The Real Deal

What does it mean to be authentic? We use the term authentic in many contexts to refer to people, places or things. How can they all be authentic? If one of us feels that a person, place or thing is authentic, does it follow that all of us agree on that authenticity?

The sense of authentic most closely related to its Greek origin is the sense of genuineness, the idea that the source or origin of something is indisputable. Leonardo da Vinci’s “Mona Lisa” is an authentic da Vinci painting, since the provenance can be used to indisputably trace it to the time of its creation. We should all agree that no one can question the authenticity.

The origins of the painting “Salvator Mundi,” a Renaissance-era depiction of Jesus Christ attributed to da Vinci, are far more disputable. The historical record of the painting, commissioned by the French king Louis XII, is a matter of record. But the painting disappeared from history in the late 1700’s. It did not reappear until 1958 when the “rediscovered” masterpiece was deemed a fake and sold for a mere $60.

Later acquired by a group of art dealers, it was restored, academically authenticated, and sold to a Russian businessman for $127.5 million. Is the Mona Lisa more authentic than Salvator Mundi? Is it possible to be less genuine and still be considered genuine? Does that mean authentic is subjective?

Another sense of authenticity is something that is created or performed in a traditional fashion, or that is a faithful rendition of an original. This almost seems to be the opposite of the original Greek meaning of authentic, since this meaning implies that the thing that is authentic is not in fact genuine.

Authentic Tuscan cuisine in Chicago is certainly not genuine, in the sense of food cooked by an Italian person in the Tuscan region of Italy. But because the ingredients or methods employed in preparing the cuisine closely follow those in Tuscany we consider it authentic. But unless you have had food prepared by a Tuscan in Tuscany, how can you tell if the Tuscan cuisine in Chicago is authentic?

And what of an authentic life? This sense of authentic, denoting an emotionally suitable, purposeful, significant existence, comes to us from existential philosophy. It’s when our actions and words stem from our values and beliefs. It’s being who we are, and not who we or others think we should be.

But this seems at odds with how humans develop. As young children, we develop our beliefs, values, and personas through imitation of those around us. And we tend to internalize and repeat those imitations that bring praise from the important people in our lives. Therefore, can any existence be authentic? I would argue that few of us would agree that we aren’t authentic in this sense, but are we really?

It seems to me that authenticity, as beauty, is in the eye of the beholder.

Spring 2018 Abducted in Upper Midwest

U.S. authorities in the upper Midwest revealed today that Spring 2018 was recently abducted by the months December, January, and February. Residents in several Midwestern states are advised to be on the lookout for continued cold weather and to refrain from storing cold-weather clothing and planting spring annuals until further notice.

Spring generally follows winter in the upper Midwest, with daytime high temperatures routinely in the upper 40º F (4º C) to lower 60º F (16º C) range during late March and early April. Snowfall during this time, although not nonexistent, is isolated and relatively rare.

Officials conclude that Spring 2018 was kidnapped due to the extremely long stretch of sub 32º F weather and repeated snowstorms present in the area during March and April. Officials also speculate that December, January, and February are armed with continued cold and snow, and are dangerous to young plants, tree buds, and mental health.

“I just don’t know what I’m going to do!” said Summer 2018, when asked for comment on the situation. “I guess I’ll just have to wait until we find Spring.”

Residents are encouraged to contact local meteorologists with any information they may have regarding this situation

Throwback Thursday – April 5, 2018

Greetings to all my Esteemed Reader(s). It’s rudyblues here, back with another edition of  Throwback Thursday! That time of the week when we meander most merrily down Memory Lane to meet a morsel from the mists of time.

As some of you know (unwillingly, perhaps), Throwback Thursday is a recurring feature here at Rudy’s Ruminations. The intent is to reacquaint my gentle reader(s) with some of my lesser known earlier work. That and I’m looking for ways to keep slacking off.

Here’s how this Throwback Thursday thing works. I take this nifty boilerplate post I’ve created, add the date, add a short paragraph extolling the virtues of the previously unrecognized gem you have the opportunity to read, tack a previous post onto the end, et voila! Throwback Thursday! You get the Throwback Thursday post in your reader stream, scroll down to the previous post, and enjoy the (not so) great literary stylings of rudyblues. I get views, maybe clicks, and possibly visits. You get . . .  well, I’m not exactly clear on what you get, I was hoping to come up with something more for you, perhaps later. So here we go.

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This was originally posted in December of 2015. It was an attempt at a description of a place, trying to let the reader feel what I felt when thought of the place. I think it may have been in one of the blogging classes from WordPress U. I hope you like it.

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Grandma’s House – December 14, 2015

Grandma’s house was tiny when I returned to see it, all those years later. She moved there after Grandpa passed, when I was young, perhaps three or four. They say the old place was just too big for her to handle. As a child, I thought Grandma’s house was enormous and wonderful. I like the childhood memories best.

It was a block off the town square, on a quiet tar-and-chip street with a pronounced crown. Between the street and the cracked, uneven public sidewalk was a deep drainage ditch, deeper than I was tall. You could sit at the bottom, in the closely mown grass, lose sight of the world around you, and watch the clouds drift, puffy balls.

A massive spruce tree covered the front of the house. The boughs were allowed to grow naturally, sweeping down gracefully as if in a deep bow, touching the ground all around. The house hid behind the boughs, the ends peeking out. An alley ran along the right side of the house, two cindered ruts through close-cropped clover. Running parallel to the alley were two more cindered ruts, ending just before the house, parking for guests.

A narrow sidewalk ran from its intersection with the front sidewalk towards the house, beside the second set of cindered ruts. As it reached the house, the little sidewalk turned left and disappeared into the boughs, seemingly swallowed by the big spruce. But an equally narrow, carefully manicured break in the lower boughs, just tall enough for a human, made a covered arch for the sidewalk to wind through to the front door.

The arch-shaped break in the boughs opened up the interior of the tree, the space between the trunk and where the tips of the boughs touched the earth. It was like a separate room, dark, cool, fragrant from the pine needle floor and the sticky sap oozing from the boughs. Grandma kept gardening tools in a small shed that fit under the boughs, hidden from the world. Small children hid there as well.

The house was brick, covered in deep, dark green ivy. If the house had a color, nature had long ago replaced it with her own. The ivy seemed deep enough to swallow me, my arms too short to touch the brick through the thickest part. The ivy gave the house a soft and shaggy appearance, as if it had grown, rather than being built.

At the back of the house, at right angles to the little alley, was an aluminum carport where Grandma would park her 1963 Rambler American. Just off the carport, under a small but shady tree, was a glider swing, the kind made for two people, a fixed frame with the seat and arms and back suspended by heavy springs from the frame. And, as the heat of a summer day spent running and jumping and howling cooled, a small child was soothed by the embrace of Grandma in her apron and the rhythmic creak of the glider as it swung, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

I Read the News Today. Oh Boy!

Have you read the news lately? Wow! These are a few of the headlines that interested me this morning.

From our “Parsing Words” bureau:

Mueller told Trump’s attorneys the president remains under investigation but is not currently a criminal target

by Carol D. Loennig and Robert Costa – Washington Post – April 3, 2018

OK, so you’re not a target of the investigation, but you’re still a subject of the investigation. This is better how? From the analysis, this seems like an inconsequential distinction. The only reason you’re not a target is that you’re still under investigation? You’re not a target because the investigation you’re the subject of hasn’t gathered enough evidence yet to make you a target? When does a subject become a target? Can a target become a subject? Seems pretty much the same to me. But go ahead and celebrate if you want. While you still can. And he’s the POTUS.

More from our “You Thought You Had a Bad Day” bureau:

Dead man balking: Court rejects Romanian man’s claim that he is, in fact, alive

by Associated Press – March 16, 2018

Wow! I thought my divorce was messy. At least my ex-wife didn’t have me declared legally dead. When this guy’s wife said “You’re dead to me” she really followed through.

From our “Good Author, Good Person” bureau:

Woman’s Kind Act For Elderly Stranger Shows You Should Never Think Twice About Helping Others

by Natasha Hinde – Huffpost UK – April 4, 2018

I don’t know about you, but after reading this I’m going out and buying a Celeste Ng book. I don’t care if I like it or not. I just want to make sure she can keep helping people in need! I’ve always said that you should help everyone you can because you never know when you might need help yourself.

I am definitely (maybe) gonna stop reading the news!