On Giving
Those of my readers who celebrate Christmas (and probably those who don't) are no doubt familiar with the concept of mass-mailing Christmas cards. These cards are sent out at around this time every year, or earlier in the case of certain zealous relatives whom you have never met but who nonetheless reliably send you the Holiday Newsletter, in which they discuss the minutiae of their lives and the lives of their children. At any rate, these Christmas cards are often the sole contact with one's distant relatives, sent not because of any deep feelings of affection on either side, but because there is an obligation.
At any rate, the custom of sending Christmas cards requires the purchase of boxes of cards, often selling at exorbitant rates because, of course, you have no choice. Now, as Christmas is the season of giving and goodwill towards man, it seems only natural to buy cards that benefit some charity or other. There's only one problem: these cards are ugly.
Why is this? Is it so that people can demonstrate their utter devotion to charitable causes?
I am so adamant about donating eighty cents to cancer research that I will check my dignity at the mailbox and affix my name to this abomination, rather than picking out a tasteful design and writing a check to the charity of my choice.
I would feel some guilt at mocking the appearance of these cards if, for instance, they were designed by cancer-stricken children. Maybe some of them are. If so, they are nowhere to be found, and the cards benefiting charitable causes are designed by adult... I hesitate to say "artists," as it's hardly art on the front, but probably these people would consider themselves artists, and probably consider themselves talented. The only justification for this is that these cards must have been designed at the lowest possible cost in order to contribute the maximum amount--although designing better cards would result in more people buying them.
The moral of the story is that I ended up with a tasteful box of cards, and will be writing a check directly to a charity instead.
Three Things
These three confessions may make me unpopular, but I feel that it's time to come clean:
1) I don't like books on tape,
2) I prefer instant coffee to real coffee, and
3) I despise modern art.
Books on tape are like talk radio. I change the station when the music stops and the talking starts, and yet I'm expected to sit still and listen to a recording of someone reading a book for hours and hours on end. Worst of all is being trapped in the car on a long road trip when others want to listen to one of these "diversions." Now, it may well be a book I would otherwise enjoy. The reader may well have a pleasant voice and proper intonation. Doesn't matter. It's like sitting at a party and having to listen to someone go on and on about himself, and not be able to escape the conversation or change the subject.
The coffee thing is a bit less clear-cut. I think Starbucks coffee is almost undrinkable, while Dunkin Donuts coffee is very good indeed. Overall, however, I'm just as happy with a cup of instant coffee. It's quick, it's not bitter, and it responds better to reheating than does real coffee. The thing is, I've always pretended to be a coffee snob. Not really true. The only thing I ask is that my coffee remain uncontaminated by milk and sugar.
Finally, modern "art." Honestly, I can't think of anything produced after 1950 that has any value whatsoever (and there's not a whole lot after 1900). I'm only referring to the visual arts; there's been plenty of good music and cinema. The problem is that the visual arts have suffered since the advent of photography. Apparently technical skill is no longer a requirement; verisimilitude has gone the way of the dodo, and artists are no longer concerned with the ability to reproduce a human face. I don't mean drawing something that looks like a human--I mean drawing a face that looks like a particular person. Instead, we have srt that's supposed to make a "statement" that no one's intelligent enough to understand. I shudder to think of the hours of my life spent in modern art museums, hours I will never reclaim. Honestly, it's worthless. If you're creating art for the art critics alone, art that no one else will understand, what's the point, other than self-importance and conceit?
