Wednesday, October 26, 2005
Review: No Country for Old Men
On the one hand, it's a cry for help. One can't help but take to heart the politics of the book characterized by a good degree of nihilism along with dashes of straight biblical fatalism, i.e. that which God creates man destroys. The world and the word has always been so. The nihilism seems a bit darker and more well-wrought. There's less baggage in the nihilism and I can think of no better setting for it than Texas (though perhaps Alaska could give them a run for their money).I haven't read Blood Meridian or All the Pretty Horses and can't put this in author's context. So I'm inclined to look at it from a number of other angles foremost of which is the style. It's writerly, which to me means "Hey reader, I'll give you the broad strokes, now you do the rest."
I think you said the story is compelling because it provides no context. I like that. I'm an optimist, so I bring to the story a certain optimism. Not for the character's sake (any ready can tell they're doomed form the beginning. Even the characters themselves are cognizant of their futility.) I'm talking about the kind of optimism that comes from the interaction with people. There's an inherent optimism in the act of publishing, no?
Bell is at the heart of darkness, for lack of a better literary reference. That much is true. And it's the fault of war and men, God and country. That's Bell's point of view.
Then there's Chigurh's point of view. His is more absolutist deriving its power from a complete lack of faith. His power comes from the fact that he relies on rules and logic to make the decisions for him. In other words, his morality is not decided by himself. He take orders and executes (sic) them. Choices are made for Chigurh, not by him. Each of their points of view of course represents two paths and each of them chooses to found his belief based on some appeal that path has for him.
Still though, this is not a morality tale. I think what McCarthy is after isn't "we are not worthy of redemption." I think he's just saying that we've reached this bizarre unraveling of human-futility. That we live long, long lives, only to discover that by the 80th year of our lives the world around us has changed so much and not a damn bit of it for the better, that it would be better to have died when the dieing was most imminent.
The more we extend our lives, and the more tightly that our vitality is coupled with mortality, the less our psyche can cope with all of the above. It's a reconciliation story, with old men on the porch saying to themselves my life lasted a little too long for my own good. Without context (and that's what any living soul really is: a life without context of previous or next lives) that's the conclusion any rational soul might make. However putting our lives in the context of history, literature, and so on, we start hoping in the better nature of fatalism and investing our efforts into faith, country, community, etc. Though we acknowledge mortality we struggle to live anyway. Just long enough and treading as lightly as possible.
I'm in the habit of turning books into movies as I read them. I don't see Tarantino directing this movie. His style is much too glib. Same with Rodriguez; too many archetypes and not enough character-building. I'm seeing Michael Mann here. Not the Michael Mann whose characters get redemption and the girl, but a darker one. The darker the better. That way you can see the light the characters carry with them into the sunset on horseback. That's where the hope is; in the hands of the dead.
Monday, October 10, 2005
Google Desktop: Plug-ins
R.I.P. WYSIWYG - Results-Oriented UI Coming (Jakob Nielsen's Alertbox)
Goddamn. Why does this make me feel like an old fart? I have no idea what he's going on about. Is that why?Telephone Roulette
I have a good game of telephone for you. It's how I met my first wife.I was going to college. I was dating this girl. Let's call her Satan. Satan and I had been going steady for a few months. Things were solid. No real complaints other than the fact that I had no intentions of getting into a serious relationship. I wasn't playing the field any more. I just didn't want to get pinned into another long term relationship having spent the last five years in one. That's the back story.
So I'm at an art opening for a few of the guys who are in my photo class. We're a pretty small group, the guys in the photo program at OSU. We're maybe 20 guys total. And you're guaranteed to be in class at any given time with at least 10 of them. So you get to know each other pretty well. And, being photographers, we know each other's significant other's pretty well too. Carnally, you might say. Either way you look at it, we all know each other's intimate details.
So I'm at this opening with my new girlfriend and in class and in the darkroom I've been telling them how much I'm digging this chick, but that I really don't want to get hot and heavy with her. I just want it to be casual. On again, off again, maybe. But I'm not moving in with her. And I'm not going to fall head over heels with her.
So we show up at the party and Aaron is hammered. I mean shit-faced with a capital Crap. He doesn't even remember this story. That's how drunk he was. So he's stumbling about. Being ridiculous. And comes around to us and sees us and knows I'm with my new lady and says, "Hey, Kelly! Is this your first wife?" We all got a chuckle. Satan and I laughed. Shrugged it off. Aaron went on his own way.
Five months later we were married.
Three years after that I was freshly divorced and in a full-throttle relationship with my second wife. All because of Aaron and his big fucking mouth.
Incidentally, Aaron's getting married next weekend to his first wife. And the best part about my first wedding was the photography department showing up in Aaron's huge 86 Cadillac El Dorado already drunk and in the middle of the ceremony. It should suffice it to say, that that was the least embarrassing part of the wedding in the end. Satan's mother paid for the wedding on stolen credit cards. We were named co-defendants until she copped a plea. Close one.
Friday, October 07, 2005
The Mass of God
One of my favorite songwriters (and singers, incidentally) is Leonard Cohen. His album The Future is at the top of my list of desert island CD's. Can't say I'm a Leonard Cohen fanatic, but I do so appreciate his dark humor. Lines like "It don't matter how you pray as long as you're on your knees" seem to cut straight to the bone. Why dance around the issues, when you can sing right to them.The quickest way to get to the point does not go unnoticed in some of his other lines. I've always been fond of his proud stance on the value of humanities with his dubious line "There will be nothing we can't measure anymore." I forget the song that line's in, but it's definitely on The Future.
In the age of the Internet, it's important to understand that facts matter. More importantly, measurable, repeatable, scientific approaches to facts matter. But substituting the qualitative for the quantitative (as William S. Burroughs suggests in Spare Ass Annie) is a Faustian bargain for the masses. Still , though, the tools for insight are finite. The math of the natural world, which inspires so much in art, is not fuzzy. In fact, some of the greatest scientific studies have been matters of quantifying what previous was thought to be unquantifiable. Like the speed of light. Or the existence of sub-atomic particles. Measurement, is the foundation of inspiration. Without it - nay, without the attempt to measure the immeasurable, we are less than human. The ultimate humanity is religion. In fact so many religions have a central tenet of immeasurability. It's about the faith, stupid. And yet, the holy grail (pun intended) of science is to prove or disprove the existence of God. The more we are able to measure, the more we are able to agree that Atheism does not mean a loss of humanity. So in that sense, I think I disagree with Mr. Cohen, if not in mind then spirit.
Thursday, October 06, 2005
Responsibility of Freedom
I'm not into Freedom. Not if it means that I can ride my Harley wherever I want being as loud as I want, any time I want. Why should I grant you the right to give me a heart attack? Your freedome stops at the tip of my nose. So take that chopper and chop it up. Seriously. Why do you have to be so loud? Is that the point of freedom?
Wednesday, October 05, 2005
Great Jones Street - The Podcast
Gosh, I don't know where I first heard this, but it was definitely when I was considering the important things in life like wine, women and song. I was a poet back then. Or so I fancied. Writing ornate lines with religious fervor. I suppose I was something of a situate, to be honest. I know it drove some of the girls crazy (those were fearless Kelly days) but it also drove some of the people who knew me best more than a little nuts. Being a Poet with a capital P is an occupation deserved only by the best people I know. Which is to say, the best Poets I know are also Saints.
That said, here's what was said about the lot. Writers love the look of their own penmenship. Poets, the sounds of their own voices. Me? I never really liked how I sounded. If I were to describe it, I'd have to say, I sound like your typical white guy nerd. My handwriting, on the other hand, has always been, in a word, tiny. Purposefully understated, my coaches would say. My teachers? "To fucking small!" But I had some pride in the look of my penmenship. In college I developed an elongated style. The ascenders and descenders were elongated. My lower case t's looked like proper crosses. My lower case j's just long lower case i's. I did it on purpose. I thought it gave my writing style even if the words I wrote didn't.
As fate would have it, my poetry excelled. My prose didn't. So I probably do have a natural tendency to have my self heard and not read.
That said, I'm trying to create a good format for my podcast. Yes, there. I said it. Podcast. The fad is huge. I cannot deny that I am a fan. And I cannot deny that I also have things to say. So here goes:
- News clippings from my favorite pubs from the week. Online, offline, both.
- A song review.
- A phone call with someone I want to talk to who is not necessarily related to me.
- Half-baked ideas.
- Something I learned in therapy.
- A short speech in arch tones about important things.
- An old book excerpt.
- An old movie review.
- Wine descriptions.
