Sit Down Comedy … April 24th, 2020

Jonathots Daily Blog

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Sometimes good people do bad things.

Likewise, bad people do good things.

More often, people do nothing.

This compels us to ask the question, “Should folks be judged by what they accomplish, or by the dictates of their beliefs and the parameters of their character?”

It does come up.

For the greatest among us are often splattered with iniquity, while simultaneously making a notable contribution.

Such is the case of a man named Henry Ford.

He is arguably the inventor of the car. The argument exists because there were many souls experimenting with the “horseless carriage,” but Henry was certainly the first one to take it to market, promoting a product known as the Model T.

Mr. Ford jokingly once said about his Model T, “The customer can get it in any color whatsoever that he may want, as long as it’s black.”

Along with this massive achievement of motorizing the race, Mr. Ford was also known to be one of the worst bigots and enemy of the Jewish people. He even received an award for his writings from Adolph Hitler and the Nazi boys.

So history has handled the dilemma by enjoying the automobile and leaving next to it an asterisk, which quietly tells about its creator, Henry Ford.

Perhaps that’s the best way.

But the truth of the matter is, Henry Ford took something that was impossible and made it pleasing. Why was it impossible?

A gasoline combustible engine.

Can you find a word in there that isn’t dangerous?

Yet Henry took on the job of making a shell to sit on top of that engine safe for traveling.

He did it by following a three-step process. And though I don’t agree with Henry about the Children of Abraham, I cannot ignore the visionary approach he took for making the renowned family car.

First step: make it work.

It doesn’t matter how pretty it is, how many colors it comes in or how many seats it has—if it doesn’t work.

It has to function without people choking from all the smoke. It has to start up instead of needing repair on every trip. It must be reliable.

Now wait a second. I must be candid—over half the things we have going on in this country are negated because they don’t work. They are pretty, popular, spiritual, touted—but they don’t work.

If you’re going to do great things, you have to make sure the great thing you have come up with actually kicks ass, while taking names.

Number Two: make it comfortable.

It was not easy to ride a horse for twenty miles to the next town. That’s why they came up with the carriage in the first place. But it had its drawbacks, with broken wheels, axles and many a sore buttock.

Yet people were not going to give up their horses for something that did not work—and was not pleasant.

Room for at least three inside.

A little padding on the seats.

Glass in the windows.

A way to get fresh air.

And a way to start the vehicle that didn’t demand priming the engine each time or turning a crank.

And then, once you make it comfortable:

Number three: make it fun.

All the things that have been added to the automobile since Henry Ford pushed his little invention down the road have been all about making driving fun.

• Radio.
• Speedometers.
• Air conditioning.
• Heated seats.
• Video.
• Audio.
• GPS.
• Mirrors everywhere.

These have turned the car into more than just a means of transportation. Now it’s a way to brag about your success.

Henry Ford, in spite of his bigotry, took an idea and made it work, made it comfortable and made it fun.

Somewhere along the line we will have to do this with everything we wish to accomplish in America, or we will drag our feet, fail to pursue great ideas—and shall we say—back the wrong horse.

 

Sit Down Comedy … December 27th, 2019

Jonathots Daily Blog

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There’s that split second right before the reveal.

The last little piece of tape is peeled back, and the gift is in our hands.

Let me be clear—no one under the age of ten actually offers an immediate disappointed reaction to a Christmas present.

We have been taught to be cool.  Detached.

Yes—the cool detachment of the Christmas season.

If the present is to our liking, the reaction usually contains some form of profanity

“Oh, shit!”

“Jesus Christ!”

“Oh, my God!”

When you hear these words, though inappropriate, it’s a great response to your selection.

If the gift is not favored, you may hear one of the following:

“Oh, neat. I was curious about these. So this is what it looks like.”

“What a thoughtful gift—certainly something I would never have gotten for myself.”

“After all the morning activities, you’ll have to sit down and explain this to me so I can enjoy it even more.”

“You sure topped yourself this year!”

“What a unique gift!”

These statements fall off our lips when we are confused or distraught with this year’s offering.

Yet we try to maintain our cool detachment.

Truthfully, as soon as the Thanksgiving turkey is safely put away for making sandwiches, we are already considering to what degree we’ll allow ourselves to become involved in the holiday of newborn kings, elves and magical sleigh-riders.

It’s difficult to overcome the fear.

Like the fear of singing Christmas carols. It seems like a proper idea, and then you get in the middle of the second verse and everybody has a different interpretation of the words, and sometimes it ends up stopping dead while someone Googles the lyrics.

And oh, yes. Part of that cool detachment is the terror over being the person to actually beginning the Christmas carol. Maybe you feel the spirit’s right, or a friend nearby says, “You’re musical. Why don’t you get us started?”

There are so many things that can go wrong. Your voice can crack, or you can pitch the carol too high or too low, leaving all those who joined in trying to change the key in the middle of the chorus.

There is a great consensus with this cool detachment to emphatically insist that “Christmas is for the kids.”

Do we really want to believe that? We may love our children, but why would we sacrifice such an exciting adventure to their often-snotty attitudes—not to mention unwashed hands?

A creepy, cynical false humility can also cause us to cough up the phrase, “I don’t need anything…”

(First and foremost, this response to “What do you want for Christmas?” is unhelpful and annoying. And having watched each and every one of us shop at the store, buying countless items that we do not “need” means that we are open to excess. We’re not fooling anyone.

Next, I know it’s not politically correct to say this, but here I go:

Hanukkah–literally–cannot hold a candle to Christmas.

Jewish people know this.

It’s like going to a National Football League game and talking to the star quarterback about your son beginning Pop Warner Football. There’s no equivalency—therefore, there should be no competition.

Let me see—what’s another part of this cool, adult detachment? Here’s another one. We all must moan about the pressure to “get everything done.”

If America couldn’t bitch about how busy we all think we are, I’m not sure we could even carry on a conversation.

The cool detachment.

The reminder by a sullen friend that we must be careful not to be too rambunctious in our celebration, since “some people find Christmas to be a sad time.”

Or that religious fanatic you know, who insists that “Christmas is too commercial” and want to declare war on the devil.

Or your favorite atheist, who laments the inclusion of religion in our normal commerce.

I just fear that along with our insincerity about the presents we receive, we have developed a grown-up press release, which we offer to limit the joy of Christmas, turning it into a tedious act we perform for the good of family—especially “them young’uns.”

So, hark the herald, angels sing…

Christmas is one month out of the year when “good will toward men” is not a joke, but rather…

A heavenly demand.

 

G-Poppers … March 30th, 2018

 Jonathots Daily Blog

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He was anxiously looking forward to spending the weekend alone with his beautiful wife, Claudia, near the sea. The responsibilities of his position were unyielding, leaving him negotiating all sorts of foolish squabbles, bringing him home at night still reeling from the grumpy day.

Unfortunately, Claudia had been the victim of many of his temper tantrums, as he ranted and raged about the inflexibility of the people who dubbed themselves “the children of Abraham.” He just needed to get away.

Caesarea was perfect.

It had been built by the Roman occupiers as a little piece of home–and freedom–in the midst of this inflexible, dim-witted region. For a few days, he could pretend he was civilized again instead of trying to govern a pack of wolves who refused to accept the fact that they were caged.

Resting in his bed, he was awakened early on Friday morning with a request to meet with Caiaphas, the high priest of the Jewish people, to adjudicate a particularly difficult matter. Worse was that Caiaphas and his entourage refused to come into the Great Hall to see him because they were in the midst of their Passover celebration, and to be in the presence of him, a Gentile, made them unclean.

He shook his head, baffled by how foolish they were to make these contentions, for some reason thinking they were not offensive.

Arriving in the outer hall, he was surrounded by bearded, austere theologians, who ushered in a weary, wobbly man obviously suffering from punishment.

Within seconds, he realized that their request for his intervention was not needed. It was one of their pieces of fussiness–something about their God. A reference to a Messiah.

Realizing that the young, abused gentleman in front of him was from Galilee, he decided to pawn the situation off on Herod, whom he hated. As he went back to his chambers to tell his wife of his great solution, she appeared before him with terror in her eyes.

She’d had a dream. It was a dream about a man who would be brought to him, who was accused of great indignities, but was truly innocent.

He listened carefully to Claudia. She was not normally given to such outbursts. He trusted her. She advised him that he must avoid bringing any judgment on this man.

They had barely finished their conversation when Caiaphas and his entourage returned. Apparently Herod had passed the case back over to him.

A little spooked by Claudia’s dream, but even more, aggravated by being disturbed on the morning of his departure, he strolled onto the porch of the outer hallway to interview the young Galilean.

He was a little embarrassed. The religious leaders of the Jews seemed very intent on harming this man, while the fellow stood quietly by, offering no defense. Normally a man in this position, surrounded by accusers, would become defensive, agitated and sometimes even violent. But not this chap.

It was unnerving.

Accusation after witness after lie after deception were presented, with nothing congealing into an airtight complaint against the young man from Nazareth.

Then Caiaphas brought up Caesar. It was a name that terrified him. He considered the fact that he had been made governor of Judea to keep peace, and try to bring civilization to this backward nation. It was a formidable task. Of course, Caesar wouldn’t know that. He would only gauge results.

The religious leaders wanted the young man dead.

On this Friday morning, Governor Pontius Pilate was anxious to get away for the weekend. Who was he to challenge the contents of their oral law and practices?

So…he relented.

Symbolically washing his hands clean of the whole affair, he sentenced the quiet Nazarene to death. It was the quickest, simplest and seemingly most intelligent course of action.

In less than an hour, he had packed his things and by nightfall he was in Caesarea. He had a brief flashback about the morning’s activities, but it was quickly forgotten when Claudia cuddled up to him and they sipped delicious wine from the vineyards of Italy.

He had no idea that his Friday morning, seemingly insignificant encounter with Jesus of Nazareth would be the only remembrance that history would provide of him.

He was the one who gave permission to kill the Christ. He was in too big a hurry to consider any other possibility than ease.

G-Pop is thinking about that on this Good Friday.

What might he be ignoring?

 

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