Nostalgia and the Death of the Polaroid

Careful what you reject, you might become your parents.

If you haven’t heard yet, Kodak is discontinuing their Polaroid products by the end of this business quarter. This may seem like somewhat of a shock considering the level at which instant photography exist within our culture. Utilized by Warhol to your friends on Myspace, the Polaroid photo is a major element of the iconography that characterize the mid to late twentieth century. We all have memories connected to an instant photo. Its influence has permeated our society at an incalculable level.

With the sudden disappearance of the much beloved Polaroid photo, the question arises: Is film dead? Or maybe more precisely asked: Is everything that we have grown up with disappearing? The answer is a resounding yes.

People have already been predicting the death of the compact music disc for years. With advent of Ipod and downloadable music, we would be fooling ourselves to think that the CD is here to stay. The same is occurring to books. Sony recently released the E-Book which is equipped with a high pixel density display panel using what it calls "electronic paper". All our favorite novels may soon be read on a device that can fit in our back pocket.

While some embrace the arrival of advanced technology, many indulge in things of the past, take pleasure in their aesthetic appeal and reject the new. We all yearn for something from the past but this act of nostalgia is a reoccurrence with each generation. If you’re one who prides yourself on not having a Myspace or refusing to buy an Ipod, here is a little hint of what you’re becoming: exactly like your parents.

Rejecting the coming digital age may seem an inoffensive action, however such wistfulness for the past is an attitude that can have future implications rooted in bigger issues that are social in nature. And if you are not careful, such an attitude will lead you to be exactly like those you abhor now. Comedian Doug Standhope poignantly explains;

“Baby boomers are going to start to die in droves and it’s a good thing. Their day is over and there is new shit that they won’t accept. Old people look back at the good ole days and it was good because they were young and they act like it was the day. But no it was good because youth is good. That’s gone…your fucked. And now because it’s not the day anymore they got to reject anything that is new like we do with hip-hop if you’re in your 30’s and white. ‘That aint music…we had music back when 38. Special was around.’ What? We should kill ourselves because of the hypocrisy.”

While the context of such a statement is characterized by sarcasm Standhope has a point. At once, even our grandparents were young and hip. Slowly, as they got older they begin to dislike new art, technology and ideas. This probably happened around the same time they started tucking in their shirts and voting republican. Chances are that if you constantly reject the new, then you’ll do the exact same.

The point is that one should take caution in immediately snubbing what is the latest trend, technological innovation or cultural movement. Keeping an open-mind and attempting to understand the new and seemingly foreign is important to not simply prevent a recreation of the paradigm we exist in now (stubborn old conservatives running our country) but to create the necessary environment to progress into something socially better.

In a recent Harpers excerpt taken from his yet-to be released book In Defense of Lost Causes, Slovenian sociologist and cultural critic Slavoj Zizek attacked the modern leftist view that change can only come from existing and working on the fringes of the establishment.

“The lesson here is that the truly subversive thing is not to insist on “infinite” demands we know those in power cannot fulfill. So wonderful that, with your critical demands, you remind us what kind of world we would all like to live in. Unfortunately, we live in the real world where we have to make do with what is possible. The thing to do is, on the contrary, bombard those in power with strategically well-selected, precise, finite demands, which can’t be met with the same excuse.”

It starts with a rejection of many aspects of latest cultural trends and over time develops into a blindness where one cannot see beyond the ideologues and time period of our youth. It’s been said almost way too many times but the “times are-a changin’”. While this mantra may be interpreted by some that a transformation fitting our ideals is on the horizon, it is also a statement of constant renewal and rebirth.

To be truly radical, subversive or create the greatest possibility for change, one must work within the current, established framework. Plus, you’ll have a better chance of being that hip grandparent rather than the one who your grandkids loathe visiting on Sunday afternoons.

By the time you graduate you are already on the out and a new generation full of varying, and possibly different ideas is arriving. How will you react to their demands? Whatever you do, never consider immediate rejection. They deserve to be heard and considered just as much as we do now.

return of the 40?

Pabst Brewing Company has started a new marketing campaign that is attempting to garner appeal of their 40 oz. malt liquor brand Colt .45 towards young, urban youth. The campaign includes graphic novel style advertising and decorative brown paper bags.
Read the full story on Adage.

There is no denying that with the rise of hip-hop in America that many aspects of cultural iconography have been appropriated by middle-class white youth. The 40 oz. has and continues an element of that in some ways. (Some of us may remember the St. Ides commercials aired in the early 90’s featuring prominent hip-hop artists of the time)

However, the 40 oz. has also been considered a product that contributes to perpetuation of keeping urban poor communities down. (lots of alcohol for a cheap price has never led to good results)

Pabst’s attempt at making the 40oz. hip is a bizarre response to the continued appropriation of urban, hip-hop culture. It’s also sort of amusing…I wonder if it still costs a $1.99?

Thoughts?

Article

In conclusion to my previous Stewart/Colbert blog...go to Campus Progress to see my recently published article.

Digg It, Stumble, Delicious IT...Whatever...help the article get some traction PLEASE.

Writers Strike

As of Monday, The Daily Show and Colbert Report will join Leno and Conan with shows returning without writers. One can't help but feel sentiments of disappointment in Stewart and Colbert who have seemed over the last years to have become a credible news source while maintaining a level of satirical edge that is wholly unique from almost any news program in the U.S.

Before passing judgement we will have to see how they handle the topic of the strike. However, both host have seemingly established a reputation amongst the American public (especially that of college students) as representative voices for those who desire an alternative to the stuffy news anchors of CNN or borderline comedic right-wing slant of FOX. The establishment of such reputations have caused us to expect alot out of them.

Furthermore, with the unlikely emergence of David Letterman as the vanguard supporter of the strike with the recent deal struck between the his World Wide Pants Inc and the WGA; Colbert and Stewart’s actions are looking even all that more disappointing. This has been further emphasized by Letterman's stauch support of the WGA on his most recent episodes since the strike beginning on January 2nd.

In addition, lest we forget his recent addition of a beard (which will unfortunately go away on Monday) which feels like a possible subtle stab at the heads of CBS who no doubt prefer a clean-shaven appearance. (Note: Conan has also grown a beard under what he stated as "solidarity" with the writers on strike. We will see if it stays...)

Of course, Letterman is in a better position that other hosts since he owns the rights to his show. Nevertheless, one can't help but feel that we expect more out of our beloved Stewart and Colbert.

Should we hold them to such standards? Maybe not...but either way we should wait to see what happens Monday.

Godot

Am i cheating by throwing up my articles on here? I don't think so. Here is the most recent addition to Curmudgeon Corner. I think this is probably the best one I have written so far. Able to actually get my thoughts down the way I would like in 900 words or less.

enjoy...

The art of waiting for our Godot’s

“Have you not done tormenting me with your accursed time? It's abominable! When! When!”- Waiting for Godot

November 3, 2007 was opening night for the outdoor performance of Samuel Beckett's Waiting for Godot in the lower Ninth Ward of New Orleans. Journalist Cain Burdeau of the Associated Press was in attendance and described the outside setting of the play as surrounded by “ruined houses still untouched since they were flooded by roof-deep water.”
The lower Ninth Ward in New Orleans is one of the poorest sections of New Orleans and was most affected by the destruction of Hurricane Katrina. Today, much of area is still destroyed and has yet to be rebuilt.

This rendition of Beckett’s play, which centers around two men attempting to escape boredom while they wait for the elusive Godot, draws intentional parallels between the characters awaiting his arrival (which never happens) and the residents of a destroyed city awaiting the help of the Red Cross, FEMA Vouchers and other government aid. Marked with elements of existential doubt and moments of insanity, the themes throughout “Godot” additionally connect to the daily condition of life in the Ninth Ward that its residence must experience.
Director of the play and artist Paul Chan expands on the similarity between the play’s theme and the state of the place it is being set in.

“The longing for the new is a reminder of what is worth renewing…“Godot” was my way of re-imagining the empty roads, the debris, and, above all, the bleak silence as more than the expression of mere collapse. There is a terrible symmetry between the reality of New Orleans post-Katrina and the essence of this play, which expresses in stark eloquence the cruel and funny things people do while they wait: for help, for food, for tomorrow.”

The theme of waiting is something that seems to permeate our society on various different levels. Most of these experiences are not that of what Katrina victims have had to endure. However, all of us live our lives in anticipation. We are characterized by a perpetually waiting for something or someone that can be emblematic of our own, personal “Godot”. Despite its different interpretations, Beckett’s play is wholly connected the human experience in society and on a universal level.

If you are religious, you are constantly waiting for a savior, the after-life, or that moment when the space between the divine and one’s earthly existence can be bridged. For others, it can be a life constantly in pursuit of an ambition or that which will make you sense a purpose. Some live their lives as it comes but are not free from societal constructs leaving us in a long grocery line, or stuck on the freeway as time flees by, making us late or simply cheating us from our freedom of how to spend those lost minutes.

As Katrina victims in the Ninth ward know, waiting is tedious and unbearable.
"We waited for Red Cross. We waited for George Bush. We waited for rescue. We waited for housing…" stated 53-year-old Tyrone Graves as reported by to the Associated Press on the night of Godot’s opening.
Yet this can also further emphasize a great outcome or a tragic end. All of mankind must at some moment experience both these polarities.

Waiting was the prisoners of Auschwitz on those last few days before liberation. It is what the third-world child experiences as they await sustenance, the soldier for his target, the elder on their death bed or nine month pregnant mother. It is our sense of anticipation as we wait for our hair turning the color of ash, the orgasm, the alarm clock to ring, the day to be over, dinner, the light to turn green.

And yet all these are more that just solely the act of waiting; they are events that change and define our passing time. Thus the essence of waiting lies in the experience of the moments which we “wait”.

The characters of “Godot”, despite all their longing, are able to discuss and comprehend the nuances of their waiting. What is discovered is a necessary of the “now”. One is only “waiting” if one lets it be that. There is still time to operate until then.

Kierkegaard wrote that “unhappy individuals who hope never have the same pain as those that remember. Hoping individuals always have a more gratifying disappointment”. By constantly committing the recollection of what is to come but continues to not occur disallows us the ability to hope. Yet, to wait and constantly remain in a wishful anticipation and desire is a whole other kind of waiting. It allows us to forget and no longer see our waiting as idle, and ultimately allows us to better act and exist in that condition of waiting.

The residence of the ninth ward assuredly believe that to be able to continue and exist in their devastating condition, they must find a certain balance between all of that which is, and an attitude of continual hope for what may or may not come. It an unfortunate lot to be in. However, to a certain degree it is something that is universally experienced. “Waiting for Godot” and the situation of the ninth ward is a precisely appropriate coupling and a stirring testament towards our human condition. The result is an uncommon example of real life closely interacting with art.

“Let us not waste our time in idle discourse! Let us do something while we have the chance! It is not every day that we are needed. Not indeed that we personally are needed…But at this place, at this moment of time, all mankind is us, whether we like it or not. Let us make the most of it, before it is too late! Let us represent worthily for once the foul brood to which a cruel fate consigned us!” –Waiting for Godot

The Struggle to be Wholly American

Is it possible to be wholly American? This is a topic that seems to have come up time and again in late night conversations with friends at a bar or over a cup of tea. One of the most fascinating things about America is that no one wholly claims to be "American". We always refer our identity back to some ancestral home. Everything from how well we can drink, to the color of hair, to perhaps an argumentative nature is often attributed to the country/culture of our families supposed origin. Or rather, as far back as most of us can trace. It is rare, that any of us claim to be completely American.
The big joke of course at least in my circle of friends is, "well who would want to be?". I am of course partially guilty of this. I have aspirations of living for lengthy periods of time in my life abroad. I have a strong affinity to most things European. And while I would definitely not categorize myself as being what one would think of as a "typical American", it cannot be denied that no matter how much I would like to contribute myself to my European ancestors, the reality is...I'm just an American. not Scottish-German, not French-English...I am American.

Having unfortunately come to that conclusion, the question arises of what exactly that entails. Strangely, being an American is extremely hard to define or even generalize into a stupid-cliche because of the fact that so many of us still do identify with our cultural heritage that goes beyond the states.
There are obviously other reasons for this. (We are big country and Americans vary vastly depending what part of the states you are in, etc.) Nevertheless, it seems to mainly because of our big, ole "melting pot" mentality that causes it to be so difficult to completely identify or correctly describe what it exactly means to be American. (sounds like some essay question for junior high students to win some money and trip to D.C. or something right?)
Many may immediately interject at my utilization of describing America as having a "melting pot mentality". And they would be correct to say that there definitely has been numerous incidents of intolerance, skepticism and downright violent acts against other cultures in our nation's history. Recent events haven't proven otherwise in lieu of the building of a wall on our Mexican border and a general sentiment from conservatives that Mexicans are stealing our jobs and social welfare. However, an irony exists in all of that which is apparent to most of us and defends my usage of "melting pot mentality"; those people may not want them to be in our country but damned if we are gonna stop eating their food, watching their sports players, listening to their music, reading their translated books, etc etc.
The truth is that in America, we are constantly effected by other cultures. This is becoming a symptom of the entire world with the onslaught of a globalization. However, in America we have the privilege to experience many different cultures on various different levels. We are a nation built off of immigration, its in our backyard. How can we not be constantly affected by other cultures?

Unfortunately, our tendency to co-opt these other cultures and integrate them into our american society can sometimes have negative affects on that specific culture. We seem to have a skill at turning them often times into some sort of bastardized, westernized version of what it was originally. This causes misinterpretations and often lessens it into nothing more but consumerist trends. Essentially, this can often take away from that culture. Our co-opt of that culture can over time (usually from well-intentioned but overly liberal tendencies) can blend the differences between us and the culture. Overtime, this in turn seems develops a negative stigma when our differences are openly identified. ( i.e. describing a white kid who "dresses black" isn't me perpetuating a generalization about black people but accurately identifying that gee whiz...maybe there is a large contingency of black people in this country who have a very distinct fashion sense that is different from the way the average white suburbanite dresses. Who are you to take that away from them? Why is that negative again? How did everyone forget where rock n roll came from? No one seems to freak out when an asshole wearing a beret is described as looking 'french') Basically, there is nothing wrong with identifying differences. In fact, they are good to identify as long as they are respected. Unfortunately, it doesn't seem to be often realized or thought that white kids sporting dreads and listening to bob marley may be a subversive way of contributing to the transformation of jamaican rastafarian culture from something spiritual and sincere to a trendy american fad.

I hypothesize that much of this may have to do with the problem that exist within the original question of this blog, what does it mean to be American? It seems as though we are constantly in a state of identity crisis and thus are constantly searching for any connection we have to other cultures, countries, etc. While strange to say, it seems that the one defining characteristic of our country is to take other cultures, integrate it and have it become apart of us. Or maybe... like us until we can say they are 'us'? (Foucault and the body? Maybe...have to ask Grant about that one.)

This can also of course be applied to our current war in Iraq carried out under the guise of "bringing democracy and freedom to the Iraqi people". What makes us think that our western ideas of democracy and freedom are the perfect solution for everyone else. Is democracy and freedom the ONLY way to solidly identify ourselves as Americans?
I like to think not. In fact, I know from having the fortunate experience of growing up in a very culturally-mixed area of the country that there are a lot of good/interesting and unique things that are wholly and only american. Its just a bit more convoluted and confusing and not always entirely identifiable.

2- I read an interesting article about the life of Thomas Bernhard in a recent issue of The Believer. (yes, I am bring up Bernhard again). It basically described how Bernhard had a clear distaste for the customs of his country-Austria. However, on the other hand, he refused to ever learn another language because he wanted his novels to be wholly Austrian and unaffected by other cultures. Obviously, this is partially impossible. And yes, it sounds slightly nationalistic. However, anyone who has read Bernhard knows that this isn't the case. He merely wanted to be as in touch with where he came from as possible. This in turn, Bernhard hoped, would be revealed within his writings.
Reading this, once again lead me to the question of how could I write and be wholly, truely American in style. Thinking of American literature, who comes to mind? Hemingway? Funny how all his novels take place in Europe and that he spent most of his time NOT in America. Carl Sandberg poetry? -Staunch Socialist. Faulkner? Perhaps. Even then, Faulkner is such a perfect representation of American literature from a certain, specific area in America. One which I cannot identify with at all. It is almost like I am reading a foreign novel. Nevertheless, it brought up an interesting point of discussion which I feel like can be expanded and stretched in a variety of different ways.
In conclusion, being American to me still kind of is annoying and gross. The eagle and the red, white and blue, and cowboy hats and all that. It makes me want to barf. But then look at what it is to be American through who you are, and who your friends are, and it suddenly becomes a bit easier to swallow. I don't think I realized this until I traveled abroad. It didn't really make me 'home sick' but it made me realize that it isn't all that bad back home.
nevertheless, i still want to live in europe.
i'll catch my baseball games via internet...hahahaha...
(p.s. this post was inspired mostly by some recent posts from a couple of my friends...sorry if i stole)

Get active(tense)

Second installment of Curmudgeon Corner coming out in a week or two...getting sorta serious and political in this one. And dare I say...hopeful too...


Our Idle Crime

A popular sticker ambiguously stating the date 1/20/2009, implying Bush's last day in office, has been a common sight in Portland for the last several years. I eagerly wait that day along with many of us. However the sticker instigates more than just feelings of hopeful anticipation, but also reveals a much bigger predicament that much damage can still be down from now until that date.
The easiest thing to do in America right now in regards to issues of politics and the state of our civic environment is to point the finger at Bush. And while Bush and co. are the primary individuals for the mess that we and a new cabinet come 2009 will have to face, it is no longer enough to simply sit and discuss it. Does anyone actually believe that getting Bush out of office will suddenly change everything? Continuing to put our faith (and vote) into those opposing him and his policies is proving to do very little. More must be done.
Unfortunately the American people are looking passive and easily controllable. Comparative to our history, the drive of the American people to organize and instigate social and political change is at a low point. The lack of organized protest against the policies of our government is a clear indication of our disillusionment. Yet the absence our dedication is the greatest crime that any anti-war, anti-Bush or anti-conservative American can do right now. Stickers and conversations are not enough. Scrawling “fu*k Cheney” on a bathroom stall in thick, black pen is a mute point.
Is this passiveness the fate of our future? Or can we once again become a country that doesn’t so easily draw their opinion according to party lines but whether or not the social welfare and interest of the greater population is being addressed and met? United we are not, but divided does not need to imply idleness and inactivity.
The issues at hand are not one’s that many of us would disagree over. One would be hard-pressed to find a strong contingent of people in this country who openly supports the justification of torture, the deterioration of privacy or the growing dictatorial inflation executive powers.
The war in Iraq, the failing infrastructure of our nation, our growing national debt, the destruction of our education system, and the increasingly important issue of climate change are all enough to make you mad. But how much of is a priority to you? How much do you really do? What does it take to cause mass strikes and protests in America today?
The answer has yet to be determined. However the likelihood is seemingly bleak. Why? Well, consider your life:
Can you still go to the movies? Can you still play your Nintendo Wii? Can you still check Myspace? Can you still spend an evening in a bar with your opinions and friends? Yes, you can. And as long as a majority of us are still can participate in these activities then major social or political change seems doomed to fail.
In the most recent issue of Harpers, author Garret Keizer wrote an article determining that the greatest depredation Bush’s presidency has caused is the pillaging of hope in the American people. Keizer goes on to call for a general strike by all Americans that would entail a major curtail of consumption, work and activities involving communication such as watching TV or utilizing a cell phone. Despite its passion and logical points of contention against American idleness, the article reads like an unlikely pipe-dream. However, Keizer is quick to attack such disbelief:
“…how readily and with what well-practiced assurance would your find yourself producing the words “It won’t do any good”? Plausible and even courageous in the mouth of a patient who knows he’s going to die, the sentiment fits equally well in the heart of a citizenry that believes it is already dead.”
Over the last seven years America has proven to be almost unwilling to habitually participate in such movements. On Sunday we are protesting, but by Monday we are back at school and our jobs. It is as if we have forgotten how to properly and effectively demonstrate. And that should bother you.
Right now, closing the growing disparity between us and the bureaucrats that run this country is an essential action that must be taken. We must show not only our current administration but those that will come after it as well that the future of our fate will be determined by us.
Can we be assured that a new president will be enough to steer us back into the right direction? The state our current situation should be enough to not allow one to feel safely guaranteed.
Consider: How many soldiers and civilians will die while we wait for the next president, or congressional discussion to arrive? How many prisoners at Abu Ghraib will get tortured? Or as Keizer presented in his article through the eloquent words of the Chilean poet César Vallejo:

“A man shivers with cold, coughs spits
up blood.
Will it ever be fitting to allude to my inner soul?...
A cripple sleeps with one foot on his
shoulder.
Shall I later on talk about Picasso, of
all people?...
Someone is cleaning a rifle in his kitchen,
What’s the worth of talking about the Beyond?”


A bomb explodes in Iraq killing civilians and soldiers?
Shall I play videogames?

a humanist poem.

The poem below I feel like almost reads my thoughts. It is also how i feel sometimes about academics, philosophy, etc...
However, the real reason for me putting this poem up will make more sense with my next blog; which will be an article I recently wrote.
for now enjoy...


A man walks by with a stick of bread on his shoulder.
Am I going to write, after that, about my double?

Another sits, scratches, extracts a louse from his armpit, kills it.
How dare one speak about psychoanalysis?

Another has entered my chest with a stick in hand.
To talk then about Socrates with the doctor?

A lame man passes by holding a child's hand.
After that am I going to read Andre Breton?

Another trembles from cold, coughs, spits blood.
Will it ever be possible to allude to the profound I?

Another searches in the mud for bones, rinds.
How write, after that, about the infiinte?

A bricklayer falls from a roof, dies and no longer eats lunch.
To innovate, then, the trope, the metaphor?

A merchant cheats a customer out of a gram.
To speak, after that, about the fourth dimension?

A banker falsifies his balance sheet.
With what face to cry in the theater?

An outcast sleeps with his foot on his back.
To speak, after that, to anyone about Picasso?

Someone going to a burial sobbing.
How then become a member of the Academy?

Somone cleans a rifle in his kitchen.
How dare one speak about the beyond?

Someone passes by counting with his fingers.
How speak of the not-i without screaming?

-Cesar Vallejo

concrete

An extra blog to make up for my lost week....

I took a walk briefly, today with the intention of taking these photos. All of the sidewalks in Portland are marked and etched with the names and numbers of the streets. They are also marked with the year and the name of the company that laid and formed the sidewalks of our city. All of the sidewalks across Portland from downtown to the more residential areas are like this. The names vary but the years are usually sometime between 1900 to about 1924.

I recently wrote an entry about the strange, fervor and pride I have of being working class. Or at least, I look upon my working class with a sort of respect and am happy with how it has influenced me as a person.
However, a strange thought occurred to me the other day while walking to work. As always, I notice the names and dates of the sidewalks I pass and I realized how lasting the work of these men is. These concrete sidewalks influence how we move and travel throughout our neighborhood and the city. Furthermore, with the exception of the random repair, these sidewalks have held up for over a hundred years. Surely, the men who helped have all passed on. Many, if not all of them, are probably mostly forgotten, nameless individuals who existence is probably no longer even in the memories of the living. However, these men were able to produce something extremely important and lasting that has carried on well beyond their own lives. Blue collar, hard laborers but were still able to contribute to something lasting.

Of course, these concrete sidewalks will probably not always exist. As everything does they will corrode and eventually fall apart and disappear. Nevertheless, as I was walking to my job of making pizzas, I couldn’t help but compare these men to my work. What is lasting about making pizzas? If anything, it’s contributing to obesity, high blood pressure and an eventual heart attack to hundreds of people a day. What am I contributing or helping? To appease hungry individuals? In realty, there is nothing lasting nor all that redeemable about making pizzas.
However, it is not a necessity to live a life dedicated to the production or contribution to something lasting and important. There is something to be said about the individual who comes and passes this life like a shadow. What they did may not help guide cars and pedestrians, house families for generations, educate, etc. However, surely they had friends, maybe a family, brought momentary satisfaction, happiness, pleasure, advice or ease to others. Maybe they lived a completely isolated life but one day pitched a coin to a man in need on their way home. Maybe they were not even what we term as “good people”. Surely, we are complicated beings. Nevertheless, there is something fascinating and worthy of note about a life lived that left very little that will last beyond the next generation. A life like this is acceptable as well. However, after 9 hours of making pizzas, cleaning floors and chopping vegetables, it is sometimes hard to find anything of worth in the work I do.

I can’t help but go back to Mr.Ramsay reflecting upon his work in To the Lighthouse. Father of nine, famed thinker and professor, and still a intense desire to leave the world with so much that is lasting. He reflects…

“The liftmen in the Tube is an eternal necessity.”

It makes him feel ill but he comes to terms with this thought. It is okay, the men are a necessity.

I reflect…

Is the boy in the kitchen making pizza an eternal necessity?

No, he is not. The most tragic thing I can think of is of someone flipping burgers for 9 hours and then on their way home meeting a sudden death. Their last nine hours were spent over a stove. It is a rather pessimistic thought and doesn’t help me get out of bed in the morning. Nevertheless, while the boy is not an eternal necessity, while he is leaving nothing lasting in his work, there are reasons in his life that he must do this right now. To eat, to have coffee with a friend and sit in a park, to travel and see a bit of the world, to provide, etc. It must be done for himself.

All discussions of anarchy, communism and the world developing into a certain utopia where we work for free to provide for everyone are always fun. But I wash them down the drain every morning with the excess juice from the sausage I just cooked in a 600 degree oven.

For now I have to learn to be okay with this. And hell…it is a tired, old saying but doesn’t hurt to think of sometimes…There is always somebody who has it worst.

How can I not be true to myself? How can I not seek out that which I want and is best for my well-being? So much in my life prevents me from doing this. How can I not try and spend my few, daily hours away from work how I want? It would be a crime unto myself to not.

Two poems by carl sandburg that I once wrote across a bedroom wall that I now can’t help but reference as a conclusion:

Under the harvest moon,
when the soft silver
Drips shimmering
Over the garden nights,
Death, the gray mocker,
Comes and whispers to you
As a beautiful friend
Who remembers.

Under the shimmering roses
When the flagrant crimson
Lurks in the dusk
Of the wild red leaves,
Love, with little hands,
Comes and touches you
With a thousand memories,
And ask you
Beautiful, unanswerable questions.

---

Happiness

I asked the professors who teach the meaning of life to tell me
what is happiness.

And I went to famous executives who boss the work of thou-
sands of men.

They all shook their heads and gave me a smile as though I
was trying to fool with them.

And then one Sunday I wandered out along the
Desplaines river
And I saw a crowd of Hungarians under the trees with their
women and children and a keg of beer and an accordion.

Some of his poetry should be written across the walls of restaurant kitchens, garbage trucks, the handles of hammers and the sidewalks of every city.

blame Ernest...

Last week I heard an interview on NPR with Annie Dillard. For those of you not familiar, she is the author of “Pilgrim at Tinker Creek” and is mainly known for her narrative fiction. I have read one and a half books by her. They are reasonably decent and mostly consist of musings on faith, religion, herself , life and nature interspersed with an activity she finds herself doing. (i.e. walking in a forest, throwing up sandbags during a storm, etc.) I don’t particularly find anything entirely redeemable about her books. They seem to contain similar thoughts that any person would have during their life or everyday actions. These musings don’t offer much in the way of intellect or revelatory thoughts on life other than to stress that one must take the time to really experience it. Maybe that’s the point and that is fine. I just find her to be a lot like what talking to your sort of strange, earthy aunt or grandma would be like. From what I have read, it plays out like a modern-day Walden; only not as insightful.

Ironically enough, this interview on NPR displayed her as just that. It was very enjoyable for the most part but there was something she said that really bothered me. She recently released a work of fiction (only her 2^nd) and apparently she had written around 1200 pages at first. After this, she somehow was able to pair it down to a little over 200. She explained that she did this by closely editing the 1200 pages so that what was left was that which was necessary. No extra descriptions or overly-long paragraphs. She even explained that she cut down sentences in an attempt to cut out that which was not necessary. In the conversation she mentioned Hemingway and how he was a journalist before writing The Torrents of Spring and The Sun Also Rises. She mentioned his tight, easy prose and then Annie Dillard stated that, “When it comes to writing, we have learned everything from Hemingway.”

Now, I don’t necessarily fully disagree with what she is saying. Yes, it is a bit of an outlandish statement that EVERYTHING we have learned from writing since his existence is because of him. Nevertheless, it made me think of modern American literature since Hemingway and the statement begins to make a bit of sense. Who is at the top of popular American fiction? What books are on that list?

A Tom Clancy novel?

How about The Da Vinci Code?

Elmore Leonard?

How about a little less popular. How about those who can be candidates for being in some sort of canon (oops… I said it) in let’s say…hmm…200 years.

Joyce Carol Oates?

Tim O’Brien?

Okay, Okay but how about a little less popular but trying to do something a little bit less main stream.

Chuck Palahniuk?

I could make an arguement for all of the above as being highly influenced by Hemingway.

Yeah but what about Pynchon! He isn't influenced by Hemingway.

Ahh…here we go…now there is somebody who is doing something that isn’t Hemingway like. And yes, although I hate to say it neither is David Foster Wallace. And although I could easily make the argument that he is in fact following a Hemingway-esque style…I guess Dave Eggers isn’t entirely either. Although, I have read nothing but his first novel which I thumb my nose at and isnt that really a work of non-fiction anyways? Note: If you are sitting here wondering why Don DeLillo, Cormac McCarthy or Toni Morrison and probably a few others (although not too many) have not been mentioned then shoot me, I haven’t read them yet. (getting to it…)

The POINT is that upon hearing Annie Dillard say this, I was at first in total disagreement but then I came to realize that to a certain degree she is actually somewhat right. And to further that realization, it dawned on me that perhaps that is the problem I have with so much American Literature. From what I can tell Hemingway is all about the story. By whichI mean to say, there is a focus on what happens; the events, how the plot plays out. This is opposed to a focus on the internal reactions, the memory or all the minutes and hours in-between these events. In fiction by Hemingway, it is the story that is most important. Sure, there are small, intricate details about those stories and the characters that make him great but 46 years after his death, do we still need to be writing like him? It may be also a symptom of our culture and contemporary society, but I don’t particularly see anything wrong with a story about very little or even a story about nothing. (But you know not in that Seinfeld sense because then we are just turning into a David Sedaris memoir, yuck.) It seems that a story about the insanity of what the mind must endure every waking hour in our highly-technological world or a story about how definitive reality is becoming less and less discernable (perhaps it never has been, I know but roll with me…) is lacking. Not entirely absent but seriously lacking. It is a strange thing to declare and desire but I find lots of American literature to be overflowing with that which is overly focused on the "story", the short tight, easy prose, or written very much in the vein of realism.(just like Papa Ernest.)

Frankly, it’s boring. It’s making life boring.

I was writing the other day and I suddenly became overwhelmed with the possibility that I had just written ten pages of nothing. I expressed my discontent and Amy said, “So what?”

How true. Who cares? I am tired of story-driven fiction and I am tired of most realism. There is no problem with telling about real-life events but when I write, I am attempting depict life in a way that is accurate but wholly interesting and far from realism. This sounds a bit like an oxymoron and yes, maybe that is exactly what it is. I am trying to accurately write about life but I am tried of realism. Surreal-realism? Sure, why not.

Furthermore, there is enough non-fiction, true-life stories out there. Why would we write fictitious ones? What would motivate someone to do this? If it is to write a great “story”, then honestly, I find that laughable. I could care less about writing a “story”; there are enough of great “stories” out there that have actually happened.

I am writing to fill the void, to fill what is missing when these stories are re-told. Thoughts, reflections, the mundane, the misery, the imagination, perception, “stinky” the trashcan (see last blog), all compiled into a huge mess that is my or someone else’s brain and spit back out at you. And do take note, it will come in long sentences, with lots of commas.

Its not that there isn’t anything redeeming about the authors mentioned above (although I would argue that there isn’t with some of them). Nor is it that I am declaring that realism isn’t legitimate or that is doesn’t contain anything compelling. Nor is there necessarily a problem with weeding out the unnecessary in your writing. (sure, Pynchon could probably use an editor) Rather, I am merely making the observation that there is too much of it and that there is very little out there that is today, accurately describing contemporary first world life without falling into either “story”-driven narratives or a focus on that which is absurd and ironic. I currently loathe contemporary examples of both.

In all sounds like a lot of youthful, heated manifesto-like speaking…I know. So what…I working towards something…all of this is helping getting me there.

I blame Hemingway for all of this.

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in a side note, i am still trying to figure out what to do with this blog. I have noticed that it comes almost weekly. Therefore, I think I am going to to stick to that. I got other things to write and read and i refuse to write a detailed account of what I have been doing. however, i have also come to find that this blog has been working as almost a rough draft for more elaborate essays and articles that i end up writing. its almost like a notepad that i scribble all my ideas out upon and then later go back to, expand, and touch up. unfortunately, you don't get the final draft of it. sorry...i guess...should i be sorry for writing a blog? this is absurd..hopefully it will not always turn out this way.