I know that you guys know about my man-love for Chuck Klosterman; let me also mention Christopher Hitchens.

If y'all want me to post more columns by these guys, just holler.

holla!

t's Jesus Time
On the cusp of his thirty-third birthday, the author is tormented by an undeniable truth: He's somewhat less successful than the Son of God

by Chuck Klosterman | Jun 01 '05

THIS JUNE, I SHALL BECOME a thirty-three-year-old human, which (for me) is probably middle age. Purely as a numeric designation, "33" ranks among my favorite nonprime numbers: It was Bird's and Kareem's jersey number (and Magic's, at least during college), it's symmetrical (if you look at it sideways), and it's divisible by eleven (which, I will grant, is not my strongest point). However, thirty-three is both the hardest and most exciting age for any man to be, and I am trying to galvanize myself for this electrifying dystopia. Archilochus once noted that the sly fox knows many things, but the old hedgehog knows one big thing. This sentiment is confusing, but wholly true. For our first thirty-two years we live like foxes, acquiring all the interesting tidbits we never needed to know in the first place. But at the dawn of year XXXIII, something more trenchant whacks you in the face like Vijay Singh's 7-iron. When you hit thirty-three, you become the hedgehog, and this is the one big thing you know: In all probability, you are less successful than Jesus.

Many Americans freak out when they turn thirty or forty or fifty, but those are the kind of Americans who don't deserve hedgehog status. There is nothing significant about those ages beyond the fact that they happen to include zeros. There are only two birthdays that really matter: twenty-seven and thirty-three. Twenty-seven is noteworthy because it is the Icon Age, or (more accurately) the Age You Need to Be in Order to Be a Dead Icon. We're all aware of the wondrous people who died at twenty-seven: Hendrix, Morrison, Joplin, and probably a few others who weren't necessarily boozy hippies. Twenty-seven is the only age when it's okay to die, primarily because it will enhance your merchandising potential. Do you ever wonder why you never see any Blind Melon T-shirts wherever you're purchasing sandalwood incense? This is because Shannon Hoon died at twenty-eight. He got the math wrong; Hoon's inability to understand subtraction while snorting cocaine stopped him from being Kurt Cobain. Stay in school, kids!

Still, turning twenty-seven is not even a fraction as important as turning thirty-three. You see, Jesus was thirty-three when he died, and that dude got a lot accomplished. Even if you're not a practicing Christian and/or Mel Gibson's father, it's impossible to deny the unadulterated verve of J.C.: He knew how to mobilize people, he was a classic storyteller, and he (clearly) wasn't afraid to man up and take one for the team. Though I have no proof, I suspect he was a better-than-average carpenter. And most important, Jesus peaked. Jesus was at the top of his game when he needed it the most. There is no evidence in the Gospels suggesting that Jesus was nostalgic for his former, better self; nowhere in the Book of John does Jesus say, "You know, if they had crucified me back in college, I probably would have risen from the dead in two days." As far as I can tell, thirty-three is the age to be messianic. And this is daunting, because if I am at the height of my powers, then my powers are somewhat laughable. I can't even turn water into gin.

My father once told me that the best age for an American male is thirty-six. "That's when you can do it all," he said. "At thirty-six, you can still work all day, and you're strong enough to ignore pain, but you're just starting to get wise in the head. You start making better decisions." He told me this when he was sixty-five and I was twenty. Now that he's seventy-seven, I asked him if he still believes thirty-six is the best age for a man. "Who told you that?" he responded. This seemed to weaken his original argument.

When I was twenty, I could jump higher than I can now, and I never got hangovers. I was an above-average Clue player, and I didn't know anything about semantic philosophy. Ten years from now, it's possible that I'll be an expert in semantic philosophy, but I may be unable to jump over a sleeping badger any time I've had more than ten drinks the night before. (I suspect my Clue prowess will remain static.) There are so many independent qualities that constitute any person's greatness, and most of them are always improving or declining. But there must be one moment in every man's life when all his abilities operate in perfect balance. For Jesus, this appears to have happened at thirty-three, and that's why I'm nervous about my birthday. It feels like the pressure is on.

But perhaps I am wrong. Perhaps the pressure was on long ago. Perhaps I missed the pressure entirely, and perhaps it was because I was playing kickball.

"Most aging specialists would agree that the peak age for both genders is eleven," says Dr. Robert N. Butler, a professor of geriatrics and the founder and CEO of the International Longevity Center. "We all reach our maximum survival potential at that age."

Butler argues that people peak at eleven because of something called the Gompertz Curve, which was developed in 1825 by a London insurance actuary named Benjamin Gompertz. The Gompertz Curve calculates "survivorship," a logarithmic computation that estimates the likelihood of remaining alive. For both genders, the arc of this curve tends to be highest around eleven, near the beginning of sexual maturity.

The problem with Butler's argument is that it changes the meaning of "peaking." The only quality it rewards is being unkillable (or maybe just less killable). This has nothing to do with my original query. I don't care what the safest age is; I want to know what the best age is. Common sense probably gets us closer to this answer than Benjamin Gompertz. Men hit their sexual peak at nineteen (according to the Kinsey Report), and their speed/power peak at twenty-eight or twenty-nine. (Even though thirty-one-year-old Curtis Martin led the NFL in rushing last season, conventional football wisdom states that running backs start to break down at thirty.) Creatively and intellectually, things are murkier but still not opaque. With the exception of prime-number superstar Paul Erdos, almost every mathematical genius was finished before he turned thirty-five. Left-brain savants like Bob Dylan and Neil Young have done exceptional work after fifty-five, but only in comparison with other mortals; when measured against themselves, neither made anything transcendent past forty. All things considered (and by "all things" I mean "these five random examples"), placing the apex at thirty-three doesn't seem altogether inaccurate. But Dr. Butler disagrees.

"You are making a mistake," he told me. "Certainly, speed of reaction does decline as you get older, as does the ability to retrieve information. But intellectual power does not decline. If you give an older person time, he will answer questions as well as—or better than—a younger person. And while most physicists and mathematicians do tend to excel during their twenties, historians, philosophers, and painters tend to excel when they're older. Tolstoy wrote Resurrection in his seventies. And speaking personally, I feel like I'm at the top of my game right now." Of course, Butler is seventy-eight, so he might have a vested interest in this debate. But I'm about to turn thirty-three, which means my interests are just as vested. As far as I'm concerned, I'm at the top of my game, too. This is it. It's hedgehog time. It's Jesus time. I'm ready.


SIDEBAR: UNDERSTANDING ENRON (Finally)
There are countless enlightening moments in Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room, an engrossing new documentary based on the best-selling book by Fortune reporters Bethany McLean and Peter Elkind. If you (like me) never truly understood the details of this scandal, this movie (a standout at Sundance) is worth watching. It's not necessarily objective journalism, but I suppose it's difficult to give an unbiased account of unregulated power fraud. However, it will also make you a little nervous about the reality of your own existence. In simplest terms, Enron convinced stockholders that the company was earning a profit when it was actually losing money; at the core, that was the key to how its executives stole from people. And that duplicity makes me question my own financial situation. Every month, money I never see or touch is directly deposited into my bank account, and that account is nothing but a number on a spreadsheet. Nothing is tangible. I believe those checks have value, and I believe that money is in there, but I have no proof. Now more than ever, the entire modern economy is theoretical. If it weren't, Enron couldn't have happened. And this is the danger of technology: It provides ever greater opportunity for dangerous illusion —C.K.


Copyright © 1997-2005 by the Hearst Corporation.

Thanks for posting this, I'm also a big Klosterman fan. Consistenly one of my favourites.

cool, b/c i subscribe to esquire I can openly post these for you guys; Haq if you think there is a problem with this, I'll stop, or just post a link, etc. I am very careful to include the Hearst Copyright though so it should be cool

Im having a prob (despite my massive subsbribor status) with V-Fair on C.Hitchens and Chuck-ys' SPIN columns but fret not, i pay AMERICAN money for my 28 magazine subscriptions and by god ill get us what we need....

That would be awesome, man, thank.... I don't usually read esquire, but would often make a point of going to the local book store to sit and read Chuck's column from time to time. I get SPIN ever month though.

my brother . . .

http://www.thestateoftheunion.com/

Handle With Care

If you’re anything like me, you’ve been thinking a lot about the Traveling Wilburys lately.

What’s that?  You don’t remember the Wilburys?  Perhaps that’s because you know them by their other names -- Bob Dylan, George Harrison, Roy Orbison, Tom Petty and Jeff Lynne.  In the spring of 1988, Lynne, the mastermind behind the Electric Light Orchestra, was producing songs for Orbison and Petty, having just recently produced Harrison’s comeback album, Cloud Nine.  Those four were having dinner one night when George mentioned that he needed a new song to serve as the B-side for a European single, and asked the others if they would pitch in to help.  He suggested asking Bob Dylan along as well, and the next day, the five of them recorded “Handle With Care,” which became the first single on the Wilburys' debut album, Vol. 1.

When the album came out, however, it didn’t mention anybody anyone had ever heard of.  The Wilburys were identified as Nelson Wilbury (Harrison), Lefty Wilbury (Orbison), Lucky Wilbury (Dylan), Otis Wilbury (Lynne) and Charlie T. Wilbury Jnr. (Petty).  The notes on the album explained that they were all half-brothers, fathered by the same man -- Charles Truscott Wilbury, Senior.

The album’s liner notes (attributed to Hugh Jampton, E.F. Norti-Bitz Reader in Applied Jacket, Faculty of Sleeve Notes, University of Krakatoa, East of Java, but generally acknowledged to have been written by Monty Python alum Michael Palin, a collaborator of Harrison’s at the time) offered this explanation of the band’s roots:  “The original Wilburys were a stationary people who, realizing that their civilization could not stand still for ever, began to go for short walks -- not the ‘traveling’ as we now know it, but certainly as far as the corner and back.”

Despite the fact that all five were, to varying degrees, considered geniuses by the rock community, the Wilburys approached the album as if they were five old friends sitting on a back porch making up songs -- it was the most unpretentious supergroup anyone had ever heard, and record buyers responded appreciatively.

So now you’re thinking, Okay, thanks for the history lesson, but why are you telling us all this?

I’m telling you all this because in thinking about the Wilburys lately, I came to a realization:  somebody needs to make another Traveling Wilburys record.

And I should probably clarify what I mean when I say “somebody.”  And “need.”  And also “another.”

The Wilburys did in fact release a second album.  It was titled, of course, The Traveling Wilburys, Vol. 3.

Sadly, Roy Orbison died shortly after the release of Vol. 1; the missing Volume 2 is a missing chapter of sorts, absent in Roy’s honor.

But it wasn’t just Lefty that was gone for Vol. 3 -- the others were “gone” as well.  Nelson (Harrison) was now Spike, Otis (Lynne) was now Clayton, Lucky (Dylan) was now Boo, and Charlie T. Jnr. (Petty) was now Muddy Wilbury.  It was a whole new cast of Wilburys.  Kinda.

Since that album, George Harrison has joined Roy Orbison at that great Wilbury family reunion in the sky, but before George’s passing, both Tom Petty and Jeff Lynne suggested that another Wilburys album was forthcoming.

So what gives?

It’s kind of amazing that I’m the only one that’s figured it out, but here it is:  that new album is indeed forthcoming, but not from Tom Petty and Jeff Lynne.  A new set of rock legends needs to step up and become the newest Wilburys.

When you think about it, it makes perfect sense -- when those five artists formed the Wilburys, they abandoned their egos and became the Wilburys.  They adopted the Wilbury philosophy.  And what was the Wilbury philosophy, you ask?  In essence, it was this:  Sure, we’re geniuses.  But come on, people -- lighten up a little.

I don’t know about you, but I remember 1988.  Everybody on top of the album charts was so serious with their long, dramatic hair and their heavy messages -- Van Halen, Def Leppard, Guns ‘n’ Roses, Tiffany and so forth -- and we really did need to lighten up.

And Bob and George and the boys helped us do that.  But it wasn’t ever about Bob or George.  It was about shedding those identities, those egos, to become Wilburys.  Because in order to do the important work they had to do, they simply had to be Wilburys.

However, when the Wilbury names changed for that second album, it was a clear indication that the Wilbury “lineup” was not permanent -- new blood was part of the equation.

What I’m driving at is, it’s time for a new generation of rockers to step into those dusty Wilbury shoes.

Now, I’m not talking about what passes for supergroups these days.  Undoubtedly they mean well, but Audioslave and Velvet Revolver and The Thorns and The Bens and their ilk aren’t cutting it.

I’m talking about rock geniuses, getting together as Wilburys.

Were I a rock genius myself, I would already be in the studio, working on The Traveling Wilburys, Vol. 5.  However, not being a rock genius, I’m doing my best to be a facilitator, and thus am hereby officially putting out the call for more Wilburys.  Why haven’t Tom Petty and Jeff Lynne done this themselves, you wonder?  That would take all the magic out of it.  They’ve been sitting back, hoping and waiting that someone would finally get it, so the thing could just evolve organically.

I’m sure they never would have guessed that someone would be me.

Nevertheless, to help move this project along, I’ve whipped up a few potential Wilburys lineups:

Lineup 1:  Bruce Springsteen (Wilson Wilbury), Michael Stipe (Emmett Wilbury), Hank Williams Jr. (Lonnie Wilbury), Bono (Moses Wilbury), Axl Rose (Cletus Wilbury).

Why it works:  A little bit country, a little bit rock ‘n roll, this roster brings serious star power and songwriting talent together in one room.  Plus, I’m just imagining the five of them holed up in a studio for a week -- it sounds like a great reality show.  I’m envisioning Axl Rose as sort of the little brother in this arrangement, with Hank Williams Jr. taping “KICK ME” signs to his back.

Lineup 2:  Phil Collins (Crusty Wilbury), Peter Gabriel (Marshall Wilbury), David Bowie (Roger Wilbury), Sting (Melvin Wilbury), Annie Lennox (Dixie Wilbury).

Why it works:  It’s been a while since any of these guys has had a big hit, but they’re all legends in their own right, and I’m thinking if you put the five of them in a studio, cool stuff’s bound to happen.  I’m also thinking you might get some friction with Phil and Peter arguing about whose version of Genesis was better, plus they’ve all got those cool British/Scottish accents going for them.  Certainly seems worth a shot.

Lineup 3:  George Michael (Perky Wilbury), Madonna (Daisy Wilbury), Prince (Slim Wilbury), John Mellencamp (Todd Wilbury), Jay-Z (Jigga Wilbury).

Why it works:  Seriously, you want a reality show?  Just imagine these five in the studio for ten days.  Seriously, where’s my phone?  I need to call somebody at Fox.

We could go on for hours like this, thinking up names of musical legends and appropriate Wilbury names for them (Michael Jackson -- Pokey Wilbury), but I’m telling you, one of these lineups would definitely work.  Worst-case scenario, we lump all three together, get Jeff Lynne to produce, and maybe we can finally get that sequel to “We Are The World.”

HAHAAA; good column post J.S.;

btw, i want a wilburys's record by any of those combos

Edit: "Handle With Care" is a sick song.

sweet, glad you like it.
he's been running that column weekly for about 5 years.

yo, J.S. do you read Howard Kurtz's Media Notes column on the Washington Post's website? Its essential, pahtnah:

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/linkset/2005/04/11/LI2005041100587.html


Great resourcin' here btw kiids; i'll get up links or text to some of my favs in my print or subscrip. favorites in the coming weeks....

great article...this probably deserves it's own thread

Lineup 1 is awesome except for Axl...that dude is just too nutty to work with anyone but his spiritual advisor...so let's give him the boot and slide Beck in there...he can do a little bit of everything, so whatever the other guys are coming up with, he can roll with it

I like the other line-up's idea of getting the ladies involved, so if you wanna sub Dolly Parton for Axl, that'll work too

and the closest thing to a recent Wilburys, that I can think of, would be Golden Smog...at least in spirit

[quote="jagged"]and the closest thing to a recent Wilburys, that I can think of, would be Golden Smog...at least in spirit[/nice call; on thr real
i iiiiiiapptecisttr it

so that link will give me the new column every day?

Kurtz is good, and you can check him on MSNBC at some point on Sunday as well.

I consistently read Klosterman in both of those publications, plus Tom Friedman and Paul Krugman in the NYTimes and Joe Klein in Time and Howard Fineman in Newsweek. Broder, "The Dean of Washington Journalists" is sometimes good, as is EJ Dionne. If you ever want to know exactly what is going on in politics, read ABC NEWS' THE NOTE.

I love Bob Greene.

thinks he writes for a Chicago paper...

I have two of his books that i find myself reading and re-reading over the years.

"Be True To Your School" (one of my favorite books of all time, and a must read for any guy....a year in the life of a high school boy.

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/de ... ce&s=books

Edit: DID write for The Tribune, until thos unfortunate mongering charges.

He is an awesome writer, though.

Oh, and anyone from Florida, or who loves what Florida used to be/hates what it has become should be jockin Carl Hiassen.

I college, I always looked forward to reading Mike Royko, that curmudgenly old coot!

funny you should mention him Todd, because I was a Journalism major in school and got in a HUGE fight with a professor who would become the dean of my section about the way we were being educated.

A highlight: "I could learn more about writing from one Mike Royko column, than an entire quarter of classes at this school."

I always thought one of the ways to hone your skills is to read the people who are the best at what you want to do.

Bloor, have you read The Trial of Henry Kissinger. It is sweet. I got turned on to Hitchens by an Oxford Don I studied under who lived with him at one point.

Loogar, You finished reading Rammer Jammer Yellow Hammer? If you see Derris again could you hand it off.

I finished it in December. I think I PMd you about this. Saying Bloor could give to Derris, as it is in the stacks at Redlands.

I saw Hitchens on Dennis Miller's HBO show and he said something to the effect that The Pope was Satan, Bill Clinton was an S-grade redneck and a rapist, and coming up with dirt on Mother Theresa was like shooting fish in a barrel. He was also drinking Scotch and smoking on set. I have loved him ever since.