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
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.
Friday, October 31, 2003
A Bitter Taste
Usually, I try to be current with my digressions on whatever topic strikes me as being worthy of venting about, but today I've noticed that I've become more and more disgusted about the behavior of the patrons at my favorite coffeeshop. The thing is, though, this happened Monday night, and it has just festered inside of me for quite some time. I wasn't really intending on addressing the situation, but I couldn't help but notice that my cohort on my other site took the humorous route by placing a picture that mocks the situation for the absurdity that it truly is and will continue to be if it happens again. The situation occurred as follows. The two of us entered the coffeeshop, which happens to have just expanded to the storefront next door. Eager to sit in the new digs, we went over to the other side and perched on what we've come to learn as being the most desired table in the joint. Much like this one:
Well, shortly after that, one of the regulars, a near mythical creature in our eyes known as "White Hair," entered the establishment, turned promptly to his left to enter the expansion, and stopped suddenly with a bewildered look in his eyes. What could have occurred to cause such confusion in someone who, albeit old, is perceived as being "cooler than the other side of the pillow?" Well, it just so happens that the two of us were at his table, and, I was sitting in his chair.
Now, I know you're asking yourself, "Why is this such a big deal? Surely there are plenty of chairs in this place for him sit in and still maintain his air of coolness, right?" Apparently not. He appeared, if I may be so dramatic, to be a knight without his sword, a painter (Ironically, "White Hair's" one known craft is painting) without his brush, and totally without any ideas on how rectify this situation. Discombobulated, confused, angry, and all the other emotions that greet someone when they feel out of place and without a real purpose, seemed to have flooded over "White Hair" like a tidal wave. Lost in his thoughts, he finally settled on a chair that was equally comfortable as his regular thrown, if not moreso.
What troubles me about this situation is not the look of utter confusion on this man's face or even the somewhat unsubtle hint that we shouldn't be sitting there. What troubles me is the entire clique vibe that permeates the entire establishment much like the cigarette smoke that cloudens the air. This lifestyle that's so dependent on seeming to be independent is rather hypocritical in nature. The more they strive to be the outcasts who are accepting of people's flaws and kinks, the more they seem to tighten the circle to include only themselves and the desire to repel outsiders. It's a vibe that betrays everything they stand for, and it's a rather sad assessment on life on the fringe here in Pittsburgh. The entire notion of a coffeeshop that caters to the fringes is that you should be able, as a straight-laced un-hipster, to enter the premises and be able to enjoy the surroundings without the implied threat that you're sitting in someone's seat. This isn't the case in this place, and it's rather sad. I thought they were different. Alas, they aren't, and they're more often as petty if not moreso than the rest of us.
Usually, I try to be current with my digressions on whatever topic strikes me as being worthy of venting about, but today I've noticed that I've become more and more disgusted about the behavior of the patrons at my favorite coffeeshop. The thing is, though, this happened Monday night, and it has just festered inside of me for quite some time. I wasn't really intending on addressing the situation, but I couldn't help but notice that my cohort on my other site took the humorous route by placing a picture that mocks the situation for the absurdity that it truly is and will continue to be if it happens again. The situation occurred as follows. The two of us entered the coffeeshop, which happens to have just expanded to the storefront next door. Eager to sit in the new digs, we went over to the other side and perched on what we've come to learn as being the most desired table in the joint. Much like this one:
Well, shortly after that, one of the regulars, a near mythical creature in our eyes known as "White Hair," entered the establishment, turned promptly to his left to enter the expansion, and stopped suddenly with a bewildered look in his eyes. What could have occurred to cause such confusion in someone who, albeit old, is perceived as being "cooler than the other side of the pillow?" Well, it just so happens that the two of us were at his table, and, I was sitting in his chair.
Now, I know you're asking yourself, "Why is this such a big deal? Surely there are plenty of chairs in this place for him sit in and still maintain his air of coolness, right?" Apparently not. He appeared, if I may be so dramatic, to be a knight without his sword, a painter (Ironically, "White Hair's" one known craft is painting) without his brush, and totally without any ideas on how rectify this situation. Discombobulated, confused, angry, and all the other emotions that greet someone when they feel out of place and without a real purpose, seemed to have flooded over "White Hair" like a tidal wave. Lost in his thoughts, he finally settled on a chair that was equally comfortable as his regular thrown, if not moreso.
What troubles me about this situation is not the look of utter confusion on this man's face or even the somewhat unsubtle hint that we shouldn't be sitting there. What troubles me is the entire clique vibe that permeates the entire establishment much like the cigarette smoke that cloudens the air. This lifestyle that's so dependent on seeming to be independent is rather hypocritical in nature. The more they strive to be the outcasts who are accepting of people's flaws and kinks, the more they seem to tighten the circle to include only themselves and the desire to repel outsiders. It's a vibe that betrays everything they stand for, and it's a rather sad assessment on life on the fringe here in Pittsburgh. The entire notion of a coffeeshop that caters to the fringes is that you should be able, as a straight-laced un-hipster, to enter the premises and be able to enjoy the surroundings without the implied threat that you're sitting in someone's seat. This isn't the case in this place, and it's rather sad. I thought they were different. Alas, they aren't, and they're more often as petty if not moreso than the rest of us.
Wednesday, October 22, 2003
Lonely Thong
On Saturday morning, as I was walking to work, I saw a thong on the sidewalk in front of a local bar/nightspot here on campus. An urge to kick it swept over me, but it quickly passed. A simple, black thong on the sidewalk. It makes me wonder whether or not there was a girl waking up at the very moment wondering where her underwear, even that miniscule amount, went.
On Saturday morning, as I was walking to work, I saw a thong on the sidewalk in front of a local bar/nightspot here on campus. An urge to kick it swept over me, but it quickly passed. A simple, black thong on the sidewalk. It makes me wonder whether or not there was a girl waking up at the very moment wondering where her underwear, even that miniscule amount, went.
Tuesday, October 14, 2003
Stop
It's hard to shake certain beliefs. The types of beliefs I'm referring to have little or nothing to do with the prejudices that might mark someone in a specifically terrible light. These include the inevitable rascisms, sexisms, and any other type of -ism that's associated with negative waves and dogmas. What I'm referring to, though, are those beliefs that might label what has been, in recent years, a negative term, an intellectual or elitist. Now, I must confess the fact that being labeled an elitist is now considered something along the lines of being labeled a fascist makes little sense to me. Along the same lines, I'm also confused as to how liberal became associated with such negativity. Why is being labeled a liberal so bad? It makes no sense. I know, it's all about the conservatives trying to make liberals out to be the most uncaring, unpatriotic, selfish lot to come down the pike, but they aren't. It's a myth perpetuated by the conservative dominated media machine. Well, no shit. Everyone knows this, or do they? It's amazing how myths such as these become fixtures in society and are almost impossible to change without some sort of mass coercion on the part of the ruling bodies themselves.
Anyway, back to the notion of elitist. I have a problem with banality. The banality that seems to be the cause and context for many of the blogs that have sprung up in the last few years, which, probably, includes this very forum as one of its members. I have to confess that I find the idea of reading about the most mundane events in people's lives to be nauseating and without any real redeeming value. Sure, I think it's great that the masses are becoming more creative and I use that term very, very loosely, but I feel strongly that there are just certain people out there that have little to say, so they shouldn't force themselves to write meandering diatribes (much like this one) that chronicle the daily minutiae of their lives. Face it, there's just not a whole lot going on in life that makes it so interesting on a regular basis, not to mention the blogs that are published daily. What are people writing about? Nothing. It's all boring shit that no one, except for the writer themselves, finds interesting.
I know, it's hypocritical to be utilizing the very forum I'm criticizing to write this utterly disgusting diatribe lambasting the notion of writing by the masses. However, I feel strongly that there's a fine line between writing that should be done and writing that should never be attempted. I'm not suggesting that we leave it all to the professionals; that's fascist. What I am suggesting, though, is that people should stop kidding themselves into thinking that their most private moments are interesting, their little euphemisms are witty, their daily logs of their lives are even remotely close to resembling fodder for the masses. In other words, if you're thinking of starting a blog, and you're first post has something to do with how interesting work, life, whatever that happened to you today is worth writing about, don't. Spare us the agony and stop deluding yourself.
It's hard to shake certain beliefs. The types of beliefs I'm referring to have little or nothing to do with the prejudices that might mark someone in a specifically terrible light. These include the inevitable rascisms, sexisms, and any other type of -ism that's associated with negative waves and dogmas. What I'm referring to, though, are those beliefs that might label what has been, in recent years, a negative term, an intellectual or elitist. Now, I must confess the fact that being labeled an elitist is now considered something along the lines of being labeled a fascist makes little sense to me. Along the same lines, I'm also confused as to how liberal became associated with such negativity. Why is being labeled a liberal so bad? It makes no sense. I know, it's all about the conservatives trying to make liberals out to be the most uncaring, unpatriotic, selfish lot to come down the pike, but they aren't. It's a myth perpetuated by the conservative dominated media machine. Well, no shit. Everyone knows this, or do they? It's amazing how myths such as these become fixtures in society and are almost impossible to change without some sort of mass coercion on the part of the ruling bodies themselves.
Anyway, back to the notion of elitist. I have a problem with banality. The banality that seems to be the cause and context for many of the blogs that have sprung up in the last few years, which, probably, includes this very forum as one of its members. I have to confess that I find the idea of reading about the most mundane events in people's lives to be nauseating and without any real redeeming value. Sure, I think it's great that the masses are becoming more creative and I use that term very, very loosely, but I feel strongly that there are just certain people out there that have little to say, so they shouldn't force themselves to write meandering diatribes (much like this one) that chronicle the daily minutiae of their lives. Face it, there's just not a whole lot going on in life that makes it so interesting on a regular basis, not to mention the blogs that are published daily. What are people writing about? Nothing. It's all boring shit that no one, except for the writer themselves, finds interesting.
I know, it's hypocritical to be utilizing the very forum I'm criticizing to write this utterly disgusting diatribe lambasting the notion of writing by the masses. However, I feel strongly that there's a fine line between writing that should be done and writing that should never be attempted. I'm not suggesting that we leave it all to the professionals; that's fascist. What I am suggesting, though, is that people should stop kidding themselves into thinking that their most private moments are interesting, their little euphemisms are witty, their daily logs of their lives are even remotely close to resembling fodder for the masses. In other words, if you're thinking of starting a blog, and you're first post has something to do with how interesting work, life, whatever that happened to you today is worth writing about, don't. Spare us the agony and stop deluding yourself.
Wednesday, October 08, 2003
In Retrospect
I feel ashamed at my recent actions towards someone. I feel as if, yes, I have de-evolved into some petty person who holds a grudge even when there isn't a reason to do so. In fact, I'd go so far as to assert that I've become that which I've tried so hard not to: a jealous fiend who can't let go of the past. The situation, as it occurred today, in what would most likely have been a repeat of an incident that happened yesterday, was simple enough, if not innocent and totally within the realm of how decent, civilized people conduct themselves. The girl I referred to in a previous post, probably the last post that had anything meaningful to say if you could call it that, was walking out of a backroom of the library as I was walking towards the restroom. In some sort of animalistic grunt, we both said "Hey" to one another. Big deal, I had to piss, she was walking with a purpose, and there really wasn't any room for discussion. Still, it felt terrible. How had things changed so drastically so quickly?
It struck me earlier that what has occurred is a return to the way things were before. Before the conversations. Before the dates (if that's what they really were, now I have my doubts). Before the downward spiral that engulfed the final few conversations and attempts at conversations. It all fell apart so fast. Now, what I'm left with, even in the face of trying desperately to be the civil one, the diplomatic male who operates in a fashion totally opposite of how most do. Now, I'm back to square one where I get this totally disgusted look from this girl. This totally pissed off look. This look of utter hatred, if I may be so melodramatic.
So what do I do, trying to be the more mature one? Well, I walked right by her today in the very same library without even looking in her direction. She was at the desk talking to her ex-roommate, and I was checking out a book. I knew she was there. She knew I was there. I made eye contact, somewhat, earlier. So, why did I just walk by her without saying a word? I really can't say. I just know that I feel terrible about it. In retrospect, it feels worse than if I'd called her some terrible profanity. Or does it? I don't know. What I do know is that I feel as if I've sunk to a lower level. A level that people like her exist at. Miserable people who will never be happy and are incapable of having any sort of remorse, feelings, or common decency. I wish nothing but the worst for her. In my rage, I say I hate her. Yes, that word that you're told never to say about anyone. Yeah, I hate her with all my being. If I only hate one person, it's her. But, I don't hate her, not in the sense that is conveyed by the previous thoughts. No, I'm better than that. I don't hate her. No, I wish her the best. Sure, go ahead, and try to find someone else. Best of luck to you, babe. You're going to need it.
I feel ashamed at my recent actions towards someone. I feel as if, yes, I have de-evolved into some petty person who holds a grudge even when there isn't a reason to do so. In fact, I'd go so far as to assert that I've become that which I've tried so hard not to: a jealous fiend who can't let go of the past. The situation, as it occurred today, in what would most likely have been a repeat of an incident that happened yesterday, was simple enough, if not innocent and totally within the realm of how decent, civilized people conduct themselves. The girl I referred to in a previous post, probably the last post that had anything meaningful to say if you could call it that, was walking out of a backroom of the library as I was walking towards the restroom. In some sort of animalistic grunt, we both said "Hey" to one another. Big deal, I had to piss, she was walking with a purpose, and there really wasn't any room for discussion. Still, it felt terrible. How had things changed so drastically so quickly?
It struck me earlier that what has occurred is a return to the way things were before. Before the conversations. Before the dates (if that's what they really were, now I have my doubts). Before the downward spiral that engulfed the final few conversations and attempts at conversations. It all fell apart so fast. Now, what I'm left with, even in the face of trying desperately to be the civil one, the diplomatic male who operates in a fashion totally opposite of how most do. Now, I'm back to square one where I get this totally disgusted look from this girl. This totally pissed off look. This look of utter hatred, if I may be so melodramatic.
So what do I do, trying to be the more mature one? Well, I walked right by her today in the very same library without even looking in her direction. She was at the desk talking to her ex-roommate, and I was checking out a book. I knew she was there. She knew I was there. I made eye contact, somewhat, earlier. So, why did I just walk by her without saying a word? I really can't say. I just know that I feel terrible about it. In retrospect, it feels worse than if I'd called her some terrible profanity. Or does it? I don't know. What I do know is that I feel as if I've sunk to a lower level. A level that people like her exist at. Miserable people who will never be happy and are incapable of having any sort of remorse, feelings, or common decency. I wish nothing but the worst for her. In my rage, I say I hate her. Yes, that word that you're told never to say about anyone. Yeah, I hate her with all my being. If I only hate one person, it's her. But, I don't hate her, not in the sense that is conveyed by the previous thoughts. No, I'm better than that. I don't hate her. No, I wish her the best. Sure, go ahead, and try to find someone else. Best of luck to you, babe. You're going to need it.
Wednesday, October 01, 2003
Oddness
Just as a way to reiterate an observation made by my teammate on my other blogger endeavor {Shrine}, I noticed last night that the ads at the top of the page were in reference to some rather odd materials. In this case, one of the ads was a link to a book which had as its subject defecation, or, in the words of the title, "poop." Here's the link to this oddity: {Shit} I'm at a loss, though, as to how to feel about this rather strange linkage. What on our site had anything to do with shit? I don't recall seeing anything that even remotely could be loosely tied to feces. My site, though, does have a rant on the increasing amount of garbage, including shit, that has been making its daily presence known in my town. Some mysteries, I guess, are never meant to be solved.
Just as a way to reiterate an observation made by my teammate on my other blogger endeavor {Shrine}, I noticed last night that the ads at the top of the page were in reference to some rather odd materials. In this case, one of the ads was a link to a book which had as its subject defecation, or, in the words of the title, "poop." Here's the link to this oddity: {Shit} I'm at a loss, though, as to how to feel about this rather strange linkage. What on our site had anything to do with shit? I don't recall seeing anything that even remotely could be loosely tied to feces. My site, though, does have a rant on the increasing amount of garbage, including shit, that has been making its daily presence known in my town. Some mysteries, I guess, are never meant to be solved.
War
I don't know what is going on in our fair city as of late, but I have to say that I'm on the verge of violence at nearly every passing minute. I've had encounter after encounter with disagreeable people, or, in more blunt terms, total assholes in the last few days. If it's not radical joggers on the bike trail refusing to give any sort of concessions regarding the gravel path, it's being harassed by drunks while waiting for the bus. The latter episode might just be a standout in a long string of encounters with the detritus of the city. This drunken mongrel first mumbled some incoherent babble at me, which I could loosely translate into a request for a cigarette, which I didn't have, of course, because smoking is inherently disgusting. The next request was, "Do you have an extra dime?" Now, this baffled me for two reasons. First, being asked for a specific amount of money, in this case ten cents, is a rarity in these types of encounters. For the most part, it's ill-defined sums as in spare change, or, if they're really bold, they'll ask for a dollar, which is about as specific as it gets. The second reason I was taken aback by this request is that it's such a small sum, one dime. What the hell could you do with one dime? Not much, as far as I know. So, after I rebuffed him here, he proceeded to ask for an extra dollar, which must be a mythical beast as rare as bigfoot. Again, I told him I didn't have anything, but this apparently didn't sink through the mushy layers of his alcoholic haze filled brain because he had to repeat the question again as if the answer might change. What really set me off, though, was that after telling him that I didn't have anything to give him, he repeatedly told me that he was "just talking," to which I replied, "I know, but now leave me alone." This is when he moved towards me, and in an effort to get away from him I stepped around him and told him that if he didn't leave me alone, I'd call the police, who were, fortunately, just right across the street. Now, I've rarely felt such rage at someone, but after having had this and other types of situations plague me in the last few weeks, I feel as if I've reached a breaking point. I'm using this forum to declare war on these individuals. I'm through being nice and complacent to the whims of the deranged and alcohol fueled derelicts and dirtbags. Preemptive measures will now be used in order to avoid any such encounters in the future. To quote a famous phrase, "I'm mad as hell, and I'm not going to take it anymore."
I don't know what is going on in our fair city as of late, but I have to say that I'm on the verge of violence at nearly every passing minute. I've had encounter after encounter with disagreeable people, or, in more blunt terms, total assholes in the last few days. If it's not radical joggers on the bike trail refusing to give any sort of concessions regarding the gravel path, it's being harassed by drunks while waiting for the bus. The latter episode might just be a standout in a long string of encounters with the detritus of the city. This drunken mongrel first mumbled some incoherent babble at me, which I could loosely translate into a request for a cigarette, which I didn't have, of course, because smoking is inherently disgusting. The next request was, "Do you have an extra dime?" Now, this baffled me for two reasons. First, being asked for a specific amount of money, in this case ten cents, is a rarity in these types of encounters. For the most part, it's ill-defined sums as in spare change, or, if they're really bold, they'll ask for a dollar, which is about as specific as it gets. The second reason I was taken aback by this request is that it's such a small sum, one dime. What the hell could you do with one dime? Not much, as far as I know. So, after I rebuffed him here, he proceeded to ask for an extra dollar, which must be a mythical beast as rare as bigfoot. Again, I told him I didn't have anything, but this apparently didn't sink through the mushy layers of his alcoholic haze filled brain because he had to repeat the question again as if the answer might change. What really set me off, though, was that after telling him that I didn't have anything to give him, he repeatedly told me that he was "just talking," to which I replied, "I know, but now leave me alone." This is when he moved towards me, and in an effort to get away from him I stepped around him and told him that if he didn't leave me alone, I'd call the police, who were, fortunately, just right across the street. Now, I've rarely felt such rage at someone, but after having had this and other types of situations plague me in the last few weeks, I feel as if I've reached a breaking point. I'm using this forum to declare war on these individuals. I'm through being nice and complacent to the whims of the deranged and alcohol fueled derelicts and dirtbags. Preemptive measures will now be used in order to avoid any such encounters in the future. To quote a famous phrase, "I'm mad as hell, and I'm not going to take it anymore."
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