By John Y. Brown III, on Mon Oct 14, 2013 at 12:00 PM ET
About to take my daughter to walk through the campus at Columbia University.
I have never been and know little about the august Ivy League university.
I am tempted to brag to my daughter that had I applied to Columbia I probably wouldn’t have gotten in. Leaving open the possibility that I could have. Even though that isn’t really true. But it sounds better and is a basically honest description of my relationship to the University as a potential applicant 33 years ago.
In fact, I had a similar relationship with all other top tier universities but today we are focusing on Columbia.
When I think of Columbia University, I think of Mortimer Adler. What’s in a name, right? Well, if you wanted to make up a fictional character who was the public face of the study of philosophy in the second half of the 20th Century, Mortimer Adler would be a believable fictional name. But it was the actual name of the real person who largely played that role.
Adler got his doctorate from Columbia and was affiliated with the university in various ways for most of his professional life. He was one of the editors for Encyclopaedia Britannica and helped create the Great Books series and served as a life-long advocate for liberal arts education generally, the discipline of philosophy specifically, and the life of the mind for all citizens.
Some marginalized him as being more of a public personality for philosophy than a “real” philosopher himself. But what is philosophy anyway? Is it really primarily about who published what theory? Or is it more of promoting the questioning of every premise and answer in an effort to get closer to the truth –and the promoting of that discipline, a la Socrates and the Socratic method. On this latter measure, Mortimer Adler, was a great an influential philosopher of his time.
And by being exposed to him through his interviews and writings, Mortimer Adler encouraged me to pursue the study of philosophy in college and to be unafraid to think critically; and question assumptions and not be afraid of where those questions may lead.
So, as my daughter and I visit Columbia’s campus and try to snag a T-Shirt or sweat shirt bearing the school name, I’ll say a quiet thank you to Mortimer Adler for promoting the elusive but vitally important benefits of thinking for oneself. And for me being one of many millions of people Adler influenced to be, in their own imperfect and limited way, a philosopher in our modern world.
A modern world that sometimes seems to think it has advanced beyond the need for candid and robust philosophical analysis, but in fact is the lesser for such short-sighted biases.
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Things I fear I might overhear while walking alone through Hell’s Kitchen area in NYC.
“Look over your shoulder. I think it is one of those clueless white male heterosexuals from middle America. I have never seen one before.
My Gosh. They look just like they do on television except shorter and pasty looking.”
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In case you didn’t know this already (Or, Things I overheard today in the Broadway show section of NYC)
“The are basically two factions of people in the country right now.
There are those who love Matilda and hate Kinky Boots.
And there are those who love Kinky Boots and hate Matilda.
You have to figure out which group you are in.”
Said a young man who was working near the ticket counter and answering a question from two women trying to decide which ticket to buy.
I thought he was going to say the two groups are those who support ACA and those who oppose it. But I am from KY.
I haven’t researched enough to say confidently which group I belong to but I think it is probably Kinky Boots. I have never liked the name Matilda.
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Here’s the thing about people who wear T-shirts from elite universities they didn’t attend….
Yesterday I got to visit Columbia University. I wanted to tour the campus with my daughter and buy a T-shirt. The first thing you notice is that the actual students attending Columbia don’t wear T-shirts that say Columbia.
The first student I spoke to had a French accent and was wearing a pull-over shirt with a tiny French symbol I didn’t recognize (probably France’s equivalent of Polo that they think is superior to our Polo symbol but other people just roll their eyes at). We were lost and I asked him if he knew where Columbia University was located. He was obviously highly intelligent because he instantly grinned condescendingly and pointed directly across the street to a giant entrance gate with a huge university behind it. “There it is,” he said, “I am a student there.” I smiled (not condescendingly) and said, “Oh. Yeah. Thank you. I obviously wasn’t a student here.”
Once inside we walked across the campus and then began looking for a place to buy a Columbia T-shirt. I approached a distinguished looking woman and asked where the book store was located because I wanted to buy a Columbia University T-shirt. Adding, “You know, so people will think I attended Columbia,” I said facetiously.
She seemed taken aback and pointed to the building to my left and responded, “Try down there.”I have never bought a Columbia T-shirt but that’s because I only got a master’s degree here” as she pointed to the Journalism School we were standing just outside of.
I didn’t say anything but was thinking, “She must not have made very good grades if she is too ashamed to even get a Columbia T-shirt after she got a master’s degree at Colubmia. But that was her problem. I was undaunted. Mostly, I guess, because I made good grades in college and graduate school and figured if I had made really good grades at a really good high school and gotten involved in a whole lot of high school activities that impresses college admission’s officers and had a much higher SAT and ACT score, I could have gotten in Columbia University myself and may have done pretty well. So, for those reasons, I was completely comfortable with the idea of buying and wearing a Columbia T-shirt.
Just so you know I am not kidding myself, I would never buy or wear a T-shirt from MIT. I don’t think I could have made it there. I also would never buy a T-shirt from Duke University but not because I couldn’t have made it there under similar circumstances described above. But because students there are required to pretend they are superior to all other college students and I could never have pulled that off. While on the subject, I also would never buy a T-shirt from the University of Alabama. No particular reason. Just, why bother?
So, here’s the thing. When you were a T-shirt with the name of an elite university you didn’t attend no one really believes you actually went there. In fact, it’s a dang near certainty you didn’t. But that’s not why I wear them. I wear them because it gives the message that “I may not have gone to this university ….but if I had made really good grades at a really good high school and gotten involved in a whole lot of high school activities that impresses college admission’s officers and had a much higher SAT and ACT score, I could have gotten in Columbia University myself and may have done pretty well.”
And that is enough for me. And worth the $19.95
(Note: Later I will post a picture of me doing something smart looking, like thinking, in my new Columbia University T-shirt)
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Being in NYC means never having to wonder if you look normal.
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I have now visited the campuses of both Harvard and Columbia.
And have the T-shirts to prove it.
On Harvard’s campus it is all about Harvard. You feel you have have walked into hallowed ground preserved for the chosen elite who have trouble relating to the rest of us. The experience is akin to scaling Mt Olympus. Only Harvard Yard lore is more actual than mythic.
Columbia’s campus. by contrast, feels like it is still all about NYC–but that you have wondered onto a chic and sophisticated suburb.
Columbia is a special place, of course. But not Mount Olympus sacred. More like Mount Olympuses artsy and eclectic cousin who moved to the city–where the action is and because they are more at home walking through gritty streets than idyllic yards.
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Travel Trivia.
If you are on the 15th floor at a NY Hotel and the elevators are extremely slow and after you have been waiting patiently for over four minutes and a couple joins you at the elevators and they were the same couple that checked in before you last night and asked endless tedious questions about the room before finally checking in, and when the elevator door opens it is literally packed with people with room for only one or two more persons and the rude couple saunters in front of you and squeezes on the elevator leaving you to wait for the next elevator even though you were there first, by at least four minutes, and even pushed the elevator button, is that considered rude behavior?
Correct answer?
It is impossible to be rude while in New York.
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For anyone who questions the line in the song New York, New York “I want to wake up in that city that never sleeps,” well, it is true.
New York City really doesn’t appear to ever sleep. I stayed up very late the last couple of nights to see for myself. Like staying awake to catch Santa and his reindeer on Christmas morning.
I never did catch St Nick or Rudolph or even see any elves for that matter….but I can confirm that NYC was still humming along last night (technically, this morning) into the wee hours.
And I thought I may have seen a elf couple and someone dressed like Santa Claus and at least three of what appeared to be glowing noses. I kinda hit the jackpot!
I was walking to school with Ella last week when she said to me: “Mama, when will I get paid for work?” Thinking she was speaking in generalities I replied, “Oh, usually when you’re about 15 you can get a job where you earn money.”
“No no,” she said to me, “I mean for the job I have now, Political Playground, I want to get paid and I want a bank account.” (I swear this really happened.)
“Hmmm…” I said “How bout this. I can’t make any promises but I can try and set up a meeting for you with my boss, Executive Producer Steve Friedman and you can make your case for why you should get paid. Do you want to do that?”
*Enthusiastic head nodding from Ella*
“Alright but you’re going to have to take it really seriously and work really hard at it. OK?”
“OK.”
The rest of our short trip to school Ella fantasized about her bank account and credit.
She also determined that her account would not be at Bank of America because they’re “terrible.” (I’ve really got to watch what I say around this child.)
Steve agreed to take the meeting with the stipulation that I not be in the room. My agent Henry agreed to “represent” Ella and the result of their negotiation can be seen in this video. I’ve got to say, Ella secured a pretty good deal. Maybe when I renegotiate she can give me some tips.
By John Y. Brown III, on Thu Oct 10, 2013 at 12:00 PM ET
Remember when…
On this day 27 years ago in Louisville, KY it was a balmy and slightly overcast day in which nothing in particular happened.
And that is worth remembering.
Why?
Because more days are like that than have some momentous event occur. And we need to remember and celebrate are most commonplace day.
Just because it may have been forgettable doesn’t mean it should be forgotten.
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Trending now– “Nothing in particular”
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I wish Valvoline offered the human equivalents of a regular oil change and wheel re-alignment.
And without trying to sell me the human equivalent of an air filter I don’t really need.
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It is important to make the most of each day….and hope to have at least one life moment each day that is worthy of the highlight reel.
Why?
Think about it. What if we get to the end of our lives and it’s our time and up rolls our life’s highlights before our eyes…..you know, those flashes of our the precious, thrilling, sacred and fabulous moments from our life….and what if instead of lasting for the usual 30 seconds, ours only lasts for, say, 17 seconds? And then stops.
Well, I’d be really ticked and spend my last 13 seconds wishing I’d done more exciting stuff when I was younger.
By Nancy Slotnick, on Tue Oct 8, 2013 at 8:30 AM ET
The above title is my tribute to Jamie Foxx’s brilliant monologue this past weekend on SNL. I won’t use “How black is that?” because coming from me it will sound racist. From Jamie it just sounds so smooth. I love the concept about Obama too- that his first term was his white side at work. Now we’ll get to see the black man in him- fierce, fit and full of passion with nothing to lose. That’s the most impactful Obama- and I, for one, am so excited to see it. Israel is already taking notice. How snack is that?
So back to dating and relationships, since that’s my area of specialty. I used to own a real café, with a dating service for our customers. How snack is that? We served rice krispy treats iike the one you see here- they were so popular- why? First of all they were HUGE. (How snack is that?) Secondly, they were reminiscent of childhood. Thirdly, they were sweet and delicious. Need I say more? And people ignored the messy, digging right in and sharing with friends. Finger lickin’ good. Just like snacktime when you’re a kid. Pure fun. No worries. How snack is that?
No worries. I hate when people say that over text. It’s never coming from someone who really has “no worries.” What it really means is“I’m angry at you but I’m just going to pretend I’m not because I think of myself as the kind of person who is very Zen and nothing gets me mad. We can deal with our anger over text by dismissing it and we’ll be fine.” How snack is that? Not very. That was Obama in the first Romney debate. Obama in the next debate was all: “I’m gonna kick your butt so far from sideways that when we’re done I will have no worries.” And that’s just what happened. How black is that? (Sorry, I slipped.)
So I’m gonna suggest that when you meet someone new you ask yourself, “How snack is that?” when you’re on the date. That’s the litmus test for going out again. Clients always ask me: “I wasn’t attracted to him. Should I give him another chance anyway? I don’t want to hurt his feelings.” Not very snack. Why would you be doing him a favor to let him pay for another dinner with no chance of booty just because you feel guilty? You’re wasting your own time and his.
Please call me if you want to change that up- 212-712-0500. Consider it your personal wake up call. Snacktime for your lovelife! Get messy, have something sweet and fun, so that you can soothe the pain involved in growing up. Stretching outside of your comfort zone. Challenge yourself to know what you are feeling and face feeling bad. I am like your personal trainer for dating. There’s milk and cookies on the other side of the rainbow if you trust me, and you do the work. It’s not easy but it can be fun.
Now if you’re in a relationship, I have an exercise for you too. Every time before you call, text or email your spouse or your boyfriend, ask yourself: “How snack is that?” In other words, is what I’m calling or texting to say very important? Is it fun? Is it sexy? Is it a rice krispy treat for him/her? Or is it collard greens that have been sitting out too long at the Korean grocery salad bar? Challenge yourself to be more snack. Don’t let yourself get stale. Don’t be too Wonder Bread. Be unpredictable. Be Jamie Foxx.
Speaking of Jamie Foxx, though- I don’t know if he’s in a relationship. How snack is that? He’s quite a catch. He deserves an awesome girl who will admire him and put him in his place at the same time. When my husband filled out his profile at Drip, my old café (the day before we met, incidentally,) he was asked “What are you looking for in a partner?” His reply “Not a pushover.” I guess he likes a challenge- good thing for me.
So Jamie, if your people are reading this, and you are looking for true love, please have them contact me. I can help you figure out this crazy little thing. Because it’s complicated, just like the Facebook status says. Sometimes you need an expert, even if you’re a celebrity. I will respect your privacy. I’m good like that. I do understand that there’s a snowball’s chance in hell that your people will call me. And even less of a chance that you will. But that is my real number and my confidential voicemail. I’m willing to put it out there- that’s all I can do. Now it’s your turn. It was probably a white SNL writer that wrote that monologue for you anyway. Please have him contact me instead. No worries! 😉
By John Y. Brown III, on Sun Oct 6, 2013 at 12:00 PM ET
Marriage therapists agree it may be time for republicans and democrats in Congress to consider divorcing one another.
“Normally, spouses (and political parties) can work through difficult discussions by agreeing that a “Time Out” can be called by either party when there is disagreement and emotions are running high —but that is contingent on each side respecting the other when a “Time Out” is called.
Some therapists agree that a “prolonged time out” could be beneficial but if parties are going to start insisting on complete shutdowns lasting for several weeks, that other options, including divorce, need to be explored.
“We had felt, as a group, a structured separation made the most sense if things didn’t improve during implementation of the Affordable Health Care Act,” said a spokesperson for the group, “but it is clear now that the two parties have irreconcilable differences that are beyond the scope of the most sophisticated tools our profession has to offer.” Adding that “Even make-up intimacy” (or bi-partisan feel good legislation) seems no longer to hold any allure for either party.
Not all marriage therapists agree. Some professional marriage counselors believe that insisting on using “Mirroring techniques” where members on the floor are required to repeat what they believe they heard another member say –and get confirmation from that member their understanding is correct — before criticizing or name-calling a colleague would be helpful and clear up some of the confusion and hurt feelings experienced now on both sides. But some First Amendment experts say that would be a violation of free speech.
Still others family therapists have suggested the required use of “I” statements when hurling accusations against those not in their political party. For example, instead of shouting something like, ‘You lie!’ to President Obama, Representative Joe Wilson would be required to instead shout something like, “When you talk about your new immigration policy, I feel afraid on the inside.”
Again, however, Constitutional scholars question if such requirements wouldn’t violate the First Amendment.
As for the children, there is the possibility of joint custody. Under this arrangement, Congressional republicans will govern Americans on Mondays and Wednesdays and Fridays and get us every third weekend and half the summer. Democrats in Congress get to govern the country on odd days and two of three weekends and split summers, probably in the Hamptons.
A few marriage counselors suggested that the cause of the breakdown is traceable to the Tea Party being a jealous and controlling mistress for the Republican Party. One therapist, who asked to remain anonymous, compared U.S Senator Ted Cruz to Glenn Close’s character in Fatal Attraction and his recent filibuster reminiscent of the “rabbit stew scene.” A majority of therapists, however, trace primary blame on an earlier ‘straying” with an inter-party dalliance among Congressional Democrats that turned into a torrid romance with now president Barack Obama. Although democrats in congress now claim it is purely a professional and platonic working relationship, many republican colleagues now admit they felt that “Despite years of being together and taking the good with the bad that they were about to be replaced by a new Trophy Politician, President Barack Obama” and never were able to forgive the very public seduction they had to witness. Quoting another marriage therapist who also asked to remain anonymous, “It was like rubbing salt into that fresh wound by making such a priority about “President Obama’s big idea, the healthcare bill. It’s like asking your spouse to chauffeur your new girlfriend around town and expecting them to say, ‘Sure, I’d love to.’ It’s just not realistic.” Adding, “Anyone in our profession could have predicted a retaliatory tryst with the Tea Party was just a matter of time.”
Is this dramatic dissolution of Congress really necessary? As one top marriage counselor said, “It has to be. The example Congress is setting for the children, I mean the people, isn’t healthy and will likely be repeated if any of them ever make it to Congress. This sort of maladjusted and entitled behavior can take years of therapy to overcome. And that would mean adding additional therapeutic coverage to Obamacare and I just don’t see that happening right now. A divorce is really best for all concerned.”
GORE ’88 REUNION: A tipster emails: “Over the weekend, Al Gore reconnected with much of his 1988 presidential campaign team at a 25th reunion party at John Jameson’s 150-year-old wood-frame house near Eastern Market. In attendance were: Roy Neel, Peter Knight, Jackie Shrago, Jean Nelson, Jack Quinn, Jacquie Lawing Ebert, Mitchell Berger, Fred Duval, Sonny Cauthen, Alan Kessler, Katie McGinty, Pam Eakes and Ambassador Alan Blinken and his wife, Melinda Blinken. The reunion was organized by former Kentucky State Treasurer Jonathan Miller, who started his political career on the 1988 campaign as director of Students for Gore. One attendee described Gore as ‘fit and full of great energy’ and remembered the campaign as the first presidential race where ‘big ideas about the environment and technology were discussed.’”
Writes attendee David Crossland:
Al Gore looks Fabulous! He’s tan—the ozone factor suits him. He’s dressed to make us feel comfortable, even though his made-to-measure look must cost more than a Nissan Leaf. Tonight, Al is downright sexy.
This is the 25th anniversary weekend of Al Gore’s run for the Presidency back when he sought the nomination in 1988. Then, he was the fresh Senator from Tennessee, still dancing the two-step in his kitchen withJello Biafra’s nemesis Tipper. Everyone is here at John Jamison’s beyond gorgeous home on Capitol Hill, which feels more like Savannah than DC. Is that really Spanish moss?
The texture of this swell Democratic crowd is pleasantly what you’d expect. There’s a two year old toddler weaving through legs, goosing peeps in all the fun places. The Folsom family-an Alabama political dynasty–holds court in the sunroom. Some A-gays (handsome as ever) are on the terrace chatting with Eleanor Clift. An elegant looking grandmother from NC steals a moment to smoke a cigarette under a moon vine in night bloom. It’s old magnolia south, but with an updated passport.
Most famous people don’t know how everybody looks before they walk into a room. Jane Fonda or Oprah walk in to a Georgetown dinner party and everyone has perfect posture. Al’s star is still rising. When he walks in, everyone stands a little taller, and tucks it in—looking a little thinner.
Clearly, the biggest purses south of the Mason Dixie want Al to throw his hat in for 2016, and we are celebrating the guy that could have/ would have steered this country boldly where no man has gone before.
Al preaches to the choir, but his gospel resonates. I can’t help getting angry at Justice O’Connor; now saying she regrets her decision that changed the course of our world. Al is certainly in better shape than Hilary right now, and I bet he could make it. Problem is–Washington treated him so badly. If we ever actually asked the man to dance again, would he?
By Nancy Slotnick, on Tue Oct 1, 2013 at 8:30 AM ET
The new buzz word in the world of tech entrepreneurs is cherry-picking. It’s used as a verb, as in “You can cherry-pick your customers based on targeted demographics.” These MBA types like to have shared lingo because it makes them sound smart. I like to learn it so that I can pretend to fit in. I never really do fit in, but it got me thinking about cherry-picking and where that expression came from.
I believe that life is a bowl of cherries. Lately I have been affirming that belief on a daily basis with the intention of creatively visualizing a brave new 2013 for me. So far it’s working. But often when I get all excited about a goal or a new year’s resolution it goes through the following cycle: Hope, Action, Reinforcement, Bold Action, Rejection, Defeat. Repeat.
I’m trying to break that cycle with my “no fear” new year’s resolution. I suspect that cherry-picking may be part of the problem. If life is a bowl of cherries, and that is the symbol of beauty in the world, then it must hold true that
Cherry-picking = Nitpicking.
Aha, there’s the rub. I picture some lesser version of myself going to Whole Foods and literally picking out cherries one by one to get the best. But they are all cherries at Whole Foods! Granted the cherries at this store could be dubbed Whole Paycheck but they’re going to be delicious and it can’t possibly be worth my time to pick them out one by one.
I tell myself- “Just buy the bag. Enjoy the cherries. Don’t be nitpicky.” It’s not even as unpredictable as Forrest Gump said about the chocolates. You doknow what you’re going to get- a cherry! If it’s no good then you spit it out along with the pit and you move on. (Do those of you out there who are dating see where I am going with this?) You still have a bowl of cherries.
Read the rest of… Nancy Slotnick: Bowl of Cherries
By John Y. Brown III, on Mon Sep 30, 2013 at 12:00 PM ET
Asheville, NC is cool.
Hip.
And Southern (albeit reluctantly).
A serenely hippie dippie college town that could easily take the NCAA regional title in meditation, woodworking, haute cuisine, energy healing, Frisbie throwing, and self-awareness if any were collegiate sports.
My phone camera isn’t functioning. Maybe it has dropped into the Asheville mindset and decided I should just experience the city instead of taking pictures of it, man.
And I agree.
Suffice it to say that it feels like Haight-Ashbury went to rehab and then was sent to a half-way house on the other side of the US and over time these Haight-Ashbury refugees found a way to make a sober-ish life while still honoring their eccentric individuality and pacifist world view. And learned how to make a contented community among themselves.
The inhabitants are not burned out but turned on(and aptly named their town Ashville) where they seek out (not eek out) an all-natural gluten-free, and gloriously Granola-fied life. To the beat of street musicians playing jazzy sounding bluegrass music.
By Lauren Mayer, on Tue Sep 24, 2013 at 3:00 PM ET
Most young girls become infatuated with pop stars at some point – and reflecting back on those initial crushes reveals a lot about who we are (and how old we are). For example, there were the bobby soxers who squealed over a young Frank Sinatra, the girls swooning over Elvis the Pelvis (before the Vegas sequined jumpsuit days), and teens fainting at Beatles’ concerts. In my day, we were too young to go to a Beatles concert but not too young to pick our favorite – the popular girls all liked Paul, cool girls worshipped John, out-there individualists picked George, and I was probably one of three girls who had crushes on Ringo. (Because he was the funny one – that’s the same logic that drove me to pick Peter as my favorite Monkee . . . . but I digress.)
As we grow older, our crushes evolve – often to include movie stars (while all my friends admired George Clooney, I always had a thing for Kevin Kline – again, he was funny), even comedians (the funny thing works for a lot of us) and political leaders – whether it was liberals admiring Barack Obama in 2008, or conservatives swooning over Paul Ryan last year (or my parents’ generation who loved JFK). These more adult crushes tend to include substance as well as appearance, admiration of talent or accomplishment or potential (like when I was one of lots of people, men and women, fantasizing about Nate Silver, doing statistical analysis with me in a dimly lit office, softly murmuring demographic data in my ear . . . . . . and YES, I know he’s gay, but hello, it’s a fantasy, I’ll never meet him anyway so what difference does his orientation make?)
Where was I? Oh, my latest crush, which seems novel to me, although my friends who grew up Catholic remind me of their crushes on priests, and there were some pretty hot scenes in the Thorn Birds between Meggie and Father Ralph. Still, I’d resisted the appeal of a man in clerical dress (and don’t tell me it’s a cossack or whatever, it looks like a dress to me) until the new Pope started blowing fresh air into the Vatican. The last time people were this excited about changes within Catholicism was Vatican Two – which inspired Tom Lehrer’s immortal “Vatican Rag.” So I figured it was time for another musical salute to the Pope . . . .