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July
31, 2003, 9:20 a.m.
“I
am Al Pacino’s assistant.” A night at the opera. Race
games (cont.) — and more
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s you know, there are a great many people — in Iraq and elsewhere
— who refuse to believe that the Hussein kids are dead. (There are
many who refuse to believe that Arab terrorists committed 9/11 —
but that's another story. Albeit a related one.) Anyway, Saddam —
or "Saddam," we should write — has now confirmed those
deaths in a taped message. Will this persuade the doubters? Or is Saddam
— if it is Saddam — in on the American/Zionist/neocon conspiracy,
too?
If the Conspiracy
has recruited him: Wow, do they do impressive work.
Next thing you know, they'll be telling us that we landed men on the moon.
Remember the moon-hoax film that featured O. J. Simpson? It was a pretty
good movie, actually, as I recall (or maybe my standards were lower then
— which I doubt). Incidentally, I was in an airport the other day,
and I heard one man say to another, "Yeah, and I had to do an O.
J. Simpson to catch the plane." I was reminded that "to do an
O. J. Simpson" used to mean to run very fast through an airport,
as "Juice" himself did in those Hertz commercials. Now, "to
do an O. J. Simpson," to my mind, means to commit a double murder.
Or is that a tiny
bit cynical?
I don't know why this item tickles me: but it does. As Reuters tells it,
". . . the [Malaysian] government's senior religious adviser has
decreed that Muslim men can legally divorce their wives through text messages
from their mobile phones. Islamic law permits a man to divorce his wife
by declaring 'I divorce you' three times. Text messaging 'is just another
form of writing,' [the adviser] was quoted as saying . . ."
That logic, my friends,
as far as I'm concerned, is unimpeachable. I think of Jimmy Carter's great
line from the '76 campaign: "We must adjust to changing times with
unchanging principles." (Despite my levity, I think that is one of
the best things ever uttered in the political arena.)
Several years ago, a close friend of mine explained that, in any country
where Napoleon set foot — where Napoleonic law took root — you
cannot leave your estate to persons or entities other than your offspring.
In other words, as my friend put it, "You can't disinherit your children
[much as you might like to]. You can't leave your millions to the cat
home."
I thought about this
when reading another Reuters report, from Britain (where Napoleon never
had much luck, except possibly as a dessert):
An elderly British
man who lived in a run-down house, bought second-hand clothes, and watched
television at his neighbor's to save on electricity left a million pounds
to a dog charity, newspapers reported on Friday.
Joseph Leek, who died at 90, left 1.1 million pounds ($1.77 million)
to the Guide Dogs for the Blind Association, but nothing to his two
daughters who had no idea of their late father's wealth.
"We couldn't
believe he had such a fortune. He wouldn't do any repairs on the house
and he wouldn't spend on anything that he considered unnecessary,"
daughter Patricia Pilgrim told The Times. . . .
Pilgrim said she
and her sister Josephine were disappointed to have missed out on their
father's legacy, but respected his decision to give the money to charity.
"What he has
given them is marvelous and I'm very proud of him."
Leek secretly amassed his fortune in the stock market.
Three comments: Go,
stock market. At least guide dogs are a fine cause. The daughters seem
to have taken it very well — at least as revealed in their dealings
with the press.
Speaking of items that tickled me: This one, I found roll-on-the-floor
funny, and I wonder if you will too. It's the kind of thing that can't
be explained, or elaborated on. It's just the type of thing that strikes
you, immediately, as screamingly funny or not.
Al Pacino, like most
stars, apparently has an "assistant," and that assistant was
throwing his weight around recently. According to one of the New York
Post's gossip pages, the guy said, "Don't you know who I am?
I am Al Pacino's assistant!"
I find that priceless.
I must disappoint all opera fans: Jennifer Lopez and Ben Affleck have
made a movie called Gigli. But, no, it is not about the late, great
tenor, Beniamino — although Gigli would have been plenty flattered
to be played by Ben Affleck. (Gigli was, er — not very Hollywood
in his appearance.)
Okay, some good news for opera fans. Recently, the Kirov Opera
was here in New York for a mini-festival, and one of their offerings was
— almost inevitably — Eugene Onegin. At the center of
their production was the soprano singing Tatiana, Irina Mataeva. Miss
Mataeva is . . . well, let me quote the review I wrote: "Seldom has
Nature so favored a single person." She is an excellent singer, an
intelligent musician, a convincing actress . . . and a looker and a half.
She could, in fact, succeed in Hollywood as much as in her own medium,
one would think.
I was reminded of
one of my favorite anecdotes — one I have used many times. A veteran
concertgoer brings with him to the concert hall a newcomer. Elisabeth
Schwarzkopf — famously described as "the most glamorous woman
in Europe" — walks out, and the guy gasps to his friend, "And
she sings, too?"
By the way, after
this performance of Eugene Onegin, Irina Mataeva came out for her
bow, and she did a demure little dip, before rushing to join the line
(of others). The audience was screaming its head off, and she could have
milked her bow for several minutes. A friend of mine and I turned to each
other and said — simultaneously, as if rehearsed — "Modest,
too!"
I'll give you a shot of Tiger Woods. The report of his recent clinic at
the Buick Open in Michigan was so delightful, it should be quoted in full
— here
it is, from the AP — but this little bit will suffice:
"Some in the
crowd had jitters when Woods aimed over their heads with an iron to show
how he could shape a shot. 'Don't worry, I'm a trained professional,'
he said before hooking a shot over their heads and just short of his target."
I wanted to report on two human-rights heroes who have been mentioned
frequently in this column. I should have placed this item much higher
— but here goes.
Marta Beatriz Roque
is the Cuban economist and democracy activist who was rounded up —
along with about 75 others — by the regime on the eve of the Iraq
war. She has been transferred from a prison to a military hospital because
her health has seriously declined. (A story may be found here.)
Of course, this is what tends to happen: Cuba's political prisoners suffer
gross physical degradation. Roque's family and friends are obviously worried
about her, and the world should keep an eye on her, and her fellows.
Also, you know about
Jian-li Yang, the great Chinese scholar, Tiananmen Square leader, and
democrat: It took well over a year for his family and lawyers to confirm
that he was alive. He is. And on Monday, he's to go on trial for espionage
carried out on behalf of Taiwan (a characteristically absurd charge).
The trial will be secret.
Again: The U.S. government
should not take its eye off Jian-li, even as it trades smooches with the
evildoers who are persecuting him. (I thought George W. Bushian language
would be appropriate here — just to remind him of his own principles
and values.)
(N.B. One recent
report on Jian-li may be found here.)
I'd like to clarify something from my column yesterday.
Apparently, I made a point quite badly, because a great many readers —
judging from the mail — misconstrued it. I was talking about Saddam
Hussein's evocation of Islam, once the going got tough for him. He is
not a religious man, as we know: He is a Baathist, secularist monster
who worships power and himself. I wrote,
Funny how Saddam
— if it is Saddam — is heavily playing the religion
card. This old-time Baathist socialist is now Mr. Muslim — talking
about how his sons died for Allah in the glorious jihad, etc. Do any
real Muslims buy it, do you think? They say that patriotism is the last
refuge of a scoundrel (although, in my experience, scoundrels are more
likely to be found in the fields of anti-patriotism). Must be that religion
is the last refuge of an encircled Arab dictator.
I don't recall
that Hitler extolled the glory of the Lutheran Church as he and Eva
undertook their final embraces. (Of course, Stalin did discover
Russia — when his back was to the wall — as against International
Communism and the New Soviet Man, didn't he?)
Okay. Roughly 8 million
people wrote in to say, "Hitler wasn't a Lutheran, what have you
have been smoking?!" No, no, no — that wasn't my point at all.
Of course Hitler wasn't any kind of Christian, or any kind of religious
man. What I meant was: A dictator may invoke the national religion —
the dominant religion of the nation — to save his own murderous,
tyrannical, pagan skin.
Cool? All rightie
— back to today's programming.
A brief word on a couple of bumper stickers: Saw a preening leftie —
you may know the type — in a fancy car with a bumper sticker that
said, "In an age of universal deceit, telling the truth is a revolutionary
act." (The words are Orwell's.) Yeah, baby, yeah: but not in the
way you might think.
How did I know this
guy was a leftie (aside from the preening)? Oh, trust me — sometimes
you can judge a book by its cover. As I once heard Harlan Ellison
say, if there's a lady with a brass bra and a laser weapon on the cover,
it's probably not Indian poetry. (At least I think it was Ellison.)
The other one? "Think
. . . it's patriotic." That's cute — because, as is blindingly
clear, none of us who support the administration in its war on terror
could possibly have thought!
To my readers: It'll be a while before I do another Impromptus —
I have other responsibilities elsewhere. If, sometime in August, you happen
to be at the Salzburg Festival, and would like to attend some of the (English-language)
symposia — I would be happy to greet you. Otherwise, I'll see you,
on this website, as August starts to fade.
Let's skip any language nonsense and close with some choice letters:
"Dear Mr. Nordlinger:
I read what you wrote about Mrs. Maritza Lugo, the Cuban activist [now
in the United States]. And then I read what you wrote about the execrable
U.N. Human Rights Commission.
"Now, you and
I both realize that the UNHRC is pretty much just a symbolic body anyway,
not a serious group to which we need to send a professional diplomat.
So, wouldn't it be just delicious if President Bush were to send someone
like Mrs. Lugo to represent us?
"Sure, Castro's delegation would throw a fit, along with their fellow-travelers
in the U.S., but what would be the worst they could do? Boycott the commission?
Oh, darn . . .
"I know, it's
just a dream, but it's a nice one. So much of what the U.N. does is pure
symbolism, because (thankfully) the organization has little real power.
Some countries seem to realize this, and make all kinds of symbolic gestures
through the U.N. We don't seem to play that game as well, but we should.
"Anyway, just a thought."
It's a good thought
too — and one that Ronald Reagan acted on. As president, he sent
Armando Valladares — author of the shattering prison memoir Against
All Hope — to Geneva, to the U.N. Human Rights Commission.
Just another part of Reagan's brilliance, and heart.
"Dear Jay: I think the president should add Ward Connerly to his
list of future appointees to the Supreme Court. Whether he's a lawyer
or not, he's the most clear-thinking man I have heard on racial problems
since I started paying attention to them 60-plus years ago. Not only that,
but he's been an absolute winner in everything he's ever done. His voice
would be one of excellent reason to add to the Court."
"Jay, about this racial-preferences business: What about those of
us who are adopted and don't know our race? Without boring you with the
details, I was born to an unmarried woman in Germany and it's clear I
am not exclusively one race (who is?). Yet since I am adopted and the
birth certificate doesn't name a father (and I have never searched for
either biological parent), I will never know what race I am. Surely there
must be some legislation before Congress so I can properly identify myself
and regain my self-esteem. If the government is going to continue to make
race an issue, then there must be a commission formed to study the suffering
of folks like me who were racially neutered. I am a man without racial
identity and I need a telethon or something."
"Dear Jay: About a year ago, a pollster phoned me, and after we waded
through the sex, age, and income questions, she got to the race box. When
I answered 'human,' she answered, quick as a flash, 'Thank you, we already
have enough data on that group,' and hung up."
"Jay, for some time, my girlfriend and I have been discussing the
impact race will have on our kids. You see, my girlfriend is Indian (the
kind Columbus was looking for, not the kind he found), and I'm a British
mutt (little English, little Scottish, little Irish, but no Welsh as far
as I know). So our kids will have the deck stacked against them. It's
a particularly sensitive subject for her as she left India primarily to
escape its reservation system.
"Your writing
has inspired us to pursue creative solutions. The kids, presumably born
in America, will of course be Native Americans. If push comes to shove,
it's also relatively easy to show that they are indeed American Indians.
So our kids should be okay when it comes to admissions."
"Jay, my wife and I applied for our marriage license in early 2000.
Behind the counter at Town Hall, a dried-up, cranky woman pre-filled the
'race' question for me. She checked the box marked 'Hispanic.' I asked
why, and she replied, 'Because of your name.' When I asked her why it
was required at all, she gave the well-rehearsed answer: 'because the
State requires an answer and you-can't-get-a-marriage-license-without-it.'
"I filled out a new application and checked 'Caucasian.' After all,
the question was race, not ethnicity. She sneered and said, 'When people
check that box, I always ask them what part of the Caucasus Mountains
they hail from.' I retorted, 'I'll tell you as soon as you can show me
Hispania on a map.' She dried up a little more and quietly processed the
application while my then-fiancée tried not to fall on the floor
laughing."
"Hey, Jay: When it comes to indicating race on forms, what about
Jews? Originally we're from the Mideast, and in our formative years we
spent significant time on both sides of the Asia-Africa rift, but now
we are descended from people who lived all over the world.
"My father,
o'b'm', was not enough of a white European to get into Cornell in 1946.
My son might be too much of a white European to get into Cornell in 2003."
"Dear Jay: I always says I'm Black Irish."
On that creative
note . . . catch you later.
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