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Gig

 

A recent event at which I did a reading, as reported in... 

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MuseLetter \’myüz-‘le-tər  noun

1: a personal  message, inspired by a muse of one's own creation,  addressed to a person or organization, in the course of which, the sender becomes absorbed in thought; especially turning something over in the mind meditatively and often inconclusively.

2: a letter from a poet, or one who envisions oneself as such, in which he or she “muses” on that which is perceived to be news, or newsworthy, usually in some ironic or absurd way.  

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They Toss Their Caps in the Air

As well they should. Graduation from college is an achievement that is cause for celebration. In the course of earning a bachelor degree in one field or another, one is challenged in a way as never before. And despite the existence of the so called “party schools,” making it through four years of college ain’t easy. Less than two-thirds of those enrolled will graduate and earn a degree. But those who do, will invariably earn higher paying jobs at the onset of employment than those who don’t. Of course, depending on the job market situation at the time.  This year is challenging for graduates, what with hiring projections being slightly below the 2024 numbers. And that year was no day at the beach either, in terms of the job market. 

 

Though, there are many benefits of a college education that transcend potential economic gains. Lives are enhanced by higher education in ways that can’t be measured in dollar signs.   I’ve also always considered college to serve as a valuable period of transition; a sticking of one’s toe in the water of adulthood before making the plunge into the real world with its ocean of demands. For which a seventeen/eighteen-year-old may not yet have developed a maturity to confront. College forces one to develop a sense of situational thinking in ways one hadn't been taught in the high school years. Though my personal experience was an exception to that rule of thumb, I pulled out like a plumb. Brooklyn Tech High School was more difficult to get through than Manhattan College ever was.  

 

Right about now, must come the mandatory disclaimer whenever the benefits of a higher education are extolled.

Yet, I wonder if a disclaimer need not be offered in the opposite direction as well. That college students and those seeking advanced degrees, not be painted with the broad brush of belittling bristles. For what used to be a prized aspiration with families beaming with pride on graduation day over their little Johnnie or Jane, it is now common to hear, "They are all coddled kids," "snowflakes," living off the largesse of their parents. And especially with the condescending term “woke,” becoming synonymous with being a college student.  Especially at the more elite schools. Main themes of Bill Maher, as an example. And while there are colleges at which ill-conceived protests may be disruptive, college campuses in the main, are pretty tranquil places.  Certainly much more so than was the case in the late sixties and early seventies. Who of a certain age can ever forget Kent State? 

 

Yet, fanned by media outlets with an agenda that seeks to diminish educational institutions at every turn, it seems that limited education is now worn as a badge of pride in many quarters. A dumbing down of intelligence, if you will. With many maintaining that the only "smarts" worth having, are those of the street. Or coming from  the common sense you learned at the kitchen table. (A mythological place, as the family meal has declined drastically over the past 60 years. A topic for another day).

 

So what has actually been the makeup of the college student body these days? In the course (no pun intended) of writing this, I came across stats that I was aware of in general, but not to this degree (again no pun intended), as regards to gender and racial composition.

 

We keep reading and hearing that young men are lost; that they are falling behind. No doubt there are a variety of changing cultural factors contributing to this.  And while I don’t know if there is any cause and effect at work here, the difference between the sexes (and for the sake of simplicity defined here as "two"), in terms of a college education, is startling. As some rounded-off numbers will illustrate.

College is NOT for everyone. Nor should it be forced on anyone. Nor should any disparities be inferred as to those who for whatever reason, did not “go to college.”

And community college is a respectable and accepted alternative, should one opt to go that route.

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                                                   Men                         Women             Index W/M 

% U.S. Population                      49.5                            50.5                     102

%  College enrollment                43                               57                        134

 

% Adults 25-34 with a

    Bachelor’s Degree                  37                               47                        127

Created from AI provided data.

Actually, this is not a new trend. According to Pew Research... 

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        % of 25-34-year-olds with a bachelor's degree

Beyond gender and looking now at racial composition, approximately 52% of college students are White or Caucasian. A marked difference from 50 years ago when that percentage was at 84. And over that period of time, the rate of enrollment of students of color has increased from approximately 15% in 1976 to 45% currently. This is not your father’s campus. And certainly not my campus at the time of graduation in June of '67, comprised as we were, of geeky white males.

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Source: Educational Data Initiative

Those caps being tossed in the air are coming from the hands of young women, and increasingly, those of color. Reflective of the demographic and sociological trends seen for the nation as a whole no doubt. And not to everyone’s delight as should be obvious given the great divide in the country on so many issues regarding gender, race, and educational institutions as a whole. 

 

In a month synonymous with the rites of graduation, I salute this year’s class.  Congratulations are in order.

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Quote of the Moth

No, this is not a typo. I came across this bit of philosophy expressed metaphorically. Which spoke to me.

                                       

                                    "Between our birth and death we may touch understanding,

                                     as a moth brushes a window with its wing."

                                                                        Christopher Fry

                                                                             (1907-2005)                                                                       

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Schmaltzy Love Song

Beyond "Dads and Grads," June is also a month associated with love. How do I know? Google AI tells me so.

Yes, the month of June is strongly associated with love, particularly romantic love, due to its popularity as a wedding month. Additionally, Pride Month also takes place in June, which celebrates love and acceptance of LGBTQ+ individuals.

And love is also associated with Jane Austen, as once again, AI is there to inform us.

Jane Austen is strongly associated with love, both in her life and in her writing. While she famously never married, her novels explore the complexities of love, marriage, and courtship in great detail, often emphasizing the importance of mutual affection and emotional connection. 

My own associations with love, whether June-based or otherwise, are less driven by literature than by music. And in lieu of Jane Austen the novelist, for me, there is Alice Faye; actress/singer, and a musical film star of the 1930’s and 40’s. Though I'd never seen her in "reel time" at the height of her stardom, I guess I became aware of her at an early age through appearances on TV variety shows? Back in the day, kids and parents shared the same music.  Only in the mid-fifties did a schism form, with the arrival Bill Haley and the Comets and Elvis. Teens, for the first time, now had their own music. And on the screen... James Dean. A Rebel Without a Cause. 

 

I realize that we are now speaking in DST (Dinosaur Standard Time), but following the height of Alice Faye's film career, she also had a variety radio show (yes, radio) with husband Phil Harris; fellow actor, entertainer and band leader. Her bittersweet signature love song, “You’ll Never Know,” presumably did not match the reality of her personal life as she was married to Harris for 54 years until his death in 1995. This stanza kills me.

You went away and my heart went with you
I speak your name in my every prayer
If there is some other way to prove that I love you
I swear I don't know how
You'll never know if you don't know now

Coming upon those words, that song, say while slumming through YouTube, I find myself misting up. Inexplicably. Or maybe far too implicitly? Damn this schmaltzy song. 

 

First introduced in the 1943 movie Hello, Frisco, Hello, as sung by Faye, it also won the 1943 Academy Award for Best Original Song. And it has since been covered many times over in various genres throughout decades, including the likes of Sinatra, Clooney, Fitzgerald, Midler, Streisand, Krall, Stewart and retro-crooner Michael Bublé. Renée Fleming, of all people, recorded a version of it for use in Guillermo del Toro's 2017 film The Shape of Water

 

82 years since its original release, Alice Faye, the quintessential all-American girl—now buried in the annals of pop music and cinema—still owns it. A click below will take you on a time travel of 2:35 duration, in pictures and in that song.

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Oysters Ordered in the Afternoon

 

Such succulence suggested to close the gap

between the planets on a chromosome map

to enable the coupling of dish and spoon

oysters ordered in the afternoon.

 

The élan of a magician who knows his wand

illusion and reality forming a bond

suspension of belief by both in tune

oysters ordered in the afternoon.

 

On a bed of ice come the naked treats:

Blue Points, Kumamotos, Malpeques and Wellfleets;

tender the inside, the exterior rough-hewn
oysters ordered in the afternoon.

 

Savoring old tastes, played out on new tongues

learning new words to old songs once sung

monarch metamorphose from the marital cocoon

oysters ordered in the afternoon.

 

Can a door be opened through laptop keys

despite misleading data in biographies?

When pigs fly— the heart would deign to presume
oysters ordered in the afternoon.

 

Can chemistry develop from a premise set in zinc

from a dozen on the half shell fueled by another drink?

Or an aborted mission on the dark side of the moon?

Oysters out of order in the afternoon?

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Word of the Month

diaeresis    di·​aer·​e·​sis 

    

         noun

 

        a mark ¨ placed over a vowel to indicate that the vowel is pronounced in a separate                              syllable (as in naïve or Brontë)

 

Etymology

Late Latin diaeresis, from Greek diairesis, literally, division, from diairein to divide, from dia- + hairein to take

 

First Known Use

Circa 1611, in the meaning defined above

 

Used in a Sentence

 

       Despite approaching age 80, he did not know until last week, that those two little dots           above a vowel in some words are called a diaeresis.

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La Baguette

 

1.

 

Narrow streets converge at a corner

where food merchants are plying their trade;

a hubbub in the stillness of a postcard depiction.

A woman had then sashayed on by

on Rue Dauphine

as only French women can.

Who has directed her diagonal cut

across this Parisian street? Buñuel?

 

Hip thrust forward, la vie d’amour

implicit in the every step,

her dress on this sultry day clinging;

her hand encircling an unbagged baguette

long and lean and lancing the air

a master stroke in alliteration.

A man stands transfixed in speculation.

With whom would she share it?

Taste it? Tear it?

Leaving specks of crust on pouty lips

the soft dough filling her mouth?

2.

 

He crosses Pont Neuf,  a bridge built in halves

becoming enjoined after twenty six years.

Not long a span of time for stone

but a good-size chunk of a marital life.

That cliched better half lies languid in a room

of long-stemmed walls and painted roses

time having passed in beige.

 

She notes as he enters,

his trench coat twistingly belted;

a would-be Bogart in that parting scene.

Autumn winds on this ashen day,

have had their way with his desperate hair

resulting in enchanting disarray.

Eyes turn to the baguette he has brought unexpected.

She gives him a smile as long as the Seine.

Subtitles follow in the space beneath them.

Existential Triptych

2. My Dinner With Stanislavski

He speaks of a theater that could go under.

As he mulls an existence without costumes nor props.

Thank Godot for the vodka to come.

But what's to become of our inner life?

The regurgitation of pea-soup monologues?

Where would we stage-strutters go

In that allotted hour? He remains silent.

I now sense a memory of reason

Why so much sweat upon the pages;

 

So many pages in a play with no plot.

Therein might lie the madness to the method.

As shown in the tedium of Chekhov's Vanya

That final scene shattered by gunshots,

"Take me away! Take me away! Kill me.

I can't stay here, I can't!"

3. The Barn

The barn doors not left open

thus nothing has run off

 

​not the steeds of misdeeds

that should have been released

 

​along with the demons we meant to unleash

and maudlin memories still sitting baled

 

from the winters of discontent

the squandered summers that came and went

 

​the beast within that should have

long been unburdened

 

​chewing on unsown oats

behind closed doors.

1. Side Table

 

Ingrained in old furniture
is where the true stories lie.

That bureau that sits in storage in Jersey

from the last cross-country move,
outlasted the starter marriage
and the one the length

of War and Peace that would follow.

 

But most of all, I await the return
of that little side table now being repainted
by a handyman to match

the new décor in this,

the latest of multiple lives.

 

It has heard the arguments
absorbed the resentments
weathered the storms.
Coming back in a semi-gloss black,
I’ve lost count of the coats of colors

it previously has worn.

 

First bequeathed in its natural grain

by a wrinkled woman from Eastern Europe 

who never got over the drowning of a son
who looked like a young Cary Grant. 
This after losing kin in the holocaust.

 

This latest reincarnation,

will now hold a Crate & Barrel vase
and will remain standing

long after we’ve departed.

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