For Every Winner, a Loser

Well, a week and a half of sleep and more sleep has left me healthy, wealthy, and wise. OK, OK, but one out of three ain't bad, right? I finally saw Milk yesterday, a film that features some terrific performances and that is very well-made, and a film that I recommend, although I didn't learn anything new about Milk's life or his times. I did leave the theater thinking the same thing I thought after reading The Mayor of Castro Street and watching The Times of Harvey Milk, which was what the story would look like told from Dan White's point of view.

Something clearly happened that left White deeply disturbed. Although the notion that Twinkies made him do it remains laughable, whether the murders were premeditated or not they would seem to have resulted from some sort of derangement that one would think wasn't apparent during the election. White (and Milk) had been elected just a little over a year before the murders, and White was popular during the campaign. He came into office with a bright political future ahead of him. How did he go from that to depressed and homicidaly angry? Milk hints that White may have been gay himself but repressed and closeted; other treatments of the story paint him as simply homophobic and racist. I don't think either simplification explains things.

It's interesting to note that White represented a district that was mainly white and working-class, but that also included San Francisco's largest and most notorious housing project. White was the only candidate in his district who campaigned in the project, befriending many of the residents and garnering the support of the local gang. Yes, he was the candidate of the police and firemen's unions, but he was also the candidate of a large black underclass.

When he first took office, White befriended Milk. Milk was one of only three city hall colleagues invited to the christening of White's child. Before White's resignation, the San Francisco supervisers were split ideologically, with six conservative and five liberal members. White often voted with the liberals his first months in office, thereby shifting the balance of power. White was willing to vote with Milk and other liberals in exchange for getting their votes for his legislation, and the undoing of this loose coalition was a large part of White's undoing.

The city wanted to open a youth treatment center in White's neighborhood, and one of his campaign promises was to block this, claiming that the treatment center would make the streets of his district less safe. Natrually collecting the necessary votes was difficult in part because no one wants to vote against "youth" and in part because if the center wasn't in White's neighborhood, well, where would it be located? No one wanted in in their district, of course. White did find four votes besides his own. After a conversation with Milk, he believed that Milk would vote with him. On the day of the vote, he invited a number of constituents and neighborhood leaders to witness the defeat of the center. Instead, Milk voted against White, claiming that White had misunderstood him. White was humiliated before the supervisors, the press, and his constituents. He never got over this, and at this point began opposing anything Milk proposed, speaking out in the press against the gay community and liberals in general.

In the meantime, Milk's profile and legislative influence was growing, in part because of his visibility in the fight against Proposition 6, which would have barred gays not only from teaching but from holding any job in the California public school system. This story got national attention, as did Milk. While White felt more and more ineffectual, Milk seemed to be more and more powerful. Milk's defining piece of legislation was a civil rights ordinance stating that the city would not discriminate based on sexual preference. It passed with only one dissenting vote: White's. Not only did White feel betrayed by Milk, he felt betrayed by what he thought was his conservative coalition.

In the meantime, White had been required by city law to quit his position as a firefighter once elected. At that time supervisors were considered part-time employees, and White found that he could no longer support his family on the part-time salary. He opened a fast-food restaurant on the newly-constructed Pier 39, but that venture proved backbreaking and was failing. He tried to garner support for a pay raise for supervisors, but no one would introduce or second such legislation.

Feelings of failure as a husband, father, and legislator led White to resign his post at supervisor. We all know what happened next: he reconsidered, asked Moscone to appoint him to the seat he'd just resigned, was rebuffed in part because Milk and other liberals saw the opportunity to get another liberal vote out of the seat, snuck into city hall, killed Moscone and Milk.

To me, his story isn't just of latent homosexuality or of intolerance but also of failure and frustration, and of being on the wrong side of history. It's a tragedy as much as Milk's life ended in tragedy. Milk's story, and Milk the biopic, is history as told from the other, brighter end, where principles we all now believe in have triumphed (or mainly triumphed, considering the success of Proposition 8). White's story, on the other hand, is history as seen by a confused but well-meaning person trying but unable to live through change successfully. I don't defend him, but do try to understand him.

The Campaign that Could Have Been

The more I think about McCain's Vice-Presidential pick, the more I'm convinced that a golden opportunity has been wasted. If he had been aware of my utter lack of qualifications I feel certain that he would have made me his running mate. Palin's no heavyweight, but I've got her underweighted. Here, a small synopsis of what I could have brought to the ticket:

1. Never having served as a mayor or governor, I have even less experience than Palin, and in that sense am even more of a Washington outsider. Who better to lead the Senate, or to take over the reigns once Paw-Paw kicks the bucket, than someone whose entire knowledge of foreign policy and national affairs comes from the New York Times?

2. I'm unmarried and childless, and my pets have both been neutered. No tricky pregnancies in my closets! Plus, my dog loves shaking and kissing babies, which is much better on the campaign trail than a surly, knocked-up teenager.

3. I'm not a Republican and I don't even like McCain. What a bold choice I would have made! Who but a bipartisan maverick would choose a random woman from Pennsylvania (a swing state, mind you) who has never voted for a Republican for President as his running mate? Who needs the Republican base? I can bring in a better base because

4. My breasts are bigger than Palin's.

5. I'm currently "between jobs." As such, I understand the economic pain of the American people. Palin already has a job. I also need the generous health insurance Congress provides to itself and to the administration. If elected, one more American will be insured. Adding me to the ticket would therefore demonstrate McCain's dedication to reducing unemployment and expanding healthcare. These items can then be removed from the platform.

6. I'm Jewish, and taller than Joe Lieberman. I also don't have a wife named "Hadassah." I can pass.

7. As a strong, independent woman, the words "pants suit" have never crossed my lips. I'm the post-Hillary woman, not afraid to campaign in separates.

Maybe it's not too late. Read my blog, John McCain, and pick me. I really am the better choice.

Making It After All

Thanks to Hulu, I watched the pilot episode of The Mary Tyler Moore Show the other night. I'm not sure I'd ever seen the pilot before; I was six when it originally aired in September, 1970. I might have caught it years ago on Nick at Nite, although I have no memory of it. All in all, it's an interesting thing to watch.

It seems hard to imagine, but the show was pretty radical at the time. Mary Richards was the first central comedic character who was single by choice. She wasn't divorced, she wasn't widowed, she was just single. Apparently the original concept for the show called for her to be divorced, but MTM was afraid audiences would balk because she was so identified with the popular Laura Petrie, and she didn't want people to think Laura had divorced Rob. She only took the role once the network allowed the character to be a single working woman, and in that sense the most radical thing about the show occurred essentially by accident.

I had forgotten all about this fact, but Mary Richards moves to Minneapolis after being dumped by her boyfriend of four years, who she had helped put through medical school. The show opens with her arriving at an apartment being held for her by her old friend Phyllis, who would appear to own the building. Mary immediately meets her new neighbor Rhoda, who is also interested in the apartment but who relinquishes it to Mary. Rhoda is wearing an extremely unflattering horizontal-striped pants suit, and the dynamic that would exist until Rhoda moves back to New York is set up from the get-go: Mary is pretty and gets what she wants, Rhoda is dumpy and suffers. Watch the pilot and note that Valerie Harper is not fat, not even overweight. She's just dressed to look that way, much the way that Vivian Vance was always made to look older and uglier than Lucille Ball.

Mary goes out and gets a job and we meet Murray and Ted and she has the famous discussion with Lou Grant where he tells her he hates spunk. It's at the end of the episode where we find the real break from convention. Mary is unpacking in her new apartment (and, for perhaps the only time, we see that Mary Richards does in fact own a bed - it's right there in the middle of the living room). Her boyfriend shows up, having come to Minneapolis to apologize and take her back home to marry him. She refuses, actively choosing to be single, actively choosing to create a different kind of family, made up of colleagues and other single women.

In September, 1970, Mary Richards is 30 years old. For seven years, until her late 30s, she will remain single. In fact, the series will end not with her marrying and leaving WJM, but with new management breaking up the workplace family by firing everyone except the incompetent Ted. Mary will date, even have sex, but she will not entertain the notion of marriage or children. She will never regret the decision that she makes in the pilot. The show's producers weren't certain of the outcome of Mary's decision, that's for sure. Take a look at the original opening credits, which feature the lesser-known first verse of "Love Is All Around":



It's a big scary world, and she's all alone! How will she make it on her own? As it turns out, quite well indeed. The show was almost canceled after the first season but in the end was renewed, the theme song was changed to get rid of the ambivalence, and ultimately the television landscape was altered forever. Without Mary Richards we'd have no Murphy Brown, no Carrie Bradshaw, no Rhoda and no Rosanne. Without Mary Richards we wouldn't have The Office or any other situation comedy where the workplace and not the family is the focus. Without Mary Richards our hats would still be on our heads. Thanks, Mary Richards, for making it after all, even if you had to use your wiles and turn the world on in order to do it.

The Women Destroyed

Sasha Frere-Jones considers the appeal of Amy Winehouse in this week's New Yorker, an article notable for the fact that Winehouse's actual music receives more attention than does her substance abuse and personal life. Americans just love self-destructive women, don't we? Sure, David Hasselhoff gets drunk and makes out with a cheeseburger on a bathroom floor and we all laugh, but we don't send the tabloid press out to stalk him. Meanwhile Brittney Spears shaves her head and it's a clear sign that she's come completely undone (not that she isn't undone) and something that deserves 24-hour coverage. In other words, men get drunk and make mistakes, while women become deranged and need to be institutionalized.

There's really nothing new here; Western culture has always provided correctives to any power women have acquired or wielded. Male Medieval mystics became saints, while the female mystics were burned for heresy. Some have said the Salem witch trials were in part caused by a demographic imbalance that favored the women. "Hysteria" was invented as a disease that only affects women (it used to be called "female hysteria," and the term is derived from the Greek word for "uterus") in the late 19th century. Women who were considered "sexually dis-functional" were so diagnosed. The rise of frigid women conveniently coincided with increases in female education and literacy, the beginnings of the women's suffrage movement, and an increase in the numbers of working women who came from immigrant backgrounds. Whenever women appear too powerful, it seems to be important to remind ourselves that women are also crazy.

In Hollywood as in porn, it's the starlet who drives the machine. The female star appeals to both genders, while the man appeals mainly to women. Sure, the men get paid more to "carry" a movie, but it's the star power of the women that dives all ancillary marketing. They sell clothes, cosmetics, magazines. They sell sex. And that's why they must be taken down, and why nothing sells more magazines than their "hysteria." Women themselves participate in this. The tabloids that weekly expound upon the travails of Brittney and Lindsay are aimed at and purchased by a female audience. We don't want them to have what we can't, I suppose.

In short, Amy Winehouse smoking crack belongs to a continuum where women are raised up so that their downfall can be an example to us all. Perhaps Hillary's implosion has something to do with this. Her campaign got a burst of energy once she cried in public, but in general we don't believe that she'll fall apart, don't believe that she'll self-destruct, don't believe that she will suffer from a malady of the uterus. And so in the end she can't win.