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I got a note today, in this office building in Maitland I am renting temporary space in.  Apparently,  I’m not allowed to bring my Samoyed. I checked the lease, and lo and behold, it is actually true. We have several tenants who bring their dogs, all of which are not only well-behaved, but are actually personalities. Mine is a Samoyed who has never met anyone she does not believe idolizes her. On the third floor, there is a young woman who is raising dogs (tri-species) who are the most incredibly well behaved I’ve ever seen.

After that, I’ve seen several others begin to bring their pets in because they thought it was appropriate. And, alas, we all got the notice.

I haven’t had the heart to tell Ava that she is not allowed to come to the office anymore because she thoroughly enjoys it as she comes in each morning, runs like crazy around the office, greeting every person, and then ultimately lies down in the corner, with her bone, and either sleeps or chews. But, that is apparently the way it needs to be.

From a personal standpoint, that just simply tells me ”I . . . gotta get outta this place . . . if it’s the last thing I ever do:” and certainly when the lease expires this coming October (2011).

From a business standpoint, Dynetech Centre doesn’t matter.  No more tower, no more offices, no more rented space. No more KEL.

I’ve just got to get back my mojo again . . . in downtown Orlando, where I belong and where it all began.

I know I started there: I know I did well there; I know that I retired well there. 

And frankly, I don’t remember why I ever left there!

Very much like the black box game, he was able to postulate a theory based upon nothing other than seeing how those symptoms played out or manifested in reality.

The fact that he couldn’t explain “how” had no effect on the credibility of the theory, because the phenomena were consistent nonetheless and seemed to reflect some process beyond the tools of the day to explain.

Evolution and natural selection were steps forward in that explanation, far superior to anything postulated at that time.

Genetics continues that process forward as it takes the symptoms of evolutionary development and transforms it into an explanation as fundamental to the development of life forms as atoms and sub-atomic particles are to an understanding of matter.

Evolution is to the origin of homo sapiens what cosmology is to the origin of the universe.

Nonetheless, despite the science, and as far back as we place it from 7 days 10,000 years ago to the last 2.5 billion years over 14.5 billion years, there still remains lurking in the human soul the fundamental question – why? – and by whom?

Assume the next development of a species in which organs are freely transplantable or replicatable based upon simple science.

Assume a time in which organisms live based on transplantable and replicatable gene therapy . . . but with our minds and our souls.

Is that another species entirely? Is it the same species? Who are we when we have the opportunity to live for 100 years or indefinitely? Are we homo sapiens or are we some other life form?  What does that do to our view of reality?  What does that do to our view of life?

Assume even more a time in which we replicate transplantable organs with gene therapy and implant organic silica for the cerebral transfer of information in nano seconds.

How does that alter the calculus of discussion?  How does that change our life views?

Are we the same species or different?

How do we live our lives under those circumstances?

Do we feel more . . . or less?  Do we care more . . . or less?  Do we love more . . . or less?

What was intriguing to me when I had penned the blog on Ellen and Oprah a few weeks ago, became manifestly obvious to me as I watched that retrospective.  Not only has the tide shifted from Oprah-power to Ellen-consciousness in the blink of an eye, but Ellen has emerged a clear psychic victor for reasons I only began to surmise a few short weeks ago and can articulate more cogently today.

Let me outline those here:

• I thought Oprah was wonderful, bringing salient and important human themes through her show routinely; however, in the back of my mind, virtually all the time, I felt that it was as much about Oprah as it was about the themes themselves.  Rightly or wrongly, I viewed Oprah as a wee bit too egocentric:  a wee bit too “look at me, ’America’, I made it after all.”  On the other hand, I find Ellen less thematic and more people driven.  And, when she is exposing those people — interesting people — it really is about them, not about Ellen, even when she’s being her goofiest.
• Ellen gave away some type of tablet to everyone who was in attendance at her 1400th show last night.  And, of course, that is a gesture clearly taken from Oprah’s playbook.  However, when Ellen gave it away, it was far less about her, far less about fanfare, and far more subdued than anything Janet had been crying about on Oprah’s show in past years.  With Oprah, giving away a potted plant had so much pomp and circumstance attached to it, I was actually a wee bit embarrassed for the recipients, and even more embarrassed about Oprah.  With Ellen, I barely noticed it was a gift at all, which is exactly as it should be.
• It goes without saying that the subjects of Ellen’s inquiry are far more about people and far less about world-changing events.  With a philosophical bend, I’m always interested in world views and global influences.  But because I felt I had to deal with Oprah as much as the themes, I hesitated to engage.  In Ellen’s world, life is far more about human weaknesses and foibles — risque, eccentric and idiosyncratic, but fun in a non-judgmental way — far more about the embarrassements along the way, and far more about living through them with a sense of humor than an obligation to act.  It is almost as if I’m comparing Ordinary People to the Incredible Lightness of Being.
• And as I saw the digital edits of those past shows, it occurred to me that Ellen was her best without a teleprompter or ear piece.  In fact, she was fresh, exciting and enticing.  When I used to view Oprah over  Janet’s shoulder, I saw a terribly gifted celebrity and interviewer controlled more by an earpiece and much less by raw instinct.  Neither is necessarily good or bad, but Ellen’s way is far easier to digest.

Let me simply pause.

These thoughts are at best docile observations from the bullpen.  Lest anyone be concerned, I was and remain an ardent admirer of the Big “O”, but I couldn’t help observing in Oprah’s time that Oprah’s work was often overshadowed by Oprah herself.  I can’t help observing today that Ellen in Motion allows me to relax and doesn’t judge me in the process.

Oprah, you’ve done your work . . . and it was game changing.  Focus on building your network and allow distance in time to build your legend ever more.  There’s more for you out there, but not from the front lines.  That time has passed.

Ellen, I wish you Godspeed in showing yourself to America.  You’re doing great!  Keep at it!!!

Her rationale is the fact that if she were ever attacked by any “bad men,” she’d be able to defend herself by giving them a “hi yah” and a “hi yeh.” Her firm belief is that once she delivers a “hi yah” and a “hi yeh” along with a swift high kick, whoever the “bad men” are, they will be running away.

While I questioned the rationale, I clearly did not question her passion. So, all was going well and I even indicated to her that I was going to get all of the particulars about the different programs in a couple mile radius for karate classes for children. She got very excited. In the process of her excitement, she got right to the point: “When do you think I will get a belt, Daddy?”

I told her that the belt wasn’t given, it was earned.

“Right! Got it.  So, when do I get it?”

She persisted:  ”Daddy, I understand what you’re saying (she said with the roll of both eyes), but answer my question:  when am I going to get the belt?”

And then I realized, of course, that it really is all about the belt, not just for Isabella, but for most people.

It’s the belt, after all!  The hidden incentive of behavior at every level.

I don’t know how many of you have listened to the Broadway Station on Sirius. It’s Sirius XM Channel 77. It’s a little funky, just a wee bit pretentious, and I guess you have to enjoy Broadway as much as the listeners of opera enjoy Met Opera on Sirius, or fans of Jimmy Buffet enjoy Margaritaville.

There is a fellow whose name is Seth Rudetsky. Since I haven’t listened to Broadway very long, I’m not really sure what his story is, but I know that he appears to be a pretty big deal in the Sirius Broadway realm, and maybe even Broadway itself. They have a particular show, along with several anchors which are interview shows.

I happened to be listening to an interview between Seth, Johnni James (sorry if the spelling is off), and Ben Vereen. Yes, the Ben Vereen of “All That Jazz,” “Pippin,”  “Funny Girl” with Barbara Streisand, and “Chicken George” of Roots.

If you know anything about Ben Vereen aside from what an incredibly talented performer he is, you might know (which I didn’t) that he has won several Tony’s and has been a mainstay on Broadway for a very long time.

Seth kept focusing him in the interview on his choices of parts, his awards, his accolades, and all the like.

To Seth, it had everything to do with artistic “choices.” 

To Ben Vereen, it didn’t have anything to do with any of that. It was really all about, in Ben’s words, “the work.” He loved the work and he wanted to work. It didn’t matter what part he played. He preferred to work with directors like Bob Fosse of “All That Jazz,” no matter what Bob Fosse did and no matter what Bob Fosse cast him in.  But, at the end of the day, while his preference was creative directors, his choice was simply to be able to work and work with people he enjoyed working with. He even talked about the difference between work and unemployment lines and he said he definitely preferred “work!”

At one point in time, after hammering his message home, Seth asked him yet again why he chose a particular part. His answer, predictably, was, “Seth, the WORK!”

I thought about that for a while, because, not being a Broadway aficionado, but finding musicals easy to enjoy, I certainly know Ben’s “work.” It’s monumental. It’s over the top. It is enormously talented. And he is in the moment when he is performing — even if he is performing each and every night, six days a week and twice on Sundays, on Broadway, for three years straight.

He brings his best game to the show and he stays in the moment not only because his patrons deserve it, that’s where he wants to be — working his passion, but most important of all because, “it’s all about the work.”

It resonated with me, because, as I looked back in my life, I realized I’ve always felt the same about entrepreneurship — about business building. To me, it has always been “about the work.”

The awards and accolades may come, which they did; and may go, which they also did. But what’s most important is the work itself.

I’ve likened entrepreneurship at one point in time to the work of a sculptor. It’s chiseling a statue that you get to stand back and look at from afar, approach as you chisel some more, and then step back again to gain perspective.

Entrepreneurship has been called part science and part art . . .  but above all else, at least for me, it’s about the work.

In any event, I turned to Bella and I concluded the conversation with:   ”I get it, Sweetie Pie. I really do. But just think for a moment that it might not be about the belt at all, but about what you will have to do to earn it!”

A Postscipt.

We went to the demonstration Saturday morning:  just the two of us.  The place was full of all the language you would expect in karate:  right intentions,  right conduct, and right results.   The belts were proudly displayed on the wall.  But it wasn’t a quick ”gimme.” 

You had to earn it.

She got it . . . at least I think she did!

She still said she wanted to take the karate lessons, but this time, her tone was far from certain, and much less cavaliere.

Of course it may turn out to be true, at the end of the day, that it is all about the belt, but you had better love the work first, or getting the belt is simply not worth the effort.

Apparently, Oprah really is gone and Ellen Degeneres seems to be the beneficiary.

I happened to walk into the bedroom when all of the kids were down a few nights ago, and Janet was pretty much belly laughing at Ellen, who is routinely DVR’d on our Brighthouse recording service.

As I walked in, Janet said something innocuous like, “she’s too much,” without stopping the gaffawing.  I froze in amazement at the irony of it all.

Just a year ago, I believe that I put it on the line . . . or maybe I didn’t really put it on the line, but I thought about putting it on the line anyway:  it’s Oprah or me, baby doll!  Capiche?  This planet isn’t big enough for the two of us in our marriage!!!

But tonight, it was all so very different. Janet appears to have gotten past her love affair with Oprah.  Now, it was all about Ellen.  When Janet would see Oprah DVR’d through the Brighthouse system, she routinely cried; she was awestruck . . . she was mesmerized.  She gasped in over the top ways.

But when it comes to Ellen, it’s not about that at all.

She was actually laughing hysterically with Hillary Duff as the guest.  Seriously – Hillary Duff!  Our current 16 year old loved her as Lizzie McGuire years ago and I even thought she was adorable myself, at least before she made those painful movies.  But that didn’t stop Janet, who was laughing hysterically as she listened to her, all grown up, married with a child — and, of course, under Ellen’s easy care.

And just the other night, we had no choice but to see these 8 and 5 year old phenoms from England who You Tubed an energetic presentation of  rapper Nicki Minaj with a rhyme, rhythm and reason that marveled grown ups. Clearly, I’m glad we had a chance to see it. We laughed and I cried of course, empathizing with the 8 year old’s father whose mother (his wife) nonchalantly handed him a Kleenex while their daughter was on stage with Ellen.

And so I said to Janet, as I sat in amazement at the transformation in less than one year, “well, I guess Oprah is a goner?”

“Well, maybe not a goner, but probably a little out of sight,” she says;  “besides, she became way too elitist towards the end!”

“Elitist?” I asked, absolutely astounded with, I must say, a tinge of schadenfreude interspersed.

“You know what I mean:  just too full of herself,” she confessed.

Too full of herself?  Too full of herself!  I loved it.  The ironies rushed over me with waves of relief.

Frankly, though, I actually liked Oprah, although I do admit that her sense of self at times overpowered the themes she wanted to spotlight. To me, she was the Frank Sinatra of her genre compared to the lighter hearted and more apparently genuine Dean Martin:  more interested in himself than in his audience. 

Nonetheless, Oprah (like Frank) did some mighty work for which we can all be grateful.

And what abot Ellen?  Yes, Ellen?  She’s done her work too, but of a very different nature. From the painful coming out to the hidden days healing her publicly villified inner soul, to her current regenesis radiating the pure joy of her spirit:  her transformation was an enormous delight to witness, even from afar.

It hadn’t occurred to me to place either of them side by side (anymore than to compare Frank Sinatra with Dean Martin), but for the simple fact of Janet’s joyfulness in watching Ellen navigate with fluid ease in and through the conversations she shared with those two young British starlets in a singing frenzy and with Hillary Duff exciting about young marriage and children and the youthful newness of it all – which each of us, with smiles on our faces, can recall.

P.S.  As I was rereading this post to clean up typos, etc., by the way, I had to stop because, from the other side of the house, I heard this cackling that sounded like it was coming from Janet.  I didn’t believe it, but, upon further investigation, it  turned out to be true.  Apparently, Janet was thoroughly engaged in Ellen, one of Ellen’s employees and her employee’s mother on the Queen Mary Halloween Voyage, or something of that nature.  Apparently, it was scary and the way it was depicted doubled Janet over in bed, yet again!  I any event, you get the picture!

P.P.S.  I’m sorry, Oprah.  It appears to be over.  And Ellen, please . . . please . . . please . . .  don’t learn to take yourself too seriously!  It’s happened before, of course, with others.  And it could happen to you.  But, we’re all out here supporting you and doing our best to make sure it doesn’t happen to you.

So, I thought this was so cute, it had to get published. 

Since Jordan, at 16, and Jared, at 13, are feeling stronger as they get older,  the challenge of dealing with a young 8 year old fire brand who balances all of us out in psychic strength has escalated.

As I was pontificating on that very subject throughout dinner the other night, Isabella got up, grabbed a marker and started writing. 

This is what she came up with . . . which she called The Prayer. 

I hope you enjoy it!  Dad

I didn’t have a chance at that moment, but I thought I’d better call back quickly.

I didn’t get the opportunity. 

Before I could break, my cell phone rang. I answered it and it was the same person who had left a message on my voicemail. She called to inform me that the son of a very close friend of mine, who had been a part of our lives for so many years, had died in his sleep the night before.

He was in his early 40’s.

I was standing at the time, and I sank back in a chair in utter shock, upset and disarray.

I hadn’t seen the young man for several years, but that really didn’t matter.  

I had huge affection for him, his wife and his son as well as for the girlfriends he had courted or seduced along the way of finding himself. And while it was true that it sometimes took a posse to reign him in, all that was behind us as his family occasionally joined forces to help him continue to mend his ways.

Nowadays, I didn’t need to see him to know how he was. It was sufficient for me to hear in the lunches I shared with his mother that all was well, seeing pictures of his gorgeous entourage and knowing he had turned out okay after those early troubling years.

But in an instant he was no more.

The phone call said it all.  It was sudden, in his sleep, and this time without any possibility of mending.

He was gone.

And I was sick to my stomach.

I’ll never see him again, interact, or exchange without words, the common history we shared.

I’m not sure how to deal with this although I’m sure it is probably no different than what so many of us live through at stopping  points in our lives. But I can say that my heart aches and my gut wrenches to know that this young man, who was the light and life of a family I have known for 30 years,  is no more, leaving behind a wife and son, a mother and father, a sister, and a boatload of friends.

Do I grieve because of him?

Do I grieve because of them?

Or do I grieve for myself. . .and for those whom I will leave behind when my time comes, whenever that might be?

It occurred to me, as I reflect on my friend’s son, that each of us might die a thousand deaths in our lifetime. . .of humiliation, despair, hopelessness, fear, futility, failure, worthlessness, betrayal, anguish, and so much more. . .but only one death in this lifetime is lethal . . . only one death really matters . . . and regretably only that death is all too permanent.

It was an incredible affair. We actually had a bunch of parents and many of the sophomores over to the house for pictures, refreshments and appetizers, and a most unbelievable picture-taking extravaganza.

Mind you: it wasn’t graduation; it wasn’t even a prom.

It was just a simple sophomore homecoming.

But parents are parents and apparently there is nothing more sacred to parents than their sophomore children who, in most of our cases, are the oldest of their crop.

I sached, of course, and had any number of conversations.  However, one conversation struck me which I thought I’d share with you in this post.

Since I had music being piped into the backyard with refreshments and photographs, a particular mother and the group around her commented on the hip contemporary pop music Janet and I had selected. 

We laughed and said it was a terribly recent discovery – in fact about 10 minutes earlier and right on the music stations of the cable provider — reflective of our desire to match the music to the audience.

I confessed that my preference was “Light Classical” or “Soundscapes (New Age).

It depended on the circumstances:  classical music on a Sunday morning as I’m reading newspapers; but Soundscapes when I’m sitting in a bath some nights with candles burning and a cognac in hand.

That apparently got a charge or at least hit a chord in the small group of us chatting: not the newspapers, but the bathtub.

The general impression was that they liked what I had to say a lot — male or female — and they should be doing that.

I asked (although silently), is there any other way?

And frankly, I wondered why they weren’t.

I thought to myself that in the midst of our lives, and also the challenges of the economy we have been confronting in real time these last several years, is there anything that could possibly be more sacred than being kind to ourselves as we reenergize and rehabilitate our ability to meet the challenges of the moment and the tasks of the day?

As I sat in a bathtub in the fetal position — with those candles burning, music overhead and cognac glass filled — for some six months after the Dynetech disaster, wondering where to go next, I had to process where I was and whether there was a future. 

Of course there was.  But I had to get there on my own.  And the process couldn’t be short-circuited.

The question was if . . . and how!

This morning, I came across a friend whose husband has been experiencing the same thing for the past two and half years — two and a half years?

She told me he doesn’t sleep, he suffers diabetes, and she’s incessantly worried about his anxiety and stress.  I told her that he’s got to find a safe place (as I had) . . . not just for his family, but for himself.   Because without it, he’s no good to anyone, especially to himself.

You know, I was trained in “personal responsibility,”  est style!

I was grilled in “personal responsibility,”  Werner Erhard style!

And to this day, I buy into “personal responsibility,” without doubt or question.

But on the other side of the process of maintaining personal responsibility for anything and everything that happens in your life is the opportunity for pain management, forgiveness, and resolution.

Accept that you are the cause of everything that happens in your life (even when a tsunami hits you, your business, your investments, and your family). 

Don’t relinquish responsibility for not having seen it coming. 

And, most of all, don’t ever relinquish responsibility for being able to change the circumstances in the future, because, if you do, you’re done and you’re toast!

I continue to buy into all of that, even now.

But, in the process, don’t forget to forgive yourself in the process.  It’s OK.

Don’t forget to treat yourself to hot baths, soft candles, New Age music, and aromatics. 

And, above all, don’t forget to be kind to yourself . . . to yourself:  because you deserve it . . . and, after all, if not you, then who, for God’s sake?

Interestingly, the Empire of Carthage was a massive and far larger civilization than Rome some 2,500 years ago. In fact, it predated Rome. It predated Greece. It actually emerged as a contemporary of Phoenicia, stretching all of the way from Lebanon to the East, through North Africa, through Sicily, and through a great deal of Spain (remember Hannibal from grade school history?).  It was a massive empire with far more lineage, legacy and history than Rome itself.  Yet, after three Punic wars (the word comes from “Phoenicia”), Carthage eventually succumbed to Rome in 146 BC.

Rome survived and Carthage died.

Of particular interest to me is the fact that part of the Roman expansion was a philosophical perspective far different than that of Carthage.

To Rome, conquest produced a fair amount of spoils and an ongoing treasure trove of goods, resources, labor, and crops, which were only valuable if they continued to flourish.  In fact, it represented a somewhat cruder form of the mercantilism the British so admirably mastered from the mid-15th century through the early 20th century.  However, conquest did not necessarily mean slavery for the conquered. In many cases, whether it was in Spain, modern day Germany and France, or Israel, it meant as much an adoption of Roman culture by the conquered civilization as it assimilated to Roman ways than it did access to products, services, and human resources. The conquered were less slaves than they were future citizens of the State.

To Carthage, on the other hand, to the victors belonged the spoils. The Carthaginians were far less likely than the Romans to share what they had looted and far more likely to guard them for their own indulgence. They key word was hardly “assimilation”, but far more likely “subjugation.”  The notion that conquered civilizations were to be molded into Carthagenian ways was as foreign to Carthage as Carthage itself was to the indigenous populations.

As a result, most westerners today, if they know anything about this seminal moment, clearly accept the notion that we are far better off having been conquered, managed and administered by the Romans than we would ever have been under their more secular contemporaries.  And, as critically, we need hardly obsess as to what would have happened if the Romans had been vanquished and Carthage emerged the victor.

So, as I comment on some of the economic dialogue we are all discussing of late and as I listen to the Republican debate focus on which Republican carries greater Tea Party credentials, I am mindful that the experience of Rome and Carthage can be juxtaposed to our own, ‘lest we forget the lessons history can return for us.  Indeed, I am even more mindful that the role each of them played in this parlor room drama lasted twice the length of time our country has even existed. 

So what lessons we can glean are lessons worth learning.

Immigration has served this country well, all the way from the Mayflower to current times. It has brought added resources to our shores which the free market channeled where needed because workers were not always available.

Whether it was factory laborers in the industrial revolution, or farmers like my Sicilian ancestors on my father’s side who brought a century of tomato farming from the hills of Saponara, Sicily to South Jersey, or my mother, as the first Italian war bride who, along with her entrepreneurial family, was invited to America, or even German scientists after our decisive victory in World War II: immigration has served us well. And candidly, when we look at the academic rosters of our graduate schools, can anyone sincerely minimize the influence of the sheer raw intellectual power of those bright young minds who see in America the promise of opportunity as well as quality of life?

Immigration has:

• Brought needed workers to our shores
• Produced a melting pot of cultures, and influences . . . and values
• Clarified perspectives far passed those bred locally
• Inculcated diversity in our population as well as in our regional and metropolitan centers
• Imported talent, youth, intelligence, ambition, and commitment
• Added color, and fun and interest

But, as strong as immigration has been in our history, there has arisen the foul stench of protectionism that has emerged from our political right.  It is always far too easy to pander to parochial fears of loss with a trigger finger of unsubstantiated claims.  It is often far too difficult to rationalize in those moments, with calmness and clarity, why those fears are unfounded. And it is harder yet to retard the hyperventilation enough to soberly evaluate what history has shown us not only through time, but even through our own experience.

My intention here is not to over-glamorize immigrants, but it is certainly to balance the scale, especially when there is no economic data to support the fear, superstition and pedantry of those who would choose to restrict even more the remaining stargate still open to legitimate forms of immigration.

So, to posit a position worth discussing, let me start with the following:

• With 14 million illegal aliens in this country, legitimize residency for all those who have lived here in excess of 10 years and who have not broken our laws or otherwise disqualified themselves.
• Broaden the current preference status and quotas to include a greater expanse of familial relationships to allow a soft landing for residents who, because they have a support network already in place, are far less likely to be a burden on us and far more likely to be assimilated and productive.
• Add to those preferences other categories not yet addressed, including undergraduate and graduate students who come to the United States to study (and possibly live), but are forced to return to their own countries because they don’t fall within the strict confines of existing preferences.  That shortsighted immigration policy provides for a brain drain, of course:  teach them in our fine institutions, allow them to master skills, and then send them home.  Is there a logic in that?
• Provide for a merit category never factored into our immigration program where individuals can apply for residency on the basis of individual skills, talents and circumstances.  We are comfortable with applications and competition for placement in schools, universities, athletic teams, social clubs, and on and on, where individuals prove out their worth.  Why not for immigration?  Is it so absurd to suggest that individuals who don’t otherwise qualify for preferences, existing or proposed, should have the opportunity to simply apply for and be considered under a broader standard of examination, however that might be wordsmithed?  One of my roomates during freshman year in college, a high school All-American from L.A., walked on to the Notre Dame football team based on sheer talent.  Is there any reason we should not have a similar qualification process for immigrants?  Is there any reason to believe we already have too much talent in this country to foster an inviting environment for more?  If there’s logic in that, I must be missing it.

At the end of the day, recrafting our immigration policy deserves serious attention, evaluation, and study.  And my comments here are not intended to shortcircuit that process.  But what I do want to suggest is that the glib sound bites of politicians on the feckless road to the White House are hardly the forum for doing that.  And the entrenched positions of sonorous Senators, ambitious Congressmen and apoplectic commentators don’t help to advance the discourse either. 

The debate over fresh blood in an established order is as old as history itself and as current as last week’s debate.  Let’s do the dialogue justice.

Carthage and Rome might have played out a civic drama 2,500 years ago, but its themes feel far more contemporary today than history could ever have anticipated.