Love Parts: A Tabloid Fantasy...

I can’t for the life of me remember what we were watching on television, but I can remember what we talking about…which is pretty weird if you think about it. Anyhow, sometime after the Thanksgiving feast, I informed my parents that one of my childhood friends was going through a divorce. It happens. In fact, it seems to be the thing to do these days. I wouldn’t exactly know. I’m not married. Never have been. Probably never will be.

          Of course, my mother and brother offered platitudes, but I wondered whether my father had even heard me. He seemed entirely occupied with channel surfing until, all of a sudden, he decided to offer his two cents…as he is wont to do….

          “I never liked that guy.” Funny, I hadn’t realized he’d ever met my friend’s estranged husband. “He though he was real hot shit.” He did? I met the guy once…I think. The only impression I ever had of him was that he didn’t make much of an impression. He was like some white dude with some hair. And he had eyes and clothes and stuff. Oh, and he ate…I definitely remember him eating. But never mind all of that.
          The old man was on a roll. He proceeded to sketch out a quite fascinating character. The old man presumed knew to know this type, the type that starts of nice then slowly devolves into mental abuse soon to be followed by “a little smacking around.” It reminded me of something out of Dostoyevsky. Boy. You woulda thought this guy woulda made more of an impression on me. Of course, he was most certainly “fucking around,” probably even “spending a lot of jack on some young girlfriend,” maybe even "in hock" over it. Okay. That's enough. This has gone too far. Someone has to say something. ...Hey! I’m someone! [continued after the jump]

The Politics of Fandom; or, The Boots are All Reverbed Out

Those who know me will know that I have very little to be disappointed about with regards to the recent elections. Having said that, I found myself often disappointed in process of the campaign. The whole way it all went down. You know. The usual liberal complaints. Money seemed to dominate the nature of the discourse. The media promoted horse races and conventional thinking rather than raising new issues. No one advocated for peace. Or civil liberties. Or gun control. Or proposed any new ideas to address the crisis in K though 12 education. Or the environment. Or poverty.

Instead we got a whole lotta fear and loathing. Fear and loathing. Fear and loathing. Blah blah blah.

But now is the winter of our discontent as we go through the Reconstruction phase of our Cold Civil War. So nothing—no nothing—disturbed me further than the incoherent diatribe offered by one of my heroes at the Republican National Convention. I mean, I knew Clint Eastwood was a Republican…but I didn’t know he was one of those Republicans. Maybe I was in denial, but after he starred in a Chrysler commercial during that last Super Bowl, I just assumed that he was the sort of centrist GOPer who took one look at the Tea Party and said, “Thanks, but no thanks. I’ll be quietly voting for Obama this time. Call me back when y’all finish your deprogramming.” But alas…in a performance which awkwardly evoked all of my dead grandparents at once he engaged in a garbled angry tussle with an empty bar stool. Oh well. [continued after the jump]

Are You Better Off?

            We call the politicians who hold elected office our “leaders.” And just maybe that’s what is wrong with America. The guy I voted for last time around inspired us to “hope” and convinced us to make a “change,” a change of party and culture. The problem is that “hope” and “change” are not policies: they are concepts, one-word concepts to shape the brand “Obama.” It's just marketing. The guys he runs against always seem to be for “freedom” or “country first” or “believing in America.” Maybe you voted for McCain, or maybe you plan to vote for Romney. Anyhow, we probably vote with a more similar attitude than you realize. We pull lever for the empty term and then expect the empty term to make America just peachy. We decide that, when candidates say “freedom” or “hope,” they understand that term exactly as we do, exactly as all Americans do, and that we will get freedom and hope.

            But that’s not how it works. The thing that gives me hope may dash yours, and your freedom may come at the expense of mine.

But Seriously...LOL

            In the realm of technology, I tend to be something of a luddite, a person who is comfortable with the way things are and reluctant to jump into anything “tech-y” with both feet.  While I was an early adopter of the cell phone (summer 1999), I didn’t buy a smart phone until earlier this year. My first CD player? Christmas, 1990. In fact, I went off to college in 1993 without a personal computer.  When I changed majors from biology to English, I liberated an electronic typewriter from my parents’ home office.  That was 1996. But since I’m in the education game, I've come to terms with the fact that I need to get on board with new technologies before my colleagues start whispering about my peculiar relationship with my overhead projector.

            Having said that, once I take on a new technology I tend to run with it. I check my phone a couple times an hour these days. I visit four or five websites on a daily basis. And after a friend convinced me to create a Facebook profile in 2008, I began an obsession with “sharing” my “status,” pictures of my daughter, videos for songs I’m diggin at the time, and, most often, politicizing. I am a political junky...have been since the ’84 election. I was probably the only nine-year old in Chesterfield that had a resentment against Ronald Reagan. And when my senior-year American Civ teacher asked if anyone in class knew who Bob Packwood was, I was, of course, the only student who could name the then Senator from Oregon; he'd recently had to resign because he was sexually harassing his female aides, I informed the class.
            Politics is an important part of my actual, real life personality. Not surprisingly, it is also a part of my virtual personality. I post any interesting articles I read, news clips I see, and, yes, I used to (like three months ago...ahem...okay! okay! it was like last month) get in stupid debates in comment threads. But after reading Stephen Greenblatt’s Pulitzer Prize winning book on Lucretius and the epicurean philosophy, I’ve been tempted to recede from the electronic, and hence political, world...just a bit. But who am I kidding? It’s election season!

            And, besides, what else would I do on Facebook?

            Apparently, this usage of Facebook is not appreciated by all of my “friends.” Recently, I have come across status updates that say something like, “Facebook used to be fun. Now everyone just posts politics and news.” I’m tempted to chime in…to chide you for being such a frivolous person...but that's your business so I resist that temptation…tho maybe I’m giving into it here…in this blog post. Why?

            Over the past couple of days I’ve been doing my small part to dispel the lie that President Obama’s Affordable Care Act (commonly referred to as “Obamacare”) cuts hundreds of billions of dollars from Medicare. I know full well just how much you care about that important issue. (This point of policy is not the point of this post, so if you want my take, just ask. I anticipate an overwhelming number of inquiries, so please be patient. I'm understaffed.) In response to my posting of an enlightening editorial in The New Republic treating the Romney-Ryan campaign's hypocrisy on the issue, one of my “friends” added the following comment: “Can't you just start a blog and leave all of us carefree Facebookers in peace?” 

             Oh, the irony. Anyone who is friends with me in any way, shape, or form knows that I write a blog (very occasionally these days…more on that in a note at the bottom).

            Of course, I found this highly insulting, but that wouldn’t provoke me to write a blog post. More to the point is that Facebook is an open forum, a place for me to be me and you to be you…virtually.  Seemingly, this individual felt that I had violated some unwritten rule of Facebook. Odd, dontchya think? Still, I am wondering what Facebook is for? Did I violate some rule? What is Facebook's purpose? Dunno… Dunno… Some of my “friends” I don’t even know, and some of my closest associates in real life aren’t on the book. And does any of my Facebook ranting on taxes or infrastructure or foreign conflicts or  human rights or debt debacles do any good? Dunno… Dunno… There probably is no single answer to these questions.

And, just as interestingly, people often use Facebook in ways that irk me too. Yet, I have found a way—actually quite a few ways—to cope with the horrifying experience of laying eyes on a somewhat annoying post. Here goes:

1.      You can accept that people are going to post things that annoy you and move on to the posts you are interested in.  This is what I do when you post pictures of your cat. Or when you share a meme that glosses over a complex aspect of being with a sappy and sentimental cliché. Or, in a subtype of the preceding, you post a quotation from the Bible. Or anything else you post that makes me feel a little embarrassed for you.

2.      You can “hide” posts from individuals who habitually post things that annoy you.  You will remain “friends,” and they will never know that their posts never see the daylight of your news feed. This is what I do when you continually post pictures of your cat or habitually try to get me to come see your country band or post “status” updates that amount to telling me that you are buying milk or are cleaning your apartment or car or are headed to the doctor…again and again and again. This is a great option when you don’t want to insult someone by utilizing the tactical nuclear weapon of social networking, which leads me to…

3.      You can defriend people. That’s right. You can defriend people.  This is what I do when people say something I find downright offensive. Unless I am blatantly confronted by your racism or sexism or homophobia, I will probably not say anything. But if you post something racist, I will probably defriend you.  This is what I did to the asshole who told me to start a blog.  And you know what, if I offend you with my posts, you can feel free to defriend me. Agreed?

There. Now I hope we all feel better. Now I can return to my crusade to save the world from the evil forces of Right Wing Extremism and you are now armed with the skills to avoid my crusade. And I will likewise remain blissfully ignorant of just how cute your cat is because I fucking hate cats. Have a nice day.

[Note: I realize posts have been rare these months. I will continue to update The Manic Room when I have something to say, but I am currently engulfed in other creative projects. Thanks for reading.]

A Castle in Brooklyn, or Hip-Hop Heaven

            When Whitney Houston died of a drug overdose some weeks back, her passing inspired the sort of public mourning that makes my skin crawl. I mean, what was so great about her that her passing was any more significant than any other stiff listed in the obits that day?  And, more to the point: did you seriously grieve at her passing? Were you filled with melancholy? I was dubious on all points. She led a train wreck of life, and her death seemed little more than TMZ fodder. So, why is it that I now find myself participating in public mourning over the passing of Adam “MCA” Yauch? Good question. [continued after the jump]

Mental Ginger

Lincoln Blvd and Rose Ave

As this is my first visit to The Manic Room, I will start slowly. Perhaps this post is a response to the last post, containing an answer to the question posed, "Who is going to crack through our oblivion?" I also envision this writing as a "how-to." Before I launch fully into the substance of this writing, let me give you a preview of the how-to that will be contained herein: following reading this essay, you will be able to listen to "Smells Like Teen Spirit" as you've never heard it before.

I begin with a brief anecdote. I remember sitting in the parking lot of a local laundromat at Rose and Lincoln in Venice, California. Considering what comes next it, it must've been 2004. Looking across the lot, I saw a blue Ford Aerostar minivan, a child sitting in the shotgun seat, windows rolled down, his mother not there. The child was listening to the radio. As it was the summer of 2004, of course he was listening to "Hey Ya" by the Outkast.

The song had just begun and the child was already bored. It was the end of the summer and clearly he had heard the song hundreds of time. I watched him flip through the radio stations, pausing for a second on each station to hear the endless dribble issuing forth from mainstream radio. The child cycled through the entire dial and returned to you "Hey Ya." I literally watched him shrug and the begin bobbing his head to what is arguably the catchiest tune of this generation. [continued after the jump]

Down the Rabbit Hole...

In my previous post—yes! I know it’s been a while—I remarked on the centrality of Baudrillard’s notion of hyperreality in The Matrix, the most successful film by the Wachowski brothers—er…siblings. The film was a commercial success and, as many commercial successes will, became the target of much criticism. Admittedly, some of the acting just isn’t very good…and, yet, the film is so good as to more than make up for what is normally a crippling deficiency in filmmaking. But more to my point is that some of the criticism misses the key point of the film, indeed of most science fiction: SciFi isn’t about the Future or the Alien or the Technology or the Other—it’s about us, here and now.

Ya see, intellectual critics of The Matrix—and, to be clear, I am defending only of the first film, and not the sequels, which strike me as not much more than a money grab—like to argue that the Wachowskis misapply Baudrillard’s theory.  They argue that the movie asserts a “real world,” one which Neo can see with his “real eyes,” one to which Morpheus—in an unforgiveable act of bad faith—misapplies the Baudrillardian term “the desert of the real.”  Maybe they are correct.  The movie relies upon notion of “good guys” and “bad guys”: Neo—the messianic “one”—is the messenger of Truth; the “good guys” aim to bring humans back to a reality. And, of course, notions of objective morality, truth, and reality are quite inconsistent with just about any post-structural theory, Baudrillard’s included.  But bear with me for a moment as I attempt to delineate how the film—upon reflection—works to offer a Baudrillardian critique of our culture. [continued after the jump]