When you think of the term “well-researched history,” you seldom also think of the term “at times hilarious.” Dive into this gem and all that will chaWhen you think of the term “well-researched history,” you seldom also think of the term “at times hilarious.” Dive into this gem and all that will change.
With 240 reference notes and a 12-page index, Profiles in Ignorance: How America’s Politicians Got Dumb and Dumber shows academic rigor while at the same time keeping the reader entertained. To accomplish this, Andy Borowitz will typically provide facts and/or an anecdote and crown it with an aside, a zinger, or a sarcastic note that will crack you up.
Structurally, the book is divided into three stages as it tracks how we got to the scary place we find ourselves today. The stages are Ridicule, Acceptance, and Celebration. Historically, then, we go from the days where handlers worked hard to shield their ignorant charges from ridicule when said charges opened their mouths and revealed… not much furniture “upstairs.” This stage focuses on Ronald Reagan of Bedtime for Bonzo fame and Dan Quayle of “potatoe” fame.
From there we move to the Bushes, primarily G.W. (a.k.a. “Dubya”), who dragged ignorance into a heretofore unknown light – acceptance. He and his handlers did this by stressing what a regular guy he was (even though he was filthy rich), how only eggheads know a lot of stuff, anyway, and how not reading much (or caring much for books and people who read them) puts you in the same category as many Americans.
We also learn here that many voters vote for the person they’d “most like to have a beer with,” as if that is the crowning qualifier for the presidency. Acceptance is helped, too, if you constantly paint your opponent (in Dubya’s case, Al Gore) as a hopeless dweeb and wonk completely out of tune with most regular folk, who would put Gore’s type (as caricatured by Bush & Friends) in the category of weird Jeopardy! contestants.
Finally, we get Celebration, where idiocy is not only RIDICULE-FREE and ACCEPTED, but reveled in. Need I tell you where the history has brought us by this point in the book? I need not, because he just declared he wants to occupy the White House (for good this time, with the right sycophants and handpicked partisan judges) once more.
To give you a taste of Borowitz’s style, here is a bit focusing on Tony Schwartz, the “ghostwriter of [Trump’s] image-forging 1987 best seller, Trump: The Art of the Deal":
Schwartz was interviewed by Jane Mayer, a reporter for The New Yorker. In her piece based on that discussion, she wrote, “During the eighteen months that he observed Trump, Schwartz said, he never saw a book on Trump’s desk, or elsewhere in his office, or in his apartment.” There is, however, one book reportedly in his possession, according to his ex-wife Ivana: he kept a collection of Hitler’s speeches, titled My New Order at his bedside. His own oratory suggests that he might have dipped into that one from time to time.
“Trump’s aversion to reading the work of non-Third Reich authors posed a challenge to those at the White House charged with keeping him semi-informed. According to an email attributed to his chief economic adviser, Gary Cohn, ‘It’s worse than you can imagine… Trump won’t read anything—not one-page memos, not the brief policy papers; nothing. He gets up halfway through meetings with world leaders because he is bored. To brief a man with such a severe case of book hesitancy, his aides resorted to a throwback from the Reagan era, putting on shows featuring graphs, maps, photos, and other word-free visual aids. After noticing that Trump was more likely to read material that mentioned his name, National Security Council staffers tried to trick him into finishing memos by crowbarring ‘Trump’ into as many paragraphs as possible.”
Toward the end of the book, Borowitz turns his attention to the Republicans in Congress who enabled Trump (and still do):
“In their earnest effort to flood the zone with shit, some Trump acolytes in Congress wound up shitting the bed. Exhibit A was Mary Miller, a freshman congresswoman from Illinois, who, in remarks at a pro-Trump rally in Washington on the eve of the Capitol insurrection, made an ill-advised reference to the president’s favorite bedtime author. ‘Hitler was right on one thing,’ she declared. ‘Whoever has the youth has the future.’ Call it a rookie mistake, but someone should have told Miller that, when you start a sentence with ‘Hitler was right,’ it’s almost impossible to stick the landing. Since all she was trying to say was that children are the future, it’s baffling that she didn’t quote the far less genocidal Whitney Houston. In fairness, Miller was on the same page as her role model—Trump, that is, not the Führer—who once reportedly told his chief of staff John Kelly, ‘Hitler did a lot of good things.’ Her only mistake was saying in public what Trump had said in private. Knowing when and when not to praise Hitler can be tricky.”
In the final chapter, “Conclusion: Democracy’s Braking System,” Borowitz appeals to Americans who are upset with living so close to the precipice. He begs that we not just feel good about ourselves by staying informed and reading books like his and newspapers that can be trusted thanks to journalistic ethics. Giving money to campaigns is a cop-out, too (and he blames himself as much as the next guy). The true secret is getting involved on a grass roots level, and he provides plenty of examples on how to do that.
All in all, one of the most edifying and amusing books on the American political scene I’ve yet to read. Poor JFK, author (asterisk for “with the help of ghostwriter” inserted here) of Profiles in Courage. He must be turning in his eternally-lit grave these days. Reading Profiles in Ignorance might just help us turn the tide and give Pres. Kennedy some rest, but trust me when I say, it won’t be easy and it’s going to require real work. ...more
By rights this 568 pager should be read in fits and starts, dipping in and dipping out, while you're reading another book with some narrative arc. ThaBy rights this 568 pager should be read in fits and starts, dipping in and dipping out, while you're reading another book with some narrative arc. That works fine when you own the book, but what if it is owned by a library, and you can only renew so many times?
Right. You read coast-to-coast. From sea to shining sea. And so, the episodic nature of diary entries are forced into a role they're not best suited for.
It's a mixed bag of goods, these diary bits. Some are extended anecdotes or vignettes. Some are jokes Sedaris heard from his many, many fans who come to readings. Some are humorous exchanges Sedaris had with family members, with drivers, with cashiers, with readers, with the greater public he runs into as he performs or picks up trash. He is a fanatical crusader against litter and England, apparently, is rife with them. He wouldn't do so well in my hometown in Maine, either. Bud Lite cans sprout roadside overnight like blue mushrooms. That and McDonald's bag and plastic Dunkin Donuts cups, tops impaled by a straw. Bring your trash bag and join us in our town, David!
You get the date, the location, and the punchline. Yes, Sedaris is very big on finishing these pieces, long and short, with a punch line. For example, here are two short entries:
October 8, 2010 Atlanta, Georgia
Message on a T-shirt worn by a big-breasted woman at last night's show: I WISH THESE WERE BRAINS.
December 28, 2015 Rackham
My father went to Paul's for Christmas and everyone winced when a friend of Sandra's dropped by. The woman had just lost 165 pounds, and on hearing it, Dad said, not "Congratulations" or "That must have been tough," but rather "I'll bet you're a real sight to see in the shower."
And people accuse me of having no filter.
As the diaries cover 17 years (2003--2020), you wind up reliving some moments you'd rather not. Through the lens of Sedaris' outrage, we get the Dylan Roof mass murders, the Trump election, the George Floyd atrocity. Toward the end, Covid arrives, depriving Sedaris of one thing it never denied any of us -- an audience.
This guy lives to perform. He loves interacting with people. He loves asking them off-color, off-the-cuff questions, going home, and noting their answers. He proves, like the Candid Camera of old, that people do and say the darnedest things.
As is true with his books (granted, I've read only two), his personality comes through in a big way. And his humor. Probably a dozen times (not bad for 568 pages!), I had a quick belly laugh over some joke, one-liner or other.
In that sense, worth it. And certainly a diversion against bad news, even though we can't kid ourselves and have to remain vigilant against bad news, especially where it concerns our future. Which all means, I'm moving from this (ha-ha) to the serious business of On Tyranny Graphic Edition: Twenty Lessons from the Twentieth Century.
Some things are no laughing matter, Trump and Cronies being one of them. I think Sedaris would join me in that sentiment. Better yet, I know it....more
Rabbit holes. The Internet has them, but Goodreads does too. Meaning: Sometimes I pick up a book I saw mentioned on GR, yet haven't a clue where it waRabbit holes. The Internet has them, but Goodreads does too. Meaning: Sometimes I pick up a book I saw mentioned on GR, yet haven't a clue where it was or who it was or how it was.
But I do know I got this book via interlibrary loan, and that I'd never heard of Joe Brainard. Well, now I have. Heard of him, I mean. Linked with the New York School of Artists and Writers, if that means anything.
As for the Collected Works, the first section, called "I Remember," is worth the price of admission alone. It's only 134 pp. of a book that's over 500 pp., but if you read only that, I think you'd be happy with it. That is, if you are of a certain age, because it makes sense that a lot of things that a guy born in 1942 writes would be dated. Though some of his remembrances are timeless. And some are particular to him (he was gay, so a lot of his remembrances concern the struggles he experienced both coming out and out). A sampling:
I remember canasta.
I remember butter and sugar sandwiches.
I remember when I lived in Boston reading all of Dostoevsky's novels one right after the other.
I remember learning to play bridge so I could get to know Frank O'Hara better.
I remember many first days of school. And that empty feeling.
I remember the clock from three to three-thirty.
I remember when girls wore cardigan sweaters backwards.
I remember the outhouse and a Sears and Roebuck catalog to wipe off with.
I remember very old people when I was very young. Their houses smelled funny.
I remember a boy. He worked in a store. I spent a fortune buying things from him I didn't want. Then one day we wasn't there anymore.
I remember drive-in onion rings.
I remember pearlized plastic toilet seats.
I remember having marbles more than I remember playing marbles.
I remember wondering if girls fart too.
I remember big puzzles on card tables that never got finished.
I remember borrowed punch bowls.
I remember candy cigarettes like chalk.
I remember the fear of not getting a present for someone who might give me one.
I remember after Christmas shopping coming home and gloating over everything I bought.
I remember how sad and happy at the same time Christmas carols always made me feel: all warm inside.
I remember not being able to fall asleep Christmas Eve.
I remember opening my first packages very fast and my last few very slowly.
I remember after opening packages what an empty day Christmas day is.
You get the idea. They go down easy and quickly, some of them striking a chord with your own remembrances and some just striking a chord because they are interestingly particular to Brainard. But you keep reading because there's so much space between them and some are funny and some are sad and some are like YOUR childhood and some are not at all.
After this? A lot of journal-like entries. But after the "I Remember" bit, you feel like you kind of know Joe and feel sorry for Joe and want to cheer Joe on, as he is so honest and polite and painfully blunt and self-conscious with little self-confidence at times. Especially about his body, which he is obsessed with (too skinny).
But whether you go on or not is up to you. The sampling above gives you a hint over whether you'd like it or not. Just don't expect the whole thing to be engaging. And though there's some artwork and cartoons, which Joe was most known for (vs. writing), don't expect a lot of that, either.
Do expect some news about Ted Berrigan and Ron Padgett and a bit (only) about Frank O'Hara. Brainard knew a lot of poets and did illustrations / covers for their books. So if you're into some of the New York School people, maybe this is a yes. Still, as "rabbit hole" discoveries go, this was some light-reading fun....more
This is my second Sedaris, a book which precedes Calypso (the first one I read) by five years and which comes under the 4 mark in its GR star average.This is my second Sedaris, a book which precedes Calypso (the first one I read) by five years and which comes under the 4 mark in its GR star average. I'm not sure why that is, though it might have to do with the fact that four or so essays in this one stray from what I perceive as Sedaris' "formula."
Meaning: In a handful of essays, he steps into a persona to score mostly political points against conservatives, the religious right, homophobes, and racists. Maybe, then, a few of this ilk have read the book and disapproved? In my case he's preaching to the choir, though I will admit that these "persona" essays don't work as well as the ones where it's simply first-person Point of David all the way with nothing made up and everything out of his crazy life with his more-than-amusing family.
At times Sedaris does the Dave Barry thing with lots of hyperbolic wordplay for laughs. At other times, though, it's simply the situation and the dialogue that make humor happen. His outlook on life is, well, funny.
A few common themes seen in essays five years later (the other book) include his endearing, curmudgeonly dad, his talented foil of a husband, his fanaticism about picking up litter, and his fear of colonoscopies (Dad is practically a paid spokesperson for the procedure).
The time of the essays also clangs off the rim oddly when read today. That is, the multiple references to Obama, especially in the election year essay where he's in Europe and all the Europeans keep assuring him that Obama will never get elected because America is such a racist country. Talk about reading through a lens of 2020 darkly (especially given that we all know not only what happened in that election but what happened in following ones)! And though the Europeans might have their point about America's systemic weaknesses, they have their own houses to put in order, too. Racism doesn't exactly observe borders.
Bottom line: I'll continue reading Sedaris' books, of which there seem to be a plentiful supply. Only I'll space them out. Too much, I imagine, would be like eating pizza three times a day for a week -- too much of a good thing....more
Loading...
