DUMBING DOWN TO SURVIVE by Paul Heinz, September 4, 2008(To read more click here)
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Marking Time With Music September 21, 2008
By Paul Heinz (To read more click here.)
By Paul Heinz (To read more click here.)
October 13, 2008
A LYRICAL EDUCATION - By Paul Heinz. (To read more click here.)
A LYRICAL EDUCATION - By Paul Heinz. (To read more click here.)
October, 2008
GOD BLESS RANDY NEWMAN - By Paul Heinz. (read more)
GOD BLESS RANDY NEWMAN - By Paul Heinz. (read more)
November 23, 2008
Friendship Bread Givers: You Ain’t No Friends Of Mine – by Paul Heinz
On Joe Jackson’s debut album, he scoffs at couples who make finding love look easy, because he knows it to be
a painful, confidence-shattering process. He sings over and over at the song’s end, “You ain’t no friends of
mine.” I’d like to borrow this sentiment and extend the ridicule to all those who gleefully hand out practically
empty Ziplock bags to friends and say in a sweet and giving voice, “Here’s a homemaking kit of Amish friendship
bread!” They say it as if they’re the kindest, most warm-hearted individuals on the planet, but the truth is out and
it’s beginning to spread: these are actually mean-spirited people who exult in the false hopes and misfortunes of
others. (Take another bite of Paul's bread)
Friendship Bread Givers: You Ain’t No Friends Of Mine – by Paul Heinz
On Joe Jackson’s debut album, he scoffs at couples who make finding love look easy, because he knows it to be
a painful, confidence-shattering process. He sings over and over at the song’s end, “You ain’t no friends of
mine.” I’d like to borrow this sentiment and extend the ridicule to all those who gleefully hand out practically
empty Ziplock bags to friends and say in a sweet and giving voice, “Here’s a homemaking kit of Amish friendship
bread!” They say it as if they’re the kindest, most warm-hearted individuals on the planet, but the truth is out and
it’s beginning to spread: these are actually mean-spirited people who exult in the false hopes and misfortunes of
others. (Take another bite of Paul's bread)
February 8, 2009
Clutter Is Nine-Tenths Of Our Tension - By Paul Heinz
In 1994 Peter J. Menzel published a book containing photographs of families standing in front of their homes with
all their worldly possessions. The cover of the book presents a family of four on a cul-de-sac with their lovely
home behind them and a tidy display of sofas, tables, chairs, dressers, lamps, beds, a piano, bookshelves,
photos in frames and every movable appliance, not to mention two cars parked in the driveway and a family dog.
Not shown in the photograph are all the books, papers, tools, binders, boxes, scrap wood, scrap shingles, scrap
ANYthing, grilling equipment, pet toys, children's toys, knickknacks, dishes, glasses, snow shovels, power tools
and lawn mowers. In other words, the clutter has been removed from the equation, and what’s left is a display
that makes American consumerism look reasonable, orderly and completely healthful. (Read more)
Clutter Is Nine-Tenths Of Our Tension - By Paul Heinz
In 1994 Peter J. Menzel published a book containing photographs of families standing in front of their homes with
all their worldly possessions. The cover of the book presents a family of four on a cul-de-sac with their lovely
home behind them and a tidy display of sofas, tables, chairs, dressers, lamps, beds, a piano, bookshelves,
photos in frames and every movable appliance, not to mention two cars parked in the driveway and a family dog.
Not shown in the photograph are all the books, papers, tools, binders, boxes, scrap wood, scrap shingles, scrap
ANYthing, grilling equipment, pet toys, children's toys, knickknacks, dishes, glasses, snow shovels, power tools
and lawn mowers. In other words, the clutter has been removed from the equation, and what’s left is a display
that makes American consumerism look reasonable, orderly and completely healthful. (Read more)
March 10, 2009
LOST ARTS - by Paul Heinz
Allow me to put on my “old-man” hat. You know the one: the hat your grandparents wore when you cranked up your Black
Sabbath records or paged excitedly through the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue. The “what’s-the-matter-with-kids-these-
days” hat. It’s the same hat my old neighbor Charlie wore when he complained that he didn’t see any kids playing in the
neighborhood because they spent all their time playing video games. I told him, respectfully, that kids today are busier than
ever, and the reason they aren’t playing is probably because they’re overloaded with homework designed to improve test
scores instead of improving minds.
But five years later I find I’m wearing Charlie’s hat, though my gripes aren’t limited to today’s kids: parents are my primary
target.
Allow me to illustrate. This morning I walked my son four blocks to school as I do most days. And just as on other days, a
well-intentioned mom pulled over in her oversized car and rolled down the window.
“Do you want us to give you a ride?” she asked.
“No thanks. We like to walk.”
“But it’s so cold!”
Never mind that on most days my walk to and from school constitutes my entire exercise regimen, and is therefore a necessity
for my health, but does this mom honestly think that twenty-two degrees ABOVE zero is so far below the threshold for human
existence that we need to drive to school? My son and I did, after all, have coats, gloves and hats on. Sir Edmund Hillary
endured worse conditions, and without the aid of Thinsulate.
This little episode, taken on its face, is of course not necessarily a signal for the downfall of mankind. But there are other
things – little lost arts – that when taken together might trigger a more urgent alarm of the human condition.
THINGS MANY OF ADULTS, AND THEREFORE MANY OF OUR CHILDREN, CAN NO LONGER DO:
· REMEMBER TELEPHONE NUMBERS. I was at the airport last night and I had trouble getting hold of my wife to pick me
up. And you know what I did? I called my neighbor from a pay phone! That’s right – I remembered his number without the aid
of speed dial.
· FIND AN ADDRESS BY READING A MAP. I have a friend who couldn’t find his sock drawer without the aid of a GPS
system. There are even GPS devices for golf courses, allowing golfers to pin-point the yardage to the hole from any location
on (and, presumably, off) the course. How in the world did Ben Hogan manage?
· WRITE. I used to compose entire papers with nothing but paper and pencil. I don’t believe I’ve constructed one
sentence of this essay without the aid of the backspace key (and if you think better-known authors can, think again. Yes, David
McCullough still writes his books on a Royal typewriter, but check out this demo recently posted by EtherPad, an editing tool
developer. Their program allows you to see the writing process in real time. And it ain't pretty).
· SPELL. I’ve counted twelve words now that I initially spelled incorrectly, only to have the computer magically transform
them into their better-looking siblings. Thank you, computer.
· LOOK WORDS UP IN THE DICTIONARY. My children often ask me the meaning of a word, and I’ll tell them to look it up.
“But not on-line,” I add. When they object, I tell them that one day they may find themselves in a strange land where Internet
access doesn’t exist, and THEN they’ll thank me.
· RESEARCH WITHOUT USING WIKIPEDIA. I gave my Sunday school class an assignment to look up a few key facts about
a world leader, and each student (the few that actually completed the assignment, that is) came up with the same facts
verbatim, all from Wikipedia, this despite the many times I’ve heard them say, “My mom says Wikipedia is unreliable.”
· PAY ATTENTION WITHOUT CHECKING E-MAIL. This problem was perfectly illustrated when I witnessed my friend
responding to text-messages on his Blackberry in the middle of a rock concert.
On the radio recently I heard someone discuss the very real threat of a terrorist organization exploding a bomb in space, an
act that would wipe out our satellite systems and reverse technology “back into the Stone Age.” Mankind would basically
rewind the clock over a half a century to the pre-Sputnik 1950s. A scary concept, no doubt (especially for those who can’t read
a map), but one that’s not with some degree of consolation. Perhaps it would be a chance for us to live a less-frantic life, one
that’s more in touch with nature and humankind and less with gadgets. And if somehow, someway, our rewinding of the clock
could include Grace Kelly, Sophia Loren and Audrey Hepburn as part of the deal, then I’m all in. -- Paul Heinz
LOST ARTS - by Paul Heinz
Allow me to put on my “old-man” hat. You know the one: the hat your grandparents wore when you cranked up your Black
Sabbath records or paged excitedly through the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue. The “what’s-the-matter-with-kids-these-
days” hat. It’s the same hat my old neighbor Charlie wore when he complained that he didn’t see any kids playing in the
neighborhood because they spent all their time playing video games. I told him, respectfully, that kids today are busier than
ever, and the reason they aren’t playing is probably because they’re overloaded with homework designed to improve test
scores instead of improving minds.
But five years later I find I’m wearing Charlie’s hat, though my gripes aren’t limited to today’s kids: parents are my primary
target.
Allow me to illustrate. This morning I walked my son four blocks to school as I do most days. And just as on other days, a
well-intentioned mom pulled over in her oversized car and rolled down the window.
“Do you want us to give you a ride?” she asked.
“No thanks. We like to walk.”
“But it’s so cold!”
Never mind that on most days my walk to and from school constitutes my entire exercise regimen, and is therefore a necessity
for my health, but does this mom honestly think that twenty-two degrees ABOVE zero is so far below the threshold for human
existence that we need to drive to school? My son and I did, after all, have coats, gloves and hats on. Sir Edmund Hillary
endured worse conditions, and without the aid of Thinsulate.
This little episode, taken on its face, is of course not necessarily a signal for the downfall of mankind. But there are other
things – little lost arts – that when taken together might trigger a more urgent alarm of the human condition.
THINGS MANY OF ADULTS, AND THEREFORE MANY OF OUR CHILDREN, CAN NO LONGER DO:
· REMEMBER TELEPHONE NUMBERS. I was at the airport last night and I had trouble getting hold of my wife to pick me
up. And you know what I did? I called my neighbor from a pay phone! That’s right – I remembered his number without the aid
of speed dial.
· FIND AN ADDRESS BY READING A MAP. I have a friend who couldn’t find his sock drawer without the aid of a GPS
system. There are even GPS devices for golf courses, allowing golfers to pin-point the yardage to the hole from any location
on (and, presumably, off) the course. How in the world did Ben Hogan manage?
· WRITE. I used to compose entire papers with nothing but paper and pencil. I don’t believe I’ve constructed one
sentence of this essay without the aid of the backspace key (and if you think better-known authors can, think again. Yes, David
McCullough still writes his books on a Royal typewriter, but check out this demo recently posted by EtherPad, an editing tool
developer. Their program allows you to see the writing process in real time. And it ain't pretty).
· SPELL. I’ve counted twelve words now that I initially spelled incorrectly, only to have the computer magically transform
them into their better-looking siblings. Thank you, computer.
· LOOK WORDS UP IN THE DICTIONARY. My children often ask me the meaning of a word, and I’ll tell them to look it up.
“But not on-line,” I add. When they object, I tell them that one day they may find themselves in a strange land where Internet
access doesn’t exist, and THEN they’ll thank me.
· RESEARCH WITHOUT USING WIKIPEDIA. I gave my Sunday school class an assignment to look up a few key facts about
a world leader, and each student (the few that actually completed the assignment, that is) came up with the same facts
verbatim, all from Wikipedia, this despite the many times I’ve heard them say, “My mom says Wikipedia is unreliable.”
· PAY ATTENTION WITHOUT CHECKING E-MAIL. This problem was perfectly illustrated when I witnessed my friend
responding to text-messages on his Blackberry in the middle of a rock concert.
On the radio recently I heard someone discuss the very real threat of a terrorist organization exploding a bomb in space, an
act that would wipe out our satellite systems and reverse technology “back into the Stone Age.” Mankind would basically
rewind the clock over a half a century to the pre-Sputnik 1950s. A scary concept, no doubt (especially for those who can’t read
a map), but one that’s not with some degree of consolation. Perhaps it would be a chance for us to live a less-frantic life, one
that’s more in touch with nature and humankind and less with gadgets. And if somehow, someway, our rewinding of the clock
could include Grace Kelly, Sophia Loren and Audrey Hepburn as part of the deal, then I’m all in. -- Paul Heinz
April 28, 2009
GEORGE BAILEY WAS A LOSER - by Paul Heinz
That’s right, you heard me. A loser. I know in some circles I’d be deemed a heretic for uttering such blasphemy, but hear me
out, because there are a few different ways to look at our glorified George Bailey from the Frank Capra classic, “It’s a
Wonderful Life.”
On a Saturday afternoon back in college, while my friend Todd and I slammed beers and struggled to finish off our game of
cricket with a final bulls eye, he offered his theory about the movie. (In the interest of full discloser, I should note that Todd was
best-known for drinking vodka shots through the nose). Todd claimed that on the heels of our victory in World War II, the
United States Government funded the making of the film with a stated purpose of “mollifying the masses.” You see, after
1945, soldiers and home-front citizens were restless. They wanted not just a piece of the American Dream, they wanted to
achieve, to aspire, to conquer life the way they had conquered death on the battlefields of Europe and the Pacific islands. In
short, they wanted it all. The Feds, fearful of a potential uprising of unsatisfied citizens, hoped to quell their desire, and what
better way to do so than to make a movie about a man with big dreams who by the film’s end learns life’s most valuable
lesson: that no man is a failure who has friends?
You know the movie. You know the scenes. I still tear up every time I hear Harry Bailey read the telegram from Sam
Wainwright. It’s a great scene with great actors from a great movie. I even own it on DVD.
But Bailey was still a loser. My friend's theory of governmental involvement may be fiction, but the sentiment behind it isn't
without some merit.
George Bailey wanted to run from good old Bedford Falls, the town that raised him, and see the world, do something
important. Build skyscrapers a hundred stories high. Build bridges a mile long. Life didn’t turn out the way he planned.
Question: how can you rebound from life's disillusions? Answer: you can’t. In order to function happily, you have to shift
viewpoints, to look at life from a different perspective. That’s what George had to do to survive. It’s what a lot of us have to do.
I’ll offer myself up as Exhibit A. The same words Mr. Potter uses to describe the young George Bailey could be directed
squarely at my younger self: “You used to be so cocky. You were going to go out and conquer the world.” And I was. I was
going to write and record and perform to thousands and win Grammys and Oscars and every other award known to man, and I
was going to do it all before I even reached the age of thirty.
Now I look back on my formative high school years, when dreaming and dreaming big were the only things that kept me sane,
I smile, shrug my shoulders and think, “Oh well. Life has been different than what I expected, but it’s been good.” And it has,
without a doubt. There isn’t a rational person on the planet who could argue differently.
But if you had tried to tell the younger version of myself this, he’d have ripped you new one.
“It’s a Wonderful Life” is a movie about downsizing one’s dreams, of taking all the hopes and aspirations that kept you going
during your formative years and packing them away in favor of more sustainable goals: friends, family, charity and simple
pleasures.
For many of us, doing so is the only way to survive. -- Paul Heinz
GEORGE BAILEY WAS A LOSER - by Paul Heinz
That’s right, you heard me. A loser. I know in some circles I’d be deemed a heretic for uttering such blasphemy, but hear me
out, because there are a few different ways to look at our glorified George Bailey from the Frank Capra classic, “It’s a
Wonderful Life.”
On a Saturday afternoon back in college, while my friend Todd and I slammed beers and struggled to finish off our game of
cricket with a final bulls eye, he offered his theory about the movie. (In the interest of full discloser, I should note that Todd was
best-known for drinking vodka shots through the nose). Todd claimed that on the heels of our victory in World War II, the
United States Government funded the making of the film with a stated purpose of “mollifying the masses.” You see, after
1945, soldiers and home-front citizens were restless. They wanted not just a piece of the American Dream, they wanted to
achieve, to aspire, to conquer life the way they had conquered death on the battlefields of Europe and the Pacific islands. In
short, they wanted it all. The Feds, fearful of a potential uprising of unsatisfied citizens, hoped to quell their desire, and what
better way to do so than to make a movie about a man with big dreams who by the film’s end learns life’s most valuable
lesson: that no man is a failure who has friends?
You know the movie. You know the scenes. I still tear up every time I hear Harry Bailey read the telegram from Sam
Wainwright. It’s a great scene with great actors from a great movie. I even own it on DVD.
But Bailey was still a loser. My friend's theory of governmental involvement may be fiction, but the sentiment behind it isn't
without some merit.
George Bailey wanted to run from good old Bedford Falls, the town that raised him, and see the world, do something
important. Build skyscrapers a hundred stories high. Build bridges a mile long. Life didn’t turn out the way he planned.
Question: how can you rebound from life's disillusions? Answer: you can’t. In order to function happily, you have to shift
viewpoints, to look at life from a different perspective. That’s what George had to do to survive. It’s what a lot of us have to do.
I’ll offer myself up as Exhibit A. The same words Mr. Potter uses to describe the young George Bailey could be directed
squarely at my younger self: “You used to be so cocky. You were going to go out and conquer the world.” And I was. I was
going to write and record and perform to thousands and win Grammys and Oscars and every other award known to man, and I
was going to do it all before I even reached the age of thirty.
Now I look back on my formative high school years, when dreaming and dreaming big were the only things that kept me sane,
I smile, shrug my shoulders and think, “Oh well. Life has been different than what I expected, but it’s been good.” And it has,
without a doubt. There isn’t a rational person on the planet who could argue differently.
But if you had tried to tell the younger version of myself this, he’d have ripped you new one.
“It’s a Wonderful Life” is a movie about downsizing one’s dreams, of taking all the hopes and aspirations that kept you going
during your formative years and packing them away in favor of more sustainable goals: friends, family, charity and simple
pleasures.
For many of us, doing so is the only way to survive. -- Paul Heinz
October, 2009
THE CHICKEN AND EGG OF CORRUPTION by Paul Heinz
Does power corrupt, or does power attract corruption? That, to me, is the biggest question facing mankind,
except the question of why Rod Stewart continues to record albums.
I live in Illinois, and as such, have my daily dose of scandal and cynicism delivered to my door each and every
morning in the local headlines. You’ve heard their names: Blagojevich. Rezko. George Ryan. Daley Senior.
Daley Junior. And goodness knows the rest of the country isn’t exactly immune to the embarrassment of
embezzlement, pay-to-play, kick-backs, sex-scandals and the like. I find that we usually react in one of two
ways: we either get all up-in-arms and shout out to the high heavens about how corrupt our leaders are, or, if
we live in Illinois, we just shake our heads and smile, sort of like you might do when Aunt Edna makes her
racial epithet at Thanksgiving dinner, because you knew it was coming – it was just a question of before or
after pumpkin pie.
I sometimes go with the former reaction – especially after a few beers – but then again, I also spend Monday
morning harrumphing about the performance of football players who could bench-press five of me.
But with the issue of corruption, the central question remains: are our leaders really all that bad, or are we as
people all that bad? Are each of us programmed to abuse power, perhaps not blatantly at first, but gradually,
doing a small favor here, bending the rules a bit there, until you find yourself in handcuffs at the far end of the
virtual Slip-and-Slide? Or does politics fall under the economic concept of adverse selection, whereby the
profession happens to attract the worst of the human lot?
I don’t know. I’d like to think if put in a position of power, I’d act like I try to act in my life today: honest, caring
and reasonable. But if I rewind my memory to my worst moments as an employee, a father and a husband, I
realize it might not be as clear-cut as I’d like to think. True, I haven’t done anything staggeringly bad in my life,
but ask my kids sometime how often I’ve yelled at them for virtually no reason and you’ll get a sense of how
even a tiny bit of power – the power we have over our children – might lead to some unwise decisions.
Also, I still haven’t finished the bathroom project I started a year and a half ago. But I think that's more a result
of fear.
Regardless, perhaps when another scandal hits the headlines (i.e., by tomorrow morning), we can all agree to
condemn the infraction while recognizing that we might have echoed our careless leaders with flawless
precision.
THE CHICKEN AND EGG OF CORRUPTION by Paul Heinz
Does power corrupt, or does power attract corruption? That, to me, is the biggest question facing mankind,
except the question of why Rod Stewart continues to record albums.
I live in Illinois, and as such, have my daily dose of scandal and cynicism delivered to my door each and every
morning in the local headlines. You’ve heard their names: Blagojevich. Rezko. George Ryan. Daley Senior.
Daley Junior. And goodness knows the rest of the country isn’t exactly immune to the embarrassment of
embezzlement, pay-to-play, kick-backs, sex-scandals and the like. I find that we usually react in one of two
ways: we either get all up-in-arms and shout out to the high heavens about how corrupt our leaders are, or, if
we live in Illinois, we just shake our heads and smile, sort of like you might do when Aunt Edna makes her
racial epithet at Thanksgiving dinner, because you knew it was coming – it was just a question of before or
after pumpkin pie.
I sometimes go with the former reaction – especially after a few beers – but then again, I also spend Monday
morning harrumphing about the performance of football players who could bench-press five of me.
But with the issue of corruption, the central question remains: are our leaders really all that bad, or are we as
people all that bad? Are each of us programmed to abuse power, perhaps not blatantly at first, but gradually,
doing a small favor here, bending the rules a bit there, until you find yourself in handcuffs at the far end of the
virtual Slip-and-Slide? Or does politics fall under the economic concept of adverse selection, whereby the
profession happens to attract the worst of the human lot?
I don’t know. I’d like to think if put in a position of power, I’d act like I try to act in my life today: honest, caring
and reasonable. But if I rewind my memory to my worst moments as an employee, a father and a husband, I
realize it might not be as clear-cut as I’d like to think. True, I haven’t done anything staggeringly bad in my life,
but ask my kids sometime how often I’ve yelled at them for virtually no reason and you’ll get a sense of how
even a tiny bit of power – the power we have over our children – might lead to some unwise decisions.
Also, I still haven’t finished the bathroom project I started a year and a half ago. But I think that's more a result
of fear.
Regardless, perhaps when another scandal hits the headlines (i.e., by tomorrow morning), we can all agree to
condemn the infraction while recognizing that we might have echoed our careless leaders with flawless
precision.