Here's to you, J. D. Salinger

I was never one of those surly malcontents who walked high school halls with a blood red copy of "The Catcher in the Rye" conspicuously peeking out a back pocket. For a while, as an adolescent, it remained one of those books my mother forbade me to read, along with Tropic of Cancer, The World According to Garp, The Fountainhead, and Lady Chatterly's Lover. I was not permanently banned until adulthood, or anything so strictly official; I simply remember wanting to read them at some point of my childhood and being told I was too young. In the homes of aunts and uncles and my parents' friends, I'd find Stephen King sprawled out on a couch, James Joyce lying on the floor, with tassled bookmarks, underlined sentences, notes in the margins. I'd try to get them home without my parents knowing.

When guests arrived in our home for the first time, inevitably they would gravitate toward the bookcase, where an ornately bound copy of Lady's Chatterly's Lover rested between copies of Twain's Huckleberry Finn and Tolstoy's War and Peace. They were all part of a set, different colors with the same design. It was a rare guest who didn't feel the need to say the title outloud, "Lady Chatterly's Lover", usually with a hint of amusement or surprise. "Oh, it's one of my favorites," my mother would reply, and there would be a shared look, a conversation tucked inside a glance and a smile.

For a long time this bookshelf occupied a unique place in my imagination, one of those trees in the wilderness whose fruit look so exotic and flavorful. One day I'd reach up there to pluck the wrong book, and soon some part of my innocence would be lost, never found again. To make matters worse, in some subconscious way I associated Lady Chatterly with Lady Godiva, a tale which involved a naked woman riding on a horse in public, and a man punished for watching.

Bother an adult enough and inevitably they'll drop decorum simply to get you to shut up. Eventually I learned there was sex in the book. "Your mother probably doesn't want you learning about sex." This explained why she didn't want me reading it, though it created even an even bigger question: How had it come to pass that my mother's favorite book was about sex?

I looked through these books, especially Lady Chatterly, whenever I had the chance. Around ten or eleven years old, acting as if I were reading someone's diary, I'd sneak the book into my bedroom, flip through the pages, not even sure what I was looking for. And I wouldn't find anything worthy of all the hubbub. The Fountainhead and Garp, after all, are both over seven hundred pages long; Lady Chatterly's Lover is written in a style and language that is hard for a young kid to enjoy, too many turns to the dictionary for meaning, too long-winded; and I could never get my hand on anything by Henry Miller.

Instead I read a lot of mystery. An early love of Hitchcock movies led me to the "Three Investigators" series, written by Robert Arthur. Hitchcock would appear in the stories as the wise old authority figure, helping out the young investigators when matters became too serious for kids to handle, and even sending them out to do mischief on his behalf. (I went to Amazon looking for these books, and new, unused copies go anywhere from $88 to $600 a piece, though there are used copies for much less.)

I spent a month with Sherlock Holmes, the entire collection read at night in the hours before sleeping. That led me to Agatha Christie, Poe. Soon it was spy novels: Tom Clancy, Robert Ludlum, John le Carre.

Sophomore year I was walking out of English class when I overheard the instructor and a student discussing the meaning of a Pink Floyd song, "Comfortably Numb." The band had recently shot an updated video of the song and it was playing a lot on MTV (back when MTV actually showed music videos). I was friendly with the student, named Bill, a tall kid who always wore tie-dyes and his blond hair a little long (I recognize now that he was almost certainly a pothead, but at the time I would have associated his personal style with the type of music he listened to). Our instructor had an Irish last name, and physically resembled Mark Twain, down to the overgrown mustache.

Interested to hear what they had to say, I asked for their interpretation of the meaning behind the song title. Bill looked annoyed and the teacher shrugged his shoulders as if to suggest he couldn't explain it me, I either understood or I did not. After an uncomfortable silence, Bill continued the conversation as if I'd never said anything. The teacher went along.

Embarrassed, I walked out, surprised and a little hurt. I cursed the two of them. They made me look stupid. How could I have allowed that to happen? I went over what I should have said, would have said if I'd only been thinking more clearly. Better yet, if I had done some research I wouldn't have to ask, and then I wouldn't look so ignorant.

I started reading everything I wasn't supposed to. Now, keep in mind this was 1989. Had I been born in the last thirty years, I would have simply used the internet to search for Pink Floyd songs, lyrics, went to the comfortably numb Wikipedia page, followed a trail that started with simple search terms and led to some understanding that would make me more comfortable in conversation should the subject ever come up again. But I was born in 1974. The internet didn't become worth the effort until the late 1990s. So I went to the library.

I had already tackled "Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man", a book frequently grouped with "Catcher in the Rye". My ancestors were mostly Irish Catholics, so some of the dialogue sounded familiar and the underlying themes, however much I misinterpreted them, struck a chord. I was glad to be spared a Catholic school experience. My mother, and most of her sisters, were not so lucky. In fact, until they moved to Florida, my grandmother sang at Saints Cyril's, a parish near their home in Deer Park, while my grandfather carried around a collection contraption that looked liked a snake charmer's basket tied to the end of a broomstick. The fact that my grandfather grew up using broomsticks as stickball bats on the streets of hell's kitchen, only to later use them for collecting coins and dollar bills for the church, told me all I needed to know about religion.

It's very likely one of my ancestors experienced a life similar to the one Joyce created with his character Stephen Dadelus.

Holden Caufield? Not so much.

A number of things have always bothered me about Salinger's stories. Few, if any, of his stories have clear resolutions. Some critics have described this as evidence of a "zen" sensibility, but to me it feels like a deliberate attempt to leave the reader feeling uneasy, unresolved. You wind up thinking about the story more than you would if there were a clean, inevitable ending. Near the end of "Seymour: An Introduction", the narrator explains: "Fundamentally, my mind has always balked at any type of ending. How many stories have I torn up since I was a boy simply because they had what that old Chekhov-baiting Somerset Maugham calls a Beginning, a Middle, and an End?"

The effect of this on me was that I'd finish a story unsatisfied, thinking: What exactly was that character's problem? (They all have problems.) What was so significant, for example, about Eloise (in "Uncle Wiggily in Connecticut) setting her daughter's eyeglasses face down on the bedside table, "too full of purpose to feel pain"?

In Salinger's world human beings are distant, self-involved, megalomaniacal, cunning, depressive. The weight of circumstance frequently hangs upon them like self-imposed chains, dragging them into psychological ditches. The reader senses a vast emptiness in the world his characters inhabit, and that which is not emptiness is mostly shit. Everyone's first and primary concern when dealing with others is how to use each other to selfish advantage. Displays of affection inevitably have ulterior motives. It is a decidedly un-romantic view of existence. One story that comes to mind is "Just Before the War with the Eskimos". This is how the story begins:

Five straight Saturday mornings, Ginnie Mannox had played tennis at the East Side Courts with Selena Graff, a classmate at Miss Basehoar's. Ginnie openly considered Selena the biggest drip at Miss Basehoar's-a school ostensibly abounding with fair-sized drips-but at the same time she had never known anyone like Selena for bringing fresh cans of tennis balls. Selena's father made them or something.

Perhaps the most lasting effect Salinger's work had on me was making me appreciate my own life, my own humble beginnings. How could I not, after seeing how cunning, prejudiced, uncaring and lonely the privileged children of the elite seemed to be? We were working class, struggled sometimes, but we loved and respected each other. We said what was on our minds, and confronted each other. If we suffered, we suffered together.

In Salinger's world, even the enlightened don't give a f*ck. Take "Teddy", a story about a ten year old boy so precociously wise it frightens adults. Teddy is able to transcend his body through meditation and see his own death before it happens, yet he lets himself be killed so he can be on his way toward spiritual advancement, or so it seems.

How about remaining in this world to guide others? Teddy's never had any use for emotions, or logic; his parents don't understand what love is. He explains that being born in America is akin to karmic punishment for a transgression he made in this last life, that it's no place for a spiritual person. In his notebook he writes that he will either die that very day, or maybe Valentine's Day six years later. He then tells a stranger that there's an imminent chance his sister will push him into an empty swimming pool and kill him. Doesn't he feel bad that his parents will suffer upon hearing of his death? How about his six year old sister, who doesn't like Teddy but doesn't necessarily want to harm him, much less kill him. How is she to cope with such a mistake for the rest of her life? Teddy's answer: when they themselves die they'll realize how silly it was to feel such emotions. Minutes later he leads himself to the edge of the pool.

These are characters, however, and just because I don't like them personally does not mean I fail to appreciate how well written Salinger's stories can be, how it stirred my emotions in uncomfortable ways and left me wondering after meaning, how realistic the dialogue seemed. Motives are strong with Salinger characters, and the motives of his characters are frequently at odds with each other. The manipulations ring true. In the end, however, readers are left with the sense that there is no apparent purpose to existence, and therefore there's just no point to getting excited over anything, since it will all eventually crumble over time. An existentialist view, really, one that's not exactly conducive to love and the enjoyment of life. I would much rather be a romantic.

For someone who seemed to have such a dire view of existence, Mr. Salinger certainly hung on to that existence for quite some time. After 91 years of life on this planet, the last fifty or so hidden away in Cornish, NH, he passed away Wednesday. Let's hope that he found some peace. Not that he would have thought it was of any consequence to the rest of us.

The new Cold War Kids video, "Audience"

This is the first of four songs on their recently released EP, "Behave Yourself". The video was shot on the California coast, and features the band members lounging with their actual girlfriends.

If you're interested in seeing the band, you'll either going to have to travel to the Bear Tooth Theater in Anchorage, Alaska, or wait until they add some new dates to their schedule. January shows in Brooklyn, Manhattan and Chicago were all sold out.

A Lost Cause?

The New York Times today published two classified cables sent by Karl W. Eikenberry, the U.S. Ambassador to Afghanistan, to his superiors in Washington. In addition to expressing his complete lack of confidence in Afghan President Hamid Karzai's ability to take control of his country, Eikenberry had this to say:

"Even if we could eradicate pervasive corruption, the country has few indigenous sources of revenue, few means to distribute services to its citizens, and most important, little to no political will or capacity to carry out basic tasks of governance." Lovely.

The main thrust of Eikenberry's argument is that the more resources we pour into Afghanistan, the less likely they are to get their act together. I guess the real question is what we expect the Afghans to accomplish before we leave. They haven't been a real "country", with a centralized and powerful government, ever, or at least in modern history. When powerful countries use outside influence to create borders and unite populations, it never seems to work. Take a look at Iraq, or Yugoslavia. It seems the best we can hope for is for a place where terrorists are not welcome. Given the mountainous terrain, and the proximity to Pakistan, that seems unlikely.

The Crucifixion of Martha Coakley, Jim Webb for President, and more Strange Tales

Martha Coakley, the Massachusetts Attorney General who successfully fought members of organized crime, child abusers, negligent Big Diggers, murderous nineteen year old au pairs and Goldman Sachs, who led an 18-state lawsuit against the EPA of George W. Bush and who won her state's Attorney General seat in 2006 with 73% of the vote, has become the first Massachussetts Democrat in 38 years to lose a Senate race to a Republican. What surely should have been an election day victory celebration had, by ten p.m., turned into a sad, dejected mess, as spectators and campaign workers argued over the culprit was, who might take ultimate blame. On stage Coakley looked weary. As a lawyer she had to realize that you can't win them all. But this was Ted Kennedy's seat, safely Democratic for 38 years. Looking all the part of a high school principal, on stage standing behind the podium, one could easily imagine the resigned look on her face to be the result of an unruly crowd of teenagers making noise in the back of the auditorium, and not the fact that Democratic pundits were already laying the blame on her for running a terrible campaign, for resting when she should have been working hard, for thinking it would be an easy win as long as she didn't make a big gaffe in the weeks before the election.

The big gaffe, it seems, was trusting that her record fighting crime, both violent and white collar, would be enough to convince an already solidly Democratic state to vote for her. Crime, unfortunately for Coakley, is not the issue on everyone's mind right now. The issue is the faltering status of the middle class in a faltering economy. Everyone knows the Carville quote.

Which is why the other attorney, the one who ran as a populist, won.

Scott Brown, who specialized in real estate law before serving several terms in the Massachusetts legislature, and who infamously posed nude (yet covered where it counts) for Cosmo while at BC law, took the stage and declared, "I'm Scott Brown, I'm from Wrentham, I drive a truck, and I am nobody's senator but yours." Yes, he drives a truck. He also owns a home in Wrentham, one in New Hampshire, three condos in the Brighton section of Boston, and a timeshare in Aruba; he has a daughter who was an American Idol finalist and a star basketball player, another who is pre-med at Syracuse and a competitive equestrian. He's got stock in ExxonMobile, Bank of America, and GE. Though by Senate standards he's virtually poor (the average Senator is worth $14 million), his portfolio precludes him from being described as "middle class".

The win obviously took Brown by surprise. At his celebration, in between crowd-pleasing promises, curious chants by the audience ("Forty-One!"), and shout-outs to ex-football players (Doug Flutie, ok, but Steve DeOssie?), Brown repeatedly used the interruptions of crowd applause to collect himself, breathe deeply, and soak in the moment. Winners of boring elections tend to wear an air of overconfidence, as if their victory was inevitable and a virtual birthright. Brown was downright gleeful.

There were two immediate explanations given for Coakley's stunning loss.

First, she was a bad candidate. Her campaign was "weak and misguided", inept; she failed to campaign aggressively; Michael Capuano would have beat Brown.

The other immedite explanation was that this victory represented a rising tide of public opinion against passage of the national health care bill.

Virginia senator Jim Webb rushed to announce, fifteen minutes after the networks gave the victory to Brown, that he interpreted the election as evidence the American people don't want health care reform. This move by Webb, making sure he was the first big name Democrat to come out nationally for a quick retreat, is a clear indication that he sees himself as Presidential material. He doesn't have to run for re-election until 2012, so he can't be worried about immediate fallout from Virginia voters. Instead, this announcement was a way to position himself as a moderate, prudent candidate who might appeal to voters on both sides come 2016, or maybe 2012, if jobs aren't on the rise by the time President Obama is up for re-election.

Before the results were tabulated, my former Rep. Carolyn Maloney made her own dire prediction about Coakley and the health care bill: "If she loses, it's over."

Barney Frank said that he didn't think the Senate health care bill will pass in the House, that he himself would not vote for it, and that he thinks the Democrats would be wise to revise the bill in light of this obvious shift in public opinion. The fact that Democrats still have control of the White House, a 59-41 majority in the Senate, and a 78 member advantage in the House doesn't seem to matter anymore.

All that matters, it seems, is the future electability of incumbent Democrats.

The message being sent around the country is that health care will not get passed in this country because Democrats already in office are worried about getting re-elected. Considering how bad the economy is, I can sympathize with anyone concerned about losing their job. However, I wonder what these officials, now screaming retreat, think voters in 2008 had on their minds when they elected them into office? Do they think making policy decisions based on how easy or tough it might make their next reelection campaign will help them win that next election? For chrissakes, House reps are elected every two years. Which means Maloney and Frank are barely halfway through their term and yet they're making decisions based on self-preservation in the next election.

Obviously, the Republican noise machine is a long way from dead. With help from the insurance industry, pharmaceuticals, and the host of other industries profiting from the escalating cost of health care in this country, and with the megaphonic platform created for them by FixNews, Limbaugh and co., they've managed to raise their minority voices to such a level as to convince some gullible Democrats into thinking they represent the majority. As if the voting public was going to be more angry about getting universal health care than the state of the economy, and jobs, when they head to the polling places come November.

Brown was certainly a better candidate. There's just no denying that. If Coakley knew what she was doing, she would have been campaigning hard from the get-go, instead of resting on Ted Kennedy's record. A number of incidents in her time as Attorney General led many to question her judgment. But there are other explanations.

Overwhelming frustration with a stagnant economy and a lack of job creation will always hurt the incumbent party, whether or not that party is responsible for the downturn It's also clear that voters are frustrated with how long it's taken the Democrats to pass health care and move on to job creation. The Dems have a majority in both houses of Congress, had for almost a year an unfilibusterable 60 seats in the Senate, and they still haven't been able to get a health care bill passed. They look weak against a loud Republican minority(no surprises there), and now, after the back-room dealings with Ben Nelson, which even Nebraskans don't appreciate, and the hundreds of millions of dollars being thrown around in Washington by the health care and insurance industries, the Democrats, after years of Republican malfeasance and misrule, look corrupt and self-serving.

The other major issue is the bank bailout. With Democrats at the helm, giant banks, largely responsible for the economic recession and increase in unemployment, extorted billions in bailout money from the federal government with threats of a complete economic meltdown, only to turn around one year later and start handing out billions in bonus money to their employees. The Obama administration and Congress appear completely ineffectual when it comes to laying down the law on these oligarchal banking corporations. In fact, to the average citizen it appears that Congress has been complicit in helping out only their wealthy benefactors, while it has turned a blind eye to the middle class. When the stock market falls 30%, everyone takes a hit. However, the wealthy aren't worried about losing their homes, putting food on the table, or heating their homes over the winter. Millionaires comprise less than 10% of the population. Millionaires can influence elections through campaign donations, or by confronting elected officials in social circles. For the other 90%, elections are the only way they can express their anger where it counts. The other 90% is tired of the bullshit, and they're sending a message to incumbents across the country: start paying attention to main street or your days on East Capitol Street are numbered.