A Plague
"Hello."
Blank look with no response.
"Jesus Christ!"
I'll give all my readers two guesses as to which of the above described people is yours truly. If you guessed the one who said "Hello" only to be greeted with a blank stare stare and no audible response only to respond to this with a frustrated curse, you'd be correct. I know I wrote about rudeness in this town below, but this happened to me, again, today in the one locale that I've been cursed to run into unresponsive people on a daily basis, the bike trail. This seems like an odd place to run into people who don't seem to want to have any interaction with fellow humans at all, but it seems to be a Mecca for these types. Every day, I'm down there I'm guaranteed an encounter with some goof who seems incapable of speech. Perhaps they're all mutes, I thought at first, but this seemed highly unlikely. I just think people are assholes, as I've mentioned before, but there has to be something else to it.
It's getting to the point where the only guaranteed conversation I can rely on is:
"Do you go to Pitt?"
"Man, I can't talk to you now."
"No need to be rude."
This is from a mentally deranged lunatic.
As I stated below, my confined orb of reality has been rather small in nature, pretty much for the duration of my life. Having only really lived in three different town, including currently Pittsburgh, I haven't had the types of exposure to various cultures and rural variations in personalities that others have been fortunate to have had. I come from a small town where, for the most part and not to sound too hokey, people are friendly, or they're at least friendly enough to respond to a "hello" when you say it to them. It's not exactly a town where 1. rudeness is expected 2. rudeness is even tolerated to some extent. Here, though, is a different story.
I've been toying with an idea that this town, meaning Pittsburgh, is suffering from an identity crisis. I'm not sure how else to describe it. It's a large city with a lot of people, various people of varying nationalities and cultural traits to be more specific. On the outside there appears to be little or no indication that this mix of people is either more or less inclined to be more or less friendly to their fellow citizens. The crisis stems from my idea that this town, for all its charms and culture, is striving very hard, almost painstakingly so, to be like New York City. It's obvious that there's something to this effect occurring at various levels, and it can be seen in the writing that appears in local papers to the types of events, promotions, and various other aspects that occur throughout this town. Where it's most evident, in my mind, is in the way people treat one another in this town. It's almost as if it's a given, and I don't mean to harp on this point, that people are expected to be rude to one another. Why say "Hello" back to someone when you can just walk by without responding? Why not let the pedestrian walk across the street when they clearly have the walk sign instead of trying to make a turn? Why not treat customers or patrons as nicely as possible in an effort to retain their business and patronage instead of acting as if they're infringing upon your time?
As outlandish as it seems, I do believe there's such a thing as a collective consciousness here at work in the world. It's not as noticeable on a grand scale, but it's much more noticeable on a smaller local level. Here I see this operating in the ways in which people treat one another. Collectively, it's a rudeness that proliferates through this town and is excreted upon the masses and, unfortunately, people who are just trying to be nice and courteous and just plain being human. Something here has to change. Obviously, we're talking about a paradigm shift on such a massive scale that's beyond comprehension. However, it's possible that this town can change for the better. I don't know how, and I know it's a lot more complicated than just having some inane community outreach, group hug, come together and sign songs type of event. It's going to take something huge to shift the paradigm, and I think it's obvious what that thing is going to be. Look at New York City and the events there in the last few years to understand my meaning. It's terrible to contemplate, but it's true, and I really believe this, that entire communities, in this day and age, have to suffer through a cataclysmic event to shift the paradigm. If I'm wrong on this point, prove me wrong.
In closing, in an odd experience that only seems odd in retrospect, I remember walking down the street of my hometown, seeing a new neighbor out on his lawn, speaking to him in much the same way, and not getting a response. Relating this to my mother, I remember vividly that her response was that this new neighbor was from Pittsburgh and he's just not friendly to anyone. Is it too much of a stretch to say that I'm on to something here?
Wednesday, February 18, 2004
Conspiracy Theory (Yet another Update)
Well, now they've done it and done it with a final emphasis that pretty much pounds the final nail in the coffin. Panera Bread has posted a sign on their doors that due to a tremendously unforeseen, major plumbing problem their restrooms are closed indefinitely. In an effort to keep you, the paying customer, from indulging in their bottomless coffee refills, this company has decided to go the route reserved only those with a certain bent persona, something befitting of an overbearing fascist regime. It's a sickening display from a classless outfit. In the words of an idol of mine, "This aggression will not stand."
Well, now they've done it and done it with a final emphasis that pretty much pounds the final nail in the coffin. Panera Bread has posted a sign on their doors that due to a tremendously unforeseen, major plumbing problem their restrooms are closed indefinitely. In an effort to keep you, the paying customer, from indulging in their bottomless coffee refills, this company has decided to go the route reserved only those with a certain bent persona, something befitting of an overbearing fascist regime. It's a sickening display from a classless outfit. In the words of an idol of mine, "This aggression will not stand."
Rudeness in Winter
I've been on a tear lately with regards to my negativity about this town and its inhabitants. In a few simple words, people here are incredibly rude, rude beyond belief, rude to the point of aggression. I don't know how to explain it, but there seems to be a plethora of people out and about these days, weather notwithstanding, that have little or no regard for their fellow man. The lack of social niceties is obvious to anyone with a shred of common courtesy and decency. What's most troubling, or maybe comforting to some, is that this behavior seems to transcend racial and economic classes. Everyone here is rude, equally. The phrases, "excuse me" and "thank you" are about as nonexistent here as dinosaurs.
It's apparent that there's something amiss when you encounter people in various locales, and the types of personalities encountered remains the same, a disgruntled lot of workers, wanderers, and the other numerous groups of miscontent citizens that populate this town. It doesn't matter where you're at be it the grocery store, a coffeeshop, a diner, a record store, people here specialize in being assholes. Since my bubble world only extends to the city limits, I have to rely on what I've heard, and I've heard, read, and absorbed from numerous sources that New Yorkers are, without a doubt, the rudest people in the country, if not the entire planet. For the most part, I believe these are exaggerations, a stereotype that's been adopted as scripture with some truth, but not all that much. However, I'd have to say that here is where you encounter the rudest people around, or at least in this part of Pennsylvania.
Some would blame this behavior on the weather, but I think there's something else going on. I'm fascinated by watching people, and I truly believe that you can tell by just looking at someone what type of personality you're dealing with. One of the most disturbing traits I've encountered here is, what I call, a "blank look or stare," a variation on what's termed the "thousand yard stare". People just look at you, but they don't see you. If you'd told me that I could, in effect, be invisible around people, I would have called you crazy, but it's a phenomenon that's real, and I see it all the time. It's this look that troubles me more than anything else. That stare produces a sense of fear and unease in me faster than any other implied or overt threat.
Others would blame the economy, and here I have to both agree and disagree. Employees at various businesses are incredibly rude. It's almost as if you're doing them a disservice by frequenting their establishments. I have to say that I'm not alone in this feeling. Benedict has related to me several tales regarding these disgruntled employees and their constant state of discontent and aggravation baffles me to no end. If you're frustrated by your place in life, fine, but isn't it obvious that there's little out there right now? Upward mobility is a dying phrase reserved for only a few people. Being thankful for a steady job seems to be the least some of these people can do in life. I don't understand this at all.
I could go on, but there's really no point. However, to relate one final tale, last night while conversing with Benedict in his car after a trip to the local 24-hour diner, I heard a noise. It sounded like a dog barking, but I couldn't be sure. So, I turn around and look to see someone cross the street behind us. He, this guy, walks along then coughs a cough that clearly indicates that this man is suffering from either the black plague or he's been exposed to some biological contagion. If this isn't odd enough, he stares at us as he's walking, stops, turns around, and gives us the finger. Why? Well, before I could answer that, he does it again, and again until he's out of the light. What can explain this behavior? It's not rudeness, per say, but it's definitely an outward manifestation of some form of anger and rage, and I'm willing to bet that this guy, this drunken schmuck, is as rude as anyone here in Pittsburgh. How do I know this? Well, when 95% of a population subscribes to the ideology of being an asshole all the time, then you're pretty much guaranteed a pretty good chance of labeling correctly the type of person you're dealing with. Chances are he wouldn't say "excuse me" in the grocery store either.
I've been on a tear lately with regards to my negativity about this town and its inhabitants. In a few simple words, people here are incredibly rude, rude beyond belief, rude to the point of aggression. I don't know how to explain it, but there seems to be a plethora of people out and about these days, weather notwithstanding, that have little or no regard for their fellow man. The lack of social niceties is obvious to anyone with a shred of common courtesy and decency. What's most troubling, or maybe comforting to some, is that this behavior seems to transcend racial and economic classes. Everyone here is rude, equally. The phrases, "excuse me" and "thank you" are about as nonexistent here as dinosaurs.
It's apparent that there's something amiss when you encounter people in various locales, and the types of personalities encountered remains the same, a disgruntled lot of workers, wanderers, and the other numerous groups of miscontent citizens that populate this town. It doesn't matter where you're at be it the grocery store, a coffeeshop, a diner, a record store, people here specialize in being assholes. Since my bubble world only extends to the city limits, I have to rely on what I've heard, and I've heard, read, and absorbed from numerous sources that New Yorkers are, without a doubt, the rudest people in the country, if not the entire planet. For the most part, I believe these are exaggerations, a stereotype that's been adopted as scripture with some truth, but not all that much. However, I'd have to say that here is where you encounter the rudest people around, or at least in this part of Pennsylvania.
Some would blame this behavior on the weather, but I think there's something else going on. I'm fascinated by watching people, and I truly believe that you can tell by just looking at someone what type of personality you're dealing with. One of the most disturbing traits I've encountered here is, what I call, a "blank look or stare," a variation on what's termed the "thousand yard stare". People just look at you, but they don't see you. If you'd told me that I could, in effect, be invisible around people, I would have called you crazy, but it's a phenomenon that's real, and I see it all the time. It's this look that troubles me more than anything else. That stare produces a sense of fear and unease in me faster than any other implied or overt threat.
Others would blame the economy, and here I have to both agree and disagree. Employees at various businesses are incredibly rude. It's almost as if you're doing them a disservice by frequenting their establishments. I have to say that I'm not alone in this feeling. Benedict has related to me several tales regarding these disgruntled employees and their constant state of discontent and aggravation baffles me to no end. If you're frustrated by your place in life, fine, but isn't it obvious that there's little out there right now? Upward mobility is a dying phrase reserved for only a few people. Being thankful for a steady job seems to be the least some of these people can do in life. I don't understand this at all.
I could go on, but there's really no point. However, to relate one final tale, last night while conversing with Benedict in his car after a trip to the local 24-hour diner, I heard a noise. It sounded like a dog barking, but I couldn't be sure. So, I turn around and look to see someone cross the street behind us. He, this guy, walks along then coughs a cough that clearly indicates that this man is suffering from either the black plague or he's been exposed to some biological contagion. If this isn't odd enough, he stares at us as he's walking, stops, turns around, and gives us the finger. Why? Well, before I could answer that, he does it again, and again until he's out of the light. What can explain this behavior? It's not rudeness, per say, but it's definitely an outward manifestation of some form of anger and rage, and I'm willing to bet that this guy, this drunken schmuck, is as rude as anyone here in Pittsburgh. How do I know this? Well, when 95% of a population subscribes to the ideology of being an asshole all the time, then you're pretty much guaranteed a pretty good chance of labeling correctly the type of person you're dealing with. Chances are he wouldn't say "excuse me" in the grocery store either.
Sunday, February 15, 2004
Saturday, February 14, 2004
Rage Against the Screen
In retrospect, I never thought that I'd feel the way I did walking out of the theater. Having just watched the critically acclaimed film, Mystic River, I couldn't help but feel filled with rage and disgust, not at the film, which was well made, but in its ability to, simply put, piss me off. Without revealing too much about the film, let's just say that there aren't very many redeeming characters in this film. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that there aren't any sympathetic characters in this film. The protagonist, if you want to call him that, Jimmy Markum, played by Sean Penn, is a despicable human being who, quite literally, gets away with murder, and an unjustified one at that. And the most disturbing thing about it is that it's alright. Nothing is going to happen to him. The world's going to be a swell place, and his wife, Annabeth Markum, played by Laura Linney, in what had to be one of the most disgusting scenes, essentially tells him to forget about it. Along with this, you have the played out neighborhood loyalty trick that seems to play out in a ton of films focusing on specific ethnic or regional neighborhoods. In other words, this film really pissed me off like no other recent film.
This feeling, this disgust and rage, is something that I've felt before when watching films, which led me to consider, again, the role of the media in emotional manipulation. Now, I'm not a huge proponent of the theories that people embrace that blame the media's influence for every misdeed that occurs in this country, but I do think that it does have an increasingly powerful affect that, in someone who is easily influenced, could lead to some sort of behavior modification. That notwithstanding, the point here is that I've become aware of the power films have over people. This, obviously, isn't something new. Film is a pretty powerful medium, and it has the ability to make people experience a wide array of emotions, from sadness to happiness to anger, all in the span of several hours. It's no wonder the propaganda is such a powerful tool when placed in the hands of people with less than noble intentions.
Mystic River, though, put me in mind of another film that I saw that had a similar affect on me. Possibly, this was the film that made me realize that film can make you feel different emotions depending on what's being portrayed on screen. Regardless of how you feel about the historical accuracy of the The Patriot, one character, William Tavington, played by Jason Issacs, is an utter personification of evil. His actions throughout the course of the film are despicable, disgusting, and downright heinous. But these are all done intentionally in an effort by the filmmakers to create a real villain. After seeing the film, I remarked to the friend I watched it with that it's becoming apparent that filmmakers are trying to harder and harder to create villains that are so beyond evil that only the devil himself could prove to be even more evil, and this might be a hard task to accomplish. So, throughout this entire film, all you want to do is see Tavington die. Thankfully, he does, but that leads me to the most disturbing aspect of this: how can a film that's purely fictional produce such hatred in filmgoers, and what, if any, harm is done by doing this?
I don't have any easy answers to this, but I have seen plenty of films with villains that are becoming more and more heinous in their actions that you just want to see them die at all costs. Another example Breakdown features a gang of evil men who kidnap stranded motorists and torture and kill them. Watching this film is difficult, not because it's graphic, but because it's really disturbing. All you want to do is see these men die, horrifically if possible. I don't know which is worse, watching what's happening on the screen or feeling how you feel when you leave the theater.
Maybe I'm overreacting, and I don't want to sound as if I'm calling for censorship, which is the furthest thing in my mind to an ideal situation. I just hate to think that we can be manipulated so easily into believing that seeing this person, in these cases fictional characters, die and have it done on a repeated basis. Propaganda is a powerful tool, and if I had any desire to produce some sort of mass propaganda furthering my own agenda, I'd choose film as my medium. It's scary to think about, but I think it's worthy of consideration the next time you enter the theater or put a film on to watch at home.
In retrospect, I never thought that I'd feel the way I did walking out of the theater. Having just watched the critically acclaimed film, Mystic River, I couldn't help but feel filled with rage and disgust, not at the film, which was well made, but in its ability to, simply put, piss me off. Without revealing too much about the film, let's just say that there aren't very many redeeming characters in this film. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that there aren't any sympathetic characters in this film. The protagonist, if you want to call him that, Jimmy Markum, played by Sean Penn, is a despicable human being who, quite literally, gets away with murder, and an unjustified one at that. And the most disturbing thing about it is that it's alright. Nothing is going to happen to him. The world's going to be a swell place, and his wife, Annabeth Markum, played by Laura Linney, in what had to be one of the most disgusting scenes, essentially tells him to forget about it. Along with this, you have the played out neighborhood loyalty trick that seems to play out in a ton of films focusing on specific ethnic or regional neighborhoods. In other words, this film really pissed me off like no other recent film.
This feeling, this disgust and rage, is something that I've felt before when watching films, which led me to consider, again, the role of the media in emotional manipulation. Now, I'm not a huge proponent of the theories that people embrace that blame the media's influence for every misdeed that occurs in this country, but I do think that it does have an increasingly powerful affect that, in someone who is easily influenced, could lead to some sort of behavior modification. That notwithstanding, the point here is that I've become aware of the power films have over people. This, obviously, isn't something new. Film is a pretty powerful medium, and it has the ability to make people experience a wide array of emotions, from sadness to happiness to anger, all in the span of several hours. It's no wonder the propaganda is such a powerful tool when placed in the hands of people with less than noble intentions.
Mystic River, though, put me in mind of another film that I saw that had a similar affect on me. Possibly, this was the film that made me realize that film can make you feel different emotions depending on what's being portrayed on screen. Regardless of how you feel about the historical accuracy of the The Patriot, one character, William Tavington, played by Jason Issacs, is an utter personification of evil. His actions throughout the course of the film are despicable, disgusting, and downright heinous. But these are all done intentionally in an effort by the filmmakers to create a real villain. After seeing the film, I remarked to the friend I watched it with that it's becoming apparent that filmmakers are trying to harder and harder to create villains that are so beyond evil that only the devil himself could prove to be even more evil, and this might be a hard task to accomplish. So, throughout this entire film, all you want to do is see Tavington die. Thankfully, he does, but that leads me to the most disturbing aspect of this: how can a film that's purely fictional produce such hatred in filmgoers, and what, if any, harm is done by doing this?
I don't have any easy answers to this, but I have seen plenty of films with villains that are becoming more and more heinous in their actions that you just want to see them die at all costs. Another example Breakdown features a gang of evil men who kidnap stranded motorists and torture and kill them. Watching this film is difficult, not because it's graphic, but because it's really disturbing. All you want to do is see these men die, horrifically if possible. I don't know which is worse, watching what's happening on the screen or feeling how you feel when you leave the theater.
Maybe I'm overreacting, and I don't want to sound as if I'm calling for censorship, which is the furthest thing in my mind to an ideal situation. I just hate to think that we can be manipulated so easily into believing that seeing this person, in these cases fictional characters, die and have it done on a repeated basis. Propaganda is a powerful tool, and if I had any desire to produce some sort of mass propaganda furthering my own agenda, I'd choose film as my medium. It's scary to think about, but I think it's worthy of consideration the next time you enter the theater or put a film on to watch at home.
Wednesday, February 11, 2004
Tuesday, February 10, 2004
deja vu
I've always been a huge believer in the occurrence of deja vu; I also believe that I, personally, experience it quite often. I'm really not sure how to explain the occurrences, and it seems that, for the most part, they're related to nothing more than a vague feeling that I've seen something before, heard something before, or been in a situation before. Also, for the most part, I never seem to experience the feeling with regards to huge events. Mostly, I'm vaguely aware of what's occurring, and it lasts for little more than a few seconds. Sometimes, however, the feeling lasts for quite awhile, and it becomes a source of frustration due to the fact that I'm not sure that I'm remembering exactly what I already experienced, or if I'm even experiencing anything at all. It's such an odd phenomenon, and I'm sure most people experience it in some form or another quite often, but, for whatever reason, they aren't sure that it's occurring, how often, or even what the odd feeling might be that they're experiencing.
So, it comes as no surprise that this pervasive feeling of deja vu should get engulfed in other aspects of my life, including my reading habits. This past Sunday, I experienced my latest occurrence of this feeling. What happened, and I realize that labeling this deja vu might be a stretch, but I'm at a loss as to how else to label it, is that I was reading The New York Times. I came to an article in the Arts section entitled "The Scream, East of Krakatoa" by Richard Panek. Simply put, this article discusses the connections, or possible connections depending on who you believe, between the Edvard Munch's painting "The Scream" to the eruption of Krakatoa, or, in other words, it discusses how the one event influenced the other. Nothing all that earthshattering, I presumed. What happened when I saw this, though, is that I immediately felt that I'd seen this article before in another form. The problem was that I couldn't quite place where I'd seen it. Was it in a newspaper, a magazine, or a book? I couldn't remember, but I knew I'd seen this article before.
Now, this leads me to the most unfortunate aspect of the story. I wracked my brain for the answer, and I came to the conclusion that, yes, I'd seen this article before, and I was convinced, in ways I hate to admit, that I'd seen it before in a newspaper, but that newspaper was The New York Times, the very same publication that printed this very article. So, how could I prove that? Well it was a simple task; I just looked it up in the National Newspapers Database by Proquest. Concurrently, to both my dismay and ultimate relief, I found the following: (1) a link to the above mentioned article (2) a link to an article entitled "More than a 'Scream': A Blast Felt Round the World" by Leon Jaroff . Without reading the articles, you can see, they both discuss the very same topic. So what?
Well, I think this is a big deal for several reasons, the first of which deals with the notion of repetition in journalism. Surely, one can comb the various popular magazines or newspapers and find similar content between them on numerous occasions. In fact, I do this quite often with all the magazines I subscribe to. For the most part, you can tell which movie star, musician, or author is promoting what when a plethora of articles about said person start appearing in a wide spectrum of titles. It's especially easy to see repetition of either photos, stories, and the like in publications that originate under the same banner but in different forms, see Maxim and Stuff. This type of repetition smacks of laziness or, in some cases, a simple lack of diverse information available to print. However, what's more troubling is that it seems as if the nation's leading newspaper, the aforementioned The New York Times, has been engaging in, what I'd call, "filling a newspaper" with, what is essentially, reprinted materials on a regular basis. I've repeatedly seen articles that sound so similar to previously published articles, sometimes within days of each other, that I sometimes wonder whether I'm reading an old paper. Editorials, news articles, reviews, you name it, but it seems that they've adopted a system where they fill there pages with a lot of stuff that's recycled. All they do is change a byline here, shuffle a few words around, and, presto, you've got a new article that is just different enough to pass off as being a totally different piece of writing. Perhaps I'm wrong, but I don't think so.
Why I don't think I'm wrong points back to a debate I've been having with myself as of late. I've been consuming a vast array of books that are (1) critical of our current administration (2) critical of the conservative movement in politics and the media (3) both. What I've noticed happening, though, is that they, meaning the authors of these books, and I, the reader, have reached a saturation point with regards to these subjects. The repetitive feel to all these books puts one in mind of reading the same novel over and over again, a novel in which you know what's going to happen where and how all the issues are resolved before the books finished. To me, and I assume many others, this is a pointless exercise, unless, of course, you're rereading something that (1) you really enjoy (2) demands rereading due to either difficult prose or narrative deconstruction. Regardless, the point being that most people don't reread the same thing over and over without a good reason.
Back to the current administration. What I feel is currently happening to critics of it is that they are unwilling to accept anything that comes out of the mouths of our leaders without the need to criticize. Nothing, and I mean literally nothing, they do can be construed as being the "right" thing to do with our country. What this leads to is a constant set of attacks that are critical of every decision, speech, etc. that accompanies our current leadership. Reading the editorial pages of The New York Times becomes (1) either a test of wills regarding how much negativity you can stand on a daily basis (2) the greatest forum for criticism against the conservatives, Republicans, or anyone on the "right." This type of repetition could drive someone to switch party allegiances very easily, but that's a theory best left for another post.
The final reason I'm disturbed by this utter lack of creativity from the "paper of record" is that I, along with many others, feel that this is the best source for news available. It's the best newspaper printed, and thus shouldn't need to resort to tactics that would be expected of lesser publications. They need not worry about filling up the pages with articles that serve as nothing more than "filler" for that day's edition. I'd say that this is the equivalent to learning that your greatest hero is in fact a terrible person in many ways, but that's a tad dramatic. I will say that it's a disappointment that I wish never occurred, but I know now that it does, and probably more frequently than my sense of deja vu is able to alert me to.
I've always been a huge believer in the occurrence of deja vu; I also believe that I, personally, experience it quite often. I'm really not sure how to explain the occurrences, and it seems that, for the most part, they're related to nothing more than a vague feeling that I've seen something before, heard something before, or been in a situation before. Also, for the most part, I never seem to experience the feeling with regards to huge events. Mostly, I'm vaguely aware of what's occurring, and it lasts for little more than a few seconds. Sometimes, however, the feeling lasts for quite awhile, and it becomes a source of frustration due to the fact that I'm not sure that I'm remembering exactly what I already experienced, or if I'm even experiencing anything at all. It's such an odd phenomenon, and I'm sure most people experience it in some form or another quite often, but, for whatever reason, they aren't sure that it's occurring, how often, or even what the odd feeling might be that they're experiencing.
So, it comes as no surprise that this pervasive feeling of deja vu should get engulfed in other aspects of my life, including my reading habits. This past Sunday, I experienced my latest occurrence of this feeling. What happened, and I realize that labeling this deja vu might be a stretch, but I'm at a loss as to how else to label it, is that I was reading The New York Times. I came to an article in the Arts section entitled "The Scream, East of Krakatoa" by Richard Panek. Simply put, this article discusses the connections, or possible connections depending on who you believe, between the Edvard Munch's painting "The Scream" to the eruption of Krakatoa, or, in other words, it discusses how the one event influenced the other. Nothing all that earthshattering, I presumed. What happened when I saw this, though, is that I immediately felt that I'd seen this article before in another form. The problem was that I couldn't quite place where I'd seen it. Was it in a newspaper, a magazine, or a book? I couldn't remember, but I knew I'd seen this article before.
Now, this leads me to the most unfortunate aspect of the story. I wracked my brain for the answer, and I came to the conclusion that, yes, I'd seen this article before, and I was convinced, in ways I hate to admit, that I'd seen it before in a newspaper, but that newspaper was The New York Times, the very same publication that printed this very article. So, how could I prove that? Well it was a simple task; I just looked it up in the National Newspapers Database by Proquest. Concurrently, to both my dismay and ultimate relief, I found the following: (1) a link to the above mentioned article (2) a link to an article entitled "More than a 'Scream': A Blast Felt Round the World" by Leon Jaroff . Without reading the articles, you can see, they both discuss the very same topic. So what?
Well, I think this is a big deal for several reasons, the first of which deals with the notion of repetition in journalism. Surely, one can comb the various popular magazines or newspapers and find similar content between them on numerous occasions. In fact, I do this quite often with all the magazines I subscribe to. For the most part, you can tell which movie star, musician, or author is promoting what when a plethora of articles about said person start appearing in a wide spectrum of titles. It's especially easy to see repetition of either photos, stories, and the like in publications that originate under the same banner but in different forms, see Maxim and Stuff. This type of repetition smacks of laziness or, in some cases, a simple lack of diverse information available to print. However, what's more troubling is that it seems as if the nation's leading newspaper, the aforementioned The New York Times, has been engaging in, what I'd call, "filling a newspaper" with, what is essentially, reprinted materials on a regular basis. I've repeatedly seen articles that sound so similar to previously published articles, sometimes within days of each other, that I sometimes wonder whether I'm reading an old paper. Editorials, news articles, reviews, you name it, but it seems that they've adopted a system where they fill there pages with a lot of stuff that's recycled. All they do is change a byline here, shuffle a few words around, and, presto, you've got a new article that is just different enough to pass off as being a totally different piece of writing. Perhaps I'm wrong, but I don't think so.
Why I don't think I'm wrong points back to a debate I've been having with myself as of late. I've been consuming a vast array of books that are (1) critical of our current administration (2) critical of the conservative movement in politics and the media (3) both. What I've noticed happening, though, is that they, meaning the authors of these books, and I, the reader, have reached a saturation point with regards to these subjects. The repetitive feel to all these books puts one in mind of reading the same novel over and over again, a novel in which you know what's going to happen where and how all the issues are resolved before the books finished. To me, and I assume many others, this is a pointless exercise, unless, of course, you're rereading something that (1) you really enjoy (2) demands rereading due to either difficult prose or narrative deconstruction. Regardless, the point being that most people don't reread the same thing over and over without a good reason.
Back to the current administration. What I feel is currently happening to critics of it is that they are unwilling to accept anything that comes out of the mouths of our leaders without the need to criticize. Nothing, and I mean literally nothing, they do can be construed as being the "right" thing to do with our country. What this leads to is a constant set of attacks that are critical of every decision, speech, etc. that accompanies our current leadership. Reading the editorial pages of The New York Times becomes (1) either a test of wills regarding how much negativity you can stand on a daily basis (2) the greatest forum for criticism against the conservatives, Republicans, or anyone on the "right." This type of repetition could drive someone to switch party allegiances very easily, but that's a theory best left for another post.
The final reason I'm disturbed by this utter lack of creativity from the "paper of record" is that I, along with many others, feel that this is the best source for news available. It's the best newspaper printed, and thus shouldn't need to resort to tactics that would be expected of lesser publications. They need not worry about filling up the pages with articles that serve as nothing more than "filler" for that day's edition. I'd say that this is the equivalent to learning that your greatest hero is in fact a terrible person in many ways, but that's a tad dramatic. I will say that it's a disappointment that I wish never occurred, but I know now that it does, and probably more frequently than my sense of deja vu is able to alert me to.
Saturday, February 07, 2004
Wednesday, February 04, 2004
It's all My Fault
Okay, I'll fess up and take the blame. I'm the man responsible for the fiasco that occurred this past Sunday during the Super Bowl. The resulting "wardrobe malfunction" can be solely attributed to my doing. I thought that the halftime show of the Super Bowl lacked, how shall we say it, any redeeming value, either entertainment wise of otherwise. In fact, I think the most interesting aspect of these half time theatrics are the other networks and their attempts to lure the audience away from the usual pomp and circumstance that proliferates during the long and dreaded break in the action. So, I figured what could keep an audience of, from what advertisers must assume are predominantly older, impotent males with little or now sense of humor that extends beyond the most foul and base in nature, tuned into a halftime show populated with played out hip-hop acts, an ego-maniacal rap/rock superstar, and an aimless, directionless boy-toy better than the glimpse of a breast, a real, naked breast. It's a brilliant idea, and I'm to blame. It was my idea because that's what it would take to keep me watching this garbage.
p.s. I didn't actually see the pasty covered breast. No, I was watching CNN to see the commercial CBS rejected as being too controversial from Moveon.org . So, let me get this straight, it's okay to see a glimpse of a breast amidst a steamy half time routine, but it's altogether inappropriate to show an ad that is political in nature advocating (1) voting in general (2) getting our current administration out of office? Oh, and did I mention the fact that the other commercials were primarily devoted to sex? If it wasn't multiple treatments for erectile dysfunctions, it was lame beer ads, one with a man getting his pubic hair waxed off, another with a talking monkey implying sexual intercourse with a woman, and a third with horse flatulence searing off the hair of a woman after being ignited? Politics is too controversial, but this detritus isn't?
Okay, I'll fess up and take the blame. I'm the man responsible for the fiasco that occurred this past Sunday during the Super Bowl. The resulting "wardrobe malfunction" can be solely attributed to my doing. I thought that the halftime show of the Super Bowl lacked, how shall we say it, any redeeming value, either entertainment wise of otherwise. In fact, I think the most interesting aspect of these half time theatrics are the other networks and their attempts to lure the audience away from the usual pomp and circumstance that proliferates during the long and dreaded break in the action. So, I figured what could keep an audience of, from what advertisers must assume are predominantly older, impotent males with little or now sense of humor that extends beyond the most foul and base in nature, tuned into a halftime show populated with played out hip-hop acts, an ego-maniacal rap/rock superstar, and an aimless, directionless boy-toy better than the glimpse of a breast, a real, naked breast. It's a brilliant idea, and I'm to blame. It was my idea because that's what it would take to keep me watching this garbage.
p.s. I didn't actually see the pasty covered breast. No, I was watching CNN to see the commercial CBS rejected as being too controversial from Moveon.org . So, let me get this straight, it's okay to see a glimpse of a breast amidst a steamy half time routine, but it's altogether inappropriate to show an ad that is political in nature advocating (1) voting in general (2) getting our current administration out of office? Oh, and did I mention the fact that the other commercials were primarily devoted to sex? If it wasn't multiple treatments for erectile dysfunctions, it was lame beer ads, one with a man getting his pubic hair waxed off, another with a talking monkey implying sexual intercourse with a woman, and a third with horse flatulence searing off the hair of a woman after being ignited? Politics is too controversial, but this detritus isn't?
Tuesday, February 03, 2004
An End to a Series
First off, I think it's appropriate to notify my readers that I'm discontinuing the dictionary series as of today. I can't go on posting words that are of little or no interest to me or to anyone else. The recent spate of words that are, usually, in the noun form have little to offer me to riff on for any substantial amount of space. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but I feel like after having seen several terrible words, that it's time to move on and pursue something with more relevance.
What can explain the noticeable lack of interesting words? Today, for example, I have "inadvertency," in one of those terribly short definitions that tells you next to nothing about the word other than being used short example with "..." to indicate where the word would appear in the example. Which leads me to wonder who is looking up these words. Now, I realize that it's entirely possible. and most likely, that these words at the top of the page are not the words being looked at by the users. Having said that, I think a worthy enterprise might be to pursue, at random, the word on the two pages that might have been the object of inquiry. My theory would be that, for the most part, people use dictionaries to look up words that are common but are hard to spell correctly or are common but have meanings that are hard to discern from the context being used. Using this as a backdrop, let's look at the two pages where "inadvertency" appears and try to surmise which word was the actual "word" that needed clarification for one of if not both the above reasons. Among the words appearing on these two pages are the following: inalienable, inaugurate, inbreeding, incarceration, incest, and inch. Knowing that this dictionary is in a law library could lead you to conclude that words such as "inalienable" or "incarceration" could possibly be of interest to a law student. However, it's also a possibility that someone is interested in the dynamics of "inbreeding" and "incest," which kinda go hand in hand, and are, most likely, crimes that could be prosecuted by perspective lawyers. My bet, though, is that the person using these two pages was looking for a definition or a spelling of the former and not the latter.
As interesting as the preceding was, I don't think that this is a worthy pursuit of my time and space on this site. Alas, I don't expect that many people are going to miss my series; I know I won't. So, now what can I write about? What type of series should I pursue? I'm asking you, my two readers, to tell me what I can use here in the library that will allow me to make a continuing series? My suggestion, based on the quote below is to use the copy of Bartlett's Familiar Quotations to find a different quote each night. How's that sound?
First off, I think it's appropriate to notify my readers that I'm discontinuing the dictionary series as of today. I can't go on posting words that are of little or no interest to me or to anyone else. The recent spate of words that are, usually, in the noun form have little to offer me to riff on for any substantial amount of space. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but I feel like after having seen several terrible words, that it's time to move on and pursue something with more relevance.
What can explain the noticeable lack of interesting words? Today, for example, I have "inadvertency," in one of those terribly short definitions that tells you next to nothing about the word other than being used short example with "..." to indicate where the word would appear in the example. Which leads me to wonder who is looking up these words. Now, I realize that it's entirely possible. and most likely, that these words at the top of the page are not the words being looked at by the users. Having said that, I think a worthy enterprise might be to pursue, at random, the word on the two pages that might have been the object of inquiry. My theory would be that, for the most part, people use dictionaries to look up words that are common but are hard to spell correctly or are common but have meanings that are hard to discern from the context being used. Using this as a backdrop, let's look at the two pages where "inadvertency" appears and try to surmise which word was the actual "word" that needed clarification for one of if not both the above reasons. Among the words appearing on these two pages are the following: inalienable, inaugurate, inbreeding, incarceration, incest, and inch. Knowing that this dictionary is in a law library could lead you to conclude that words such as "inalienable" or "incarceration" could possibly be of interest to a law student. However, it's also a possibility that someone is interested in the dynamics of "inbreeding" and "incest," which kinda go hand in hand, and are, most likely, crimes that could be prosecuted by perspective lawyers. My bet, though, is that the person using these two pages was looking for a definition or a spelling of the former and not the latter.
As interesting as the preceding was, I don't think that this is a worthy pursuit of my time and space on this site. Alas, I don't expect that many people are going to miss my series; I know I won't. So, now what can I write about? What type of series should I pursue? I'm asking you, my two readers, to tell me what I can use here in the library that will allow me to make a continuing series? My suggestion, based on the quote below is to use the copy of Bartlett's Familiar Quotations to find a different quote each night. How's that sound?
Saturday, January 31, 2004
"If the radiance of a thousand suns were burst at once in the sky, that would be like the splendor of the Mighty One...I am become death, the destroyer of worlds."- Dr. J. Robert Oppenheimer, "Godfather" of the atom bomb, quoting the Hindu epic Mahabarata after seeing it detonated at Alamogordo, New Mexico in 1945
Thursday, January 29, 2004
Conspiracy Theory (Another Update)
In yet another update to my long range study of temperature inversions here at business, I've yet again encountered another coffeeshop that, you guessed it, has a fan blowing which makes it incredibly cold in the building. As in my initial post and in the first update, again an establishment, this time the dreaded, at least in Benedict's eyes, Starbucks has entered the pantheon of coffeeshops (Again, is it necessary to exclaim that these places sell coffee, and thus should be warm as well?) that are cold. Now, I'm not sure what this says about the company at large, but it seems to me that you would want to have a place be warm in the winter, a point I've made previously. Having said that, it appears as if my theory has encountered some proof that refutes the idea that this is done in an effort to keep smokers warm, since neither of the last two establishments permit smoking on the premises. So, what can we conclude from this? I'm not sure. Are owners just trying to cut down on the heating costs? If so, how can you explain a Starbucks that's one of the smaller ones being forced to take this measure? I don't have any answers, but I do have questions, such as why my feet are cold, why my neck is cold, why can't I take off my jacket.......????
In yet another update to my long range study of temperature inversions here at business, I've yet again encountered another coffeeshop that, you guessed it, has a fan blowing which makes it incredibly cold in the building. As in my initial post and in the first update, again an establishment, this time the dreaded, at least in Benedict's eyes, Starbucks has entered the pantheon of coffeeshops (Again, is it necessary to exclaim that these places sell coffee, and thus should be warm as well?) that are cold. Now, I'm not sure what this says about the company at large, but it seems to me that you would want to have a place be warm in the winter, a point I've made previously. Having said that, it appears as if my theory has encountered some proof that refutes the idea that this is done in an effort to keep smokers warm, since neither of the last two establishments permit smoking on the premises. So, what can we conclude from this? I'm not sure. Are owners just trying to cut down on the heating costs? If so, how can you explain a Starbucks that's one of the smaller ones being forced to take this measure? I don't have any answers, but I do have questions, such as why my feet are cold, why my neck is cold, why can't I take off my jacket.......????
Wednesday, January 28, 2004
Tuesday, January 27, 2004
Separation Anxiety
I've been suffering from what I'll call separation anxiety towards friends and loved ones as of late. Now, I've gone through this spell plenty of times in my life, much to numerous to recall, and I can recall times in which I haven't had these spells when one assumes that I would. It all started with my roommate's declaration the other day that he was planning on (1) to take a trip to Germany in the summer (2) look for a job there (3) quit his current job to do so (4) move out of our current location, the last of which would be accomplished if all the other three events were met with success. Also, the last of which would primarily depend on whether (1) I find a decent job in the area (2) we decide to get another (i.e. better) place to live.
So, why do I feel so upset by this? Well, it's odd, and I can't help but notice that I'm much more easily upset by thinking about being left alone than by being in some sort of desperate straits myself. Financial concerns, for the most part, don't trouble me much. Employment doesn't bother me much. But the notion that all the people I've come to know in the last year are going to be, at some point, moving on in their lives depresses me beyond belief.
I know that we can't live in a sense of stasis that never fluctuates in some manner or another, but the idea of the constant is reassuring to me, as I'm sure it is to everyone, and I feel that the loss from that alone is enough to send me spiraling down, if I may be so dramatic. Having said that, I realize that there are worse things that can happen in life, and I know that when the time comes, I most likely won't be as traumatized as I'm letting on in this post. The fact remains, though, that I feel a sense of despair infringing upon my psyche that I don't want there in any way, shape, or form.
What this leads me to do, though, is question whether or not this is a natural impulse and whether or not it's, in so many words, a phase that I'll grow out of eventually as my years pass? I don't believe so, unless there's some sort of drastic change in my life, such as a very stable job and all the accoutrements that come along with that.
I guess what I feel the worst about is being cheated out of something that I've just started to enjoy, that being life here in Pittsburgh. I confess that for all the minor, and I do mean minor, inconveniences and bothersome traits about this town, I do like it a lot. I like being here. I like living here, and I don't want to leave any time soon, but I also don't want anyone else to leave, either. I want it all to remain the same, and the saddest thing about that is that I know it can't. I'll have to learn to live with that, but I don't know how I will.
I've been suffering from what I'll call separation anxiety towards friends and loved ones as of late. Now, I've gone through this spell plenty of times in my life, much to numerous to recall, and I can recall times in which I haven't had these spells when one assumes that I would. It all started with my roommate's declaration the other day that he was planning on (1) to take a trip to Germany in the summer (2) look for a job there (3) quit his current job to do so (4) move out of our current location, the last of which would be accomplished if all the other three events were met with success. Also, the last of which would primarily depend on whether (1) I find a decent job in the area (2) we decide to get another (i.e. better) place to live.
So, why do I feel so upset by this? Well, it's odd, and I can't help but notice that I'm much more easily upset by thinking about being left alone than by being in some sort of desperate straits myself. Financial concerns, for the most part, don't trouble me much. Employment doesn't bother me much. But the notion that all the people I've come to know in the last year are going to be, at some point, moving on in their lives depresses me beyond belief.
I know that we can't live in a sense of stasis that never fluctuates in some manner or another, but the idea of the constant is reassuring to me, as I'm sure it is to everyone, and I feel that the loss from that alone is enough to send me spiraling down, if I may be so dramatic. Having said that, I realize that there are worse things that can happen in life, and I know that when the time comes, I most likely won't be as traumatized as I'm letting on in this post. The fact remains, though, that I feel a sense of despair infringing upon my psyche that I don't want there in any way, shape, or form.
What this leads me to do, though, is question whether or not this is a natural impulse and whether or not it's, in so many words, a phase that I'll grow out of eventually as my years pass? I don't believe so, unless there's some sort of drastic change in my life, such as a very stable job and all the accoutrements that come along with that.
I guess what I feel the worst about is being cheated out of something that I've just started to enjoy, that being life here in Pittsburgh. I confess that for all the minor, and I do mean minor, inconveniences and bothersome traits about this town, I do like it a lot. I like being here. I like living here, and I don't want to leave any time soon, but I also don't want anyone else to leave, either. I want it all to remain the same, and the saddest thing about that is that I know it can't. I'll have to learn to live with that, but I don't know how I will.
Saturday, January 24, 2004
A Writer's Dilemma
I have a problem as a writer. No, it has nothing to do with having nothing to say. It's about sharing work with people I know. Now, I realize this sounds strange coming from a writer of a publicly mounted blog, but it's not about the entries I make on here. As most everyone knows, I, along with many others, keep these entries at least private enough in nature so as to not betray any real confidences or identities of those individuals I'm speaking about. Also, it's easy to see that I go to some lengths to keep any pertinent facts about myself concealed from the masses, which in and of itself sounds awful self-congratulatory in that it's highly unlikely that more than two or three people read this forum regularly. Regardless, you get my drift.
What I'm faced with now, though, is the request by two frequent commenters, and friends of mine, on this site to share with them some of my other writing, specifically some poetry I've amassed over the years. Now, when asked about it, I had absolutely no qualms about sharing them, especially the select packet that I gave a classmate at my undergraduate school to read. It's these select poems that I feel are the best representations of what I write about, and I've earmarked them as the ones that I'll be giving to these individuals. However, I'm troubled by this, not because I'm afraid of criticism, but because the very nature of a good portion of these poems are made up in all regards. Very little, perhaps none, of the passages I've written are directly applicable to my own life and experiences, which leads me to the quandary I'm in presently.
Why I'm bothered by this aspect is due to the fact that I know these people, and I know them well enough and vice-versa that it will not be easy for them to read these poems without any sort of detachment that differentiates the writer from the product. I would like to believe that writing is an accurate portrayal of one's personality, at least in many cases, but in this instance, these works don't fit into that same category of work. I realize that some writers are nowhere near the type of personality that they portray in their works, but others are incredibly embodied in their creations. They are physical manifestations of their words. It sounds odd, and maybe a bit pretentious, but that's the way I see writers and their writing.
Now, how do I resolve this situation? It's odd that I would feel so strongly about this because as an undergrad I read most, if not all, of these at a coffeeshop open-mic to people that I knew just as well, if not moreso in some instances. Nothing was ever said at this point and time, and I really don't expect anything to be said now, but I have mixed emotions about it nonetheless.
One reason I can think of is that most of the writing is old, many years old, which may or may not say anything to anyone. Work can persist the tests of time, but when I read these works I still feel some sense of pride in them, but I also feel some sense of detachment and distance from the, as if they're from someone else entirely. I know that I wrote these works, and I don't want to imply that I'm going through some sort of crisis regarding age, and creative drives. I think many people, especially other writers, can relate to this notion, a sort of mishmash of nostalgia and mid-life crisis if you will.
I'm resolved and committed at this point to sharing this work, and I won't renig on that, but I'm curious as to what will come of it. In fact, now that I think about it, I'm more curious than worried about the ramifications of what might occur, perhaps nothing but also perhaps something.
I have a problem as a writer. No, it has nothing to do with having nothing to say. It's about sharing work with people I know. Now, I realize this sounds strange coming from a writer of a publicly mounted blog, but it's not about the entries I make on here. As most everyone knows, I, along with many others, keep these entries at least private enough in nature so as to not betray any real confidences or identities of those individuals I'm speaking about. Also, it's easy to see that I go to some lengths to keep any pertinent facts about myself concealed from the masses, which in and of itself sounds awful self-congratulatory in that it's highly unlikely that more than two or three people read this forum regularly. Regardless, you get my drift.
What I'm faced with now, though, is the request by two frequent commenters, and friends of mine, on this site to share with them some of my other writing, specifically some poetry I've amassed over the years. Now, when asked about it, I had absolutely no qualms about sharing them, especially the select packet that I gave a classmate at my undergraduate school to read. It's these select poems that I feel are the best representations of what I write about, and I've earmarked them as the ones that I'll be giving to these individuals. However, I'm troubled by this, not because I'm afraid of criticism, but because the very nature of a good portion of these poems are made up in all regards. Very little, perhaps none, of the passages I've written are directly applicable to my own life and experiences, which leads me to the quandary I'm in presently.
Why I'm bothered by this aspect is due to the fact that I know these people, and I know them well enough and vice-versa that it will not be easy for them to read these poems without any sort of detachment that differentiates the writer from the product. I would like to believe that writing is an accurate portrayal of one's personality, at least in many cases, but in this instance, these works don't fit into that same category of work. I realize that some writers are nowhere near the type of personality that they portray in their works, but others are incredibly embodied in their creations. They are physical manifestations of their words. It sounds odd, and maybe a bit pretentious, but that's the way I see writers and their writing.
Now, how do I resolve this situation? It's odd that I would feel so strongly about this because as an undergrad I read most, if not all, of these at a coffeeshop open-mic to people that I knew just as well, if not moreso in some instances. Nothing was ever said at this point and time, and I really don't expect anything to be said now, but I have mixed emotions about it nonetheless.
One reason I can think of is that most of the writing is old, many years old, which may or may not say anything to anyone. Work can persist the tests of time, but when I read these works I still feel some sense of pride in them, but I also feel some sense of detachment and distance from the, as if they're from someone else entirely. I know that I wrote these works, and I don't want to imply that I'm going through some sort of crisis regarding age, and creative drives. I think many people, especially other writers, can relate to this notion, a sort of mishmash of nostalgia and mid-life crisis if you will.
I'm resolved and committed at this point to sharing this work, and I won't renig on that, but I'm curious as to what will come of it. In fact, now that I think about it, I'm more curious than worried about the ramifications of what might occur, perhaps nothing but also perhaps something.
Thursday, January 22, 2004
Conspiracy Theory (An Update)
Well, apparently, the inability to heat establishments that serve the public is a trend that's spreading. Here at another establishment, this is both a coffeeshop and a bakery, the cold air that permeates the place is beyond belief. But in what must be one of the disgusting attempts to make customers feel uncomfortable, this place goes one step further, they close the bathrooms for long periods of time. What type of immoral human being does this? The fact that this place allows free refills on their coffee might explain this, but it's a display of arrogance and unchecked aggression against the customers that will not be stood for. All out war is on the horizon. Hear me, brothers in arms! Rise up and take back control. This will not stand.
Well, apparently, the inability to heat establishments that serve the public is a trend that's spreading. Here at another establishment, this is both a coffeeshop and a bakery, the cold air that permeates the place is beyond belief. But in what must be one of the disgusting attempts to make customers feel uncomfortable, this place goes one step further, they close the bathrooms for long periods of time. What type of immoral human being does this? The fact that this place allows free refills on their coffee might explain this, but it's a display of arrogance and unchecked aggression against the customers that will not be stood for. All out war is on the horizon. Hear me, brothers in arms! Rise up and take back control. This will not stand.
Anthology Hatred
I hate anthologies. I really can't stand them, and I've figured out why. It's because one they're a total scam by the publishing industry to pre-package a ton of previously published material in the form of a new book and two the stuff is available elsewhere, or most of it is anyway. I've had in my possession two anthologies of work, one is the "best" political writing of 2003 and on is a collection of the "best" non-required reading of 2002. Perusing these books has led me to the conclusion that these texts are nothing more than an attempt to exploit the buying public for the suckers the publishers perceive them to be. Most, if not all, the materials in these texts are either available in their proper format as books or they are articles that I can download (heh heh) from the databases here at the university that I still have access to. Anthologies are a joke, and this is a call for everyone to boycott them from now on.
I hate anthologies. I really can't stand them, and I've figured out why. It's because one they're a total scam by the publishing industry to pre-package a ton of previously published material in the form of a new book and two the stuff is available elsewhere, or most of it is anyway. I've had in my possession two anthologies of work, one is the "best" political writing of 2003 and on is a collection of the "best" non-required reading of 2002. Perusing these books has led me to the conclusion that these texts are nothing more than an attempt to exploit the buying public for the suckers the publishers perceive them to be. Most, if not all, the materials in these texts are either available in their proper format as books or they are articles that I can download (heh heh) from the databases here at the university that I still have access to. Anthologies are a joke, and this is a call for everyone to boycott them from now on.
Two Traits
Over the past few days, I've become publicly aware of several traits of mine that are both noticeable and exploitable to others. Neither of these traits have any real significance in the long term, but they could, I guess.
First off, let's deal with one that has bothered me for many years, that being my slow eating. Now, this has never been quite as severe as I have been led to believe, but the other night, I was publicly called on it by a total stranger. In the midst of a nice, late meal at my favorite diner with Benedict, the waitress came by, in one of her infrequent visits to our table I might add, and said, "God, you eat slow." Personally, I believe that, to use one of Benedict's terms, waitresses in this joint can get a little "punchy" after a certain hour. This is understandable due to the very nature of the twenty-four hour all-night diner, which, I assure you, attracts a very wide array of personalities. For example, we encountered on this very evening three distinct personalities in our vicinity: a drunken goon proclaiming his political beliefs, a group of punks in every sense of the word who peppered their speech with "fuckin" in every possible instance, and, finally, a worker who helped himself, as witnessed by Benedict, to more than one piece of pie from their cabinet. This is a typical representation of the types of people who populate this place at late hours.
Back to the "slow eating" accusation. Why is this a bad thing? I've been heckled about this by a wide array of acquaintances as being a bad thing, as far back as high school where lunch is timed to a finite amount. Is it, though? I don't think so, but others apparently do. My theory is that people are in such a hurry these days to complete tasks, most of which they believe to be unnecessary to life, and eating becomes entangled in this hurrisome habit. What they do with their time after they hurry up and complete the necessary tasks is beyond me.
Is it really that hard to slow down and enjoy things? I don't want to imply that I believe that each and every meal might be my last, so I really take my time eating. I just like to enjoy my meal at a slow pace. Why? Well, I like to TASTE my food. I see others eating so fast, and I'm disgusted. How can you possibly even taste whatever you're eating if you're chewing so fast and swallowing without any sort of momentary pause? I'm not eating slowly because I think I'll lose weight by doing so; although, this is a viable reason for doing so.
Of course, there are certain difficulties encountered with being slow. The very nature of the being labeled "slow" in any respect conjures up notions of being totally defective in many ways, including, but not limited to, intellectual capacity. Of course, maybe I'm reading too much into the constant comments about eating slowly. Do people believe I have diminished mental abilities because it takes me forty-five minutes to eat a sandwich? I doubt it, since I can think of many other things I could do that would lead people to believe I'm "dumb" that are more overt in nature. I try to avoid these, as we all do, but they happen sometimes. I'm sure there's someone out there who thinks I'm not the "sharpest knife in the drawer," but that's unavoidable in a day and age when you might make tons of first impressions on any given day. But this leads me to the disturbing, in my mind other trait that I possess that I'm disturbed by.
I can't remember things. I really can't. I can't remember names when they've just been told to me. I can't remember movies that I've seen. I can't remember, and this is the most disappointing to me, books that I've read. And I can't remember facts that would allow me to tell others. For instance, speaking with Benedict the other night, in fact the same night I was labeled a "slow eater," I tried to tell him about a specific section of a book I was reading. Guess what? I totally mangled it. It wasn't right. Some of it was, but not all of it. How lame is that? That's like mangling a joke, but this is worse.
I've noticed that I've gotten worse about this over the years, especially with books. I read books, but then I can't remember a single thing about them. It doesn't matter if they're fiction or non-fiction, but for obvious reasons, the non-fiction titles contain much more facts to be digested, which would be much more beneficial to my overall knowledge. For example, I just finished a book about the history of the Republican Party (I know, it's ironic that I'd be reading that considering this is called "Liberal Agenda"), but I don't remember tons of facts about that book. In fact, I remember very little of it. I've read many, many books about the so-called "liberal media" and most of them repeat various facts and anecdotes, but I can't remember them enough to recite them word for word. What gives?
Now, my one and only theory that might explain this defect, is that, unlike eating, I read too fast. In an effort to finish books quickly, so I can either return them or, more likely, check out more, I feel like I might be reading a lot faster than necessary. This isn't the library's fault, obviously, since someone else might want these books, and if I wanted it that badly, I'd just buy it. What I do know is that I know what I like. I can recall which books were worth my time and which ones weren't. I wish I could reverse this trend, but I don't think I can. In fact, I don't think I want to change either of these traits. I like eating slowly and reading quickly. It might not do me much good to do either, but I don't know what can be done to alter this in the least. Any suggestions would be welcome, but I can't say I'll remember them later.
Over the past few days, I've become publicly aware of several traits of mine that are both noticeable and exploitable to others. Neither of these traits have any real significance in the long term, but they could, I guess.
First off, let's deal with one that has bothered me for many years, that being my slow eating. Now, this has never been quite as severe as I have been led to believe, but the other night, I was publicly called on it by a total stranger. In the midst of a nice, late meal at my favorite diner with Benedict, the waitress came by, in one of her infrequent visits to our table I might add, and said, "God, you eat slow." Personally, I believe that, to use one of Benedict's terms, waitresses in this joint can get a little "punchy" after a certain hour. This is understandable due to the very nature of the twenty-four hour all-night diner, which, I assure you, attracts a very wide array of personalities. For example, we encountered on this very evening three distinct personalities in our vicinity: a drunken goon proclaiming his political beliefs, a group of punks in every sense of the word who peppered their speech with "fuckin" in every possible instance, and, finally, a worker who helped himself, as witnessed by Benedict, to more than one piece of pie from their cabinet. This is a typical representation of the types of people who populate this place at late hours.
Back to the "slow eating" accusation. Why is this a bad thing? I've been heckled about this by a wide array of acquaintances as being a bad thing, as far back as high school where lunch is timed to a finite amount. Is it, though? I don't think so, but others apparently do. My theory is that people are in such a hurry these days to complete tasks, most of which they believe to be unnecessary to life, and eating becomes entangled in this hurrisome habit. What they do with their time after they hurry up and complete the necessary tasks is beyond me.
Is it really that hard to slow down and enjoy things? I don't want to imply that I believe that each and every meal might be my last, so I really take my time eating. I just like to enjoy my meal at a slow pace. Why? Well, I like to TASTE my food. I see others eating so fast, and I'm disgusted. How can you possibly even taste whatever you're eating if you're chewing so fast and swallowing without any sort of momentary pause? I'm not eating slowly because I think I'll lose weight by doing so; although, this is a viable reason for doing so.
Of course, there are certain difficulties encountered with being slow. The very nature of the being labeled "slow" in any respect conjures up notions of being totally defective in many ways, including, but not limited to, intellectual capacity. Of course, maybe I'm reading too much into the constant comments about eating slowly. Do people believe I have diminished mental abilities because it takes me forty-five minutes to eat a sandwich? I doubt it, since I can think of many other things I could do that would lead people to believe I'm "dumb" that are more overt in nature. I try to avoid these, as we all do, but they happen sometimes. I'm sure there's someone out there who thinks I'm not the "sharpest knife in the drawer," but that's unavoidable in a day and age when you might make tons of first impressions on any given day. But this leads me to the disturbing, in my mind other trait that I possess that I'm disturbed by.
I can't remember things. I really can't. I can't remember names when they've just been told to me. I can't remember movies that I've seen. I can't remember, and this is the most disappointing to me, books that I've read. And I can't remember facts that would allow me to tell others. For instance, speaking with Benedict the other night, in fact the same night I was labeled a "slow eater," I tried to tell him about a specific section of a book I was reading. Guess what? I totally mangled it. It wasn't right. Some of it was, but not all of it. How lame is that? That's like mangling a joke, but this is worse.
I've noticed that I've gotten worse about this over the years, especially with books. I read books, but then I can't remember a single thing about them. It doesn't matter if they're fiction or non-fiction, but for obvious reasons, the non-fiction titles contain much more facts to be digested, which would be much more beneficial to my overall knowledge. For example, I just finished a book about the history of the Republican Party (I know, it's ironic that I'd be reading that considering this is called "Liberal Agenda"), but I don't remember tons of facts about that book. In fact, I remember very little of it. I've read many, many books about the so-called "liberal media" and most of them repeat various facts and anecdotes, but I can't remember them enough to recite them word for word. What gives?
Now, my one and only theory that might explain this defect, is that, unlike eating, I read too fast. In an effort to finish books quickly, so I can either return them or, more likely, check out more, I feel like I might be reading a lot faster than necessary. This isn't the library's fault, obviously, since someone else might want these books, and if I wanted it that badly, I'd just buy it. What I do know is that I know what I like. I can recall which books were worth my time and which ones weren't. I wish I could reverse this trend, but I don't think I can. In fact, I don't think I want to change either of these traits. I like eating slowly and reading quickly. It might not do me much good to do either, but I don't know what can be done to alter this in the least. Any suggestions would be welcome, but I can't say I'll remember them later.
Wednesday, January 21, 2004
Dictionary Series Four
chausible-an outer ecclesiastical vestment in the form of a wide sleeveless cloak or mantle that slips over the wearer's head but remains open at the sides, the color of which varies with either the season or the occasion, worn by the celebrant at eucharistic services in the Roman Catholic and Eastern Orthodox churches and some churches of the Anglican Communion.
chausible-an outer ecclesiastical vestment in the form of a wide sleeveless cloak or mantle that slips over the wearer's head but remains open at the sides, the color of which varies with either the season or the occasion, worn by the celebrant at eucharistic services in the Roman Catholic and Eastern Orthodox churches and some churches of the Anglican Communion.
Tuesday, January 20, 2004
Saturday, January 17, 2004
Dictionary Series One
In a new series, I'm devoting one entry to whatever word the dictionary by the desk here at work is on. I'm not going to touch the thing, so I'll let nature take its course. First one:
dual-rotation propeller-an assembly of two airplane propellers mounted one behind the other on coaxial shafts and rotating in opposing directions
In a new series, I'm devoting one entry to whatever word the dictionary by the desk here at work is on. I'm not going to touch the thing, so I'll let nature take its course. First one:
dual-rotation propeller-an assembly of two airplane propellers mounted one behind the other on coaxial shafts and rotating in opposing directions
Conspiracy Theory
I have to admit that I'm a sucker for conspiracy theories. I don't know what it is, but I'm so intrigued by the entire gamut of theories out there that try to explain such events as 9/11, Princess Di's death, ufos, the New World Order, etc. that I could spend days looking at websites, reading books, watching documentaries on these subjects and not bother to consume anything else. For the most part, it's easy to discern from these outlandish claims that there's really no basis for truth in them, but I find them entertaining, and I'm amazed, sometimes, at the amounts of effort the writers put into their works. It's really no easy task to come up with a book-length screed or a highly developed website devoted to revealing all the insidious plots that control our daily lives. A good portion of these theories are dismissive for many reasons, but some have some credence and could be true or at least they are plausible.
Now, to reveal my own inner crackpot, I feel it's necessary to lay out a conspiracy theory of my own. My favorite, and I think it's safe to say that it's also Benedict's, coffeeshop here in Pittsburgh has, in the last few months, expanded to another storefront that was vacant next door. What the owners did, welcomely, was divide the two sections into smoking and non-smoking. For as much as I like the atmosphere in this place, I have to admit I hated the smoking. In fact, I purposely tried to sit closer to the doors because there the opening and closing as customers entered would bring in a breath, literally, of fresh air. If I could find a perch in one of the window seats, I'd take that as well since that afforded me the opportunity not only to escape the smoky haze but also allow me to watch the foot traffic along bustling Carson Street, and, in what may come as a surprise considering the recent span of frigid weather, the traffic never seems to dissipate. In fact, it's pretty constant all the time.
To get to my point, what I've noticed as of late, though, is the fact that the side I most frequent, the non-smoking side, is cold, sometimes cold beyond belief, regardless of where you position yourself in its confines. Now, as far as I know, and perhaps things have changed, the very fact that the inside of a building is the inside of a building should insure that it's warmer than the outside. However, this place seems to be the exception to the rule. Isn't it fair to assume that when I go inside a coffeeshop (Umm, what is coffee synonymous with for me? Perhaps warmth.) where they are making warm beverages, it will also me warm? But no, it's not. It's cold. A breeze continuously hits me in the face. My neck gets cold. I feel cold even while I'm drinking coffee. Is it really necessary to have to wear my stoking cap indoors? Hell, I'm tempted to put my jacket on as well and put the hood up. Coffeeshop=cold. That's not right no matter how you look at it. If I wanted to keep my winter apparel on, I'd get my coffee to go and stand out side by a flaming dumpster.
What the explanation for this? Well, I know they do have heat in there because as you walk around you can feel the heat from the vents coming down from the ceiling. So, it does work, which means it's not broken. What's odd, though, is they have the ceiling fans running constantly in there. When it was a smoking section this made sense because it circulated the air around. Makes sense, right? Well, now, I assume that they run these in some half-hearted effort to force the warm air to the floor, for as we all know warm air rises, at least in most places that don't defy the laws of physics and the natural order of things in the world. My thinking is that this does little in terms of actually spreading out the heat. In fact, I think this is one of the main causes of the coldness in there. Remember that constant breeze I mentioned? So, this is one possible cause, and to confirm that the existence of such a phenomenon isn't confined to one place, where I'm composing this very post, is below another vent, and cold air is coming down on me. I'm also reminded of the time when my favorite coffeeshop in my hometown had no heat in their downstairs area. That was quite possibly the coldest room I'd ever been in that wasn't cold due to lack of, say, windows and a roof. Which leads me to believe that this heatless phenomenon plagues coffeeshops in general.
However, I feel that it's cold for another reason, one much more sinister than just a fan running constantly. I believe, get ready, that most of the heat has been rerouted to the other side, the side where, guess what, smoking is allowed. Now, I don't know if I've mentioned it before, but I have a strong suspicion that this place caters to smokers and, in fact, prefers them over non-smokers, a little reverse bias if you will. I think that the bias extends to the fact that they earmarked the new side for smoking, and I think the fact that before the official designated signs were actually raised the "regulars" already staked a claim to the "new" side sealed the fate of which side was going to be what. My theory is that in some odd crusade to reclaim smoker's rights that the owners of this establishment had the heat rerouted to make sure that "their" people were warm and comfortable. These "regulars" operate with more than a tad notion of the "cooler than thou" philosophy of life, and, although, it's nowhere near segregation, it's pretty goddamned close.
So, yesterday, in an effort to locate a warm area in this place, I thought I'd try the old standby, the window-seat, which was occupied for the last several months with a Christmas tree. I set up shop, on a wobbly table no less, and the girl brought me my bagel. What she said, though, left me feeling, not quite warm, but different. She said, "Oh, you found the one warm spot." Well, that warmth lasted all of about twenty minutes. Soon, I put my stocking cap on, guzzled by lukewarm coffee, it apparently affects that now too, and made a hasty exit to the warmth of a day that started out in the single digits and didn't go above the mid-twenties if it got out of the teens.
I have to admit that I'm a sucker for conspiracy theories. I don't know what it is, but I'm so intrigued by the entire gamut of theories out there that try to explain such events as 9/11, Princess Di's death, ufos, the New World Order, etc. that I could spend days looking at websites, reading books, watching documentaries on these subjects and not bother to consume anything else. For the most part, it's easy to discern from these outlandish claims that there's really no basis for truth in them, but I find them entertaining, and I'm amazed, sometimes, at the amounts of effort the writers put into their works. It's really no easy task to come up with a book-length screed or a highly developed website devoted to revealing all the insidious plots that control our daily lives. A good portion of these theories are dismissive for many reasons, but some have some credence and could be true or at least they are plausible.
Now, to reveal my own inner crackpot, I feel it's necessary to lay out a conspiracy theory of my own. My favorite, and I think it's safe to say that it's also Benedict's, coffeeshop here in Pittsburgh has, in the last few months, expanded to another storefront that was vacant next door. What the owners did, welcomely, was divide the two sections into smoking and non-smoking. For as much as I like the atmosphere in this place, I have to admit I hated the smoking. In fact, I purposely tried to sit closer to the doors because there the opening and closing as customers entered would bring in a breath, literally, of fresh air. If I could find a perch in one of the window seats, I'd take that as well since that afforded me the opportunity not only to escape the smoky haze but also allow me to watch the foot traffic along bustling Carson Street, and, in what may come as a surprise considering the recent span of frigid weather, the traffic never seems to dissipate. In fact, it's pretty constant all the time.
To get to my point, what I've noticed as of late, though, is the fact that the side I most frequent, the non-smoking side, is cold, sometimes cold beyond belief, regardless of where you position yourself in its confines. Now, as far as I know, and perhaps things have changed, the very fact that the inside of a building is the inside of a building should insure that it's warmer than the outside. However, this place seems to be the exception to the rule. Isn't it fair to assume that when I go inside a coffeeshop (Umm, what is coffee synonymous with for me? Perhaps warmth.) where they are making warm beverages, it will also me warm? But no, it's not. It's cold. A breeze continuously hits me in the face. My neck gets cold. I feel cold even while I'm drinking coffee. Is it really necessary to have to wear my stoking cap indoors? Hell, I'm tempted to put my jacket on as well and put the hood up. Coffeeshop=cold. That's not right no matter how you look at it. If I wanted to keep my winter apparel on, I'd get my coffee to go and stand out side by a flaming dumpster.
What the explanation for this? Well, I know they do have heat in there because as you walk around you can feel the heat from the vents coming down from the ceiling. So, it does work, which means it's not broken. What's odd, though, is they have the ceiling fans running constantly in there. When it was a smoking section this made sense because it circulated the air around. Makes sense, right? Well, now, I assume that they run these in some half-hearted effort to force the warm air to the floor, for as we all know warm air rises, at least in most places that don't defy the laws of physics and the natural order of things in the world. My thinking is that this does little in terms of actually spreading out the heat. In fact, I think this is one of the main causes of the coldness in there. Remember that constant breeze I mentioned? So, this is one possible cause, and to confirm that the existence of such a phenomenon isn't confined to one place, where I'm composing this very post, is below another vent, and cold air is coming down on me. I'm also reminded of the time when my favorite coffeeshop in my hometown had no heat in their downstairs area. That was quite possibly the coldest room I'd ever been in that wasn't cold due to lack of, say, windows and a roof. Which leads me to believe that this heatless phenomenon plagues coffeeshops in general.
However, I feel that it's cold for another reason, one much more sinister than just a fan running constantly. I believe, get ready, that most of the heat has been rerouted to the other side, the side where, guess what, smoking is allowed. Now, I don't know if I've mentioned it before, but I have a strong suspicion that this place caters to smokers and, in fact, prefers them over non-smokers, a little reverse bias if you will. I think that the bias extends to the fact that they earmarked the new side for smoking, and I think the fact that before the official designated signs were actually raised the "regulars" already staked a claim to the "new" side sealed the fate of which side was going to be what. My theory is that in some odd crusade to reclaim smoker's rights that the owners of this establishment had the heat rerouted to make sure that "their" people were warm and comfortable. These "regulars" operate with more than a tad notion of the "cooler than thou" philosophy of life, and, although, it's nowhere near segregation, it's pretty goddamned close.
So, yesterday, in an effort to locate a warm area in this place, I thought I'd try the old standby, the window-seat, which was occupied for the last several months with a Christmas tree. I set up shop, on a wobbly table no less, and the girl brought me my bagel. What she said, though, left me feeling, not quite warm, but different. She said, "Oh, you found the one warm spot." Well, that warmth lasted all of about twenty minutes. Soon, I put my stocking cap on, guzzled by lukewarm coffee, it apparently affects that now too, and made a hasty exit to the warmth of a day that started out in the single digits and didn't go above the mid-twenties if it got out of the teens.
Tuesday, January 13, 2004
Writers
Just as a way to fulfill my own curiosity, I'd like to know, much like Benedict, which writers are the best, favorite, etc? To give my initial list, of five fiction writers, I'll confine it to naming the writer and their, in my mind, essential book.
Thomas Pynchon Gravity's Rainbow
Philip Roth The Human Stain
Don DeLillo White Noise
Michael Chabon Wonder Boys
Cormac McCarthy Blood Meridian, or The Evening Redness in the West
Just as a way to fulfill my own curiosity, I'd like to know, much like Benedict, which writers are the best, favorite, etc? To give my initial list, of five fiction writers, I'll confine it to naming the writer and their, in my mind, essential book.
Thomas Pynchon Gravity's Rainbow
Philip Roth The Human Stain
Don DeLillo White Noise
Michael Chabon Wonder Boys
Cormac McCarthy Blood Meridian, or The Evening Redness in the West
Smells like Teen Spirit
After reading the article linked below regarding the blog phenomenon, it became apparent to me that teenagers are using the format just as I mentioned previously, as a sort of online diary that chronicles events in their lives for all to see. I'm not here to harp on that point further, but what I am intrigued, or is it disturbed, by is the notion that teenagers operate by a set of guidelines that's both very closed-minded and open-minded at the same time. For instance, in the course of the article the author continuously points out to those subjects that were willing to speak about their writing that there's a certain understated contradiction within their entire ideologies regarding these blogs. Important events, or at least those events perceived by the authors as being important, are chronicled on these blogs. Repeatedly, it's pointed out, though, that a good portion of these events are rather personal in nature. Posts are deleted with a frequency that seems to belittle the actual point of keeping an online journal. The very act of publicly posting one's thoughts is greeted with strong reactions of either embarrassment or outright shame when the possibility arises that another person, perhaps those who are the very subjects of the post, might be able to read the entries, specifically I'm referring to the teen who wrote about a girl he liked but then deleted the post because of the possibility that she might read it, thus making the revelation little more than an artifact in his mind.
This type of thought process speaks volumes not only with regards to the teenagers who are creating these blogs, but about society itself. One of the main problems with blogs, as I mentioned previously, is the fact that the format is that of the traditional diary, and, obviously as this article points out, teenagers are some of the biggest proponents of this notion. However, problems arise when it becomes apparent that the lines between private inner feelings and the need to post publicly about one's ruminations on life are blurred to the point of illegibility. Retractions on blogs are easy enough, but it's disturbing, to me at least, to contemplate a writer's ability to go back and erase the past after it's become apparent that the work has been published and seen by all.
In fact, I'm reminded of the recent re-publication of a Joyce Carol Oates novel,A Garden of Earthly Delights, by the Modern Library which has glaring alterations to the text. Something about this strikes me as being not particularly kosher. I realize that altering a novel is a far cry from altering the revelations posted on an online blog, but the idea is still the same. Should something that's already in print or online be altered if the true intention is that either the product is finished or the forum is decidedly public in nature?
I realize that my original rant on the subject was merely devoted to the actual quality of the work being posted on the web, and I still cling to the notion that the majority of it is rather base in nature and poor in quality. I will, however, concede the idea that for a teenager with few outlets in life this type of forum is necessary and most likely welcome as a way to express one's self. However, not only are they contributing to the glut of unreadable text on the internet, they are also playing fast and loose with a set of rules that are continuously deteriorating to the point of non-existence. First, it's the loss of quality and grammar, and now it's the loss of the line between public and private. A distinction needs to be made.
Writers who Rewrite; Publishers who Replace
After reading the article linked below regarding the blog phenomenon, it became apparent to me that teenagers are using the format just as I mentioned previously, as a sort of online diary that chronicles events in their lives for all to see. I'm not here to harp on that point further, but what I am intrigued, or is it disturbed, by is the notion that teenagers operate by a set of guidelines that's both very closed-minded and open-minded at the same time. For instance, in the course of the article the author continuously points out to those subjects that were willing to speak about their writing that there's a certain understated contradiction within their entire ideologies regarding these blogs. Important events, or at least those events perceived by the authors as being important, are chronicled on these blogs. Repeatedly, it's pointed out, though, that a good portion of these events are rather personal in nature. Posts are deleted with a frequency that seems to belittle the actual point of keeping an online journal. The very act of publicly posting one's thoughts is greeted with strong reactions of either embarrassment or outright shame when the possibility arises that another person, perhaps those who are the very subjects of the post, might be able to read the entries, specifically I'm referring to the teen who wrote about a girl he liked but then deleted the post because of the possibility that she might read it, thus making the revelation little more than an artifact in his mind.
This type of thought process speaks volumes not only with regards to the teenagers who are creating these blogs, but about society itself. One of the main problems with blogs, as I mentioned previously, is the fact that the format is that of the traditional diary, and, obviously as this article points out, teenagers are some of the biggest proponents of this notion. However, problems arise when it becomes apparent that the lines between private inner feelings and the need to post publicly about one's ruminations on life are blurred to the point of illegibility. Retractions on blogs are easy enough, but it's disturbing, to me at least, to contemplate a writer's ability to go back and erase the past after it's become apparent that the work has been published and seen by all.
In fact, I'm reminded of the recent re-publication of a Joyce Carol Oates novel,A Garden of Earthly Delights, by the Modern Library which has glaring alterations to the text. Something about this strikes me as being not particularly kosher. I realize that altering a novel is a far cry from altering the revelations posted on an online blog, but the idea is still the same. Should something that's already in print or online be altered if the true intention is that either the product is finished or the forum is decidedly public in nature?
I realize that my original rant on the subject was merely devoted to the actual quality of the work being posted on the web, and I still cling to the notion that the majority of it is rather base in nature and poor in quality. I will, however, concede the idea that for a teenager with few outlets in life this type of forum is necessary and most likely welcome as a way to express one's self. However, not only are they contributing to the glut of unreadable text on the internet, they are also playing fast and loose with a set of rules that are continuously deteriorating to the point of non-existence. First, it's the loss of quality and grammar, and now it's the loss of the line between public and private. A distinction needs to be made.
Writers who Rewrite; Publishers who Replace
Sunday, January 11, 2004
Here's a couple links to articles devoted to subjects that I've addressed in this forum:
Writer's Block
Blogs
Both are from The New York Times website, so you need to log in to read them.
Writer's Block
Blogs
Both are from The New York Times website, so you need to log in to read them.
Finding a Voice: Post 9/11 Fiction
Over the last few years, my consumption of contemporary fiction has plummeted significantly. In fact, I can name only three fiction titles that I've read in the last year, Nicholson Baker's Box of Matches, Douglas Coupland's Hey, Nostradamus!, and Chuck Palahniuk's Diary, the latter two were less than stellar, but the former was strong as usual from Baker. What I've been wondering as of late, though, is whether or not a lot of contemporary writers are afflicted with a syndrome I call the loss of a voice. Perhaps, I've thought, this is due to the fact that the events of September 11, 2001, while extremely traumatic and inescapable, have tainted the thought processes of the writers of fiction who now feel lost without any real voice with regards to ideas and concepts. It seems plausible, to me at least, that in the now cliched phrase "post-9-11 America" writers are faced with now writing about a world that's much different than it was "before". However, the plethora of titles released on a yearly basis seems to disprove my theory altogether.
To finer tune my point, I guess it would be better to state that writers of a certain higher-brow literature seem to feel lost in the world. Philip Roth, for example, hasn't produced anything recently other than a slim novella and nothing regarding the themes of a changed American landscape. Don DeLillo addressed 9/11 in an essay for Harper's, but then released a terrible novella of his own that harks back to the style of 70's metafiction. A poor concept that attempts to address issues that aren't relevant anymore. John Updike, arguably the greatest modern writer, produced a story for the New Yorker that was, in essence, a dramatization of the events aboard United Flight 93. I'm sure the story itself was incredibly well written, as most of Updike's writings are, but it seems to me to be a somewhat unoriginal concept, a fitting tribute perhaps, but not the type of story that can truly showcase his talents as an observer of human nature.
I've always clung to the notion that writers are, if nothing else, adaptable to a situation that drastically alters our way of life. They are, perhaps, the best observers of the human condition, and are able to put these observations within the context of a narrative that portrays the changes but not in an overly obvious manner. It's true that some writers aren't capable of adapting to society's changes even though they still see themselves as reporters on the human condition, Tom Wolfe for example. However, this is not to say that a lot of writers aren't more than capable of defining and better portraying the effects of national trauma on the lives of the masses. Writers throughout the 20th century, notably Mailer, Wolfe (pre- Bonfire of the Vanities, Thompson, et al, have been able to accurately capture those moments in their writings and portray the effects on society, particularly Vietnam, Watergate, and the 60s. What is it about 9/11, though, that has writers today at a loss on how to examine life.
To get to my point, I think that writers are blocking their output unjustly due to a need to be relevant and grandiose in nature. I believe that most writing that tries too hard to pay tribute and portray mixed emotions often comes off as sounding trite and forced, see any anthology of writing solely devoted to 9/11 (The idea of reading poetry that is centered around 9/11 is less than appealing). Writers, especially good ones, are more than capable of addressing the effects of a national trauma to the collective psyche, but it seems that they are suffering from a sense of writer's block that prohibits them from doing so.
Here's two links, one to a discussion board with a thread devoted to this very topic (Why they're talking about fiction on a gardening discussion board is beyond me) and another portraying a writer's struggle to complete a book nearly finished when 9/11 occurred.
Post 9/11 Fiction
9/11 Writer's Block
Over the last few years, my consumption of contemporary fiction has plummeted significantly. In fact, I can name only three fiction titles that I've read in the last year, Nicholson Baker's Box of Matches, Douglas Coupland's Hey, Nostradamus!, and Chuck Palahniuk's Diary, the latter two were less than stellar, but the former was strong as usual from Baker. What I've been wondering as of late, though, is whether or not a lot of contemporary writers are afflicted with a syndrome I call the loss of a voice. Perhaps, I've thought, this is due to the fact that the events of September 11, 2001, while extremely traumatic and inescapable, have tainted the thought processes of the writers of fiction who now feel lost without any real voice with regards to ideas and concepts. It seems plausible, to me at least, that in the now cliched phrase "post-9-11 America" writers are faced with now writing about a world that's much different than it was "before". However, the plethora of titles released on a yearly basis seems to disprove my theory altogether.
To finer tune my point, I guess it would be better to state that writers of a certain higher-brow literature seem to feel lost in the world. Philip Roth, for example, hasn't produced anything recently other than a slim novella and nothing regarding the themes of a changed American landscape. Don DeLillo addressed 9/11 in an essay for Harper's, but then released a terrible novella of his own that harks back to the style of 70's metafiction. A poor concept that attempts to address issues that aren't relevant anymore. John Updike, arguably the greatest modern writer, produced a story for the New Yorker that was, in essence, a dramatization of the events aboard United Flight 93. I'm sure the story itself was incredibly well written, as most of Updike's writings are, but it seems to me to be a somewhat unoriginal concept, a fitting tribute perhaps, but not the type of story that can truly showcase his talents as an observer of human nature.
I've always clung to the notion that writers are, if nothing else, adaptable to a situation that drastically alters our way of life. They are, perhaps, the best observers of the human condition, and are able to put these observations within the context of a narrative that portrays the changes but not in an overly obvious manner. It's true that some writers aren't capable of adapting to society's changes even though they still see themselves as reporters on the human condition, Tom Wolfe for example. However, this is not to say that a lot of writers aren't more than capable of defining and better portraying the effects of national trauma on the lives of the masses. Writers throughout the 20th century, notably Mailer, Wolfe (pre- Bonfire of the Vanities, Thompson, et al, have been able to accurately capture those moments in their writings and portray the effects on society, particularly Vietnam, Watergate, and the 60s. What is it about 9/11, though, that has writers today at a loss on how to examine life.
To get to my point, I think that writers are blocking their output unjustly due to a need to be relevant and grandiose in nature. I believe that most writing that tries too hard to pay tribute and portray mixed emotions often comes off as sounding trite and forced, see any anthology of writing solely devoted to 9/11 (The idea of reading poetry that is centered around 9/11 is less than appealing). Writers, especially good ones, are more than capable of addressing the effects of a national trauma to the collective psyche, but it seems that they are suffering from a sense of writer's block that prohibits them from doing so.
Here's two links, one to a discussion board with a thread devoted to this very topic (Why they're talking about fiction on a gardening discussion board is beyond me) and another portraying a writer's struggle to complete a book nearly finished when 9/11 occurred.
Post 9/11 Fiction
9/11 Writer's Block
Sunday, January 04, 2004
"Next week, class, we'll be reading the collected works of the Marquis de Sade."
In one of those moments where you can hardly believe your eyes, I was taken aback as I was reading today's Pittsburgh Tribune-Review. In the "City & Region" section on the front page, an article entitled "Of Choice and Content" is prominently featured detailing the seemingly unending saga of what materials are appropriate to be taught in our schools, specifically books in English classes.
Mostly everyone is familiar with the routine components of these types of articles. A school in the community is presently involved in a dispute with a parent or group of parents (However, I would argue that the offended individuals are mostly just that, lone parents with an ax to grind or a need to stir up the community over a trivial matter.) over the content of a particular book, story, poem, etc. Anti-censorship groups, ACLU and NCTE, come to the defense of the material. The book is usually removed, sometimes returned, and eventually the saga dissolves into obscurity. What this article featured that others usually overlook is the fact that students are not forced to read the offensive materials if parents object and alternate assignments are offered to take their place. This is all fine and good, and I think that it's easier to appease a parent by offering an alternate assignment rather than creating waves that will unnecessarily embroil the school in a protracted fight for the rights of their teachers to groom their students at the expense of exposing them to potentially offensive materials. It just makes good sense to avoid the hassle.
However, I can see the issue from both sides, and both sides, as much as it pains me, make their fair share of legitimate points. I can understand parents not wanting their children to read certain materials. The issue becomes problematic when they decide that not only should their children not be exposed to the materials but other parents children should not be as well. This is where parents are crossing a line that I'm not comfortable with, and I would assume that there are others who wish to voice their own opinions on the matter and are not in need of being aided by others in the raising of their children. Choices made on your behalf by others seems out of whack to me with how we should be operating.
On the other hand, it really sickens me to see the ACLU or NCTE spokespersons voice the standard party line with regards to how unethical censorship is and how this is just another step towards total censorship of all materials. Maybe I'm being harsh, but this seems to be unnecessarily paranoid in the face of a matter so trivial. When defending materials that are offensive, these groups point out that sometimes these passages are taken out of context and cannot be seen as such. You need to see the whole picture. Sure, I realize there are books that have themes that may be objectionable to some, but they are integral to the main thrust of the content. However, there are books with passages that are truly not appropriate, in my eyes, for high-school age readers that are not at all important for the relevance of the text to be apparent to everyone.
What it comes down to, though, is that both sides need to compromise with regards to the amount of latitude given and that which is restrained. This is easier said than done, but it's something they need to strive for.
Reading this article, though, I'm reminded of my own encounter with censorship, which I still disagree with to this day. As a student-teacher, I was teaching a class of tenth-grade academic English students. For one of my assignments, I wanted the class to read John Updike's story "A & P," a rather short-story that details the final day of the unnamed narrator as he quits his job at the local supermarket in protest over the treatment of three bikini-clad girls in the store. The only references to the girls that could be construed as being somewhat racy are those that refer to their "cans" and the descriptions of their nubile breasts. Hardly the most graphic descriptions around and nothing compared to the normal everyday language used by students. I wasn't, in the end, allowed to use the story after the teacher I was assigned with read the story and showed it to other teachers who taught higher level classes. It wasn't "appropriate" for this or any of the grade levels in the school. Odd, I thought, and rather enraged had to settle for a rather tame story by Kurt Vonnegut that was in the school approved text. I couldn't believe it because I was assuming that these students were mature enough to handle something this "racy" in their English class. How are they supposed to mature as students if we concentrate on only censoring ourselves and teaching them sterilized stories without any references to real life? That's what "A & P" was supposed to do, but it was not to be in this school.
Finally, this brings me back to the real reason for writing this post. Accompanying the article mentioned above is a picture that doesn't appear in the electronic version linked to above. It shows a stack of books, presumably among them are some of the most objected to texts, and includes Lord of the Flies, To Kill a Mockingbird, and The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. The caption beneath reads as follows: These titles, long considered staples in American school literary education, are under attack for containing "questionable" material and may be removed from the curricula of some local school districts. What's striking about this is that among these "staples" of books, at the very bottom of the pile is American Psycho. I don't know if ironic is the proper adjective to apply here or not. I'll leave that for you to decide.
In one of those moments where you can hardly believe your eyes, I was taken aback as I was reading today's Pittsburgh Tribune-Review. In the "City & Region" section on the front page, an article entitled "Of Choice and Content" is prominently featured detailing the seemingly unending saga of what materials are appropriate to be taught in our schools, specifically books in English classes.
Mostly everyone is familiar with the routine components of these types of articles. A school in the community is presently involved in a dispute with a parent or group of parents (However, I would argue that the offended individuals are mostly just that, lone parents with an ax to grind or a need to stir up the community over a trivial matter.) over the content of a particular book, story, poem, etc. Anti-censorship groups, ACLU and NCTE, come to the defense of the material. The book is usually removed, sometimes returned, and eventually the saga dissolves into obscurity. What this article featured that others usually overlook is the fact that students are not forced to read the offensive materials if parents object and alternate assignments are offered to take their place. This is all fine and good, and I think that it's easier to appease a parent by offering an alternate assignment rather than creating waves that will unnecessarily embroil the school in a protracted fight for the rights of their teachers to groom their students at the expense of exposing them to potentially offensive materials. It just makes good sense to avoid the hassle.
However, I can see the issue from both sides, and both sides, as much as it pains me, make their fair share of legitimate points. I can understand parents not wanting their children to read certain materials. The issue becomes problematic when they decide that not only should their children not be exposed to the materials but other parents children should not be as well. This is where parents are crossing a line that I'm not comfortable with, and I would assume that there are others who wish to voice their own opinions on the matter and are not in need of being aided by others in the raising of their children. Choices made on your behalf by others seems out of whack to me with how we should be operating.
On the other hand, it really sickens me to see the ACLU or NCTE spokespersons voice the standard party line with regards to how unethical censorship is and how this is just another step towards total censorship of all materials. Maybe I'm being harsh, but this seems to be unnecessarily paranoid in the face of a matter so trivial. When defending materials that are offensive, these groups point out that sometimes these passages are taken out of context and cannot be seen as such. You need to see the whole picture. Sure, I realize there are books that have themes that may be objectionable to some, but they are integral to the main thrust of the content. However, there are books with passages that are truly not appropriate, in my eyes, for high-school age readers that are not at all important for the relevance of the text to be apparent to everyone.
What it comes down to, though, is that both sides need to compromise with regards to the amount of latitude given and that which is restrained. This is easier said than done, but it's something they need to strive for.
Reading this article, though, I'm reminded of my own encounter with censorship, which I still disagree with to this day. As a student-teacher, I was teaching a class of tenth-grade academic English students. For one of my assignments, I wanted the class to read John Updike's story "A & P," a rather short-story that details the final day of the unnamed narrator as he quits his job at the local supermarket in protest over the treatment of three bikini-clad girls in the store. The only references to the girls that could be construed as being somewhat racy are those that refer to their "cans" and the descriptions of their nubile breasts. Hardly the most graphic descriptions around and nothing compared to the normal everyday language used by students. I wasn't, in the end, allowed to use the story after the teacher I was assigned with read the story and showed it to other teachers who taught higher level classes. It wasn't "appropriate" for this or any of the grade levels in the school. Odd, I thought, and rather enraged had to settle for a rather tame story by Kurt Vonnegut that was in the school approved text. I couldn't believe it because I was assuming that these students were mature enough to handle something this "racy" in their English class. How are they supposed to mature as students if we concentrate on only censoring ourselves and teaching them sterilized stories without any references to real life? That's what "A & P" was supposed to do, but it was not to be in this school.
Finally, this brings me back to the real reason for writing this post. Accompanying the article mentioned above is a picture that doesn't appear in the electronic version linked to above. It shows a stack of books, presumably among them are some of the most objected to texts, and includes Lord of the Flies, To Kill a Mockingbird, and The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. The caption beneath reads as follows: These titles, long considered staples in American school literary education, are under attack for containing "questionable" material and may be removed from the curricula of some local school districts. What's striking about this is that among these "staples" of books, at the very bottom of the pile is American Psycho. I don't know if ironic is the proper adjective to apply here or not. I'll leave that for you to decide.
Friday, January 02, 2004
Random Fuzz
Vacations, especially those extended breaks from reality one has after a semester is over and another is beginning, are strangely comforting and alarming at the same time. I feel somewhat relaxed, plenty relaxed in fact since I'm enjoying a nice California Merlot, which I'm pleasantly surprised doesn't taste all that bad. What's particularly alarming, and not all that much so, is the notion that I'm going to be returning to the fair city of Pittsburgh with very little in way of responsibilities. No schoolwork. No real deadlines. Nothing, really, except that little job, a rather miniscule one, but a job nonetheless. Most of the time I feel rather sublime in this notion that real responsibilities are a ways off, or at least far enough on the horizon that I can risk making this a little more relaxing than I really ought to.
Responsibility demands a lot out of an individual. I wasn't born with this trait, and I don't think it's something that you can teach yourself to be on a whim. Rather, I operate on the notion, as I referred to previously, that "everything's going to be okay". Maybe it will and maybe it won't. I really don't care.
Vacations, especially those extended breaks from reality one has after a semester is over and another is beginning, are strangely comforting and alarming at the same time. I feel somewhat relaxed, plenty relaxed in fact since I'm enjoying a nice California Merlot, which I'm pleasantly surprised doesn't taste all that bad. What's particularly alarming, and not all that much so, is the notion that I'm going to be returning to the fair city of Pittsburgh with very little in way of responsibilities. No schoolwork. No real deadlines. Nothing, really, except that little job, a rather miniscule one, but a job nonetheless. Most of the time I feel rather sublime in this notion that real responsibilities are a ways off, or at least far enough on the horizon that I can risk making this a little more relaxing than I really ought to.
Responsibility demands a lot out of an individual. I wasn't born with this trait, and I don't think it's something that you can teach yourself to be on a whim. Rather, I operate on the notion, as I referred to previously, that "everything's going to be okay". Maybe it will and maybe it won't. I really don't care.
Sunday, December 28, 2003
Communication Breakdown
The old expression that "absence makes the heart grow fonder" can and often is rendered impotent. Case in point, a friend, who I haven't seen or spoken with in over a year has, in so many ways, destroyed, obliterated, exhausted every quality in his personality that once made him such a enigmatic person to be around, converse with, and bond together as a pair. However, traits, previously hinted at, have only been magnified ten-fold over the past year. His acquisition of the very same degree that I recently obtained from another university has become a focal point of emails and, what appears to be, the wedge or final straw that has driven me to a point where, I feel as a person who is free to assert his own choices, opt out of the obligation to spend face-to-face time with this person.
Our communication, something that was declining in efficiency prior to this period, has further deteriorated to a point where emails are answered with the briefest of replies, due to the fact that entire portions of the communications sent were either ignored outright or brushed off with a terse response such as "I'm not into that anymore" thus eliminating any chance of any further comment on the matter. Annoyance on my part due to, what I perceive, perhaps wrongly so, as being intrusive questions regarding my own situation. Prying eyes and incessant questioning are not traits that I regard or suffer gladly. So, I've resorted to the standard "no reply". In other words, I avoid the matters altogether, which, in some ways, fuels it even further. It's really a no win situation. I don't answer, so the questioning continues until nothing is resolved. Hypocrisy, I know.
Today, though, I decided that I would answer the questions with my own brand of harsh response. It may or may not have been the wisest of moves, but the communication has been at a standstill for so long that I presume this won't hurt much. Of course, it might hurt tremendously. I'm at a loss, and we'll see what occurs, but this situation demanded drastic action. Hopefully, something can be salvaged.
The old expression that "absence makes the heart grow fonder" can and often is rendered impotent. Case in point, a friend, who I haven't seen or spoken with in over a year has, in so many ways, destroyed, obliterated, exhausted every quality in his personality that once made him such a enigmatic person to be around, converse with, and bond together as a pair. However, traits, previously hinted at, have only been magnified ten-fold over the past year. His acquisition of the very same degree that I recently obtained from another university has become a focal point of emails and, what appears to be, the wedge or final straw that has driven me to a point where, I feel as a person who is free to assert his own choices, opt out of the obligation to spend face-to-face time with this person.
Our communication, something that was declining in efficiency prior to this period, has further deteriorated to a point where emails are answered with the briefest of replies, due to the fact that entire portions of the communications sent were either ignored outright or brushed off with a terse response such as "I'm not into that anymore" thus eliminating any chance of any further comment on the matter. Annoyance on my part due to, what I perceive, perhaps wrongly so, as being intrusive questions regarding my own situation. Prying eyes and incessant questioning are not traits that I regard or suffer gladly. So, I've resorted to the standard "no reply". In other words, I avoid the matters altogether, which, in some ways, fuels it even further. It's really a no win situation. I don't answer, so the questioning continues until nothing is resolved. Hypocrisy, I know.
Today, though, I decided that I would answer the questions with my own brand of harsh response. It may or may not have been the wisest of moves, but the communication has been at a standstill for so long that I presume this won't hurt much. Of course, it might hurt tremendously. I'm at a loss, and we'll see what occurs, but this situation demanded drastic action. Hopefully, something can be salvaged.
Friday, December 26, 2003
My Top Ten Albums of 2003
I figured that since I have the forum I’d post my own top ten albums of 2003.
1. Pearl Jam-Lost Dogs-Most of these songs were recorded before 2003, and consists of collected b-sides and unreleased tracks. These two-discs rival some of their proper albums in terms of song quality.
2. White Stripes-Elephant-I had a hard time choosing Lost Dogs over this incredible album, but my love of Pearl Jam won out. Every song on this album is stellar, and the White Stripes are without a doubt a terrifically talented duo.
3. Radiohead-Hail to the Thief-Any time that two of my favorite bands, Pearl Jam being the other, release albums in the same year, it's hard to determine which one I like more. Radiohead are an incredible band, but this disc, spectacular as it is, isn't Amnesiac.
4. Aphex Twin-26 Mixes for Cash-Another two-disc compilation of previously released material. Aphex Twin, or Richard D. James, puts out a lot of music, some of which is nearly unlistenable, but these tracks are spectacular, especially the radical reworking of David Bowie's "Heroes".
5. Massive Attack-100th Window-This is the first Massive Attack album I got my hands on, and even though it's purportedly not their best (see Blue Lines and Mezzanine), I was really impressed. Haunting stuff.
6. Metallica-St. Anger-A definite return to form for Metallica. I stopped buying their albums after the "Black" album, but St. Anger is the type of album Metallica made before toning things down a bit. Not as good as Master of Puppets, but few albums are.
7. Strokes-Room on Fire-I haven't listened to this enough to know if it's as good as their debut Is this It, but on first impression, it is pretty good.
8. Raveonettes-Chain Gang of Love-One track, "That Great Love Sound," is worth the price of admission. A great album inspired by the bubble-gum fueled tracks of year's past combined with the Jesus and Mary Chain's sonic fuzz.
9. Black Rebel Motorcycle Club-Take Them on Your Own-Rarely am I inspired enough to go out and buy a cd based on one video from MTV, but I saw this band on MTV2, and their single "Stop" just did it for me. I needed to own this album, and it was worth the search.
10. Sonic Youth-Dirty-Deluxe Version-I really would have placed this in the top five, but it is an older album, 1992 to be exact. The album itself isn't Sonic Youth's best (see Daydream Nation or Goo), but the second disc, filled with outtakes and demos includes some of the coolest sounding instrumental tracks from a band devoted to sonic, no pun intended, tracks beyond description.
I figured that since I have the forum I’d post my own top ten albums of 2003.
1. Pearl Jam-Lost Dogs-Most of these songs were recorded before 2003, and consists of collected b-sides and unreleased tracks. These two-discs rival some of their proper albums in terms of song quality.
2. White Stripes-Elephant-I had a hard time choosing Lost Dogs over this incredible album, but my love of Pearl Jam won out. Every song on this album is stellar, and the White Stripes are without a doubt a terrifically talented duo.
3. Radiohead-Hail to the Thief-Any time that two of my favorite bands, Pearl Jam being the other, release albums in the same year, it's hard to determine which one I like more. Radiohead are an incredible band, but this disc, spectacular as it is, isn't Amnesiac.
4. Aphex Twin-26 Mixes for Cash-Another two-disc compilation of previously released material. Aphex Twin, or Richard D. James, puts out a lot of music, some of which is nearly unlistenable, but these tracks are spectacular, especially the radical reworking of David Bowie's "Heroes".
5. Massive Attack-100th Window-This is the first Massive Attack album I got my hands on, and even though it's purportedly not their best (see Blue Lines and Mezzanine), I was really impressed. Haunting stuff.
6. Metallica-St. Anger-A definite return to form for Metallica. I stopped buying their albums after the "Black" album, but St. Anger is the type of album Metallica made before toning things down a bit. Not as good as Master of Puppets, but few albums are.
7. Strokes-Room on Fire-I haven't listened to this enough to know if it's as good as their debut Is this It, but on first impression, it is pretty good.
8. Raveonettes-Chain Gang of Love-One track, "That Great Love Sound," is worth the price of admission. A great album inspired by the bubble-gum fueled tracks of year's past combined with the Jesus and Mary Chain's sonic fuzz.
9. Black Rebel Motorcycle Club-Take Them on Your Own-Rarely am I inspired enough to go out and buy a cd based on one video from MTV, but I saw this band on MTV2, and their single "Stop" just did it for me. I needed to own this album, and it was worth the search.
10. Sonic Youth-Dirty-Deluxe Version-I really would have placed this in the top five, but it is an older album, 1992 to be exact. The album itself isn't Sonic Youth's best (see Daydream Nation or Goo), but the second disc, filled with outtakes and demos includes some of the coolest sounding instrumental tracks from a band devoted to sonic, no pun intended, tracks beyond description.
Tuesday, December 23, 2003
Bad Vibes, Awful Regret, and the Doctrine of Avoidance
I'm amazed every year at this time that the pendulum of emotions can swing from one extreme to the other with little or no prior notice. Joyous emotion can easily decompose into depression at the drop of a hat, and I'm not sure why that is, or why it only happens at this time of year and not so much at others. I realize the holidays mean a lot to people, and, perhaps, the reason for the double-barreled threat of a cataclysmic mood swing along with the fact that the holidays at this time of year are so crammed together in a span of a little over a month that it's unavoidable that there's going to be some sort of ultimate satisfaction or dissatisfaction, but rarely a mid-level point of contentment.
I have bad vibes during this time of year, and it seems that everything takes on an added emotional charge between Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year‘s Day. The notion that humans and animals suffering during this time of year is so repugnant to me that I'm at a loss on how to properly deal with my emotions. I realize that I operate with a certain amount of hypocrisy regarding this issue because at various points on the calendar I’m much more susceptible to wild mood swings that totally pervade my life than others, and I can go about my life in blissful ignorance regarding the suffering of others. I must confess that I am, for the most part, capable of concealing these types of swings. Make no mistake, I’m not implying that I’m on the verge of any sort of breakdown, but what occurs can only be described as isolated incidents of mood swings. Panic attacks, if that’s what they are, seem to proliferate mostly during times of minimum activity. In moments when I flood my mind with all manner of life’s intangibles, I feel at the very lowest ebb of being. My breathing increases dramatically, but it only lasts for less than a minute. For the most part it can be attributed to the usual suspects: financial stability, work, schoolwork, etc. But, and I’m not trying to be overly dramatic, I feel the worst when I just stop and think about life in general. What kinds of joy do I receive from life? What’s going to happen to me in the future? What’s going to happen to me when all my friends leave? It’s basically your standard questioning of existence in this world, this situation, this town, this university, and this community....
At this point, these types of episodes are so common to life that they’ve attained a sort played out characteristic. They’re too common, and no one, even myself, takes them seriously, but they are real. So, without the comfort derived from believing in some sort of higher power, I feel that they have to be dealt with in a manner that’s most likely to resolve the situation. I take little or no comfort in the idea that there’s some sort of greater purpose for each and every occurrence. I do, and here’s where the hypocrisy enters, feel that I have the ability to rationalize the situation to the point that I’m able to maintain complacency with the idea that “everything’s going to be okay”.
Which brings me to the “doctrine of avoidance”. I by no means believe that I’m the originator of a new term, but I’ve been really intrigued by the idea that avoiding an issue in a roundabout manner serves as a way of confronting it head on. I don’t believe this doctrine is truly effective, and I think it does more harm than good in the long run. Obviously, though, I’m a big believer in the ability to avoid the necessity to confront an issue, as the previous paragraphs make abundantly clear. Arguments made are not truly acknowledged in their entirety, and it leads to a dialogue that accomplishes little in terms of presenting a coherent position on an issue. Why individuals subscribe to the “doctrine of avoidance” is beyond me, but I suspect there are definite reasons why they do so, and they do so as a way to avoid any sort of criticism, whether just or not, that might put into perspective the absurdity of the issue being discussed, dissected, or debated. I subscribe to the “doctrine of avoidance” out of a sheer inability to confront issues head on. I know things occur, as I’m sure we all do, that are beyond my control, so I profess an aggressive form of denial that avoids the issues that I’m confronted with. In fact, one can go so far as to argue that I’m already adhering to the doctrine by clearly stating that the issues are “beyond my control,” some of which obviously are not by any stretch of the imagination beyond my control.
This “doctrine of avoidance” seems to be proliferating in this country, and it can be seen operating from the efforts of the current administration to the lowliest of writers here on Blogger. What I don’t like about this doctrine is that it tries mightily to prop up other arguments that avoid the issues that are being raised in an effort to coerce the other side into shifting the argument to best adhere to the strengths of the party being attacked. In other words, the doctrine is adhered to by “cowards” who avoid the fight by skewing the tone to fit their purposes. It’s usually a circular line of logic that never truly addresses the issues at hand, and its proponents often resort to cheap shots that are nowhere near addressing the crux of the points of criticism that might just sting too much to be acknowledged outright.
I realize that this line of logic is rather cumbersome, and it’s rather faulty at points, but that’s where I can’t help but feel that I’m right to some extent about this issue. It can be seen in all manner of forms, and it’s nothing but frustrating to be a part of the argument that eventually deteriorates because one of the members adheres to the doctrine. Comments that are taken out of context that are then used to prop up one’s own stance are seen as a manner of rationalizing one’s own position and validating one’s own way of seeing the world. When the “doctrine of avoidance” becomes one of the dominant voices within discourse, there’s little or no chance that anything can be resolved with arguing the finer points of an issue. So, I’d like to think that there’s a chance that the discourse can evolve into a manner of debate that is adequate for both sides of the issue, but I have a strong suspicion that it won’t ever reach the form that I’d most like for it to. Why? Because as the “doctrine of avoidance” suggests, it’s easier for the parties involved to avoid the issues with little or no consequences and carry on without any sort of regard to whether or not the issues have been resolved. The “doctrine of avoidance” is here, and I believe more and more people are subscribing to it daily.
I'm amazed every year at this time that the pendulum of emotions can swing from one extreme to the other with little or no prior notice. Joyous emotion can easily decompose into depression at the drop of a hat, and I'm not sure why that is, or why it only happens at this time of year and not so much at others. I realize the holidays mean a lot to people, and, perhaps, the reason for the double-barreled threat of a cataclysmic mood swing along with the fact that the holidays at this time of year are so crammed together in a span of a little over a month that it's unavoidable that there's going to be some sort of ultimate satisfaction or dissatisfaction, but rarely a mid-level point of contentment.
I have bad vibes during this time of year, and it seems that everything takes on an added emotional charge between Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year‘s Day. The notion that humans and animals suffering during this time of year is so repugnant to me that I'm at a loss on how to properly deal with my emotions. I realize that I operate with a certain amount of hypocrisy regarding this issue because at various points on the calendar I’m much more susceptible to wild mood swings that totally pervade my life than others, and I can go about my life in blissful ignorance regarding the suffering of others. I must confess that I am, for the most part, capable of concealing these types of swings. Make no mistake, I’m not implying that I’m on the verge of any sort of breakdown, but what occurs can only be described as isolated incidents of mood swings. Panic attacks, if that’s what they are, seem to proliferate mostly during times of minimum activity. In moments when I flood my mind with all manner of life’s intangibles, I feel at the very lowest ebb of being. My breathing increases dramatically, but it only lasts for less than a minute. For the most part it can be attributed to the usual suspects: financial stability, work, schoolwork, etc. But, and I’m not trying to be overly dramatic, I feel the worst when I just stop and think about life in general. What kinds of joy do I receive from life? What’s going to happen to me in the future? What’s going to happen to me when all my friends leave? It’s basically your standard questioning of existence in this world, this situation, this town, this university, and this community....
At this point, these types of episodes are so common to life that they’ve attained a sort played out characteristic. They’re too common, and no one, even myself, takes them seriously, but they are real. So, without the comfort derived from believing in some sort of higher power, I feel that they have to be dealt with in a manner that’s most likely to resolve the situation. I take little or no comfort in the idea that there’s some sort of greater purpose for each and every occurrence. I do, and here’s where the hypocrisy enters, feel that I have the ability to rationalize the situation to the point that I’m able to maintain complacency with the idea that “everything’s going to be okay”.
Which brings me to the “doctrine of avoidance”. I by no means believe that I’m the originator of a new term, but I’ve been really intrigued by the idea that avoiding an issue in a roundabout manner serves as a way of confronting it head on. I don’t believe this doctrine is truly effective, and I think it does more harm than good in the long run. Obviously, though, I’m a big believer in the ability to avoid the necessity to confront an issue, as the previous paragraphs make abundantly clear. Arguments made are not truly acknowledged in their entirety, and it leads to a dialogue that accomplishes little in terms of presenting a coherent position on an issue. Why individuals subscribe to the “doctrine of avoidance” is beyond me, but I suspect there are definite reasons why they do so, and they do so as a way to avoid any sort of criticism, whether just or not, that might put into perspective the absurdity of the issue being discussed, dissected, or debated. I subscribe to the “doctrine of avoidance” out of a sheer inability to confront issues head on. I know things occur, as I’m sure we all do, that are beyond my control, so I profess an aggressive form of denial that avoids the issues that I’m confronted with. In fact, one can go so far as to argue that I’m already adhering to the doctrine by clearly stating that the issues are “beyond my control,” some of which obviously are not by any stretch of the imagination beyond my control.
This “doctrine of avoidance” seems to be proliferating in this country, and it can be seen operating from the efforts of the current administration to the lowliest of writers here on Blogger. What I don’t like about this doctrine is that it tries mightily to prop up other arguments that avoid the issues that are being raised in an effort to coerce the other side into shifting the argument to best adhere to the strengths of the party being attacked. In other words, the doctrine is adhered to by “cowards” who avoid the fight by skewing the tone to fit their purposes. It’s usually a circular line of logic that never truly addresses the issues at hand, and its proponents often resort to cheap shots that are nowhere near addressing the crux of the points of criticism that might just sting too much to be acknowledged outright.
I realize that this line of logic is rather cumbersome, and it’s rather faulty at points, but that’s where I can’t help but feel that I’m right to some extent about this issue. It can be seen in all manner of forms, and it’s nothing but frustrating to be a part of the argument that eventually deteriorates because one of the members adheres to the doctrine. Comments that are taken out of context that are then used to prop up one’s own stance are seen as a manner of rationalizing one’s own position and validating one’s own way of seeing the world. When the “doctrine of avoidance” becomes one of the dominant voices within discourse, there’s little or no chance that anything can be resolved with arguing the finer points of an issue. So, I’d like to think that there’s a chance that the discourse can evolve into a manner of debate that is adequate for both sides of the issue, but I have a strong suspicion that it won’t ever reach the form that I’d most like for it to. Why? Because as the “doctrine of avoidance” suggests, it’s easier for the parties involved to avoid the issues with little or no consequences and carry on without any sort of regard to whether or not the issues have been resolved. The “doctrine of avoidance” is here, and I believe more and more people are subscribing to it daily.
Tuesday, December 16, 2003
Reliving an Argument
After planning an angry rebuttal to a response regarding the previous battle waged on this page and on my partner's site that I had not previously read, I decided to scour the internet for some other opinions on the matter. Once I read the following, I decided that nothing more needed to be said on my part regarding the issue of pointless blogs and the piss-poor, self-indulgent diatribes that proliferate on them. I think the author(s) pretty much summarize everything up nicely. I think I fall into the category of the "Self-Important Moron".
Why I Hate Personal Weblogs
After planning an angry rebuttal to a response regarding the previous battle waged on this page and on my partner's site that I had not previously read, I decided to scour the internet for some other opinions on the matter. Once I read the following, I decided that nothing more needed to be said on my part regarding the issue of pointless blogs and the piss-poor, self-indulgent diatribes that proliferate on them. I think the author(s) pretty much summarize everything up nicely. I think I fall into the category of the "Self-Important Moron".
Why I Hate Personal Weblogs
Saturday, December 13, 2003
A Flawed 500
I find myself conflicted each and every year when it comes to the annual year's end compilations by various periodicals of the "best of" for music, movies, books, etc. However, even before this listing was compiled and released, I was confronted with the decision by Rolling Stone to release their listing of the 500 greatest albums of all time. Now, I enjoy this type of listing because one it's inherently interesting to me to see the best albums, many of which I enjoy and many I've never heard or even desire to listen to, listed together and two because I can use it as a guide to acquire albums by artists I've never been exposed to.
What really irks me, though, is the lack of creativity by the writers of these types of lists and the inevitable backlash that others, including myself, have in regards to this list. It seems to me that there's a marked interest in portraying and sustaining the myth that Rolling Stone came out at a time, the 60s and 70s, when a tremendous amount of influential music was being recorded and released and was on the cutting edge of culture, criticism, and, most of all, hip music. But this type of cause seems to me to lead to a conflict of interests when it comes to assembling a listing of the greatest albums of all time. For example, there are no records recorded in the last twenty years in the top ten. Most, understandably, are from the giants of rock (i.e. the Beatles, Dylan, Rolling Stones) and that's an understandable, maybe necessary conceit. What I don't like about this type of conceit is the fact that it's inevitable and without any real sort of thought and imagination. Perhaps, and I realize this borders on heresy, the Beatles haven't released the most important album, in this case Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, of all time, let alone four of the top ten albums. Granted, without the Beatles there wouldn't be what we traditionally call rock n' roll music to listen to, or at the very least it would be radically different in sound, but maybe not. Also, it's important to concede the fact that without the Beatles, Stones, Dylan, etc. there wouldn't be nearly a fraction of the bands that I feel are not represented accurately on this listing.
I don't expect the writers to go out on a limb and produce a list that's so radical that it includes such recent albums as the White Stripes' Elephant in the top ten, regardless of how good the record it, and it is good. What I would like to see, though, is a list that truly reflects what records someone should have in their collection that they can listen to repeatedly and provide the listener with a broad array of styles, genres, etc. that don't border on the repetitive. In other words, I don't want four of the only ten albums that I should own be from one group, especially when one of the albums, the White Album, isn't all that spectacular. Sure, the Beatles are necessary to include in the list, but I don't think it's necessary to include four of their albums in the top ten. They're a good band, perhaps the greatest ever, but I don't want five, which includes the double-disc White Album, of their discs occupying my top ten.
This leads me to my overall critique of the magazine. What I believe is occurring is that the staff of writers and those who voted on the list itself are living in a delusional state that forces them to assume that there can't possibly be a better group of records than those released in the aforementioned time period. In other words, they're slaves to a system that consecrates things as sacred and beyond reproach. If I can only keep ten albums, four of them aren't going to be Beatles discs because, well, they're the Beatles and they're the greatest band of all time and they deserve to be the main components of any record collection. This is ridiculous. I want and need other types of music in my list. I love rap, techno, punk, alternative, metal, trip-hop, alt-country, country..., and a list with four albums by a pop-rock, because that's what the Beatles were first and foremost, doesn't give me the ability to have that broad representation of genres.
I find myself conflicted each and every year when it comes to the annual year's end compilations by various periodicals of the "best of" for music, movies, books, etc. However, even before this listing was compiled and released, I was confronted with the decision by Rolling Stone to release their listing of the 500 greatest albums of all time. Now, I enjoy this type of listing because one it's inherently interesting to me to see the best albums, many of which I enjoy and many I've never heard or even desire to listen to, listed together and two because I can use it as a guide to acquire albums by artists I've never been exposed to.
What really irks me, though, is the lack of creativity by the writers of these types of lists and the inevitable backlash that others, including myself, have in regards to this list. It seems to me that there's a marked interest in portraying and sustaining the myth that Rolling Stone came out at a time, the 60s and 70s, when a tremendous amount of influential music was being recorded and released and was on the cutting edge of culture, criticism, and, most of all, hip music. But this type of cause seems to me to lead to a conflict of interests when it comes to assembling a listing of the greatest albums of all time. For example, there are no records recorded in the last twenty years in the top ten. Most, understandably, are from the giants of rock (i.e. the Beatles, Dylan, Rolling Stones) and that's an understandable, maybe necessary conceit. What I don't like about this type of conceit is the fact that it's inevitable and without any real sort of thought and imagination. Perhaps, and I realize this borders on heresy, the Beatles haven't released the most important album, in this case Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, of all time, let alone four of the top ten albums. Granted, without the Beatles there wouldn't be what we traditionally call rock n' roll music to listen to, or at the very least it would be radically different in sound, but maybe not. Also, it's important to concede the fact that without the Beatles, Stones, Dylan, etc. there wouldn't be nearly a fraction of the bands that I feel are not represented accurately on this listing.
I don't expect the writers to go out on a limb and produce a list that's so radical that it includes such recent albums as the White Stripes' Elephant in the top ten, regardless of how good the record it, and it is good. What I would like to see, though, is a list that truly reflects what records someone should have in their collection that they can listen to repeatedly and provide the listener with a broad array of styles, genres, etc. that don't border on the repetitive. In other words, I don't want four of the only ten albums that I should own be from one group, especially when one of the albums, the White Album, isn't all that spectacular. Sure, the Beatles are necessary to include in the list, but I don't think it's necessary to include four of their albums in the top ten. They're a good band, perhaps the greatest ever, but I don't want five, which includes the double-disc White Album, of their discs occupying my top ten.
This leads me to my overall critique of the magazine. What I believe is occurring is that the staff of writers and those who voted on the list itself are living in a delusional state that forces them to assume that there can't possibly be a better group of records than those released in the aforementioned time period. In other words, they're slaves to a system that consecrates things as sacred and beyond reproach. If I can only keep ten albums, four of them aren't going to be Beatles discs because, well, they're the Beatles and they're the greatest band of all time and they deserve to be the main components of any record collection. This is ridiculous. I want and need other types of music in my list. I love rap, techno, punk, alternative, metal, trip-hop, alt-country, country..., and a list with four albums by a pop-rock, because that's what the Beatles were first and foremost, doesn't give me the ability to have that broad representation of genres.
Wednesday, December 03, 2003
"Oh, that's just Great!"
I couldn't help but notice that now BLOGGER is offering the option of recording audio blogs. Oh, for the love of all that's holy, make it stop! Isn't it bad enough that these blogs exist in print form? Now they want to let these noodleheads read them aloud. I'm at loss for words as to how much I'm disappointed in this development. Wait, if you listen carefully, you can hear the sound of the collective intelligence of the country wheezing out completely.
I couldn't help but notice that now BLOGGER is offering the option of recording audio blogs. Oh, for the love of all that's holy, make it stop! Isn't it bad enough that these blogs exist in print form? Now they want to let these noodleheads read them aloud. I'm at loss for words as to how much I'm disappointed in this development. Wait, if you listen carefully, you can hear the sound of the collective intelligence of the country wheezing out completely.
Wednesday, November 19, 2003
I or We?
Over the past few months, I’ve noticed a trend in the way people speak. It’s a trend that, albeit harmless to some extent, is rather aggravating to me on many levels. Also, I’m well aware of the fact that I of all people should not be such a stickler for the way people speak. Lord knows my speech is riddled with all types of ungrammatical phrases, guffaws, “you knows,” and various other onerous tics that seem to proliferate our speaking patterns and serve as a means to betray our true capabilities when it comes to properly formed, grammatically correct speech. This trend, though, is different in nature, in that it is not, technically, ungrammatical in nature, but it serves a purpose, however subtle, to empower the speaker in ways not traditionally served by the spoken language. Simply put, what I’ve encountered, on a seemingly daily basis, is conversation littered with phrases that exclude the other person from situations that were attended by both parties or, in some instances, serve to ignore an obvious fact that is blatantly known by all. Pronoun usage, or lack thereof, is what I’m writing about.
How can someone speak in such a manner that obviously excludes the other person from the situation? It’s simple, actually. All these speakers do is refer to themselves: I, me, my, mine. It’s subtle in nature, but it obviously exists. How can someone be excluded from a situation they were a part of or will be a part of in the future? Strangely enough, it happens. Speakers, or at least the ones I’ve noticed, repeatedly refer to situations where “I, me, my or mine” becomes the pronoun of choice rather than the more appropriate “we or our.” Why does this happen and do the speakers realize they’re doing this constantly?
For example, I live in an apartment with a roommate, and I’ve lived here for ten plus months. Whenever speaking in public, though, it’s not “our” apartment, which it should be, but “my” apartment. Do I not exist? Don’t I live here? Don’t I pay half the rent, utilities, etc.? I do, so shouldn’t it be “our” apartment? Apparently not. Perhaps I’m not involved in situations where I could suffer the same consequences, hear the same things, obtain the same information, or what have you. It’s constantly referred to in the singular form, never plural. It’s a strange phenomenon because I don’t think it’s incredibly hard to utter these words. Others or can’t or won’t adjust their speech patterns for unknown reasons. I’m at a loss, but I do know that it’s “their” problem and not “mine.” A case where I’ll gladly allow them to have all the credit.
Over the past few months, I’ve noticed a trend in the way people speak. It’s a trend that, albeit harmless to some extent, is rather aggravating to me on many levels. Also, I’m well aware of the fact that I of all people should not be such a stickler for the way people speak. Lord knows my speech is riddled with all types of ungrammatical phrases, guffaws, “you knows,” and various other onerous tics that seem to proliferate our speaking patterns and serve as a means to betray our true capabilities when it comes to properly formed, grammatically correct speech. This trend, though, is different in nature, in that it is not, technically, ungrammatical in nature, but it serves a purpose, however subtle, to empower the speaker in ways not traditionally served by the spoken language. Simply put, what I’ve encountered, on a seemingly daily basis, is conversation littered with phrases that exclude the other person from situations that were attended by both parties or, in some instances, serve to ignore an obvious fact that is blatantly known by all. Pronoun usage, or lack thereof, is what I’m writing about.
How can someone speak in such a manner that obviously excludes the other person from the situation? It’s simple, actually. All these speakers do is refer to themselves: I, me, my, mine. It’s subtle in nature, but it obviously exists. How can someone be excluded from a situation they were a part of or will be a part of in the future? Strangely enough, it happens. Speakers, or at least the ones I’ve noticed, repeatedly refer to situations where “I, me, my or mine” becomes the pronoun of choice rather than the more appropriate “we or our.” Why does this happen and do the speakers realize they’re doing this constantly?
For example, I live in an apartment with a roommate, and I’ve lived here for ten plus months. Whenever speaking in public, though, it’s not “our” apartment, which it should be, but “my” apartment. Do I not exist? Don’t I live here? Don’t I pay half the rent, utilities, etc.? I do, so shouldn’t it be “our” apartment? Apparently not. Perhaps I’m not involved in situations where I could suffer the same consequences, hear the same things, obtain the same information, or what have you. It’s constantly referred to in the singular form, never plural. It’s a strange phenomenon because I don’t think it’s incredibly hard to utter these words. Others or can’t or won’t adjust their speech patterns for unknown reasons. I’m at a loss, but I do know that it’s “their” problem and not “mine.” A case where I’ll gladly allow them to have all the credit.
Tuesday, November 11, 2003
An Arrow Finds Its Mark
You Are Not He
Eagerly awaiting the response to a column is surely one of the main perks for writers who specialize in editorials and other forms of outwardly, blatant criticism. In this case, I've been waiting for the response to my last column that lambasted the blog form itself and, more specifically, my partner on my other venue See You Next Week. In that column, I strongly condemned this very type of forum because it panders to an audience that's rarely interested in a form of discourse that rises above that of the most flaccid and "narcissisistic" in nature. In fact, it seems to thrive on the notion that everyday, common occurrences are so mindblowingly interesting to readers that it's oftentimes necessary to chronicle these events on a repetitive, daily basis. Putting that aside, for now, let's address the response posted by Benedict on his site Heir to the Hornbook entitled "A Critical Primer for Critiquing the Critics".
At first glance, it seems as if Benedict is right on about most of my criticisms, but upon further review, it's abundantly clear that he's missing the point with regards to this type of forum and the more common forms of expression that seem to proliferate on them. One point, and this might help explain some of this, is that Benedict reads a lot of stuff that I'd never even consider opening up, pursuing, or even skimming over the first few pages of. There's a lot of stuff to read out there, and I'm of the opinion that it's important to concentrate on those forums that provide the best, most concise information in a way that not condescending in nature but, at the same time, not overly pretentious as well. Writing, in other words, is important enough for me to place a higher value upon that which I consume than most other aspects in my life. For instance, I don't read the local paper here in town, or even the campus news. Why? Because it's a waste of time. These papers are poorly written, hastily assembled mishmashes of detritus. Benedict, though, seems to find some sort of enjoyment out of pursuing, sometimes even reading entirely, the columns that appear in such low-brow forums as the campus news or the local event paper. It's just a waste of time.
Benedict's first claim: "He is also motivated by an eagerness get past a literary dry spell."
True, I've written on many occasions about my inability to fill this forum with words. I've had a rough time coming up with columns that are both interesting to me to write and that I think will be interesting for anyone who might stumble upon this site to read, but within the problem lies a pointed observation about me as a writer. I won't force myself to write. I just won't. It's not a helpful or even remotely therapeutic venture to write about, well, stuff. Journaling, a pointless exercise in my view, is fine for people who want to generate ideas for a novel, or something much grander than a blog, but I refuse to use this or any other venue as a way to just write for the sake of writing. It's stilted, boring, and without any real redeeming value. Benedict, on the other hand, likes to write, journal, free-write, etc. Because of this perceived need to post on a semi-regular basis, it seems to lead Benedict to write about subjects, while interesting in his own mind, are rather tame in nature. I feel, personally, that his writing is forced, at times, and he would be better off by not writing on such a regular basis. His writing is consistently good, but it's the content that suffers. Don't force the writing. It only makes it that more intolerable.
He goes on to mention that I "upbraid" him for his "callousness and narcissism." This is hardly the case. I don't feel that he writes because he's proclaiming, "Look, I'm really interesting. Read my blog and see how interesting my life is." No, far from it. I feel, though, that the style of writing is, essentially, forcing upon the reader a desired effect. The effect is something really good, published writers strive for and do naturally. It can't be done in a blog on a daily basis. Why? Because not everyone is a good writer. Writing is just like comedy. There's this perceived notion that anyone can tell a story that's interesting and it's the same notion that deludes people into feeling that they can tell a joke. Everyone can't be a comedian, just like everyone can't be a writer. There are only a few people that can write like a David Sedaris, and there are even fewer people who can tell a joke like a Jerry Seinfeld.
"When we suffer ourselves to endlessly critique the critics, we resemble those portraits of mirrors reflecting infinite mirrors. As a result, we endlessly reflect an increasingly weak simulacrum of the original content, without creating any content of our own. "
Now, this is the paragraph with the most venom, the biggest sting. Taking a loss at creating original content is a welcome trade-off when it comes to critiquing a form that, although in its infant stages, seems to have lost all hope of gaining some sort of vague rules by which it operate by. Much like free-verse poetry, which precludes any sort of structure for the sake of chaos, the blog forum is now governed by no supreme ruler. There are no rules here. People write in a manner that flaunts all convention, and, for the most part, limit their content to the banal in nature. There are really only two extremes in which blog writing falls into: the outrageous and the banal. Now, this goes back to my previous point about forcing the writing. Blog writers, in some vague attempt at originality, seem to thrive on these posts. In other words, the blogs grow, force their content and page length to grow, and fail, at an alarming rate, to add anything of real substance. The "dear diary" format that blogs have adopted signals a change in the way in which private matters are now seen as having the importance of a national headline. Diaries were a form of closed, private expression, and it seems that the blog format has given creative, or lack thereof, license for the masses to post writings that were once kept under lock and key for all to see. Why? It's a question of self-evaluation, and it seems to me that it indicates a disturbing trend in that people who wouldn’t previously have shared any of their private moments with anyone other than the occasional imaginary friend, are now equipped with the semi-delusional notion that their inner-most thoughts and opinions are of real worth to others. What makes it worse is the notion that these writers actually operate under the guise that they're good at it, when it fact they aren't.
The final point: Mob struggles with the question of why we write, constantly asking “What’s the point of all this?”
My pithy answer: “When the only resources you put into it are your time, enjoyment, and few stray electrons, there doesn’t have to be one.”
I don't question the reason why or what's the point of all this. I think I know why people write these self-centered diatribes. Benedict's notion that the amount of effort is minimum with regards to the final output, which I won't disagree with, and, again, that's not the issue. It's not a matter of expending energy. It's a matter of self stylized importance. Attaching grandiose value to near valueless observations or meandering ruminations is a clear indication that this type of format is encouraging people to emulate others in a poor, oftentimes, unreadable style. The amount of effort isn't in question. The inconsistent blather that results from it is.
Finally, I wasn't aware that I didn't possess "minutiae" in my vocabulary. Having been informed by a footnote that the term was "given" to me by Benedict is quite interesting. What this little snide remark says about Benedict, I'll leave for you to surmise, but I promise you that I wasn't "given" a term, which is rather common in nature. As for Benedict's defintion of "hornbook," perhaps you might want to look at a dictionary. Your definition, Benedict, seems awful similar to that of a diary, but a glance at the dictionary states something quite different. Perhaps the usage has changed. Perhaps, but I doubt it.
You Are Not He
Eagerly awaiting the response to a column is surely one of the main perks for writers who specialize in editorials and other forms of outwardly, blatant criticism. In this case, I've been waiting for the response to my last column that lambasted the blog form itself and, more specifically, my partner on my other venue See You Next Week. In that column, I strongly condemned this very type of forum because it panders to an audience that's rarely interested in a form of discourse that rises above that of the most flaccid and "narcissisistic" in nature. In fact, it seems to thrive on the notion that everyday, common occurrences are so mindblowingly interesting to readers that it's oftentimes necessary to chronicle these events on a repetitive, daily basis. Putting that aside, for now, let's address the response posted by Benedict on his site Heir to the Hornbook entitled "A Critical Primer for Critiquing the Critics".
At first glance, it seems as if Benedict is right on about most of my criticisms, but upon further review, it's abundantly clear that he's missing the point with regards to this type of forum and the more common forms of expression that seem to proliferate on them. One point, and this might help explain some of this, is that Benedict reads a lot of stuff that I'd never even consider opening up, pursuing, or even skimming over the first few pages of. There's a lot of stuff to read out there, and I'm of the opinion that it's important to concentrate on those forums that provide the best, most concise information in a way that not condescending in nature but, at the same time, not overly pretentious as well. Writing, in other words, is important enough for me to place a higher value upon that which I consume than most other aspects in my life. For instance, I don't read the local paper here in town, or even the campus news. Why? Because it's a waste of time. These papers are poorly written, hastily assembled mishmashes of detritus. Benedict, though, seems to find some sort of enjoyment out of pursuing, sometimes even reading entirely, the columns that appear in such low-brow forums as the campus news or the local event paper. It's just a waste of time.
Benedict's first claim: "He is also motivated by an eagerness get past a literary dry spell."
True, I've written on many occasions about my inability to fill this forum with words. I've had a rough time coming up with columns that are both interesting to me to write and that I think will be interesting for anyone who might stumble upon this site to read, but within the problem lies a pointed observation about me as a writer. I won't force myself to write. I just won't. It's not a helpful or even remotely therapeutic venture to write about, well, stuff. Journaling, a pointless exercise in my view, is fine for people who want to generate ideas for a novel, or something much grander than a blog, but I refuse to use this or any other venue as a way to just write for the sake of writing. It's stilted, boring, and without any real redeeming value. Benedict, on the other hand, likes to write, journal, free-write, etc. Because of this perceived need to post on a semi-regular basis, it seems to lead Benedict to write about subjects, while interesting in his own mind, are rather tame in nature. I feel, personally, that his writing is forced, at times, and he would be better off by not writing on such a regular basis. His writing is consistently good, but it's the content that suffers. Don't force the writing. It only makes it that more intolerable.
He goes on to mention that I "upbraid" him for his "callousness and narcissism." This is hardly the case. I don't feel that he writes because he's proclaiming, "Look, I'm really interesting. Read my blog and see how interesting my life is." No, far from it. I feel, though, that the style of writing is, essentially, forcing upon the reader a desired effect. The effect is something really good, published writers strive for and do naturally. It can't be done in a blog on a daily basis. Why? Because not everyone is a good writer. Writing is just like comedy. There's this perceived notion that anyone can tell a story that's interesting and it's the same notion that deludes people into feeling that they can tell a joke. Everyone can't be a comedian, just like everyone can't be a writer. There are only a few people that can write like a David Sedaris, and there are even fewer people who can tell a joke like a Jerry Seinfeld.
"When we suffer ourselves to endlessly critique the critics, we resemble those portraits of mirrors reflecting infinite mirrors. As a result, we endlessly reflect an increasingly weak simulacrum of the original content, without creating any content of our own. "
Now, this is the paragraph with the most venom, the biggest sting. Taking a loss at creating original content is a welcome trade-off when it comes to critiquing a form that, although in its infant stages, seems to have lost all hope of gaining some sort of vague rules by which it operate by. Much like free-verse poetry, which precludes any sort of structure for the sake of chaos, the blog forum is now governed by no supreme ruler. There are no rules here. People write in a manner that flaunts all convention, and, for the most part, limit their content to the banal in nature. There are really only two extremes in which blog writing falls into: the outrageous and the banal. Now, this goes back to my previous point about forcing the writing. Blog writers, in some vague attempt at originality, seem to thrive on these posts. In other words, the blogs grow, force their content and page length to grow, and fail, at an alarming rate, to add anything of real substance. The "dear diary" format that blogs have adopted signals a change in the way in which private matters are now seen as having the importance of a national headline. Diaries were a form of closed, private expression, and it seems that the blog format has given creative, or lack thereof, license for the masses to post writings that were once kept under lock and key for all to see. Why? It's a question of self-evaluation, and it seems to me that it indicates a disturbing trend in that people who wouldn’t previously have shared any of their private moments with anyone other than the occasional imaginary friend, are now equipped with the semi-delusional notion that their inner-most thoughts and opinions are of real worth to others. What makes it worse is the notion that these writers actually operate under the guise that they're good at it, when it fact they aren't.
The final point: Mob struggles with the question of why we write, constantly asking “What’s the point of all this?”
My pithy answer: “When the only resources you put into it are your time, enjoyment, and few stray electrons, there doesn’t have to be one.”
I don't question the reason why or what's the point of all this. I think I know why people write these self-centered diatribes. Benedict's notion that the amount of effort is minimum with regards to the final output, which I won't disagree with, and, again, that's not the issue. It's not a matter of expending energy. It's a matter of self stylized importance. Attaching grandiose value to near valueless observations or meandering ruminations is a clear indication that this type of format is encouraging people to emulate others in a poor, oftentimes, unreadable style. The amount of effort isn't in question. The inconsistent blather that results from it is.
Finally, I wasn't aware that I didn't possess "minutiae" in my vocabulary. Having been informed by a footnote that the term was "given" to me by Benedict is quite interesting. What this little snide remark says about Benedict, I'll leave for you to surmise, but I promise you that I wasn't "given" a term, which is rather common in nature. As for Benedict's defintion of "hornbook," perhaps you might want to look at a dictionary. Your definition, Benedict, seems awful similar to that of a diary, but a glance at the dictionary states something quite different. Perhaps the usage has changed. Perhaps, but I doubt it.
Saturday, November 08, 2003
Blood on the Bus: A Prelude to a War of Words
I could be wrong in my instincts, but I highly doubt it in this instance. Benedict Monk, in a rather thoughtless and inane attempt at humorous writing, posted the following on his blog, Heir to the Hornbook(a namesake whose qualities I'll leave for another time and place), as a part of an entry entitled "To be this tired, I'd have to be blitzed," the following passage: Needless to say, I know my audience. You want me to talk about the blood that pooled at the front of the bus a few days ago? I won't. I don't pander to your violent tendencies, except to say that it's one of the few times passengers efficiently loaded via the back door.
The incident in question refers to a late night encounter with the vaunted 54C in which those desiring to board were greeted not with an open door and the prospect of entering the warm confines but with a rather disturbing scene, blood on the bus floor.
Now, anyone not totally desensitized to all the grim realities of life here in the big city, might think this is odd, disturbing, curious, gross, etc. Benedict, however, feels differently. Blood stains on a bus floor are, apparently from the passage above, beneath his talent for comment and word play. Pandering to the tendencies of the masses is beneath Benedict. What seems to be the more interesting topic in which the passage appears? Sleeping on the floor and trying to finish a paper for class. How pointless. It is truly a sad state of affairs and a real comment on the state of writing today when a truly bizarre event such as pools of blood on the floor of a bus fails to generate interest in the writer's perspective and takes second place to such mundane, trivial, boring events such as finishing a paper for class and succumbing to exhaustion.
Benedict's skills as a writer are not in question here. In fact, I like his writing a lot, and I think his writing flows in a natural manner that conveys to the reader the facts necessary and in a tone that's poetic in nature and rhythmic in it's patterns. In other words, he's a good writer. However, and as anyone who deigns it necessary to follow these pages, I have a problem with frivolity. I find most of the subjects that Benedict writes about to be less than interesting in prose form. Mundane, daily events are not interesting. They just aren't, but a plethora of people, Benedict included, find some sort of inspiration from these quasi-freakish occurrences that happen each and every day to most of the public at large. The thing is, though, no one, not even the most talented writer in the world, can make these events seem more than the sum of their parts.
My theory about this is that I believe that there are incidents that are more suited to being spoken aloud in the course of a natural conversation and aren't worthy of mentioning in a prose piece. Reading takes time, and I can't think of a larger waste of time than when I'm reading something and realize at some point, most often too late to stop, that the effort it takes to read this print isn't compensated by the rewards garnered after finishing the piece. I don't glean much from reading about the daily minutiae of life. Life's too short waste precious moments wading through writing that's borderline pretentious and without any redeeming value. I just don't care.
I could be wrong in my instincts, but I highly doubt it in this instance. Benedict Monk, in a rather thoughtless and inane attempt at humorous writing, posted the following on his blog, Heir to the Hornbook(a namesake whose qualities I'll leave for another time and place), as a part of an entry entitled "To be this tired, I'd have to be blitzed," the following passage: Needless to say, I know my audience. You want me to talk about the blood that pooled at the front of the bus a few days ago? I won't. I don't pander to your violent tendencies, except to say that it's one of the few times passengers efficiently loaded via the back door.
The incident in question refers to a late night encounter with the vaunted 54C in which those desiring to board were greeted not with an open door and the prospect of entering the warm confines but with a rather disturbing scene, blood on the bus floor.
Now, anyone not totally desensitized to all the grim realities of life here in the big city, might think this is odd, disturbing, curious, gross, etc. Benedict, however, feels differently. Blood stains on a bus floor are, apparently from the passage above, beneath his talent for comment and word play. Pandering to the tendencies of the masses is beneath Benedict. What seems to be the more interesting topic in which the passage appears? Sleeping on the floor and trying to finish a paper for class. How pointless. It is truly a sad state of affairs and a real comment on the state of writing today when a truly bizarre event such as pools of blood on the floor of a bus fails to generate interest in the writer's perspective and takes second place to such mundane, trivial, boring events such as finishing a paper for class and succumbing to exhaustion.
Benedict's skills as a writer are not in question here. In fact, I like his writing a lot, and I think his writing flows in a natural manner that conveys to the reader the facts necessary and in a tone that's poetic in nature and rhythmic in it's patterns. In other words, he's a good writer. However, and as anyone who deigns it necessary to follow these pages, I have a problem with frivolity. I find most of the subjects that Benedict writes about to be less than interesting in prose form. Mundane, daily events are not interesting. They just aren't, but a plethora of people, Benedict included, find some sort of inspiration from these quasi-freakish occurrences that happen each and every day to most of the public at large. The thing is, though, no one, not even the most talented writer in the world, can make these events seem more than the sum of their parts.
My theory about this is that I believe that there are incidents that are more suited to being spoken aloud in the course of a natural conversation and aren't worthy of mentioning in a prose piece. Reading takes time, and I can't think of a larger waste of time than when I'm reading something and realize at some point, most often too late to stop, that the effort it takes to read this print isn't compensated by the rewards garnered after finishing the piece. I don't glean much from reading about the daily minutiae of life. Life's too short waste precious moments wading through writing that's borderline pretentious and without any redeeming value. I just don't care.
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