the culture of tolkien

Readers, I am so excited about The Lord of The Rings movie coming out!

I was talking to a friend at work, and I mentioned some of the background mythology for this story. He wanted more information about it. Well, I started to write an email, and I couldn’t stop. It’s more of a blog post. Here you are:

Beowulf is one of the oldest books in ancient English (Anglo Saxon) still around. Originally, literacy in the British Isles was concentrated in Latin, since Latin was the language of their ruling elite, the Romans.

Although the Brits had their own language and writing (known as runes), they mostly relayed their cultural stories through word of mouth (oral tradition). Beowulf is only one of these stories, and it is highly treasured because it is one of the very few peeks we have into the culture of the Anglo-Saxons (MY people-transparently white child that I am).

I know of two main reasons why more stories didn’t survive:
one, the advent of Christianity created an unfavorable environment for stories about pagan deities. The British Isles, and especially Ireland, really embraced Christianity when it arrived. Some of the stories were christianized, and deities and legendary heroes got cleaned up into “saints.”

Beowulf has some christianizing in it too.

But the second reason is because of the Norman invasion.In the 11th century, I think, the French came in and enslaved (enserfed?) all the Anglo-Saxons. The Roman empire had long been dead, although Latin was still the Lingua Franca. But Anglo-Saxon writing and speech was what ordinary people used to communicate. When the French took over, they insisted that everyone speak French. Servants only spoke English to each other. And naturally, they had limited time to chew the fat. The complicated grammatical structure of Anglo-Saxon got mushed into a quicker, less nuanced speech. Anglo-Saxon wasn’t really taught; if a person went to be educated, they learned Latin or French. The Anglo-Saxon words that survive in English today are servants words. Swine for a live pig, but the Norman Pork for the meat (the only part that the Lord of the manor would see). Interestingly, all the cuss words survive.

Some of that Norman/Anglo-Saxon antagonism is played on in Monty Python’s Holy Grail. You’ve seen it, I imagine.

But English was saved, as a language, when Chaucer decided to write his “Canterbury Tales” in English. His patrons were Norman nobility, and there was a current of thought at the time which said that nothing poetic could come from this servant language. But the Canterbury Tales were written entirely in English, and this bold statement on the part of Chaucer encouraged many others to attempt the same. Shakespeare would never have written the way he did if not for Chaucer.

Of course, after Shakespeare all kinds of things happened. He was part of the renaissance, then the Age of Reason (aka the age of revolutions: American, French) happened. Then the Romantic period followed that, reacting to the cold idealization of reason. The Romantic period focused on the beauty of nature, and the transformative power of love and higher emotions. Nature elicited those emotions, so nature (with or without the concept of the Christian God, which had suffered some blows during that “reason” period), nature was raised as a saving mercy. The beauty of nature was a place of refuge and a reminder of the beauty of life, a sort of reassurance that good things endure. Thoreau, who wrote Walden, was on the tail end of the American Romantic period.

But then the INDUSTRIAL AGE began. English and American capitalists started raping and pillaging NATURE for fun and profit. Actually, all kinds of capitalists were doing it, not just the English-speaking ones.

Also, around this time, Darwin and other naturalists starting coming up with plausible theories that did away with the need for a benevolent deity. “Survival of the Fittest” was a philosophy that knocked the stuffing out of the idea of nature as a beautiful restorative refuge. Nature wanted to kill you, so that it could eat you. And if you couldn’t thrive, it was probably just as well that you died. One less weak genetic contributor.

How horrifying! You can imagine the slow, sick realization of all these things. The Victorian English ended up focusing primarily on appearances. Keeping a stiff upper lip, doing your duty for your country, and not upsetting society. America also had strong middle-class bourgeois tendencies. Certainly, we were happy to keep any new immigrant class “in their proper place”, often using the new Darwinistic philosophies to justify the mistreatment of other nationalities and the prejudicial racist treatment of African-Americans. “Nature” had made things hard, and the dominant culture took their dominant status as their natural (god-given?) right.

It was the “enlightened” and “modern” way of thinking. Do your duty, do the right thing for no other reason that that it was right. Until World War one happened. Then the “right thing” led to all kinds of wrong things. Thousands and thousands of good people, young upstanding soldiers died fighting for the meaningless cause of a few miles, a few feet of dirt.

The soldiers got really close to nature then. Sitting for months in their foxholes, seeing nothing but dirt, mud, excrement and the bodies of their mates decomposing nearby.

When it was all over, not much had changed but their attitudes. The “modern” way of thinking now meant utter disillusionment. It is no accident that the era was called “The Depression.” God was irrelevant, nature meaningless, and hope was scarce.

It was during this period of time that J.R.R. Tolkein conceived the story of Middle Earth.
You thought I was never gonna take it back around, didn’t you?

Now, most of what _I_ know about concerns the cultures that speak English–America and England. To have the full picture, I will eventually have to learn more about Germany. Because the Germans were REALLY the ones who pursued heroic legends and folks tales. They started it much sooner than the English did. Remember the Brother’s Grimm fairy tales? Now that people have started to study fairy tales more extensively, we have found that they are STUNNINGLY similar across cultures. I think I read that almost every culture has a Cinderella story, which is my personal favorite.

But the German stories were very close to English stories. We actually are a Germanic people, sharing a culture with the folks over there in what’s now called Germany. Wagner also took a well-known Norse legend and made it into his Ring Cycle.

Did I say “ring”? Why, yes I did! It’s the same ring from essentially the same story that Tolkien was ripping off of.

But let me focus on Tolkien again. He was a Medieval scholar at Oxford, and he was probably one of the weirdest guys there. He hung out with C.S. Lewis, of Narnia fame, while he was there. I”ve been to the pub in Oxford where they all hung out. They would have a pint and read their writing to each other. Tolkien was obsessed with the Medieval legends; he has also published a version of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, translated for the Middle English. He knew all the stories live he was living in them.

I think he tried to live in them. I have read that he wrote the Lord of The Rings series in a made-up language (elfin, maybe?) and then TRANSLATED it into modern English.

COOkOO!

But it is my opinion that he was trying to escape into another world. This one wasn’t offering much, and he wanted to retreat into a place where heroism and courage and honor still counted.

You notice, I”m sure, that one of the characteristics of a “fantasy novel” is that it takes place before any industrialism. About the most technological they get is a windmill.

And Tolkien was the one in the English language that created the foundation of a complicated fantasy world.His universe is extremely fleshed out. He is as obsessed as you want to be. And many of his fans today are quite obsessed.

But see, he wrote these books in a particular place in time.They were moderately popular in his time, because people felt an affinity for the world that he had created. The novels are complicated. They begin in the middle, the way life does. The characters do something that will have an effect beyond the scope of the novel. They have done something lasting and meaningful. Their heroism is not wasted or twisted into evil ends, as was the heroism of the WWI soldiers.

Basically, Tolkien was calling on the power of myth, the myths that had evolved and been honed through generations of wise and intuitive storytellers. He knew the myths of his culture forward and back; and he dramatized them anew for modern sensibilities.

Society was sick and needed to hear a story. The story they needed was essentially the one we needed all along. Moses, Homer, and wise clan leaders told the stories. Tolkien put it in the language modern readers could understand, with the structure we were used to now. We didn’t use poetic chants…We use dialogue and description.

We don’t use campfires so much. We use ink and paper.

As I said, the Lord of the Ring was moderately popular when Tolkien first published it. But it wasn’t until the hippies rediscovered it that it went platinum, so to speak.

The hippies were sick of the old ways, and they BELIEVED in a new order. Frodo’s heroism was possible for them, they knew it! Hope was everywhere, and so were the Hobbit books.

This is also when the fantasy book market opened up.

NOW, with all that intro
(I am nothing if not thorough)
I would like to propose some of the original myth stories to be read by a fan of fantasy.

TRY
Beowulf
Sigurd the Dragon Slayer
Tales of King Arthur
All fairy tales
the Grimm fairy tales
fairy tales of any culture, particularly of the culture you are from
(if you are an American mutt like me, go for ALL the cultures that are in your mix)
The Iliad & The Odyssey
Gilgamesh
the Aenid (although, that’s an artificial myth, just like Tolkien’s)
Greek Drama (yeah, like Oedipus Rex)

All these are a little difficult to engage, because they are not told in the way we are used to. We are accustomed to being entertained in certain set ways, for plots to move in certain patterns. These stories pre-date those templates.

But they are worth the trouble of reading. You will find that they stay on your mind in ways you didn’t expect. And they don’t go away. The images stay, working as metaphors that give you handles on life’s confusing moments.

That’s what they are supposed to do.

And for learning more about myths, as a topic, I cannot more highly recommend Joseph Campbell.

the myth and science of santa

My friend Tantek had some stuff to say about Mythology and Science.

The story of the Priest scientifically explaining that Santa could not possibly deliver all the toys in one evening is pretty ironic. Imagine! I’m sure the priest wanted to scientifically disprove Santa’s existence in order to move the emphasis back to the TRUE reason for Christmas, which is the arrival of the omnipotent GOD in the form of a human baby concieved by a woman who had never engaged in sex.

Scientifically, it is impossible for Santa to exist!
Science is a wonderful thing. I love Science, and I know people who love it even more. It is SO NICE to have proof, and be absolutely sure. If you are wondering about something, just throw some science at it, and out pops the answer.

Well…sometimes. When you are wondering what temperature water boils at, science is your tool. When you are trying to figure out how many CD’s you can fit in the bookshelves you just inherited from your grandma, get out a measuring tape and a little science in the form of math, you have it.

But when you want to know how the world came into existence, science can’t give you an absolute answer.

In order to use science, you have to be able to repeat the experiment. And we have not been able to create another world like the one we are in now.

Yet, here we are. The question remains. At that point, we have to lay down the tool of science and take up another: mythology.

Myths are humanity’s way to address those portions of our experience that lay mostly beyond our reach.
Because there are so many things that we encounter in life, which we know intuitively to be much larger than the fragment we have experienced. We know that we are only encountering a small percent of what the whole entails.

Such as…
Love. We have all encountered some of it, but we know that there is so much more to this experience of love that we cannot have in our lifetime.

or Courage

and especially Truth

These are things we know, but have difficulty grasping and expressing.

And if we cannot even express the problem, the facts of the matter, how on earth are we going to find a way to design and implement a repeatable experiment?
Science cannot exist in this realm.

Not as we now understand scientific method.

But we have found other ways of giving shape to the unknown. We tell stories.
Important stories. Stories that are so important, we can’t even say or fully know their importance even as we impart them.

Mythology gives structure and shape to higher things. It is invaluable. It gives us hope and courage to look for answers to any question we can concieve.

And if we did not have the courage to feed our curiousity, science would not have been developed.

It is a worthy thing to attempt large questions. It is wise to use the best tool. But it looks foolish to try to force the inappropriate tool when the correct tool lies within reach.

Science and Myth are not inherently in conflict. You just have to use them wisely.

STRANGER IN MY OLD CITY

Here I am, in a beautiful hotel in my former neighborhood. It was so strange, to leave from an airport that I have never seen before and arrive in an airport that is so incredibly familiar.

Taking trips, plane trips, were so out of the question when I was small. I had been on a plane once, when I was five. But the rest of the time, planes were as far away as the moon. No money, no open door, no flight path.

So, when I got older, flights were very possible. I am nervous in airports, but I LOVE to fly.

And I was excited to leave from Burbank, to find out what this new airport was. It is kind of disappointing. San Francisco airport, the one that I know, that I have memories and stories in, is much nicer.

And here I am, in the shadow of the Transamerica pyramid, in this beautiful, amazing, creative, energetic, sexy city that I love so much.

It’s not MY city anymore. I’ve never lived here. But I lived for seven years in the San Francisco Bay Area…The Bay Area…That means that San Francisco is mine.

Well, the first few years were full of unhappy memories. But the last few years were the best in my life.

It is hard to think that I am not part of here anymore. Here is very much a part of me.

I live in Los Angeles now. And I really do live in Los Angeles…I live and work right in the middle of the city of Los Angeles. I am part of the city.

But this city is not really part of me. I don’t have so many stories here. I am still trying to grok this huge sprawling city. I am bewildered and intimidated by the highways and the styles. I am trying to understand what I should be afraid of; who I should be afraid of.

Everyone says there are things to be afraid of here. “Haven’t you HEARD of Compton? Don’t you know about Watts? And East L.A.?”

I think it’s sad that I have to learn to fear like that. But I do know that I, one person, cannot change decades of segregation by ignoring it. I have to be smart.

It takes a while to get used to a new place. I’ve moved enough to remember that. I have more experience, and I know that.

LA seems like it has a lot to offer. I have more to offer too.

I’m glad to be out of the bay area. There were too many bruises on the map, even though I had shining moments and places.

I’m happy to be in a place that I can make my own, now that I have more of my own to make with. It just feels empty until then.

I guess I’ve moved from a place I’ve grown out of into a place I haven’t grown into yet.

REFLECTIONS OF MYSELF

Looking for something else, I stumbled upon a notebook musing from a few years ago:

I like best to see my face reflected in a window at night. The outline is clear, but the details are less distinct. It’s such an accomplished [self-contained] pleasure, admiring my own reflection.

I once asked a man, at the beginning of a new romance, when we were first shyly revealing the traits we found marvelous and fascinating in each other, “Don’t you think I see you differently than you see yourself?”

He considered and replied, “It’s only natural. I know myself better than you do.”

It was so easy for me to admire and cherish him. But he to himself and me to myself–it’s not as easy. We know the blemishes.

When I look into a mirror–a clear flat, distinct and well-lit reflection–my eyes seek our all the imperfections. I put my face right close and examine all the planes and crevices. I wonder what I’m looking for? Don’t I know my face already? I don’t linger over the good features, but I move straight to mottles in my skin, or to my crooked teeth. Are my eyebrows incorrect? And which standard should I choose?

I want to believe I am beautiful. I want it so very badly. Because if I am beautiful, I will be loved. And if I am loved, then I will live in the sunshine and nothing can be wrong.

I don’t undersatnd this trap, a slippery slop to never-fulfillment. What if I am loved, but am not beautiful? What if it rains on me and the ones who love me? It must be a flaw in me. When hard times come, it must be because I am not loved enough. But who could love me enough? I am not beautiful enough for that kind of love.

When I see myself in the night-window reflection, I am less distinct. I don’t have to see the confusing minutia of my appearance. I can be pleased with the outline. I can love myself, forgive the imperfections. I can have what I so crave and not be indebted to someone else.

COPPER CANYON PRESS

…”in the multitude of middle-aged men who go about their vocations in a daily course determined for them much the the same way as the tie of their cravats, there is always a good number who once meant to shape their own deeds and alter the world a little. The story of their coming to be shapen after the average and fit to be packed by the gross, is hardly ever told even in their consciousness; for perhaps their ardour in generous unpaid toil cooled as imperceptibly as the ardour of other youthful loves, till one day their earlier self walked like a ghost in its old home and made the new furniture ghastly. Nothing in the world more subtle than the process of their gradual change! In the beginning they inhaled it unknowningly: you and I may have sent some of our breath towards infecting them, when we uttered our conforming falsities or drew our silly conclusions…”
George Eliot, from Middlemarch

I haven’t finished Middlemarch yet, but that passage stopped me cold. Eliot wrote it 130 years ago, and how true it remains! We all know those people “fit to be packed by the gross”, and I for one fear daily becoming one.

But the path lays so simply and easily in front of me, of us. The path from the bed to the closet full of work clothes, the path from the door to cubicle, then back to the prepackaged, demographically designed entertainment and commercial marketing

What disturbs me so much about the demographically designed entertainment is how ACCURATE they are! yes, I AM entertained by the same things that so many others of my age/sex/ethnicity/economic strata are!

And what better proof that I am fit to be packed by the gross?!?

I have, in the past, combat this by being scornful and suspicious of anything popular. If too many people liked something, I should not. Very simple. I can’t be like everyone else then.

Levi’s, Disneyland, popular film, music, television, all these things were to be dismissed, or if not, became guilty pleasures. Perhaps I could intellectualize a movie, if I liked it too much. “You see, Mulan is struggling with her gender identity and trying to come to terms with her own conception of herself!”

The major problem with this approach to life is it’s essential FALSENESS. It is reactionary rather than reasoned or real. It did not take into account the merit of the thing.

If I refused to like things that were popular, and tried to embrace things that were alternative, edgy, or avant garde for no better reason than because they were DIFFERENT, I am not seeking a higher path.

I realized that I must look closely at the thing in question. Be engaged in my life; and to evaluate and try to understand what I engage it. This is responsibility at work. THIS is greater individuality.

And yet, the earlier way was better defined. It is frightening to leave behind easy labels.

I was QUITE nervous to visit Disneyland. My boyfriend would not accept my dismissal of it being evil. He said, “you have not been there since you were five. How do you know it’s evil?”

So. I have been to Disneyland, and I guess it is not evil. It is a tool, and it can be USED for evil in the wrong hands. That’s all I will say about it for now.

Naturally, I do not have to live my life in Disneyland. I live my life between the lines from the bed to the closet and the door to the cubicle. In between the lines, and on the margins, I look for ways to creatively express my individuality. There are flashes of poetry on the meeting notes I have on the table, and I can find time to read Eliot on the bus.

But I strive to remain engaged. Does it have to be this way? In between and on the margins might be a little shabby for my individuality.

Is there another path? Surely, there are other ways to live. Millions of people have lived their lives in millions of other ways.

I have heard a story about a man who put into his margins what I have made the lines.

Sam Hamill, who I only know about because books from his publishing house have been nominated for an award, drew his own lines. He decided a life dedicated to poetry would be his. I am awestruck. He created a publishing house for poetry.

Poetry, that difficult and indescribably beautiful artform that humankind has been turning and returning to since words were formed:difficult, because we must let go of pre-established equational connections and form our minds to new synaptic leaps.

Hamill chose poetry over a pension. He decided that renewing his mind was more important than stability.

I am amazed, astounded and envious.

I heard on the radio (I have searched, but I can’t find it again…suffice it to say, it was an NPR station) the story of how he started Copper Canyon Press. He found an old 1907 printing press! He set the type by hand!

Later, he moved from Colorado to Washington, because he could get free rent there.

It is not like I haven’t heard of people moving around, and doing “irresponsible” things like that. I grew up with people who did not want to be packed by the gross.

Alaska. There are barely enough people to MAKE a gross there.

So, I understood the “free rent” allure. I knew family after family that moved there, bought a plot of virgin land for practically nothing, and meant to build their dream home, their special individual place for THEM and THEIR FAMILY to be unique.

So, in the three months of summer, they threw up an A-frame structure, and did their best to insulate it against the quickly approaching winter.

And for years afterwards, the pink fiberglass and bedsheets for walls became stained with use, and the path to the outhouse grew bare and hardened.

This sort of individuality was common and not admirable, in my mind. Sure, it could be called “the path less traveled.” I’m sure the (non-Alaskan) parents and extended families of the people who chose this life thought their children were the only ones in the world to live this way.

Well, I was FROM Alaska and not so easily impressed. These were the people who could be packed by the gross for me.

What purpose did this lifestyle serve? “Anti-materialism” or “anti-establishment” is only a negation. What is the positive contribution?

Hamill lived in his Washington home without the “basics”, in the same way as those crazy Alaskans. However, HE made a lasting contribution to the world.

I feel challenged.

EVIL AMBITION

It’s monday, and I stayed up late last night catching up on all my house chores.

So I am very groggy this morning.

I am considering whether or not ambition is evil.

One of the reasons I am thinking aobut this is because an old friend of mine recently started working at an Indian Casino.
Times are hard; he is a uber computer geek, but he can’t find work. So he got what he could.
He said, “it’s amazing to think about. I don’t want to be here any longer than I have to, but many of the workers here are completely pleased to have the job, and say things about how stable it is, and how great it is.”

It occurred to me that Indian culture is not expansionist. They are not like McDonald’s and Starbucks, they don’t necessisarily feel the need for more more bigger bigger all the time.
You might call that lack of ambition.
Or you might call it enjoying what life has to offer.
Food, clothing, the ability to appreciate your family and friends-that’s really something.

What does ambition get you?
More money, less time to spend it.
Maybe not even more money. Depends on your ambition. I’ve known enough start-ups to know it doesn’t always bring more money.

The angel of light (aka Lucifer) had ambition. Didn’t do him much good.

Don’t get me wrong. My ambition to do more and learn more has served me well, it’s brought me a lot of good things.

But when is enough enough?
How much do I need? When should I stop?

In the Garden of Eden, what use was ambition? Maybe Adam and Eve spend a hard day working on the hedges…So that they could appreciate them the next day? That means they took the next day off.

It is easy on a monday to think that having to get up and work all day is evil.

Portrait of the Artist as a Video Conference Administrator-EPILOGUE

PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST AS A VIDEO CONFERENCE ADMINISTRATOR

EPILOGUE

The radio was giving me a report about the stock market, and my eyes blinked awake. I looked at the clock. 4:30 a.m.—right on time. I lay in bed a moment longer, waking up.

My clothes were hanging on my doorknob, chosen the night before. I had showered before I went to bed, so I could slip right into my clean and pressed business casuals.

I fixed my hair and brushed my teeth, looking closely in the mirror at the red capillaries in my eyes. Almost ready.

The laptop and books I meant to read during this long day were packed and ready by the door. My lunch and breakfast were waiting in the fridge; I put them in my backpack. I stopped to pet my cat, who purred instantly when I touched his soft fur. Poor lonely kitty. I should pet him more, he is so grateful lately for it.

Slip on my warm coat, the weather is getting colder. I double-check: cell phone, security badge, bus fare. Yes, they are all exactly where I put them the night before. Grab my keys and walk out the door, ten minutes before the bus is scheduled to arrive.

The bus stop is right in front of my building. There is even a nice bench to rest there, but it is damp from the early morning dew. 5:10 is a misty moist time of day. I stand and wait.

Very few people are on the bus at this time of morning; the driver smiles at me as he answers my “good morning.” He is one of my favorite drivers, because he will remember my stop even when I forget. I would like to ask his name, but he seems bashful and that makes me bashful too. Instead I smile sincerely at him and take my seat.

The bus is dimly lit, so I do not read the book I have brought with me. I choose to watch the road go by. Soon enough we are traveling through Chinatown with its Dragon gate and interesting signs.

The new philharmonic hall is approaching; when we turn there I must stay awake. I will be getting off soon. I am alert enough this time to ring the bell and step off at my stop.

A full-bearded street person holding a shopping cart full of used suitcases watches me as I walk down to my building. “Good Morning Beautiful! How are you today?”

I decide to answer. “Tired,” I say. He responds loudly with sympathetic but undecipherable syllables. I smile to myself.

5:45 and all is in readiness. I stop at my desk to check for any messages. None of any consequence. Up to the 16th floor, where the video bridge operator is already connecting my video conference.

By the time I reach the room, it is connected, and Dave the NY person is in the room already. We set everything up and exchange pleasantries. Dave is a very easy-going guy, and we wait for the people from the other sites to appear. It is still quite early, but they all arrive and we test and check. Then we sit for a while longer, talking sports and making sure everything is stable.

Dave reads us the sports from the newspaper he brought with him. David from San Francisco says that it was very peaceful to walk up the street that early in the morning. Philip in Newport Beach looks so peaceful I think he is trying to fall back to sleep.

But everything is set; everything is working perfectly. Everything continues to work perfectly, so we disperse for the moment.

I set my laptop up at the abandoned receptionist’s desk just outside the conference room. I have my books, and I have my coffee mug. I take my mug and my bran muffin to the coffee room. I get some tea and warm my muffin.

Back in the conference room my manager, back from his trip at last, has stopped in to check things out. Things are perfect, so he has an impromptu staff meeting with all of us. We talk about projects and catch up a little on the different things we’ve been doing.

The rest of the guys from the other rooms come back, and my manager has left. We talk some more and everything is still perfect.

Finally, some participants begin to trickle into NY—all other sites are empty. The NY attorneys are all chitchatting and gossiping about clients and colleagues. At last, the meeting monarch says the three magic words: “Let’s get started.”

No one is present in my location, so I listen in to hear him make an announcement asking people to avoid placing their phones on hold during the conference.

Moments later, a participant arrives in my room. I set him up and tell him I will be around the corner. He is pleasant, polite and appreciative. He wonders, “What happened to the doors?”

“They took them off for refinishing.”

“Oh,” he shrugs. I leave him happily situated.

At my makeshift desk, I start to clean off the hard drive and organize my personal files. I have a book, and I read a little bit.

After I finish my first cup of tea, I get another.

My cell phone is silent. After many hours pass, I use my personal cell phone to call my brother.

I flip through digital photographs on my hard drive.

The conference takes a break, and my conference participant has been joined by another participant. He asks me how to mute and unmute the microphones on the speakerphone.

More hours pass. I have deleted a lot of old files on my computer, and composed messages to old friends that will be sent when I next log in to the Internet.

Right on schedule, the meeting ends. The participants say their goodbyes and leave. My pleasant attorney thanks me.

Even NY is clearing out, so I give the okay to disconnect the video call. I call all the support staff on each location to congratulate them and let them know it’s over. They already knew.

It is finished.

Portrait of the Artist as a Video Conference Administrator -THE STORY

PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST AS A VIDEO CONFERENCE ADMINISTRATOR

PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST AS A VIDEO CONFERENCE ADMINISTRATOR
THE STORY

I was getting requests for a conference happening on the 24th. I had at least three requests for a conference that were all happening at the same time. Since the requests sounded like a continuation of a conversation that I had not heard the beginning nor the end of, I thought: “I bet this is the same conference! I will find out who is really in charge of this one!”

I discover the identity of Miss Organizer, the central person arranging the meeting, and I called her. She seemed very nice, I told her that I was the video conference administrator, and that everything would go fine. She seemed pleased.

In fact, she was so pleased, that she sent out an email to everyone saying that she had talked with me, and that the video conference was in good hands.
I was pleased.

But after the fiasco meeting with the new CEO, he sent out an email to everyone–apparently attorneys like to produce lots of documents–saying that video conferencing was incredibly unreliable, and should not be used for anything important. He mentioned me personally, asking who my manager was, and said that the Chief of Staff should be in charge of making sure this whole video conference idiocy worked, because it probably wouldn’t.

This hurt. Video conferencing should not be used for anything IMPORTANT! Well, I wasn’t forcing anyone to use it, but I always did my very best to make it work for them when they asked for it.

In the meantime, I had found out what was wrong with NY. A major cable, sending network to the whole building, had been damaged. ALL of the network was impaired.

And I had called little miss assistant right after the call and said as politely as I could muster, “WHY THE HELL IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT’S HOLY DID YOU NOT GIVE ME THE 800 NUMBER BEFOREHAND SO THAT I COULD DIAL IN?”

That’s a paraphrase.

She was very apologetic, told me that ten minutes after the start of the call some guy had asked for an 800 number. She had to quickly create one and send it out to all the other people already in the call.

Well. He sounded like a rude, thoughtless, last-minute person. That was typical. What can you do? I let her off the hook, and got back to my business.

But before I can get very far, the Chief of Staff comes steaming around the corner of my cube. “I need to talk to you right now,” she said.

I go to her office, ready to explain. “It’s really unfortunate that this conference went badly.” I told her about the network cable, and about not having the 800 number.

“Well, everyone else had the number!”

My jaw dropped. “I asked the assistant for the number three times!”

“Well, everyone else had it. Maybe you didn’t ask the right questions.”

My jaw hit the floor. What other question would be the right question?!?

“Well this meeting on the 24th had better go perfectly. It has been made clear to me that my continued employment here is on the line. We need to have a meeting about this with everyone tomorrow to talk about what we are going to do.”

“What will we do if NY can’t get its network back online? Do we need some document from the phone company saying the line is damaged?”

“Oh the attorneys won’t look at it. They will just say we are making excuses.”

Making excuses!? What are we supposed to do, go knit them some optical fiber so that they can have their precious video connection?

It was hard to pay attention after the didn’t-ask-the-right-question and the making-excuses arguments. What gall! How unfair! How mean and irrational!

I went back to my cube to prod the NY phone company about fixing the cable, but I was steaming!

Steaming, steaming, all afternoon, all night and all next morning. I do not like to be unfairly accused. I was practically ready to find new employment.

I read Dilbert to make myself feel better, and then I griped to my co-worker. She said, “You don’t have to take that! Don’t let her get away with saying you did something wrong when you didn’t!”

Yeah! I can take back the night! Just say no, stand up for myself etc.

I felt all better and empowered. Hmph! I’m doing the best I can, and better than most.

All right then. Back to the conference of the 24th. Got to get NY working again. That is where the speaker is. After a million phone calls back and forth, the phone company finally gets them online, thank God.

We had the meeting with the Chief of Staff and everyone, deciding on a procedure. In fact, it was a procedure we already had from before I came around.

1. All sites will do an hour-long test run of the call the day before.

2. All sites will do a three hour test run of the call before the conference starts.

3. All sites will set up for the call an hour before the call is supposed to start, and leave it on for the whole call.

4. All sites will have a person waiting outside the conference room on standby.

Wow. That’s quite a strict set up. We had one telecom guy who had been in NY for two weeks already, and the COS asked him to stay another day to babysit the conference. He said okay. My other co-worker was sent to another site. I was going to be here in LA.

The Chief of Staff wanted backup plans and contingencies covered. “We won’t use the sound that is part of the video conference! We should mute all the video conference equipment, and only use the phone for the sound!”

Yes. Okay. Whatever you want. It will look weird and sound bad, but it will probably be more stable. Whatever makes you feel secure.

Every time the Chief of Staff sees me, she says, “You’re gonna help me keep my job, aren’t you?”

She sees me several times a day.

But at least she wasn’t making random and irrational accusations about my competency.

I chose to smile and say, “Everything will work fine.”

But this is making me doubt the sky is blue, already. I am thinking and thinking about every single part of the conference. I started thinking about the phone conference. What did I know about it? What would I do if it went wrong?

They would blame me anyway.

So I had to do some archeological work and find out whom to call about our telephone conference service. We uncovered her number in a Mesozoic stratum of post-it notes and I gave her a call.

What a nice woman! She was so sympathetic and helpful. We talked for forever, really, and she told me all kinds of things. She said, “You know, if you want, you can have a higher level of service on your conference call. You could have an operator assistant on the line to help callers with any problem and improve sound issues, etc.”

Well! That sounded nice. But the conference was only 2 days away, and I wasn’t sure that a change at such a short notice was a good idea. But maybe I should let the meeting organizer decide.

I was supposed to call her anyway. We had determined, in that first friendly phone call, before all the uppity-mucks got involved, that we should speak again 2 days before the conference. I called her at my pre-arranged phone appointment–she wasn’t there. I left a message on her cell phone.

Now the later it got, the harder it would be to make a change. I really needed a confirmation of whether it was a go or not. I figured I should at least schedule the call and get the proper 800 number in case Miss Organizer called back and wanted the number. Just as I was finishing up with the nice conference woman, getting the number, etc, the Chief of Staff appears at my cube.

She is foaming at the mouth and having a seizure. Metaphorically. “I need to speak with you in THE NEXT TEN MINUTES! It’s VERY IMPORTANT!”

I almost have a seizure just looking at her, but before I can say anything (Remember, I’m still on the phone) she tears off to her office.

I quickly hand up with my new conferencing friend, and run to her office.
“Miss Organizer just called me about changing the 800 number! WHAT IS GOING ON!?!?”

Oh. Well, I explained to her very quickly, as calmly as I could, that I had called the conference service to see what could be done to have a good call, they had told me about this higher level of service they could offer. I thought that, in pursuit of her staying employed, I would call Miss Organizer and ask her if she wanted to do this. I understood that it was not desirable to change the 800 number at the late date, so I wanted to talk it over with her.

The COS visibly calms down and begins reassuring me that she is not mad at me. As I watch her in fear and wonder she says, “Don’t worry. I am not angry with you. Believe me, you would know if I were.”

This does not calm my fears.

We called Miss Organizer and have a big conference about what this was all about.

Miss Organizer seemed very calm when she was talking with both of us. “What do you think? What do you think we ought to try and do?” The COS was pretty adamant with her, saying NO forcefully to changing the number.

Miss Organizer brought up something else unrelated. “I think San Francisco might want to join in. But I think they really don’t want to. I think they might just want to go on the phone.”

I said, “Yes, I think they should just join on the phone, especially if they are not certain about being part of the video conference.”

I settled THAT, at least. Taking charge, follow the example of the Chief of Staff. She told me afterwards, “Miss Organizer is a very insecure person. She never wants to make a decision.”

Hmm….

Time is drawing closer, and we are going to have to begin the first of our tests. Miss Organizer has promised to be there to let us know things about where people will be sitting, etc., so we can mike them properly.

I’m sitting in my video room, and our connections are up. All sites have the staff in place, everything is fine. But where is Miss Organizer? It’s been a half hour; she should be here to confirm that everything is how she wants it.

I have to chase her down. She appears finally, 45 minutes late. This time, she seems as shy and uncertain as a 12-year-old meeting her great aunts for the first time. “Oh, this seems nice. Is that how this is going to go? I think it will be okay.”

I ask her some direct questions about where the speaker will be, and where the camera should be, how she wants the room set up. “Umm…I think this is fine. What do you think?”

I refrained from saying what I was thinking: “Who made you in charge?”

An hour into the test, when it should be concluded, she says, “I think we might want to have San Francisco be part of the video call. I mean, I think they said something about it. But maybe they would like to join in.”

Telecom is a black and white environment. Yes or no: “Do you want me to bring San Francisco into the call?”

“Yeah, if you could, I mean…That would probably be a good idea.”

I mute my microphone so she doesn’t hear my exasperation, and I start to “probably” call San Francisco so they can “maybe” join the conference.

Oh. Need I even say it? All participating sites on the West Coast will have to be at work at 6 a.m. to set up for this meeting. Yes, SF is on the West Coast. I’m having to call after business hours to tell staff to be at work 6 a.m. the next day.

Convenience for the staff was never a consideration.

So, we get the very good-natured SF support guy in the room, things are testing fine. He’s gulping back any complaints and saying that he will be there at 6 a.m.

It’s an hour and a half into the test. Miss Organizer says, “Oh, I think SF doesn’t need to be in the call. I think they said they’d rather listen in. Let’s not do them, okay?”

“Okay,” I say, ready to agree to anything. Let’s give them what they want. They can easily come in on the phone conference. We will NOT have SF included in the video call.

But there is one last little thing on Miss Organizer’s mind. “Are we gonna go through with this video conference? I don’t want to take the responsibility of making the final decision.”

Well, no one is shocked by that squirm out of a direct responsibility.

“I will take that responsibility,” I say. “The test went flawlessly, we can go ahead with the call.”

“Okay…” she says, in a trailing voice.

As I am leaving, I notice something. Normally, there are two doors to this conference room. Today, there are two empty doorways. Where are the doors?

I’ll have to find out.

But first, I go down to see the Chief of Staff, because I fear for her blood pressure. I wanted to tell her that everything went well. She’s not in her office, so I go make arrangements for someone else to cover the OTHER video conferences happening the next day. Amazingly, the entire firm did not stop to prostrate themselves in honor of this conference.

On the way back, the Chief of Staff snatches me out of the hall: “Quick!” she says. “I need to know how the test went. Miss Organizer has called me to make the final decision about whether to go ahead with the video conference.”

Didn’t I see this same patch of water go under the bridge earlier?

“The test was flawless, “ I say.

“That’s all I need to know.”

Back at my cube, I remember the missing doors. I call around and discover that they have been removed for refinishing. They will not be back for a week.

I am tired. What should I do? There is nothing to be done, the doors are gone and we can’t bring them back. But I must tell the Chief of Staff, because if it were a problem and I didn’t tell her, who knows what would happen.

I peek around her door with trepidation. She sees me: “What do you need?”

“Um…You know the conference room for the meeting tomorrow?”

She looks expectant.

“The doors are gone. Both of them have been taken to be refinished.”

She just stared at me in shock for a moment. Then she laid her head on the desk and muffled peals of laughter burst out.

“That is really something that I cannot do anything about,” she gasps in between her shrieks. Both of us just laugh. Of all the ridiculous things!

I finally make it to my bus at the end of the day, but my cell phone rings. It’s San Francisco. “Hey, the managing partner really wants to know if he can be part of the video conference. Only, he doesn’t want the other sites to see him. He wants to see them, though. Can we do that?”

“No, we can’t do that.”

No, no no! We can’t do that, and even if we could, we wouldn’t. Because you are rude and you are very tardy in asking, and you are inconsiderate of the people you are asking help from. Also, because we haven’t put your site through the arbitrary and meaningless set of tests that make all the ignorant people who are in charge feel better about it being stable.

NO!

“Are you sure? Because they really want it.”

It was four staticky and desperate phone conversations later, at 8 p.m. in my home that we finally determined San Francisco really wanted to be in the video call, and that we really would let them.

I debated whether I would be remiss by not calling the Chief of Staff and Miss Organizer and letting them know about this change. Then I put it out of my mind. There is a point when enough is enough.

I had to be awake at 4:30 a.m. so I went to bed.

I dreamed that my bus didn’t come, and that I had to drive to work to get to the meeting on time. I got lost, and as I was running in between the skyscrapers, I realized I wasn’t dressed for work, and that I would have to go back to my car to get the right clothes. I was working out in my head how long it would take me to do that, and how I could make it to the office in enough time, but I still wasn’t sure where the building was at, and where I was.

Portrait of the Artist as a Video Conference Administrator – PROLOGUE

PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST AS A VIDEO CONFERENCE ADMINISTRATOR
PROLOGUE
Last week, I had a request for a conference. Everyone told me: “Oh, this one has to go well. The new CEO is in it.”

OH.

I will make sure it goes well. I called the assistant to ask her what this CEO needed for his call.

Will he have a PowerPoint presentation?
Oh no…

Will he have a telephone conference as part of the video conference?
Oh no…

Are you sure? Even if someone can’t make it, and has to call from their hotel room or something?
Well, let me check…No no…No phone call.

Okay. So I have someone on each site, all there a half hour early. Everything is fine, all is perfect, all is well.

But then the participant walks into NY, and his call drops.
Carp.

Try to reconnect, it drops again. Bad news.

I get on the phone to call into NY’s room and tell them to dial into the speakerphone in the room.

Just told them the number, barely hung up, and the speakerphone rings. It is someone else, telling us the CONFERENCE CALL NUMBER THAT HAS SUDDENLY BEEN CREATED BY THE LITTLE MISS WHO SWORE WE WOULDN’T NEED ONE!!!

Carp again. Now NY has to have the number. But wait, it’s okay because suddenly they are dialed in.

Someone else brought them the number.

Okay, good, they are finally set up. I double-check to make sure things are fine, he says yes, and I slink away.

I am met immediately by another, completely different fire that needs me to put it out. I forget and leave my cell phone at my desk for a moment. When I realize it’s gone, I freak out, rush to the phone, and sure enough, there’s a voice mail.

I run up to the conference room, to ask what’s wrong. The whole thing has fallen apart and they are now only on the speakerphone.

Ugh. The new CEO, the Chief of staff (my boss’s boss) and the CIO are all in the meeting looking at me with contempt.

They tell me that it’s too late, that nothing can be done.
I slink away again.

“Poor Soames!”

This is cross-posted on Blogcritics

Yes, I recorded it. Of Course! I’ll be watching it all week. The Forsytes are a complicated family, and stand up to repeat examination. Old Jolyon, Young Jolyon and Soames Forsyte are the men of note. Little June grows up before our eyes and Winifred scandalizes everyone, but harmlessly. Mostly. The Aunts tut tut over every little thing. There seems to be such importance placed on the smallest detail of propriety. And they all take such pride in the “Forsyte’s good name.”

The Victorian age was a tough time for people to figure out. With the Industrial era setting in, people who had no formal expectation of rising socially found themselves filthy rich and wanting to be upper class. England’s class system of nobility couldn’t hold all the worthy contenders.

Since nobility was not as easy to achieve as wealth, they had to settle on a different measure of what was upper class. Money, naturally, was easy to decide on. But there was that other part of nobility…nobility of character… that was implied (in complete disregard of evidence of such in their ranks) to the noble classes. Respectability was prized. If you were rich, but were vulgar or not respectable, all the other people, so desperately clawing for status, could look down upon you. You can see how the slightest impropriety would be pounced on as grounds for derision and exclusion.

Yes, the Victorians were prudish. And extremely money conscious. The Forsyte series makes that immediately evident.

But the Victorians were not without heart. Anyone who has read the Bronte Sisters knows the kind of high-flown passion the Victorians held dear. Jane Eyre and Heathcliff and all of them, falling so deeply in love, like falling off a cliff. They had nothing to orient them, and no handhold to grasp. Except respectability, which Jane had and Heathcliff did not.

So the Forsyte, and the rest of the Victorians, followed the rules to stay on track. There were so many rules, so so many, that it would keep them occupied past their moments of passion.

Young Jolyon, the artist, was able to recognize his passion. He knew enough to see the pearl of great price and give up what he had to in order to take it. He had the capacity for great love. It is easy for the viewer to recognize that—he is the artist after all.

But for poor Soames, to encounter the passion of his life and have nothing preparing him for it, the situation is agonizing. He was impeccable, always doing the right thing at the right time. Nothing but that, and always that, the right thing. He is the one who pushes the other Forsytes to harden their hearts against the members of their clan who trespass. Soames expresses the harsh opinion of “people” without a word, merely maintaining the hardness of his features.

It is chilling and wonderful.

But when he meets Irenie, he is lost. He is helpless in the face of his love, admiration and passion for her. There are so many men who are capable of falling so hard in love, but might be like Soames, having absolutely no idea what to do with their feeling.

Soames blunders it. He knows how to be respectable, but he doesn’t know how to enjoy life. Irene does, but he will not learn from her. He expects her to meet him on his terms. It is not hard to see how this will turn out.

I am mesmerized by Soames, even more than Irene or Young Jolyon. He is so controlled, that when he finally says “You are charming beyond words,” it is as if the words were formed in flame.

I can’t wait to see the rest of the series.

Check your local listings. I think many places repeat the first episode, and the rest is still coming.

And if you don’t “do” TV, then by all means read the books. They are as good, maybe better.