It IS A Woman's Prerogative To Change Her Mind

I always used to think, when pondering the question of which president was the worst in US history, that the answer was "Nixon's the One!" After all, his own 1972 campaign buttons said so. I had two major reasons for thinking this: (1) Nixon was a very intelligent man. Spitting on the US Constitution the way he did was unspeakably disgusting, mostly because he knew better. (2) Nixon was a lot more moderate than most people want to remember--he signed the Clean Air and Clean Water Acts, you know. His attempt to cover his own involvement in Watergate (and other such dirty tricks), resulting in his resignation (only because he did so before he could be impeached and convicted) had the long-term effect of destroying the moderate wing of the Republican Party . . . sticking us with the craven crowd we have at the head of the GOP--and,unfortunately, the entire country--now.

After listening to the cogent points Keith Olberman made the other night on Countdown, however, I am exercising my prerogative to change my mind. Dubya is the worst president in all of US history. He is arrogant, stupid, incompetent, and has absolutely no grasp of what our system of government is supposed to be. He thinks he's King George, not Mr. President. He will not listen to the people who hired him--uh, that would be all of us. John Wayne captured the essence of our system when he commented (upon hearing that JFK had beaten Nixon in 1960) that, "I didn't vote for him, but he's my President, and I hope he does a good job."

The good of the nation outweighs the good of one's party. As Keith Olberman noted, even Nixon recognized that when he resigned the presidency. But Dubya has no clue. He seems to believe that the nation and his party are one and the same . . . and that those of us who are not of his beliefs are not really Americans, so our opinions don't count. He feels free to trample on them as he wishes. I wish I could get him to sit down and watch the movie1776. Yes, it was a highly fictionalized and romanticized telling of how the Continental Congress came to pass the Declaration of Independence. But it tells truth about the principles on which our system is based, most notably making the point that dangerous times do not justify even a temporary limitation of our liberties (Pennsylvania delegate Roger Dickinson to the contrary).

Hmm . . . Rudy Guliani ought to watch it, too. Not that ether of them could be bothered to learn anything from it. But every other attempt we collectively have made to get them to listen hasn't worked, so what else can we do?

Can Effervescence Be Eternal?

Belle Silverman, you will be missed. If I wanted to be cheeky, I suppose I'd say that Bubbles has finally burst . . . but I don't want to be cheeky. I just heard that opera soprano Beverly Sills died last night. She was the least diva-like of divas, projecting an openness and a down-to-earthiness that oddly never clashed with her truly ethereal voice.

She retired from singing 27 years ago, when she was 51. Her coloratura was already somewhat in decline by the time she achieved her greatest singing fame and made her best-known recordings in the 20 years before that. I can but imagine The Voice in her prime. But I mourn her passing as deeply as if I'd been alive to hear her sing at the top of her powers in the 1940s.

Ms. Sills was truly an original, the first American opera superstar, and at the same time, just plain folks. I cannot picture her in my mind without seeing her smile--and without seeing that shock of red, red hair. Nor can I think of her without admiring the essense of contradiction her life and legacy personify. C'mon! An opera star, who was born in Brooklyn?!? A rather husky speaking voice which produced the most angelic, delicate songs? "Bubbles," the diva? Her graciousness and class shone through, even when she had to make hard-nosed business decisions while running the City Opera of New York and also holding the reins at the Lincoln Center. And always, that voice--so delicate, but pulsing with strength, sureness, and power.

I do not pretend to have an iota of her gifts, but being a red-head myself, and having had (before my lung disease ruined my instrument) a bit of a talent for singing on key, I can at once revel in the beauty of her voice and sorrow for the pain she suffered in dying of lung cancer . . . especially since she, like me, was a life-long non-smoker. Besides, I am--or, more properly, was--only a mezzo soprano. Even when my voice was at its best, I couldn't dream of singing the things she sang. I could appreciate them, though, and believe me, I do.

I am eternally grateful that such things as film, video tapes, LPs, and remastered CDs of some of her most celebrated performances exist. So Bubbles is effervescent . . . and eternal . . . all at once. As she herself may have commented, "Ain't technology grand?"