Saturday, April 26, 2008
COLUMN: Happily Reeling in the Years
By Tobin BarnesJust found out getting older’s absolutely peachy.
That is, up to a certain point, I guess. Cross that point and you’re dead.
Not so peachy.
But, again, up to that point, things get rosier as you age.
Uh huh, pretty much no matter what age you are, get some more years on you, and you’re going to get happier.
Appears to be consolation for all the things you lose along that rugged road to geezerhood.
Older you get, things stop working so well. You almost don’t notice it until you notice it. Creeps up on you. Then you wonder where it went. Wasn’t in your plans.
Some things get bigger and some things get smaller, and not usually the things you’d choose. Not only that, but hair stops growing where you want it and starts growing where you don’t.
To be totally frank, aging is a mess, not to mention a pain in the butt.
However, it seems that all this time you’re getting happier and happier.
Didn’t notice that phenomenon?
Well, that’s if you believe a recent study from the University of Chicago as reported by the Chicago Sun Times and picked up by the Associated Press.
One of the items in the study stated that, “In general, the odds of being happy increase 5 percent with every 10 years of age.”
Get to 50 and that makes you 25 percent happier than when you were born. Make it to 80 and you’re 40 percent happier. But that’s maybe if you aren’t wearing diapers again like you were at the beginning.
I suppose all this means that as you approach 100, you don’t have much of a body left, but nevertheless you’re beside yourself with glee.
Sounds like being on crack.
This report evidently justifies George Bernard Shaw’s quip that “Youth is wasted on the young.” When you’re young, you’ve got that dazzlingly fresh body but not the wisdom to fully enjoy it, and when you’ve finally got the wisdom to ramp up some worthwhile action, you’re sitting there poohed out in the easy chair.
Lot of irony in that.
It’s kind of like life is one big practical joke.
On you.
Other than getting this joke and perhaps giggling about it every day in fits of delight, what else makes us happier as we age? Seeing the kids leave home and having the dog die?
The news story says, “Among the possible reasons: increasing job satisfaction and more settled personal lives.
“While health problems may increase,” the article continues, “they are offset somewhat by fewer youth-related stresses such as broken hearts, entry-level paychecks and angst.”
Yeah, that teenaged angst can getcha.
They didn’t even mention the old man and the old lady being in your business every other minute. And how about those teachers’ dirty looks?
But doesn’t aging pack some “angst,” too? Like the increasing chances of having to deal with loss of hearing and eyesight, cancer, and heart disease, not to mention all the other health-related adventures in aging?
Now there’s some golden opportunities for angst.
Nevertheless, despite all that, the report optimistically maintains that “data showed that happiness ticks upward from age 18 to the mid-60s, when the numbers begin dropping, but only slightly. People in their 80s on average still reported higher happiness levels than people under 40.”
So I guess we have to appreciate it and embrace our ever-increasing happiness. As the story maintains, “Among the oldest people, happiness may have helped them outlast their grumpier contemporaries.”
Saturday, April 19, 2008
COLUMN: Down in the Rabbit Hole
By Tobin BarnesIraq, strangely enough, is like Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.
Think about it.
It just keeps getting “curiouser and curiouser.”
Ever since we tumbled down that rabbit hole—what a tumble, what a hole—things have only become weirder by the month—a mystifying trip into fantasy land. And that’s since we got rid of the Mad Hatter.
Course, things were decidedly pretty strange well before that, even back in those days when the mission was supposedly accomplished.
Chasing the White Rabbit of 9/11 perpetrators (or was it weapons of mass destruction?) has ended up being more like the Jefferson Airplane “White Rabbit” song—a psychedelic pill trip—than the Neo-con dream scheme envisioned by the Bush Administration.
Or was the White Rabbit mirage really about bringing stability to a maddeningly volatile region? Or, wait, was the White Rabbit actually about the spontaneous bursting forth of democracy from a newly inspired Iraq to other countries in that benighted neighborhood?
Figuring out the identity of the White Rabbit is like the pills making you bigger, then smaller, then....
You get confused, man!
The rationale du jour seems to be this one:
Staying, admittedly, isn’t all that great, but it’s a heck of a lot better than the alternative.
Problem is that in Wonderland “staying” can seem like forever, and fewer Americans are looking for that kind of a trip.
Dear sweet Alice, of course, is the American citizenry, continually surprised and stupified by all the shenanigans, while president Bush is the Cheshire Cat perched up in the tree. Like the cat, he comes and goes, appears and disappears. When you ask him questions, you get information and a grin but no satisfying answers.
Pretty soon, he’s going to disappear for good.
Not sure we’ve got any Queen of Hearts in this cast. Condoleeza Rice isn’t nearly that assertive.
On the other hand, we’ve had our share of Tweedledums and Tweedledees at Mad Tea Parties.
And the surrealism continues to this day.
The plans to de-surge the surge have evidently been put on the back burner.
Not only that, “The Champagne bottle,” General David Petraeus told Senator Evan Bayh in a recent committee hearing, “has been pushed to the back of the refrigerator.”
The kitchen staff’s evidently out to lunch.
Now I don’t know much, if anything, about champagne. Like how well it ages and all that stuff.
But I do know about the back of a refrigerator. It’s not a good place for anything to get pushed to. Things get lost and ugly back there. Stuff can turn into a horror show. And when you finally retrieve those things, you very well might be in for a shock.
So I’m a little nervous about that champagne.
After listening to Petraeus and Ambassador to Iraq Ryan Crocker, Senator Bayh from Indiana summed up the Dada nature of the current plan for our future in Iraq: “We’ll know when we get there, and we don’t know when we’re going to get there.”
Sounds like something Alice would have said.
And the Cheshire Cat would have agreed.
Pope's Visit
 These international trips are tricky, and often there can be some confusion and perhaps some embarrassment. They had an episode today in Washington, everybody is laughing about it now. But at the time it was not funny. The Pope, after the mass, accidentally gave the last rites to John McCain. The Pope, God bless him, got on the Pope-Mobile after the mass. And then, President Bush followed him in the Dope-Mobile. |
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Friday, April 11, 2008
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Sunday, April 6, 2008
COLUMN: 'Once' Is More Than Enough
By Tobin BarnesNote: You and I are going to have a conversation. Talk any time you want. I think I’ll be able to hear you. Let’s go:
Here’s the deal. I’m going to do you a favor today. Steer you onto something I think you’re going to like. You’d very likely miss it if it weren’t for me.
“Well, that’s a plus.”
Thank you, I appreciate that. You see, it’s a movie.
“Oh no!”
Whoops. I knew I shouldn’t have said that so soon.
“Is this going to be another movie rant? Like the diatribe a few weeks ago? The thing about how Barnes likes romantic comedies better than other kinds of movies?”
Take it easy. This isn’t going to be nearly so painful. The movie I’m talking about almost defies categorization, it’s so unique. You’re going to love it.
“This better be good, Barnes. It’s your last chance. I’ve about had it with you and your goofy suggestions.”
Hang with me. (This is starting to sound like Tom Hanks in “Castaway” talking to Wilson, his soccer ball buddy. But, hey, I’m comfortable with the schizo thing if you are.)
This movie is about songs. Entire songs are sung in the movie.
“Songs! Give me a break.”
Hold on. It’s also about the people who play and sing them, too. Whole thing’s kind of semi-autobiographical about how this woman from the Czech Republic meets this guitar-playing Irish street musician—except instead of meeting in Prague where they really met, in the movie they’re meeting in Dublin, Ireland.
She’s an immigrant scraping by as a street vendor while supporting her mother and little girl. He’s singing one of his own songs when they meet. One thing leads to another, and she finds out that his day job is fixing Hoover vacuums. Now that’s great, as far as she’s concerned, because her Hoover is on the fritz.
“Riveting stuff there, Barnes.”
Yeah, I agree. So the next day, they meet on the same street, and she’s brought her vacuum along. And they decide to go to coffee before he fixes her Hoover. Of course, she’s got to drag her vacuum along with her. Any questions?
“Absolutely none.”
Well, one thing leads to another, like I said. At coffee, he finds out that she plays the piano, but she’s so poor, she does her playing in a music store on the new pianos because the owner’s a nice guy. So after coffee, they go to the store and she plays along with one of his songs. Before long—about mid-song—they realize they’re getting each other totally. It’s Nelson Eddy and Jeannette McDonald all over again. Yeah, they’re like sympatico. Except they’re not.
“You’re killing me, here, Barnes.”
Well, you see, that’s what makes the story interesting. They’re of the same soul, but sadly separated by life. He’s still pining over the someone he writes his songs about but can’t bear to be with, and she’s a married woman who doesn’t live with her husband because, among other things, he doesn’t appreciate her music.
Nevertheless, they continue to collaborate musically, and she’s like stuffing to his turkey, helping his music take flight. And, you know, one thing leads to another, and, well, it’s a great story with some great music, though the dialects are sometimes difficult to understand but don’t let that bother you. Also, they’ve hardly spent any money making the movie, but then again, some of my favorite movies are the character-driven cheapos, and, hey, I just know you’re going to like it.
“I’m almost convinced.”
It’s called “Once.” See, you probably haven’t heard of it, have you. You’d probably miss it if it weren’t for me. It’s no longer in theatres, but it’s out on DVD for rental and will probably be on the movie channels soon.
“I’ll rush right out.”
Good. I know you’ll be grateful.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
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