Tuesday, March 04, 2008
The Albums of My Life primer
Over time, I've fashioned myself as an authoritative voice in my small enclave of friends.
By shouting down, criticizing, debating and always, always stating my opinion as irrefutable fact, I have violently forced my iron will of music opinion on most of my friends.
I find, however, my upbringing on music to have been entirely imperfect.
The plain fact is most people missed the opportunity to be on the ground-floor of singular cultural moments in music. I would certainly fall into the category of someone missing many touchstones from my music education.
My Beatles vocabulary came in the form of "Can't But Me Love" over and over on B103 instead of listening to the deep cuts from Revolver on my parents turntable.
My arrow shot right past Weezer, Dinosaur Jr., the Pixies and even Nirvana and landed dead center in the middle of Better Than Ezra’s bullsye.
I missed Big Star, the Replacements, the Beastie Boys, Elvis Costello, Little Richard, Biggie, Blur, Todd Rundgren, Prince and Stevie Wonder.
Instead, I threw my lot in with Pearl Jam, TLC, Pink Floyd, Will Smith, Dr. Dre, Bush, Boyz II Men, Jimi Hendrix, Live and Michael Jackson.
I owned a lot of Greatest Hits records. I owned a lot of CD’s where I listed to just the one or two singles and never bothered with anything else. I made mix tapes which contained Hootie, Seal, Dave Matthews and Monster R.E.M!
Monster R.E.M!
That’s not the good R.E.M.
They’ve got like 5 incredible albums, you‘d think I would have lucked into one of them. And you know which song? “Bang and Blame.” I had “What’s the Frequency, Kenneth?” staring me in the face and I was like: “You know what, go ahead and give me the brooding mid-tempo slog, instead.”
In the grand old-tyme tradition of the weblog, I have decided to gaze longingly at my navel and offer you my unsolicited opinion on the albums that have played a formative role in creating the pontificating ubremecht I am now. I’m here to confess, defend, critique and apologize and maybe poke a hole in the myth that we are born with good taste in music.
We are not.
Mine is a message of hope.
Tomorrow begins the “Albums of My Life” project. First up: Days of the New’s The Green Album.
Labels: Album, Confession, Music, Review
Thursday, February 01, 2007
The Saddest House
It was maybe 10 days before Christmas. My second of three appointments was a medium sized cape code; a two family home in Staten Island.
I mention my job, because it has me meeting strangers everyday. Many of the strangers I meet walk-up up to the door when I knock and stare at me, without greeting, as if they were thinking the well-coiffed-chubby-white-boy-fairy had unexpectedly paid their doorstep a visit and they simply did not know what to do with me.
So, even after I'm greeted with nothing more than a vaguely enraged eyelid-half closed silence and some dogs barking in the distance I politely identify myself: "My name is Matthew, I'm the appraiser for your house." Often, I motion to the tidily written piece of paper on my clipboard which contains their name, address, phone number, appointment time and exact loan amount from the bank, they themselves hired, as proof that I have indeed not materialized out of thin air to steal their muumuu or 15" Maury Povich viewing television. I explain that I simply want to perform the service they authorized and leave... quickly... because for real, this place reeks of cigarettes and dirty dishes.
But very often I am greeted with only a hesitant "Yeah, whatever." They let me in, I finish very quickly, and I leave.
I digress, though. This hypothetical only serves to contrast what happened to me about ten days before Christmas. I approached the house and took an outside picture, as I always do, but when I looked down at the view screen of my camera I noticed that a man had walked out of the house and into the shot. When I looked up he was waving politely and smiled. I introduced myself, he put down the to Dell computer boxes he was carrying into the large trash pile already on the curb and invited me inside.
I don't remember his name. I suppose I could look it up but it doesn't matter very much. He was mid-40's, slightly graying full head of hair, average build, in pretty good shape and he had that gruff, manual labor coloring to his hands and face. He didn't look beaten down or old for his age, though, he looked like my grandfather -- like a man who worked his whole life -- like a man who worked harder than me.
Inside, he offered me a bologna sandwich and I said no thank you. He motioned to the fridge anyway and started pulling out cold cuts. I politely told him that I had another appointment and that while this was a unique and very appreciated gesture -- and it was -- that I simply didn't have the time.
The inside of the house was clean, but seemed empty. There was a brown leather couch on the far wall facing the large flat screen tv. I remember noticing stockings hanging from the chimney with three boys and one girls name on them; as well as one that said mom and one that said dad.
The home market is not very good right now for people who already own houses, interest rates are higher and many people are paying off loans on houses that are not worth, or barely worth the loan amounts for which they are paying their mortgages. People who refinance their homes right now do so for a reason and very often they tell me about it.
This man was no exception, he casually explained to me:
"Money got a little tight around here these past couple weeks."
He said to me "I mean, you know how it is, I haven't been able to work these past few weeks because I've been trying to take care of all this bank and lawyer stuff."
He said to me." I mean, money was tight before my wife took all my kids and took off."
He clarified: "Well, all except my oldest boy, he decided to stay here with me."
he said to me: "I haven't talked to her since. I'm not even really sure where to send my kids birthday presents."
He said all of this to me pleasantly with an almost smile. The type of smile you could only have when you're pouring your heart out to a complete stranger.
This man was easily one of the nicest I'd come across in my time appraising, or really in my life. He just had that air of accommodation and decency.
He was seated at the dining room table ashing a cigarette into a half-full tray with a half opened Milwaukee's Best can on the table in front of him and another empty one beside it. It was just before 11 am. This was my only insight into where his wife went.
I finished inspecting the downstairs and we went upstairs to the bedrooms: the purple one, bed half-unmade with at least 10 dolls sitting slouched over waiting for their mom to return. The next room over with the John Cena poster on the wall across from the picture of the Playboy logo, with a perfect dust spot under the television in the shape of an X-box and finally to the loft upstairs where his last remaining child was sleeping. His son. About my age.
I stand by my childish belief that Christmas is the most beautiful and enchanted time of year for anyone who lets themselves feel any foolhardy altruism.
But Christmas has a cruel way of bringing the harshness of real life into clearer focus.
Towards the tail-end of the appraisal, the man left my side and went downstairs to answer the phone. I didn't hear the particulars, but the tone of voice he had conveyed the desperation people have when they simply cannot do what they need to do to satisfy whatever person or company or agency is on the other end. He got off the phone when he saw me coming down the stairs, returned the smile he wore the entire appointment and asked one more time if I would be interested in a sandwich.
He paid me what looked like pretty close to his last $500 when I told him we couldn't accept personal checks. He did so pleasantly and with that same air of accommodation.
I finished my appointment, and I left. I wrote the report the next day. The house was worth more than enough to get the loan he needed.
I think about that day a lot. I always wonder what happened to him and his family. I think about his wife. I think about how in love with him she might have fell when she met that same kind, laid-back, accommodating man I met.
I think about how scared and heart-broken she must have been the first time she saw whatever it is he must turn into when he's had more drinks.
I think about my parents.
My mom made a very bad decision marrying my dad -- and somehow it turned out to be the luckiest thing she ever did. I think about what would've happened to my dad if he hadn't met my mom -- or if she refused to tolerate him as much as she did.
In my year as an appraiser, I've seen broken down houses, a house less than a year old that looks like a warzone, babies crying in rooms with no one attending to them, and the most ungodly filth you can imagine. I don't know why that story sticks with me.
My dad always says: "There but for the grace of God go I." Its probably the most incredibly trite thing you could hear someone say.
For my father, and I guess for me, it's also so completely true.
Sorry for being so self-indulgent, everyone. I'll try to be funnier next time.
The only thing I cared about at the moment I pulled up to the house was whether it was a two family or a one family because it meant the difference of $50 in my pocket and I needed to buy presents. That was how far my mind was from where it ended up.
Maybe I should backtrack one second. I'm a real estate appraiser, I go to people's homes, I inspect them, I compare them to other houses in the area and finally ascertain value through a series of systems that are so excruciatingly boring seppuku or some other violent self-flagellation would probably be preferable to their tedious description.
I mention my job, because it has me meeting strangers everyday. Many of the strangers I meet walk-up up to the door when I knock and stare at me, without greeting, as if they were thinking the well-coiffed-chubby-white-boy-fairy had unexpectedly paid their doorstep a visit and they simply did not know what to do with me.
So, even after I'm greeted with nothing more than a vaguely enraged eyelid-half closed silence and some dogs barking in the distance I politely identify myself: "My name is Matthew, I'm the appraiser for your house." Often, I motion to the tidily written piece of paper on my clipboard which contains their name, address, phone number, appointment time and exact loan amount from the bank, they themselves hired, as proof that I have indeed not materialized out of thin air to steal their muumuu or 15" Maury Povich viewing television. I explain that I simply want to perform the service they authorized and leave... quickly... because for real, this place reeks of cigarettes and dirty dishes.
But very often I am greeted with only a hesitant "Yeah, whatever." They let me in, I finish very quickly, and I leave.
I digress, though. This hypothetical only serves to contrast what happened to me about ten days before Christmas. I approached the house and took an outside picture, as I always do, but when I looked down at the view screen of my camera I noticed that a man had walked out of the house and into the shot. When I looked up he was waving politely and smiled. I introduced myself, he put down the to Dell computer boxes he was carrying into the large trash pile already on the curb and invited me inside.
I don't remember his name. I suppose I could look it up but it doesn't matter very much. He was mid-40's, slightly graying full head of hair, average build, in pretty good shape and he had that gruff, manual labor coloring to his hands and face. He didn't look beaten down or old for his age, though, he looked like my grandfather -- like a man who worked his whole life -- like a man who worked harder than me.
Inside, he offered me a bologna sandwich and I said no thank you. He motioned to the fridge anyway and started pulling out cold cuts. I politely told him that I had another appointment and that while this was a unique and very appreciated gesture -- and it was -- that I simply didn't have the time.
The inside of the house was clean, but seemed empty. There was a brown leather couch on the far wall facing the large flat screen tv. I remember noticing stockings hanging from the chimney with three boys and one girls name on them; as well as one that said mom and one that said dad.
The home market is not very good right now for people who already own houses, interest rates are higher and many people are paying off loans on houses that are not worth, or barely worth the loan amounts for which they are paying their mortgages. People who refinance their homes right now do so for a reason and very often they tell me about it.
This man was no exception, he casually explained to me:
"Money got a little tight around here these past couple weeks."
He said to me "I mean, you know how it is, I haven't been able to work these past few weeks because I've been trying to take care of all this bank and lawyer stuff."
He said to me." I mean, money was tight before my wife took all my kids and took off."
He clarified: "Well, all except my oldest boy, he decided to stay here with me."
he said to me: "I haven't talked to her since. I'm not even really sure where to send my kids birthday presents."
He said all of this to me pleasantly with an almost smile. The type of smile you could only have when you're pouring your heart out to a complete stranger.
This man was easily one of the nicest I'd come across in my time appraising, or really in my life. He just had that air of accommodation and decency.
He was seated at the dining room table ashing a cigarette into a half-full tray with a half opened Milwaukee's Best can on the table in front of him and another empty one beside it. It was just before 11 am. This was my only insight into where his wife went.
I finished inspecting the downstairs and we went upstairs to the bedrooms: the purple one, bed half-unmade with at least 10 dolls sitting slouched over waiting for their mom to return. The next room over with the John Cena poster on the wall across from the picture of the Playboy logo, with a perfect dust spot under the television in the shape of an X-box and finally to the loft upstairs where his last remaining child was sleeping. His son. About my age.
I stand by my childish belief that Christmas is the most beautiful and enchanted time of year for anyone who lets themselves feel any foolhardy altruism.
But Christmas has a cruel way of bringing the harshness of real life into clearer focus.
Towards the tail-end of the appraisal, the man left my side and went downstairs to answer the phone. I didn't hear the particulars, but the tone of voice he had conveyed the desperation people have when they simply cannot do what they need to do to satisfy whatever person or company or agency is on the other end. He got off the phone when he saw me coming down the stairs, returned the smile he wore the entire appointment and asked one more time if I would be interested in a sandwich.
He paid me what looked like pretty close to his last $500 when I told him we couldn't accept personal checks. He did so pleasantly and with that same air of accommodation.
I finished my appointment, and I left. I wrote the report the next day. The house was worth more than enough to get the loan he needed.
I think about that day a lot. I always wonder what happened to him and his family. I think about his wife. I think about how in love with him she might have fell when she met that same kind, laid-back, accommodating man I met.
I think about how scared and heart-broken she must have been the first time she saw whatever it is he must turn into when he's had more drinks.
I think about my parents.
My mom made a very bad decision marrying my dad -- and somehow it turned out to be the luckiest thing she ever did. I think about what would've happened to my dad if he hadn't met my mom -- or if she refused to tolerate him as much as she did.
I have a tough time reconciling the pure unhappiness that is that family's life. I have a hard time reconciling why I deserve to be so much luckier. Who's to say that he isn't a generally well-intentioned man who loves his family but has more flaws than he knows what to do with -- like my dad?
How close was my dad to staring an empty stocking with my name on it, not knowing where I was?
In my year as an appraiser, I've seen broken down houses, a house less than a year old that looks like a warzone, babies crying in rooms with no one attending to them, and the most ungodly filth you can imagine. I don't know why that story sticks with me.
My dad always says: "There but for the grace of God go I." Its probably the most incredibly trite thing you could hear someone say.
For my father, and I guess for me, it's also so completely true.
Sorry for being so self-indulgent, everyone. I'll try to be funnier next time.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
The Old Guard
Wow, three weeks, I guess its been a while. Sorry, guys. We'll keep it political today, I think.
In the interest of full disclosure, I really really, really, really, really, really, really, really, don't like Hillary Clinton. That having been said:
Ick.
But then, maybe I'm being unfair. I mean, with all the copies of Hell to Pay: The
Unfolding Story of Hillary Rodham Clinton and the full Ann Coulter library lying around my house,. maybe some of my parents right-wing rant actually managed to seep into my head. For starters, I consider myself a bit of a pacifist and I think that war should be entered into deliberately and extremely carefully. Surely, my liberal brethren Hillary Clinton can back me up on that.
See? As peaceful as a dove. Wait a minute... ::rereads:: What the hell? Umm, what was the difference between her and John McCain again?
"Oh, well, John McCain is a war hero." said the imaginary annoying liberal in my head.
Are we really going to elect our statesman on this record as soldiers and likeability as opposed to the issues? I replied.
"Well, no, it's a two party system; and if that's your thing, you can vote for whichever party supports whatever issue you agree with."
Oh, well then, let's get started.
For the freedom lovers among you, the Democrats are for protecting your civil liberties:
For those of you who went to the anti-war protests, the Democrats oppose the war in Iraq:
And for those of you who want to find a solution to the malaise of the war, democrats want to assist all of mankind and will do whatever is most beneficial for the Iraqi people:
Yep, there's the voting record of someone who stands up to the powers that be. But, in case you're wondering: on welfare, unfunded healthcare initiatives and abortion she's allllll lefty. I guess its too much work to be liberal on everything, so she just picks the important stuff.
But again, I'm coming off as too cynical. With, the democrats recently taking control of Congress (the health of Senator-elect Johnson notwithstanding), Hillary Clinton will lead the charge into a new era for the American government. Why, just look at this quote from the last election cycle from incoming House speaker Nancy Pulosi:
So clearly, we can expect the democrats and their preumptive leader for their charge into the White House to change the cultural on The Hill and throughout government at large! Oh, man, I feel much better.
Oh, right.
Who hasn't covered up the questionable death of a friend? ::Nervous Chuckle:: Am I right?..
Ethics is such a nebulous concept...
I think of the names bandied about for a possible run at the Democratic nomination: John Kerry (again), Al Gore (again), John Edwards (again), Hillary Clinton (sweet Jesus, no).
Please, please, please, can’t we just let the old guard die? Clinton wasn't that good. Seriously, he presided over an era of unbelievable peace and prosperity and all he had to to do was stay out of its way, let it run its course and take credit for it. He certainly wasn't the worst president we've ever had, but my God can we stop nominating his lackeys for
shit?
Can't Dick Gephardt, Joe Biden, John Kerry, John Edwards, Al Gore and Hillary just go away?
There are so many better choices. So many dynamic voices who are real Democrats with really actually different ideas! Its true, they're around!
Dennis Kucinich
Russ Feingold
Barack Obama
Jack Reed
Dick Durbin
and on and on and on. I guess, I just want to know, why don't we have 2 parties? Why is all the attention paid to being centrist when what that means is the debate keeps moving farther and farther to the right.
We're debating whether or not some torture is wrong these days. Torture. This is how far we've come.
But, I guess more of the same will have to do. "Maybe 12 years of Republicans in the White House will teach us to change things.
In the interest of full disclosure, I really really, really, really, really, really, really, really, don't like Hillary Clinton. That having been said:
Somewhere in New York city, or maybe Washington, their roams a menace. With coiffed hair and a toothy, thank-you-Dr.-Zizmore grin she charms middle-aged women, people with BA's in English from CUNY or Hofstra, and all those who praise her for "standin' ba her man!" almost ten years ago. I give you the fire-eating, carpet bagging, mealy-mouthed, fawning, kow-towing, some-of-my-best-friends-are-black, divisive little wench of a she-devil the rest of you like to call Hillary Clinton.
Ick.
But then, maybe I'm being unfair. I mean, with all the copies of Hell to Pay: The
Unfolding Story of Hillary Rodham Clinton and the full Ann Coulter library lying around my house,. maybe some of my parents right-wing rant actually managed to seep into my head. For starters, I consider myself a bit of a pacifist and I think that war should be entered into deliberately and extremely carefully. Surely, my liberal brethren Hillary Clinton can back me up on that.
In the four years since the inspectors left, intelligence reports show that Saddam Hussein has worked to rebuild his chemical and biological weapons stock, his missile delivery capability, and his nuclear program. He has also given aid, comfort, and sanctuary to terrorists, including Al Qaeda members, though there is apparently no evidence of his involvement in the terrible events of September 11, 2001. It is clear, however, that if left unchecked, Saddam Hussein will continue to increase his capacity to wage biological and chemical warfare, and will keep trying to develop nuclear weapons.
-Hillary Clinton, Senate floor 10/10/2002
I believe that we lost critical time in dealing with Iran because the White House chose to Downplay the threats and to outsource the negotiations. I don't believe you face threats like Iran or North Korea by outsourcing it to others and standing on the sidelines. But let's be clear about the threat we face now: A nuclear Iran is a danger to Israel, to its neighbors and beyond. The regime's pro-terrorist, anti-American and anti-Israel rhetoric only underscores the urgency of the threat it poses. U.S. policy must be clear and unequivocal. We cannot and should not – must not – permit Iran to build or acquire nuclear weapons. In order to prevent that from occurring, we must have more support vigorously and publicly expressed by China and Russia, and we must move as quickly as feasible for sanctions in the United Nations. And we cannot take any option off the table in sending a clear message to the current leadership of Iran – that they will not be permitted to acquire nuclear weapons.
-Hillary Clinton, Princeton University 1/23/2006
See? As peaceful as a dove. Wait a minute... ::rereads:: What the hell? Umm, what was the difference between her and John McCain again?
"Oh, well, John McCain is a war hero." said the imaginary annoying liberal in my head.
Are we really going to elect our statesman on this record as soldiers and likeability as opposed to the issues? I replied.
"Well, no, it's a two party system; and if that's your thing, you can vote for whichever party supports whatever issue you agree with."
Oh, well then, let's get started.
For the freedom lovers among you, the Democrats are for protecting your civil liberties:
10/25/2001 - Vote 313: H.R. 3162 (Uniting and Strengthening America by Providing Appropriate Tools Required to Intercept and Obstruct Terrorism (USA PATRIOT ACT) Act of 2001. Voted Yea
10/25/2001 - George Bush's approval rating according to CBS: 77%
For those of you who went to the anti-war protests, the Democrats oppose the war in Iraq:
10/11/2002 - Vote 237: H.J. Res 114: Authorization for the Use of Military Force Against Iraq. Voted Yea.
10/11/2002 - George Bush's approval rating according to CBS: 63%
And for those of you who want to find a solution to the malaise of the war, democrats want to assist all of mankind and will do whatever is most beneficial for the Iraqi people:
6/22/2006 - Vote 182: S 2766: Amendment calling on the president to withdraw troops from Iraq. (The "Good Luck Fuckers", Vote). Voted Yea
6/22/2006 - George Bush's approval rating according to CBS: 33%
Yep, there's the voting record of someone who stands up to the powers that be. But, in case you're wondering: on welfare, unfunded healthcare initiatives and abortion she's allllll lefty. I guess its too much work to be liberal on everything, so she just picks the important stuff.
But again, I'm coming off as too cynical. With, the democrats recently taking control of Congress (the health of Senator-elect Johnson notwithstanding), Hillary Clinton will lead the charge into a new era for the American government. Why, just look at this quote from the last election cycle from incoming House speaker Nancy Pulosi:
The criminal indictment of Majority Leader Tom DeLay is the latest example that Republicans in Congress are plagued by a culture of corruption at the expense of the American people.
- Nancy Pelosi, 2006
So clearly, we can expect the democrats and their preumptive leader for their charge into the White House to change the cultural on The Hill and throughout government at large! Oh, man, I feel much better.
I think of the names bandied about for a possible run at the Democratic nomination: John Kerry (again), Al Gore (again), John Edwards (again), Hillary Clinton (sweet Jesus, no).
Please, please, please, can’t we just let the old guard die? Clinton wasn't that good. Seriously, he presided over an era of unbelievable peace and prosperity and all he had to to do was stay out of its way, let it run its course and take credit for it. He certainly wasn't the worst president we've ever had, but my God can we stop nominating his lackeys for
shit?
Can't Dick Gephardt, Joe Biden, John Kerry, John Edwards, Al Gore and Hillary just go away?
There are so many better choices. So many dynamic voices who are real Democrats with really actually different ideas! Its true, they're around!
Dennis Kucinich
Russ Feingold
Barack Obama
Jack Reed
Dick Durbin
and on and on and on. I guess, I just want to know, why don't we have 2 parties? Why is all the attention paid to being centrist when what that means is the debate keeps moving farther and farther to the right.
We're debating whether or not some torture is wrong these days. Torture. This is how far we've come.
But, I guess more of the same will have to do. "Maybe 12 years of Republicans in the White House will teach us to change things.
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
guess who voted for the first time....
i'm a little late to the party in discussing the 2006 elections, but that's how i roll. i became an american citizen about a year ago. before that, as a nri (non-resident indian) i had no voting rights. thus, on election day my mother, sister, and i all voted for the first time in an american election. i voted for spitzer for governor, and green party candidates for the other races which included them. mostly i voted for the green party because i would really like to see a viable third party emerge once again in american politics. this has happened a handful of times (the populists in 1892, the bull mooses of teddy roosevelt, and ross perot and the reform party). these guys never stick around for long, but they tend to make one of the larger parties co-opt many of their tenets, and in my eyes that's mostly a good thing, especially in the case of the relationship between the green party and the democrats. i also voted on three propositions, my favorite part of the whole process... yay direct democracy!
however, i was really more interested in the process, and aesthetics than the actual political repercussions of the election, and in a personal way. i was with a few friends, and we drove to the sayville library hoping that there might be some voting going on over there. no luck... on to sayville high school. there was definitely some voting going on over there, but not for my electoral district. finally i went over to the west sayville fire department to get my vote on. later i drove another friend, damon, to roslyn in order for him to cast his vote. it all seemed so quaint. in my daily life, i check train schedules within a couple of seconds, look up cd tracklistings at allmusic.com, get damon to text message me directions he got on his cellphone from google, and can pretty much find any kind of media within a minute or two provided with a computer and an internet connection. so, physically driving to a place in order to pull a lever to register my political convictions was quite the event for me. what's strange is that checking the box next to the candidates felt less real and less political than watching noam chomsky give an hour-long lecture in colorado on google video last night.
my political convictions derive from my belief in weber's definition of the state... a monopoly on the use of legitimate/authorized violence. violence is lame... so i tend to not get mixed up in affairs of the state too much. i only voted this year to see what it's like. for me, knowledge and understanding of any sort is a much better form of political participation than placing a vote, which is why, watching that chomsky video felt more fulfilling than voting.
maybe its my relative youth and inexperience but it seems to me that the united states is in a precarious position that will be discussed twenty years from now as a turning point in american history. and for all that the voting station itself was run by volunteers all over the age of sixty, bored to tears and barely competent enough to cross my name off the list. it was all so underwhelming.
however, i was really more interested in the process, and aesthetics than the actual political repercussions of the election, and in a personal way. i was with a few friends, and we drove to the sayville library hoping that there might be some voting going on over there. no luck... on to sayville high school. there was definitely some voting going on over there, but not for my electoral district. finally i went over to the west sayville fire department to get my vote on. later i drove another friend, damon, to roslyn in order for him to cast his vote. it all seemed so quaint. in my daily life, i check train schedules within a couple of seconds, look up cd tracklistings at allmusic.com, get damon to text message me directions he got on his cellphone from google, and can pretty much find any kind of media within a minute or two provided with a computer and an internet connection. so, physically driving to a place in order to pull a lever to register my political convictions was quite the event for me. what's strange is that checking the box next to the candidates felt less real and less political than watching noam chomsky give an hour-long lecture in colorado on google video last night.
my political convictions derive from my belief in weber's definition of the state... a monopoly on the use of legitimate/authorized violence. violence is lame... so i tend to not get mixed up in affairs of the state too much. i only voted this year to see what it's like. for me, knowledge and understanding of any sort is a much better form of political participation than placing a vote, which is why, watching that chomsky video felt more fulfilling than voting.
maybe its my relative youth and inexperience but it seems to me that the united states is in a precarious position that will be discussed twenty years from now as a turning point in american history. and for all that the voting station itself was run by volunteers all over the age of sixty, bored to tears and barely competent enough to cross my name off the list. it was all so underwhelming.
Sunday, November 19, 2006
The Exquisite Impossible
Clearly, I will never write post again that wasn’t directly contributed to by Ashraya.
It certainly cannot be said that my last post wasn’t reductive and a gross over-generalization about topics (e.g. love, literature) that have been explored in a more thorough and satisfying manner than anything I could ever hope come up with.
That having been said, I still believe what I wrote, though that may be more my jaded view of love than anything objectively true about its nature.
Ashraya brought up an interesting point that echoes something Udbhav said right after I posted on Tuesday. That is, that the best literature doesn’t really allow the type of storybook love that I was ascribing to it.
And she's right.
But these, my favorite books, contain truly impossible love stories. “Owen Meany”, for example, the beloved Pastor of the church has taken an affair with the narrator’s mother. We find out later, after much investigation by the narrator that she was waving to him at the moment of her death.
I’m not going to try to bore you with an entire essay of literary criticism. But I will submit an idea. Ashraya said, as I quoted above “I think it's in illuminating the impossibility of such love that literature has the most success.”
And I completely agree.
The idea of literary love being truer than actual love is not mutually exclusive from the fact that literature so rarely lets that very love flourish.
In the same way that the love that exists in literature is so transcendently complete and real, so is it when that love cannot exist in literature it is so transcendently and completely impossible.
Consider this, and I use this as an example not for self-pity but I believe it is a fairly universal experience. The person with whom I have fallen most completely in love with is my ex-girlfriend. I would have married her without any hesitation and even now, I don’t think I would have been wrong to do so. I was in love. I don’t think you could ever convince me otherwise.
And then it just ended.
There was no real reason for it; there was not great event to tear us apart. We didn’t cheat on each other, I didn’t hit her, I didn’t go to war or prison, she hadn’t met anyone else. It was just over. Maybe because we were young, maybe because we didn’t quite have the same priorities, but basically to this day, neither of us knows exactly why it happened; but it.
I bring this up too illustrate that there was nothing transcendent about it; there was nothing that was romantically impossible about the whole ordeal. Our relationship, like many before it and many after could not continue.
And the fact is, that shits not worthy of a novel.
Even, when it makes things impossible, the impossibility literature provides is, many times, much more lovely than the real thing.
“The universe where fiction exists is enchanted with endless possibilities of the improbable occurring often and with a strong sense of justice.”
-Me, in my last post “The Fiction Imposter”
“…and yet, the best fiction concerns itself with dreams unfulfilled, love unrequited.
doesn't it?
it may be a grander love, it may necessitate prison-breaks and launch a thousand ships, etc.---but I think it's in illuminating the impossibility of such love that literature has the most success.”
-Ashraya’s response to “The Fiction Imposter”
It certainly cannot be said that my last post wasn’t reductive and a gross over-generalization about topics (e.g. love, literature) that have been explored in a more thorough and satisfying manner than anything I could ever hope come up with.
That having been said, I still believe what I wrote, though that may be more my jaded view of love than anything objectively true about its nature.
Ashraya brought up an interesting point that echoes something Udbhav said right after I posted on Tuesday. That is, that the best literature doesn’t really allow the type of storybook love that I was ascribing to it.
And she's right.
My favorite books rarely end in a typically satisfying manner. “Mother Night” ends with the main character hanging himself so he cannot be acquitted of the war crimes for which he so desperately wants to be punished. “A Prayer for Owen Meany” ends with the title character saving a group of children, but only by sacrificing his own life. “Survivor” ends with the main character dying in a plane crash of his own concoction. “White Noise” ends with… well, I’m not really sure what the deal with the whole supermarket thing was, but I’m pretty sure Jack dies.
But these, my favorite books, contain truly impossible love stories. “Owen Meany”, for example, the beloved Pastor of the church has taken an affair with the narrator’s mother. We find out later, after much investigation by the narrator that she was waving to him at the moment of her death.
I’m not going to try to bore you with an entire essay of literary criticism. But I will submit an idea. Ashraya said, as I quoted above “I think it's in illuminating the impossibility of such love that literature has the most success.”
And I completely agree.
The idea of literary love being truer than actual love is not mutually exclusive from the fact that literature so rarely lets that very love flourish.
In the same way that the love that exists in literature is so transcendently complete and real, so is it when that love cannot exist in literature it is so transcendently and completely impossible.
Consider this, and I use this as an example not for self-pity but I believe it is a fairly universal experience. The person with whom I have fallen most completely in love with is my ex-girlfriend. I would have married her without any hesitation and even now, I don’t think I would have been wrong to do so. I was in love. I don’t think you could ever convince me otherwise.
And then it just ended.
There was no real reason for it; there was not great event to tear us apart. We didn’t cheat on each other, I didn’t hit her, I didn’t go to war or prison, she hadn’t met anyone else. It was just over. Maybe because we were young, maybe because we didn’t quite have the same priorities, but basically to this day, neither of us knows exactly why it happened; but it.
I bring this up too illustrate that there was nothing transcendent about it; there was nothing that was romantically impossible about the whole ordeal. Our relationship, like many before it and many after could not continue.
And the fact is, that shits not worthy of a novel.
Even when love is impossible in literature as it so often is, it’s beautifully impossible. There are greater forces at work, as if God himself had ordained that this love was too perfect and could never exist.
So, even at that I would prefer the romantic notion that my love was fated to be impossible rather than it just being some random concoction of two peoples baggage resulting in an untenable situation.
Even, when it makes things impossible, the impossibility literature provides is, many times, much more lovely than the real thing.
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
The Fiction Imposter
This post actually started out as something that was going to be a comment on Ashraya Gupta’s (Udbhav’s sister) blog. Incidentally, her writing is a whole lot better than the crap we’re putting on here, so go read it (http://thebluenotebooks.com/Ashraya/). I’ll wait.
I’ll start with the quotations from her most recent post that elicited my over-long reaction:
"today I tried to sing a love song for an hour and failed. the notes were there, the intonation---but I was somehow soulless in my innocence...
"I've never been in love and I don't hate the world, so perhaps I lack the emotion...
"it's funny how easy it is to write about what I do not know, or at least what I believe I do not know. middle-aged dissatisfaction, unwise marriages, the trials of boyhood. I've experienced none of it---but my fiction somehow leads me to it, giving me confidence I never knew I had."
People escape from prisons for literary love; they start wars, put themselves in great peril; open themselves up for all manner of humiliation and ridicule. Actual love doesn’t offer any of these possibilities.
If you actually love someone and you return to them after any significant length apart, it doesn’t matter how much threat you risked, it’s pretty well guaranteed that they moved on. It doesn’t matter how boldly or publicly you profess your love for someone you’ve worshipped from afar. It won’t work. They’re too good for you. Otherwise, you’d worship them right up close.
In fiction, however, these activities are rewarded. And rightfully so.
Life experiences just fuck everything up.
I choose, and will continue to choose to embrace a world where enchantment is possible. And if that means believing in the fraud perpetrated by authors sitting at a desk not too different from the one I’m sitting at now, then so be it.
The stories of those who have “experienced life” haven’t countered with anything even remotely as attractive yet.
I’ll start with the quotations from her most recent post that elicited my over-long reaction:
"today I tried to sing a love song for an hour and failed. the notes were there, the intonation---but I was somehow soulless in my innocence...
"I've never been in love and I don't hate the world, so perhaps I lack the emotion...
"it's funny how easy it is to write about what I do not know, or at least what I believe I do not know. middle-aged dissatisfaction, unwise marriages, the trials of boyhood. I've experienced none of it---but my fiction somehow leads me to it, giving me confidence I never knew I had."
Good writers will always do a better job of furthering our romanticized notions of love better than anyone who's ever actually fallen in love. Having been in actual love doesn’t qualify you for anything because actual love isn’t nearly as real as literary love.
People escape from prisons for literary love; they start wars, put themselves in great peril; open themselves up for all manner of humiliation and ridicule. Actual love doesn’t offer any of these possibilities.
If you actually love someone and you return to them after any significant length apart, it doesn’t matter how much threat you risked, it’s pretty well guaranteed that they moved on. It doesn’t matter how boldly or publicly you profess your love for someone you’ve worshipped from afar. It won’t work. They’re too good for you. Otherwise, you’d worship them right up close.
In fiction, however, these activities are rewarded. And rightfully so.
The universe where fiction exists is enchanted with endless possibilities of the improbable occurring often and with a strong sense of justice. All events, be they beneficial, harmful or neutral occur judiciously with the God of the realm at least giving you some reasoning for the decisions made.
Life experiences just fuck everything up.
I choose, and will continue to choose to embrace a world where enchantment is possible. And if that means believing in the fraud perpetrated by authors sitting at a desk not too different from the one I’m sitting at now, then so be it.
The stories of those who have “experienced life” haven’t countered with anything even remotely as attractive yet.
Monday, November 13, 2006
20 reasons why the 70s are better than the 90s (part II)
captain and tenille - love will keep us together
two month fever: i think i'm going to use love will keep us together
two month fever: for part two
Achilles24601: really?
Achilles24601: ballsy?
two month fever: captain and tenille?
two month fever: its pop music
Achilles24601: yeah
two month fever: better than sonny and cher
two month fever: or whatever
Achilles24601: hmm
Achilles24601: were ike and tina 70's?
two month fever: i don't know....
two month fever: oh shit, ccr
Achilles24601: lol
Achilles24601: what about the Carpenters?
two month fever: i hate them!
Achilles24601: they were better than Captain and Tennille!
two month fever: no way, love will keep us together is a fucking sick song
mp3
which leads us to....
credence clearwater revival - who'll stop the rain - i have a love/hate relationship with ccr, there's gold in their trash. i mean sonic youth and stephen malkmus were fans, so even if you don't believe me, you have to listen to what they tell you don't you? plus, you can't argue with this kind of classic song structure: intro, verse 1, refrain, verse 2 (add a doubled vocal), refrain, bridge, verse 3 (with harmonies!), refrain, end with introductory riff.
mp3
chic - good times - disco! yay! this bassline is so sweet that sugarhill gang replayed it for rapper's delight. for all the flack that disco gets, artists like chic and the bee gees brought genuine sophistication and craft to the form. nile rodgers and bernard edwards understood that disco centered around rhythm, and most of their better material is best heard with that in mind. the guitar is essentially part of the rhythm section, leaving melodic touches to strings and keyboards.
mp3
tom zé - dodó e zezé - for my money, tom zé is better than all the other brazilian tropicália artists save for maybe caetano veloso. but that's only because i know very little about any of the artists, and i really like todos os olhos.
mp3>
bruce sprinsteen - tenth avenue freeze-out - i haven't really included the gigantic albums of the 70s in either part of my posts. there's no zeppelin, pink floyd, or the like, but i can't resist born to run. the song cops quite a bit from the stax sound, but that's alright by me.
mp3
big star - feel - 70s guitar rock can go wrong in a lot of ways, none of which i feel like enumerating here, but when it's done right.... oh the sweet satisfaction. you know the song featured in the beginning of that seventies show? it's a terrible cover of a great big star song, "in the street." they inexplicably change the lyrics to "we're all alright." could somebody explain why they did that?
mp3
emerson lake & palmer - hallowed be thy name - oddly enough, my father has always loved elp. i think they're ok. one night he played me this song, pointing out the lyrical shenanigans in the song. nothing beats a well placed pun i guess. i do prefer the band to other prog rogck like genesis or king crimson and as somebody who would like to be able to call himself a piano player one day, i definitely prefer emerson's playing to yes keyboards.
mp3
fleetwood mac - sara - my favorite fleetwood mac record is tango in the night. rumors is pretty damn good, but not as good as most people tell me it is. tusk, on the other hand, is somewhat of an enigma for me. i've always been interested in the album that comes after the huge blockbuster. oasis bloated beyond all conceivable levels of reason for be here now (which i actually kind of love). i don't know tusk well enough, but sara strikes me as something kind of similar, yet its done so beautifully and with such a sure touch that i can't find any fault with it.
mp3
the doobie brothers - listen to the music - to add to everything else that's already great about this song, it has banjo for god's sake!
mp3
donna summer - i feel love - heralding the arrival of electronic pop music and foreshadowing the birth of techno, the sonic details in the song are astounding. the synth bass is panned hard to both speakers, with one being slightly behind the other propelling the song forward relentlessly. disco with no cheesy strings.... amazing!
mp3
apologies to steely dan, kraftwerk, todd rundgren, harry nilsson and many others that i failed to include.
two month fever: i think i'm going to use love will keep us together
two month fever: for part two
Achilles24601: really?
Achilles24601: ballsy?
two month fever: captain and tenille?
two month fever: its pop music
Achilles24601: yeah
two month fever: better than sonny and cher
two month fever: or whatever
Achilles24601: hmm
Achilles24601: were ike and tina 70's?
two month fever: i don't know....
two month fever: oh shit, ccr
Achilles24601: lol
Achilles24601: what about the Carpenters?
two month fever: i hate them!
Achilles24601: they were better than Captain and Tennille!
two month fever: no way, love will keep us together is a fucking sick song
mp3
which leads us to....
credence clearwater revival - who'll stop the rain - i have a love/hate relationship with ccr, there's gold in their trash. i mean sonic youth and stephen malkmus were fans, so even if you don't believe me, you have to listen to what they tell you don't you? plus, you can't argue with this kind of classic song structure: intro, verse 1, refrain, verse 2 (add a doubled vocal), refrain, bridge, verse 3 (with harmonies!), refrain, end with introductory riff.
mp3
chic - good times - disco! yay! this bassline is so sweet that sugarhill gang replayed it for rapper's delight. for all the flack that disco gets, artists like chic and the bee gees brought genuine sophistication and craft to the form. nile rodgers and bernard edwards understood that disco centered around rhythm, and most of their better material is best heard with that in mind. the guitar is essentially part of the rhythm section, leaving melodic touches to strings and keyboards.
mp3
tom zé - dodó e zezé - for my money, tom zé is better than all the other brazilian tropicália artists save for maybe caetano veloso. but that's only because i know very little about any of the artists, and i really like todos os olhos.
mp3>
bruce sprinsteen - tenth avenue freeze-out - i haven't really included the gigantic albums of the 70s in either part of my posts. there's no zeppelin, pink floyd, or the like, but i can't resist born to run. the song cops quite a bit from the stax sound, but that's alright by me.
mp3
big star - feel - 70s guitar rock can go wrong in a lot of ways, none of which i feel like enumerating here, but when it's done right.... oh the sweet satisfaction. you know the song featured in the beginning of that seventies show? it's a terrible cover of a great big star song, "in the street." they inexplicably change the lyrics to "we're all alright." could somebody explain why they did that?
mp3
emerson lake & palmer - hallowed be thy name - oddly enough, my father has always loved elp. i think they're ok. one night he played me this song, pointing out the lyrical shenanigans in the song. nothing beats a well placed pun i guess. i do prefer the band to other prog rogck like genesis or king crimson and as somebody who would like to be able to call himself a piano player one day, i definitely prefer emerson's playing to yes keyboards.
mp3
fleetwood mac - sara - my favorite fleetwood mac record is tango in the night. rumors is pretty damn good, but not as good as most people tell me it is. tusk, on the other hand, is somewhat of an enigma for me. i've always been interested in the album that comes after the huge blockbuster. oasis bloated beyond all conceivable levels of reason for be here now (which i actually kind of love). i don't know tusk well enough, but sara strikes me as something kind of similar, yet its done so beautifully and with such a sure touch that i can't find any fault with it.
mp3
the doobie brothers - listen to the music - to add to everything else that's already great about this song, it has banjo for god's sake!
mp3
donna summer - i feel love - heralding the arrival of electronic pop music and foreshadowing the birth of techno, the sonic details in the song are astounding. the synth bass is panned hard to both speakers, with one being slightly behind the other propelling the song forward relentlessly. disco with no cheesy strings.... amazing!
mp3
apologies to steely dan, kraftwerk, todd rundgren, harry nilsson and many others that i failed to include.
