, glasses off…”

I searched the photos to see who he was talking about, and sure enough there was a M-to-F trans-person in virtually every other picture.  I was expecting gowns and wigs and elaborate drag, but she had a stately gray wig, a very matronly dress, and granny glasses that were too cute for words.  I still don’t know if this attire is full-time for her, or just dress-up-for-dinner drag, but that I never see her around the boat otherwise makes me wonder.

In the main dining room, I sit in proximity to two Asians.  Ten feet to my right, there is a Korean woman who is quiet and reserved until the wait staff decides to sing or dance.  Then, as if the witching hour has struck, she screams and kicks as though every bottled emotion from her past 35 years is released in one enormous paroxysm.

The Japanese man sitting at a booth ten feet in front of me is equally reserved until the wait staff sings.  When showtime begins, he draws a Nikon with an eight-inch-long lens like Jesse James quick-drawing a pistol and clambers over his wife as though he were about to miss a photograph of the Loch Ness Monster.  I don’t think that he even enjoys the show in his race to take pictures of it.

Finally, there’s the casino woman who, as the reels spin, places her hands on the machine and massages the glass as if able to manipulate where the fruits will stop.  She pushes up.  She pushes down.  She paws at the spinning pictures like a dog seeking a treat in a cabinet, were a dog to have a cigarette dangling from its lips.

With people like this in my life, I don’t need a multimillion-dollar boat or exotic ports of call.

Carnival Glory.

I write this post from the White Heat lounge of the Carnival Glory, though it’s two in the afternoon and the only music is Norah Jones coming through my headphones.  I am the only one here, sitting at an unused, flecked granite bar.  The biggest difference between the lounge now and tonight at 11:30 PM is that tonight it will be darker, there will be music, and a lonely bartender will likely likely join me in overlooking the empty dance floor.

This is my fifth cruise – the third with Carnival – and I have absolutely nothing to complain about.  The boat is beautiful, I was rocked gently to sleep last night, the food is good, and I’m happily detached from the world.  The views of Lady Liberty while leaving New York yesterday must have been similar to those of my ancestors, from both sides of the family, as they headed the other way.  They could not have dreamt of a boat such as this, and it is on their hard work, risk-taking and combined years of education that I have built a life that allows me to aimlessly wander, eat, and be waited on for an entire week.

It’s also nice to travel with my mom on her 65th birthday.  When not at sea, she often seems to be in the doldrums, or at least having an existential crisis, so putting her on a boat seems to be a logical course of action.

Back to the White Heat bar and its emptiness.  It’s empty because the average age of person cruising on this boat is probably 65.  The pools, so often packed with children, are completely empty on this sailing.  I’ve counted 3 teenagers and perhaps 5 kids under the age of 11.  After that, there are a few 30-something couples (mostly the parents of the 5 kids), and then retirees.  Last night, the boat went quiet after the early seating of dinner was complete.

Being prematurely old myself, one would think that I would fit in well with the early-bird dinner, sleep-at-9-PM-and-up-at-5-AM-for-stretching-class crowd.  I am having a good time with many of them.  Still, given the amount of bitching I hear in the elevators and from the old woman sitting next to me at dinner, one would believe that the ship is in splinters following  a cannonade, and that we were sustained by brined mackerel, limes and rancid water from barrels.

“Mom,” I asked, “what is it about old people complaining about everything when they’re surrounded by luxury?”  I expected one of the following answers:

• “They don’t feel acknowledged, or that people listen to them, so they take it out on staff.”
• “They’re bored and have nothing else to talk about.”
• “They’re overwhelmed by technology and the changes in the world, and are frightened.”

Her answer, however, haunts me, and makes me very sad, and I don’t know why.  Perhaps because it’s simple in that Mister Rogers sort of way, and I never really considered it:

“Because many of them don’t feel well.  When you don’t feel well, it’s hard not to be angry.”

For a woman who questions existentialism all the time, I wasn’t expecting such a common-sense, physiologic response.  It made me think differently.

Anyway, onward and forward.  Less Mister Rogers and More Jolly Rogers.  I’m going to have a margarita, and then perhaps jam with the Filipino woman who sings in the lobby.  Yesterday she sang “You’re Just Too Good to be True” and danced in her stilettoes and gown with her microphone.  Hard not to love that.

Genesis: Rachel menstruates on some idols.

The ancient Hebrews thought that a wild animal’s offspring would look like whatever the mother was viewing as she was mounted during sex.  Therefore, if she had sex at night, her offspring would be black, and if she was viewing something polka-dotted, the offspring would be polka-dotted.

Jacob, tending uncle Laban’s herds, bargains for all of the spotted and speckled goats in the herd as a form of payment.  Laban agrees, and then removes all of the spotted and speckled livestock so that Jacob will be empty-handed.  Not to be outdone, Jacob places black-and-white striped sticks in front of the mating livestock and creates a herd of spotted and speckled sheep that he can call his own.  Having built his wealth, and tired of Laban, he leaves town unannounced.

On their way out the door, Rachel decides to help herself to all of Laban’s “household gods” – figurines used in idol worship, but also as a symbol of family leadership and property.  A few days into their journey, a red-hot uncle Laban catches up to Jacob and company in search of his Gods.

Jacob says that he did not steal, and that any man who did deserves death.  Rachel, the thief, places the idols in a saddlebag and sits on them.  When the search party comes to look for the figurines, she says she cannot stand because she is menstruating.  The search party then leaves her tent.

This passage is interesting to me for two reasons: first, the Jacob of the passage is ethical compared to the Jacob who stole from Esau twenty years earlier.  Second, oral storytellers must have had a great time talking about the false-God idol figurines being defiled by an unclean woman.

Convinced that Jacob did not steal, Laban forms a truce with him.  They build a small stone border, representative of the border between Ancient Israel and Aram, thus creating the legend of how that border came to be.  Jacob is now free with his twelve sons, patriarchs of the twelve tribes of Israel.

Speaking of Israel, Jacob has his name changed to Israel by God, or one of God’s representatives, after a fisticuff.

The twelve tribes of Israel, headed by Jacob’s twelve children, are thought to be a prime example of revisionist history and eponym.  J.R. Porter notes in his Illustrated Guide to the Bible that many of these tribes existed long before they were given names through the Genesis legend.  This is to say, for example, the tribe of Gad may not have been named after Jacob’s son, Gad. Rather, because there was a tribe of Gad already in existence, biblical authors named one of Jacob’s sons Gad to make an origin legend. 

Now that Jacob is working his way home, the only thing in his way is Esau – his brother who, 20 years ago, threatened to kill him.  Esau now has an army of 400 men… what will come of this?

Genesis: Jacob’s ladder, then a lot of sex.

Jacob is on his way to uncle Laban’s house, having just defrauded his brother.  One evening, he uses a stone for a pillow and has a dream of a ladder (literally translated, a “ramp” or “stairway”) extending in to the heavens. Angels were ascending and descending.

The Lord then stands beside Jacob and promises he and his offspring land, as the Lord has done to almost everybody throughout Genesis.  Jacob asks for protection, provision and peaceful return, which God grants.

Genesis: Jacob steals Edom’s blessing and gets the hell out of Dodge.

Jacob has conned Esau out of his birthright, and now with the help of Rebekah, he will steal Esau’s blessing, too.

Isaac is now an old man, likely with cataracts.  He cannot see, and knowing that he is soon to die, he calls Esau to his bedside.  He tells Esau to go hunting and bring back dinner, at which point Isaac will confer his blessing upon Esau.

Biblically, a “blessing” is the opposite of a curse – it is thought to be a prophecy, containing a power that controls the destiny and success of the individual receiving it.  Like shooting a gun, once a blessing is conferred, it cannot be retracted.

 

Genesis: Esau sells his birthright for a bowl of stew.

Abraham’s son Isaac has married Rebekah.  Genesis 26 tells the story of their accumulation of wealth. 

When there is a famine, Isaac and Rebekah arrive on the doorstep of King Abimelech of the Philistines.  This is notable for two reasons.  First, it’s the son of the king (or perhaps even the same king) that Abraham and Sarah duped with their wife-sister act many decades earlier.  Second, the Philistines were not around at the time of this story – they entered the picture in 1200 BC, long after events unfolded as described.  “The Philistines” is an anachronism.

Park 3-Step for finding the paretic muscle.

We learned, in optometry school, the Park 3-Step method for isolating a paretic extraocular muscle.  I recently reviewed it yesterday, and it’s easy.

First, name what’s going on.  Right or left hyper?  WORSE in right or left gaze? WORSE with right or left head tilt?  In this example, we’ll discuss a left hyper, worse on right gaze, worse with a right head tilt.

Sketch a chart that looks like this:
RSR  RIO     LIO  LSR
RIR  RSO     LSO  LIR

Because it’s a left hyper, we know that either the LIR or LSO isn’t working, so circle them; likewise, circle RSR and RIO (just in case it’s a right hypo instead).

It’s worse on right gaze.  Pretend that your little graph is a patient looking at you, and circle the options to the patient’s right: RSR, RIR, LIO, LSO.

Finally, if things worsen on head tilt to the right, we choose the muscle circled twice on the patient’s right eye – the RSR in this case.  If things worsen on head tilt left, we choose the muscle circled twice on the patient’s left eye – the LSO.

And there you have it, fellow optometrists!  You’ve just isolated the paretic muscle!

Very special thanks to Cherie Farkash for correcting my original posting which had the bit about the head tilt wrong.  Cherie also reminds us of the “marching pattern” found in superior oblique palsy.  Right hyper, worse on left gaze, worse with right head tilt – Right-Left-Right = Right S.O. palsy. Left-Right-Left = Left S.O. palsy.

Genesis: Sarah and Abraham die; Isaac is married

When Sarah dies, Abraham buys a large tract of land from the Hittites.  Much of Genesis 23 is the ancient detail of the land deal, legally proving that the land is Abraham’s.  He pays full price, so there’s no argument as to whether it’s all his.  The land, near Hebron, features a cave where everybody is eventually buried – the cave of Machpelah.

Abraham marries again – this time a woman named Keturah – and has six more kids.  He also has many more by his concubines.

One day, he approaches his servant Eliezer, and makes Eliezer put his hand under Abraham’s thigh.  Kinky as this sounds, it’s an ancient pinky-promise.  Eliezer has to pinky-promise that he will leave the land of Canaan and find Isaac a woman  in the land of Horan.  Why?  The Canaanites aren’t good enough to be wed to Isaac – it’s an ancient dig at the Canaanites, who you recall are inferior.

Elizer says, in short, “God, if you’re serious about me finding Isaac a woman in this land, make her say something.  Make her say ‘would you and your camels like some water?’”  Surely enough, a woman at a well named Rebekah asks “would you and your camels like some water?” and she is bartered away by her family, albeit with her consent.

Rebekah’s brother Laban is mentioned, because he’ll be important later.  In the meantime, Isaac and Rebekah consummate their marriage in Sarah’s tent.  Ick.

Having seen that all is well, Abraham dies at 175 years of age, and is thrown in the cave of Machpelah with Sarah.

 

There’s not much insight I draw from this particular passage, except that it explains legally how Abraham acquired the promised land, and sets the stage for more genealogy.  It also sets the stage for new characters and adventures. 

Genesis: Abraham almost murders Isaac.

“God can do anything, and knows everything, even before you do” I once remember hearing as a 7 or 8-year-old from a teacher in Sunday School. “He sees the bad thoughts in your hearts, and wants you to take them to him for forgiveness.”  The teacher was using a black felt board with cutouts, and at one point explained that the empty, black felt board was the emptiness we would all feel in death without God’s forgiveness.  She scared me so bad, I cried.