Ben Stein Explains His Holiday Confession

Hello, I’m Ben Stein. You may know me from minor roles in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off and The Wonder Years as an unenthusiastic teacher. You might know me from Win Ben Stein’s Money as the unenthusiastic game show host, or from my role as the unenthusiastic shill for Clear Eyes eye drops.

Or, maybe you know me from my enthusiastic condemnation of the politically correct terminology used during the holid---CHRISTMAS season. My Confessions for the Holiday has turned into a meme that gets passed around during the CHRISTMAS season since 2005. In it, I mention the absurdity of the politically correct terminology we use during this season in America. Why should people feel obligated to say "Happy Holidays" isntead of "Merry Christmas"? Even the White House has stopped calling their obvious Christmas Tree what it is, a Christmas Tree, and instead they are calling it a Holiday Tree.

Well, to be perfectly honest, I did not write my Confessions for the Holiday piece in response to that decision by the White House. The "White House Holiday Tree" part of the meme/email was added in 2009. I don’t even know who added that, but I love it.

Even though it’s definitely not true. The White House still calls it a Christmas tree and the Obamas very openly celebrate Christmas and wish others a Merry Christmas every year they've been in office.

But doesn't it feel like something the ultra liberals would do? It sure does. And when a well-respected eye drop spokesperson like myself speaks up about it, it causes a righteous fury in a certain segment of the population who enjoy viewing themselves as victims being persecuted by a secular horde. Or a Muslim horde. Or a Hindu horde. Some kind of horde, to be sure.

Which works out great for me because I get to sell books and go on talk shows exploiting that righteous fury. Merry Christmas, indeed.

Now, the rest of the meme/email is 100% true. Ok, maybe like 55% true. At least, true in the sense that I, Ben Stein, actually wrote it. Unfortunately, I didn’t write much of the text that is being passed around these days. That whole thing about Dr. Benjamin’s son committing suicide? Not true. But using a well known doctor’s son to manipulate people’s emotions and religious beliefs during the holiday season is my idea of fun!

The part that I really did write was about the offense people take to the term "Merry Christmas." All of this "happy holidays" nonsense. Why should I have to embrace everyone who might be celebrating any number of religious or non-religious holidays between November and New Years? Love and acceptance is not what Christmas is all about. It is strictly about celebrating the birth of Jesus.

Ignore the fact that everyone still says Merry Christmas, from your Korean atheist neighbor, to the sales clerk wearing a turban, to my Jewish relatives, to the exchange students at the local university, to basically every commercial on tv around this time. Forget about the serious issues we have as a society with the extreme commercialism we exhibit at the holiday season. I could talk about that, or the fact that Christmas constantly overshadows all other religious holidays and the ramifications of our overly Christian-centric worldview, but none of that draws the same emotional reaction as saying "happy holidays" instead of "Merry Christmas."

If I discussed serious issues like commercialism, getting riled up would require people to actually confront their own attitudes and do something about poverty and other social ills. By constantly invoking this War on Christmas nonsense, people can get all riled up, and all they have to do is...get riled up. There is literally no solution to their indignation because there is no real problem.

This is a trick I learned as a speech writer for Nixon and Gerald Ford: strongly denounce some nonexistent controversy and people will focus on that instead of the real issues. It's why I vilely slandered Michael Brown as a scary thug instead of addressing any very reasonable questions surrounding police brutality in Ferguson and around the country. It's a trick the media and the government have essentially perfected at this point, so why shouldn't I get in on the act? I lost a lot of money in that damn Comedy Central game show and the only one who benefited was Jimmy Kimmel. And he doesn't even return my calls anymore.

Well, now it's Ben Stein's turn. Time to start looking out for myself.

Merry Christmas. Buy Clear Eyes.

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I Love You All...Class Dismissed. 

A Troubling New Perspective on Die Hard

Yippee ki yay motherfuckers, it's an obligatory Christmas movie post! Might as well talk about the greatest Christmas movie of all time: Die Hard!

I love this movie. You love this movie. We all love it so much we labeled it a Christmas movie just so we could watch it every year. Killing Germans who unexpectedly come into our building just really puts us in the holiday spirit! Careful Mr. Claus!

After sitting through mandatory viewings of all the lesser Christmas movies out there (read: all of them except Christmas Vacation which is in its own separate league) I finally got around to watching Die Hard the other day, and something was a little...off. In light of certain recent current events, the movie took on a whole new tone. In fact, halfway through I started to think that it was just a police propaganda film. When it was over, I was certain of it.

Now, there's a fair share of things we partake in as a society that can be considered police propaganda when analyzed deeply (and cynically) enough. The childhood game Cops and Robbers is nothing more than early training for future criminals and enforcers of the law. Officer Friendly used to be a staple in elementary schools across the nation, forcing the image of the friendly neighborhood police officer down our young throats. The "super cop" has been a movie trope for as long as there have been movie tropes. COPS was one of the most popular tv shows ever created, and it's still running, with a whole cadre of spinoffs in which the audience views all events from the perspective of the law, thereby empathizing more directly with cops than ever before.

And then came John McClane, the everyday cop who rises to the occasion amid unbelievable danger.

John McClane, the cop who will always fight for the little guy. The ballsy cop who bucks authority and may even break the law himself sometimes, but always for the greater good.

More than simply empathizing with the cop, we are meant to personally relate to his blue-collar attitude and everyday nature. But that's not enough to make it propaganda. Successful propaganda can't be so direct, so there's many subtle attempts to convince the viewer of the infallibility of the police.

At one point, Holly's idiotic coworker Harry Ellis attempts to mediate between evil leader Hans and McClane for the return of the terrorists' detonators. McClane refuses to return them, causing Gruber to execute Ellis on the spot. The message here? Don't try to handle these situations on your own. Let the cops handle it.

Ordinary citizens aren't the only ones that should stay out of the way. The media needs to stay out of police affairs, too. The media is the go to excuse when people with authority are caught up in scandals. There are legitimate concerns about something a police officer or department has done? Blame the media for sensationalizing the story. Represented by the most punchably-faced man in cinematic history, the media in Die Hard is consistently shown as untrustworthy and we are meant to despise everything about it. Holly eventually punches the reporter in the face for revealing McCane's identity and we cheer, all because he had the nerve to do his job and report on the biggest story of the year.

Then there's the commentary about the ineptitude of federal government agencies. There is a long running trope of local cops distrusting federal agents and disliking when the federal government impedes on their jurisdiction, something we have seen play out in real life lately as well.  The FBI agents (Johnson & Johnson) are arrogant and fatally incompetent. They take over the operation and are immediately blown up in their own helicopter, all because they didn't listen to McClane and his new partner, local cop Al Powell. Again, the message is to stay out of the way and let the local cops do whatever they have to do.

Of course, a more sinister message lies underneath it all: the cops will let people die for their own benefit.

McClane's questionable tactics aren't the biggest issue in this movie, though. No, that would be our buddy, the twinkie loving beat cop, former neighbor to Urkel, and only guy on McClane's side through the whole ordeal: Al, the magical black friend. Turns out, Al is on desk duty because of a little accident on the job. That accident? I'll let him tell it:

John McClane: Hey pal, you got flat feet?

Sergeant Al Powell: What the hell you talking about, man.

John McClane: Something had to get you off the street.

Sergeant Al Powell: What's the matter? You don't think jockeying papers around a desk is a noble effort for a cop?

John McClane: No...

Sergeant Al Powell: I had an accident.

John McClane: The way you drive, I can see why. What'd you do? Run over your captains foot with the car?

Sergeant Al Powell: I shot a kid. He was 13 years old. Oh, it was dark, I couldn't see him, he had a ray gun, looked real enough. You know when you're a rookie they can teach you everything about being a cop, except how to live with a mistake. Anyway, I just couldn't bring myself to draw my gun on anyone again.

John McClane: ...Sorry man.

Son of a bitch.

How could you Mr. Winslow?

I never noticed how truly strange this scene was until now. It is meant to solidify the bond between the two cops and build sympathy for Al, but now it feels disturbingly prescient. Somber music plays while they talk, helping the audience truly feel the pain in Al's heart. He's torn up about the incident, and now he's stuck doing desk duty, too traumatized to use his gun.

A child is dead, the killer faced no charges, and we are forced to empathize with the killer. Maybe the department had to pay out a settlement to the family, but who knows? That's not important, what's important is that a good cop is stuck behind a desk unable to shoot anybody else. Forget about the dead kid, feel sorry for the poor cop.

Meanwhile, that cop is free to work and love his wife and eat his armful of fucking Twinkies.

After Hans falls to his death and McClane saves the hostages, he finally meets his new pal Killer Al in person. As they crush on each other, the giant, invincible blonde terrorist Karl busts out of the building, ready to kill everybody. Luckily, our buddy Al heroically pulls his gun and shoots him dead. He can kill again! He is a hero, and our knowledge of his tragic history turns a typical action sequence into an intensely emotional experience for the audience.

Growing up, movies like this inspire us to blindly root for cops, thinking they can do no wrong. Cops who "write their own rules" and go "above and beyond" like John McClane or Mike Lowrey are even better. Their actions may be technically illegal, but they get the job done. The ends justify the means because police always have the best interests of the community in mind. Unfortunately, the reality is that although police are important to society and are largely under-appreciated for the jobs most of them do, there is a pattern of abuse that needs to be addressed.

In the end, I'm just glad nobody shot Argyle when he busted through the gates in the limo.

It's a good thing he had a friend to vouch for him.

I Love You All (Even John McClane, Still)...Class Dismissed.

Life Lessons with Louie

In the last few days, I've been holding a personal Louie marathon on Netflix. I just reached season three's two-part episode, "Daddy's Girlfriend," where we meet Louie's version of the manic pixie dream girl. In one scene, they walk past a homeless man. She stops and talks to the man as Louie begs her to just keep walking. After hearing the man's story, they take him to a pharmacy to get his medication and then set him up in a hotel. It was a great episode of an off-kilter, sweet, bizarre, and sometimes mind-blowing series.

A few weeks ago, I went to New York City for dinner and a show with my lady. Soon after arriving in the city, we parked and walked towards a restaurant. We weren't in a rush, but we had to be aware of the time to make the show. As we walked down the busy street, an apparently homeless woman was standing in the middle of the sidewalk, in front of a large skyscraper in one of the richest cities in the world, begging desperately for help.

She looked at us as we passed by and said, "Help me, please."

I briefly looked at her, then looked past her and kept walking. Just like everyone else.

To anyone who frequents New York City, or any big city in America, this is not an unusual scene. Unfortunately, homelessness and poverty are all too common in our excessively wealthy country. It's embarrassing, really. But this isn't a post about the failures of our government, which would be extensive, it's a post about how we treat each other as individuals. How have we evolved to the point where it is socially acceptable, indeed socially expected and proper, to ignore pleas of help from another human being? How has our natural inclination to assist those in need completely disappeared in some situations?

I've seen countless homeless people in various states of coherence and sobriety and desperation. I sometimes give spare change when I have it, and at the very least I try to be respectful. Mostly, though, I try to ignore them. It's too depressing to look at them and think about their situations. I'm trying to enjoy my night out on the town and escape my own problems for a while, I don't want to face someone else's problems, too.

What a shitty way to think. But it's what gets us through. It's still shitty. Helping each and every homeless person you encounter in NYC would be impossible, though, and honestly, it wouldn't be so bad if we just did a little more overall: push for legislation that addresses poverty and mental illness, give more of your money to charities, volunteer some of your time to others instead of spending every night entertaining yourself. Solve the problem as a whole instead of treating the symptoms, or even worse, ignoring it.

As I said, I've seen countless homeless people. This woman struck a nerve, though. Her plea was so urgent and insistent. She didn't look physically hurt, so it didn't seem like a physical emergency. In that case, I (probably...hopefully) would have helped, at the very least I would have called for help, but this seemed to be a case of a mental breakdown, and that's just too scary to deal with (to be clear, it's not the people themselves that scare me, it's mental illness/disease/deterioration itself that terrifies me). In the brief instant I acknowledged this poor woman's existence, I envisioned what helping her (truly helping her) would entail, and I knew I wasn't capable. She needed more than a few spare dollars.

The scene from Louie flashed through my mind as I walked past her (it was a very quick mental association I made; I didn't even consciously remember that what I had envisioned was from the show until I viewed it again recently) and I knew I wasn't capable of providing that kind of assistance. But Louie is a show. An absurd (yet awesome) show, and that episode in particular is absurd and most likely an extended dream/fantasy sequence. The woman Louie is dating is too good to be true. Nobody goes out of their way to help others like that, that is why she was so special. But in actuality, we don't have to go to those lengths to help people in need. There are some people that need professional, sustained assistance, and we should do our best to provide that, but I'm talking about things we can do every day.

Maybe the homeless woman would have benefited from a friendly conversation, a kind gesture from a fellow human. Or maybe she was waiting to scam the first sucker to stop and offer her help (I've encountered enough con artists to instill in me a hearty sense of distrust). Or, more than likely, she suffered from some type of mental illness and needed psychiatric and pharmaceutical help. And that's not something you can offer when you're just visiting for dinner and a show.

But we shouldn't get caught up in the things we can't do for others, we should focus on the things we can. People appreciate the smallest things. Minor gestures have major impact. I've mentioned before how many people Kevin Briggs has saved simply by talking with them and genuinely listening to them. DMC of the legendary Run DMC decided to not kill himself after hearing the Sarah MacLachlan song on the radio (you know the one) and turned his life around after meeting her. There is an endless amount of stories about people doing small, generous things for others all the time (click those links, it will make your day!) and those small, unsolicited gestures bring the greatest pleasure to everybody involved. Enough people doing enough small things leads to big things. It's cliched, it's simple almost to the point of naivete, but I'll be damned if it ain't true.

As a prophet once said, "Be excellent to each other." It makes all the difference in the world.

I Love You All...Class Dismissed.

Street Corner Santa, Inc. (Part 2)

So what do ya think so far? It was written 10 years (10 YEARS! Jesus Christmas!!) ago, but I think it holds up. Now you might ask yourself what kind of sick person would write a story about a missing child on Christmas, but I’ve always been the type to watch this or this type of Christmas movie over this type of Christmas movie. Also, I lied yesterday; there will be four parts to the story, with the finale on Christmas (synchronicity). Anyways, on to the next one!

Part 2

A white van pulled up to a brick apartment building with boards over the windows. On the side of the van, bright red letters spelled out, “SCS, Inc.” A sliding door opened on the passenger side and Joshua stepped out.

“This doesn’t look like a Winter Wonderland, Santa.”

The driver side door slammed shut. Santa walked around the front of the van, smoking a cigar.

“Just wait till you get inside, kiddo.”

Santa took Joshua’s hand and walked towards the building. He quickly undid the three locks on the front door and stepped inside. There were stairs leading up and another door to the left. This door was painted completely black. Santa quickly opened it and motioned Joshua through. Behind it was a steep staircase leading downwards.

 “I want my mommy.”

“You’re mommy said to stay with me, didn’t she? You trust Santa, right?”

“Of course, Santa, but…”

“I can easily get someone else to come with me.”

“No! I want to go.”

Joshua slowly walked down. He saw another door at the bottom of the stairs. Behind him he heard Santa locking the black door. The staircase was now completely dark except for beams of light showing through the bottom of both doors. Joshua felt his heart racing and quickened his pace. He reached the bottom of the stairs and threw the door open. His heart stopped as he looked around with wide eyes.

“It is a Winter Wonderland.”

Joshua stood in the doorway, unable to move. The room before him was the size of a football stadium, completely covered in snow. White twinkling lights illuminated the entire place. Arcade games, pinball machines, and candy dispensers lined the walls. Children in red sweat-suits crowded around these machines. A giant playscape stood on the far end of the room, swarming with little red bodies.

Joshua finally walked forward. He couldn’t believe it. His wildest dreams were coming true. All the games and candy he could ever want. And no parents! He kicked joyfully at a pile of snow and stared as it wrapped around his foot. He had never seen snow do that before. He bent to pick it up but was stopped by a loud yell.

“Don’t pick up the snow!”

“What?”

“Don’t pick up the snow.”

Joshua turned around to face a child in a red sweat-suit gnawing on a turkey leg. Grease was running down the boy's chin.

“You’ll get a rash on your hands.”

“What is it?”

“The guys and I think it’s insulation with white spray paint.” The boy held out his turkey leg. “Hungry?”

Joshua ran back to Santa. He was re-lighting his cigar which was now barely a stump. The door to the staircase was closed behind him.

“Santa!”

“Hey, kiddo.”

"I wanna go home."

"Home? Why would you ever want to go home? You have all you ever wanted right here."

"Yeah, but, I don't know…"

"Don't know what?" Santa asked, throwing his cigar to the ground and crushing it with his big, black boot. "Would you rather do homework and clean up your room all day?" Joshua shook his head. "Oh, I see. You want to keep eating all that squash and broccoli your mom forces you to eat, is that it?" Joshua made a sour face as he thought of his last supper: Codfish, green beans, and squash. Yeccchhh. "You know what we’re having for dinner tonight? Turkey and chocolate ice cream. And for dessert, cake and hot dogs. How’s that sound?" Joshua's face lit up. Why had he never thought of turkey and ice cream before? "It's all yours, kiddo. But if you want to go home, that's okay, too. You just can't come back. Ever." Santa took another cigar from behind his giant belt buckle and lit it, inhaling emphatically.

"It's all up to you, kiddo."

Joshua looked into Santa's blood-shot eyes, reminding him of his mom on the early morning drives to his older brother’s hockey practice. The cigar smell made him think of his grandfather who gave him a dollar every time he saw him. Not much, but he only gave his brother a quarter.

He turned and looked at the enormous room again. There were dozens of kids just like him, all having the time of their lives. If he passed this up, he would regret it forever. Like the time he chickened out of Splash Mountain at Disney World. His brother still wouldn’t let him live that down.

"No, I'll stay," he said. "I really like it here."

"Good," Santa said. "Listen, kiddo. I know you're a little nervous, but once you get used to it, you're gonna love it here like everyone else." Santa placed his arm around Joshua’s shoulder. “You’re really gonna love it.”

Street Corner Santa, Inc. (Part 1)

I started my blog in December, so I have to talk about Christmas. It’s mandatory. Plus, I have to stay topical to get more hits and get that ad revenue baby! Next week I will have four posts about Kim Kardashian’s new vaginal rejuvenation cream. Cha-ching!

But today’s blog is about Santa. Specifically, a story about Santa that I wrote in college called, “Street Corner Santa, Inc.” I always liked it, and my professor at the time called it “twisted” so that made me very proud. I don’t know where my take on Santa came from—maybe it has to do with the fact that my mother has an obsession with singing-and-dancing holiday figurines; I recently went to my parents house and counted 30 various Santa figurines in the living room alone—but I would have to agree with my old professor, the story is a little twisted.

I’m going to post it in three parts to build the suspense, and so I don’t have to write as much in the next 3 days…it’s the holidays mannn!

Street Corner Santa, Inc.

The little boy ran down the sidewalk in front of his mother, pulling her by the hand. He came to a screeching halt at the busy street corner as his mother jerked him back.

“Mommy! Santa!”

“Yes, Joshua, we’ll see Santa. But not if you get hit by a car.”

They waited on the corner with dozens of other busy holiday shoppers. When the little blinking man told them to walk, Joshua ran to the other side of the street with his mother dragging behind.

“Santa! Santa!”

There he was. Jolly old St. Nick. Standing on the street corner ringing a bell, spreading his Christmas cheer.

“Hey there kiddo. Merry Christmas!”

“Mommy, where’s my list?”

Joshua’s mother searched her purse. She pulled out two quarters, a pack of cigarettes, and a piece of paper covered in pencil marks. She put the quarters in Santa’s collection tin, handed the paper to Joshua, and lit a cigarette.

“Here’s my list Santa! I want Harry Potter figures, and an X-Box 360, and a bike…”

Santa chuckled and patted him on the head as he read off his list.

“Joshua,” his mother said, looking at her watch, “Santa’s very busy and you read your list to him already today.”

“But if I tell him as many times as I can, maybe he’ll remember all my gifts this year.”

“I really don’t think…”

“Oh, it’s okay, mom,” Santa said. “I have all the time in the world for good little boys like your son.”

“See? Where was I? Oh, a Lego’s starship, and an iguana…”

Joshua’s mother looked through her purse and checked her own list. She would never finish her Christmas shopping with all these street corner Santas around. She noticed a vendor selling coffee about ten feet away. Perfect.

“Joshua, stay right here with Santa. Mommy’s gonna get some coffee right over there.”

“And a snowboard, and a baseball glove…”

She walked to the vendor and ordered a large coffee, never taking her eyes off Joshua. She found some spare change in her purse but ended up two quarters short.

“Damn you Santa.”

She handed a $20 bill to the vendor. She flicked her cigarette to the ground, stamping it out with her shoe, and reached for her change and steaming hot coffee. She dropped the change in her purse and took a small sip of her coffee. Glorious caffeine. Now she was ready for her son’s constant barrage of Christmas wishes. She started back towards the street corner but was stopped dead in her tracks. The corner was empty except for a steady flow of business people and holiday shoppers.

No Santa.

No Joshua.

She dropped her coffee and ran.

“Joshua!”