2017 is 1984

Although we live in Orwellian times Orwell himself was famously disinterested in America. He never visited and even turned down a prestigious job. He was very critical of the GI's in WWII England as "boorish and racist". Besides 1984 his real theme was preserving "Englishness"--how to make a perfect cup of tea, the ideal pub, the cheerfulness and decency of the lower class.

If he were here today he would champion "Americaness": apple pie, baseball, Thanksgiving. He would surely back the democratic socialism of Bernie Sanders and scorn the rapacious greed of the 1%. He would be sad to see a 1984 society where "War is Peace", "Freedom is Slavery" and especially, "Ignorance is Strength",

Tell me what you read and Ill tell you who you are

It's not often I get literary notes from a sunday news section whose main advertiser is Harbor Freight Tools. But there was a feature recently titled “75 best books of the past 75 years”. I was put off immediately when the only book listed for the 1940's was “A tree grows in Brooklyn”, a schmaltzy coming of age story. No 1984, The naked and the dead, Darkness at noon, not even The Fountainhead. In later decades there were some good choices but basically, this was a list of favorites from Ann Patchett. I'm sure Ms. Patchett sets out a nice plate of cookies and a fine tea service for her book club but she's not someone important like Harold Bloom. If you told me you were reading Willa Cather, Joan Didion, Donna Leon and especially George Eliot I'd say “good choices”. If you said your favorite authors were Nora Roberts, James Patterson and Salman Rushdie I would summon up my loudest John McEnroe and scream, “You cannot be serious!” If you said you read Orwell, Scott Fitzgerald, Phillip Larkin and Conrad I'd say, “You're my kind of reader.” If you astonish me with Geoff Dyer, Stoner, Erik Larson and Don DeLillo I will know you are also a protege of English Professor Alison Powell and I'd say, “That's my girl!” The poet Delmore Schwartz wrote: “The mind is like the city of London, smoky and populous”, But some minds are like Timbuktu: “Desolate and hard to reach”.

Rule Brittania, Brittania waives the rules.

“This isn't Europe mate, this is Britain”. Such was the answer I got in 1967 on my first visit to London. I moved to England the next year with my family and we lived there till 1972. I was the true innocent abroad and didn't even know how to order in a posh restaurant; steak tartare and a beer got laughs from my English colleagues. I learned the coins and the customs but I was self-taught. The key to understanding Britain and why they want to leave the EU is Orwell. He was the quintessential Englishman. He wrote an essay on how to make a perfect cup of tea (it's the milk, not the sugar) and on the ideal English pub (the mythical Moon under Water). For the upper classes you want Anthony Powell's novels: “Dance to the music of time”. Even though 180 degrees apart politically, they were good friends. Orwell would applaud the “Leave” campaign. I got a taste of British inequality quickly when I took some clients to lunch at the ultra-posh “Maison Prunier” where I finally knew my way around the menu including wine..we'll take the Gevrey-Chambertin. The bill was over 100 pounds ($290). The next day I took my secretary (who was earning 18 pounds a week while I was earning over 10,000 pounds a year) to lunch and the bill was roughly 15 shillings (about $1.80). Different worlds. Check out these wise words from Orwell's wartime booklet: “The English People”:..”they will have to take their destiny into their own hands...England can only fulfill its special mission if the ordinary English on the street can somehow get their hands on power..if England is to survive as a great nation it is the common people who must make it so”. And they did on June 23. We'll see what happens now after Brexit. They'll still sing “There'll always be an England”, and the real lyrics :“Rule Brittania, Brittania Rules the Waves. Britons never, never, never shall be slaves”. Rightly so, mate.

A heat wave brings NHL hockey to Vegas

Order the Zamboni: Vegas joins the NHL for the 2016-17 season. We have a splendid new arena, an owner with lots of money and an enthusiastic local fan base. Actually, a monster fan base since Vegas gets over 40 million visitors a year. Some of them must be from Buffalo and the seven dwarf teams from Canada that didn't see a playoff game this year. I've been to 12 NHL arenas and this new one might be the best one ever. Although running through the snow to the old Olympia in Detroit during the Gordie Howe era certainly furnished the best memories. Now for a name: The Sleepless Knights, The Scorpions, The Cool Hands? Vegas deserves to be in the big leagues and the NBA and the NFL might not be far behind. But now that Vegas has an NHL team Toronto will want one too.

Who was the coolest jazz man: Miles Davis or Chet Baker?

In his heyday Miles was known as the “coolest man on the planet”. There's a new biopic film “Miles Ahead” that concentrates on his bad boy image at the expense of a wonderful music legacy. “Birth of the Cool” and “Miles Ahead” are on my profile here but he was a jiver, no doubt about it. I caught him at The Blackhawk in San Francisco during his period of playing with his back to the audience. His best work was orchestrated by a very ordinary white guy from Toronto named Gil Evans. He called this marshmallow eating Canadian “the coolest cat he ever met”. He also owed the triumph of “Kind of Blue” (the most successful jazz LP ever) to another non-descript (but brilliant) white pianist Bill Evans, my favorite jazz artist. His path crossed with trumpeter Chet Baker, who Miles never stopped putting down. Chet could play and sing beautifully. Miles couldn't sing a note. Chet died a mysterious death in Amsterdam falling from a window ledge at his hotel. I've made a pilgrimage to the spot which is honored by a plaque. There is a new biopic film about him called “Born to be blue”. He already has a famous documentary about him: “Let's get lost”. Miles is the icon and Chet is the doomed and forgotten romantic. As Stan Getz said, “You have to let your ears do the judging” but Chet played with the great Charlie Parker in LA. Bird sent a note back to Miles in NY, “Watch out, there's a little white cat put here that's going to eat you up”. Amen.

The South: poor, sick and bigoted

This is the month in 1865 that Grant took Richmond and received Lee's surrender, putting an end to the Confederacy. Or did it? Southern attitudes didn't seem to die. Voting obstacles are still in place. Corrupt gerrymandering keeps the rednecks in Congress and rejection of Medicaid punishes poor citizens. Harper Lee said it best about southerners, “ When you don't want anything, there's plenty.” Peasant traits, to use the words of John Berger, are mostly conservative. The resentment of Southern conservatives has hindered their understanding of the political reality of the modern world. The northern middle class and certainly the upper class, retain a mastery of the world of their making. Marx, always a dirty word in America, said, “It's not enough to understand the world, you have to work to change it.” Have you ever been to Shanghai? It rivals Manhattan. Marxism is certainly working there turning peasants into billionaires. The city has risen swiftly to bustling wealth and skyscrapers of glittering lights and steel. This is the result of a hard-working population unleashed to prosper yet still offer visitors their sincere goodwill. As for the South, if you'll pardon a rude expression, it doesn't have a Chinaman's chance.

Some timely advice for Powerball losers

With odds at 292 million to 1 you never really had much of a chance to become an instant billionaire. But you did have something equally precious: hope. Frame your ticket as a reminder of that fervent hope—the thing that springs eternal in the human breast. “Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul”, wrote Emily Dickinson, “and never stops at all.” The winner of the jackpot will meet the modern J. Beresford Tipton awarding the money. In the CBS TV show a million dollars went to somone every week who Tipton never met. It showed people's reaction to instant wealth but most were never changed for the better. In one spoof the recipient tore up the check and said, “I don't need it, I'm Mike Todd” (He also had Elizabeth Taylor). So the winner will be in the same league with George Soros but without the financial acumen; Bill Gates without creating anything. He will be deluged with advice on investing. The IRS will love him as will the well-rewarded QuickEMart that sold the ticket. His life will not be his own anymore. As for you dear loser, heed the words of the Beatles song: “Money can't buy me love”. And when the winner dies they will ask, “How much did he leave?”. The answer will be, “All of it.”