Caeci Visum

If Netflix is your thing, you might be interested in their new film, Maestro. It chronicles the life of Leonard Bernstein, the man who composed the music to Westside Story, and conducted the worst recording ever made of Mozart’s Requiem. He seems not to have been told that the requiem mass is to be said – or in this case sung – for the recently deceased, rather than to be used as a means of killing people. His recording is a bewildering cocktail of terror and boredom, which is neither healthy, nor pleasurable to listen to. But I’m beginning to stray from the point.

Two important facts about Bernstein are that he was jewish, and that he was gay. Important, that is, for the purposes of this blog. You sea, dear reader, the actor playing him, Bradly Cooper, is neither jewish nor gay. In fact, he wears a prosthetic nose for the film, in order to look more jewish. “Jewing up”, if you will, rather than the more common, and commonly frowned upon, “blacking up”.

This has caused some considerable outrage. Why, people want to know, given that producers and directors strive for authenticity, did they not cast a jewish actor? Why, others cry, did they not cast a gay actor to play a gay character?

I should, perhaps, refrain from offering my views. After all, like Mr Cooper, I am neither gay nor jewish. However, as there has often been a divergence regarding what I should have done and what I have done, I see no reason to change now.

The point about jewish actors has some merit. After all, An Indian would play an Indian character, and a black person would play a black character. But there are two objections. Firstly, not all jewish people conform to the stereotypical image. Secondly, if we accept the idea that only a jew can play a jew, we must also accept the idea that a jewish actor can only play jewish characters. Not an idea that many would be happy with.

The contention that only gay actors should play gay characters is, frankly, utterly absurd. It is as absurd as saying that only straight actors should play straight people. What would have become of actors such as John Gielgood, Derek Jacobi or Stephen Fry if they had only been limited to gay characters?

What the perennially outraged forget, is that actors are pretending. Their job is to pretend so well that we believe them. Bringing one’s own experiences to a role shouldn’t have to count for much. Otherwise, only mad, Danish Princes with “mother issues” could play Hamlet, or Scottish serial killers MacBeth. Only clapped-out, retired spies, with a sideline in assassination and a taste for the high life could play James Bond. And where would one find suitable aliens to star – no pun intended -in science fiction films? Should Gwyneth Paltrow and Kate Winslet have swapped films, thus the American Paltrow appearing as an American woman in Titanic, and the English Winslet appearing as an English woman in Sliding Doors?

Presumably, the casting director of Maestro believes that Bradly Cooper is talented enough to convincingly play Leonard Bernstein. If you watch it, dear reader, and are convinced, then it doesn’t matter what Cooper isn’t. If you’re not convinced, it will be because he is not talented, not because he’s not gay, or not jewish. Remember, even though talented actors are paid handsomely, they’re only pretending.

Unsurprisingly, there are many questions sighted people put to blind people concerning blindness. They range from the general – “do blind people really hear better than sighted people?” – to the personal – “how do you know that your clothes go together?” – to the outlandish – “do blind people have a greater spiritual awareness than everyone else?”

The most annoying question I’ve been asked, repeatedly, is, “what can you tell about a person from their voice?” Hmm. What should I be able to tell. Am I supposed to provide a Sherlock Holmes-like analysis of someone, only from a few words, rather than the state of a person’s fingernails or trouser knees?

“Well, Watson, from the way in which this gentleman has said ‘good morning’, I can only deduce that he is left-handed, is an accountant, a lapsed catholic, supports Aston Villa in football, Somerset in cricket, and Leicester in rugby, his favourite breakfast is poached egg on toast, he has a phobia of gerbils, uses an electric toothbrush, is a life-long Bros fan, always eats the toffees from the family tin of quality Street at Christmas, and his favourite book is a toss-up between The Little Engine That Could, and À la Recherche du Temps Perdu. Oh, and he intensely dislikes his wife’s choice of curtains for their bedroom. Apart from these trifles, I’m afraid that there are no data.”

It is, of course, utterly ridiculous. But people will insist that I must be able to tell all sorts of things about a person from his or her voice. The most common thing they want to know is, “how old do I sound?” Grrrr!

I decided, when one of my grandfather’s friends asked me that, that diplomacy would be prudent. So, rather than telling her that she sounded as old as the hills, I said, “as old as your tongue, and a little older than your teeth”. Not a bad answer for a boy of ten or eleven.

However, the indignant splutter into her cup of tea suggested that I might have said the wrong thing. Her reply, when it came, confirmed it. “For heaven’s sake, child, I’m a lady, not a horse!” Well, she did ask.

I told another of my grandfather’s friends that he was twice half his age when he too had a fatuous moment. After he did the relevant calculations, he told me that, “that was a very smart answer, and it’s true”. Of course it is.

Obviously, I can’t speak for all blind people, but I can’t tell a person’s age by the sound of their voice. Often it can be approximated, but it can only ever be precise by accident. And there are voices that defy logic. The humorist Gerard Hoffnung, for example, sounded like an old man, even though he died at the tender age of thirty-four. Conversely, I know a lady who sounds as though she is in her mid thirties, yet age has actually rendered her a Beatles song.

Voice has never even been a wholly reliable indicator of a person’s gender, even during those simple days when there were only two of them, rather than the exponentially increasing numbers we have today. Of course, it rarely is among children, but you’d think that it was always possible to tell if you’re listening to an adult man or woman, wouldn’t you? Well, dear reader, I’m here to tell you that you’d be wrong.

A goodly number of years ago, I was propping up the bar of a pub. Behind me, a group of people were playing pool. One of this group had an awkwardly pitched voice. It could have been a man with a high voice, or a woman with a deep voice. As the person I spoke most to that evening was the barmaid, I didn’t think it proper to make enquiries. However, she was one of those people who always uses people’s names if she knows them. So it seemed reasonable to suppose that I might find out that way.

I waited. Each of the pool players bought a round, or wanted change in order to release the balls for another game. Because of my intense curiosity, I was compelled to drink more beer. It was tough being me during my twenties, you know. Eventually it was the Androgynous One’s turn to put a hand in a pocket. He/she came up to the bar. Assuming that the creature was a regular, it seemed reasonable to suppose that I was about to receive enlightenment. Only I wasn’t. The barmaid handed over some coins with a cheery, “there’s your change, Les”.

So, dear reader, I’m unlikely to be able to tell you much about yourself from your voice. But if you have other questions, I might be able to answer them. Oh, and I never did find out whether it was Leslie or Lesley.

One of the most testing aspects of modern communications, is the use of jargon. Of course it has its use – it saves a considerable number of words when people who are knowledgable in certain matters are having a conversation. But it has an irritating side too. Many people who use it seem to wish either to show off their perceived cleverness, or to blind others with terminology when trying to sell an idea or product.

Almost every aspect of life seems to be filled with jargon – all sports, politics, economics, broadcasting, journalism, cookery, freemasonry, piano tuning, music, computing, aviation, sailing, engineering, business, and so many more. Sociology is another jargon-laden human endeavour, even though it is dismissed by many as languishing somewhere between a statement of the obvious, and pointless bunkum.

Another testing part of modern communications, is the ever-increasing, mindless, and frankly ridiculous use of Americanisms. People are now declaring that trivial matters are “not that big of a problem”, regardless of the fact that the extraneous “of” is even bad American, never mind bad English. Rebellious youths are erroneously referring to British police officers as “the Feds”, a fatuous and deplorable habit they have acquired from American films and television programmes. And of course, there is that ubiquitous nervous tick, excessive use of the word “like”. I could go on, but I don’t wish to give any Americans who might be reading this a complex.

You may be wondering, dear reader, if there is any form of connection between jargon, sociology, and British acceptance of the barbaric abuse that passes for English usage in the United States, or whether I’m just being my usual, curmudgeonly self. Well, you’ll be glad to know that I’ve found a connection. And it’s a truly appalling one.

Sociologists love to create names for every social group they can think of. And probably some that they can’t. One way of grouping society is to lump us all into specific generational groups. The “Baby Boomers” (born between 1945 and 1964), were followed by “Generation X” (born between 1965 and 1981), who were followed by “Generation Y”, also known as “Millennials”, ( born between 1982 and 1994). They, in turn, were followed by “Generation Z”. Who came before the “Baby Boomers”, and will will come after “Generation Z” is unknown. To me at least. If any sociologist wishes to enlighten me, they may.

Unsurprisingly, the term “Generation Z” is often lazily abbreviated to “Gen Z”. And so, dear reader, we get to the heart of the matter.

For some reason, best known to themselves, Americans have decided that they wish to demonstrate their difference to the rest of the anglophone world, by insisting that the name of the twenty-sixth letter of the alphabet is “Zee”. A consequence of this wanton display of linguistic exceptionalism, is that lazy sociologists refer to “Gen Zee”.

So far, so revolting. But to be fair, what an American chooses to do in the privacy of his or her own home, is entirely his or her own business.

However, the moment of disgust, the moment of outrage, the moment of true depravity, occurred while I was listening to the radio the other day. Two British broadcasters, on a British radio station, talking to a British audience, about young British people, thought it proper to refer to “Gen Zee. This is the sort of barbaric and perverted act for which the pillory was invented. These malefactors should spend at least a week being pelted with rotten eggs, over-soft tomatoes, mouldy cabbages, and transcripts of their programme. As Mr Toad might say, that’ll learn ‘em.

If British people must make use of the linguistic offerings made by their counterparts in the United States, why can’t they use words such as “scurrifunge”? This splendid piece of New England dialect means the sort of panicked tidying up one might do having had twenty minutes notice of the arrival of the mother-in-law, when the house is terribly messy. Surely I’m not alone in thinking that this would be a far more pleasing, healthy and wholesome Americanism to adopt than any extraneous “of”, or mispronounced letter.

Incidentally, dear reader, you may have a browny point if you can spot the Americanism I used that doesn’t have quotation marks around it. I shouldn’t imagine that there’s anything you can do with a browny point, but it might be a nice thing to have.

Yesterday evening, I received the annual email from Herefordshire Council instructing me to make sure that all information pertaining to registered voters in my household is up to date. Having complied with their demand, my mind wondered to next year, and the general elections which will b held, both here, and in the United States.

I realise that, unless you are a political junkie like me, this is hardly exciting, but it is important. That said, I’m not going to urge you to vote for one party or another. How you vote, dear reader, is entirely your own business.

However, what I would urge everyone who lives in a democracy to do, whenever there is the opportunity, is to vote. Yes, there is the oft-repeated argument that men and women fought and died in order to protect democracy. But causing people to feel guilty is an unsatisfactory way of going about things. Instead, I would argue that voting is likely to raise the calibre of politicians.

At the next UK general election, a number of MPs will be retiring. This is for several reasons. Some feel that they are too old, and others have decided that they want to do other things before they get too old. But most of them are retiring because of the opprobrium heaped upon them by the public. The antics of a few have caused many to be tarred with the same brush. The outrageous behaviour of a few narcissists and charlatans has created the widespread view that all politicians are a corrupt bunch of good-for-nothings, who have only entered parliament as a means of feathering their own nests. There is, therefore, no point in voting for any of them, because they’re all as bad as each other.

This is, of course, nonsense. If one wants to get rich, Parliament is not the place to do it. There are more remunerative, and less stressful career options. There is also the fact that most of those who are retiring are decent, diligent MPs, who care passionately about the people and places they represent. The unnecessary levels of abuse they receive is proving too much for them. Whereas many of those who are toughing it out and wish to remain in Parliament, are those narsisists and charlatans.

If people continue to abuse politicians, yet refuse to vote, they will end up with the corrupt scoundrels they claim to despise. For it will only be they who put their names forward. Decent people will opt for a quieter life, where neither they nor their nearest and dearest will receive all of that vitriol.

If wee want good politicians, politicians should have a good electorate. As I said, who you vote for is your business. But please, at the next time of asking, vote.

In the early 2000s, blind people began installing an exciting new piece of software on their mobile phones. It was a screenreader, similar to that which they had been using for a number of years on their computers. It enabled them to make use of more of the features on their phones. They could join their sighted friends, colleagues and relations in the sending and receiving of text messages. As technology developed, they could also keep up with their emails and diaries. And of course, like all sighted people, they could allow their memories to atrophy by storing all necessary, and probably some unnecessary numbers, in their phones, rather than in their heads.

It was all very exciting. Although the software was often an additional cost when buying the phone, it was worth it. No special gadgets that looked, felt and sounded as though they had been designed with the blind in mind. Just some software installed onto the latest Nokia phone, and blind people felt that they had technological equality with their sighted peers. Then came the smartphone, with appropriate software already installed on it as a matter of course. True technological parity.

But the most exciting thing of all, was having access to the “caller ID” feature. Blind people too could determine whether a call was important enough to justify interrupting a meeting, or greet their caller by name, or simply avail themselves of the right not to be bothered to speak to a given individual. No more having to say, “I can’t talk now, I’m in a meeting”. No more uncertainty when the phone rang. No more sinking feeling on answering the phone to discover that the caller was the person one least wished to speak to. It was all a thing of the past. For everyone. Only that wasn’t, and indeed, isn’t true.

Unfortunately, we have the phenomenon of the withheld number. I’am writing this paragraph at 07:46, and already, I have received two calls from a withheld number – at 06:43 and 07:21 this morning. I say “from a withheld number”, but of course there is nothing to say that two different numbers were not available to me. Although on both occasions, the caller or callers would have reached my voicemail, on neither occasion was a message left.

I’m rather afraid that I struggle to find a convincing justification for anyone being able to withhold their number. People argue that it protects their privacy, and prevents them from receiving nuisance calls. But not knowing who is calling can be a problem. Victims of stalkers, for example, shouldn’t have to receive anonymous calls. Utility companies, banks and government agencies often withhold their numbers, so get ignored.

The facility to withhold numbers should be withdrawn. The stalked should be unmolested. Banks, utility companies and government agencies shouldn’t hide the fact that that is they who are calling. Life would then have one of its many stresses removed.