Spectator Life

It is 7:30 a.m. and already seventy degrees in Bowness-on-Windermere. A rare, early summer heatwave. My friend Ebele and I lower ourselves into a sunken outdoor hot tub in groggy disbelief. We appear to have woken up in Utopia. Llamas and alpacas frolic yards away as we sip coffees in silence. A butterfly lands on the decking. There’s no noise but for the bubbles, until a perfect breeze ruffles the fronds of the tree that’s dappling the sunlight. The grass could not be greener, skies cerulean. This is the definition of “bucolic,” I think. William Blake’s England, plus massage jets. His pastoral poems that plagued me in university start to make more sense (plenty of lambs here, too; the local “Herdies”).

If I’d known what a whole monkfish looks like, I would never have ordered it. It was only weeks later that I saw a picture of the horrid creature: small, wicked eyes, prehistoric head, skin like rusty medieval armor and a gaping mouth overflowing with jagged teeth. Truly the stuff of nightmares. We’d popped over the border from France into San Sebastián, Spain, for a bite of dinner, selecting a spot a stone’s throw from the Baroque exuberance of Santa Maria del Coro. The daily special was monkfish, and for some reason — perhaps an excess of sun that day — the image that came to mind was, inaccurately, that of the innocent red mullet. The daily special in a fishing town is bound to be fresh, so it seemed fair to give it a try.

How did we get to the point that on numerous American campuses devoted to “social justice,” many student groups openly celebrated a brutal Hamas attack that killed more than 1,000 Israeli civilians and saw many hundreds tortured, beheaded, executed in front of family members and set on fire?  How did we get to the point on campuses where any unwanted sexual contact, even if intended only as a non-violent romantic approach, is denounced as a crime against women and can lead to expulsion, yet student protesters celebrate the mass rape of Israeli women, including rape victims still bleeding from the violation or killed and stripped naked, being paraded through the streets of Gaza as howling mobs defiled and abused their bodies?

“You are Kevin?” “Pardon?” Embarking on a solo week driving around Mallorca, then losing my drivers license in transit? Not my finest hour. A fairytale wedding near the citrus grove-laden seaside town of Sollér brought me to the largest island of the Baleriacs. A chest infection, some big deadlines and three hotels to review an hour’s drive south of the venue inspired me to hire a car, so I could pootle around at my own pace. I realized my problem in Barcelona, waiting for my connecting flight. Paying for a coffee, I spotted my license was missing. I’d booked via OMIO (a journey planning site that pulls together trains, planes, ferries and coaches — I love that thing), which I quickly consulted to confirm the dearth of public transport on the island.

What happens to a fashion brand when the founder leaves? Or, to be more direct, what is Tom Ford without Tom Ford? That was the question hovering over Milan last month as the brand held its first runway show since the famed designer stepped down in April. The man on the marquee wasn't even in attendance; apparently bad weather left him stuck in London (there was a little thunder the day before, so it's plausible, if unconvincing). The House of Ford arrived with an enormous splash in 2006, creating enormous hype through its hyper limited, hyper expensive apparel, which Ford and business partner Domenico de Sole spun into obscenely lucrative accessories and perfume licensing deals.

Neil deGrasse Tyson is famous for many things, including his rather fetching mustache and his rather hideous wardrobe. Behind the chuckles and the wacky attire, however, lies a slightly darker side. The man who famously said that he was “proud to be part of a species where a subset of its members willingly put their lives at risk to push the boundaries of our existence” is now pushing the boundaries of our patience. Over the years, deGrasse Tyson has become increasingly condescending, rude and arrogant. He has veered from the area of astrophysics into other avenues, including, most recently, the trans debate. More specifically, trans women competing in actual women’s sports.

Ibram X. Kendi has done as he promised. In 2020, freshly anointed as the director of Boston University’s new Center for Antiracist Research (CAR), Kendi announced his intention to “transform how racial research is done.” Previously, “research” had been understood to involve collecting data, analyzing trends and gathering new insights through the careful application of sustained thought. But these expectations were hallmarks of white supremacy. This week, as allegations of wanton mismanagement emerge from Kendi’s staff, it appears that what it means to do “racial research” has indeed been transformed: it now entails taking vast sums of other people’s money, then using it to produce almost nothing. And in this, Kendi is an expert.

With all the focus on Russell Brand, it’s easy to forget that another comedian made headlines — for all the wrong reasons — last week. Two days before the world came crashing down on Brand, the New Yorker’s Clare Malone wrote a devastating piece on Hasan Minhaj.  Minhaj, according to the brilliant expose, has a history of fabricating narratives. What’s particularly disturbing is that his tall tales all appear to have a unifying theme: race. More specifically, racism directed towards him, an Asian American and Muslim American, and his loved ones. Much of the New Yorker piece focuses on Minhaj’s 2022 Netflix standup special, The King’s Jester, which was marketed as a biographical account of his formative years.

The Cerberus heatwave is as fierce as they said it would be. I feel like I’m being microwaved on a low heat, my phone hot to the touch inside my pocket. A friend and I heave suitcases into the imposing stone lobby of a.d. 1768, then slump on chairs, dizzy. A palatial, historic residence hidden in plain sight, I’m gratefully swallowed up by its high ceilings and cool shadows. We’ve navigated Italian roads (and road rage) from Catania to Ragusa Ibla in 107.6 degrees Fahrenheit to seek out one hotel, and one man: Ciccio Sultano.  Our month-long road trip through southern Italy is finishing in the late Baroque towns of UNESCO World Heritage Site Val di Noto, collectively rebuilt after a huge earthquake on January 11, 1693.

Deion “Prime Time” Sanders is not a household name. The reserved and introverted former NFL and MLB player has long avoided the spotlight, the media and shit-talking in general. This approach served him well during his first few phases of his life, allowing him quietly to find his way into the College Football Hall of Fame, the Pro Football Hall of Fame and to fat stacks of cash. After retiring from baseball and then from football, as he played both concurrently for much of his career, he decided to start building some name recognition for what has become his next act — coaching. He started small, quietly serving as head coach for his own Prime Prep Academy, a collection of charter schools in Texas.

Last year’s report card for public schools? A resounding “must do better.” Trans athletes ruined competitive sports, the 1619 Project rewrote American History class and non-gendered bathrooms received their first human litter boxes.  As the final school bells rang on the 2023-23 school year for many Americans, popular opinion of our public schools plummeted. One Gallup poll showed just a quarter of Americans now have either a “great deal” or “fair amount” of confidence in public schooling. That represents a stark downward trend from around 1975 when more than 60 percent were confident in what schools were offering our youngsters. While trust tanked and academics atrophied, spending on education has climbed in direct inverse.

Vogue is on a hot streak when it comes to elevating the underqualified ladies of the Biden administration, with Karine Jean-Pierre the latest to receive the magazine's star treatment. The women's fashion mag gave Vice President Kamala Harris the cover just one day before her inauguration in January 2021... a cover which was heavily criticized for its awful lighting and less-than-chic fashion direction. The VP's famously restrained entourage let anyone who'd listen know that they had not approved the image, and cowed the magazine into releasing their preferred shot as a digital edition. First Lady Jill Biden — a "joy multiplier" and "goddess" — nabbed her own cover that July.

The new school year is just a few weeks away, and that can only mean one thing: right on cue, school districts are once again bemoaning a “lack of funding.” It’s the same story every year. Along with notices advertising the local high school drama department’s production of Grease come headlines announcing the school district is in dire straits and schools will literally fall to pieces if they aren’t pumped full of life-saving funding, stat. Year after year, it’s the same old song and dance: school funding increases, and the next year they need even more. Why is it never enough, though, and where does all the money go?

Early on the morning of September 27, 2021, Middlebury College president Laurie Patton had a stone bearing the name of the campus chapel removed from the building. It was done deftly. I don’t imagine she showed up with her own hammer and chisel, but the campus groundsmen executed her orders. Later that day, Patton and the chairman of the board of trustees sent out a message to the community announcing that they had de-named Mead Memorial Chapel, which henceforth would be known simply as Middlebury Chapel. The de-naming was a stealth operation. Outside of a small circle, no one knew it was coming.  Picture a small liberal arts college tucked away in the American hinterland. Picture on the crest of a hill a white marble church with an impressive spire flanked by academic halls.