June 19, 2007
IMAGE OF THE DAY: Self-Portrait with Twin Towered Empire State Building.
LITERARY COMMENTS OF THE DAY: In re "Falling Man" by Don Delillo
Delillo is clearly drawn towards the rigor and severity of the terrorist's perspective. He understands the disgust with the contingent, the messy and the impure. But where the terrorist knows only the seduction of the absolute, Delillo knows both the seduction and the folly. It is in the grip of this tension that he generates his taut, oblique, artfully awkward lines.
Much as the piece of art I talked about recently sort of upstaged the Frank Rich review of Delillo's 9/11 book in the NYT Book Review, so too the photo of people crowded at the window of the north tower moments before the towers fell upstages Andrew O'Hagan's critical (in both senses of the word) review of Delillo's novel in the most recent New York Review of Books. What is it specifically that the novel (let alone the review of the novel) cannot compare to? The haunting facticity of the image. The still unthinkable and inassimilable fact of its actually having happened.
As mentioned above, O'hagan's review is highly critical of Delillo. Among other things, he notes that Delillo has always had a near prophetic sense of the imminence and inevitablity of this kind of a spectacular terrorist act. Indeed, in White Noise he had one character hypothesize that the terrorist would replace the novelist as the pre-eminent artist of our time. O'hagan seems to be saying that now, with the fulfillment of his prophetic vision, Delillo the novelist is rendered strangely irrelevant. A lingering redundancy. His powers of imagination sadly unequal to the staggering reality of the events.
There is an almost moral outrage in O'hagan's critique. One senses an unspoken attribution of blame--as if, having anticipated such an event, the author were somehow complicit in its coming to pass. But O'hagan's main criticism seems to be that Delillo is somehow insulting the lives of those lost in the 9/11 catastrophe by failing to imagine their stories as richly and as fully as they deserve to be imagined. It is clear to me (and, I imagine, to most readers of the book) however, that this is not what Delillo has assumed as his project. He is, in truth, more compelled by the almost ontological dislocation experienced by the survivors and by the challenge of imagining the consciousness of the terrorists responsible for the terrible acts. The criteria on which O'hagan is judging the work bear little relation to the challenge the author set himself in creating it. This is not to claim that Delillo's work is a clear success (whatever that would mean). It is merely to point out how highly charged the feelings surrounding this event remain and how they are liable to generate harsh judgements and unproductive discourse in all realms of endeavor--from the municipal to the architectural to the literary.
Also, it should be noted that Don Delillo writes about kids with the kind of compelling verisimilitude and persuasive naturalism that Alice Munro might evince in writing about Crips and Bloods or that Danielle Steele might exhibit in describing physicists at the Princeton Institute for Advanced Studies.
SENTENCE OF THE DAY:
"Maybe this is what things look like when there is no one there to see them."
--Delillo, in "Falling Man" --describing the protagonist's experience of the dizzying, post-apocalyptic landscape he staggered through right after the towers collapsed.
CULTURAL-LITERARY TROPE OF THE DAY:
Alzheimer's. It figured prominently in the finale to the Sopranos (in the form of Uncle Junior's failure to remember even that he had been in the mob) and in Delillo's "Falling Man" (where the protagonst's wife conducts writing groups with people suffering from the disease.) In both instances, the disease functions as the mortal mirror of the narrative; the haunting reminder of both the vanity of all things and the ineluctable otherness that lurks within ourselves.
HORRIBLE AND RELUCTANTLY SHARED PREMONITION OF THE DAY:
Remember about 6 years ago when Bush had just been elected by the Supreme Court there was this show they were running on Comedy Central called "My Bush" or something which made him out to be a harmlessly likeable but pretty dumb rascal of a frat boy? I think Timothy Bottoms played Bush. Anyhow, that show was, of course, immediately pulled from the air after 9/11--correctly deemed to be inappropriate to the solemn climate of that time. For some reason, I have always associated that show with 9/11. Or at least with the moment that our collective state of shock about Bush being our president was replaced by our collective state of shock about the terrorist attacks. (Which of course was soon followed by our collective state of shock at Bush being our president in the scary, new world after the shocking terrorist attacks). I have one other thing I associate with that transitional moment. As I think I mentioned on these electronic pages some time back, at 9 a.m. on the morning of 9/11/2001, I stepped in dog feces on the sidewalk for the first time in a decade. I remember screaming "Fuck!" and then, upon seeing a lady passing, offering half apologetically through still clenched teeth: "It's gonna be a bad day."
It was only ten minutes later--after diligently wiping the turd off my shoe--that I stopped in the local coffee shop and learned that a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center.
Anyhow, why do I bring these two things up? Well, I have been seeing promotions for a new Bush Parody on Comedy Central called "Li'l Bush" and it strikes me as a weird attempt to turn back the clock and totally erase the national trauma that ended the last Bush parody show on Comedy Central (and a good many other things as well, of course). It almost felt like a way of challenging the terrorists to shock us anew from our cozy little stupor. And, the other night, I JUST missed stepping in dog feces on the sidewalk. It was the first time I'd even had a close call since 9/11/2001. And it left me with a terrible feeling which was probably mere flashback, but which I took as foreshadowing. So as a sort of jinx on a jinx, I figured I should just put this out there...to neutralize whatever premonitory power or anticipatory accuracy it might have. Maybe it's also that I've been reading Don Delillo's 9/11 novel "Falling Man" but I've been thinking a lot about those terrorist attacks these days. And the way we've completely suppressed the emotional reality of their actually having happened. And, well, I'm just not ready for another one. So, please indulge me in this act of superstitious stupidity. I thank you in advance for your complicity, cooperation and/or mere, slightly perplexed, indulgence.
EXOTIC TRAVEL EXPERIENCE OF THE DAY:
Coming back from the airport recently, there was some crazy traffic on the expressway. So my cabbie (it turns out, a former stock car racer), treated me to a high speed tour through the back roads of Queens. Wow. What a strange and mysterious place. Less like another city than another country. Or, perhaps, another world. It was genuinely--in its strange, flat, non-descriptness--more compellingly alien to me that any of the cities I've flown to in the last year. One real revelation was the existence of this mega gigantic JC Pennys that dwarfed us (and everything around it) when we finally got to Queens Boulevard. Flanked by a merely huge Sears and a merely enormous Macys, it was an edifice of truly epic scale--dominating the landscape like a federal building or a huge temple, but without any of the architectural distinction one would associate with those types of structures. One's sense of individual identity trembled before it. As I believe (and designated Dembologist D-wid will no doubt correct me if I'm wrong here) the great Fennis Dembo once said in a very different context, it was "more than dizzying."
Anyhow, when the Empire State Building and the other familiar icons of the NYC skyscape finally came into view, it was as if I were arriving through an unsuspected portal from another time and place. I was stunned by this newly discovered proximity. This world of near identical looking buildings, gargantuan stores and vast graveyards that was so far away and yet so close.
NEW YORK EXPERIENCE OF THE DAY:
Last night I enjoyed a quintessentially New York experience. Was it going to Bryant Park to see Annie Hall on the big screen? No, it was going to Bryant Park to see Annie Hall on the big screen, realizing it was far too crowded to get a seat and going home to watch Annie Hall on video while eating takeout. Somehow that felt more authentically New York. And if not more authentically New York, then at least more authentically Woody Allen.
I hadn't seen the movie in decades and--while some of the comedic innovations pioneered there have grown a bit tired through widespread appropriation and imitation --I was charmed and touched by it anew. I remember seeing it as a kid and thinking why in the world would that gorgeous woman fall in love with that goofy looking guy (not that this wasn't a formative inspiration for me.). But as I watch it now, past the actuarially determined mid-point of my life, I see Woody as a sort of goofily cute young guy. And I still see her as really really lovely. I had forgotten that Christopher Walken, Jeff Goldblum and Paul Simon were in the movie. And speaking of Paul Simon. It struck me that three of the key Jewish icons of my 70s childhood (Paul Simon, Woody Allen and Marv Albert) had perpetrated a kind of perceptual fraud on me. Paul Simon and Marv Albert by sporting toupees and Woody Allen by changing his name from Allen Konigsberg. I try to imagine an alternative 70s childhood in which the little melancholic troubador and the ubiquitous sporscaster proudly displayed their naked pates and in which the neurotic funnyman auteur's last name was actually his first. But I am simply not up to the task. History, marking us as it does with its random specificity on our once only path through time.
The film reminded me of that (now poignant) moment just before the dawn of the blockbuster when art house films were part of the popular culture and references to Marshall McLuhan, Friedrich Nietzsche and Sigmund Freud were about as common as references to Paris Hilton, Britney Spears and Dr. Phil are today.
LFAQs of the DAY:
What if everyone had the same name? Would our perception of and cognition about others be radically altered? Would we in fact see people less as individuals than as diverse reflections of the same essential being? Would we even have a concept of "individuals."?
Is there a correlation between the value placed on "individuality" in a culture and the diversity of first names in that culture?
Which hypocrisy is worse: The hypocrisy of Republican moralists who insisted on Clinton being punished for lying about the Monica Lewinsky affair asking that Scooter Libby be pardoned after being convicted of lying about the Valerie Plame leak or the hypocrisy of Republican "patriots" who extol the paragon importance of protecting our people from "those who would do us harm" defending the man who jeopardized the safety (and perhaps even the life) of an American CIA agent by leaking her identity?
What the hell was Vegas tallking about in that "reluctantly shared premonition of the day?" Is he really superstitious or did he just want an excuse to trot out that damn 9/11 stepping in dog droppings story again?
And what's with all that hair in the self portrait?
Will the air oboe and air bassoon ever become as popular as the air guitar?
SICK COMEDIC RELIEF OF THE DAY: VEGAN MEAT
I want to eat healthy. But who has the time or discipline to always buy organic produce and organic meats? That's why I've resolved my Omnivore's Dilemma by deciding to add a new flesh form to my diet: Vegan. Yes, vegan. After all: Who eats more healthy and organic foods than the modern vegan? And by eating healthy, free-range Vegans myself ...well, I get the benefits of their healthy dietary choices...without having to do the work myself! It's great. I just let those diligent, health conscious folks do the heavy lifting for me. Herboivore? Carnivore? Omnivore? I make it easy on myself. Veganore is the way for me. Ask you local grocer if he carries Veganore products. And when you go to a restuarant always ask if they have a vegas section of the menu. When they point you towards the seitan and bean sprouts, explain that, no, you mean the vegan meat section.
Yes, nutritionally enlightened cannibalism. It's the healthy choice.
MOMENT OF TRUE FEELING OF THE DAY:
I went up to CT yesterday to visit my father (I essentially went up to supervise a nap :)) and, standing on the train platform in the cooling twilight air, waiting to return to the concrete jungle, I could smell the earth and traces of the ocean and I could see green things and I was filled with an overwhelming sense of nostalgia for my suburban childhood and those early intensest trips through time and the seasons.
DESCRIPTION OF THE DAY:
The Remote Sports Bar in Astoria, Queens: Where outer borough meets outer space.
REFLECTION ON BEING AND LANGUAGE OF THE DAY:
I don't know what it is that I love about cows. Maybe it's just that they're so damn bovine.
CULTURAL-POETIC OBSERVATION OF THE DAY:
I think our culture has essentially misquoted Keats:
"Youth is beauty and beauty youth...that is all
Ye know on earth and all ye need to know."
Youth has taken the place of truth--as the primary cultural value. Ahh...who am I kidding? It's probably always been that way.
SINGLE SENTENCE RANDOM PORTRAIT OF THE DAY:
He was inconveniently located just outside the narrative.
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Posted on 6/19/2007
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June 11, 2007
NARROWLY AVERTED DISASTER OF THE DAY:
Don't know if you noticed, but as Rags to Riches ran down the home stretch of th Belmont Stakes, her normally reserved trainer Todd Pletcher pumped his fist dramatically...missing his young daughter's head by a fraction of an inch as he did so. It would have been pretty ironic (and, of course awkward) if he ended up celebrating this historic breakthrough for female kind by knocking out his 5 year old daughter with a vicious right cross.
CONCEPTUAL ART IDEA OF THE DAY:
Wrapping the White House with the yellow tape used to indicate where a crime has taken place.
PROMISORY NOTE OF THE DAY:
I promise to overcome my general inertia and my Photoshop-challengedness in order to execute and post the above outlined piece of political/conceptual art in the near future.
SOPRANO'S COMMENT OF THE DAY:
Hadn't seen the last few episodes, but watched the grand finale tonight--since I knew the media and the workplace would function as one big collective spoiler the next day. I liked the way they handled the whole ending business. Satisfyingly anti-climactic. Tony seeing the vanity of all things--reflected back at him through senile Uncle Junior's uncomprehending eyes. ("You and dad used to run North Jersey."/ "We did? That's nice.") Then one last gathering with the family. Both pedestrian and penultimate. And finally, the sudden, disruptive "say whaaa?" cut to black. The finality of no finality. The resolution of no resolution. The permanence of impermanence. Life goes on. Pass the onion rings etc. I never had the religious reverence for the show that a lot of people did, but it was certainly an excellent and groundbreaking series and perhaps the most realistic portrait of the modern Amercian suburban family ever to appear on any kind of a screen. That said, when Tony visits Silvio Dante (Little Stevie Van Zandt) in the hospital just prior to the penultimate scene with Uncle Junior in the nursing home, I sort of wanted Little Stevie to pop out of the coma and say to Tony, "You know, I always preferred working for the other Boss." And then just expire.
The "Six Feet Under" ending was more soul-stirringly satisfying, but the Soprano's ending was arguably more profound and mature in its embrace of the prosaic and rejection of closure. In any event, both finales were really appropriate to the spirits of the respective shows.
(A more cynical interpretation of course would be that the inconclusive ending without an ending leaves the door open for a future movie. But since I find cynicism to be an unattractive trait, I find this to be an unattractive interpretation.)
RELUCTANTLY OFFERED FOOTNOTE OF THE DAY:
For the pop musically challenged and anyone else mystified by the above comment about "the other boss": Little Stevie Van Zandt (The actor who played Silvio Dante) is a founding member of "The E Street Band"--the Band headed up by Bruce Springsteen aka "The Boss."
PERVERSE CONSUMER ACT OF THE DAY:
Going to Barnes and Noble each day at lunch to read from my designated freebie book (in this case, "Falling Man" by Don Delillo) and then, once I've finished it, buying it as a gesture of retroactive gratitude for their having let me read it for free.
WEIRD 9/11 THOUGHT OF THE DAY:
One of the remarkable and unremarked upon realities concerning the 9/11 attacks is the fact that, in the aftermath of the event, the hijackers and victims became co-mingled at the molecular level, blended --along with the pulverized concrete, asbestos, fiberglass, plastic and god knows what else--in the acrid, particulate-filled air that we all, for a time, breathed.
WEIRD ONLINE EXPERIENCE OF THE DAY:
I recently received a forwarded Power Point presentation from a friend. I opened it and it was a series of gorgeously composed babies-in-nature photos--presented in a meditatively paced slide show with spirtually minded copy: "We possess more, but have less...We can travel to the moon and back, but we can't cross the street to visit our neighbors...We have more information but less knowledge...More money buy less values...We have managed to add years to our lives but not life to our years...etc. " As the slide show played out before me, I alternated between sincerely reflecting upon these deep thoughts and feeling slightly oppressed by their sententious serenity. Anyhow, finally the time-released profundity ended with another startling visual and a carpe diem reminder. That life is precious. Live every moment as it it might be your last. I thought about it for a moment, reflected on my ambivalence towards this whole mid-day presentation (how much of the ambivalence was a function of having opened it in mid-task at the workplace and feeling a bit hijacked by its long, slowly paced, unsolicited spirituality and how much of was a function of my essential and irredeemable dark heartedness? ) and then tried to exit the program. To my chagrin, I discovered that there was no exit. I could not even effect a "force quit." I began to think: Is this some virus sent out by spiritually minded cyber terrorists to free us from the prison of technology? Or is it some mind reading litmus test that can detect your degree of cynicism, ambivalence and impatience and punishes you accordingly? Anyhow, I had some anxious moments there as I tried to reboot the computer and half-expected to see a cracked Apple icon and a message saying "For your own spiritual salvation, this computer has been destroyed." Of course, this did not happen, and I immediately resumed by soulless, spirit-deadening activities.
I'm not sure how I feel about the whole thing or why I'm even bothering to recount it. But there it is.
PARENTAL ASSURANCE OF THE DAY:
Mom, dad: In case either one of you is reading this: I am not really dark-hearted. The above referenced dark-heartedness was exaggerated for the purposes of narrative interest--and in all likelihood exaggerated in vain, as narrative interest may very well not have been achieved.
CURIOUS PHENOMENON OF THE DAY:
The conflict between the faculty of reason and the evidence of the senses. For example, I am in the shower and the water is ridiculously hot. I turn the cold water knob to allow more cold water into the mix. I detect absolutely no change in the temperature and yet some part of me says "Well, it must be less hot, because I've tuned the knob." The dialogue within my head continues. Scalding and hijinx ensue.
SHOCKING REVELATION OF THE DAY:
From an Article in the New York Times about how online pornography has actually hurt Pornogaphers' profits.
"And unlike consumers looking for music and other media, viewers of pornography do not seem to mind giving up brand-name producers and performers for anonymous ones, or a well-lighted movie set for a ratty couch at an amateur videographer’s house."
Shameless consumers! What ever happend to brand loyalty?!?!?! What am I going to learn next, that crack users aren't brand loyal either???
LFAQs of THE DAY: (For newcomers to the site: LFAQs are Less Frequently Asked Questions.)
A filly becomes a mare becomes a nag. A colt becomes a stallion becomes a what???
a) gluer
b) geezer
c) dogfooder
d) moo shu "chicken"
e) I have no freaking idea.
Which is preferable: To be witless and to know it or to be witless and not know it? (obviously, the former is preferable for those who have to be in the witless person's company.)
Did Paris Hilton get mints on her pillow in prison?
What was the unspecified medical problem that led to Paris's sudden and premature release from prison? Claustrophobia?
Which is preferable: Extraordinary suffering or ordinary misery?
Is the "Thirteen" in "Ocean's Thirteen" the biggest number ever to appear in a Hollywood movie series (which is to say a movie in which the number is used in an ordinal fashion)?
If it does indeed constitute an all-time record, should it have an asterisk beside it--owing to the face that, in a strange inversion of Nils Tufnel's famous claim about Spinal Tap's amp, the series of sequels started at eleven?
Which have steroids enlarged more, Barry Bonds' head or Bud Selig' wallet?
Was the filly's victory in the Belmont Stakes a triumph for all of female kind or only for four-legged female kind?
Is your confidence in elementary mathematical education sufficient to make you feel comfortable asking a cabbie to drop you off "two-thirds" of the way down the block? Or would you adjust that request to something like "a little more than half way down the block?"
What's with Paris Hilton's prison being called Twin Towers Correctional Facility? Is she even aware of the tragic fate of the Twin Towers or is her ignorance so dazzling and narcissism so complete that if she hears someone talking about the Twin Towers tragedy in the future she'll think they're referring to her prison stint?
Who is less brand loyal: The average crack addict or the average porn afficionado?
Is there really such a thing as an average crack addict or an average porn afficionado? Aren't they all really special in their own way?
Do you like the way "porn afficionado" is an extension of the elevating absurdity behind the term "gentlemen's club?"
What would be next: "Snuff film connoisseur?"
Was Bush's calling for a big environmental summit a cynical PR stunt to keep pressure off him before the G8 conference or does it reflect a sudden sincere change of heart? (NOTE: This is a less frequently asked question only because the answer is so patently obvious that no one would even bother asking it.)
OFFICE E-MAIL OF THE DAY:
I will be taking next Friday (6/15) as a personal day/Summer Friday. In an effort to harness my very limited cleverness resources towards exclusively work-related pursuits, I will refrain from attempting to say anything funny here. How did I do?
BOOK I WILL NEVER WRITE OF THE DAY:
Poems for Assisted Living.
First entry:
The eyes are the window of the soul.
And the cataracts are its gauzy curtains.
ART IDEA I WILL NEVER BOTHER TO EXECUTE OF THE DAY:
Photo-realist painting of an inverted fried egg...with the outside yellow and the yolk white.
OPTIMISTIC THOUGHT OF THE DAY:
Maybe the Pope will talk some sense into Bush. Maybe he's saying "Um...don't know how to break it to you George, but God told me that he didn't tell you to go to war with Iraq. So it's your word against his. And who am I going to believe?"
PESSIMISTIC THOUGHT OF THE DAY:
Pettiness. The lasting human legacy.
SPORTS-RELATED COMEDY OF THE DAY:
Ah the delicious irony of NY Post readers in an uproar over the Stray-Rod coverage. My favorite letter to the Editor, written entirely without irony:
"Since when did The Post drop itself down to a cheap tabloid Level?"
-Rob Carpentier Clifton, NJ.
Yes, from the venerable (or is it veneral?) publication that brought us "Headless man in Topless bar" and Page Six. I guess supporting the Yankees is the only value the Post Readers hold more sacred than the right to be cheaply titillated.
HONEST TO GOD OVERHEARD INTERACTION OF THE DAY:
Overheard in the aisle of Blockbuster .
-"Deja Vu." Hmm. Did we see that?
-I don't know.
-I'm not sure, but I have this feeling that we saw it.
OBSERVATION OF THE DAY:
I don't in any way want to be disrespectful to our troops. Lord knows, I support them. Whatever I may think of the Iraq war, I certainly and obviously have regard for the people who put their lives on the line in the military. But for goodness sakes: What is with the helicopter crashes! Don't they train anyone how to pilot a helicopter over there? Every single day it seems I am reading about another helicopter crashing and more troops dying. And it always seems that they are not being shot down by the enemy but are rather crashing into each other or into some other stationary obstacle. Like a tree. Or a cliff. Or they're just crashing because of mechanical failure. It really seems like maybe we should just do more stuff on the ground instead of the air. Like maybe build more schools or whatever. Anyhow, I'm no military genius, but it's just a thought.
It's funny: I actually attended a Memorial Day parade in Rowayton Ct and a few Black Hawk helicopters flew by as part of the proceedings. And as these magnificent machines of death and destruction flew by, all I was thinking was "God, no. PLEASE don't crash. Please don't let anyone be embarrassed here. Or killed." In some weird way, I felt sort of like I was a parent watching his child perform on stage. I felt protective of the freaking military. That is not a good sign.
MEDIA OBSERVATION OF THE DAY:
At the dentist’s office, I picked up People magazine for the first time in over a decade. As I recall, it used to be about celebs to some extent but largely a celebration ordinary people with extraordinary stories. Not any more! It seems that the fascination with famous people is so great in our culture right now that the only context in which we show any interest in so called ordinary people is when they are in the process of trying to become famous. Hence, the allure of American Idol, the Bachelor and all those other reality TV shows that opiate our great nation. It seems they should change the magazine's name from People to Famous People. Or People With High Q Ratings. Or People who like to read about More Famous People. Or something.
CURIOUS MEDIA MOMENT OF THE DAY:
The president of Bard College getting hissed on The Colbert Report for saying that man invented god. What was striking was that Colbert's usually simulated chagrin seemed, for a moment, truly genuine--the South Carolina Catholic peaking through the unflappably blowhardy character creation. But even more striking was that the academic's comment elicited hisses and boos from the presumably secular humanist crowd. Interesting and disorienting moment. It made me realize just how pervasive the religiousity in our culture has become--even in a presumed redoubt of secular humanistic sanity. Made me realize just how inadmissable it has become to declare yourself an atheist.
Which somehow brings to mind a fascinating headline I read just minutes ago:
Poll: Many Americans Believe in Both Evolution, Creationism.
http://news.yahoo.com/s/afp/20070608/lf_afp/usevolutionreligion
ILLUSIONS OF THE DAY:
The Illusion of Inclusion.
The Illusion of Progress.
The Illusion of Protection.
The Illusion of Control.
The Illusion on Concern.
The Illusion of Competence.
TEDDY VEGAS INTERACTIVE FEATURE OF THE DAY:
Rank the above illusions in terms of a) their prevalence and b) their importance.
RANDOM SINGLE SENTENCE PORTRAIT OF THE DAY:
While his stocks had a good quarter, he had a rough quarter...century.
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