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Of Royalty and Marketing

Everyone read William Safire's obituary by Robert D. McFadden in yesterday's Times. It was a piece Safire would have approved.

Two of many gems:

On Safire's long-running "On Language" series:
There were columns on blogosphere blargon, tarnation-heck euphemisms, dastardly subjunctives and even Barack and Michelle Obama's fist bumps. And there were Safire "rules for writers:" Remember to never split an infinitive. Take the bull by the hand and avoid mixing metaphors. Proofread carefully to see if you words out. And don't overuse exclamation points!!

On Safire, the man:
He was hardly the image of a button-down Times man: The shoes needed a shine, the gray hair a trim. Back in the days of suits, his jacket was rumpled, the shirt collar open, the tie askew. He was tall but bent — a man walking into the wind. He slouched and banged a keyboard, talked as fast as any newyawka and looked a bit gloomy, like a man with a toothache coming on.

Whatever you thought of his politics, you have to love his obituary.

But this post isn't about Safire. This is about the obituary that was buried below the fold and beneath Safire.

This Is Why I Read Obituaries
I'd never heard of Edward Gelsthorpe until I read his obituary yesterday: "Edward Gelsthorpe, 88, Master Marketer."

Gelsthorpe — after death, he is no longer "Mr. Gelsthorpe," Safire would remind us — was truly a master marketer, the ingenious thrust behind so many enormous marketing successes: Roll-on deodorant. Cran-apple juice. Manwich Sloppy Joe.

Each story is a moment of brilliance fully executed. Enviable. And the photograph of his haircut (see above) is worth the price of the day's newspaper.

(I've long wanted to teach a course on Dead Marketers, with all readings taken from the Times obituaries.)

The concluding paragraph on Gelsthorpe's life? William Grimes, the writer of the obituary, expertly closes with:

“Very aggressive marketers make fashion,” he told The New York Times in 1973. “They don’t wait for the groundswell. They build a consumer desire.”

Marketers Are Modern-Day Royalty?
Methinks that Gelsthorpe studied his Shakespeare.

His comment on "making fashion" and "They don't wait..." harkens back to Henry V.

We now return you to the stunning conclusion (Act V, scene ii), where Henry is trying to convince demurring Kate to kiss him. The warrior king has just met the princess, having conquered her father's country. He seeks to claim her as his booty, if you will.

Consider Gelsthorpe, especially where I have underscored the text.  

KING HENRY V (King of England, new conqueror of France)
Then I will kiss your lips, Kate.

KATHARINE (Princess of France)
Les dames et demoiselles pour etre baisees devant
leur noces, il n'est pas la coutume de France.

KING HENRY V
Madam my interpreter, what says she?

ALICE (handmaiden to the Princess)
Dat it is not be de fashion pour les ladies of
France,--I cannot tell vat is "baiser" en Anglish.

KING HENRY V
To kiss.

ALICE
Your majesty entendre bettre que moi.

KING HENRY V
It is not a fashion for the maids in France to kiss
before they are married, would she say?

ALICE
Oui, vraiment.

KING HENRY V
O Kate, nice customs curtsy to great kings. Dear
Kate, you and I cannot be confined within the weak
list of a country's fashion: we are the makers of
manners, Kate; and the liberty that follows our
places stops the mouth of all find-faults; as I will
do yours, for upholding the nice fashion of your
country in denying me a kiss: therefore, patiently
and yielding.

Of Course, There Is A Shameless Personal Tale Of Wantonness
This all reminds me of a strange deal that my wife and I have long held.

If Kenneth Branagh (who so memorably portrayed Hank 5) comes to the door, my wife is entitled to run off with him. I get the same deal with his then-wife, Emma Thompson.

Please don't argue about our choices for planned infidelity. (Did someone say "infidelity"?) 

There's no accounting for taste.

Fast and Delicious

As I enter the traditional fast for Yom Kippur at sundown tonight, I am apprehensive.

We wish one another "an easy fast," but it is — at best — simultaneous challenges: to forgo eating, drinking, bathing, brushing teeth, sex. Those are predictable challenges as I withdraw from life's vanities for serious contemplation of personal and communal responsibility.

The most unexpected challenge comes from the slow passing of time. Without all those activities, time is strangely uninterrupted. There is no time diverted to making dinner, for example, or washing dishes. There isn't even any time spent on planning meals.

Time becomes more plentiful for the contemplation during the final formal day of court hearings in the case of Landlord v. Humanity.

Live For Now
It's easy to wish for an end to the fast. Come tomorrow afternoon, I will surely have a headache caused by increasing dehydration. It comes every year, with hours of fasting yet to go.

It makes sense to wish for the break fast meal. I will try rather to focus on the contemplation at hand.

It makes sense to nap away the fast. I did that in my first year of fasting, but that isn't the idea of the fast. I will remain conscious of the unfolding experience.

The challenge: to not wish away the challenges. To live valid moments, especially because they occur during a fast.

Still...
There will, no doubt, be that small, still voice within me that is just enough louder than my growling stomach.

And that voice will say: "Artie, soon you will be back in the deli. You will have survived the fast. You will once again be enjoying whitefish salad, corned beef, and pickles."

*************

This Pre-Fast Moment
Brought To You By Katzinger's
Which all reminds me to invite you to come to Katzinger's Delicatessen on this Thursday, October 1st for the celebration of the 25th year of remarkable deliciousness in German Village.

At six o'clock that evening, the deli will close and, for charity, charge $5 at the door for entry. The inside will be set for lots of eating. It's a deli party and you are invited. 

*************

May you have an easy fast. And may the coming year bring you happiness, meaningful living, and good health. And a big ol' pickle.

CBS Bless America

Thanks to John H. for sending me to The Economist for this grim item.

Our founding fathers would be so disappointed.

They were so creative. (Sure, they had their own faults. Keeping slaves is immeasurably worse than watching too much television. I know that.)

But here we are, given every opportunity. What do we do? Do we self-actualize?

Naw! We watch.
As a nation, we are entertaining ourselves to death. We have become a nation of watchers.

Alas.

TV Turnoff Week ended today.

Doggie Style

Dear Beauregard,

Our relationship is about to change substantially. You are moving in. We are adopting you.

Until now, ours has been a casual friendship. For that, I am grateful. I am writing to you today because, on the eve of this new stage of our lives, I want us to maintain — and even grow — the best parts of our relationship. And I want my mother to refer her friends to this document whenever she needs to explain your absence in her home.

Pardon me for putting this all in writing, but I think it best for us to communicate clearly. And I think most clearly in writing. (You think my writing is pedantic? Try talking to me, my friend.)

Roadmap To Peace
Here are some basic tenets which might guide you as tenant:

1. We are not brothers. You have been living with my mother, the woman who gave birth to me, but she did not give birth to you. (Your mother was really a bitch. You are spawned of mater canine.) Though my mother (who is not really a bitch) has persisted in reminding you that she is your "mother," she is not your mother and I am not your "brother," though my mother does suggest that every time we are together. (We all know of my mother's history of delusion in these matters.)
2. I will win all our arguments. You do not know the world. Do you even know that we live in Franklin County? All you know is The Lesser Back Yard Territories. (Upon your arrival, we shall review a map of the larger area of Franklin County. Perhaps, we will make a walking and driving tour of our shared habitat.)
3. Don't lick. My mother, long before you brought her down, told you to stop licking. That's what she meant (I think) by shouting "No lickie! No lickie!" in the fiercest tone she could muster. No, I do not know why she always shouted "No jumpie!" and "No barkie!" during the happiest moments of your life. (Those two behavioral attributes are doggie style, so in my home, you will be rewarded for jumping and barking.) But licking is gross. You may lick the pink vinyl bean bag chair. You seem to like that even though it is clearly disgusting.
4. If you run away, you're on your own. Don't ever sprint away from me, unleashed, as if you are winning your freedom. Be careful what you wish for. I recall when my childhood dog, Charlie, headed for the hills only to find out just how flat Franklin County is. My father was not one to give chase. (That's doggie style. My father was a confirmed and unabashed Homo sapiens.) He said: "If that dog doesn't want our food, shelter, and all other hospitality, let him go." Charlie returned with his tail between his legs, if you catch my drift. Like my father, I shall not run after you.
5. Don't be smug. This is not an upgrade. This move to our home does not represent a reward. You tried to kill my mother and now you are coming to the Big House. Though it is decidedly a littler house.
6. Stay in position. Don't get underfoot, Mr. Excitement. Do not lose your mind just because you are startled by the jangle of the leash. My return from travels in Greater Franklin County do not entitle you to run amok at my feet. That is what brought down my mother for what seemed to you like a moment of bonding, but was — for her — "tripping over the damn dog." That's what she told me. (If she was truly your mother, she would have put it more lovingly, damn dog.) Don't worry about being man's best friend. Just be predictable.
7. Your name is my choice. Our art teacher in college had a young teaching assistant, the second most beautiful teacher ever, who changed the name of her dog every day. (The young men in the class thought that was a small price to pay for living with her.) Your name has been Beauregard, or "Bo." It shall be temporarily changed to "Bone." Then it will be permanently changed, perhaps to something Chinese, because you are a Shih Tzu. You will be lucky not to be called "Shit Zoo." (Your breed has a name with as little dignity as people who come from Norfolk, but pronounce "ol" as "uc.") I know that you think in ESL with a Mandarin accent.
8. You are the dog in this house. Living in my home is no treat, you shall soon find. I've never thought it a kindness (to either of us) to have you here for more than a week or so, when "our mother" is out of town. I'm not cruel. I will feed you before I feed myself. But I know the difference between my children and you. And I shall discriminate in their favor. I have long been the dog in this house. Now you are on the bottom of the food chain.
9. No reparations will be paid for the confiscation of your balls. I am sorry about your balls. (Not the tennis balls. Those are not a source of sorrow. They will be a source of comfort and play for us.) I'm sorry about the balls you brought into this world, the ones that were so untimely snatched from your underworld. My uncle (your "mother's" brother) arranged that little number. He did it because he was presumably A Dog Lover. Frankly, if that's what he did to those he loved, I'm glad he apparently never loved me so.
10. I will walk you more than anyone else. That's my bet. Everyone loves you, but I am Mr. Bladder Relief. Please don't develop a Pavlovian response to my appearance. (Mrs. Mop 'n' Bucket will not be amused.) When we go outside, make sure you do all your business. But first make sure we are outside. Gotta go? Ask yourself, "Am I standing on grass?" If yes, have at it. If no, lick something. (Why? Because you can. You lucky dog.)
11. A fence will be installed. Don't get excited. The landscaping here is primitive. Don't eat the summer squash. That's for me.
12. Your bath shall be drawn. Plan for baths in a tub. The days are over of being shampooed, cut and blown dry in a mobile Dog Salon on the driveway. Welcome to Green Acres.
13. You might get table scraps. During your entire life, you have lived on expensive pellets. Prepare to die happy.
14. We are one. If you play your cards right, I will grow that beard again so we look like brothers. But hair does not brothers make.

Please signify your acceptance of this framework for our new situation by barking and jumping and licking.

Thank you.

Where are my keys?

A favorite passage from The Miracle of Mindfulness by Thich Nhat Hanh ("Thay"):

There was the time I was cooking furiously and could not find a spoon I'd set down amid a scattered pile of pans and ingredients.

As I searched here and there, Thay entered the kitchen and smiled. He asked, "What is Mobi looking for?"

Of course, I answered, "The spoon! I am looking for a spoon!"

Thay answered, with a smile, "No, Mobi is looking for Mobi."

— from the preface, written by Mobi Ho

I often think about Mobi looking for Mobi when I am rushing about, looking for my keys, or glasses, or wallet.

Because Artie isn't looking for his keys.

No, Artie is looking for Artie.

Landlord's Court

On Friday afternoon, I enjoyed a conference call with some friends and clients.

At the beginning of the call, as we waited for a couple latecomers, one friend wished me a good new year. Rosh Hashanah would be starting at sunset.

He mentioned one of the Jewish traditions that he knows, that of asking forgiveness during these High Holy Days. He's not Jewish, but he has a copy of Joseph Telushkin's Jewish Literacy: The Most Important Things to Know About the Jewish Religion, Its People, and Its History, the text he refers to when Jews pop up.

(It's a great book and the same one I use when Jews pop up. Of course, in my case, they pop up more often. Especially all over the house and always in the mirror.)

Anyway, the conference call would start at any moment and that's no time to impersonate a rabbi. So, I agreed with everything he said and we moved on.

But I do have a metaphor that I like for these High Holy Days and here it is.

But first...

A Little Background
The High Holy Days start with Rosh Hashanah (a new year's day signifying the anniversary of creation, 5770 years ago, if you can pretend to believe that) and end with the fast of Yom Kippur, the day of atonement, the next week.

During the Ten Days of Awe — as we call 'em — we are to make sure that we apologize and are forgiven by those we have hurt during the past year. The idea: we can't ask for divine forgiveness if we have unresolved conflict with our friends.

So, we ask forgiveness — sincerely, paying reparations, making sure we don't continue the ill behavior — and we are forgiven. If we are not forgiven, we apologize again. If, after three apologies, we are still not forgiven, we move on. At that point, it's no longer our problem.

There's more to the traditions, of course, but this is a blog. You want education, go to yeshiva.

So, I'll just describe the metaphor that I use to tie it all together.

I think this metaphor came from Rabbi Michael Paley, who taught a four-day course in Holidays at the Wexner Heritage Foundation. (If I'm wrong, I guess this is a good time to apologize and ask for forgiveness to the person who taught me this. If only I knew her or his name.)

The Big Metaphor:
Humans have a one-year lease on Earth. It is expiring on Yom Kippur.

The Jews are the lawyers representing humanity in real estate court.

The Landlord sees the terrible state of the property and is considering tossing the tenants out. Can't blame the Landlord on this one. Humanity burned, polluted, and so much worse. At the top of our violations, humanity has started fights up and down the hallway with each other. Many of those fights have ended tragically, with loss of life.

So, it makes sense for humanity to hire a lawyer for representation. (And, frankly, Jewish lawyers have a pretty good reputation, so why not?)

The Landlord is not amused.

And that's what we do for ten days. We try to redeem ourselves on behalf of everyone on the property, Earth. And, we hope, the Landlord will extend the lease for another year.

As holidays (Holy Days) go, it's high drama.

You Think This Is Stupid?
Some people hate religion. They think it is to blame for the world's ills. I've heard and read those arguments and think their arguments are facile.

I don't intend to argue all that here, but I'll try to get away with these two thoughts:

1. I don't reject ideals because of imperfect implementation. If we did, there wouldn't be a marriage in this world. Nor anything else constructive. All good things are based on imperfect implementation.
2. Rejecting houses of worship because they are filled with sinners is like closing hospitals because they are filled with sick and dying people. That's why we have hospitals in the first place: so there is a place to heal the sick. Same with houses of worship: we have them so we can confront our failings and try to live up to our ideals. (What about the annoying, self-righteous sinners who do terrible things in the name of religion? See thought #1 above.)

Sorry.
If I have hurt you in any way during the past year, please forgive me. At the worst times, I'm clumsy with my words and actions. Because I communicate so broadly, who knows what hurt I've created. Egad.

Feel free to let me know if I've hurt you. I would like to apologize privately.

May the coming year bring you every happiness, good health, and meaningful living. May our lease be renewed and we live as neighbors and friends in justice and peace.

Now Playing

The playwright and actor Sean Christopher Lewis has been in and out of town the past couple weeks.

I've enjoyed sitting with him at Luck Bros. Coffee House every few days as he, Matt Slaybaugh and I write an updated version of Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol.

Please hold an evening December 10th-12th — or the afternoon of December 13th — to see this new show. (When I say new, I mean, "still in the oven." We don't know the name of the show, code name: XMAS. But we'll be ready for you.)

Like A Virgin
I've never written a play. I've written short comedy skits and stand-up, but never a dramatic piece. So here I am, giving it a go.

The good news is that Sean and Matt know what they are doing. There is — surprise, surprise — much technique to the process. Example: when we are working together, usually there is a screen open to The Hero's Journey: Summary of the Steps.

I've come across (and breezed over) my share of classic tales — from Beowulf to Star Wars. And I know that the authors applied the structural attributes that Joseph Campbell describes. But I never realized that the writing process could be so directly engineered by application of the standard steps of the hero's journey.

Matt and Sean talk the technical language of theatre. I stumble about — in admiration.

But this post isn't about that.

This Is Your Invitation To More Theatre
This Thursday through Sunday only, come see Killadelphia, an acclaimed one-man show by Sean Christopher Lewis.

From the Available Light website, here's the offer:

In the Summer of 2008, it was often said that Philadelphia had "more bodies than days." The city was in the midst of a murder epidemic that put it on par with some third world countries.

Determined to take an unflinching look at the causes of the crime rate and its effect on the community, playwright Sean Christopher Lewis introduces us to the inmates of Graterford Prison - men employed to beautify the city even as they serve out life sentences.

The voices of the prisoners, their victims, Mayor Nutter, local rappers, conservative talk show hosts, trauma surgeons, and the citizens of the City of Brotherly Love crowd the stage to say their piece.

Played by Lewis, a performer described by the New York Press as “explicitly authentic”, these voices combine with a shocking document of life in America’s toughest town. The stunning result is Killadelphia: mixtape of a city.

Killadelphia was featured in the 25th Anniversary Issue of American Theatre magazine. The recent run (like this one, also directed by Matt Slaybaugh) in New York was reviewed on nytheatre.com.

Ticket Information
While Available Light always offers tickets at the door for the strange, beautiful price of "Pay What You Want," this show has a difference.

The theater — Junctionview Studios at 889 Williams Avenue, Columbus — is very small. Fewer than 200 people will be able to see show during the entire run.

Get A Ticket In Advance For This Show
Here's the schedule. You can get advance tickets for these shows (fixed price of $20 — it's "pay what we want," eh? — but still a low, low price for first-rate theatre) by visiting the on-line Available Light ticket office:

Thursday, September 24 @ 8pm w/ TALKBACK
Friday, September 25 @ 7pm
Friday, September 25 @ 9pm w/ TALKBACK
Saturday, September 26 @ 7pm
Saturday, September 26 @ 9pm w/ TALKBACK
Sunday, September 27 @ 2pm

(If you have an Available Light season membership, just call to reserve your tickets — you've already paid for them.)

I'm going to the Thursday (@8) and Saturday (@7) performances. See you there?

When In New York

From the Uh, Artie? inbox (the tray marked "travel and tourism"):

Uh, Artie?

Left field question: I'm bringing [Z.] over to NYC next month for the first time for a bit of dad/daughter wallet emptying. Any thoughts on activities for a 12-year-old outside the usual suspects?

Gordon
Aberdeen

Dear Gordon:

As the photo (ripped from your Facebook page) attests, you know your way around New York as well as anyone. You've already appeared on the Brooklyn Bridge in a kilt. (As the Scottish say, Kol ha-Kavod, which means you blend.)

Here are my favorite stops when in New York. I imagine that you already have most or all of these on your list.

Downtown:

• Walking across the Brooklyn Bridge. As you know, but others mightn't, this is beautiful day or night, in either direction. An elevated wooden boardwalk carries pedestrians and bikers above the traffic for one of the City's best skyline views. And the bridge itself is an architectural and engineering marvel. Don't buy it. Just walk it. Go to City Hall and you will easily find the boardwalk. You can walk halfway and turn back. (Sometimes I start in Brooklyn and just walk to Manhattan. IN EITHER CASE, you want to make sure you walking into Manhattan, so the City's skyline is ahead of you.)
• Café Gitane. Mott at Prince Streets, Nolita. My favorite coffee shop, for coffee and pastry in the morning. They also serve food all day (French-Moroccan food), beer and wine. Great anytime of day. Eclectic menu, hippest coffee shop in town. Word of advice: relax. (I celebrated my midlife crisis at Gitane.)
• Paul Frank, 195 Mulberry St., Nolita (very near Café Gitane). His t-shirt designs will delight Z. and help empty your wallet. (Look for the clearance rack.)
• Walking across the Brooklyn Bridge. You've done it many times. Ever tried it at sunset?
• Village Chess Shop, 230 Thompson St. (between 3rd & Bleecker Streets). Even if you don't play chess, this is worth a quick look in. One of many chess shops in New York. Where the grandmaster is not a DJ-rapper.
• Grand Central. I love to spend 15 minutes in the Grand Concourse. It's fabulous. I think about this:
• Times Square, believe it or not, is a great place to spend the evening (if it's not too cold). Mayor Bloomberg has set up cafe chairs and tables on the closed parts of the roadway, making it a primo people watching experience.
• And you should get a hat at the JJ Hat Center.  A nice walk during the day is up or down Broadway, including this hat store for men.
• Walking around West Village. I just love walking Bleecker Street. I once lived at 64 Bank Street. It's on a simply beautiful block, among many. I don't know what's around there these days to eat or steal. I love going to the movies in the Village at IFC or the not-for-profit Film Forum. 
• Most any restaurant in Chinatown. A couple years ago, I took the subway to Brooklyn very early in the day, walked across the bridge, and had dumplings for breakfast in a small restaurant. I was the only Anglo. It was a very nice experience. Friends rave about specific restaurants. I think any spot that looks good through the greasy window and is filled with Chinese people is going to be just fine.

Brooklyn:

• Mile End Delicatessen, 97 Hoyt Street, Brooklyn. I go there for breakfast when it is sweet and calm. Lunch, I am told is slammed once they tweet ( http://twitter.com/mileendbrooklyn ) that the meat is coming out of the oven. It sells out every day.
• Junior's Restaurant, 386 Flatbush Avenue, Brooklyn. This is my favorite destination when walking across the Brooklyn Bridge. You could start here for breakfast, end here for their World Famous cheesecake (if you miss their cheesecake, you will be sad ‚ they define "New York Cheesecake"), or make it a turn-around spot if you walk both ways on the Bridge.
• Everything I used to love about the feel of Manhattan, I now love about Brooklyn. See what's going on there and you will love it.

Midtown:

• Empire State Building Observatory at night. If you are lucky enough to have a clear night after a windy day, the City will be at its most beautiful. The observatory is open until 2 a.m. every day (last elevator is at 1:15 a.m.)
• New MoMA. Fabulous renovation and expansion. Be sure to rest in the sculpture garden.
• Pizza at John's. If you want to eat in Times Square, this is the place. Good for before theatre.
• Wicked. There's plenty to see on Broadway. We've seen Wicked and thought it was wonderful. If Z. likes The Wizard of Oz, she'll love Wicked. So will you.

So Downtown, it's on the water:

• Staten Island Ferry round trip. If you do not visit Ellis Island, you might want this inexpensive ferry ride. I think it's a quicker, cheaper, more satisfying alternative to visiting Liberty Island. (After all, the Statue of Liberty is not all that interesting to climb. It's interesting to ponder from a distance.) I've never stepped on Staten Island, so I can't guide you there.
• Ellis Island, if you want to find where all your most desperate neighbors went (1892-1954). They've cleaned the place up. Very nice. Note: with the boat ride and all, it will take several hours.

Uptown:

• Guggenheim Museum, Fifth Avenue at 89th St. Recently restored. Take the elevator to the top and walk down the ramp.
• There are lots of places to skip. Because you are bringing Z., others might recommend Serendipity, the famous upper east side ice cream parlor. A tradition for generations of families. Not I. If there's no nostalgia, it's not with the wait and cost.

Have a great time!

-- Artie

Teamwork

Oh, I love these artists. What poise, beauty, talent.

What joy!

Duo Siqueira Lima
For more on the guitar duo of Cecilia Siqueira and Fernando Lima, here is their website translated into English from the Portuguese.

Here's what they can do on two guitars. (I couldn't find any examples of them playing four guitars, but I bet they can do that, too.)

Time To Upgrade?

There seem to be holidays for everything.

For making resolutions, for giving thanks, for celebrating national independence, for giving gifts, for expressing communal pride, for asking forgiveness — for just about everything important. Add in birthdays, and there are even special days for receiving gifts.

Remind me: what is Labor Day for?
Of course, it's for the commemoration and appreciation of the people who have built this country and economy (such as it is) with their hands, heads, and hearts.

If we need a reminder of what they sacrificed, consider the 1911 Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire. 

Now For Something Completely Different.
I have another suggestion for how to observe Labor Day.

Since Labor Day has become less about labor and more about friends — in the backyard, holding hot dogs — let's take Labor Day even farther in that direction.

Let's make Labor Day the day each year that we go to work (the hard labor of) assessing which of our friends are worth keeping and which ones we should — quietly, kindly, firmly — jettison. 

Sounds harsh?
This might sound sad and heartless to you. Jettison a friend?

But what if you and your friend have grown in such different directions that you aren't well suited as friends any more? What if that friend brings you down? (I've already written a little about that.)

We need friends who bring us up, who lift us so that we can become our best selves. Anyone else is either a project (someone we are trying to help) or a corrosive influence. Projects are fine. But if he or she is a corrosive influence, it's time to cut him or her off — and choose a new friend.

Choose a friend?
Early in life, friends are the people with whom we play t-ball. Later, they are the people who are coincidentally stranded with us in an elevator. Or seated together on an airplane. Or placed together in a dorm room.

To be sure, they might be good friends to this day.

But, now that we are adults, it makes sense to occasionally choose a friend.

It's an obligation.
In Chaim Potok's The Chosen, we learn that we each have two obligations each year:

1. Acquire a teacher
2. Choose a friend

How do we know who might make a worthy friend? Worthy friends are people who are like we want to be. (I've also written a little about this.)

Another take on the subject.
Whatever your politics, Joseph Kennedy is a fearsome example of a person operating with intention.

And, with nine kids, he needed to do something harder than choose a friend. He needed to assess his kids and choose from among them. In the new autobiography by the newly late Ted Kennedy, here are his father's words to the young son:

You can have a serious life or a nonserious life, Teddy. I'll still love you whichever choice you make. But if you decide to have a nonserious life, I won't have much time for you. You make up your own mind. There are too many children here who are doing things that are interesting for me to do much with you.

This is hard talk from a father.

But it seems like a minimum standard for choosing a friend. (Sure, we want more than seriousness in our friends. But the complete absence of seriousness is a disqualification.)

What are your standards for your friends? Who won't make the cut this Labor Day?