2016 in Review, and New Year's Resolutions

2016.  What a year, eh?

I've been sitting here trying to sum up the year, and it's honestly hard to do.  I am not going to sit here and call it the worst year ever, or call it a Dumpster Fire of a year.  I don't even know if this year will actually ascend to become one of those Years of Wonder, the ones that history majors can recite off in their sleep (to whit:  1066, 1492, 1516, 1776, 1815, 1863, 1914, 1939, 1944, 1969, 1989, 2001).  It was a year were Globalization and Liberal Democracy were beset with setbacks, where the British voted for Brexit and we (and I still can't really believe we did this) voted for Donald Trump to be....to be the President of the United States.  Phew.  It's hard to even to write it.

And there was a Syria, and the Siege of Aleppo which was Tweeted in real time, and all we could really do was wring our hands in anguish, if we cared to do anything at all.

Meanwhile, Death stalked the Earth like a giant, stalking thing, reaping the lives of our favorite celebrities at the rate of 0.4 celebrities per day, which is worth like 10 normal people and some 100 Syrians, apparently.  I usually don't get too misty eyed over the deaths of singers and actors and the like, especially when they are advanced in years, though the passing of Ellie Wiesel gave me pause (I actually had the privilege of seeing him speak at VT), and the recent loss of Carrie Fisher and her mother Debbie Reynolds is a sad story, proof that you can still indeed die of a broken heart.  But honestly, good people, I can't spend everyday next year mourning the passing of yet another movie star or singer, no matter how endearing and beautiful and incredible they may have been; I can't do that anymore than I can summon outrage at Donald Trump over almost everything he says no matter how much he deserves it.  It's just too exhausting.

So a bad year for the world.

But oddly enough....it was a good year for me.

Work is going well.  I got a few poems in a regional journal.  Kids are healthy.  Wife has found a bit of joy with Jamberry and Trim Healthy Momma.  I finished my masters degree (pending some administrative stuff). The new anti-depressants seem to be still doing their job, two months in, and that is a blessing.

I also read a whole mess of books. I met my goal of reading 20 books, and as I am an engineer by training I felt compelled to do run some numbers.  Here are the salient facts:

• 20 Books, a total of 8759 pages
• Marickovich's Top Pick of 2016:  "At the Existentialist Cafe" by Sarah Bakewell
• Marickovich's Honorable Mention 2016:  "Napoleon:  A Life" by Andrew Roberts
• 4 books by Female authors, 16 by Male authors
• All books written by White people
• 13 books were written by English Authors.  7 books were by American Authors. 

The most striking thing is that 13 books that I read were written by English authors.  Note that that is not British authors, they were all rather English.  Not a Scot or Welshman in the bunch.  

And, perhaps more damningly, not a dark skinned person either.  

So that gets to my New Year's Resolutions.  Last year I picked the squishy and vauge Oprah like mantra of "Live into your best self".  Well, this year, I am going to make it simpler.  

First, I am going to try and read 20 books again.  It won't be easy, because I have some real heavy hitters sitting on the shelf that I want to get to this year (Montaigne, Rebecca West,), but I think its a worthy goal.  But next year, when I put my books into a spread sheet, I want to see a but more diversity.  More women, different races, maybe a few more nationalities.  Heck, maybe even a Scotsman (though lets not push it).  It's not merely for the sake of political correctness, for the sake of seeking diversity in its own right. Rather, it is because if this year has taught me anything it is how essential it is to hear other voices and other experiences, lest we get stuck in our own silos.  It's hard to get out of your particular niche in society and see things from a different point of view.  Art (and in particular novels and poetry) is the bridge on which we experience other voices and gain a broader perspective.

Second, I really want to start doing more Yoga.  I don't seek oneness with the self or anything like that.  I merely want to make sure that in 20 years when I get out of a chair after a meeting at work I can do so without all my joints cracking like a kid popping bubble wrap, and without my back and limbs being stuck like the blades in a poorly maintained pocket knife (a third resolution is to write with a little more imagery, experiment with similes, in case you haven't guessed).  

Well.  Adios 2016.  Hello 2017.  I'm not sure hanging a new calendar on the wall is going to change things much for the world at large.  As the white water rafting guide said to us when he missed his line on Sweet's Falls:  "I'm sorry Fellas...this is gonna hurt".  

  

Books You May Not Like: The Pickwick Papers, by Charles Dickens

In the midst of The Election, in need of escape, I picked up the Pickwick Papers.

I have owned a copy of this venerable text for ten years, and have dipped my toe tentatively into the first few pages more than a few times.  But always I ended up putting it back, as it seemed there more important things to do, things of more value to read.

But at last in August of 2016, with The Election in full swing and fresh on the heels of Mermaids in Paradise by Kydia Millet, which while funny also has a distinct and very modern sort of "waiting for the end of the world" kind of vibe, I decided I needed to go into a world where there the stress of the modern day really isn't...well, it just wasn't.

So to the Pickwick Papers at last.  The premise, in a nut shell, is that the noble Pickwick, who seems to be a man of moderate wealth such that he really doesn't have to worry about money too much (though he does rather hate to part with a pound), has founded a club which encourages the exploration of one's own back yard.  So Pickwick, with his friends Winkle (the sportsman), Tupman (the romantic), and Snodgrass (the Poet), set off to explore the environs of southern England, eating and drinking copious amounts of alcohol and food along the way.

Hilarity ensues?

Yes, I'd say so, in the beginning of the book.  The ineptitude of these men in their opening adventures is a joyous sort of bumbling that only the English seem to be able to manage so well.  Tupman gets challeneged to a duel over mistaken identity, Winkle is horrible at all sports he applies his energies to, and Snodgross The Poet is always writing in a notebook but, oddly, none of his work seems to survive.  At all turns they are stymied by the conman Mr. Jingle, who seems a rather harmless villain in this day and age, a sort of Max Bialystock kind of guy who charms wealthy single women and then bolts town, creating scandal, which is settled for a fee (i.e. I will leave you guys alone if you give me Twenty Pounds).

Pickwick is joined by his faithful servant Sam, and Pickwick earns his undying loyalty, and there more adventures and some stories within a story and...

And then it all sort of falls apart for me.  The book coalesces around a loose plot and a few subplots, all of which involve marriage.  Pickwick is sued, unfairly, for falsely proposing marriage to his landlady (he did nothing of the sort) in bad faith, loses the case, and is sent to a debtors prison.  He manages to settle and then has to tie up the marriage of Winkle to a Arabella Allen, which is a fine match but has considerable resistance from numerous quarters that only Pickwick, with his noble bearing, can overcome.  Snodgrass and Tupman all but disappear for the final third of the book, we see them on the final pages where there is a nice sort of epilogue that traces the story of the various characters at least for the next few years.

I suppose one should forgive Dickens for any structural flaws.  It was written in pieces, in installments, and if some aspects of the book sort of die in place I suppose that is understandable.

But Dickens....Dickens is just very difficult for me to read, a torrent or words.  You would think Dickens would be right up my ally, being British and from the 19th century, a country and period of time I am fascinated with....but to read Dickens is to wade through a torrent of words that often don't signify.

So this book was very, very easy to put down.  I started in August, finished in November, but in between I read a number of books that I felt were more interesting.  I am happy that I had the perseverance to finish, but I am also glad to put it back on the shelf, likely to go to Goodwill, where perhaps it will enlighten a more joyous and patient soul.

I am Feelng....Kind of Impressed.

We may as well get used to it.

Hi America!

Or should I say....Heil Amerika?

I know, I know.  It's not fair to compare Hitler to Donald Trump.  I mean, for one, Hitler was a way better public speaker.  Mesmerizing, so I'm told.

Second, he was a much better painter.  One room? One afternoon?  Two coats?  Extraordinary!

I've had a couple days to accept the fact that Trump is President Elect.  The day after the election I was despondent.  When I think of all the issues I care about - climate change, a thoughtful foreign policy, honoring our international commitments, equality, common sense gun policy, plain and simple compassion -  Trump doesn't really fit my vision of what I want in a President.  When I think of the Trump we've gotten to know over the past 16 months - Trump the boor, Trump the ignorant, Trump the Twitter Troll - he doesn't fit my vision of what a President should be.  But apparently there are about 60 million people who beg to differ.

So here we are, two days later, and the US hasn't sunk into the sea (yet).  Much like Ron Burgundy felt when he realized that his dog Baxter had eaten a whole wheel of cheese, I find that I am not really mad; I'm actually kind of impressed.  

Come on People!

Look: Hillary Clinton had almost every newspaper backing her.  She had Obama, who is still pretty popular for a second term president, campaigning for her relentlessly, staking his legacy on her election.  She had Obama's eloquent wife Michelle stumping for her.  She had Bill stalking around the country, explaining away on the virtues of veganism, elder statesman extraordinaire.  She had the folksy Tim Kaine and his crazy as shit eyebrows.  She had Beyonce, Jay Z, Lebron James, and Katy Perry all in her corner.  KATY PERRY for Chrisssakes!  Katy.  Perry.

Who did Donald Trump have?  Just himself, his own self belief and over inflated ego.  And a bunch of angry, angry people, and a few people who wanted to make sure the Republicans put a stamp on the future of the Supreme Court.  Yeah, okay, he had John Voight.  I'll take Katy Perry any day.

But Trump won.  Despite all that, despite all the chips against him, despite the fact that he stood alone against the Machine, he won!  It's an incredible, stunning political feat.  A Dewey Defeats Truman of the Digital Age, as the New York Times put it.

And hey, you know, so far so good.  Trump is saying all the right things, trying to be a unifier not a divider, pointing upwards to a thousand points of light that are shining down on our city on a hill.  Rather amazing, considering that only a few short weeks ago we were all apparently in a living hell, running down the streets doing zig zags to avoid ISIS snipers and gang land cross fires while roving Government zombie death squads decided who lived and died at the behest of a corrupt political class that was hell bent on taking our guns away while Mexicans put their taco trucks on every corner and after a lunch of Tortillas and beans set out to take our jobs away, sell drugs to our kids, and rape our women.

Perhaps at last we see the fabled Trump Pivot after all this time?  Or maybe he was just saying those things to stoke up the base and get elected, power the end in itself, just as two faced as the stinking swamp of corruption he is intent on draining.  Or maybe this is just a part of pageantry of power, of the peaceful transition from one administration to the next, as the Democrats live up to their vows to hold that sacrosanct above all other things and Trump exudes the easy magnanimity of victory, saving his vitriol and sweeping agenda for another day.

We haven't sunk into the sea (yet).  But when I consider Trump getting his first classified intelligence briefings, how he's likely to pull us out of the Paris Climate agreements, and the people surrounding him, the Rudy Giulianies and the Newts who are likely to play key roles in the Trump administration, I feel my knees buckle a little bit.  And I haven't forgotten about the alt right.  It's amazing that on Inauguration Day our first African American President will pass off the baton to one of his most relentless attackers, who made a name for himself pandering to the conspiracy theorists about his origins and allegiances,  and who won the endorsement of the KKK.  Disavowed, of course, but still won.

Of course, we've all been promised that we will be winning so much now that we are going to be tired of winning.  Go to, Donald Trump. For the sake of our country I wish you the greatest success.  I for one am trying to keep an open mind and give you your hard won chance to lead our Nation.  But remember that in four years, if you're still up for it, We the People will get the chance to either re-elect you or send you packing.  You're going to have a little performance review, and at the end you may just get to hear those words you made immortal and probably slapped with a trademark:  You're Fired.

Good luck building that wall.  See you next election cycle.