Why "Sex and the City" hurts.

Yes, it's well-written. Yes, it's clever. Yes, it's entertaining. That being said, "Sex and the City" has done absolutely nothing good for our culture.

As if we haven't been polluted enough, the entertainment refuse otherwise known as "Sex and the City" is now a hit movie. The fact that so many women are flocking enthusiastically to this movie should give us serious excuse to pause and consider this situation.

It has long been commented that rather than reflect the lives of real women, Sex and the City -- written by gay men -- accurately reflects the lifestyle of the gay subculture.

I'm not being bigoted or homophobic here -- I am merely concerned when women begin to imitate a subculture which couldn't stop its rampant promiscuity even when it was being decimated by a sexually spread plague. I have many gay friends who are embarrassed of this aspect of their subculture, preferring to keep such "habits" out of the social eye. When we look at the practices of this subculture, we have to ask ourselves: are these the sort of people that America's women should be imitating?

For the womanizers reading, the answer is an enthusiastic "yes!"

For the rest of us who actually care about womanhood, it is time to look seriously and honestly at the situation.

As a social critic, I would list this show among the five most damaging things to happen to society in the past decade. Sex and the city hurts, and while the laughs are short-lived, the social damage has already created countless deep scars.

I can hear the objections already: "but it's JUST a movie", and "it's JUST a television show!" The people that make such excuses just as quickly proclaim the transforming power of media when their critics are looking the other way. Rock music was full of the same contradiction: they told their critics that they were "overreacting," while simultaneously rejoicing in their power to shape culture. Televisions show like "sex and the city" are no different.

What would the great feminist warriors of the past century say about this social phenomenon? Feminists of the past fought for the right to have an education, the right to vote, and the right to a career. Modern feminists, as represented by the SITC girls, fight for the right to sleep with as many men as possible while candidly sharing anal-sex experiences casually over lunch. As a cadence, they shop Gucci, as if filthy people could somehow be ennobled by fancy clothing. (Whitewashed tombs, anyone?)

Many men support the show, of course, and why wouldn't they? Being the weak creatures that we are, a society of loose women certainly appeals to our baser desires. On one side of the aisle, we have the "Man show" and "Bud Light" version of manhood, and on the other side we have the SITC girls. How absolutely sad.

So swallow it all, ladies: the male pigs in the aisles are applauding. They are ready and waiting to accept your newly liberated womanhood. In fact, they've never had it so easy.

Kindergarten Composer

Are you a better listener than a five-year old?

Last week I had the distinct privilege of attending eight concerts during which the Canton Symphony Orchestra performed for the youngest of audiences, often no older than kindergarteners. My new piece, "Maysong," was on the program, and I was quite interested to see how they would react.

So what do you get when you combine a Symphony Orchestra and a thousand rowdy kindergarten students?

An incredibly attentive, sensitive, and appreciative audience.

Too young to be jaded and corrupted, they reacted not only to rhythm, but to melodies, moods, tone colors, and musical gestures. They were genuinely curious about how instruments worked, and what kinds of sounds and expressions were possible. The composer in me found more in common with these uncorrupted children then with the general "educated" audiences I have encountered.

Their older counterparts, including a 4th-6th grade group, already showed the signs of negative conditioning. They came with their stylish haircuts, mini-punk or mini-gangsta outfits, and attitudes to match. Already polluted by the popular culture, many had no time to listen to the pinnacle of western culture.

We can all learn something from the kindergarten listeners -- our ears should remain open and curious, with only discernment setting-in during our growing years.

I will say that these children make a distinct point: if you don't enjoy Orchestral or Chamber music, is it possible that the problem is not with the music, but with you?
I have found that I have worked to strip-away the negative affects of popular culture, my perceptions and appreciations for the finer things have grown. So turn off your radio, turn off your television, and approach real art with the eyes and ears of a child. You might be surprised what you discover.

Paying the Price

The disarming little man introduced himself.

"Hi, I'm Dr. Easy."

'Seriously?', I thought?

It was almost two years ago now, and I was on my first trip home to Chicago from Cleveland. I was overwhelmed with my doctoral program, and starting to fray at the
edges. Dr. Easy, it turns out, would be a bit of a prophet for me.

Easy was from Africa, and told me all about his struggles to come to the United States, finish school, and become a doctor. Then embroiled in his residency, he knew a thing or two about hard work.

"If you want something greater in life, you have to be willing to pay a price," he said.

At the time, I was grateful to have this wise little man confirm to me that my hard work was indeed all "worth it." I had no idea of the prophecy and lesson these words would depart on me. The conversation was immediately burned into my mind, and I knew it was somehow important.

Prophecy, you see, is all around us. It is real, and it makes perfect sense. If all of history is indeed a moment in the mind of God, then it only makes sense that we would see bits of overlap.

The "price" Dr. Easy was talking about did not just refer to the difficulties of undertaking advanced study. Today, I realize that he was talking about the price for honesty, the price for integrity, the price for friendship, the price for love, and the price for pursuing goodness. Yesterday, I asked myself: "what is the price I'm willing to pay for art?" Today, I ask myself: "what is the price I have paid -- and am willing to pay -- to live a good and authentic life? Am I really what I claim to be?"

I understand now, and have great compassion for, those poor people who are so frightened of life that they go into a existential shell. It's no easy business, and I don't pretend to be an expert. But I'm willing to pay a price... at least I think I am...

Perhaps grace is nothing more than the gift of keeping our eyes open and our cheek primed for the next blow? Perhaps it is that supernatural endurance which is our only hope, if we are to continue to truly be alive?