Fashion Statements in Santa Cruz

The femmes: NEON. I saw no fewer than three people wearing bikinis in neon color. Granted, one of them was a little kid, but the other two legitimately thought they looked good like that. A comeback?

The dudes: big padded motorcycle jackets. Or maybe everyone here just rides a motorcycle. Still, those jackets look so darn goofy that I don't think they would have been wearing them for practicality's sake. They must have thought they looked like the shit.

PS - In case you've been keeping track, and thinking, geez, Rex hasn't been depressed this week...well, I'm depressed again.

Sisyphean Task

There's no point in studying for this Greek exam. I could never retain all the vocabulary in the whole literary corpus - no, I can't even retain the vocabulary for the 20 or so key texts from which my exam will be drawn. I can break words down to their roots and stitch together their meaning from the parts. But rarely does a compound word exactly mean the sum of its constituent parts. And don't even get me started on the grammar! Prose I can do, poetry is a gamble. Most of all this stuff is going in one ear and out the other. So basically, I'm just trying to relax. I figure if I let my brain go numb I'll be free just to absorb.

That's why I came to the beach again today. It's working, I think. I'm getting through the material a lot faster than I did yesterday.

Vindicated By Psychology

It's long been a part of my rhetoric to say that psychology is the hokiest "science" - hell, the hokiest discipline - in the world. However, there's a new psych study that addresses the fact that I'm completely fucking mental. Some excerpts:

New love can look for all the world like mental illness, a blend of mania, dementia and obsession that cuts people off from friends and family and prompts out-of-character behavior - compulsive phone calling, serenades, yelling from rooftops - that could almost be mistaken for psychosis... In an analysis of the images appearing today in The Journal of Neurophysiology, researchers in New York and New Jersey argue that romantic love is a biological urge distinct from sexual arousal. It is closer in its neural profile to drives like hunger, thirst or drug craving, the researchers assert, than to emotional states like excitement or affection...

Although they are still sorting through the images, the investigators have noticed one preliminary finding: increased activation in an area of the brain related to the region associated with passionate love. "It seems to suggest what the psychological literature, poetry and people have long noticed: that being dumped actually does heighten romantic love, a phenomenon I call frustration-attraction," Dr. Fisher said in an e-mail message.

One volunteer in the study was Suzanna Katz, 22, of New York, who suffered through a breakup with her boyfriend three years ago... "It had little to do with him, but more with the fact that there was something there, inside myself, a hope, a knowledge that there's someone out there for you, and that you're capable of feeling this way, and suddenly I felt like that was being lost," she said in an interview.

And no wonder. In a series of studies, researchers have found that, among other processes, new love involves psychologically internalizing a lover, absorbing elements of the other person's opinions, hobbies, expressions, character, as well as sharing one's own. "The expansion of the self happens very rapidly, it's one of the most exhilarating experiences there is, and short of threatening our survival it is one thing that most motivates us," said Dr. Aron, of SUNY, a co-author of the study.

Oh hell. Here's the url: http://www.nytimes.com/2005/05/31/health/psychology/31love.html?8hpib

Thank You, France!

(I'm sorry, I feel like I'm always picking on the French. I have no beef, honestly, it's just that they're so easy to mock.)

From the great nation that brought us Zeuhl comes the rejection of the EU constitution. Thank you for confirming the unipolar international structure in which the United States remains the sole undisputed superpower! Perhaps now the Euro will weaken and tourism will be affordable for Americans again.

Something that made me do a double-take: apparently the EU-opposition media in France is characterizing free market (one of the goals of the EU) as "ultraliberal." A. Since when did Europeans ever pretend to be anything BUT liberal? B. Free market is ultraconservative - libertarian, perhaps - but NOT ultraliberal. Unless my own educational sources are warping the truth and the French actually have the right schematization - which is entirely possible...

On second thought, I don't think that's right. I remember my Swedish boyfriend saying that the general sentiment in his country was anti-EU, because the EU was perceived as a right-wing conspiracy meant to help big businesses and crush socialist benefits. So I was right the first time, the French media is warping and mixing ideologies so as to promote their numero uno agenda, which is to be better than all the other European countries, even if it means that Europe as a whole is under US thumb.

I wonder if the US had anything to do with mobilizing the EU opposition. We have some crafty sons-of-bitches in high places.

Sensitive Men

I was listening to some Nirvana songs on the radio, and it got me thinking about how it was that Kurt Cobain ended up marrying Courtney Love. I'm sure we all have pondered this many times in our lives. He was exceptionally sensitive and fragile, emotionally, and she was just about the crudest and trashiest person that even the American media has ever witnessed. In fact, I challenge you to name me someone trashier. (Plus, Love is not the kind of woman that any man would propose to, however much he might be involved with her otherwise - but this is a whole other brainteaser.) One might argue that this phenomenon can be attributed to the rocker in Cobain, that rockers as a rule went for floozies. Yes, I would answer, but these women tended to be DUMB floozies at worst (Stephanie Seymore), or sometimes neutral floozies (Heather Locklear), or sometimes even strong and independent floozies (Sharon Osbourne, Pamela Anderson [I know what you're thinking, but she's strongly committed to PETA]).

All the above-mentioned women were actually involved with rock stars that were far more crude than Cobain. So perhaps we can derive a maxim from this:

Sensitive men are drawn to hateful and vile women.

How do you make work like a day at the beach?

Do it on your day at the beach.

I went to the beach yesterday - the day seemed so long, I got so much work done, and I was totally relaxed and enjoying myself the whole time. Today, I spent about the last hour and a half in the library studying, and I'm spent. I'm wondering where my day went, and how I was so much more productive yesterday. It's all about a state of mind, and this here is a world of pain.

I Heart Huckabees

I really really liked this movie. Some of the discussions could be construed as pretentious (and the title, for fuck's sake), I know. But it was all done very humorously, and if there's anyone who could pull off self-important philosophizing with the right (meaning: acceptable) tone, it's Jason Schwartzman. There's something about him. The most pleasant surprise was Mark Wahlberg. He was totally magnetic, and his philosophical issues were the least froofy (petroleum). He actually made his white-rapper-himbo street credit work for him. And he played the most endearing friend, which always wins me over.

To analyze the philosophical issues. Bernie's thing about the universe being connected: the froofiest bullshit, a bad stereotype of what philosophy is. But, I understand, central to the movie's overarching theme. It was better to SHOW that message through the movie than to SAY it via that character. I guess I'm saying I have a problem with how it was said rather than what was being said; my longstanding insistence that presentation is everything.

The nihilist's thing about...well, nihilism. Definitely making a lot more sense, compared to Bernie. But I agree with Albert's conclusion that it is ultimately too dark. Like the connectedness philosophy, the nihilist philosophy can't be discussed without sounding pretentious; but as it belongs to the antagonist-ish figure, it was handled with more humor, the saving grace.

Albert's thing about the tragic double/mimetic rival: EXCELLENT. Knowing me for the Girardian that I am, you must have guessed that I'd be all over it.

Also, the rivalry was related to what was for me the biggest surprise in the movie: the idea that common suffering is what's meaningful, the thing that forges the bonds of human relationships.

Tommy's thing about petroleum: interesting, great comic timing, socially-conscious and probably the most relevant.

Dawn's thing about beauty: valid. A bit unrealistic.

Brad's thing about being perfect: the least conclusive, probably because it's the closest likeness to the modern human malaise. Or, it's closest image of me and the people I would know...though I do like to think that it has larger implications. Unlike the other issues, this was not a problem that the character could simply turn his back on, because it WASN'T external bullshit, because it was so closely tied to his identity. The crisis was the product of self-imposed pressures, rather than external pressures or unwilled insecurity. It was troubling that this character was the biggest asshole, and also the most identifiable. In my opinion, Brad's story might have been the weightiest part of the movie, or at least the most telling of the American dream.

Brad also had a bit of a negative mimetic rivalry thing going on, now that I think of it.

On the Subject of Dreams

Dreams reveal to us our suppressed desires. It goes to show that I'm perfectly capable of being rational sometimes (ie, I can suppress weird desires), like when I'm in the immediate moment; after all, my functionality as an acceptable human depends on my responding to immediate stimuli in a rational way. It's only when I dwell on the world inside my head that I start to spiral out into psychosis-land.

A while back I met a boy who was wonderful and perfect. It felt delightful to converse with him - and a rare comfort! - and I had a fun fun fun time hanging out with him and his friends. Unfortunately, there was zero chance of him ever being in my life, and besides he had a significant other. So I did the rational thing of enjoying the few days I had, not even bothering to enlist him as a long-term friend. Which he would have been for sure. I'm very good at being a (non-sexual) friend when occasion (and conscience :-p) demands.

I hadn't thought about him much since then, except in odd moments of pain. Example: one of our pledges has the same name and ethnicity as one of his friends whom I met, and it's a somewhat unusual name for that ethnicity. I immediately loved this pledge the minute I met him/her at rush, and there was that inexplicable pang when I heard his/her name called out during formal pledging ceremony.

What had happened was that I had fallen in love with one particular evening when everything was exciting and fun. By association, I must have fallen in love also with the boy, and I even went so far as to fall in love with that boy's friends. This is how deep my psychosis runs! It was made clear to me a few nights ago when I dreamed that the boy was in my life again, in a very bittersweet dream.

I woke up and analyzed it. Yes, this is a running theme: I often mistake fun for love. The same thing happened with Asshole #1; he was one of the few boys who was able to show me a good time. I've been aware of this for a while. If I think really hard about it, the evening I spent with the No Hope Boy was a lot more fun than the evenings I spent with Asshole #1...

...so why is it that I'm so obsessed with the wrong person? It's only because he had hurt me so grandly and spectacularly. That is the only reason I'm clinging to him, because excepting that, I know that there are better men out there.

So the mind is sick beast. In conclusion. I understand mine pretty well, but does that make any difference? Not a whit.

A Night at the Opera

and Animal Crackers.

Two movies from the Marx brothers today. Animal Crackers: Zeppo is truly, truly useless. The rest of the movie was also not very funny, and Groucho's one-liners especially disappointing. I could have watched the whole movie without cracking a smile, if it weren't for the Harpo antics. Whether it's comedy or music, it makes me so happy to watch Harpo.

I decided that my second-favorite after Harpo is Chico. Groucho only comes in third; he's witty, but the humor is just too self-contained.

A Night at the Opera: rightly praised as their best. I still think Horse Feathers was funnier, and my personal favorite, but Opera was the tightest and most traditional in terms of structure; the most normal romantic comedy. This is a good thing. Avant garde might be considered respectable, but I think the Marx brothers flops like Animal Crackers prove that things stop making sense after a certain point, and that's just a short step from being not funny. Communication is two or more minds coming together on some level - some COMPREHENSIBLE level.

The musical sequences were lovely, which definitely puts Opera on the most normative plane. I missed some classic Marx brothers features: Harpo's thigh-grabbing, Groucho and Chico's nonsequitur banter, the girl-chasing. In general, more physical comedy and more Harpo. These things were absolutely uproarious! Which is what compels me to keep coming back to these movies even when I think the plot is usually crap. Getting rid of some of the classics makes the plot more streamlined - and better overall - but it was a sacrifice worth some regret.

But, I'm happier for having seen these movies.

The Onion - Memorial Day

May 30 is Memorial Day. How are Americans planning to celebrate the holiday this year?
* Lying around on the beach with guts hanging out, just like the soldiers did in World War II.

Excellent! In my case, it happens to be true.

Dreams

about babies are uniformly bad. They portend toils and hardships and tragedies. Perhaps it is because of my looming comprehensive Greek exam that I've had dreams about babies these past two nights. On the one hand, I hope that's what it portends, and nothing worse. On the other hand, I hope those babies do NOT refer to my exam, and that I will indeed pass my exam and be able to graduate.

God, this is not good. In one dream, I was in a plane that crashed into the ocean, and I was trying to save children from drowning. In the other dream, I had two babies in my lap and they were crying and I was trying to quiet them.

I also had a dream last night that a young Janet Jackson was being commissioned to choreograph a dance number. When she went in to audition it, the person evaluating her turned out to be...Janet Jackson. An older Janet Jackson.

I also had a dream the night before that Pamela Anderson turned out to be the MOM of Brett Michaels. Wait, we would say, didn't you used to DATE Brett Michaels? No, she said, I dated a guy who looked exactly like Brett Michaels because he was Brett Michaels' dad.

What?

I don't know what the deal is with this scandal-mongering celebrity dreams.

!!!

Apparently Asshole #1 is acquainted with the ex of a close friend of mine. Apparently they (the two ex's [!]) got together once and started talking about me. Mind you, neither would have had ANY way of knowing that the other knew me, except that it must have come up accidently in conversation. This cannot be good. What could they possibly have been talking about?!

Well, at least one of them has no dirt on me whatsoever.

...in fact, when I think about it, the one thing they could have discussed in common is my awesome C-walk - HA!

There is, however, that one aspect that this gossip information helps to clarify. Asshole #1 was so opaque/incompetent at communicating that I could never tell if he was stupid or evil, if he was playing games or was just plain indifferent, if he liked me or if it was the beer goggles - in short, if he had any feelings at all, vis a vis me. I was starting to wonder if I had meant anything to him, ever. As unsettling as this gossip has all the potential of being, it shows me that I was at least a blip on his radar. I was at least that much. Not that it answers any questions, and not that I'm excusing myself from being crazy. But I think that I might be slightly less crazy.

The Tragedy of Commitment

Yesterday, Andrea N shared with us a short story from a collection called Daily Afflictions:

"Whoever wants something great must be able to limit himself." - Wolfgang von Goethe

Sometimes your are paralyzed with indecision. You can't bring yourself to choose any one future because to choose one is to forsake the promise of all others. Yet not choosing is making you crazy. In such a state, drastic action is necessary. You must choose - and then, one by one, murder all the futures you passed over. Like a faithful companion you've cherished all through your youth, you must lead each future back behind the shed, and even if it looks up at you with those big eyes, dreamy with possibility, you must put the cold muzzle to its head and pull the trigger. You must do it, again and again, for each future that competes for the attentions of your heart. Only then are you ready for commitment. Only then can you pursue the one thing which will, in time and after much mourning, become all things to you.

The future is full of possibilities that I must shoot in the head.

Leave Me Alone! Or, the Fashion Police

What is with everyone today? Since when did they become so interested in picking on my clothes? First there was Brett R laughing at my aviators. Then I come to Happy Donuts - in different (presumably non-80s) clothes - and some raggedy-ass patron makes some remark about how I'm wearing the jeans I always wear.

Fucking A!

Quote of the Day

"What eighties movie did you beat up and steal your clothes from?" - Brett R, to me.

We Were All Wrong

We were all wrong about Bush. He's not stupid; he's a master rhetorician, and his "duh" show was all a part of his campaign rhetoric. Damn him, he's a genius! It took rare insight to discern that a stupid American would want to vote for another stupid American like himself.

I remember having this conversation with Jake R back in November, and I remember being incredulous when he suggested that Bush just might be brilliant. But now that the president is done worrying about reelection, I see that he's slowly starting to unleash his full rhetorical power. I was struck the other day when I read an article about the filibuster, and Bill Frist kept repeating his obtuse statement about a "straight up or down vote" - what does that even mean anyways? - but then Bush stepped in and summed it up with the simple elegance of: "I expect them to get an up-or-down vote. That's what I expect. And I think the American people expect that as well - people to have a fair hearing."

Ah! The American people. Fair hearing.

Evidently Bush is stirring up some more drama with the House approving a stem cell research bill. This is from a nytimes photo caption:

"President Bush appeared at the White House with babies and toddlers born of test-tube embryos, some wearing shirts that read 'former embryo.'"

Damn him!

Okay, some might say that I'm giving the president too much credit, and that all this is the brainchild of the people working for him. That's somewhat true. I've heard numerous reports on different issues, like poverty, that reveal that Bush really has no fucking clue. But the important point is that Bush has no fucking clue about the REAL WORLD - and this is exactly what makes his "duh" act so brilliant! He's in an ivory tower pretending to be a blue-collar neighbor (kind of like Bruce Springsteen, eerily enough). I think the part we've underestimated is Bush's capacity to conceptualize things on the academic, theoretical level.

Anywhere But Here

My demands are not lavish. I'd be happy if I could just go outside and lay out in the sun (with sunblock) and people watch or hang with friends until it got dark, and drink smoothies. Unfortunately, that is not an option because I need my computer, and I have a hard time seeing my screen in direct sunlight. Also, there are no people to watch on the lawn outside my window. Also, my friends are off doing other things. Also, smoothies are no fun unless you're in the sun.

As I get older, I discover more and more that the world is a stranger. Growing up, there was never the problem of not having a community. It was always the opposite problem, where you wish people would just leave you the hell alone. And the problem is external to me, I know, because I'm basically the same. I ws depressed then, and I'm depressed now. But then I wanted to sit in a corner and be depressed, and now I'm in a corner and I want to get out.

The difference is that now I'm kind of by myself. I haven't talked to my mom or dad in a really long time (for me), and they're pretty much the backbone to my being able to feel strong and independent (oxymoron?). And I feel so trapped! It's a short-term necessity, but each day is like pulling teeth.

I was done with classes fairly early today, and I wanted so badly to go surfing. But then I remembered that I'm both sick and tired, literally - thus ruling out that mini vacation, which I needed more than I could say. I don't even think I could make it to the pool to swim laps, because I'm so phlegmy. So I'm stuck in my room again.

I would love it if I could just watch Sex and the City DVDs for the rest of the week and not look at another word of Latin poetry until I've gone through seasons 1-5...

What am I complaining about? I read poetry for a living, for pete's sake! Really, that just goes to show how perverse the mind is; it will never consent to being happy.

Senate Showdown

A bit of a letdown. After all that drama, the compromise is pretty much what we thought it would be, way back when the drama started. Our senators are some divas.

No Headache Tonight

I went decaf green tea (useless), but didn't get a headache. Maybe Happy Donuts Girl is onto something when she says that I have a cold rather than an addiction.

But now it's coming back to me why I've been sucking down so much tea lately. I get SLEEPY right around this time of night.

Philosophical Ruminations

If Morrissey were happy, he would stop being Morrissey. So would Morrissey rather be happy, or would he rather be Morrissey?

I Think I'm Addicted to Caffeine

I've spent the last few months coming to Happy Donuts to study almost every night, and I always cozy up with a cup of green tea.

These past two or three nights, I've been getting massive headaches right around 11pm. I've heard of this happening to people who miss their morning cup of coffee. I think this means I have an addiction.

Which officially makes me cool.

Reconsideration

A response to my earlier post, "Everyone Wants the Same Thing."

I've thought about it some more and I decided that I disagree with Jack W all together. First of all, "Happiness" is such a non-descript category. Of course people want happiness, not just in relationships, but in everything. Besides, happiness is not something you can "want," as in, "I want that Haagen Daaz bar." It's something you sort of discover in yourself (unless you happen to define happiness AS a Haagen Daaz bar...yum).

So much for that.

I was in the computer cluster the other day talking with a friend who describes himself as anti-social, and yes, he's a bit of a hater. When he left the room, Marcus F, my long-time mentor, turns to me and says, "He likes you." I had kind of suspected the same thing myself, but after eight months I just assumed that because I was so easy to talk to, and because he was a little hard to talk to, that he naturally gravitated toward me as a friend.

Lesson learned? I think it's pretty transparent when a person wants it with YOU - and sometimes you need a third party to confirm - but it's harder to tell if a person wants IT with you. Translation: Jack has it totally backwards. The question is not whether or not he or she likes you; that part is fairly obvious, if you listen to your instinct. The question is, WHAT does that person want, and what is it that he wants MORE that is stopping him from wanting YOU? Sometimes the answer's a no-brainer, like a girlfriend. Sometimes it's that he can't handle the emotional baggage or the abstinence, or that he thinks he can do better, or that you don't fit in with his life, or simply that he doesn't want the same thing as you.

Which begs the original question: what does the other person want? A casual screw? A buddy? True love? Anything to push away that feeling of piercing lonliness? Whatever it is, that's what you need to figure out. "Does he like me?" is a useless question; if you're asking it, the answer is probably yes.

Weird

I was walking through the main common area on campus, and I saw a really good-looking guy. The strange thing about it was he was engaged in a loser activity: juggling. That and hacky-sack...why anyone would go to public areas to do it is beyond me, especially when you've got good-looking premium to lose.

Human Nature Must Be Basically Bad

I was reading the NY Times report on the two Afghan detainees who died after being tortured by US military interrogators in 2002. The story made me absolutely heartsick. What a waste of a human life. It convinces me that God actually doesn't have a grander plan for us, and that if we're fucked up it's because we do it to ourselves (vs, like, because God is testing us), and that maybe there's more evil in the world than even an omnipotent power can handle. It's so unfair that a person had to go that way.

It made me think of how this civilized fiction we maintain is just a hair's breadth on this side of total chaos. Human nature inclines toward cruelty, it seems, and we're so quick to fall into it as soon as it looks like we won't have to pay the consequences. This is why in archaic times it was of paramount importance to be a fighter; how else were you to prevent these kinds of wrongs from happening to you, when people would beat and kill you just because they could? And that's why kinship was so important if you weren't a fighter; your family network, and their potential for revenge, was the only thing defending you from the brutality that is our nature.

This is all very Girardian, I know.

But it's something I've been giving a lot of thought to lately. I do believe there's something inherently sadistic about us, so that if we didn't have this rational fear of punishment, we'd all become a little like Alex in A Clockwork Orange (a movie I'm not a fan of, by the way). Well, maybe not all of us, but I suspect a surprisingly large number of us. I was thinking about this during all that time I've spent at Happy Donuts, which is patronized by a few regular vagrants. At first I felt bad for these people, because they were so lonely and unfortunate. Then one of them tried to talk to me, and I just got scared because he clearly wasn't playing with a full deck of cards - and I don't know, there's something frightening about the world when the rational principle is taken out of it. And then I saw this same vagrant waiting for the bus in the dark, and it occurred to me suddenly that he had much more to fear from me than I from him. He was alone, and no one would miss him; whereas I was loved and protected. If it wasn't for the police and the social contract (a concept that Girard roundly rejects, incidentally), there would be nothing to stop a sadistic person from beating him or making him the victim of cruel entertainment. Because that's essentially what happened to the US soldiers in Afghanistan and their prisoners. The opportunity presented itself for consequence-free violence; and what happens? The soldiers immediately turn into animals, such that civilized people hardly even recognize.

In light of this phenomenon, I wonder if charity isn't a freakishly unnatural impulse, instead of the default one. Far from feeling sorry for the unfortunate and wanting to help them, maybe it's more intuitive to want to take advantage of the situation, and beat them and get rid of them. What a grim thought. Well, I'm very lucky to have the family and friends and community that I have. I didn't really do anything to deserve them, seeing as I'd be too weak to be a survivor if the world were to return to a state of nature tomorrow. Violence and human fates have such random courses, and when I consider that, all I can say is that I'm very, very lucky.

WTF - Geeks

Since when did geeks become cool? I had to spend all my geek years feeling awkward and uncomfortable, and now when I've finally outgrown it, it's suddenly become hip! The whole point of being geeky is that people make fun of you. Without that, you might as well be a regular person.

Okay, so I can see how some people might have personality quirks they feel self-conscious about, and yes, it's more honest to admit them first yourself rather than posturing and acting like you're cool and coming off like a tool in the end. It's also damage control, because it's far more embarrassing to be found out that you were posturing than to be upfront about your quirks.

The point is that we all have these insecurities. Does that mean we're all geeks? Of course not. So why don't we just agree that unless you're one of those extreme cases of goth-polyamorous-mantra-chanting-Renaissance-fair-going-science-fiction-reading, in short WEIRD, like, druid-types, you're not a geek? Let's reserve the designation for the truly deserving, and hate on geeks they way we used to.

Why this sudden animosity? Geeks have screwed me over. If it weren't for them, no one would have made Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy into a major release movie that an unsuspecting iinnocent like me could have stumbled into. GOD AWFUL. Only a geek could love it.

Filibusterin'

This debate is making me so mad. I'm sure everyone is so mad about it they're not thinking straight; an issue that's this deeply divided along party lines is not going to invite much critical thinking, since the first thing to do is make sure your side doesn't lose, with the self-examination coming afterwards.

So if no one is thinking straight, what makes people think that this is a good time to start changing the rules? When Bill Frist insists on the 214-year tradition of the Senate, does it not occur to him that someone, somewhere in those 214 years (or in this case, 133) would have been as annoyed as he is about not getting his way, but that our forefathers had good reason for exercing filibusters anyways? It makes me so mad that the majority party now wants to steamroll over the founding principles the minute it becomes an inconvenience for them, personally.

Venus' Vibrance

Have you heard of the new vibrating razor from Venus? Who the hell is spreading this rumor that women will love and relish and buy into anything that vibrates? Vibrating is good for, say, vibrators; NOT RAZORS. I'd be hard put to think of a crazier idea.

NY Times on a Roll

Yet another knee-slappin' humorous headline.

"Wearing red increases the chance of victory in sports, say British researchers who clearly do not follow the Cincinnati Reds. "

This one part, I thought, was interesting - as much as the article was half-silly throughout:

"The researchers suggested that their work might help to explain the fashion statement made by executives and politicians who wear bright red "power" ties, but they sounded bemused when asked whether their work could shed light on the phenomenon of Republican "red states" and Democratic "blue states." Still, Dr. Hill noted that on British electoral maps, red is the Labor Party's color. And like the Republican Party in the United States, Labor is on a winning streak."

"Latino Defeats Incumbent in L.A. Mayor's Race"

No, this time I'm not quoting the Onion. This headline comes from the online NY Times. Offensive much? It's funny, because it sounds a lot like the Onion's headline from a few months ago, that went something like: "Bush Appoints Mexican to Cabinet." Well, at least they used the pc "Latino" instead of "Hispanic."

In case you were wondering, the Latino's name is Antonio Villaraigosa.

Judas Priest as Metaphor for Life

Once was a time when I was able to see Judas Priest at House of Blues. This was when Halford was out and Ripper Owens was in. Now Halford is back - which is excellent! - but this means Judas Priest is playing stadiums and amphitheaters again.

Will I go see them when they tour this summer? Ha! Not likely. Pooh, what a tradeoff. As much as it's worth it to see Halford, it's proportionately less worth it to attend a stadium show.

How much life is about win-lose, and never win-win.

Dream of Pindar

I dreamt this afternoon that I was translating Pindar's Nemean 5, and that I finished it. Woe was me when I woke up and found out it was only a dream!

Happy 3rd (or 21st) Birthday!

to my favoritist little hipster doofus in the world! I wuv you so much!!

Everyone Wants the Same Thing

There are four basic things that ALL people look for in relationships:

1. Sex
2. Love
3. Companionship
4. Happiness
(Bonus Point: Money)

or some combination thereof. The only question you have to ask yourself about the other person is: does she/he want these things with ME?

Courtesy of my friend Jack W. The moral of his story being, don't psyche yourself out wondering what the other person wants.

Hurray!

I finished my incomplete! OMG. That was ten times harder than it should have been. This is why they say, if it weren't for the last minute, nothing would ever get done. I got an extention, and it turned into the never-ending paper.

Happy Birthday

to two of my favorite people in the world.

The Clinton Era: A Qualification

I thought I should add that my blanket statement about the wretched music industry during the Clinton era applies only to rock. I don't know enough about other genres, either of that period or historically, to make an informed judgment about what was good and and what wasn't.

I will say this: HOW delightful was Boyz II Men?? I'm listening to them right now, and it's simply lovely. Some of the producing stuff sounds a little hokey from this vantage in time, but basically it's solid. Eighth-graders though we were, we were not crazy for loving them.

(Nor was I, personally, crazy for loving Dream Theater. God! Falling Into Infinity is still as good as ever. It came out in 1997, but went totally under the radar [hence not relevant to my theory about the cultural-political landscape; or so I will argue]. Even die-hard DT fans hate this album.)

Republicans Do Some Good

I was listening to the radio in my car, and the station was playing some upbeat reggae-alternative ditty from the mid-90s. I remember thinking to myself, what's the deal with all this weird happiness? It's sick.

And then I recalled that the song must have come out during the Clinton era, when the country was mostly happy.

Say what you want about the 80s, I still believe that the music was awesome. Early 90s, the grunge movement, a massive and unprecedented display of discontent. Flash forward to the new millenium, lots of really exciting stuff going on in the world of rock. I wouldn't say that everything is necessarily my own personal cup of tea, but I can give credit where credit is due: people are coming up with fresh and interesting ideas, whether or not they're just a flash in the pan.

I can't comment on the rock world before the Reagan era, not yet being alive then. But in my lifetime, it seems like the only time the music was just wretched was the eight years when the US experienced international equanimity, strong domestic economy, socially-conscious policy, and a balanced budget - in short, the eight years when a Democrat was in office.

I think there's something to be said about the merits of a society that pisses off all its members.

Ow, My Knee

I went to the city to go see my rockabilly band again. As usual, the scene was unbearable, but I found some new things to appreciate. First, the dancing; it's nice to see people dancing to rock music. Second, one of the opening acts, the Badmen.

They mostly got heckled the entire time I saw them play - not because they sucked particularly, but because their frontman kept egging people on, and heckling them first. It got pretty ugly, involving the dude throwing shot glasses on the floor and hitting people with the flying glass, and the audience spraying beer or throwing ice cubes at him. And of course, the verbal insults ("You suck!" "I may suck but you swallow!")

At the end of their act, the frontman laid his big stand-up bass on its side, set it on fire, and then stood upon it screaming, "I'm a living legend! I'm a living legend!" Of course he lost his balance. Of course he fell not on his feet, but straight down sideways, like a tree being felled from the base. What broke his fall? His FACE crashing down on my knee (I was sitting on a barstool).

At the time I thought, OW! that's going to leave a bruise. But later, when I got up and started walking, I noticed that there was something definitely stiff about the joint. I wonder if my knee got sprained or dislocated by another person's HEAD. Wouldn't that be riot!

Yeah. So it's like the Badmen made my day. Certainly, they were the most surprising. I could use some surprises.

What Green Day Really Wants To Be Is Yes

I've been waiting for an opportune time to say that. Now, I think I finally might have stumbled upon the right occassion: Horace's Ode 3.3. After sixty-eight lines of grandiose, mythic pronouncements and bombastic, epic-style speech-making, Horace abruptly does an about-face in the final stanza, rejecting that style as inappropriate and professing himself a disciple to a more refined poetics (one that happened to be the avant garde of the day):

"Non hoc iocosae conveniet lyrae:
quo, Musa, tendis? Desine pervicax
referre sermones deorum et
magna modis tenuare parvis."

"This is not fitting for the light-hearted lyre:
why, Muse, do you tend this way? Stubborn Muse,
cease to relate the speeches of the gods and
to attenuate great deeds into small meters."

The preceeding sixty-eight lines make a strong case that Horace does indeed want to talk about the speeches of the gods and great deeds, for all that he rejects it as hopelessly wanky and unsophisticated in this last stanza. His brief identification with light-hearted poetry here, I think, is simply an acknowledgement of the present intellectual fashion and a sort of wistful aspiration: Horace WISHES that he could write cool poetry, but is irresistibly attached to the wank.

A modern parallel? Seventies rock. On the one hand there's the school most generally represented by Led Zeppelin: serious, epic, virtuoso-showy; in short, musical masturbation completely unaware of how over-the-top it is. I feel like most of seventies rock falls into this category: from Pink Floyd to Ted Nugent to Deep Purple, and at the farthest extreme, all that proggy stuff, like Yes.

Then there's punk, which in the seventies purported to rebel against all these arena rock and epic tendencies, and instead strip everything down to raw sound. A friend pointed out to me that the Sex Pistols didn't actually achieve this objective, being bombastic in their own, different way; so I'll nominate the Ramones, dear to my heart, as the representative of this movement.

There seems to be an impulse in humanity - transcending time and space - to associate the stripped down with the cool and the overblown with the uncool. And yet, hand in hand with that impulse is the opposite one, namely that everyone just wants to be Yes, deep down. Even Johnny Rotten couldn't resist the lures of prog, as PI's nine-minute Albatross proves.

The latest initiate into this long line of Horatian wank-lovers is Green Day. They made a CONCEPT ALBUM, for crying out loud, that includes a SEVENTEEN MINUTE EPIC WITH A NAME LIKE JESUS OF SUBURBIA - the surest sign that they, also, just wish they could be Yes, even as they strive to label themselves punk and keep their cool capital. The hilarious thing about Green Day is that no one seems to have noticed that they turned prog under our very noses.

Now, I'm not saying this is a bad thing; just hilarious. Some would accuse me of being unfair, arguing that we can't make such a claim about American Idiot because it's actually very good, musically. Well, to this I would respond that I think myself uniquely well-qualified to make that claim, having been an avid prog fan years before I was a punk fan, and now appreciating both quite sincerely. When I call American Idiot a prog project, I am not exactly belittling it. I happen to think that there's a lot about prog that's very good, musically - and sometimes even exciting - and it's my contention that lots of other people feel that way, too, for all that they claim to love the raw and rarified. From the time of Horace onward, there's a reason why people kept returning to mental masturbation.

As Woody Allen once said, "Don't knock masturbation, it's sex with someone I love."

Inspiration

Running out of thoughts to write, running out of readers to read them. I think I'm down to one regular. Well, in times of duress, some poeple turn to the words of prophets and wise men for inspiration. I turn to Andrew WK, who usually doesn't let me down. A rare exception: he's been a bit remiss with his website lately, so here's something I pulled up from the archives:

Question:
Dear Andrew, Today is my birthday (March 14). Would you sing Happy Birthday to me?
asked by Mikako on Monday, March 14, 2005

Answer:
Dear Mikako, It would be an absolute pleasure to sing Happy Birthday to you, however, since I cannot be with you in person, the best I can do is sing it by myself, and write the words for you to read... Happy Birthday To You - Happy Birthday To You - Happy Birthday Dear Mikako - Happy Birthday To You - And Many More! Your friend, Andrew W.K.
answered by Andrew W.K. on Monday, March 14 , 2005 12:08 PM

Another Challenge

Is it possible to write suspense without an implication of horror, or that isn't a parody of horror? Something to put in one's pipe and smoke.

"Love flies out the door when money comes innuendo"

I wonder if it's possible to make innuendos that aren't sexual innuendos. I'm sure it must have been done before, but no examples come to mind. A sexual innuendo is something where it looks like you're talking about, say, pets, but you're actually talking about a body part; for example, "I never forget a pussy...cat" (Austin Powers). Could there ever be a case where it looks like you're talking about, say, barbeque, but you're actually talking about politics? There's a pop culture challenge.

Oh, Brilliant

The German government commissioned an American architect to design a Holocaust memorial for the Jewish victims that, I guess, opened this year. A proud moment for Americans, as always. The memorial is described as a field of stone steles, spaced one yard apart, all of different size but up to fifteen feet tall, and leaning in at irregular angles. The architect said that the intended effect was to recreate the feelings of fear, uncertainty, and confusion of the Holocaust victims as they were entering concentration camps; that the memorial should feel like slipping and falling and getting sucked into an abyss. He literally used the word abyss.

I'm not one to pass judgment on a work of art before I see it, but when I heard this report, I said to myself, "That's retarded! This memorial sounds like an eyesore."

A minute later my suspicions were confirmed, when the news report said that the memorial was already drawing criticism for being a waste of money, insensitive to the non-Jewish victims of the Holocaust, and, of course...ugly!

Great. A fine way to honor the memory of the victims of such suffering: erect a new horror for them, one that no one would want to go near.

Really, sometimes we moderns have too much faith in that Romantic notion of the genius of an artist. Just because you can chisel a stone does not mean you're a genius. While I don't think that public tastes should be the touchstone of merit, maybe it wouldn't hurt to give them some say in things like this, once in a while.

Post

mama mama mama oo pow pow who shot the la la out your gamagoochie's got the gagas and your hoochie coochie's hangin' out

Yeahh, I'm fresh out of material. This happens every time I stay in during the weekend. I really should know better by now. On the upside of things, I guess I'm not depressed anymore, seeing as all the morose posts have kind of stopped.

At My Wit's Fuckin End

I've HAD IT with my roommates! If they tried their very, very hardest to drive me to the looney bin, they couldn't do better than what they are doing to my poor, suffering wits now.

1. BIOHAZARD!! One or both of my roommates does not properly wrap and dispose of her sanitary napkins. I happened to notice it today because our trash can was overflowing (because, it's not like either of them would ever throw it out), and they just perched their biohazard right on top of the heap! I put on my rubber cleaning gloves, took out the garbage, and then proceeded to vomit on my shoes.

2. One of my roommates kind of has this whiny way of talking when she wants to sound cute, or even slightly friendly; which is bad enough. But the other one, whom I was wont to characterize as the less bullshitty one, sent a shudder of horror through my whole system today when I heard her talking BABYTALK with her boyfriend. O, nefas! I proceeded to vomit on my shoes.

I can't take it anymore, the stress! Pity this soul.

Tell Mom

that I partied neither Thursday night, Friday night, nor Saturday night, but instead went out and studied.

Tell Mom also that I went to a mixer hosted by the XXXXX-American Students Association of the Law School and Medical School. Ha, just kidding! Now I'm just messing.

Happy Mom's Day!

Cub Scouts and Pop Warner

Something I picked up from NPR just now (in paraphrase):

"When I was growing up there were two things my mom wouldn't let me do, both for the same reason. One was the Cub Scouts and the other was Pop Warner football, because my mom said they were both Hitler Youth camps."

Crimes and Misdemeanors

Hot damn! That movie never gets old.

"In Latvia, Bush Lectures Putin on the Joys of Democracy"

A humorous headline from nytimes.com.

It's true that things didn't turn out so well for Latvia and the other eastern European countries, and it's funny how this debate over an apology ("One apology would be enough"/"We certainly will not!") is overshadowing the big picture. So on this 60th anniversary of the end of WWII and the defeat of Nazi Germany, I personally would like to take a moment to appreciate how different the world would have been if we had lost the war. I'd probably either be not alive, or in a concentration camp, hitched to a chain gang with a metal yoke around my neck.

I guess from the point of view of Latvia, things didn't turn out much differently. But hey, a half-apocalypse is better than a full one, right? Relatively speaking.

Never Let Me Down Again

I'm listening to my new Depeche Mode (old to the rest of the world):

"I'm taking a ride
With my best friend
I hope he never lets me down again
Promises me I'm as safe as houses
As long as I remember who's wearing the trousers
I hope he never lets me down again"

Anyone else think the speaker here is a dog?

Penitence

The other day, Happy Donuts Girl and I were commiserating sorrowfully about how vain we've become lately. HDG remarked, "It's bad, because I know better!" and we reflected how being self-aware of vanity makes the (somehow irresistible) practice of it all the more tragic.

The conversation made me think about my other faults, at least of which I'm aware. Some of these would sound pretty pedestrian, but I think are significantly damaging in the long run. To name a few: selfishness, unreliability, lack of discipline, tendency for apathy, prodigality, and of course, vanity. Wrath, vengefulness, uncharitableness, and often a simple lack of kindness or empathy.

After enumerating all these thoughts in my head, I began to recall miserably how often I had enumerated these thoughts in my head before; and how each time, I would leap up with resolve in my heart and say, "That's it! I'm going to turn my life around." Never never did I succeed as I had planned, and if I did ever accomplish some character improvement it happened so gradually through time that I would have stopped thinking about it altogether - that is, that virtue would have become a part of me - by the time I met my goal. For example, I like to think one virtue I have is that I value people for the right reasons, instead of superficial ones; but then, being unfairly judgmental is usually something I don't think twice about. I simply don't do it, or I stop myself immediately when I do.

By the way, I threw that in there for my friends, because you know you're special if I like you.

So I concluded that character faults are a lot like what they say about drug addictions; if it was something you could control, you probably wouldn't the mess you're in in the first place. If I had it in me to say, "Today I will stop being selfish," and actually deliver, it simply never would have been an issue.

Which brings me back to the subject of penitence. I used to be one to think that saying sorry isn't enough unless you show that you mean it, and Martin Luther's whole thing about faith alone, instead of faith + good works, used to strike me as a supreme cop out. But having tried to repent and change myself, and then having failed, I'm starting to adopt a different outlook. I wonder now if penitence is not the most difficult - and indeed the only momentous - thing within our power to do to better ourselves. The rest is incidental, and almost like luck.

New Hobby

Cutting my hair. PS, I'm better at it now.

Afterthought.

Maybe I should just stop feeling sorry for myself. I wish I could! I'm a pretty lucky person overall, and I know this. But I've been TRYING to stop feeling sorry for myself for a long time - and it's going to take more than I have in me, I know, to do this.

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

What a strange day. Within a window of about ten minutes, I experienced all three - fortunately in reverse order, but unfortunately in decreasing intensity.

The Ugly: saw Asshole #2 in the library. It was too late and too close for me to avoid him, so I was forced to acknowledge. I chose the supremely lame and lukewarm peace sign.

The Bad: almost ran over Asshole #1 with my car. I was exiting the parking lot, and he was crossing the street. I'd be lying if I said I didn't think of flooring the gas right then.

The Good: my new cds were waiting for me at my door.

It took a few hours for it all to settle in, but having everything whelm me like that was...well, whelming. I wept when I thought of it, because I realized that I will never, ever be able to forgive, sincerely, either asshole, as long as I can remember how much it hurt. They could burn in a lake of fire for a thousand years and that still wouldn't change a thing.

So unbelievably, all that's left to do is forgive - make myself forgive, and God willing, forget! If there's not a goddamn thing, in this life or the next, that either asshole can do to make it better, then I have to accept that the only miracle that's going to happen is the one I make for myself. Because if I don't work this miracle, I have to keep feeling this offense until I die.

Worst Episode Ever

Tonight's double-shot of the OC started off interesting and exciting, and then became a plain old downer. Totally depressing.

And yet oddly compelling.

Seth: I thought you were a nice guy.
Zach: Wake up! I'm a water polo player.

Missing My Happy Donuts Girl

When she's not there to regulate, all manner of creepos start to try to befriend me. One of these days, I swear, I'm going to work up the nerve to say, "I'm sorry, that's none of your business," when some delusional middle-aged man asks me where I go to school, or some other question that is equally none of his business.

So I figured out why I've become such a nasty person lately. When people treat you like you're a fucking commodity, funny thing, you start acting like a fucking commodity. I know that none of these pervs want to talk to me because I'm brilliant or witty or kind or fun-loving; they bother me simply because I'm nubile, and I don't know, there's this weird premium on nubileness so that losers get some kind of sick high if a nubile person so much as sneezes in their direction. It makes them feel, like, validated or something. Well, no more! I will not be their commodity! I need to start getting savvier about people, before their sick needs tarnish irrevocably my faith in the fundamental goodness and nobility of the human spirit - not to mention, before I start loving myself for all the wrong reasons.

Life Lesson

One should not hang out socially with one's bootie call.

One should DEFINITELY NOT subject one's friends to hanging out socially with one's bootie call - particularly when there is no polite avenue for escape for said friend.

Honestly! If he were socially acceptable to your circumstances, he'd be your BOYFRIEND, not your bootie call.

What the f

is the development of "peaceful" nuclear technology? How could Iran even dream that that the world is going to buy that far-fetched alibi? If they're serious about their uranium, they should just cut their losses with the negotiations now, and be a renegade like North Korea.

Not, of course, that I'm proposing they do this. Hopefully, Iran is not a complete insanity regime.

There's a quote from Atticus Finch in To Kill a Mockingbird that having a gun is like an invitation for someone to shoot you. Having a nuclear weapon is like an invitation for the USA to blow up your country, and the rest of the world if necessary, into nonexistence. Maybe it's not right for the USA to wield so much power, but I do believe that so far we've used it more responsibly than 99% of the other countries would have done. Besides, our nuclear weapons are going nowhere, so there's no point in trying to compete, except to make things worse.

Was that too patriotic? Hopefully no one is horribly turned off.

The House of Seven Gables

...I suspect, is a comedy masquerading as a horror story.

"Efforts, it is true, were made by the Pyncheons, not only then, but at various periods for nearly a hundred years afterwards, to obtain what they stubbornly persisted in deeming their right. But, in course of time, the territory was partly regranted to more favored individuals, and partly cleared and occupied by actual settlers. These last, if they ever heard of the Pyncheon title, would have laughed at the idea of any man's asserting a right--on the strength of mouldy parchments, signed with the faded autographs of governors and legislators long dead and forgotten--to the lands which they or their fathers had wrested from the wild hand of nature by their own sturdy toil. This impalpable claim, therefore, resulted in nothing more solid than to cherish, from generation to generation, an absurd delusion of family importance, which all along characterized the Pyncheons. It caused the poorest member of the race to feel as if he inherited a kind of nobility, and might yet come into the possession of princely wealth to support it... Years and years after their claim had passed out of the public memory, the Pyncheons were accustomed to consult the Colonel's ancient map, which had been projected while Waldo County was still an unbroken wilderness. Where the old land surveyor had put down woods, lakes, and rivers, they marked out the cleared spaces, and dotted the villages and towns, and calculated the progressively increasing value of the territory, as if there were yet a prospect of its ultimately forming a princedom for themselves."

Is that not a riot?

Grossness

This whole school year, I've been the only one in my three-person apartment who cleaned the bathroom - because I, apparently, was the only one bothered by the idea of catching hookworms from my own shower. But I guess if you're dirty enough you build an immunity. This week, I finally put my foot down; what am I, the maid for these two filthy-ass princessed bitches? I left a note in the bathroom asking one of them to clean the bathtub and unclog the drain. One of them - definitely the less bullshitty of the two - wrote back that she asked the housing office to fix our drain.

Our drain is not something that needs to be "fixed." All she had to do was pull out the plug and clear out all their nappy hair that was blocking it. I've done it myself several times. Now housing is going to come in to "fix" our drain and conclude that we're just a bunch of lazy retards. Fuck, I'm ashamed to be implicated in this...but not enough to clean up after them again.

Meanwhile, the dirt problem has yet to be addressed. Our bathtub is still breeding hookworms.

Half-Baked

Reading over my "Guilt" post, I realized that the argument is poorly articulated. My bad. I do however believe I stand behind the general idea of what I was trying to say.

During the nuclear nonproliferation talks, President Bush said that Kim Jong Il was a dangerous tyrant who starved his people and ran concentration camps. In response that that, Kim called Bush "a Philistine and a half-baked hooligan."

I wonder what that would even look like in the original.

Guilt

I had a different post about guilt, but I decided to take it down for being too much of a downer.

So one of the themes in Closer is that forgiveness is what sets us apart from the beasts. This struck me as a strange conclusion, since I've always been used to the idea that it was intellect, or opposable thumbs, or both, that made humans what we are. I thought a bit about the forgiveness possibility... and then I dismissed it as crock of bullhooey. Western civilization was pretty much founded upon an epic about a man who couldn't forgive, and since then, vendettas - or, its more benign pseudonymn, "justice" - have been the basic organizing principle of modern social and political institutions, not to mention the western literary tradition.

This observation is not really mine, but Rene Girard's. His conclusion is that (contra the modern perception that religion is just superstitious boogey-woogey that an enlightened society should be able to shed once it stops being primative) without religion, ie prescriptions and limitations on violence, there can be no social institutions, and hence no civilization. His theory is just the opposite to Closer's, namely that it is violence that sets us apart from the beasts. Beasts lack that capacity to make ordinary bloodshed into violence as we would understand it, and neither therefore can they develop the complex institutions necessary to control violence and maintain a cooperative society.

The reason I insist on keeping religion in the discussion - which on one level could be boiled down purely to violence and civilization - is that I feel I'd like to tack an addendum to Girard's theory. Religion may be fundamental to civilization, but guilt is fundamental to religion - at least in our modern world where real, primordial violence is no longer an immediate reality. Guilt keeps our behavior in check. Why else would so many cultures claim guilt for their own? Catholic guilt, Jewish guilt, Confucian guilt, middle-class guilt, etc. Cultures that don't have guilt written into their discourse, I suspect, must either be (a) victimized themselves or (b) sunk so far into their guilt that they no longer have a name for it. The latter seems to be the case with Koreans. Korean-Americans definitely have a sense of guilt, but I'm not sure regular Koreans do - even though both groups are in the thrall of the same Confucian ethics.

Spread the Word

One time, I was riding on a plane with my friend Jack M. He shared a nugget of wisdom with me that I think everyone should know:

"The one in the middle seat gets first priority on the armrests."

I think it's bad manners when people don't observe that.