Joy
Dear Reality TV,
Chekhov knew all about you before you were born.
Amazing how many stories Chekhov wrote about the desire -- the need -- the compulsion to be famous.
We tend to think this obsession with celebrity culture is a sign of our times.
But evidently it was a sign of Chekhov's time as well.
A human instinct?
To stand out.
Be recognized.
Be known.
Doesn't matter what for.
Get your name out there.
Outside the Garden of Eden rumor has it you could find graffiti:
Adam wuz here.
The Goal: Read. Reflect. Respond. Over two hundred Chekhov stories. Constance Garnett translations.
Saturday, March 31, 2012
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
BOOTS
Boots
The piano tuner has lost his boots.
Poor fellow.
Doesn't seem like he has much luck.
Some people deserve their fate and Murkin might just be one of them.
Goes to the theater to retrieve his boots and almost gets himself killed.
Wrong man in the wrong place.
So what's the moral?
Clean your own boots.
Have an extra pair of boots.
Take the cotton-wool out of your ears.
Not quite sure but the image of Murkin, the piano-tuner, running barefoot while being chased by Bluebeard is an indelible image.
It couldn't have happened to a nicer guy.
The piano tuner has lost his boots.
Poor fellow.
Doesn't seem like he has much luck.
Some people deserve their fate and Murkin might just be one of them.
Goes to the theater to retrieve his boots and almost gets himself killed.
Wrong man in the wrong place.
So what's the moral?
Clean your own boots.
Have an extra pair of boots.
Take the cotton-wool out of your ears.
Not quite sure but the image of Murkin, the piano-tuner, running barefoot while being chased by Bluebeard is an indelible image.
It couldn't have happened to a nicer guy.
Monday, January 2, 2012
IN THE COURT
In The Court
After awhile the bureaucracy survives on routines. The structures are set up and people become automatons fulfilling their role in maintaining the system. People stop seeing. Stop feeling. Stop caring.
The whole purpose of the institution is corrupted. But what matters most is to keep the system moving along. Jargon develops and many insiders thrive in the institutional setting.
When the system is supposed to dispense justice fairly and humanely -- then what is lost is more pronounced.
In the trial of the peasant accused of murdering his wife -- we are introduced to how an individual case gets sucked up into the machine.
As Chekhov writes: "The peasant, reassured, did not understand that the men here were as accustomed to the dramas and tragedies of life and were blunted by the sight of them as hospital attendants are at the sight of death, and that the whole horror and hopelessness of his position lay just in this mechanical indifference."
Chekhov then creates a situation which warrants attention. Which should wake people up from the usual routine. However, the shock provides only a respite. In no time, it's back to business again.
What we are witnessing is bureaucracy. Necessary but poisonous. It happens in hospitals, in schools, and in many other governmental agencies. The soul gets lost in the maddening rush.
Serious reform is needed. Or is this just the reality?
The court has many cases to deal with -- if everyone got special attention -- if all the people involved actually put a hundred percent behind each case -- the system would grind to a halt.
When we choose to live packed together in towns and cities -- then we've chosen our lot. We sacrifice individuality for the group. We give up a certain amount of freedom for function.
We all share responsibility for maintaining the system.
In fact, we become the system.
After awhile the bureaucracy survives on routines. The structures are set up and people become automatons fulfilling their role in maintaining the system. People stop seeing. Stop feeling. Stop caring.
The whole purpose of the institution is corrupted. But what matters most is to keep the system moving along. Jargon develops and many insiders thrive in the institutional setting.
When the system is supposed to dispense justice fairly and humanely -- then what is lost is more pronounced.
In the trial of the peasant accused of murdering his wife -- we are introduced to how an individual case gets sucked up into the machine.
As Chekhov writes: "The peasant, reassured, did not understand that the men here were as accustomed to the dramas and tragedies of life and were blunted by the sight of them as hospital attendants are at the sight of death, and that the whole horror and hopelessness of his position lay just in this mechanical indifference."
Chekhov then creates a situation which warrants attention. Which should wake people up from the usual routine. However, the shock provides only a respite. In no time, it's back to business again.
What we are witnessing is bureaucracy. Necessary but poisonous. It happens in hospitals, in schools, and in many other governmental agencies. The soul gets lost in the maddening rush.
Serious reform is needed. Or is this just the reality?
The court has many cases to deal with -- if everyone got special attention -- if all the people involved actually put a hundred percent behind each case -- the system would grind to a halt.
When we choose to live packed together in towns and cities -- then we've chosen our lot. We sacrifice individuality for the group. We give up a certain amount of freedom for function.
We all share responsibility for maintaining the system.
In fact, we become the system.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
A BAD BUSINESS
A Bad Business
So you're a watchman in a graveyard. Most of the time -- probably all of the time nothing happens. What could happen? The gates are closed. But it's still a graveyard.
So when a stranger appears -- you don't know what to make of it.
When you work in a graveyard -- you must have entertained ideas of ghosts at some time. An occupational hazard?
And so when the stranger appears you must have your suspicions. How did the stranger enter? The gate is closed. There has to be something out of the norm.
And when the stranger reveals he is the living dead. You fall for it. Why not? Who would make something like that up?
We all harbor deep seated fears about death and the afterlife and that makes for good business.
Many out there capitalize on this fear -- from a crooked preacher promising you an eternal afterlife for a small donation or a drug company selling you a miracle pill. Not to mention writers and movie producers.
Don't know how much the thieves got -- but somehow it doesn't seem like there would be a whole bunch of treasure in a church inside a cemetery. But maybe there is -- after all they do have three watchmen for a reason. And it seems like an easy mark.
Speaking of easy marks -- just read a story of a thief breaking into a candy store in Coney Island in the middle of the winter.
I remember a friend telling me he was robbed on a freezing day in January while he worked in an ice cream store. My friend actually asked the robber -- do you realize this is an ice cream store and it's freezing outside?
A thief has his own logic.
So do ghosts.
So you're a watchman in a graveyard. Most of the time -- probably all of the time nothing happens. What could happen? The gates are closed. But it's still a graveyard.
So when a stranger appears -- you don't know what to make of it.
When you work in a graveyard -- you must have entertained ideas of ghosts at some time. An occupational hazard?
And so when the stranger appears you must have your suspicions. How did the stranger enter? The gate is closed. There has to be something out of the norm.
And when the stranger reveals he is the living dead. You fall for it. Why not? Who would make something like that up?
We all harbor deep seated fears about death and the afterlife and that makes for good business.
Many out there capitalize on this fear -- from a crooked preacher promising you an eternal afterlife for a small donation or a drug company selling you a miracle pill. Not to mention writers and movie producers.
Don't know how much the thieves got -- but somehow it doesn't seem like there would be a whole bunch of treasure in a church inside a cemetery. But maybe there is -- after all they do have three watchmen for a reason. And it seems like an easy mark.
Speaking of easy marks -- just read a story of a thief breaking into a candy store in Coney Island in the middle of the winter.
I remember a friend telling me he was robbed on a freezing day in January while he worked in an ice cream store. My friend actually asked the robber -- do you realize this is an ice cream store and it's freezing outside?
A thief has his own logic.
So do ghosts.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
THE MARSHAL'S WIDOW
The Marshal's Widow
A memorial service.
Then delicious food.
Nobody can resist some fine words and an even finer meal.
Perfect, except for one small detail.
The Marshal's widow is a no-go on booze.
She wants to make a statement since her hubby departed as a result of too much imbibing.
The guests do their best to oblige the lady.
But abstinence is not exactly their strong suit.
So they conspire to sneak in the liquor.
All is merry.
The Marshal's widow doesn't suspect the antics of the guests are not from deep emotions but stem from the secret of the grain.
An apt story poking fun at human foibles and idealistic notions.
A memorial service.
Then delicious food.
Nobody can resist some fine words and an even finer meal.
Perfect, except for one small detail.
The Marshal's widow is a no-go on booze.
She wants to make a statement since her hubby departed as a result of too much imbibing.
The guests do their best to oblige the lady.
But abstinence is not exactly their strong suit.
So they conspire to sneak in the liquor.
All is merry.
The Marshal's widow doesn't suspect the antics of the guests are not from deep emotions but stem from the secret of the grain.
An apt story poking fun at human foibles and idealistic notions.
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
DRUNK
Drunk
The manufacturer is drunk with hatred.
He hates those who wait on him.
Mostly, he says, he hates his wife.
And why all this hate? He is rich and can have anything he wants.
Well, almost anything.
What he can't have is peace of mind. His problem stems from his riches. He thinks they are all after his money. The waiters, the singers and dancers, his friends, and his wife. The problem is he may be right.
What he needs to do is give his wealth away. Donate it to a worthy cause. Then he can see who stays with him. If his wife dumps him -- then he was right and she doesn't love him. Good riddance. The same goes with his friends. He will be poor in material possessions but his mind will be clear. He will have cleansed himself of the hatred. Seems like a fair trade.
Of course, that will never happen. He is a prisoner living in a gilded cage.
The pitiful rich. We tend to think they have it made but if we examine their lives closely I'm sure we will discover quite a bit of misery. And if you're super wealthy -- then you could drive yourself crazy like Frolov. It's hard to feel sorry for the one percent and that's the saddest part of it.
Misery is misery.
The only way left for Frolov to get out of his predicament is drinking and debauchery until all the merriment finally takes its toll and his health gives out.
His wife may be waiting for that day or she may not.
He'll never know.
The manufacturer is drunk with hatred.
He hates those who wait on him.
Mostly, he says, he hates his wife.
And why all this hate? He is rich and can have anything he wants.
Well, almost anything.
What he can't have is peace of mind. His problem stems from his riches. He thinks they are all after his money. The waiters, the singers and dancers, his friends, and his wife. The problem is he may be right.
What he needs to do is give his wealth away. Donate it to a worthy cause. Then he can see who stays with him. If his wife dumps him -- then he was right and she doesn't love him. Good riddance. The same goes with his friends. He will be poor in material possessions but his mind will be clear. He will have cleansed himself of the hatred. Seems like a fair trade.
Of course, that will never happen. He is a prisoner living in a gilded cage.
The pitiful rich. We tend to think they have it made but if we examine their lives closely I'm sure we will discover quite a bit of misery. And if you're super wealthy -- then you could drive yourself crazy like Frolov. It's hard to feel sorry for the one percent and that's the saddest part of it.
Misery is misery.
The only way left for Frolov to get out of his predicament is drinking and debauchery until all the merriment finally takes its toll and his health gives out.
His wife may be waiting for that day or she may not.
He'll never know.
Monday, December 26, 2011
STRONG IMPRESSIONS
Strong Impressions
I am writing this with a strong impression. A toothache.
Jurymen talk.
They share stories about past misfortunes.
None of the stories however comes close to the awaiting fate of the man in the jail cell.
One of the jurymen shares a story of having his life turned upside down by the persuasive orations of a skilled lawyer.
Sure enough the awaiting defendant in the jail cell -- his fate lies in the hand of how well his lawyer was able to convince the jury that he is not guilty.
And lawyers seem to able to convince one of anything. As one of the jurymen was convinced that his life would be better off not marrying his true love and then convinced he would be a fool not to marry her.
So is there such a thing as justice? Truth? Or can someone versed in argument convince you that white is black and black is white? Are we all brainwashed in some form or another?
Lawyers, advertising, politicians, philosophers, etc. -- all create their own mythology and we in part become beholden to the mythology. From birth we are handed pieces of the story and we try to make sense of the pieces -- however, most will rather just hear and obey what is most practical and most advantageous.
Words have power and when they are manipulated by crafty lawyers their power can determine a man's life. We are all the prisoner in the jail cell. All awaiting our verdict. All imprisoned by the words swirling around us. Words shaped and designed to make us see what they want us to see.
When it is all said and done -- this story did not make a strong enough impression on me to make me forget my toothache. Maybe a good lawyer can do that -- or better yet an able dentist.
I am writing this with a strong impression. A toothache.
Jurymen talk.
They share stories about past misfortunes.
None of the stories however comes close to the awaiting fate of the man in the jail cell.
One of the jurymen shares a story of having his life turned upside down by the persuasive orations of a skilled lawyer.
Sure enough the awaiting defendant in the jail cell -- his fate lies in the hand of how well his lawyer was able to convince the jury that he is not guilty.
And lawyers seem to able to convince one of anything. As one of the jurymen was convinced that his life would be better off not marrying his true love and then convinced he would be a fool not to marry her.
So is there such a thing as justice? Truth? Or can someone versed in argument convince you that white is black and black is white? Are we all brainwashed in some form or another?
Lawyers, advertising, politicians, philosophers, etc. -- all create their own mythology and we in part become beholden to the mythology. From birth we are handed pieces of the story and we try to make sense of the pieces -- however, most will rather just hear and obey what is most practical and most advantageous.
Words have power and when they are manipulated by crafty lawyers their power can determine a man's life. We are all the prisoner in the jail cell. All awaiting our verdict. All imprisoned by the words swirling around us. Words shaped and designed to make us see what they want us to see.
When it is all said and done -- this story did not make a strong enough impression on me to make me forget my toothache. Maybe a good lawyer can do that -- or better yet an able dentist.
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