I just met, or rather re-met a woman whose last name is Hersey.
“As in John?” I asked. It’s my reflex to help me memorize names.
“Well, yes and no. My ex’s name’s John, too, but no relation…”
We were seated at a convivial table at Sorella, the reputed center of the universe according to some. It’s become the center of my week, Saturday night over pasta and fat sausage. Live music makes it extra memorable (if difficult to hear conversation).
I told her that I’d remember her name better if we talked about a Meaningful topic. I chose the topic: why I’m not going to even try to watch any more “The Fall” (scary British crime serial, starring a horny woman detective and a very sick psycho-killer).
I realzied that even though I survived “Homeland” intact (psychically), it would be harder with the other show, recommended by a different friend.
To watch repeated murder and rape washes the brain (at least MY brain) in frightening images and actions that are probably indistiguishable with actual events. In other words, my tired old brain would treat those things as if they’d happened to me, and this has no redeeming social value (remember that term?).
And the idea that tens of thousands are glued to such content is a little unsettling, too. It’s probably like porn, and you become inured.
ANYWAY THIS ISN”T WHAT I WANTED TO WRITE ABOUT!
I wanted to share what I read as soon as I tipsily pedaled home last night:
The story that ran in the New Yorker in 1946 by the other John Hersey. That epic piece filled the magazine. The editors kept its identity under wraps: only 3 peple at the magazien knew what they were going to print that summery week. The cover featured a bird’s eye view of a park full of people enjoying a fine day.
I have had time to reflect on something I gave nearly no thought to: why I decided to learn Japanese.
It wasn’t for the manga, the culture, the style. As they say in Japan, “ううん” (huh-uh, as in NO).
It was… to honor the people themselves, despite the near-impossibility of communication with them someday.
I’d truly planned on getting over there, and ‘converting’ a few dozen women to wombatinesss.
To the freedom, silliness, healthiness of pure joy riding, away from cars. I still believe personal transpo via automobile is an incalculable harm to the planet and its inhabitants. This blog was and is my “Phelantine” to two wheel self propulsion.
But I thought I’d tack on some Social Redemption as well.
Listening to Liege and Lief, a favorite Fairport Convention LP, and remembering about Tam Lin, a folktale about a woman whose mate has been cursed, and she must hold on to him regardless of what shape he takes, to defeat the spell.
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