Friday, July 3, 2026

Another f---ing list...

For #America250, a list I worked on while I was on vacation all of May, essay beneath there explaining what it means.... There's still plenty I missed.
Greatest American Works of All Time:
Cats by Andrew Lloyd Webber
Scenes from an Italian Restaurant by Billy Joel
A Required Canon for American Life collated by an intellectual striver. Based on works I've read thirty pages of and places I've never seen. It's not an objective list: it's neither fact nor opinion, it's perception. It's the works that I think invade your pores and make you different than you were before you experienced them, but I can only know that by how they invade mine:
Absolute: means what it says. These are the works that can't get any better: even their weaknesses are their strengths. You don't experience them, they experience you.
The Simpsons (f*** off it's my list...)
Citizen Kane (a lot more entertaining than you remember)
West Side Story
Moby Dick by Herman Melville (took twenty-five years to make me appreciate it)
Our Town by Thornton Wilder (I put it over Death of a Salesman as the Great American Play)
Death of a Salesman by Arthur Miller
Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman
Alan Lomax Collections (collected recordings of often anonymous folk musicians)
Louis Armstrong Hot Five & Seven (early jazz)
Pinocchio
Bambi
New York City
This World is Not Conclusion by Emily Dickinson (her greatest poem)
Diego Rivera Detroit Murals (does for America what Michelangelo did for the Vatican)
Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass
A Love Supreme by John Coltrane (jazz)
Mad Men (TV)
Do The Right Thing (the ultimate movie about racism)
Gypsy (a musical about the will to succeed)
The Wizard of Oz
Appalachia Region
The Muppets (TV)
My Antonia by Willa Cather (The Great American Novel: a novel of deep connection between immigrants and the native born)
Old Man River (the Great American Song)
Cross Road Blues, Hellhound On My Trail, Love in Vain by Robert Johnson
This Land is Your Land, Pastures of Plenty, 1913 Massacre, by Woodie Guthrie
I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry by Hank Williams
Precious Lord and Come Sunday by Mahalia Jackson
Winesburg, Ohio by Sherwood Anderson (short stories about small town life)
Wrigley Field (what sports was meant to do)
Nashville (movie: a cinematic democracy)
Runagate Runagate and Middle Passage by Robert Hayden (poems about slavery)
Radio City Music Hall
Reminiscing in Tempo (jazz-classical suite: Duke Ellington remembers his mother)
The Godfather Saga (TV edition putting both movies in chronological sequence with an hour of restored scenes is the best version)
Move On Up A Little Higher, How I Got Over, Precious Lord Take My Hand, Come Sunday by Mahalia Jackson (Gospel)
Democracy in America by Alexis de Tocqueville (philosophy/travelogue that predicts the American future)
The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

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Unnamable, competes with the best of any time and place:
Life on the Mississippi by Mark Twain (travelogue)
The Souls of Black Folk by W. E. B. Du Bois (classic of sociology)
Assassins (musical)
Barbecue Cuisine
Godfather I and II (cut separately as they originally were)
Porgy and Bess--classical/jazz opera (deserves special mention)
Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison (the novel of blackness, vaguely avant-garde)
Twin Peaks (TV mystery series of small town America)
Show Boat by Jerome Kern (our first great musical)
Pet Sounds by Brian Wilson (and no other...)
Beloved by Toni Morrison (the classic historical novel about slavery)
The Grand Canyon
Fences by August Wilson
The Irony of American History by Reinhold Niebuhr
Riverside Church
New Orleans
Mother to Son and Harlem by Langston Hughes
Black, Brown and Beige by Duke Ellington (jazz/classical suite)
Charlotte's Web by E.B. White (young adult novel)
The Mississippi Delta
The Road by Cormac McCarthy (apocalyptic novel)
Cathedral of St. John the Divine (still only 2/3rds finished)
Rear Window by Alfred Hitchcock and Ernst Lehmann (movie)
Chicago
Vietnam Veterans Memorial
The Great Plains
George Gershwin--all (classical/jazz hybrid)
Scott Joplin--all (ragtime)
Bessie Smith--all (blues)
Jimmie Rodgers--all (country)
Billie Holiday--all (jazz)
Robert Johnson--all (blues)
Woodie Guthrie--all (folk)
Hank Williams--all (country)
Ella Fitzgerald--all (jazz)
Mahalia Jackson--all (gospel)
John Lee Hooker--all (blues)
Take the A-Train by Duke Ellington
Grand Central Terminal in New York
The Lincoln Memorial
The Pacific Ocean
Mood Indigo by Duke Ellington
Harlem Air-Shift by Duke Ellington
The Twilight Zone (sci-fi/horror TV)
Because I Could Not Stop for Death by Emily Dickinson
The Red Badge of Courage by Stephen Crane (novella)
Levi's Blue Jeans
One Night Stand by Louis CK (comedy)
Absalom, Absalom! by William Faulkner (avant-garde novel of the South)
A Good Man is Hard to Find by Flannery O'Connor (Southern Gothic short stories)
I Heard a Fly Buzz --when I died by Emily Dickinson
National Geographic Magazine
Las Vegas by Saul Steinberg (painting)
Camden Yards (! That will always be its name...)
Let Us Now Praise Famous Men by James Agee and Walker Evans (photography book/essays about depression poverty)
The Times They Are a'Changin' by Bob Dylan
It's Alright Ma, I'm Only Bleeding by Bob Dylan
Chimes of Freedom by Bob Dylan
The Years of Lyndon Johnson by Robert Caro (long biography)
An American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser (long novel of America's failures)
Flatbush and Flushing (neighborhoods)
A Hard Rain's-a Gonna Fall by Bob Dylan
The Civil War (documentary by Ken Burns)
The Vietnam War (documentary by Ken Burns)
Varieties of Religious Experience by William James (psychology/philosophy that studies religion like science)
A Raisin in the Sun by Lorraine Hansburry (the classic play of racial integration)
Ah-Um by Charles Mingus (jazz album)
Bonnie & Clyde (movie)
Joseph Stella (America's greatest abstract artist: I'm the only person who'd say that...)
His Girl Friday (the classic Hollywood screwball comedy of Newspaper journalism)
Kind of Blue by Miles Davis
The Last Picture Show (the classic movie of small town America)
The True Believer by Eric Hoffer (philosophy)
Migrant Mother (photo by Dorothea Lange)
Harlan County, USA (documentary)
Mean Streets by Martin Scorsese
Ebbetts Field (supposedly, demolished...)
-----------------------
Cosmic. Essential for anyone who cares to experience America:
Long Day's Journey into Night by Eugene O'Neill (long play about family and addiction)
Pryor: Live in Concert (comedy album)
The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald
Burr by Gore Vidal
San Francisco
The Awakening by Kate Chopin (feminist novella)
Diminuendo and Crescendo in Blue by Duke Ellington (Newport '56) (jazz)
The Cotton Pickers by Winslow Homer (painting)
To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
Tevye and His Daughters by Sholem Aleichem (Yiddish short stories, the basis for Fiddler on the Roof)
The Redwood Parks
Company (musical)
late George Carlin specials (comedy)
Follies (musical)
Woodstock (live concert recordings and videos)
Boston
The Producers (the great American comedy)
The Education of Henry Adams (autobiography)
Seinfeld (a perfect sitcom, again, it's my list...)
The Public and its Problems by John Dewey (political philosophy)
The Liberal Imagination by Lionel Trilling (literary criticism)
African American Spirituals
Central Park
Waffle House
Blue Velvet (movie)
Creole Cuisine
Neuromancer by William Gibson (sci-fi novel that seems more apropos these days...)
Baseball (documentary)
The Night of the Hunter (movie)
Born to Run by Bruce Springsteen (album)
Dvorak New World Symphony (the music that tells America to look to its own musical traditions)
The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne (proto-feminist novel about American puritans)
Oklahoma by Rodgers and Hammerstein (classic musical of dreams and endurance
Carousel by Rogers and Hammerstein (classic musical of when dreams and endurance go bad)
Such Sweet Thunder by Duke Ellington
Los Angeles
Robert Frost (poetry - Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening, Mending Wall, The Road Less Traveled, After Apple Picking, Death of the Hired Man, Home Burial)
New Orleans Jazz (generally)
Mardi Gras costumes
Rear Window (movie)
These Truths by Jill Lepore (a history of the United States that proposes maybe our country failed)
Baltimore (!)
Watchmen by Alan Moore (the graphic superhero novel)
Bowling Alone by Robert Putnam (sociology about social isolation)
Black Boy by Richard Wright (memoir)
Las Vegas
Call It Sleep by Henry Roth (the classic novel about immigration, trauma and abuse)
The Searchers (classic Western movie about racial hatred)
Blade Runner (under protest)
Peanuts by Charles Schultz (newspaper cartoon about kids)
Calvin and Hobbes by Bill Waterson (newspaper cartoon about kid)
All The King's Men by Robert Penn Warren (classic political novel about demogogy)
Nighthawks by Edward Hopper
James Brown: Live at the Apollo (album)
Fun Home by Alison Bechdel (graphic novel about queerness)
Go Down, Moses by William Faulkner (not avant-garde novel)
Thanksgiving Dinner
Sophisticated Lady by Duke Ellington
Civil Rights Movement Songs (generally)
Niagra Falls
Strange Fruit by Billie Holliday (classic song about lynching)
Ko-Ko by Charlie Parker (jazz)
John Lee Hooker (my favorite bluesman)
Desolation Row by Bob Dylan
Yellowstone National Park
Second Line Funerals
Far East Suite by Duke Ellington (jazz/classical hybrid)
How The Other Half Lives by Jacob Riis (photography book about urban poverty)
Slouching Towards Bethlehem by Joan Didion (journalism collection about sixties decadence)
Origins of Totalitarianism by Hannah Arendt (political philosophy about what made Stalin and Hitler possible)
The Great Lakes
The Steerage (photo of immigrant ship by Alfred Stieglitz)
Battle Hymn of the Republic (our greatest patriotic song)
How The Grinch Stole Christmas by Dr. Seuss
Hoop Dreams (documentary about basketball in the projects)
The Unanswered Question by Charles Ives (our greatest piece of classical music)
Pentacostal Services (generally)
The Problem We All Live With (one of Norman Rockwell's few profound paintings)
Gone: An Historical Romance of a Civil War as It Occurred b'tween the Dusky Thighs of One Young Negress and Her Heart by Kara Walker (horrific wall cutouts of the slave era)
Apocalypse Now
Duck Soup (the other great American comedy)
Fallingwater by Frank Lloyd Wright (architecture)
Freedom Highway by The Staple Singers (soul music)
The Assistant by Bernard Malamud (novel of immigration)
Spirit In The Dark by Aretha Franklin (soul album)
King Heroin by James Brown (multi-part soul song)
The Atlantic Magazine
Brooklyn Bridge
Catch-22 (the great American war satire)
Close Encounters of the Third Kind (the great hope of what aliens might be)
Collected Stories of IB Singer (short stories--Yiddish fiction of Jewish life in the shtetl)
America Today Mural by Thomas Hart Benton (the ultimate art about American progress)
Chinatown (the ultimate movie of corruption)
Midwest County Seat Towns
Tangled Up in Blue by Bob Dylan
The Fire Next Time by James Baldwin (book of essays about race, religion and family)
The Immortal Otis Redding (album of American promise)
Chrysler Building
Blazing Saddles (the greatest movie ever made about racism...)
Deadwood (classic TV show about the American West)
The Truman Show by Peter Weir (looking mighty good these days)
The Iceman Cometh by Eugene O'Neill (play about the ultimate Irish-American institution: bars)
Dreamgirls (musical and movie)
Other Johnnie Cash
Brokeback Mountain by Larry McMurtry, Anne Proulx and Ang Lee (movie about the closet)
Henry Cowell: Piano Music (the most creative classical music ever to come out of this country)
The Manchurian Candidate (classic movie of assassination and conspiracy)
Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston (classic novel of the endurance of African-American women)
Blood Meridian by Cormac McCarthy (nihilistic novel of genocide)
Raging Bull by Martin Scorsese (movie)
Civil War Union Songs
Experience and Nature by John Dewey (philosophy that argues that we are the natural environment too)
The Rust Belt
Contract With God Trilogy by Will Eisner (graphic novel, arguably our greatest art about tenement housing)
Go Tell It On The Mountain by James Baldwin (probably the great novel of sharecropper life)
Her (our great film about where AI is going)
The Promise of American Life by Herbert David Crosby (political philosophy that raised progressivism to a national movement)
Nebraska by Bruce Springsteen (solo album of midwestern desolation)
Green Eggs and Ham by Dr. Seuss
Nature by Ralph Waldo Emerson (essay)
Blue Velvet (movie about what's hidden beneath the suburbs)
Lady Soul by Aretha Franklin (soul album)
Modern Times by Charlie Chaplin (satire of industrial life)
Where The Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein (children's poetry)
MAD Magazine (satire magazine)
The Fog of War by Errol Morris and Robert MacNamera (documentary about an American sinner)
Charles Ives: Symphony no 4 (deeply spiritual avant garde orchestral music)
Rain Dogs by Tom Waits (singer/songwriter album)
King of the Hill (TV Show about small town Texas, fathers and sons)
The Battle Cry of Freedom: The Civil War Era by James MacPhereson (history of the Civil War)
Johnny Cash America Albums (the ultimate American albums about death)
Drag (becoming more important these days...)
The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (classic American movie about how American myths are manufactured)
The Power Broker by Robert Caro (long biography of Robert Moses)
Bless Me, Ultima by Rudolfo Anaya (novel of the Chicano and Native American experience)
The Making of the Atomic Bomb by Richard Rhodes (journalism/history)
County Fairs
the Zoot Suit
The Sopranos (mobster goes to therapy)
Native Son by Richard Wright (classic novel of the American justice system)
There's A Riot Goin' On (album: Sly and the Family Stone)
Roots by Alex Haley (book or TV show)
The Fish Fry
Dispatches by Michael Herr (journalism about the folly of the Vietnam War)
The Crawfish Boil
The Conversation by Francis Ford Coppola (classic movie of tech paranoia and corporate overreach)
Jewish Deli
Appalachian Spring (our greatest ballet)
Angels in America (the gay American experience of AIDS and much more)
The Human Condition by Hannah Arendt (philosophy about how we have to remain civically active)
"Chinese Food"
Ace in the Hole (classic movie of journalistic sensationalism)
Other Poetry by Emily Dickinson (make your own list)
The Warmth of Other Suns by Isabel Wilkerson (popular history about the Great Migration)
The Southern Breakfast
The Matrix (movie that looks better these days)
The Right Stuff by Tom Wolfe (book and movie adaptation)
Pragmatism by William James (philosophy)
Autobiography of Malcolm X
Work Boots
The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein
Sesame Street
The Executioner's Song by Norman Mailer (classic non-fiction novel of American crime)
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest (movie about mental health industry)
Coat of Many Colors by Dolly Parton
Woolworth Building
Portnoy's Complaint by Philip Roth (gets new relevance after #metoo)
The Social Network (movie, looks pretty f888ing good right now)
Alexander's Ragtime Band by Irving Berlin (a great American song)
Waffle House Breakfast (the great American fat)
The Sweet Smell of Success (great American film of power's corruption)
Touch of Evil (great American film of police racism and corruption)
Pittsburgh, Queensborough Bridge, Hoboken, Blast Furnace, Aeroplane by Elsie Driggs (paintings)
-------------------------------------
Optional to enrich yourself on American life...
Gold: a Transcendent Achievement:
Philadelphia
A Streetcar Named Desire by Tennesee Williams (play)
The Italian American Dinner
Mullholland Dr. by David Lynch (movie)
Goodfellas by martin scorsese (movie)
The Stand by Stephen King (I said what I said, nobody writes small town life better than Stephen King, it's a shame he always connects it to stupid monsters)
It by Stephen King (ditto)
Pacific Overtures (classic musical of American imperialism)
Star Trek: Deep Space Nine (sci-fi TV series)
The Rockies
Frasier (perfect TV Sitcom)
Memphis
Walden by Henry David Thoreau (philosophy)
Moonlight (movie)
Life Against Death by Norman O. Brown (psychology)
The Clambake
The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K. LeGuin (science fiction novel)
New York Pizza
Denim
Armies of the Night by Norman Mailer (non-fiction novel about Vietnam protests)
Jazz (documentary by Ken Burns)
I Am Legend by Richard Matheson (apocalyptic sci-fi novel)
Detroit
Alien (movie about an alien)
Work Boots
From Beirut to Jerusalem by Thomas Friedman (journalistic memoir of the Middle East)
The Adventures of Augie March by Saul Bellow (long novel of American opportunity)
Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans (dream movie of American forgiveness)
The Mojave Desert
Washington DC (it's beautiful, it's also not the real America...)
The Martian Chronicles by Ray Bradbury (sci-fi short story collection about regular American life that happens to be on Mars)
The Cat in the Hat by Dr. Seuss
Converse Chuck Taylor All-Stars (said what I said)
The New Yorker Magazine
Closing Time by Tom Waits (songwriter album)
The Apartment (classic movie about privilege in corporate America)
The Closing of the American Mind by Allan Bloom (neoconservative political philosophy--under protest)
American Pastoral by Philip Roth (novel of the sixties)
Taxi (sitcom about New York losers)
Graceland by Paul Simon ('rock' album where Paul Simon promotes musicians who deserved better)
Gravity's Rainbow by Thomas Pynchon (avant-garde novel about World War II and erections)
Las Vegas Strip
Platoon (slightly heavy-handed movie about Vietnam)
Born on the Fourth of July (slightly heavy-handed movie about post-Vietnam)
Portrait of a Lady by Henry James (novel about a slightly stupid woman)
Soul Food
Bojack Horseman (profound TV cartoon about a talking horse in Hollywood)
Photo of Allie May Burroughs by Walker Evans
New York Bagel
Gumbo
Blue Plate Special
Ubik
County Fairs
Blood on the Tracks by Bob Dylan
The Brothers Ashkenazi (Yiddish novel of tragic Jewish ambition in the old country)
Soul Food
Creative Orchestra Music 1976 by Anthony Braxton (avant-garde jazz/classical mashup of genius)
Roseanne (Roseanne)
The Leather Jacket
The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life by Erving Goffman (sociology where day to day interactions are questioned)
Love and Will by Rollo May (the psychology of death)
Highway 61 Revisited
Reconstruction: America's Unfinished Revolution by Eric Foner (straightforward history)
The Moviegoer by Walker Percy (classic novel of war trauma)
The Glass Menagerie (classic play about mothers)
The Civil War: A Narrative by Shelby Foote (racists can be extraordinary writers too, even reliable guides occaionally)
The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson (formally perfect horror novella)
As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner (avant-garde novel)
It's a Man's World by James Brown
Woody Guthrie (various)
Zodiac by David Fincher (the great American movie about serial killing)
ET (ET)
Fargo by the Coen Brothers (love letter to the Midwest)
Army Field Jacket
Black Church Hats
Six Feet Under (TV show about a funeral home)
The Larry Sanders Show (TV show about show business)
Chappelle's Show
Bluegrass Jam Sessions (are what they are, anybody can learn how)
American Gothic (painting about people who never had fun)
The Americans (did we have spies like that?)
Cheers (losers hang out in bar)
-----------------------------------------------------
Silver: A Great Achievement
The Fixer by Bernard Malamud
Robo-cop (movie)
Herzog by Saul Bellow
The Turn of the Screw by Henry James
All The Pretty Horses by Cormac McCarthy
Gas by Edward Hopper
Corn on the Cobb
Randy Newman (album)
Everything, Everywhere, All at Once
Mary Tyler Moore
Christina's World
Kind of Blue
Cat on a Hot Tin Roof
The Philadelphia Story
Hippie Fringe and Denim
Disneyland
Pittsburgh
All in the Family (TV show)
Battlestar Galactica (sci-fi TV shows)
Succession (TV Show)
Cleveland
Suttree by Cormac McCarthy
St. Louis
Church Potluck
Guggenheim Museum
Jurassic Park
Denial of Death
King Kong
Nixon (movie)
City Lights
Vertigo
Amusing Ourselves to Death
Ebony
Jet
Washington Square
The Deer Hunter
The Sopranos
Sugar Shack
Rolling Stone Magazine
A Good Man is Hard to Find
Diner Pie
Carol Burnett Show
Born to Run
Network
The Wizard of Oz
Into the Woods
American Graffiti
Red-Headed Stranger
Dazed and Confused
Treasure of the Sierra Madre
Sunset Boulevard
Boogie Nights
McCabe & Mrs. Miller
Paris, Texas
M*A*S*H (TV)
Tom Waits (various)
Animal House
Mister Rogers' Neighborhood
The Apartment
Rothko Chapel
Star Trek TNG
Piano Music of Henry Cowell
Rodeo & Billy the Kid
Exciteable Boy
The Iceman Cometh
The Crucible
Fences & The Piano Lesson
Glengarry Glen Ross
Stag at Sharkey's
Carousel
Groundhog Day
Close Encounters & ET
Fargo
Toy Story
What's Goin' On
Double Indemnity
All About Eve
Pudd'nhead Wilson
--------------------------------------------
Bronze: A Mostly Great Achievement:
Nighthawks
The Wire Breaking Bad
The Best Years of Our Lives
Black Saint & Sinner Lady
Sula
Kind of Blue
The Color Purple
Ah Um
Erasure
The Hunger Games
The Apartment
Playboy
A Face in the Crowd
Friday Night Lights
Flannel Shirt
The Americans (TV show)
Dog Day Afternoon
Macaroni and Cheese
White T-Shirt
Badlands
Magnolia
Tapestry (album)
Apollo Theater
Habits of the Heart
The Quest for Community
Wise Blood
JFK (movie)
Koyaansqatsi
Deep Dish Pizza
Twin Peaks
South Park
Some Like It Hot
Singin' In the Rain
No Place of Grace
Girls
First Reformed
South Bronx Housing Projects
Stagecoach
Easy Rider
Gone with the Wind
Nebraska
Get Out
Air Jordan Sneakers
The Big Lebowski (pinnacle of Western Civilization)
Casablanca
Days of Heaven
----------------------------------
Doesn't Belong:
Andy Warhol
Jeff Koons
Jackson Pollock
Cindy Sherman
Robert Rauschenberg
Ye
The Eagles
Steely Dan
Nine Inch Nails
Velvet Underground
Lou Reed
Talking Heads
Patti Smith
Metalica
Tool
Eminem
Grateful Dead
John Cage
Damien Chazelle
Scarface
La La Land
2001
Infinite Jest
The Tree of Life
Easy Rider
Superhero Mythology (sorry)
Austin
Silicon Valley
Mount Rushmore
Tom Cruise movies
American Beauty
Joker
Fight Club
La La Land
Friends
Avatar
Nomadland
White Noise
Ready Player One
Tarantino
Dan Harmon
Noah Baumbach
Ayn Rand
Bret Easton Ellis
Michael Bay
Joss Whedon (was not a fan before everybody else wasn't)
Ryan Murphy
David Foster Wallace (as a novelist)
Don DeLillo
Chuck Palahniuk
Seth MacFarlane
Wes Anderson
Lin-Manuel Miranda
Jordan Peterson (Canadian I Know)
Taylor Swift
Lena Dunham (this one honestly also hurts)
How I Met Your Mother (god that aged badly... should have seen that coming)
Chuck Lorre
The End of History
Steven Pinker
Wall Street (movie)
Natural Born Killers
On The Road
The Goldfinch
Visit from the Goon Squad
House of Leaves
Vonnegut
Hunter S. Thompson
The Sun Also Rises
Hemingway novels
Dom DeLillo
Naked Lunch
Pynchon
William Gaddis
Regretfully off the list:
Anthony Jeselnik
Bo Burnham
Frank Zappa
Hunter S. Thompson
Blood Meridian
Sam Harris
David Foster Wallace
Jonathan Franzen
Damien Chazelle
Woody Allen
Belongs under protest:
Stanley Kubrick
Billy Joel (really)
Norman Rockwell
Frank Capra
George Lucas
Cornell West
Oliver Stone
Howard Zinn
Take Them Seriously As Artists:
Charles Schultz
Mister Rogers
George Romero
Bob Ross
Harold Ramis
Brian de Palma
Take Them Seriously as Great Artists:
Steven Spielberg
Jim Henson
Johnny Cash
Tom Waits
Garrison Keillor
John Prine
Dolly Parton
Norm MacDonald (I know he's Canadian)
So I just got back from West Side Story today--a work I've written about endlessly. It was a pretty great performance, 9/10? A little too busy and unsubtle, but all the leads were great bordering on wonderful. Better than I thought I'd ever see it done. At the beginning scenes and the ending I wiped away a lot of tears as my lip quivered, then I looked over and saw my mom doing the same, then I looked in front of me and there was a woman outright sobbing while her husband consoled her, then I looked next to me and there was a couple younger than me and both the man and the woman were wiping tears. The only person near me who didn't like it was the twelve year old texting on his phone the whole time until I asked him to stop nicely at intermission. He apologized very politely, then kept checking the time during the second half.
What is it about this play that speaks to everybody here so deeply? You can't just explain it rationally. Part of why West Side Story is timeless is because we're still living West Side Story's crisis. and it's basically the same show: still gangs, still poverty, still projects, still racist cops, still misspent youth. It could be set in Baltimore today and all you'd need is David Simon to revamp the script, make the Jets African-American and up the racism of the cops, and it's the same show.
But no, you can't explain it like that, that would just make West Side Story a sociology lesson. It has to provoke deep emotional associations, and it can't just be nostalgia.
No, what we're experiencing is something much deeper. Something almost ecstatic. I come out of West Side Story not just moved, but electrified. Simon Schama talks about that effect in the famous documentary: The Power of Art: "
"In the end, there's only one test that matters. You come into the room, you fix it in your sights. Does it, or does it not attack you in the guts, it does. Does your heart jump? Do your eyes widen? Does your pulse race? Do your feet get a bad attack of lead boots you're so struck down by it?"
There's so much about West Side Story that shouldn't work: the antique slang that probably wasn't even real slang in 1957, the ridiculous love story, the ballet sequence that comes out of nowhere and feels like an ego trip from the choreographer... and yet we buy every bit of it. It's one of those works that moves through our heads in a state of grace. Some works just have that irrational impact on us. It's not many, it's never many, but they exist, and if you're open to it, you usually know it when you see it.
You particularly know it because you keep coming back to them. They marinate in your head like an unfinished dinner in the fridge that gets better overnight, and every time you revisit it, it's a completely different experience. A character may resemble your parent, then 20 years later resemble you, then 20 years after that resemble your child; a place may represent the place you live in, then it becomes the place you grew up in, then it becomes the place it used to be but no longer is. Aristotle called it 'mimesis', but what it means is that we just look at the screen or page or stage and say 'that's me.'
It may not exactly be you, but it's something you know, something you remember, something you love or hate or fear, something you're experiencing right now or expect to experience later, and it goes through a journey into your psyche, and by the time it's done you're not the same person anymore.
What's a little unique about West Side Story is that for a country with so many choices for entertainment, how few of them seem to have that ecstatic effect on millions of people. Sure, all kinds of musical groups can get a whole stadium to bob their heads and raise their arms in a kind of trance, but that's not the experience I'm talking about. I'm talking about the solitary experience, the experience that when you leave, you know that your life can never be the same after it happened, and you know that if you come back in 50 years, it will have the same effect. Not just because of its effect on your emotions or nerves, but it's affect on your mind. The kind of piece where your thoughts complicate your emotions, and your emotions complicate your thoughts. And between the two, something deeper emerges even than the heart: a soul. The essential part of who we become, and by the end of that process, we don't just feel delighted or deflated, we understand.
Russia devoted 200 years of literature to that effect, Italy had multiple hundreds of years of that art, but we in America? We don't think much of solitary creation. Of course, even the solitary creators have help, but in so much of even our best art, the vision itself comes from collaboration. Collaboration can do all sorts of wonderful things, but collaboration can also mean committee. And when a committee creates a work of art, the result is not a person's original vision. Committees generally don't look at a work and say 'let's get more daring'. It happens, but not that often, and I think it's a little harder to communicate from one heart to another.
So, individual or collaboration, how do these works have that effect on us? Well, I wonder if there are three ways (and I had a little help from ChatGPT on this...): in the works we see the 'concrete America,' the 'mythic America,' and the 'metaphysical America.' In the concrete America, your mind sees sights and concepts just like the ones we know: open landscapes, tall cities, saturated media, money problems. In the mythic America, it speaks to the dreams we have, both when we sleep and when we wake: the freedom to reinvent ourselves, to meet our destiny, to venture into the frontier. The dream that we'll all be free and equal, and the nightmare that we may get only less as time goes on. Metaphysical America is the America of the spirit, where being American stops being a fact and becomes a way of life. Maybe it's a particular American loneliness where we start questioning what all this freedom and prosperity was for. What happens if, when we reinvent ourselves, we lose ourselves or our souls. We're in a country where we're free to believe anything at all, but what happens if we stop believing in anything?
And when you see these three levels of America reflected back at you, it hits you harder than any rational truth would. It doesn't wrestle with things that are true right now, it wrestles with universal values, fundamental moral laws, universal emotions and experiences and conditions.
I think what makes West Side Story so extraordinary is that there aren't all that many pieces in America that unquestionably do that: We have our share, but we are, supposedly, the freest country there's ever been (that's another story...), and yet we haven't used that freedom to make all that much art that probes questions just that deep, and what we do have, even the best of it, feels just a little bit commercial, just a little bit safe. Not everything's supposed to be a 'really good show,' and even in a show like West Side Story, you can feel the audience concessions. The first half-hour of West Side Story is so beautiful, and then you go into America: America is one of the best songs ever written in this country, but it's placed right after Maria and Tonight, two songs so ecstatic that you want to stay in their spell forever, and it yanks you out of that ecstasy so jarringly that you (I) almost resent it. Then, a half hour later, comes One Hand One Heart, another of the most beautiful songs ever written, and West Side Story's built an entirely new head of steam, and you feel yanked back into love and beauty. Then Act 1 ends with deaths on the stage, and Act 2 opens with I Feel Pretty. We were in the world of the The Wire, and then we're yanked into the world of Rodgers and Hammerstein. It's part of West Side Story's greatness that it can be so many things at once, but it's a little bit exhausting, and in the back of your mind, you wonder if they did it because they worried about the ADD of the audience.
But it's true, sometimes commercial considerations make a work better, sometimes populism makes a work better, sometimes 'simpler' is simply better...
In the vast majority of the best American work, that's what we get. For better or worse, artists here usually have to be entertainers first. The unregulated profundities of Dostoevsky and Wagner don't as often happen here. Does that make the work here worse? Maybe a little bit... but it also means that most of our best art is just that entertaining, and you wouldn't just miss out on something that will change you and give you wisdom and a self-transformation, that seems different every time you experience it, but also, you'd miss having a really good time.
I was going to write about which works are on this list and why, but I don't have that kind of time. Here's another f***ing list...

Self-Interview 2--first half

Here is the second part of this scintillating interview series. 


Mr Charlap, you claim to aspire to be the greatest novelist of the 21st century. What evidence do you have that you are capable of being so?

God tells me so. 

God?

God.

God?

Why is this so hard to believe?

You believe you speak to God? 

I believe a voice speaks to me telling me He is God. 

But this voice is God? 

I guess?

How do you think it's God?

Because He tells me so. 

And you don't think you've incorporated this voice over time as a kind of trauma response to difficulties?

Gee. Why didn't I ever think of that...

Mr. Charlap are you being sarcastic?

What makes you think that?

...

Why do you believe this voice is God?

Who says I believe it's God. 

You just did. 

All I said was that a voice speaks to me and tells me He's God. 

And I asked why you think it's God, and you say 'because He tells me so.' 

I didn't say I think He's God. You asked me why I'd believe Him. 

I asked you why you do believe him.

Oh.

Well do you believe him?

Yes.

...

How long has he spoken to you?

Twenty-six years. 

That's a surprisingly long time to be carrying a voice with you that you tell no one about.

Indeed, maybe if I gave Him a book to express Himself He'd leave me alone. 

Is that why you're writing this book?

One of the many reasons. 

What are some of the others?

Aren't you interviewing me so you can find out?

Yes.

...

...

...

so why won't you answer the question. 

Oh but I will. 

Why haven't you?

You haven't asked. 

I just did! 

Oh...

...

...

Can you please answer so the rest of us can understand? I'm afraid I don't experience the voice, therefore I can't tell whether what you hear is God or not.  

Oh but you do hear it. You're me. 

I'm you?

You didn't know?

Well it would explain why we experience all the same things. 

So you haven't heard the voice? 

I just assumed it was me. 

Assume away but I assume it's God. 

I always assumed it was a complex trauma response from deep mental pressure and delusion. 

Who says it's delusion?

I suppose I did. 

Suppose away..,

...

...

Do you really think it's not possible that your imagination got overactive during certain later high school years when you had insufficient creative and social outlet? 

Oh, like the trauma response?

(sighs) Yes, I suppose, like the trauma response...

Gee, why didn't I ever think of that...

Why are you being sarcastic again?

Who says I'm being sarcastic?

You seem very flustered with me right now. 

I'm not flustered.

But you're frustrated?

Yes. 

May I ask why?

If you must...

...

...

Mr. Charlap, you may want to consider that you need serious help. 

That is all going into the novel. 

Is writing a book a sufficient substitute for therapy?

Is therapy a sufficient substitute for writing a book?

...

In our previous interview you said that you field the questions upon which God is silent. Does this mean that God tells you the answers to questions for which he has previously held silence?

No.

...

So what then is the point of writing this book?

What then is the point of writing this interview?




Thursday, July 2, 2026

Tale of Prophetic Subversion 6: In Forty Years

It's still only the night of Day 1. 

Samuel Kirchenbaum is sitting in Aeli's office after a terrible day. Rather than be at his own bar-mitzvah party, Sammy is exhausted, hearing all the various complaints from all the congregants about their lives, to which he gives what he takes to be virtually non-sensical answers. No matter what he says, everybody thinks he's a prophet. 


"My neighbors' sheep eat my crops." 

"Build a fence?" 

"HE IS GOD'S MESSENGER!" 


"My wife says I talk too much." 

"Talk less?" 

"HE IS GOD'S GIFT TO US!" 


"My daughter wants to marry a Levite."

"Does he make her happy?"

"I don't know." 

"Find out." 

"MOSHIACH!" 



In comes a mysterious man with a J on his cassock. 

"I saw your speech today." 

"I guess you thought it was wonderful?"

"It sucked." 

"What?" 

"It was the worst bar-mitzvah speech I've seen in years, and I've tutored thousands of bar-mitzvah students." 

"You have?"

"Haven't you heard of me?" 

(mysterious man gives Samuel a card: JESSE THE BAR-MITZVAH MAN) 

"Well, I just had my bar mitzvah and apparently I'm the boss of Israel now so you're about the last person I need." 

"Being a leader is just like having a bar mitzvah." 

"Oh..." 

"You need to seem excited to be there and even if the material is drek you have to say it like it's the most exciting thing in the world." 

"Why should I do that? Isn't the reason everybody liked me because I told them the truth that we're in deep trouble?" 

"Yeah, but that's exciting isn't it?" 

"I don't get it." 

"Look, I'm a Bar Mitzvah man. I tutor the kids on their portion, I help them write the speeches and my family plans the parties: I do the logistics, my sister does the budget, my mother does the decorations, my wife does the catering and my sons do the music. Your mom didn't hire me cuz she couldn't afford me but all the reikhers come to me and they don't have to zorg about a thing." 

"So what do you know about leading Israel?" 

"Not much, but I've been doing this for forty years. I know everybody who's ever had dealings with the leaders of Israel and passed through Shiloh. Every macher from anywhere who wants to make a lot of money does their Bar Mitzvah here at the temple so that the elders get to know them.  I know their families, I know their servants, I know their secrets, I know exactly who to talk to and who to pay to make a simcha go right, and between you and me I know exactly who to talk to to make a simcha go wrong." 

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean you know anything about leading Israel." 

"The biggest secret is that nobody knows anything about leading Israel." 

(Sammy laughs) 

"Look at Aeli, may his memory be a blessing. Everything you said about that schmendrik was right, but why did everybody keep him in power?"

"Cuz they liked him?"

"Cuz they LIKED him! Look at the way he talked about you. Being Sammy Kirchenbaum, you made it easy, but he talks that way about the vildeh chayehs too who go into merchants' stores and slather humus on their drapes. That's a lot harder!" 

"I did like Aeli." 

"Between you and me, boychik, did Hashem really come to you and say all that?"

"Of course he did!" 

"You're a smart kid, everybody knows about that, you didn't get some politics into your keppe that Hashem wanted you to do this without Hashem telling you to." 

"No! He told me!" 

"Well, then I guess it wasn't just luck." 

"What do you mean it wasn't just luck?" 

"You stand there like a schmuck for thirty seconds shpieling with a knife and the guy just drops dead... that's luck." 

"That's not luck. That was Hashem! He told me to kill Aeli!" 

"But you didn't kill Aeli, Hashem killed Aeli. He dropped dead when you couldn't even get your sword out of your tzitzis." 

"Well,... maybe he was scared that I was going to kill him." 

"THERE WE GO!" 

"There what go?" 

"That's the kind of thinking you need!" 

"What do you mean." 

"If you're going to be the boss of Israel, you've gotta think quick! Quicker than all those merchants who want to sell you a Torah for half the temple grain, quicker than all those priests who want to charge new couples half their savings for a bris, quicker than all those butchers who will show you a stable that keeps cattle when all their other stables keep camels." 

"So how do I think quick?" 

"By coming up with what you just came up with! How many kids do you think lose their speech right before they had to give it? I'll tell you, it isn't that many, but in forty years it's been more than fifty. How many do you think didn't know what to say up there?" 

Sammy says nothing.

"None!" 

Tuesday, June 30, 2026

A Self-Interview: Part 1

Mr. Charlap, what do you aspire to be?

I aspire to be the greatest novelist of the 21st century. 

How close do you think you've come?

I think I'm close enough to get a three sentence email from the greatest novelist of the 21st century. 

Why do you think there is such a gap between aspiration and achievement?

I don't know what the fuck I'm doing. I'm just some guy writing a novel when he should be working. I have no qualifications or expertise for this project, I just throw things at a wall and see what sticks. 

What sticks?

You've read it, you tell me. 

Well... I...

You haven't read it, have you?

No... (ten second silence)... So what do you aspire to make this work into?

Well, what I dream of doing is to do for Judaism what Dante did for Catholicism, Milton for the Protestants and Dostoevsky for the orthodox. 

Oh my... Do you find that a bit megalomaniacal? 

Every minute of the day. 

What did these great writers do?

They fielded the questions on which God was silent.  They provided the ultimate eschatology for their peoples and religions and why they are what they are and why they believe what they believe. They answered all those 'why's that God was reluctant to answer. 

So you mean to answer the questions the Bible neglects to answer?

No.

Why not if you're going to give the ultimate Jewish eschatology?

Because there's nothing less Jewish than an answer. 

So you mean to answer Jewish questions by not answering them?

Now you're beginning to sound like a Jew. 

(pause...) Mr. Charlap it would seem that you mean to portray the entire timeline of Jewish history.

In a sense, absolutely. 

What sense?

If you read the book you'd realize there's no sense in it. 

What do you mean? 

Waiter I'd like a smarter interviewer please. 

Mr. Charlap... You admit that you are portraying the entire history of the Jews. 

Jewish history, not history of the Jews, there is a very big difference. 

What's the difference. 

Gahennim if I know. 

.... So you mean to portray the entirety of Jewish history. 

Yes. 

How? 

You just said it yourself. It's a portrayal of it, not the real thing. 

Do you believe that Jewish history has a meaning and purpose?

Absolutely. 

Do you believe the Bible is how it happened?

Not even a little bit. 

So what do you believe?

My beliefs are in the book. 

Do you believe your vision of the Bible is the truth?

Absolutely not. 

What truth is there?

I believe we write down our own versions of the truth and once it passes past living memory it's every man for himself. 

What do you mean? 

Is this amateur hour over here?!

Mr. Charlap I'm sorry but...

Every era is going to see itself and its own values in the past, every person will do the same and basically does that to the present already. 

So what we believe is not the truth?

No it's the truth. 

What's the truth then?

You're asking the wrong question. 

What's the right question?

What's NOT the truth?

Why is that the right question?

I'd like to talk to your supervisor. 

Mr. Charlap, I feel you leave me with no choice but ask that question again. Why is pursuing the truth the wrong question but pursuing lies the right question?

If you read the book you'd understand. Don't make me do your homework for you!

Because you want the reader to speculate about what is true and what is false in the Bible?

My god a glimmer of intelligence... mazel tov you're getting somewhere. But not just... not just...

Not just...

...Not just the... the... th...

Thhhhhhhhhheeeeee Bible?

Uh-huh! Not just thhhhheeeee Bible buuuuuuuuuu....

...buuuuuuuu......

...buuuuuuuuuuuuuut

....buuuuuuuuuuuut everything else?

Close. Scale it down a little actually. 

Things that happen?

...

Things that happened?

(Charlap nods)

History?

MAZEL TOV!

I got it?

Basically, yes. 

What do you mean by basically?

It applies to everything else. 

That's what I just said. 

It's not what you just said.

.... 

....

Mr. Charlap, I'd like to ask you about why you've chosen this particular subject?

Why does anybody choose a subject?

Why Jews? 

I didn't choose the subject, the subject chose me. 

Why not Americans? 

I'm writing about Americans!

It seems to be a relatively small part of your whole story. 

The whole story's about America!

Even the stuff in Israel?

The whole thing's Israel!

Then how is it not about Israel?

It IS about Israel!

So it's simultaneously about America and Israel?

Yes.

Is it about other places?

Of course. 

So it applies to everywhere?

No. 

Where does it apply to?

Roughly one hundred thirty countries. 

Saturday, June 27, 2026

Dear Dad #10

 

Oy... Dad...
It was Father's Day last week. It's been ten months. I'm finally in Kubler-Ross's depression phase. It's not at all a major depression, just a minor creep on where you realize these 43 volumes of memories are just memories. No matter how grief materializes, you're here, yet you'll never be here again.
The last year has been a daze. I'm realizing it's whizzed by because I've spent half of it on ChatGPT and Gemini. It still feels like you passed yesterday. They warn you all the time how complex grief is, but you have no idea until you experience it. It's a palette of Baskin Robbins 31 flavors times a thousand, where every experience is tasted anew amid absence's black hole.
When it happened I was in love; for better or worse, your sudden death didn't hit me yet for a while. But as that relationship fades, you become ever more present. Denial can take many, many forms, and I feel like I experienced them all this year, but I think the mourning has genuinely started in the last few weeks.
You weren't just a person, you were a planet: a gravitational orbit so dense that there was no definition of the world outside of how Dad defined it. At every moment of our lives you were so present that through our very mouths were spoken the words of you. How do you mourn a planet?
But now, as I begin to stare down my jubilee and live the ages I watched you experience, life feels very very different even as it feels like you're here. People have been telling me I look old since I was a kid, but I always felt twenty years younger. Now that you're gone, I feel my own age for the first time. For the first time, I feel like life has truly advanced at the pace it should. For the first time in my life, there isn't enough time to understand the world enough. My memory repository is gone, my encyclopedia is gone, the seemingly effortless command of the world's events that I could go to with any question is gone, and now memory becomes as much a struggle as inquiry.
What never ceases to amaze me, and somehow amazed you still more, is that the rules of the old world apply yet again. After everything you showed me about how history happens, I was not surprised by how entropy's come for the US, but you seemed stunned. The more things change, the more they stay the same (you'd always said it in the original French), but the point was always that things change. As the great philosopher Patton Oswalt said: "You can't change nature, but nature is change," and in a country that's spent two-hundred fifty years giving history a middle finger, nobody knows how to negotiate history in a world they proudly don't know.
I said a little bit about a San Francisco interaction in the last letter, but my mind keeps going back to that interaction last month. I made the mistake of saying in San Francisco that I am a proud liberal Zionist (yet another reason I shouldn't drink...). A very nice lady (African-American) had cousins who were, according to her, making antisemitic comments about Jews online because of what's going on in Gaza, doubtless she meant blood libelous comments, and she wanted me to advise her how to make them understand that Israel is different than Jews. I can hear exactly what you would have said to her:
"Your cousins are right."
And if she'd pushed you on it:
"Maybe they're not, I don't care."
You didn't give a shit in these situations. If someone told you you were wrong, if someone got angry, if someone didn't find your condescension funny, you would just call them an idiot and relish the opportunity to get away with a faux pas. Over the years I've tried mightily hard to take your elan in vitriol, but I have neither your panache nor your confidence. I was never secure or certain enough of my own intelligence, I never had that ability to reduce opponents to quivering jelly with five words.
I was trying to be polite and having gotten myself into it, I had no polite means of withdrawing. All I could do was smile and nod as her husbands' ears turned into steam with every new thing I said that he of course insisted was just propaganda, in spite of admitting that all he knew about the situation was from Hasan Piker. If they still insisted on having the conversation, what could I do? Drinking or not, I knew my role as a guest in someone else's house. My hosts were quite a bit to the right of me, and later this husband got into a shouting match with them, but I was not going to give a history of Israel-Palestine to people who didn't know it yet would still dispute every word. Whatever one can say about you Dad, your confidence in verbal combat would shake Socrates. You scented weakness the way wolves smell blood, and there was no tactic you were not beneath. No one would ever figure out why you felt you had to stoop to it.
But you never had to deal with my generation directly: if you viewed me with a certain contempt, you viewed my generation as something on the end of your shoe. I can well understand why: my generation sometimes sounds as though confidence in nuance is something for past generations who felt like they have a future. To be as aware of the world in our time as you were in yours is nearly impossible. There's so much more information for us to digest than your generation ever knew what to do with, and in an age when data and evidence is procured so cheaply, everybody doubts the veracity of what they read. The end result: all those historical periods you talked about in such detail--when people cling to certainties and fanatical violence precisely because there's no certainty to be had? We now live them--or at least we begin to...
I don't know if you heard anything about 'Zohran' before you died, but you certainly had choice things to say about AOC that I had to talk you down from in ways even you admitted later were excessive. You spent a lifetime trying to sort the wires of Jewish values: figuring out what is the 'good Jewish programming' and what's the 'bad Jewish programming' in granular detail. With your capacity for nuance you'd have made a magnificent Rebbe even if you'd have abided contradiction from your followers about as well as a grand inquisitor.
Love and you were infinite, but they were very complicated things. Your reverence for Judaism was indivisible from your contempt for it, your veneration for education blurred with your disdain for it, your compulsion for material security obscured your absolute derision of it. It was all very Jewish. Was disparaging the things you loved a clever concealment of vulnerability? Was it an unconscious compulsion? Or did you just hate the things you loved?
Either way, there was not a single thing you loved that you did not think would benefit from an eternity of unsolicited nagging about how it could self-improve. A true sign of success in life is to be a liberator whose followers can take success so for granted that the liberator becomes the jailer. That's the story of sixties America, perhaps it's the story of 1848 Europe, perhaps it's the story of the Maccabee rebellion or Sinai, hell, perhaps it's the story of half the world's imperial powers (please don't parse these analogies Dad).
But so many people I know, far more than you, don't speak that language. Love means love, hate means hate, history means theory and values, not facts, and I often doubt they know what it means to have complicated feelings about anything. I don't understand people like that. I don't know how to deal with people like that. I fear people like that. They're not at all simple-minded, many are smarter than me in a hundred different ways, but they think the world is simple, easily understood, and you either get it or you don't. Mysteries don't really seem mysterious to them. Those are the people who can so easily be convinced to separate the world into love and hate, not realizing what an absolute labyrinth love can be. They're all nicer people than me: they're certainly nicer than you... but I always get the sense that the doubts about the world that keep me up at night, and I strongly suspect kept you up too, did not occur to them.
I don't really have repressed frustrations: frankly neither did you, but viewing the world on that level of realism is pretty brutal. Is there any consolation out there? Is there any reward? Does every victory carry the seeds of defeat? Does every political movement become everything it hates? Do all great things in the world eventually betray what made them great? Does love entail telling the people you love everything that's wrong about them? Are we all born to die?
I certainly hope you're still somewhere out there, because you now have a god's-eye view for the best history show on earth. With you, history had a reliable voice. Now it has mine. I already hear you telling me everything I get wrong.
Love,
Evan