Thus is prologue…

7:40 PM, 9/27/10

Stepping back on American soil has had a real take-the-edge-off-type feeling.
Walking the streets of New York City barely 24 hours after flying in from the Netherlands was relieving. Whereas it has been such a rapid seasonal change in Europe, the sight of everyday New Yorkers strolling around on an Indian Summer-Saturday was surreal. I don’t remember ever describing midtown Manhattan as seeming so laid-back before this Saturday.

I’m in Ithaca again. Came in from Port Authority by bus yesterday evening

This past weekend in the city was eventful enough that the solitude that sitting on my mother’s sofa brings as I am typing this entry has left me with little energy to elaborate.

There is plenty on my mind regarding to events of the past week, in both the Netherlands and NYC.

I’ll get to it when rested.

Right now, I’d just like to get some long-needed pleasure reading done.

Thus is prologue…

9/22/10

From Woerden—Update:

Heading from the Netherlands to New York tomorrow. Catching a flight from Amsterdam to JFK. Staying in NYC for a few days, and then we'll see where I move on.

Those words: We’ll see where I move on…They are so familiar to me now that I have little trouble at all letting them slip past my throat. What do they mean between the lines? There are no permanent plans in place, no lofty ambition to tackle upon returning to the Real World. I’ve settled upon the fact that there is no ‘real world’ for me. Sure, I have tried (twice now) to commit myself to a responsible future—responsible, as the eyes of others would see it. These ‘others’, of course coming in the form of frustrated psychotherapists and asshole husbands of demented Aunts. The first time, the Fall of 2007, a half-baked stop-gap of an endeavor to gain a History MA at SUNY Cortland (a degree that while providing some intellectual stimulation is otherwise of little to no practical value professionally), and the second time, Winter 2010, just another uninformed Walter Mitty-trip, attempting to enter an Early Childhood Education Program at the same SUNY, all the while in the midst of recovering from the after-effects of the worst depressive crash in my entire history of depressive crashes.

So, no, there will be no more Walter Mitty-trips, though there will probably be more stop-gaps, until my coffers are replenished.

I don’t see myself as living a sedentary life any time soon. I remain a nomad whether my current digs are in a place that is foreign or domestic. As I have written to a young friend and former camper of mine:

Personal security and stability is the chief concern. However, I feel that my options are far too narrow, as in effect; I don't feel that I have a "home" to return to. I have essentially been a peripatetic for several years now, whether it is I who is moving on, or if it is the many who come and go in and out of my life. The mind can take so much stimulation, but it lacks the ability to resist its natural capacity for making attachments.

Took a long walk through Woerden today. The sun has finally come out, after several overcast and rainy days. It makes the flatness of Holland’s ground level seem otherworldly to me. Serene. My, how there is this scent that wafts through the air that is both gamey and sea-like, at the same time. I could practically hear sea gulls around me, if only in my imagination. That’s the best way I can describe it.

Indian summer.

Mailman abiding, toward the next…

9/20/10

Dateline: It’s June 30, and I’m sitting in the Starbucks on Seneca St. (the only Starbucks in downtown Ithaca, NY). I’ve recently discovered that it is much more conducive to my writing to take my laptop to public places when I have the urge to write—I’d produced my ‘FWF farewell’ letter from an outside bench at Purity Ice Cream, only three days earlier. It’s late at night, near the closing time. I’m having a bit of trouble finding motivation to type. I do manage to put out:

I’ve found—not without some feeling of irony—that fading away, with little flourish into the chronicles of French Woods past has proven more difficult than I’ve envisioned. No amount of reflection and catharsis seems to quell my restless spirit, essentially experiencing the equivalent of eviction from its adopted place of comfort and purpose, i.e., the French Woods mailroom. How is one meant to cope with the loss of the foundation he’s cherished for a significant period of his life? If in his short and turbulent life, he has known the feeling of presiding over one institution that he has shaped in his own design, a system where he has enjoyed control…

At this time, I’m too frustrated to continue, so I take a break and surf the web. One thing that relaxes me is reading from the Katha-Upanishad: The sharp edge of a razor is difficult to pass over;
thus the wise say the path to Salvation is hard. —3.14 It was from this verse that W. Somerset Maugham penned the title to his classic, The Razor’s Edge. Since my pilgrimage through Australia, that book and its title verse hold a great deal of meaning to me.

That was then. Two months later and I’m across the pond.

Dateline: It’s August 30, and I’m sitting in a Nando’s in Glasgow. From having been monitoring the Facebook traffic of French Woodites, I can see that the final session of camp has reached its climax for the summer. Exiting campers and staff are uploading the last of their troves of photos, all of which have the same thing in common: Happy young people smiling brightly; the closeness; the satisfaction of another fun-filled year, now behind them. I used to be one of the smiling faces in images like these. Until now, that is. Scheiße. I still am stewing with animosity over my discomfiting departure, which is best summed up in my June 26 Facebook status: “Joe Lehman has done my best to handle the situation with maturity and class. But damn it, I can't get over the feeling of betrayal. I gave the job the best summers of my life. I put in blood, sweat, and tears to ensure everyone's happiness. And what do I have to show for it from the powers that be??!! A quick "fuck you" and goodbye.”

It isn’t the handful of people who I hold directly responsible for my circumstances that I have on my mind, though. I had the least emotional attachment to them, anyway. It’s someone else, someone whose role was relatively minor. But he was the one person whom I had felt closest to and had held in highest esteem and respect at one time. So it is his conduct against me that I truly take personally. While waiting for my dinner of spicy chicken wings to arrive, I decide now seems like the right time to do what I find most cathartic. I take out my pen and notebook—A Kollegieblock I picked up in Stockholm—and I write a letter to this man I once admired. It is a letter I don’t plan on sending, of course, and the names have since been omitted to protect the guilty:

I’ve been watching your rise in the staff hierarchy. I guess it’s what you’ve always wanted, right? Finally being placed in a position of nominal authority after all these years of being the butt of jokes in Sing skits about how The Boss could never find you a consistent job.
I’m sure it feels great to have The Boss ‘s respect (or acceptance—whichever term you prefer), carrying your head high as he gives you a pat on the back, congratulating you on a fine day’s work. Lord knows I’ve always desired to have that, myself. The fact that The Boss is naturally stoic, such a master at keeping his emotional distance, only makes the desire for his acceptance even greater. It’s like seeking the Holy Grail, I suppose—the more difficult to attain, the more desirable. But then, it’s our human nature to want to be popular. It’s a want that follows us to adulthood.
I just wish you might have some understanding of at whose expense it was that has earned you many of those sought pats on the back; at whose expense it was that you have pleased the powers that be enough to rise through the ranks; whom it was that you had to sell short in order to contribute to your success.
I have always admired you, all the way back to the days when I was your camper and you were my camper. That’s about thirteen years gone by since then—have we really gotten that much older? I’ve admired you all the way to the day back in June when I up and quit. Even on that day, I was still telling people that you are a stand-up-guy. So I guess you could say it’s official that I meant it till the end.
But as I look back in retrospect at the circumstances that led up to my departure—or as I prefer to call it, my ouster—the reality of things has become clearer to me. It has been your role in this affair that has hurt me the most.
I had seen the writing on the wall many times, but I chose to shrug my doubts off. I ignored the red flags. Like the day last year in 2009 when you took me aside while I was still sick with pneumonia. You took me aside to criticize me for “not doing enough to delegate authority” so that the CITs would find it easier holding down the fort, getting the mail out on time, in my absence while I am in de facto quarantine in the infirmary. Between the lines, I could see that you were conveying The Princess’s subtle message—that she was disenchanted with me and wanted me replaced.
I have to ask you, though, how you feel, knowing that you had to be the messenger of the campaign to push me out. Does it feel righteous knowing that you’d been serving as the bosses’ proverbial hit man, in order to get ahead? Because I can tell you that from where I stand, it did feel rotten then, and it feels rotten now. It felt rotten sitting there, my energy depleted and my system ravaged physically and emotionally by illness and distress, only to find that the administration would rather offer criticism than support. It was a very time confusing for me, one where I had to ask myself, how the people for who I have worked over a period of many years, with religious dedication and unquestioning loyalty, could turn around a shuttle me aside like this. Well, it’s a kick in the ass. That’s one name to call it. Especially knowing that in the confusion and weakness I felt at the time, I couldn’t really say much in protest.
I have been hearing reports that the mailroom is in a slipshod state this summer. Or at least, proven very difficult to manage, in my absence. My question to you now is, since you made it so clear to me last year that you care so much about efficient management, do you now feel that things are in better or worse shape?
I only ask you this, because I remember that your primary criticism was that I was running the mailroom as a “one-man-show” (I don’t remember if these were your exact words, or mine). Well, would it not seem—especially when compared to this year’s state of operation—that it was a one-man-show that worked pretty effectively for the past seven years? Well I suppose now is a good time to make a turn of that old Reagan-quip “Are You Better Off Than You Were Four Years Ago?”
I remember last year, it took over five people to cover for me, while I was in the infirmary. Now people are telling me that it’s taken “like, twenty” to run the mailroom. How does this rate in terms of efficacy? Perhaps it’s time for a new analysis.
I’ll tell you now, in spite of all my periodic-to-frequent bouts of fatigue, and all the times when I needed to call in assistance from the Head Counselors, I always maintained the fierce drive to make sure the mail got out on time and that everyone—I mean everyone was served and satisfied. You might even say I was so driven in fact that I’d double check to make sure everyone got what he or she needed.
Yes, there were packages that were sometimes lost on my watch, but can you honestly compare that to the unacceptable number that have disappeared this summer without me there in charge? Do you really feel it has been worth the hassle, having to commit more time to entertaining the complaints of irate parents, who wonder why the packages they sent haven’t yet been received?
I don’t know what good comes from my writing this. Perhaps it’s best to say that I’m just doing it for myself. But these are my honest feelings.
Be well,
Joe

Keeping in mind, that I have edited and revised this hypothetical letter since I first conceived it.

From Woerden, Netherlands
This is Joe the Mailman

On the Swedish Postal System

I'm back in the Netherlands, rooming with a French Woods friend and his family.

Expanding on my thoughts from the other night:

I’ve discovered interesting facts about the Swedish Postal System

The Swedish postal system operates in one of the most liberalized mail markets in the world. Sweden’s national post -- or “ Posten,” as it is known in Sweden -- lost its monopoly privileges on letter mail in 1993, well before all of its European counterparts, with the exception of Finland. Before then, the Swedes already allowed competition in parcels and bulk mail. However, as of 2007, Posten has retained roughly 91% of the light letter market.

Compared to other EU countries, Sweden is in the middle of the pack when it comes to stamp prices for basic domestic letters. Sweden's prices are just slightly higher then average, according to the Free and Fair Post Initiative. 

Swedish Posten is one of the oldest postal services in the world, founded officially in 1636 but with origins that extend still further back. The service has one of the most venerable brand identities in any national culture. 

Posten is also known for its efficiency. It's important to note, however, that the Swedish population is highly concentrated around just a few major cities. The EU minimum standard calls for 85 percent of domestic letter mail to be delivered overnight. Posten far exceeds that standard, with about 95 percent of its mail arriving the next day. 



Privatization

Posten was officially “privatized” in 1994, but the privatization was more formal than real. The new entity -- a limited liability company titled Posten AB -- remains entirely owned by the Swedish government and there are, as yet, no immediate plans to sell the company off to private investors. 

Until this privatization, Posten functioned as an organ of the state -- the Postal Administration. The restructured Posten AB, in turn, owns a group of subsidiaries providing different postal and other related services. In distinction to most other countries, the national postal service in Sweden earlier had only a very limited legal monopoly on the mail -- basically just for letters. Parcels and bulk mail were officially open to competition. However, Posten had an effective monopoly, enjoying government status and paying no taxes.

Liberalization

In 1993, legislation was passed that, in measured steps, began transforming Posten into a “private” corporation and eliminating the sole postal monopoly in light letters.
Home and business post office boxes were opened to competition completely and initiatives were begun to make core elements of postal infrastructure accessible to every new, duly licensed postal operator that sought to deliver the mail. 

Postal codes and change of address processes were opened up to competitors and, within political and practical limitations, made available at cost. 

Prior to liberalization, Posten was “profitable.” At the time, critics claimed that upstarts would cherry pick Posten’s most lucrative markets, leaving Posten to provide “universal delivery” to the less profitable areas. This concern proved to be unfounded, as Posten has remained profitable without explicit state subsidies and has retained 91% of the delivery market, despite 33 licensed competitors. Posten's network of post offices and logistical operations, built over decades, continue to give it a formidable competitive advantage.

Universal Service

Sweden is slightly larger than the state of California, and is sparsely populated. Some 75% of residents -- about 9 million -- live in or around just a few cities. That makes for a relatively compact postal delivery problem. A small minority of residents, scattered across the largely inaccessible North, are the only major obstacle in fulfilling the Universal Service Obligation. 

In Sweden, the USO requirement applies only to addressed letter mail. According to the EC models, providing universal service is ultimately the responsibility of the government itself. In Sweden, the government has contracted with Posten AB fulfill this obligation. Posten AB’s 1998 agreement with the Swedish government makes it the sole provider of USO service. The government’s National Post and Telecom Agency (PTS) regulates the entire postal marketplace, including monitoring and supervising Posten AB’s fulfillment of Sweden’s USO. 

Posten AB is not subsidized for maintaining the USO. Government investigating bodies decided that the advantages Posten AB derives from being the sole (required) universal service provider are sufficient to fund USO. Only a few tiny state subsidies are given for providing timely mail service to the visually impaired, elderly and disabled in very rural areas. 

Universal mail delivery is thought to provide significant commercial advantage vis-à-vis any potential competitors, especially since Posten’s excellent speed of service does not give alternative mail companies much of an opening to skim off a separate “overnight” market. Moreover, any shipper wishing to use a non-universal competitor may be faced with expensive splitting of its mail processing operation. 

Sweden's Universal Service Obligation can be roughly divided into three components: 

1) Delivery "from all to all" Monday through Friday 

2) Single letters must be conveyed at uniform and reasonable rates. Price increases are officially capped at CPI (although prices have exceeded CPI due to tax increases and "rebalancing" of mail costs). 

3) As the official provider of the USO, Posten AB is required to maintain a network of physical postal counters. Many of the services provided by these counters are financial and not related to mail delivery. 

Structure

In 1990, Posten AB maintained 1,934 traditional post offices. Beginning in 2001, Posten began closing many of these traditional post offices, replacing them with a new network of privatized and contracted counter services. 

The new network consists of three main levels. The lowest are roughly 2,000 stamp agents who are mostly proprietors of small shops, stands and kiosks authorized to offer the most basic stamp and mail services. 

The second level of contracted service consists of about 1,600 postal outlets located within larger grocery stores and the like. They are staffed by regular store clerks, are typically open late, and offer more services -- including mail registration and package pickup (in Sweden parcels are not delivered to the door). 

The top level are 381 Business Centers located in commercial areas. These centers are staffed and managed directly by Posten AB. They provide complete post office services, including the processing of business mail and insurance for parcels. Business Centers can be used by individuals and businesses alike and are open weekdays between 7 a.m. and 7 p.m. 

Additionally, rural areas are served by 2,500 rural postmen who bring their “post offices on wheels” directly to the doors of more isolated users. 

Other “traditional” mail services were also formally spun off from Posten AB in 2001. The main unit was Svensk Kassaservice (Swedish Cashier Service) which provides a retail cashier service allowing Swedes to pay bills, withdraw and deposit money from/to bank accounts of several Swedish banks. 



Competition

As of 2007, there were 33 licensed postal operators in Sweden, but almost all were tiny, local operations in niche markets. Only one could remotely be considered a competitor to Posten. That company -- CityMail -- specializes in low-end business bulk mail. 

Launched in Stockholm in 1991, CityMail delivers only to about 40% of households in Sweden using a three-day-a-week cycle. Until 2004, it operated at a loss. CityMail delivered 275 million addressed items in 2006 -- compared to Posten’s 3.263 billion items. CityMail has an 8.6% share of single letter volume and a 13% share of bulk mail. Its 1,400 employees get wages and benefits equal to Posten’s. 

CityMail is poised to expand. In September 2007, the company announced that it would employ 500 new staff as part of a US$14.67 million expansion in central Sweden. By 2010, the company expects to be capable of delivering to 60% of Swedish addresses. 

Posten and CityMail run a combined subsidiary to handle postal zone directories and change-of-address processing, but CityMail has no part of Posten’s network of postal outlets. The services of express and courier companies are not regarded as postal operators and thus are not subject to licensing. 

European postal commissions estimated that national incumbents would be likely to retain roughly 80% of mail share after privatization. In Sweden, Posten AB has been able to maintain a dominant position in all segments of the market. Some 14 years after the opening of the letter market, for instance, Posten AB retains 91%. 

Regulation
Sweden’s National Post and Telecom Agency (PTS) is the independent government agency tasked with supervising and licensing letter mail providers. It also ensures that requirements of Sweden's Universal Service Obligation are met. Parcel and bulk mail delivery does not fall under PTS control. 

Sweden has an independent Competition Authority and there have been numerous cases brought before the Authority -- most concerning CityMail’s attempts to limit Posten’s “customer loyalty programs.” These were discounts offered by Posten to big and well-established companies to keep their business with Posten. 

Posten does not work within a confrontational union environment, and its healthcare costs are taken up by nationalized government health programs. Regulation, competition and wage disputes are not a major political issue in Sweden.

Pricing

Posten’s USO tariffs for letter mail are required to be “uniform and reasonable.” But letter mail is a small part of the mail stream. Other parts of the mail are not as closely regulated, but competition and pricing rules attempt to follow very general EU directives.
 
Price increases for letter mail are in theory tied to the CPI but in fact have risen about 90% since liberalization. Some of these “unusual but allowed” increases are attributed to the imposition of VAT, and some to a structural redistribution of costs by Posten. 

On the bulk side, Posten attempts to match many of CityMail’s volume discounts, but more often the competition is not price but process-driven. Posten uses its own in-house sorting technology, while CityMail encourages customers who, for internal reasons, prefer to control their own mail streams and get customized delivery solutions from CityMail. 

Futures
Competition combined with technology has brought bulk mail prices down 50% in real terms. Large mailers have benefited. Smaller businesses have seen less improvement. Despite the price cap, such businesses have endured gradual increases of over 50% in rates. Moreover, letter postage has increased dramatically even as the percentage of letters in the mail stream continues to decline. Also, parcel rates have soared by 253%. 

Fourteen years after complete liberalization, it does not appear that generalized rules allowing free competition -- without true privatization -- are sufficient to bring competitors into the mail market, at least under the somewhat unique conditions that exist in Sweden.



Well, this information certainly takes the ammunition out of the pontifications of the likes of Sarah Palin, to whom any mention of a nation like Sweden is a mention of the dreaded "socialism."

After all, Sweden's policies on taxes, education, and healthcare are blasphemous enough:

The Swedish value added tax standard rate is 25 per cent for most goods and services; 12 per cent for transportation, hotel services and food; 6 per cent for printed matter, cultural services and private transport. Exempted are medical and dental services, aircraft fuel, opera and ballet performances. Statutory payroll tax is 31.42 per cent for most employees. The maximum personal individual tax is 55 per cent with corporate tax at 26.3 per cent.
In turn, education and healthcare are mostly provided free to its citizens. The children are required to learn the national language as well as a second language (usually English) in primary schools.

How would she feel after reading about the liberalization of the Swedish postal system? Hardly anything socialist about that. Would it make any difference to her? Doubtful. After all, the narrative has already been set. Everyone already "knows" Europe is socialist. Once the forces of ignorance have defined the narrative, it is very difficult, (to say the least) to have it any other way, and there is no amount of reasoned and logic-based argument that can change it.

Ironic, though, that Sarah Palin, who normally would pay no interest to any input from Europe—especially the Scandinavian countries, changed her tune when it was convenient to her self-promoting ways.

Consider her thoughts on the Federal Government's response to the Gulf Oil Disaster:

“What the federal government should have done was to accept the assistance of foreign countries, of entrepreneurial Americans… the Dutch and the Norweigians. They are known for dikes and for cleaning up water and for dealing with spills. They offered to help! And yet, no– they too, with the proverbial ‘can’t even get a phone call back.’ That is what the Norweigians are telling us and the Dutch are telling us. And then the entrepreneurial Americans, the company in Maine that has the boom and the absorbents, those companies that are waiting for the Obama administration eight weeks later…”

Now consider what her response would have been if Obama had actually accepted assistance from the Dutch and the Norwiegians. She'd be leading raucous demonstrations outside the United Nations building, protesting the administration's selling out America's sovereignty to "European Socialists." Anything that suggests America act according to an "Internationalist" agenda is always enough to drive the far-Right to insanity. Just look at the Michael New case, back in 1995…

Imagine how ironic it feels to see this headline blaring across my screen:

"Swedes re-elect government, vote in far-right: exit polls"

That was just forty-five minutes ago.

At any rate, I've already moved on, so it’s all an afterthought now.

From Woerden, Netherlands
This is Joe the Mailman

Postmuseum Musings

9/17/10

I missed the chance to visit the Stockholm Postmuseum today—overslept. I suppose I was asking for it. After all, I was aware of the fact that the museum closes at 4 pm, Tuesdays through Sundays, and I’ve allowed my sleep cycle to go out of whack these past few days and haven’t made much of an effort to rectify that. Unfortunately, I’m moving on tomorrow, so the Postmuseum will have to wait until the next time—may it be sooner or later—that I return to Stockholm.

There is still a positive way I can look at this development, though. Having missed the opportunity today, it raises its value to me. Should I return, visiting the Postmuseum will be higher on my list of priorities. Had I hurried to visit the museum today, I probably would have been doing so with half the attention and enthusiasm that I would give it after I have taken time to nurture in my mind the prospect of visiting.

Call it the effect of “wanting what you don’t possess.” It’s well worth it.



I have made the study of the postal system a fundamental part of my ‘Mailman’ persona. As a backpacker/traveler, I have made a point of gathering as much intelligence on the postal services of each destination*

As I wrote two years ago:

My buddy Noel has a masterful knowledge of iconic imagery and its manipulation to serve an agenda. The rugged individualist message of 1980's action films signifying neoconservative wet dreams; the freeze-frame of Sylvester Stallone with his assault rife, sweat dripping from his muscles, symbolic of American supremacy. Or for the cross-combination of imagery: 1980s consumer product advertising employed for Communist propaganda. (Read: late Soviet-era Estonian ice cream commercials!)

Continuing:

Upon long moments of reflection have I too realized the extent to which I have used icons and iconic imagery to define the developments in my daily life and the changes in my identity over the past year. I've created icons over many abstract

The U.S. Postal Service; Postman Pat, metamorphasized [sic] into French Woods' Joe the Mailman: the archetype of the wandering persecuted fugitive as popularized by Jean Valjean in Les Miserables (the inspiration for my peripatetic backpacking journey across Australia); All popular things Australian.

I stand by the above statement, (all grammatical errors aside).

My above-mentioned friend, Noel Passeri and I have made quite an effective pundit duo. Whereas Noel’s expertise is in his knowledge of political theories, mine is more oriented toward knowledge of human nature and self-interest.

My interest in the symbolic imagery of the international postal system reflects my self-identity.

Symbolism can also be employed to support the conflict theory of politics. Murray Edelman, author of The Symbolic Uses of Politics, according to his critic Larry Arnhart of Northern Illinois University, believed:

Referential symbols allow us to understand empirical reality objectively and to manipulate it for our benefit. Condensation symbols evoke an emotional and thus subjective reaction to a situation, and therefore we see the world not as it really is but as we imagine it to be. By applying this distinction to political symbolism, we can distinguish mythical politics from utilitarian politics. For most people politics is a mythical activity; for a few people it is a utilitarian activity. (1-5) For "mass publics" politics is a spectacle in which they ritualistically seek symbolic reassurance that they live in a meaningful world. But for the "elites," who participate directly in public affairs, politics is merely an instrument for manipulating the objective world to win certain tangible benefits-money and power. The elite few bargain among themselves about public policy in the selfish pursuit of concrete gains, while the naive many deceive themselves into believing that government promotes the common good. The utilitarian politics of the few is a rational calculation of material interests. The mythical politics of the many is an irrational evocation of abstract ideas. (9-11, 15-18, 29, 41-42, 97-98, 124-25, 180)

Thus, like many other political scientists, Edelman rejects American democratic ideals as illusions. (191-94) Much of Edelman's writing seems to assume a Hobbesian view of politics, which could be explained by the influence of Harold Lasswell. Human beings are not by nature political beings. Rather they are divided by their selfish appetites. They establish governments, therefore, only for the sake of securing peace. (Uses, 18-19) On the other hand, Edelman insists that "man is a political animal." (Uses, 1-2) Politics is not merely an instrument for satisfying individual wants, because what a man wants-indeed the essence of his being- is in part a product of political symbolism. (Uses, 19, 43) But this suggests that there is no sharp distinction between the instrumental or utilitarian politics of the elites and the expressive or mythical politics of the masses. "The expressive and symbolic functions of the polity are therefore central: not simply a blind for oligarchic rules, though they may sometimes be that, too." (Uses, 19-20) "Elites are just as likely as others to base their beliefs upon symbolic governmental cues." (Action, 10) In these and other passages, Edelman uses the word "symbolic" in a narrow sense to denote condensation symbols rather than referential symbols. The implication, therefore, seems to be that all human beings-both the elites and the masses-rely on condensation symbols to determine their needs and wants. Only with such symbols can human beings define themselves through interaction with one another.(Uses, 124-25, 127, 142, 180-81; Action, 7, 70, 114, 144-45, 158, 171)

This, however, creates a paradox. Human beings cannot live without relying on mythical symbols that falsify the world. And yet if this is so, it is hard to see how anyone could know it. For in the very act of recognizing that falsification is a necessity for all human beings, someone would have to free himself from that necessity, which would show it was not a necessity after all. One cannot expose falsehood without some conception of truth. Edelman, however, sometimes tries to evade this point.

Larry Arnhart’s article serves both Noel’s and my opinions, where we can agree and disagree, in its forum for Murray Edelman’s views and Arnhart’s criticism of Edelman’s views. Arnhart puts forward:

Since each person looks at the political world from the point of view of his values and interests, all political arguments are rationalizations. Politics is so complex and so ambiguous that any person can find evidence to support his preferred position on any issue. Therefore, when conflicting interests lead to fundamentally different interpretations of the evidence, there is no rational way to settle the disagreement.

I believe that while human nature accords the average voter to have his self-interest at heart, the voter casts his ballot according to his chosen values. It is a mistake to believe that a politician’s victory represents that the public has bestowed in him a mandate for his ideology. Rather, a smart politician knows that in order to succeed he must attempt to co-opt the voters’ values into his agenda. Barack Obama’s mistake, in my opinion is that in the post-election hubris, his administration has instead attempted to do the opposite. In essence, placing their agenda over the public’s values.

As David Paul Kuhn writes in realclearpolitics.com:

Recall the Obama hyperbole of November 2008, so many predictions of an emerging progressive majority. New York Times' columnist Paul Krugman typified a corps of liberal analysts at the time. "We've had a major political realignment," Krugman wrote. "[The] presidential election was a clear referendum on political philosophies -- and the progressive philosophy won." Krugman won a Nobel Prize in economics that same year. Yet even he disregarded how the economy made Obama's mandate that day.
By March 2009, liberal analyst Ruy Teixeira wrote a report on the "New Progressive America." It dissected the presidential electorate. How white, brown, black and educated voted. Everyone but bicycling Norwegians. Yet, as I noted then, the nearly 50-page report ignored the economy's role. The lapse was, again, typical of the time and type.
We are now in another political time. The Democratic House could collapse in less than 50 days. Obama lost the majority long ago. And liberal analysts are running to economic explanations. Krugman has led the chorus. "It really is the economy, stupid," he wrote this summer.
It's an analysis that seeks to have it both ways. The economy is blamed in bad Democratic times. It's ignored in good. This cognitive dissonance deceived Democrats most. It brought hubris when they were on top. It now brings denial. If Obama first won his mandate on progressivism and now lost it with the economy, then the "professional left" does not have to consider where its ideas went wrong.
Democrats 2008 victory was credited to a great politician, a great campaign and a greatly changing nation. Yet it was the economy that made Obama's majority. Not necessarily his victory. But it's in majorities that presidents claim mandates.

It is a mistake repeated by progressives and liberals in general for the past several decades. This has been the basis for Rick Perlstein’s opinions, to which I have since subscribed with much enthusiasm. Progressive change does indeed come naturally over time, yet simultaneously, liberals and progressives tend to lose the public relations war. Despite the irrational backlash orchestrated by a paranoid Right-wing fringe, eventually the public adopts these changes as entitlements:

…When it was Medicare, the center-left much more firmly understood the concept of the reactionary — that this small and predictable minority of obdurate Americans would automatically fight any serious social reform as harbinger of the apocalypse.
Politicians had the moral confidence to push it through nonetheless, past the shrieks of the scared extremists and their corporate ideological partners. Meanwhile, they rhetorically stigmatized the shriekers — confident that wise and enlightened legislation would before long establish cherished social rights (keep the government out of my Medicare!).
With Obama care, however, too many Democrats proceeded from the suspicion that the shriekers might just have something important and useful to say about the broader judgment of of the electorate. And so ultimately, too much political energy and capital was expended trying to achieve an impossible bipartisan consensus on too little reform. Luckily — with financial reform and energy policy — Democrats will have two more bites at the apple.

As an undergraduate student in New Hampshire during the George W. Bush re-election in 2004, watching TV analysis of Bush’s victory—seeing the analysis boil down to one statement among the chattering classes: That one of the main reasons Bush was a stronger candidate than John Kerry was that he was a ‘regular guy’ you’d enjoy having a beer with—I found myself asking the same question that has dogged and frustrated liberals for so long. That surely, the public must have a constant desire to vote against its own interests.

Reading Rick Perlstein’s epic Nixonland and Vincent Cannato’s The Ungovernable City, I have since found a way to see past the inclination to ask such a question. These authors’ opinions have helped me recognize my ingrained political elitism and take a clearer view of the average American voter.

I have managed to gain a greater sympathy for what has attracted so many ordinary Americans to the Tea Party Movement. Still, as a man of reason and logic, what I see as the malignant irrationality of the present political discourse frustrates me and it has tested that sympathy.

I’d been eyeing paperback copies of Andrew Ross Sorkin’s bestseller Too Big to Fail all throughout my time in Europe this summer. The paperback edition has been published here in Europe some months ago. From what I’ve checked, it has only been released in America a week and a half ago. As I already have a hardcover copy back at my mother’s house in Ithaca, NY, it took a great deal of willpower to resist the temptation to buy it. I hadn’t been interested in reading the hardcover copy when it came to my attention several months ago. For one thing, its format bothered me. It seemed too thick, thus possessing the appearance of a potential “door-stopper-of-a-book.” I suppose another reason was that since I was reluctant to put a book belonging to my mother on my night table, at her recommendation. It always feels like less of a pleasure reading a book that way. These reasons are psychological, of course. But I am as susceptible as the next man.

I’ve noticed that some reviewers in European newspapers I have found have had one complaint about the book is that it is too America-centric—that its focus is primarily from the American perspective and that it doesn’t devote much detail to the role of European banks in the Financial Crisis. I admit, that I like many an American cannot help but share this self-absorbed mindset. It is for this reason that I have made such an effort in my travels to gain insight into current events, political and cultural in each destination.

The paperback copies, which I’d notice at airports, train stations, and bus stations, by contrast, seemed like an easier read. The book, in this form was more compact looking and clearly designed for traveling with. At a bookshop in London-Stansted Airport, I was seconds away from making the purchase, but withdrew at the last moment. The next day in Glasgow, I relented and went ahead and bought it at a local store.

Reading the book and seeing the intimate details of the behind the scenes goings-on in the days and months leading up to the collapse of Lehman Brothers and the onset of the Great Financial Crisis has been breathtaking. Behind all the politics and the egos and the backstabbing and the players’ attempts at covering their own asses, the picture seems very simple. Unregulated capitalism has brought on this crisis. And in those hundreds of pages, only in one sentence in the epilogue have I seen any mention of fears of encroaching socialism. So why is it that that is what is really driving the Tea Partiers nuts.

The thought plays in my mind like a broken record. How can it be that in an economic climate following a financial crisis brought about by the shenanigans of big banks reaping the spoils of deregulation over the past eight years of conservative governance, the masses are more vocally up in arms about Big Government, and a liberal administration's attempts to secure the economy and regulate these delinquent banks?

I have noticed in the time I have set aside scrolling the blogosphere that the voices of the Right have hardly been ignorant of the crimes and misdemeanors of the major financial institutions. As a matter of fact, they reserve plenty of bile for them. On Goldman Sachs, for example, the posters on freerepublic.com save plenty of invective for the besieged institution. But these complainers for the most part, manage to weave the subject into the narrative of their anger with the Obama administration. They reserve their focus to members the administration’s alleged ties to Goldman.

It is impossible in these times for the Right to carry its message as committed advocates of Big Business: right or wrong. There is no way that anyone can get away with that. Rand Paul and Congressman Joe Barton have tried that with British Petroleum over the Gulf Oil Spill, and such politics have blown up in their faces.

Indeed, the Right has managed to adapt its message to the current political climate (something the Left has always seemed to have trouble doing). One need only watch Glenn Beck’s nightly rants—and I don’t if I can help it—and he is able to fit Big Business and Big Government into his meandering conspiracy theories.

I have been searching for some kind of screed by a conservative ideologue that can provide a coherent narrative that reconciles anger at Big Government, unions, liberals, progressives, socialists, etc. with anger at Big Business. Glenn Beck's chalkboard certainly doesn't suffice. I found by chance, an op-ed piece by Michael Barone in Investor’s Business Daily. I don't like Michael Barone at all. Never have. He's always been a smarmy bastard and I disagree with his politics and intentions in many areas. However, I find that his observations in this particular article are worth checking out, if strictly for purposes of academic discussion.

Damn, it is getting late. I’d like to keep writing and address my observations of Barone’s article. But now I just don’t have the energy to continue tonight. I’ll finish later.

From Stockholm, Sweden
This is Joe the Mailman

* I admit, devoting so much space and energy to exposition regarding my background is a bit frustrating. Bearing in mind, of course, that once this blog takes off fully, I should become a more familiar presence, and thus should not have to do as much.

Storm-Blue Evenings

9/16/10

I’m sitting on a public bench in front of the harbor.

It’s 5:15 PM.

Autumn has arrived very fast here in Stockholm. The weather is certainly very different than it was when I was here last a few weeks ago.



It is almost impossible for me to put into words a description of the atmosphere. It has been raining on and off every couple of minutes this evening. Each shower or sprinkle is interrupted by a sunset that is more of a fading blue than the expected colors. I will call it a ‘storm-blue’ for lack of a better title. This storm-blue sky is lined by the most imposing and treacherous-looking of storm clouds. But I can tell that these clouds are all bark and no bite, so to speak. They don’t threaten me. I’m too at peace to be threatened by the weather.



It is such a strong, cold wind blowing at me. I feel a great rush. Approximately fifteen minutes ago. I was walking along the bridge, aside the passing train. I stopped for a few minutes to capture the moment; asked a few passersby to take some photos of me and took the rest myself.



I’m on my way to pay a brief visit to the Stadtsmuseum, the wisdom in that being that perhaps my getting a decent cultural fix this evening will pull me back into a more vigorous writing mood. I haven’t been doing so well in that department for the past few days. In Glasgow my health, both physical and mental took a sharp decline. I’ve returned to Stockholm, riding a Low and debilitated by a pesky head cold. I’ve been taking the time to recuperate, and I especially owe my thanks to the very kind hostel matron for accommodating me with private quarters for two nights.

Geez, I shouldn’t be sitting out here, like this. The weather isn’t suitable for someone with a cold and a runny nose to be outside like this in. But damn, the breeze is intoxicating. My mind is still too much in its recovery phase to allow for me to apply the full force of my intellect for writing this entry.

Since I can’t offer a written description of the scene before me, I may as well let my photos provide one for the eyes.

One hour and a half later:

With all the stops I’ve made to “capture the moment” (not to mention, grabbing a sandwich at Subway) it’s taken me that much time just to get to the museum, ogle the exhibits briefly, and then plant myself on the bench and resume writing…



I’ve started the new blog last night. I’d say it’s about time that I’d brought that plan to fruition after I’ve left it on the back burner for so long.

From now on, I won’t just be posting entries in my notes on Facebook. Perhaps now, I’ll be bringing myself closer to gaining the exposure for my writing, I have for so long desired.

I have a better feeling about this blog. My long-dormant previous one, Kind of a Drag, to me represents a long time of neglect; a time too wasted by depression and apathy to make headway.

As evidenced by yesterday’s opening salvo, I’ve christened this blog by uploading the essays I’d written for Facebook over the past two years.

It is most interesting reviewing observations I had written the week leading up to the U.S. Presidential Election, 2008. At the time I had first arrived in Sydney, for the commencement of what would become my epic Australian odyssey. As I’d written then:

I appreciate the irony of that we are on the eve of a presidential election that promises to be the most revolutionary in the history of the United States of America—as a victory by one side will serve as a statement defining the breaking of racial barriers in terms of upward mobility, and a victory by the other will do the same for barriers of gender—and I have been so distracted by the more immediate events of my life—the many great changes that are occurring in terms of relationships and opportunities—that I have essentially sat out this process.

I suppose ‘revolutionary’ was a misleading adjective. The election never promised to be one ushering in an era of transformation. Rather, what I should have written was that the election promised to be a ‘first’ in terms of breaking social barriers. Many have lamented lately that while it was extraordinary to see an African-American achieve the presidency, the Obama administration has hardly been extraordinary enough to warrant wearing the mantle of ‘revolutionary.’ But I’m sure I can be forgiven for being swept up in the excitement of the times. After all, it was hard to miss, even from abroad.

In his very enthusiastic comment on my post, my friend Noel Passeri had a great deal to say on the subject:

I agree with what you are saying. The biggest problem, in my opinion, with the “progressive” movement is its tendency to mock the values and culture of the masses they claim to be advocating. This works out incredibly well for the bourgeois plutocracy that composes our 2 [party] “democracy.” One party claims to advocate the culture of the working class, the other claims to represent the economic interests of the working class, and the end result is a divided, exploited, and manipulated working class that has no class consciousness [sic].

I don’t think very much will change in this country whether McCain or Obama wins. Capitalism will be the single ruling ideology of this country. And for better or worse America will continue to pursue interventionism in its foreign policy and maintain itself as a global empire.

I will say that if Obama wins I don’t think the neo cons will have a significant influence in the oval office and the U.S. will likely pursue a soft power approach to foreign policy. Also if McCain wins we’ll probably have neo con think tanks like PNAC having major influence on US foreign policy. In terms of economics, Obama will have a Clinton-esk [sic] tax code and McCain will pursue Reaganomics. And no matter who wins my, evangelical comrades, abortion will remain the law of the land. And this disappoints me because I am a Christian and a Marxist and feel that abortion is immoral on a metaphysical level and non egalitarian [sic] on a material level.

Obama will probably be a synthesis of Walter Mondale and Bill Clinton while John McCain will be like a synthesis of Bill Kristol, Dick Cheney, and well…John McCain. Neither of these options would represent any radical “CHANGE” to what the American people are used to.

Noel bemoans, as I do, the Right’s rampant charges of Obama being a Socialist and it’s conflating progressivism and liberalism with Marxism:

In terms of all this Red Scare stuff about Obama...Part of me isn’t surprised that Americans are so afraid of Socialism and Marxism, and another part of me is amazed how despite the fact that the fault lines of capitalism and imperialism have been cracking in the U.S. these last 8 years, no one in this ripe capitalist country wants to take the next step past capitalism and seize the literal and figurative machinery of capitalism and apply the accomplishments of capitalism to a system that promotes working class hegemony. The U.S. doesn’t have to do socialism like the USSR did it. We can learn for the failures and accomplishments of past socialist experiments in underdeveloped countries and use our century’s worth of developed material strength to make a just form of socialism that could lay the ground work for an eventual communist achievement. None of this will be accomplished with Barack Obama BECAUSE HE IS NOT A MARXIST OR A SOCIALIST!!!!!!

With all this being said I think Obama is the lesser of two evils, but I would not be surprised if people got into the voting booth and decided Obama is to unfamiliar and pull the lever for McCain. I just hope that no matter what happens that the U.S. or Israel doesn’t invade Iran and that the American people get to see Sarah Palin in a bikini on either WWE RAW, Smackdown, ECW, or TNA IMPACT. I also want to see Joe the Plumber fight Hulk Hogan at Wrestlemania 25. And I am very, very serious. USA! USA! USA! USA! [Noel is a master in the art of harnessing pop-culture imagery to serve a political end.]

I piggybacked on Noel’s statement in my response:

I don't think it's that McCain knows something that the rest of us don't know. I think that he is merely letting us think he knows something we don't, so as to influence people into feeling less certain about Obama's electability. It's a classic tactic. If he acts as though he's ahead, he can pull ahead by power of suggestion.

As my friend Noel so declaratively states, no, Obama is not and cannot be called a socialist or a marxist. He is a liberal, and liberalism is about reformism. Marxism is about revolution, total overhaul of the system. Reformism guarantees the the system's preservation. One need only read Mao Zedong's "Combat Liberalism [and Discipline]" to see what an actual marxist thinks of liberals. Mao would most likely have had Obama put in a Collective, or shot.

It is frustrating to hear in national discourse this fallacious conflation of liberalism and Socialism. But of course, the main reason it's become the case is that it has become politically expedient to do so. It's what keeps liberalism on the defensive. As I said before, it's all about shaping the narrative, and that's how the narrative has been since Spiro Agnew worked so effectively to make that happen forty years ago.

Truthfully though, conservatives know that there is no classic socialism in the United States. There is only a great configuration of liberal designs, which conservatives fear will serve the socialist agenda (though it can't).

I refer as an example, to Donald J. Boudreaux's op/ed is in the Christian Science Monitor "Is Barack Obama really a socialist?"

http://www.csmonitor.com/2008/1030/p09s01-coop.html

The CSM op-ed piece I cited answered the title’s question with:

No. At least not in the classic sense of the term. "Socialism" originally meant government ownership of the major means of production and finance, such as land, coal mines, steel mills, automobile factories, and banks.

Needless to say, the rest is history. All the doomsayers crying imminent socialist apocalypse gleefully claim vindication with the subsequent government bailouts of the leading banks and automobile companies. (Though the bank bailouts began under Bush!)

Lost in the wilderness of the political food-fight are the facts that most of the banks have since paid off their bailout loans and the auto manufacturers have since been relieved from the brief federal administration. As Rick Perlstein wrote in the Washington Post last summer, “The various elements -- the liberal earnestly confused when rational dialogue won't hold sway; the anti-liberal rage at a world self-evidently out of joint; and, most of all, their mutual incomprehension -- sound as fresh as yesterday's news.” This hysteria is the case with every Democratic presidency since FDR.

My, oh my how the test of time has affected my observations of yesteryear.

Post from Facebook Notes (Summer 2010, Stockholm, Sweden)

On Psychological Egoism—A Reflection

Monday, September 13, 2010 at 7:23pm
September 14, 2010

The usual education of young people is to inspire them with a second self-love (La Rochefoucauld, par. 261).


There was a time when should I be trapped in a personal state of malaise I could find an outlet in going to the places, working the jobs, and being close to the people who fulfill my emotional needs. In the surge of pleasure that accompanies the act of satisfying my needs, I’d feel myself overtaken by an incredible sense of love, or emotional attachment—attachment to whomever it is that shows me the affection that I seek, whether it be romantic or platonic.

There is no passion wherein self-love reigns so powerfully as in love, and one is always more ready to sacrifice the peace of the loved one than his own (La Rochefoucauld, par. 262).

Sadly, now, that sense of fulfillment no longer seems to apply. Because I know now that the feeling is fake. It is not love at all, but a state of perpetual immaturity. No different than infatuation.

The principle contributes nothing to the establishment of morality, because making a man happy is very different from making him good, and making him prudent and sharp in seeing what is to his own advantage is far from making him virtuous (Kant, 38).

In the end, I am reduced to the conclusion that I am and always have been, a selfish being. Feeling alone and unloved until such a time that all my desires are met, and then am as high as a kite. It is all based on the reward, on pleasure. In all this time, I realize that I have very little understanding of how anyone who I have convinced myself I care about think or feel. I know very little of what is going on in people’s daily lives and my memory of what they tell me is faulty, as my own concerns have monopolized my mind’s concentration. And the enchantment I have felt—the infatuation, if you will—dissipates at such a point when it either reaches the apex, when fantasy and reality merge, or when its object indicates that it is no longer willing to provide me with the desired affection.

In the human heart there is a perpetual generation of passions; so that the ruin of one is almost always the foundation of another (La Rochefoucauld, par. 10).

For the past nine months I have taken new medicines as a habit. I have the benefit of for the first time being able to work productively at any form of labor within my capacity uninhibited by the demands of lingering emotional needs. The drugs have inhibited that part of the brain responsible for them. I have done more research, gained a greater self-awareness. I supposed this is maturity.

The passions are the only advocates which always persuade. They are a natural art, the rules of which are infallible; and the simplest man with passion will be more persuasive than the most eloquent without (La Rochefoucauld, par. 8).

There are many benefits in the practical sense—I’ve gone on for so long, allowing feelings to become obsessions—very self-destructive obsessions, costly to me and potentially threatening my relationships with others. I have on numerous occasions pushed away friends and provided leverage to my enemies, some of whom reside within my extended family. My aunt, predator that she is, has recognized and prepared for the moment that I, in my emotional attachment and need gave hostages to fortune. It has been with relish, she has taken the opportunity to exploit my weakness and to hurt me, to break me at her twisted whim.

Also riches joined with generosity is power, because it procures friends and servants; without generosity, not so, because in that case the friends and servants don’t defend the rich man but rather regard him as prey (Hobbes, 39).

These last few months on the meds have been a void, a life where emotion no longer applies. It is truly the loneliest feeling. As one confidant has aptly suggested, “it is like losing an old friend.” Obsession may have complicated my life significantly, but life without it is unfamiliar and confusing. I feel alone and removed from feeling, because the root of every emotion I have felt has been selfishness. I can state definitively that I have never loved, I have only needed.

Moderation in emotions and passions, self-control, and calm deliberation not only are good in many ways but seem even to constitute part of the person’s inner worth, and they were indeed unconditionally valued by the ancients. Yet they are very far from being good without qualification—·good in themselves, good in any circumstances·—for without the principles of a good will they can become extremely bad: ·for example·, a villain’s coolness makes him far more dangerous and more straightforwardly abominable to us than he would otherwise have seemed. (Kant, 5)

The commonly held misconception about selfishness is its association with malicious intent. On the contrary, its true basis is on emotion and the delusion of altruistic intent, psychological egoism and false love.

Enough for one night’s confessions…

From Stockholm, Sweden.
This is Joe the Mailman


Kant, Immanuel. Groundwork for the Metaphysic of Morals.
Retrieved September 6, 2010 from the World Wide Web:
http://www.earlymoderntexts.com/pdf/kantgw.pdf

Hobbes, Thomas. Leviathan: Part 1: Man.
Retrieved September 6, 2010 from the World Wide Web:
http://www.earlymoderntexts.com/pdf/hobbes1.pdf

De La Rochefoucauld, Francois Duc.
"Reflections Or, Sentences and Moral Maxims."
Retrieved September 6, 2010 from the World Wide Web:
http://www.gutenberg.org/files/9105/9105-h/9105-h.htm

Post from Facebook Notes (Summer 2010, Glasgow, Scotland)

Wise Creatures: An Observation From the Chronicles of Mailman-in-Exile

on Friday, September 3, 2010 at 5:10pm
9/2/10

An interesting flourish came to my head yesterday.

From the beginning:

Dateline: 7:55 AM, embarking on a guided day tour of the Highlands, Loch Ness, and Glencoe. The tour commencing remarkably, enough—arriving at the rendezvous point in George Square, huffing and puffing and out of breath, having run as fast as I could, making it to the bus in the nick of time. The young tour guide hands me a pocket-sized bottle of Scotch Whiskey. I can see that everyone else on the tour had been issued one as well.

I’ve never been on a tour where the hand out free liquor so soon after the break of daylight.

I guess, only in Scotland, right?

Came in handy too. A few swigs of the booze did take the edge off throughout the day.

I’d say that moment has set the tone for quirky little happenings.

Fast forward to about noon: We stop for lunch. I notice a small keychain/liquor flask on sale, a “Mini Celtic Hip Flask” to be precise. One of those little dispensable products that every once in a while, I get the urge out of the blue to buy, simply “because it looked lonely.” Just £4, I might add. I’m keeping it full and in my side pocket. Be prepared, as the motto goes. Little trinkets make the most symbolic icons, in this man’s opinion. Of what they symbolize is in the eye of the beholder.

Recall for example, what I believe was Pauline Kael’s observations in her review of the 1981 David Cronenberg classic, Scanners. * The fact that the film employed many symbolic set pieces and images, such as the logos of its fictional corporate logos, not unlike those of AT&T and Apple Computers, and the scene where a payphone is shown to literally melt in a man’s hand (mass communications makes for the most imaginative emblems, so the irony represented in a melting phone is hard to miss).

Fast forward again: Time is now approximately 1:30 PM. I’m inside the gift shop at Urquhart Castle. The amount of picture books, posters, and stuffed toys featuring Highland cattle takes my eye. I recognize the creature. I had known one personally not more than a year and a half ago.

Flashback to February 2009, Gingin, Western Australia (My how so many so many roads seem to lead back to my Aussie wwoofing farms). The family in charge kept one such Highland cow on the farm. A huge, hairy old animal named Jock. I recall many times in my three-and-a-half weeks on that farm my walking past Jock’s pen, handing him clumps of hay for his meals, always careful to avoid his biting my hand, regarding his lumbering form as he grazed and chewed peacefully from behind the fence, eyeing me blankly, and my not giving much thought at all as to what might be going on in his head. At that time I had been ignorant of the creature’s title, and of Scotland being its native habitat. I’d just mentally referred to him as a “steer.” But now, come to think of it, I’m beginning to remember the farmer mentioning Jock’s being imported from Scotland.




Now forward to the present in Urquhart Castle gift shop: I pick up a copy of The Wit and Wisdom of Highland Cows, described on the front flap as “a heart-warming gift book packed with photographs of all varieties of Highland cow in their beautiful habitat, accompanied by words of wit and wisdom that will bring a smile to your face and make you pause for reflection.” The book is by Ulysses Brave, described on the back flap as “a self-help guru specializing in animal consciousness.” Now how could I say no to such glowing self-description, (hehe).

I buy the book. It is £3.50, fifty pence less than the whiskey flask, if that’s hard enough to believe.



There is also a counterpart book next to it starring West Highland terriers as the title animal, but I find them a less effective inspiration, given that these little dogs are too damn cute, and very distracting from the words of wit and wisdom. After all, according to Wikipedia, that heartthrob of teenage girls everywhere, Robert Pattinson owns one as a pet. Do I really need any more friggin’ Twilight reminders? All that is needed to obfuscate a message of supposed self-help.

It is now 2:30 PM. After exploring the castle, I am now on the deck of the small boat, cruising along Loch Ness. Thumbing through the pages of my new purchase and taking notes in my memo pad, I think back to big old Jock, the Highland cow in Australia. In retrospect, I realize that my mistake was in not seeing the big picture: that behind Jock’s bulky and blank looking exterior, perhaps he knew something in life that I don’t.

Consider for a moment: Whereas cattle in general are long dismissed as being essentially stupid creatures, the Highland cow emits an aura of all-knowingness, albeit a detached all-knowingness.

I’d extrapolate more, but I’m too tired and the intellectual juices are spent, so for now, this entry—too be continued…

* I don’t have Pauline Kael’s exact review on hand right now, so I am basing this reference entirely from memory. The powers that be may censure me for improper citation later.

From Glasgow, Scotland
This is Joe the Mailman

Post from Facebook Notes (Summer 2010, Stockholm, Sweden)

…From the Chronicles of Mailman-in-Exile

Thursday, August 12, 2010 at 6:15pm
8/10/10

A catch-22, it seems. The uppers keep me from getting too low and the downers keep me from getting too high. The purpose of this, as proscribed by the doctor, is to gradually achieve what the experts call mood stability.

Ironic then, that for the first time in so long, these parameters make it possible for me to be a truly productive worker—free from the distracting and disabling effects of constant obsessive thoughts and erratic and compulsive behavior (an added bonus in that I can also concentrate well enough to get more writing done).

Yet this so-called stabilty prevents me from truly reaching a point of enjoying the experiences of my travels. Whenever I find myself in surroundings that favor my preferences, the effect of the downers kick in, essentially restricting the activation of my pleasure receptors and the release of endorphins necessary to gratification (please don’t mind my amateurish generalizations).

I think it’d be more apt to refer to this state of mind as more of a “healthy low” than an actual place of stability. It’s healthy in that at least in this condition I can deliberate on the present and future and approach tough decisions and make plans from a point based on reason and logic, as opposed to the days of living without medication, when every decision I’d make was based on impulse and emotion and without the process of rational thought.

This also led to delusions of grandeur and invincibility. Lows, in turn, make one feel dirty; like a wretched, crawling worm.

Ironically, it has been in the state of constant High that my personality has been most colorful. I worry that my mood in its current state has been far too subdued to let me be of much humor to people.

One benefit of living a life on one great High was that it kept me motivated to stay in constant contact with all the many friends and acquaintances I make wherever I travel. In my present condition I have mellowed out a great deal and I have, for the most part, been staying off the grid (the grid being Facebook, that is). Save for checking in sporadically to update my status, follow the progress in everyone’s lives, satisfy my occasional curiosity as to how the French Woods mailroom is faring without my stewardship, etc, etc.

The question in my mind though, is how I should feel about that.

It has always been the case that in the peripatetic lifestyle I lead, (and I have no intention of slowing down yet) it is difficult to nurture friendships and relationships. I don’t beg for reassurance, but I often wonder if I am callow in this behavior.

In my more obsessive states of mind, at least I could count on having a greater desire—or rather a compulsion—to stay in frequent-to-extensive communication. I have been mostly playing it by ear, now. But one advantage I have is that in my travels I take time to stop and smell the roses (so to speak) and I am not preoccupied with always trying to plan things to work out perfectly. I accept the reality that I cannot always visit everyone, everywhere. As the late John Lennon said, “life is what’s happening while you’re making other plans.” How fitting that it was 19 months ago that I saw that saying posted on the side of a city bus in Melbourne.

Of course, I can’t live the way I do forever (between the lines—I won’t be a young man forever).

In Europe and Australia I’ve felt more accepted in my chosen wandering, at least while I am still in my 20s. Back home in the United States I feel as though there is some stigma to it. At my last appointment with my head shrink, he spent 45 minutes lecturing me about taking responsibility, moving ahead with what I want to do with my life, and other clichés. Another irony in that while my family and friends are supportive of my choices, I seem to find the least support from my doctor.

I recall a scene in Pulp Fiction, where the John Travolta and Samuel L. Jackson characters are having an argument over the virtue of Jackson’s proposed living as a nomad. Travolta says it’s the textbook definition of being a bum. Jackson, in his defense, calls it “walking the earth.”

Compare these two events:

The time is late January 2009; I am standing barefoot in the sand in a garden on a farm in Gingin, Western Australia. Images of the character of John Blackthorn in James Clavell’s Shogun fill my mind. How cunning and resourceful he was as he in essence parlayed the sand between his fingers making into his fortune. Mimicking this scene as it plays out in my head, I take a handful of sand in my palm and let it slip through my fingers. At that moment, I was on such a great High that I was euphoric.


I called these Aussie adventures my “razor’s edge” experience, as the experience resembled a spiritual awakening of sorts.

Now fast forward to August 2010. I am picking weeds out of the soil on a farm on the lovely island of Strynø, in Denmark. Heavily medicated, my mind is fully focused on the task at hand. There are no lingering doubts or worries plaguing me. I am getting the old job done, with no distractions. I realize how different my work performance is than it was a year ago. How depression had weakened me, both mentally and physically. That is not the case, now.

Still, I can’t help but feel the maximum pleasure I think my brain is due. As impractical a thought it is, oh how nice it would be to feel the High again.

There are still plenty of nice points, though: The feeling that I received yesterday, standing on the deck of the ferry taxiing me from Strynø to Rudkøbing, a cool morning breeze. Many decent photographs came out of those moments. As the man standing next to me observed, lighting in a photo is everything. And the silhouette that he captured covering me in the portrait he took says it all.

Everything happens pretty fast. I took a bus from Rudkøbing back to Copenhagen and subsequently, a train to Stockholm. I find Stockholm to be a captivatingly beautiful city.

For a final irony, I haven’t done much exploring today. I’ve been sitting in a ‘Kebab House’ all day writing up a storm—hence this entry. It seems to have done the trick since my mood is lifted considerably. It’s 6:10 in the evening. The sun has come out, where it was overcast four hours ago. I look out the window, pondering trekking down to the harbor. It’s the Land of the Midnight Sun, so there is plenty of time until sunset. I’ll transcribe this piece and edit and post it later. I’m feeling a bit wistful. Danish wwoofing farms are fine. But how much I do wish to remain at Tralee Orchard in the Wirrabara Forest in South Australia. Oh, what that would mean…

From Stockholm, Sweden
This is Joe the Mailman

Post from Facebook Notes (Summer 2010, Ithaca, NY, USA)

Joe the Mailman: Goodbye to All That…

Saturday, June 26, 2010 at 11:55pm

June 26, 2010

To each and everyone, Happy Summer.

Many people, having been in touch over the past three weeks, know that I am not currently at French Woods, although it had been my plan to be there, running the mailroom, as has been custom for many years. Many others, I have not yet told.

I have intended to issue an official announcement of my departure, but I have been unsure of how to do it. Even now, after the considerable length of thought and deliberation I have given, I find myself nervous and hesitant in sending the message. I don’t know if there is a right way or a wrong way to say that things could no longer work out. Somehow, in all the time I have been the French Woods Mailman, I’ve never really stopped to consider the possibility that I would one day no longer be. I have enjoyed so many blissful summers, and it has never once truly looked as though there might be an end in sight. And if there were, I had hoped that end would come under conditions far more favorable (and truth be told, far more ceremonious).

Although I have left my position on my own accord, the reasons for my doing so were not circumstances that were in my control. And I wish that these circumstances did not occur as they did.

Leaving certainly wasn't an easy decision to make, as I never have intended to disappoint anyone or to burn bridges. I wish to stress that when upon making the decision, I did so with the full knowledge that I would miss all of you, and so many more, just as I hope that everyone will miss me equally.

My motivation has been more than just delivering the mail. My greatest joy is to be a good friend, to a good influence, and to share so many wonderful relationships. I have learned so much from all of you and I hope to have provided some inspiration to everyone in the same way.

I wish to express how very much I have loved you all. And how very hard I worked throughout all these years to ensure joy and happiness to the entire French Woods community. It is unfortunate that in spite of my efforts to reach out to everyone, there have been some in the administration with which I have failed at resolving our differences.

It would be dishonest of me to say that I am not hurt and dejected over the conflict that has led to my departure, because I am indeed hurt and dejected.

I do not wish to convey a sense of sour grapes. But I wish to state for the record, that I do not believe I have received fair treatment from those in the administration with which I have disagreed. Nor do I agree with the direction in which this great institution is being taken. Regardless of my approval or disapproval, it is out of my hands.

Many people have urged me that those I am in conflict with try to work out our differences. I am thankful for these kind words of advice. I wish it were so simple as reconciliation, but it is a Fait Accompli, now. Of course, I am disappointed that it turned out this way.

I have been at French Woods for so long, it is an integral part of my life. I feel an organic connection to the camp. Being ‘Joe the Mailman’ is more than just a title bestowed upon me by campers and staff, it has become an identity, of sorts; an identity that I don’t know how to ever give up.

Ultimately, I knew that it was a decision I’d have to make, not based on the emotions of the moment, but on what I knew was true in my heart.

I am reminded of the words of Polonius:

“This above all: to thine own self be true,And it must follow, as the night the day,Thou canst not then be false to any man.Farewell, my blessing season this in thee!”

Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 3.

It is my wish, though, that everyone at French Woods remember Joe the Mailman; that I may remain in spirit.

It’s been a long road. I first arrived at French Woods, an eager camper, at the age of twelve. I entered the mailroom as a CIT to the great Eli the Mailman, at the age of sixteen. It was the summer when I turned twenty I became a counselor and took my place as head of the mailroom. I write this declaration now, in the final month of my twenty-sixth year. How very much I had wished to spend my twenty-seventh birthday at camp, as close out this career at that point. If only it were to be.

I hope that the late General Douglas MacArthur will forgive me for turning a phrase:

“…Old French Woods staff members never die; they just fade away. And like the old French Woods staff member of that ballad, I now close my mailroom career and just fade away…”

Signing out one last time,

This is Joe the Mailman…forever.

Postscript:

If you could read my mind, love,
What a tale my thoughts could tell.
Just like an old time movie,
'Bout a ghost from a wishing well.
In a castle dark or a fortress strong,
With chains upon my feet.
You know that ghost is me.
And I will never be set free
As long as I'm a ghost that you can't see.

If I could read your mind, love,
What a tale your thoughts could tell.
Just like a paperback novel,
The kind the drugstores sell.
Then you reached the part where the heartaches come,
The hero would be me.
But heroes often fail,
And you won't read that book again
Because the ending's just too hard to take!

—Gordon Lightfoot