For Such a Time as This

Yet who knows whether you have come to 

the kingdom for such a time as this?

— Esther 4

Old Testament readers know well the story of Esther, the ambivalent queen who shirked her duty to save the Jews from annihilation.

Faced with the decision to stand up to the Persians, Esther's cousin asked, "Yet who knows whether you have come to the kingdom for such a time as this?"

Alas, evangelical Christian women have coopted the Biblical phrase "for such a time as this," calling it their "Esther moment" as they push and push the GOP to criminalize abortion nationwide.

But who says the other side—the pro-choice majority—can't take back the phrase and, come November, grab for themselves the "Esther moment?"

I believe, as pollsters do, that women voters will flock to the polls in November to hand the GOP its worst midterm defeat since 2006 (when George W. Bush was punished for his murderous Iraq War).

Don't discount angry women.

Assuming they still have the right to vote in November—with this court, you can't count on it—pro-choice women will have their "Esther moment" in the voting booth.

They will use their votes to assert their right to make their own reproductive decisions.

You heard it here.

Gundamentalist Mike

Not only do we have Second Amendment rights because
God gives them to us, but also the Gospel.

— Marty Daniel

Among the scores of abhorrent characters created by novelist William Faulkner, the small-town vigilante Percy Grimm was one of the most abhorrent.

Whenever justice needed a hand, Percy Grimm donned his National Guard uniform, holstered his automatic, and assembled a posse—mostly poker players from the American Legion hall.

In Light in August, while leading such a posse, Percy chases down the escaped mulatto convict Joe Christmas, shoots him, and castrates him, shouting, "Now you’ll let white women alone, even in hell.”

Faulkner created Percy Grimm in 1932.

Years later, the novelist would describe him as a "Fascist galahad," a two-bit storm trooper who's only tolerated by townspeople because they find his patriotism "quicker and truer than theirs."

"He's not prevalent," Faulkner said, "but he's everywhere."

Percy Grimm is indeed everywhere, even today; presently in the form of the gundamentalist.

Like the members of any cult, the gundamentalist simply cannot abide a mainstream viewpoint.

In the case of the gundamentalist, the mere hint of "gun control" unleashes a Grimm-like fear of miscegenation.

I'll give you an example.

This Wednesday, local police arrested a crazed gunman in a town near me, just 24 hours after the mass shooting in Texas.

Their report, posted on Facebook, identified one of the gunman's weapons as an AR-15.

The police report generated a heated discussion about the right to own AR-15s for hunting.

When stating her opposition to the weapon for that (or any) purpose, Diane mistakenly called the AR-15 an "assault rifle," instead of an "automatic rifle."

That provoked Gundamentalist Mike to scold Diane for her Liberal's ignorance:

"Good lord!," Mike wrote. "AR stands for 'Armalite,' not 'Assault Rifle.' 'Assault Rifle' is a fake, Democrat talking point used since the 90’s. Picture a stock Mustang or Camaro. Then picture that same car with 'accessories' designed to make it look more sporty, or badass, if you will... plus with engine/drivetrain work designed to make it perform better than factory. That’s all an AR-15 is. It’s a hunting rifle, with accessories."

Diane, ladylike, apologized for her error, prompting Liberal Tom to jump in and say to Mike, "What a bunch of nonsense! You are trying to tell me that an AR-15 is just a .22 bolt action with accessories. The AR-15 is not a hunting weapon."

After much insult-trading between Mike and Tom, I commented to Mike, "Well, you sure do love your guns. Guess they substitute for virility."

Mike replied, "Hardly. And a very typical, and pedestrian statement. But as a gun enthusiast, yeah they’re pretty cool. It’s OK to be scared, just don’t belittle everyone else who isn’t."

He punctuated his comment with a half dozen predictably puerile emoticons.

"Who's scared?" I asked.

"Apparently you," Mike replied, "if you think having a gun has anything to do with manhood. That’s just a stupid fucking statement. It’s OK to be scared of them, I just don’t happen to be."

I then offered gun-loving Mike—who looks like a biker—some food for thought. 

"Men experiencing SD are no more likely to own guns than men without SD," I wrote. "However, the members of the Second Amendment Cult work overtime to compensate for inadequate genitalia by decking themselves out as angels of death. The cult itself connects gun ownership with SD."

Mike responded, "That wins the Internet for the stupidest comment of the day so far."

With Percy Grimm in mind, I replied, "The failure of a mythical America to materialize has resulted in a flight by White men into predictable defense mechanisms: regression into childlike tantrums and abject dependence on unquestioned authority; the projection onto the historical victims of violence—including castration—the desire to perform symbolic castration by taking away 'our guns;' the projection onto the victims of sexual predation, whose supposedly dangerous sexuality must by controlled by laws and police power, the desire to take 'our' women; the seemingly natural identification with the real oppressor, whose interests his victims force themselves to believe are their own, and whose bidding they will willingly do, if it gives them an opportunity to assert illusory power. This can be understood to be, at least in part, a psychosexual disorder, common to modern men struggling to survive contemporary capitalism in multicultural societies."

That quieted Mike.

And with that I feel it's now time for coffee.

Toxic Masculinity

I have a bad feeling about this.

— Han Solo

"Toxic masculinity."

I overhear this phrase in coffee shops, cafés, and restaurants more than any other single phrase.

I don't know why it's on the top of women's minds right now—at least the minds of the women who frequent coffee shops, cafés, and restaurants—but it definitely is.

I don't know what's happening to women; but—whatever it is—I have a bad feeling about this.

Perhaps you can blame their wrath on Andrew Cuomo, Jeffery Epstein, or Texas's Republicans.

But, whatever the cause, I think men are soon up for a collective asswhuppin' (defined by Urban Dictionary as an "intense physical retribution involving heavy bruising, put upon a person in need of a life-lesson in civility, politeness, and manners"). 

The phrase "toxic masculinity" was coined 36 years ago by farmer and writer Shepherd Bliss. He thought it described the authoritarian streak displayed by his absent, career-military father.

Over the decades since, however, the phrase has come to denote practically all the attitudes and actions of men, who by dint of gender are not only vulgar and sloppy, but aggressive, competitive, homophobic, sexist, and misogynistic.

That's seems awfully harsh; but I'm not most men's target.

Novelist Norman Mailer, fairly macho himself, believed that contemporary American males were toxic because they were without honor.

"Masculinity is not something given to you, something you’re born with, but something you gain," he wrote in 1962. "And you gain it by winning small battles with honor. 

"Because there is very little honor left in American life, there is a certain built-in tendency to destroy masculinity in American men."

I think Mailer was onto something.

Somewhere on the journey to manhood, American men forgot about honor.

The Lonely Sailor

Privilege implies exclusion from privilege.

— Robert Anton Wilson

Call me a libtard: I don't care much for unbridled privilege.

My closest encounter with it came in the National Gallery of Art on on a March evening in 1998, when I spotted a frantic Bill Gates.

It was Sunday, around 7 pm, and the building was officially closed to the art-viewing public. All the galleries were dark and cordoned off.

I was standing with a friend in the hallway in a long line for an after-hours chamber recital when Gates and his wife walked up alongside us.

They paused at the door of one of the galleries and Gates said, "That's it," pointing at a huge Winslow Homer seascape inside the darkened room. Without thought, he unhitched the velvet rope that blocked the door and shooed his wife in.

A young Black security guard appeared suddenly and said, "Sir, sir, the gallery's closed." "We just want to look at the painting," Gates snapped and stepped into the gallery. The guard repeated his warning to no avail, shrugged his shoulders, and wandered off for reinforcements. Gates and his wife spent five minutes inside the room examining the Homer, then left. The reinforcements never arrived.

The following morning, Gates' DC visit made the headlines of The Washington Post. He was in town to testify on Capitol Hill about Microsoft's monopoly over Internet access.

Two months later, Gates made the headlines again, this time for buying a Winslow Homer seascape for $36 million—in 1998, the greatest price ever paid for an American artist's painting.

Lost on the Grand Banks, the last major Homer seascape in private hands, was believed at the time to be destined for the National Gallery's permanent collection. But Gates got his hands on it first. (He still owns it today.)

I realized why he'd been so keen to examine Homer's seascape in the National Gallery that Sunday evening in March. 

He was planning to buy one of his own.

The thing that galled me (and still does) wasn't Gates' ability to buy a $36 million Winslow Homer, but the notion that he was entitled to let himself into an art gallery—the National Art Gallery—after hours, as if it were his living room.

But, to his mind, it is. After all, he's a man of privilege.

Privilege entered English in the 12th century, derived from the Latin privilegium.

According to the Laws of the Twelve Tables—the source of Ancient Roman law—a privilegium was a right conferred by the emperor on one man, a "law for an individual."

The Romans called the privilegium precisely for what it was: favoritism.

To have privilege today is to be favored, entitled, endowed, advantaged, exempt, immune, or just plain special.

You know, like Bill Gates.

Gates grew up in a privileged household, so his sense of entitlement was strong to begin with. But his runaway success in business no doubt supersized it.

Business success often goes to people's heads, you've probably noticed. Successful business leaders frequently feel they're superior—distinguished from others in their ability and willingness to do endless battle against chill winds and harsh seas. They, the lonely sailors, have singlehandedly brought the boats home. Everyone else is just ballast.

And so we like to say, "It's lonely at the top." One art critic, in fact, has suggested that Bill Gates had to acquire Lost on the Grand Banks because he feels so alone.

"In his bunkered isolation from the rest of us," the critic writes, "the image of the solo sailor is paramount."  

Above: Lost on the Grand Banks by Winslow Homer. 1885. Oil on canvas. 32 x 50 inches. Collection of Bill Gates.

The Future

If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face—forever.

— George Orwell

Justice Sonia Sotomayor told her Trump-appointed colleagues on the bench last month that the Supreme Court wouldn't "survive the stench" of overturning Roe v. Wade.

She meant that, if the Court caved to right-wing Catholics and Evangelicals on Roe, it would lose its authority as the nonpartisan expounder of the Constitution.

Chief Justice John Marshall established that authority in Marbury v. Madison. 

The 1803 decision has remained, with few exceptions, unquestioned ever since.

But the Trump-appointed justices don't care. They'll readily sacrifice Marbury for the sake of unborn fetuses—and to consecrate their definition of civil and personal rights: namely, that there are none.

Trump's favorite president, the demagogue Andrew Jackson, also readily sacrificed Marbury.

In 1832, the Court decided in Worcester v. Georgia that the Cherokees in Georgia had a legal right to their land, by virtue of a federal treaty. 

But Jackson disagreed and in 1838 used the military to remove the Cherokees to concentration camps in Oklahoma.

Rather than use his power to carry out Worcester v. Georgia, Jackson violated the Court’s decision, signaling that he, not the Court, is the unquestioned authority in matters of Constitutional rights.

So, if the Court overturns Roe, you can expect its legitimacy to fall into question and fade.

And, if re-elected, you can fully expect Trump to use the military to quash citizen's rights.

Money is in the Air

Five of the six Catholics on the Supreme Court seem ready to chop up Roe v. Wade. But what do I know? I'm not a lawyer. I'm a painter.

So when it comes to current events, stories about paintings get my attention.

One such story concerns a Banksy that the owner is about to chop up.

A near-iconic image, Love is in the Air depicts a Palestinian peacenik. It first appeared in 2003 as a stencil on the West Bank wall.  

While many versions of the image exist—including paintings on cardboard and wood—the version in the news is a 2005 painting on canvas.

The owner, Loïc Gouzer, plans to chop it up, or, in his language, "fractionalize" it. 

He will resell the fractionalized painting in the form of 10,000 NFTs, which he calls "particles." 

Each particle will represent a section of the painting.

Once it's factionalized into NFTs, Gouzer will tour the original Love is in the Air nationwide. 

It's currently on display at Art Basel Miami Beach.

Gouzer paid $12.9 million for the painting; he'll sell the 10,000 particles next month for $1,500 each, yielding an immediate 16% profit. 

If the particles are later resold by their new owners, Gouzer will receive an automatic cut of the resale price. He'll pay no income tax on those profits—and he gets to keep the original painting.

Artful deal!

Gouzer claims he is "collectivizing" art, "because pure enjoyment of art is not complete until you feel you own it."

The entrepreneur in me agrees completely.

And so, in honor of Banksy, I'm making you the following offer:

Buy my original painting Judging Amy (above) and enjoy owning it; fractionalize it, if you want; or resell the whole piece. Whatever you do, I will donate 100% of my profit to the Repro Legal Defense Fund.

The Repro Fund covers bail and attorneys' fees for women targeted by police for ending their own pregnancies.

Above: Judging Amy. Oil on canvas board. 10 x 8 inches.

A Catholic Conundrum Cleared Up At Last

Faith may be defined as an illogical belief in
the occurrence of the improbable.

— H. L. Mencken

As Whole Woman's Health v. Austin Jackson proves, right-wing Catholics on the Supreme Court are a clear and present danger—to women. 

By recriminalizing abortion, they will increase women's misery beyond calculation.

Believe what you will about fetuses; that's your right.

But recognize the Roman Catholic Church, following Aristotle, for nearly two millennia held that a fetus had no soul until it was six months old—and therefore couldn't be murdered.

Early-stage abortions weren't sinful.  

Only a modern bit of dogmatic gymnastics changed the Church's position on abortion.

And the change came about ass-backwards.

Before 1854, Catholic canonists had struggled with a thorny riddle: how could Jesus have be born of a woman stained by Original Sin?

It's uncanny! 

To solve the riddle, Giovanni Mastai-Ferretti (Pope Pius IX) declared that Jesus' conception was "immaculate" because Mary was born without sin.

Problem solved!

But Mastai-Ferretti's solution also led him to declare all abortions a mortal sin.

Why? 

Because Mary's sin-free life began not at viability, but conception.

Logically speaking, it had to.

Or so said the infallible Mastai-Ferretti.

So we've arrived at the bottom line:

Because an Italian decided 150 years ago that a Jewish woman was born without sin 2,000 years ago, no 21st century Texan can have an abortion without exposing her accomplices to fines and criminal penalties.

Makes perfect sense to me.

Thanks Amy, Brett and Neil, for clearing that up!

We look forward to your future legal decisions.

NOTE: Just so you know, I single out Catholics and exclude Evangelicals from blame for recriminalizing abortion for a simple reason: no Evangelical is intelligent enough to receive a Supreme Court appointment.

UPDATE: Amy, Brett and Neil didn't dawdle. We learned in May 2022 that they plan to overturn Roe v. Wade.

Above: Judging Amy by Robert Francis James. Oil on canvas board. 10 x 8 inches. Not available in Texas. 

Paperwork

What the world really needs is more love and less paperwork.

— Pearl Bailey

I'm awash in paperwork thanks to a surgery back in December. 

Letters, notices, statements, receipts, affidavits, invoices and those curious cryptograms known in healthcare as "EOBs." Scores of EOBs.

"We can lick gravity, but sometimes the paperwork is overwhelming," Wernher von Braun said.

Healthcare is a lot like rocketry.

A surgeon can repair a shattered ankle, but it might not be worth the paperwork.

There's one area of society where we can turn paperwork into a positive, however.

Law enforcement.

Cops often overlook crimes because "it's not worth the paperwork" to process the suspects.

Congress should pass a new law quintupling the paperwork required to process Black suspects.

The Paperwork to Overwhelm Police Officers (POPO) Act would do more to cure systemic racism in law enforcement than any defunding program.

Congress, you listening?

The people demand it.

The American Forest & Paper Association should, too.

Above: Clip Art. Print by Adam Hilman.

From Béarnaise Sauce to Socialism

In France this day, celebrations of the 150th anniversary of the Commune de Paris are wrapping up.

The Commune, a brief but world-historical uprising of Paris's working class, still rankles conservatives today.

That's because—from start to finish—it was a socialist uprising: a time of class warfare and revenge; of workers' rights, women's rights, and immigrants' rights; of living wages, debt forgiveness, rent control, cheap mass transit, and plentiful food.

Karl Marx loved (and inspired) it.

The two-month Commune didn't rise from nowhere.

It was triggered by the trauma of the four-month Siege of Paris, Bismarck's campaign to cripple the city, throughout which the working class had been corralled into a single arrondissement to starve to death. 

As Parisians' food dwindled, "siege cuisine" became popular.

Working-class people ate rats, cats, and dogs to survive, while the wealthy ate horses and mules and animals they took from the zoo—including camels, zebras, antelopes, and ostriches.

To make the wealthy's meat palatable, Parisian chefs experimented with fancy dishes like pâté de rat; stuffed donkey’s head with sardines; broth of elephant; and kangaroo stew. 

Sauces—first popularized by Chef Carême—came into particular use. 

Paris's chefs served meat cooked in burgundy, tomato puree, pepper sauce, truffle sauce, béarnaise sauce, and sauce chasseur (hunter’s sauce).

Without money for bistros, the working class had to settle for boiled, fried or baked rat, cat, and dog. No wonder they rebelled, once Bismarck's siege ended.

Like all of Paris's poodles, the Commune came to a terrible end. 

After a two-month reign over Paris, the Commune was crushed by soldiers rushed from Versaillais. 

They killed over 70,000 workers in the streets, executed another 30,000, and burned down a third of the city.

So much for socialism. 

But at least we have béarnaise sauce.

POSTSCRIPT: Learn how artists depicted the Paris Commune here. 

HAT TIP: Thanks to historian and gourmand Ann Ramsey for inspiring this post.

Voter Suppression Has My Vote

Let the rabble amuse itself by voting.

― Aldous Huxley

Right-wing columnist Kevin Williamson grabbed headlines this week by recommending "categorical" voter suppression.

"The republic would be better served by having fewer—but better—voters," he wrote.

We believe it's a mainstay, but voting is at best a "sedative," Williamson argues.

"It soothes people with the illusion that they have more control over their lives and their public affairs than they actually do," he writes.

Denying the vote to progressives and populists would get us out of the mess we're in, Williams argues. He would begin reform by raising the voting age to 30.

I'm all for categorical voter disenfranchisement, too. In fact, with Socrates, I long for a republic in which "guardians"—not mudsills—appoint philosophers to rule the state.

So to whom would I deny voting rights? Here's my Top 10 list:

1. Inattentive parents
2. Conspiracy theorists
3. Overachievers
4. Wyoming residents
5. People who reflexively "reply all"
6. Brand ambassadors
7. Ayn Rand fans
8. Incompetent Zoom users
9. Road hogs
10. Suze Orman

How about you? 

Does voter suppression have your vote?

White Noise

When these black fiends keep their hands off the throats of the women of the South, the lynching will stop.

— Rep. Thomas Sisson

I despise Sen. Ron Johnson.

He postures as a "maverick," when he's merely a chickenshit White Supremacist who thinks it's gutsy to preface race-baiting with "this could get me in trouble."

Were he brave, he'd speak with candor, as Rep. Thomas Sisson did a century ago during the Congressional debate of the Dyer Anti-Lynching Bill. Instead, he employs tropes.

Fortunately, Sen. Bob Menendez has called Johnson out on the Senate floor.

"I get no one likes to be called racist, but sometimes there's just no other way to describe the use of bigoted tropes that for generations have threatened Black lives by stoking white fear," Menendez said. 

"For one of our colleagues to cast those who attacked the Capitol as harmless patriots while stoking the fear of Black Americans is like rubbing salt in an open wound."

The gutless Johnson has denied he race-baits, saying, "There was nothing racial about my comments, nothing whatsoever.

"This isn't about race. It's about riots."

Sheer disingenuousness.

Imagine Rep. Sisson saying, "Lynching isn't about race. It's how Southerners practice knot-tying."

Crawl back into Mom's rectum, Sen. Johnson. 

We're sick of your white noise.