We pretend that there will be time to get the work done, for a good night's sleep, to take that trip, to learn that instrument, to spend more time with the kids, and we pretend there will be time to say the things we meant to say.
We pretend we understand that book from English lit class, modern art, what the economist just said, the directions we got from the guy at the gas station, and we pretend we understand what makes the people we love happy.
We pretend we believe the news anchor, what people tell us, that our vote counts, that a brand cares, in a higher power, and we pretend we believe will live forever.
We pretend there is meaning in that song we danced in high school, in the French movie everyone raves about, in that boring book, in the death of a soldier, in our lives, and we pretend there is meaning in what we do.
We pretend we are better than we are, smarter than we are, more sophisticated than we are, kinder than we are, better educated than we are, and we pretend we are happier than we are.
And all the while we pretend we are not pretending.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Monday, August 15, 2011
sacred plastic in ten million AC
Preparing for another presentation about his find, Sarasas momentarily questions his own convictions. Not about the find, the evidence is irrefutable, but whether it was worth going public with the information, similar finds would eventually be made by others who would enjoy the attention and the public scrutiny. “It was the right thing to do,” his new mantra provides no solace in this situation. After a day of five press conferences he now has to face a panel of his own peers, and though the evidence is in fact irrefutable, some of them will refute it thunderously. When you find something that should not be, the simple fact that it is often is not enough to convince those who are entrenched in commonly accepted doctrines. He knew the find would be controversial the moment he brushed over the surface of the fossil and quietly whispered to himself: "human".
Now facing the assembly of archeologists and historians, having summarily introduced himself and scanned the room for friendly faces that might have assuaged his nervous jitters and fining none, Sarasas concentrates on the business at hand. He presents the easily acceptable facts first. A human fossil comprising a skull, four ribs, three vertebrae and a leg bone. The specimen was in his forties, and probably a male, though without the hipbone we cannot be certain. And now for the controversy: the specimen was found below the plastic layer. This individual lived at least a thousand years before the start of the plastic layer. Proving that in fact humans were around much earlier than we believed, and that contrary to all of our understanding, plastic was not necessary for human survival.
Sarasas felt the audience members shift in place as if to find a more comfortable position. He continued “our long held belief that humans were created and existed only within the 300 years of the plastic layer has to be readdressed. They were around long before the plastic layer.” The audience mumbles in discontent. A young cleric in the middle of the assembly stands tall and addresses Sarasas directly. Sarasas had not noticed the cleric in the audience, but he knew what was coming. The young cleric could not have been older than his third shedding, but he was confident; a confidence borne of the certainty that his beliefs are true. The cleric’s voice boomed in the hall “Do you mean to stand there and tell us that in the era of plastic, the great creator did not bring humans into the world as a catalyst for roach evolution? Are you saying that humans were not created to nurture roaches into the next step of our evolution? Are you questioning the methods of the great creator?”
Sarasas had not expected a cleric in the audience. He wholeheartedly believed in notion that the great creator had created the inferior human species to serve roach evolution and explained to the youth that finding a human below the plastic layer does not in any way disproof the documented actions of the great creator. The fact still remains that no human evidence is found above the plastic layer as does the fact that roaches dominated the world from the end of the plastic age to this day, as determined by the great creator. “I’m not here to interpret the intentions of the great creator, or to question his methods. I will leave such lofty undertakings to more qualified individuals. I simply want to present the facts of this find, the determination of the implications of human existence below the plastic layer is outside the scope of this presentation.”
The next question came from an individual whose mannerisms unmistakably identified him as a historian. “Did you find any evidence of roaches being kept as pets by this individual, as was the practice of his descendents in the plastic layer?" Sarasas was relived at the question, religious matters were not his strong suit, and so he felt a twinge of disappointment in not being able to provide the historian with any concrete evidence that roaches shared the life of this specific early human. His disappointment made him elaborate on the answer “but we know that roaches were around long before the plastic layer, and now with this find, we know that humans were around too. Whatever conclusions we may draw, it would seem plausible that if humans and roaches were coexisting at the time this human lived, that the human must have cared for the roaches around him. It was in human nature to do so, and the will of the great creator. The evidence of human and roach coexistence in the age of plastic is overwhelming, all indications are that humans were caretakers of the roach species in our most fragile state, before we developed lungs. This human would have been no different.”
Sarasas answered a few more questions on human nature and the similarities between roaches and humans. At the end of the presentation he opened a box and invited the audience to come and examine his collection of plastic artifacts. For the younger members of the audience, this was their first physical contact with sacred plastic relics. After presenting facts that could bring the intentions of the great creator into question, Sarasas was comforted by expressions of awe in the young faces as they handled the sacred plastic items.
Now facing the assembly of archeologists and historians, having summarily introduced himself and scanned the room for friendly faces that might have assuaged his nervous jitters and fining none, Sarasas concentrates on the business at hand. He presents the easily acceptable facts first. A human fossil comprising a skull, four ribs, three vertebrae and a leg bone. The specimen was in his forties, and probably a male, though without the hipbone we cannot be certain. And now for the controversy: the specimen was found below the plastic layer. This individual lived at least a thousand years before the start of the plastic layer. Proving that in fact humans were around much earlier than we believed, and that contrary to all of our understanding, plastic was not necessary for human survival.
Sarasas felt the audience members shift in place as if to find a more comfortable position. He continued “our long held belief that humans were created and existed only within the 300 years of the plastic layer has to be readdressed. They were around long before the plastic layer.” The audience mumbles in discontent. A young cleric in the middle of the assembly stands tall and addresses Sarasas directly. Sarasas had not noticed the cleric in the audience, but he knew what was coming. The young cleric could not have been older than his third shedding, but he was confident; a confidence borne of the certainty that his beliefs are true. The cleric’s voice boomed in the hall “Do you mean to stand there and tell us that in the era of plastic, the great creator did not bring humans into the world as a catalyst for roach evolution? Are you saying that humans were not created to nurture roaches into the next step of our evolution? Are you questioning the methods of the great creator?”
Sarasas had not expected a cleric in the audience. He wholeheartedly believed in notion that the great creator had created the inferior human species to serve roach evolution and explained to the youth that finding a human below the plastic layer does not in any way disproof the documented actions of the great creator. The fact still remains that no human evidence is found above the plastic layer as does the fact that roaches dominated the world from the end of the plastic age to this day, as determined by the great creator. “I’m not here to interpret the intentions of the great creator, or to question his methods. I will leave such lofty undertakings to more qualified individuals. I simply want to present the facts of this find, the determination of the implications of human existence below the plastic layer is outside the scope of this presentation.”
The next question came from an individual whose mannerisms unmistakably identified him as a historian. “Did you find any evidence of roaches being kept as pets by this individual, as was the practice of his descendents in the plastic layer?" Sarasas was relived at the question, religious matters were not his strong suit, and so he felt a twinge of disappointment in not being able to provide the historian with any concrete evidence that roaches shared the life of this specific early human. His disappointment made him elaborate on the answer “but we know that roaches were around long before the plastic layer, and now with this find, we know that humans were around too. Whatever conclusions we may draw, it would seem plausible that if humans and roaches were coexisting at the time this human lived, that the human must have cared for the roaches around him. It was in human nature to do so, and the will of the great creator. The evidence of human and roach coexistence in the age of plastic is overwhelming, all indications are that humans were caretakers of the roach species in our most fragile state, before we developed lungs. This human would have been no different.”
Sarasas answered a few more questions on human nature and the similarities between roaches and humans. At the end of the presentation he opened a box and invited the audience to come and examine his collection of plastic artifacts. For the younger members of the audience, this was their first physical contact with sacred plastic relics. After presenting facts that could bring the intentions of the great creator into question, Sarasas was comforted by expressions of awe in the young faces as they handled the sacred plastic items.
Monday, August 1, 2011
a lost word
I was waking my dog this morning and I stumbled on a word. Someone had left it lying on the sidewalk. I thought perhaps it had fallen out of a pocket or purse; I refuse to believe it had simply been discarded as worthless. I picked it up and looked around for whoever might have dropped it, but everyone around me seemed to be going about their business. No one seemed to be desperately searching for a lost word. I brushed it off with my hand. My dog stood on her hind legs and sniffed it. I asked a passerby "did you drop a word?" but he didn’t alter his stride, he glanced at the word in my hand and continued on his way.
As I examined the word more closely I noticed that it was bilingual, it was Portuguese on one side and English on the other, and since I was standing in front of the state government palace, I figured some foreign dignitary must have dropped it while entering the building. So I walked up the steps leading to the great entryway. The two guards stationed on each side of the door blanched as they saw me approach. Both moved to prevent me from entering the palace. I assumed dogs weren't allowed so I told her to sit and wait while I stepped inside. But as I turned to enter, the largest of the guards blocked my way. I explained that the dog would remain outside, but he informed me that the dog was welcome, the word would have to stay out. "But it’s so little” I said, ”what harm could it do?” He became forceful in his insistence that the word not enter the building and I had to give up.
I put ethics in my pocket and brought it home with me. I placed it on the shelf, but later had to move it because it kept getting in the way of my books. I put it on the table, but it kept getting in the way of dishes and flatware. So I moved it to my computer desk, but it kept getting in the way of the keyboard. I could understand why it had been discarded on the sidewalk, it’s rather an inconvenient word to have around. But I refused to give up. I placed ethics on a pedestal in the middle of the house, so that everything else now had to revolve around it. This placement seems to be working, but only inside my house, I'm still not allowed to bring it into government buildings and public spaces.
As I examined the word more closely I noticed that it was bilingual, it was Portuguese on one side and English on the other, and since I was standing in front of the state government palace, I figured some foreign dignitary must have dropped it while entering the building. So I walked up the steps leading to the great entryway. The two guards stationed on each side of the door blanched as they saw me approach. Both moved to prevent me from entering the palace. I assumed dogs weren't allowed so I told her to sit and wait while I stepped inside. But as I turned to enter, the largest of the guards blocked my way. I explained that the dog would remain outside, but he informed me that the dog was welcome, the word would have to stay out. "But it’s so little” I said, ”what harm could it do?” He became forceful in his insistence that the word not enter the building and I had to give up.
I put ethics in my pocket and brought it home with me. I placed it on the shelf, but later had to move it because it kept getting in the way of my books. I put it on the table, but it kept getting in the way of dishes and flatware. So I moved it to my computer desk, but it kept getting in the way of the keyboard. I could understand why it had been discarded on the sidewalk, it’s rather an inconvenient word to have around. But I refused to give up. I placed ethics on a pedestal in the middle of the house, so that everything else now had to revolve around it. This placement seems to be working, but only inside my house, I'm still not allowed to bring it into government buildings and public spaces.
Friday, July 29, 2011
I wish you happiness
I was 17 and I was leaving the country for the last time, never to return and never again to be seen. At least that was my grandmother's interpretation of the situation as she watched our luggage being loaded into a cab that would take her daughter and grandchild to the airport, to be devoured by an airplane and spat out at most distant mouth of hell, surrounded by jackals and ferocious infidels. That was her unvoiced interpretation of our move to a place everyone else called California. She refused to come outside, she stayed at the window, her eyes filled with tears and her voice caught in her throat when she looked at me and offered what in her mind were the last words she would ever say to me, "Be happy".
Of course the world is not as big as my grandmother imagined, and California is not a world away. We saw each other many times after that, but those parting words remained with me, and I expect will remain with me forever. "Be happy" it's a tall order, at least for me, I'm often content with not being unhappy. If you think about it there is nothing else you can wish a person you love other than "Be happy". You can wish them health and success or wealth, you can wish them love, as the song recommends, but in the end all you are wishing them is happiness. All the success in the world will not bring you happiness, all the health in the world will not bring you happiness, - and if you are not happy then what good is success? - but if you find that you have enough success, enough health, enough wealth, enough love, you can be happy. The 'enough' aspect varies from person to person. The trick is to find happiness with what you have and to get what is 'enough' for you. It may be very little, or a great deal, but 'enough' is often much less than we imagine. 'I wish you success', 'I wish you health', 'I wish you wealth' and even 'I love you', all fit into one simple wish 'be happy'. I wish you happiness.
Wish someone happiness today, then look around, you will probably find that you have enough.
Of course the world is not as big as my grandmother imagined, and California is not a world away. We saw each other many times after that, but those parting words remained with me, and I expect will remain with me forever. "Be happy" it's a tall order, at least for me, I'm often content with not being unhappy. If you think about it there is nothing else you can wish a person you love other than "Be happy". You can wish them health and success or wealth, you can wish them love, as the song recommends, but in the end all you are wishing them is happiness. All the success in the world will not bring you happiness, all the health in the world will not bring you happiness, - and if you are not happy then what good is success? - but if you find that you have enough success, enough health, enough wealth, enough love, you can be happy. The 'enough' aspect varies from person to person. The trick is to find happiness with what you have and to get what is 'enough' for you. It may be very little, or a great deal, but 'enough' is often much less than we imagine. 'I wish you success', 'I wish you health', 'I wish you wealth' and even 'I love you', all fit into one simple wish 'be happy'. I wish you happiness.
Wish someone happiness today, then look around, you will probably find that you have enough.
Monday, July 25, 2011
Airline instructions deciphered
About .02% of airline passengers actually grab the emergency
instructions in the seat pocket in front of them and try to understand how they
should react in case of an emergency. Here is a handy explanation. Note that for the purposes of this
explanation the airline euphemism ‘water landing’ will be replaced for the more
realistic ‘crash into water’. And while
we are on the subject, someone really should tell airlines that when a
passenger plane comes down on anything other than a paved runway attached to a
modern airport of adequate infrastructure, it's not a 'landing'. Here we go, first image:
While taking off, landing, crashing into nuclear waste or
crashing into water, keep your seat belt fastened. In these situations you are
not allowed floating lit cigarettes, cell phones, video cameras, antique
ghetto blasters from the 80’s or gigantic iPods. However while the plane is flying through the
air, you may have with you video cameras, ghetto blasters and gigantic iPods. You see, there is nothing scary or mysterious
about the safety instructions. Let's continue.
If crashing in nuclear waste or water: keep your seatbelt fastened. But note that in
during these events, women may not wear shoes. And floating lit cigarettes are
not allowed. 
If you are crashing into nuclear waste, without the
possibility of water: you may not have floating lit cigarettes. Women must not
wear shoes and men must not carry brief cases, though they may wear shoes. And,
this is very important, if you feel like jumping off a ledge into flames, don’t
do it! Also if you feel like jumping off
a ledge into jagged rocks, don’t! It’s just not allowed.
Now if you are crashing into water without the possibility
of nuclear waste: keep your seat-belt fastened and no floating lit cigarettes. Women AND men may not wear shoes. And if you
feel like jumping into flames, don’t do it, it's not allowed! However brief cases, ghetto blasters and
jumping onto jagged rocks are probably ok, so knock yourself out!
Once you’ve crashed into the water, pull something red and a
raft will magically appear. Flip a flap and pull something red again, that
doesn’t really do anything, but apparently that’s what you have to do. Now, this is very important: once you are in
the ocean, firmly plant both feet on the ocean floor and use your super human
strength to flip the enormous raft over.
It’s really easy, see, the guy in the middle does it all by himself.
If you open this compartment, the plane, while safely floating on tranquil, calm, and probably warm, waters, will be attacked by giant yellow arrows, so you've got to close this other compartment to set it right.
Once everybody is on board the life raft use the handy
pocket-knife TSA allowed you to bring on board to cut the rope that secures your
life raft to the sinking airplane. If you don’t have a pocket knife, use
scissors or even nail clippers, any sharp metal object will do, just cut the
rope. If you don't cut the rope the
plane will sink and drag you under the water. Remember: your only chance of
survival is cutting that rope! Use anything you brought on board with you, Swiss
army knife, nail files, the steak knives you bought grandma. Anything you
brought on board with you will do really, your life depends on it! Thursday, June 23, 2011
Does that look like writing to you?
Does that look like writing to you? Right there in the center of the picture, a bit blurry and difficult to make out... does it look like a line of text to you? It looks like writing to me.
I have an artagraph of a Caillebotte painting. Etude for Paris Street Rainy Day. The original hangs in the Musée Marmottan Monet in Paris. The original painting hung on Monet’s wall until he died. I have to confess my regret at not having visited that museum little precious time I have spent in Paris, it must be something to see, and an original Caillebotte is always something to see, isn’t it? The artagraph that hangs on my wall is an exact replica of the original, down to the brushstrokes. And that looks like writing to me. There are no mentions, studies, x-rays or articles about hidden text under Caillebotte’s brushstrokes in this painting. Experts have scrutinized this painting for over a hundred years and no one ever said “oh look, it’s writing”. So it’s not writing. But I’ll be damned if it doesn’t look like writing. It gets lost in the context of the whole painting.
not that
I believe my dog when she wags her tail. I believe in things that go bump in the night. I believe in impressionism. I believe in sunsets. I believe in pain. I believe in loss. I believe in saudade. I believe I can be happy if I try. I believe in chocolate and wine. I believe in cold winter evenings. I believe in the unexpected. I believe in loving people I love. I believe in truth. I believe in honesty. I believe in dishonesty. I believe some people, but not most. I believe in trying, but not always. I believe in being kind, if I can. I believe in what I know, but mostly I believe that I don’t know. I believe in what money buys. I believe I need, and I believe I have. I believe it all. But I don’t believe that. I can’t believe that.
Monday, May 2, 2011
First human in a photograph
When was the last time you watched the birdie or said cheese while looking at a camera? Photos are ubiquitous, everyone has a phone camera in their pockets and we snap constantly. Try running a red light and see what you get in the mail.
But who was the first person to be photographed? Was it a king, a president, one of the world’s wealthiest people? Not really. It was a regular Joe who, while strolling down Boulevard du Temple in Paris, decided to stop and get his shoe shined. Him and the shoeshine boy who provided the service. The year was 1838 and Louis Daguerre had invented the first useful sort of photography, the Daguerreotype: a copper plate with a thin coat of silver that was exposed to iodine vapor to form iodine crystals on the surface. Developing the mirrored image that formed involved heated mercury and the exposure time was a horrendous 10 minutes. Because of the extended exposure time, portraits were not viable. Previous methods required exposures of up to 8 hours; that’s a long time to watch a birdie or say cheese.
Anyway, when Daguerre snapped this 10 minute exposure everything that was moving did not register in the picture including street traffic and people. Except for the shoeshine boy and his customer and perhaps a person reading a newspaper on a bench to the right of the main characters.
What I find most interesting about this picture is that we don’t know who these two people were, and they lived the rest of their lives never knowing the significance of that one brief pause in that day in 1838. Regular Joe didn’t go home and announce he had been photographed; he probably never even mentioned having his shoes shined. It was an unimportant, highly forgetful moment in his life and yet it was a highly significant milestone in the history of humanity. “That's one small step for man; one giant leap for mankind" only in this case, no one ever knew anything about it. Could you be going about your day making history and not know anything about it?
And I love that the honor of being the first human photographed doesn’t go to a head of state or a millionaire, it goes to a lowly shoeshine boy living in Paris in 1838 and his customer.
But who was the first person to be photographed? Was it a king, a president, one of the world’s wealthiest people? Not really. It was a regular Joe who, while strolling down Boulevard du Temple in Paris, decided to stop and get his shoe shined. Him and the shoeshine boy who provided the service. The year was 1838 and Louis Daguerre had invented the first useful sort of photography, the Daguerreotype: a copper plate with a thin coat of silver that was exposed to iodine vapor to form iodine crystals on the surface. Developing the mirrored image that formed involved heated mercury and the exposure time was a horrendous 10 minutes. Because of the extended exposure time, portraits were not viable. Previous methods required exposures of up to 8 hours; that’s a long time to watch a birdie or say cheese.
Anyway, when Daguerre snapped this 10 minute exposure everything that was moving did not register in the picture including street traffic and people. Except for the shoeshine boy and his customer and perhaps a person reading a newspaper on a bench to the right of the main characters.
What I find most interesting about this picture is that we don’t know who these two people were, and they lived the rest of their lives never knowing the significance of that one brief pause in that day in 1838. Regular Joe didn’t go home and announce he had been photographed; he probably never even mentioned having his shoes shined. It was an unimportant, highly forgetful moment in his life and yet it was a highly significant milestone in the history of humanity. “That's one small step for man; one giant leap for mankind" only in this case, no one ever knew anything about it. Could you be going about your day making history and not know anything about it?
And I love that the honor of being the first human photographed doesn’t go to a head of state or a millionaire, it goes to a lowly shoeshine boy living in Paris in 1838 and his customer.
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| Boulevard du Temple by Daguerre. First photograph of a human being. 1838 |
Sunday, April 24, 2011
human gargoyles on catholic church
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| Porto Alegre Cathedral |
I live two blocks away from the Porto Alegre cathedral, I see it every day walking my dog. It’s not an impressive building but locals are very proud of their cathedral. It was built in 1920, so it’s a rather recent building for a Catholic church. I took these pictures Easter Sunday morning. The façade is decorated with several gold inlaid mosaics and the building looks as one would expect such a building to look, and I’m used to seeing it there. But you can’t build a Catholic church without gargoyles, especially not a cathedral, so you look for the gargoyles.
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| POA Cathedral gargoyle |
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| Gargoyle on Catholic Church |
I expect the Catholic church to practice social exclusion of those who do not contribute to the church’s coffers, and it has historically excluded native populations in Latin America. But this is the ultimate social exclusion of an entire population, carved in stone, and since there was/is no separation of church and state, this state sponsored prejudice.
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| Native population begging |
The message is clear: shun the native population, keep them out of your society, they are dangerous, menacing heathens who will attack you as soon as look at you. The propaganda worked, today the native population is relegated to begging for alms at the door of that same cathedral on Easter morning. And once again I’m the only one bothered by this. Everyone thinks the cathedral is beautiful. Tourists stop to photograph it every day, it’s one of the city’s pride and joys. There are no picket signs, protests or general outrage. Human gargoyles and an impoverished, subjugated native population is fine and normal for the church, the state and the population of Porto Alegre.
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| a bit of hypocrisy from the Catholic Church |
Oh, and by the way, in modern times the menacing human gargoyles weren’t enough to keep all the riff raff out of the house of god, so they installed an electric fence. I mean, really, it’s the house of god after all, we can’t just let anybody in.
Friday, April 22, 2011
I hated Titanic, District 9 and Forest Gump, here's why.
And while I’m on the subject of movies (see previous post) here is a post that will discredit all my opinions on movies. Oh well.
I hated Titanic, and not just because I find Leonardo DiCaprio annoying. I also hated Forest Gump, though I have managed to forgive Tom Hanks for Joe Vs. the Volcano. And I hated District 9 and Life is Beautiful. Why you ask? I found them extremely offensive.
Fifteen hundred people died in the Titanic, they froze to death or drowned despairingly. Those who survived watched family, friends and strangers sink to their deaths in a boat that was unsinkable. As human tragedy goes, it was pretty tragic. Watching 3 hours of a trite little love story that was far from original, all the while imagining the real life despair of the people in that ship was offensive to me. Those were real people and their very real suffering was minimized, banalized by focusing the story on fictional puppy love. It wasn’t a stupid jeweled heart that sank to the bottom of the ocean, it was people. The point isn’t that the bearably believable DiCaprio character died for true love. The point is that 1500 people perished in that ship. Real people.
I hated Forest Gump for the same reason. Real people live with physical and mental handicaps daily. In real life they are shunned by society, locked in institutions, abandoned by their families and struggle to exist in a world that was not designed for them. They are not All American players, they don’t meet presidents, become war heroes and don’t buy Apple stock and become rich. Real people, real difficulties, real struggles, that is the reality. Making light of that reality by inventing a character that overcomes all of his difficulties mostly by sheer luck diminishes the efforts of those who live with their handicaps. And that offends me.
District 9, boy, oh boy. The slums of South Africa are not populated by giant insect aliens. The freedoms of giant insect aliens are not curtailed and denied on a daily basis. Giant insect aliens don’t live in abject hopeless poverty. Giant insect aliens are not subjugated by a society that sees them as inferior. Giant insect aliens are not beaten and tortured because of their status in society or the color of their skin. Once again, people are. Real, living and breathing people like you and me and it pisses me off that that movie should portray that level of injustice, that unbearable suffering as being endured by giant insect aliens. People! People exist under those conditions. Shit.
Well, you can imagine what I have to say about Life is Beautiful. I only watched it once, and I’m angry now just thinking about it. It’s a waste of celluloid, it’s contemptible and vile. A concentration camp prisoner keeping his son with him, sneaking him into dinner with German children, pretending it’s all a game. Yes I’m sure that happened every day in concentration camps. If only everyone had done that, the war would have been so much more pleasant for everyone. Say, let’s do that in Iraq and Afghanistan right now, what fun!
You might be justified in saying that I missed the point of those movies. Perhaps I did. But similarly I would say that you missed the point I made about the same movies. It bothers me when fiction purposefully imitates real life while at the same time disregards the people whose reality it is imitating. And it bothers me that I’m the only one bothered by that.
I hated Titanic, and not just because I find Leonardo DiCaprio annoying. I also hated Forest Gump, though I have managed to forgive Tom Hanks for Joe Vs. the Volcano. And I hated District 9 and Life is Beautiful. Why you ask? I found them extremely offensive.
Fifteen hundred people died in the Titanic, they froze to death or drowned despairingly. Those who survived watched family, friends and strangers sink to their deaths in a boat that was unsinkable. As human tragedy goes, it was pretty tragic. Watching 3 hours of a trite little love story that was far from original, all the while imagining the real life despair of the people in that ship was offensive to me. Those were real people and their very real suffering was minimized, banalized by focusing the story on fictional puppy love. It wasn’t a stupid jeweled heart that sank to the bottom of the ocean, it was people. The point isn’t that the bearably believable DiCaprio character died for true love. The point is that 1500 people perished in that ship. Real people.
I hated Forest Gump for the same reason. Real people live with physical and mental handicaps daily. In real life they are shunned by society, locked in institutions, abandoned by their families and struggle to exist in a world that was not designed for them. They are not All American players, they don’t meet presidents, become war heroes and don’t buy Apple stock and become rich. Real people, real difficulties, real struggles, that is the reality. Making light of that reality by inventing a character that overcomes all of his difficulties mostly by sheer luck diminishes the efforts of those who live with their handicaps. And that offends me.
District 9, boy, oh boy. The slums of South Africa are not populated by giant insect aliens. The freedoms of giant insect aliens are not curtailed and denied on a daily basis. Giant insect aliens don’t live in abject hopeless poverty. Giant insect aliens are not subjugated by a society that sees them as inferior. Giant insect aliens are not beaten and tortured because of their status in society or the color of their skin. Once again, people are. Real, living and breathing people like you and me and it pisses me off that that movie should portray that level of injustice, that unbearable suffering as being endured by giant insect aliens. People! People exist under those conditions. Shit.
Well, you can imagine what I have to say about Life is Beautiful. I only watched it once, and I’m angry now just thinking about it. It’s a waste of celluloid, it’s contemptible and vile. A concentration camp prisoner keeping his son with him, sneaking him into dinner with German children, pretending it’s all a game. Yes I’m sure that happened every day in concentration camps. If only everyone had done that, the war would have been so much more pleasant for everyone. Say, let’s do that in Iraq and Afghanistan right now, what fun!
You might be justified in saying that I missed the point of those movies. Perhaps I did. But similarly I would say that you missed the point I made about the same movies. It bothers me when fiction purposefully imitates real life while at the same time disregards the people whose reality it is imitating. And it bothers me that I’m the only one bothered by that.
Victor or Victoria: slapstick's last stand
A pie-in-the-face simply isn’t funny anymore. Nowadays slapstick has developed a reputation of being simplistic and lowbrow. Classic gags died out with the silent pictures, we are now a sophisticated audience with sophisticated tastes. Keaton once said that a pie-in-the-face died out because you can’t fit it into a full feature and make it believable to an audience. In real life we seldom have occasion to throw a pie in someone’s face and so it’s not believable. I disagree. It still has a place in full feature movies and it can be funny. The problem is that all the people who had enough talent to make a pie-in-the-face funny are no longer around. Slapstick is not simplistic, on the contrary it requires a great deal of talent, and as an audience when we look down on it from the height of our sophistication, we fail to realize we are the ones who are simplistic in our assessment. Pulling off slapstick and making it believable to the audience is a feat of colossal proportions, almost impossible.
When Blake Edwards made Victor or Victoria the time of the pie-in-the-face had long since passed. Raiders of the Lost Ark had come out and audiences wanted Spielberg and ET, slapstick had been dead for over three decades as had musicals, and Victor or Victoria was both. It made a splash when it came out, but it has been relegated to dusty shelves and now is remembered by few. It deserves better, if for no other reason, for Blake Edward’s courage and talent in resurrecting slapstick and musicals in the same movie while audiences clamored for car chases and explosions.
Victor or Victoria brings together unbelievable talents. Blake Edwards, Julie Andrews, James Garner, Robert Preston, Lesley Ann Warren. Blake Edwards managed to put a pie-in-the-face into a full feature movie because of his rare comedic talent. The music is by Henry Mancini for crying out loud, it can’t get better than that. And Julie Andrews singing alone or with Robert Preston, well, it’s Julie Andrews, I don’t have to say more.
The last time a pie-in-the-face made me smile was in Victor or Victoria and all the slapstick in that movie - from a bottle breaking on a note sung by Julie Andrews, to a bar brawl, to Garner pretending to bribe a cop, punching him in the face instead and recovering the money before running off - blended seamlessly in a full feature film. It doesn’t take much, just phenomenal talent, the sort that is hard to find nowadays. I just love this movie, it’s a forgotten jewel. Go watch it.
When Blake Edwards made Victor or Victoria the time of the pie-in-the-face had long since passed. Raiders of the Lost Ark had come out and audiences wanted Spielberg and ET, slapstick had been dead for over three decades as had musicals, and Victor or Victoria was both. It made a splash when it came out, but it has been relegated to dusty shelves and now is remembered by few. It deserves better, if for no other reason, for Blake Edward’s courage and talent in resurrecting slapstick and musicals in the same movie while audiences clamored for car chases and explosions.
Victor or Victoria brings together unbelievable talents. Blake Edwards, Julie Andrews, James Garner, Robert Preston, Lesley Ann Warren. Blake Edwards managed to put a pie-in-the-face into a full feature movie because of his rare comedic talent. The music is by Henry Mancini for crying out loud, it can’t get better than that. And Julie Andrews singing alone or with Robert Preston, well, it’s Julie Andrews, I don’t have to say more.
The last time a pie-in-the-face made me smile was in Victor or Victoria and all the slapstick in that movie - from a bottle breaking on a note sung by Julie Andrews, to a bar brawl, to Garner pretending to bribe a cop, punching him in the face instead and recovering the money before running off - blended seamlessly in a full feature film. It doesn’t take much, just phenomenal talent, the sort that is hard to find nowadays. I just love this movie, it’s a forgotten jewel. Go watch it.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
sincerity and the inevitable hypocrisy behind it
Recipe for sincerity: take a measure of insincerity and distill it to achieve the desired concentration, use sparingly. Sincerity in its pure, undiluted form does not exist.
I’ve seldom been accused of being insincere, but have on occasion been reprimanded for excessive sincerity. Though at the time of such admonition the phrasing used is not ‘excessive sincerity’ but rather ‘bluntness’. You see, sincerity is a good thing, and an accusation of having too much of a good quality comes across as a compliment, so ‘excessive sincerity’ is called ‘bluntness’. And rightly so. My boss once called me on the carpet for being cold and merely professional to a coworker and for wearing my opinion on my face. The man voted for Bush twice and bragged about it. I still contend that I was as nice as I could have been. Sincerity is often not politically correct in the work place - you know, that same place where your honest opinion is requested, appreciated and respected. We admire sincerity as a virtue while at the same time we scorn those who are completely sincere. And so we live in a constant state of hypocrisy. I suppose it’s part of the human condition.
As a child you could not walk up to a playmate during recess and say “you’re ugly and your mother dresses you funny”, though you might have been completely sincere in your statement. We learn from an early age that complete sincerity will most likely get you a negative result, or even detention. True story: my cousin in pre-school had the following exchange with a teacher:
Teacher: You don’t like me because I’m old.
Cousin: I don’t like you because you’re old, ugly and annoying.
He was completely sincere! Sincerity gets you a spot in family lore for being a brat, yet it is regarded as a virtue. As a general rule, when I’m asked for my opinion, I give it freely and sincerely, people who know me, know what to expect. But over the years I have found sincerity is not necessarily what people want. They want reaffirmation, validation of what their own opinion might be, and so my friends are few, but true. Sincerity is not as useful as insincerity in making superficial friendships or winning approval. It is not always well received in making a point or backing an argument, it is not what is expected of a person in an exchange, but it is virtuous.
Sincerity is in fact diluted to the desired concentration by everyone all of the time. When I pick up a ringing telephone knowing full well that I don’t want to talk to anyone who might be on the other side of the wire, I’m being insincere even if only in my own head. If I was to be completely sincere, if my sincerity were pure and undiluted, the phone would never be answered and that’s just not practical. Sincerity is a virtue that cannot be applied in its purest form.
When Bill O’Reilly is on TV spitting some sort of incoherent lunacy at his audience and I tell him to shut the fuck up and proceed to change the channel, he and I are at opposite ends of the same philosophical concept and yet we are both being completely sincere. Sincerity has no right or wrong. But sincerity on both sides of an argument of opposing ideals becomes explosive, perhaps even hateful. But it is a virtue.
There are sycophants out there, people who are insincere all of the time in an attempt to gain some sort of advantage or standing. We’ve all seen them, people with limited principles who flatter and adulate in order to gain something, I’m not sure what. I’m not going to discuss these poor creatures, they are the exception. But consider a pedophile hearing the confession of a woman who “took the lord’s name in vain twice this week”, when he says “I absolve you my child” is he sincere? Could he ever be sincere? And yet he holds a position of authority in society, that same society that values sincerity. How about politicians who promise lower taxes, education, jobs, justice and freedom. Are they insincere? Are they simply lying? Is there a difference? And yet, as a society we elect them, we reelect them, and never again demand fulfillment of those promises. Are we then sincere in our actions? Once you lay down your principles and your actions fall outside the parameters defined society do you forfeit sincerity? Are all your actions and statements tinged by insincerity from that point? Is a strong conviction to principles and an impeachable character a requirement for sincerity to exist in any person? And is that the reason we consider sincerity virtue? I’m obviously leading the reader to conclude that the answer is ‘yes’. And if so, pure, undiluted sincerity cannot exist because people’s principles are never pure and undiluted. All of our characters are flawed in some way, or compromised at some point in our lives.
Sincerity in its pure, undiluted form does not exist, it does not exist in the privacy of our own minds and it certainly does not exist in society. When anyone attempts to distill it into its purest forms, he is shunned by the same society that expected sincerity from him. So we live in a state of perpetual, sincere hypocrisy. But we seem to prefer it that way. My dog, is the only completely sincere creature I know. So next time someone calls me a bitch because of some blunt statement, I will simply reply “Thank you, I try”.
I’ve seldom been accused of being insincere, but have on occasion been reprimanded for excessive sincerity. Though at the time of such admonition the phrasing used is not ‘excessive sincerity’ but rather ‘bluntness’. You see, sincerity is a good thing, and an accusation of having too much of a good quality comes across as a compliment, so ‘excessive sincerity’ is called ‘bluntness’. And rightly so. My boss once called me on the carpet for being cold and merely professional to a coworker and for wearing my opinion on my face. The man voted for Bush twice and bragged about it. I still contend that I was as nice as I could have been. Sincerity is often not politically correct in the work place - you know, that same place where your honest opinion is requested, appreciated and respected. We admire sincerity as a virtue while at the same time we scorn those who are completely sincere. And so we live in a constant state of hypocrisy. I suppose it’s part of the human condition.
As a child you could not walk up to a playmate during recess and say “you’re ugly and your mother dresses you funny”, though you might have been completely sincere in your statement. We learn from an early age that complete sincerity will most likely get you a negative result, or even detention. True story: my cousin in pre-school had the following exchange with a teacher:
Teacher: You don’t like me because I’m old.
Cousin: I don’t like you because you’re old, ugly and annoying.
He was completely sincere! Sincerity gets you a spot in family lore for being a brat, yet it is regarded as a virtue. As a general rule, when I’m asked for my opinion, I give it freely and sincerely, people who know me, know what to expect. But over the years I have found sincerity is not necessarily what people want. They want reaffirmation, validation of what their own opinion might be, and so my friends are few, but true. Sincerity is not as useful as insincerity in making superficial friendships or winning approval. It is not always well received in making a point or backing an argument, it is not what is expected of a person in an exchange, but it is virtuous.
Sincerity is in fact diluted to the desired concentration by everyone all of the time. When I pick up a ringing telephone knowing full well that I don’t want to talk to anyone who might be on the other side of the wire, I’m being insincere even if only in my own head. If I was to be completely sincere, if my sincerity were pure and undiluted, the phone would never be answered and that’s just not practical. Sincerity is a virtue that cannot be applied in its purest form.
When Bill O’Reilly is on TV spitting some sort of incoherent lunacy at his audience and I tell him to shut the fuck up and proceed to change the channel, he and I are at opposite ends of the same philosophical concept and yet we are both being completely sincere. Sincerity has no right or wrong. But sincerity on both sides of an argument of opposing ideals becomes explosive, perhaps even hateful. But it is a virtue.
There are sycophants out there, people who are insincere all of the time in an attempt to gain some sort of advantage or standing. We’ve all seen them, people with limited principles who flatter and adulate in order to gain something, I’m not sure what. I’m not going to discuss these poor creatures, they are the exception. But consider a pedophile hearing the confession of a woman who “took the lord’s name in vain twice this week”, when he says “I absolve you my child” is he sincere? Could he ever be sincere? And yet he holds a position of authority in society, that same society that values sincerity. How about politicians who promise lower taxes, education, jobs, justice and freedom. Are they insincere? Are they simply lying? Is there a difference? And yet, as a society we elect them, we reelect them, and never again demand fulfillment of those promises. Are we then sincere in our actions? Once you lay down your principles and your actions fall outside the parameters defined society do you forfeit sincerity? Are all your actions and statements tinged by insincerity from that point? Is a strong conviction to principles and an impeachable character a requirement for sincerity to exist in any person? And is that the reason we consider sincerity virtue? I’m obviously leading the reader to conclude that the answer is ‘yes’. And if so, pure, undiluted sincerity cannot exist because people’s principles are never pure and undiluted. All of our characters are flawed in some way, or compromised at some point in our lives.
Sincerity in its pure, undiluted form does not exist, it does not exist in the privacy of our own minds and it certainly does not exist in society. When anyone attempts to distill it into its purest forms, he is shunned by the same society that expected sincerity from him. So we live in a state of perpetual, sincere hypocrisy. But we seem to prefer it that way. My dog, is the only completely sincere creature I know. So next time someone calls me a bitch because of some blunt statement, I will simply reply “Thank you, I try”.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Brazilians can be very creative
Walking back from a restaurant the other day I came across these two characters at a major intersection. It always amazes me how creative Brazilians are. They are creative for good and evil. Decades ago when I was a little girl living in Rio and crime there was still petty pocket picking and the occasional car theft, there was an outbreak of watch snatching. People would stop at a traffic light with their arms resting on the driver’s window and a kid would run by, snatch the watch off their left wrist and run off. So people started wearing their watches on the right wrist. Brazilians in their infinite creativity would then run by the driver’s window with a lit cigarette, burn the drivers’ left hand who instinctively reached over with his right hand to grab the cigarette. As soon as he reached the kid would grab the watch off the right wrist and run away. Brazilians always find the “jeitinho”, a way around whatever obstacle faces them. It’s amazing. These two needed money, so they devised a little show timed to the traffic light. Right before it turns green they solicit donations from the first couple rows of cars. Clever. This sort of traffic light show is rather common here, some are better than others. I liked these guys.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
The flip side
Imagine, if you will, that you live in a free country and you have one sister. One sunny day a foreigner arrives in your country and kills your sister. She does so publicly; she kills your sister in front of witnesses. Your sister had left you her most prized possession and upon her death this newly arrived foreigner simply steals it from you, and everyone watches as it happens. The foreigner gloats about killing your sister and vehemently refuses to return your inheritance to you. Society at large sides with the foreigner and against you. Your countrymen mock you and tell you that the foreigner is entitled to keep your stolen property and, furthermore, that she will not be prosecuted for killing your sister.
What would you do? Would you curse the foreigner and vow to recover your inheritance? Would you try to bring justice to your sister? Would you take justice into your own hands?
Well that is exactly what the Wicked Witch of the West did, isn’t it? The Wizard of Oz was on last night and it got me thinking that there are two sides to every story. Never take things at face value, always look for the aspect that is not readily shown. Just because it is written on paper, or in the news, don’t assume it is irrefutable and true. Always look behind the curtain!
Friday, April 8, 2011
fun with idiomatic expressions
All things being equal Joe wanted the best of both worlds. He buckled down to fight tooth and nail to have his cake and eat it too. The ball was in his court and he put his nose to the grindstone. There were those who said the whole thing was out of the question, but he would not dance to their tune. In the small hours, Joe often locked horns with his conscience and made mountains out of molehills, but there was no sense in beating a dead horse, it was water under the bridge, the die had been cast. Getting cold feet now would make the bottom fall out. He had spun a good yarn. He never let the situation come to a head and always waited for the dust to settle before making hay while the sun shines. He was on the right track to blazing a new trail and those who said he was biting off more than he could chew were just not seeing the forest for the trees. He would go the extra mile and never dial it back. At this stage of the game all he had to do was put his best foot forward and at the eleventh hour he would be holding all the aces. Time was on his side.
He was all ears when he heard through the grapevine that someone had been cooking the books, and it spread like wildfire before all hell broke loose. He was running against the clock, this could blow up in his face.
They put him on the spot, accused him of taking them for a ride and turned up the heat. He knew there was no paper trail, they couldn’t catch him red-handed. But he had an escape goat, that fat cat born with a silver spoon in his mouth, who was now dead as a doornail in the middle of nowhere. The fat cat was a bundle of nerves and broke down in tears before he bit the dust. But Joe was on the horns of a dilemma, he was faced with a catch 22 and had to rub him out. It was a no brainer that the fat cat would have spilled the beans, Joe had bet on the wrong horse for a partner.
Now, between a rock and a hard place, he had the oldest trick on the book up his sleeve. He would pull a fast one and grease these guys’ palms so they say he’s on the level. It would be a tall story, and it would cost him a pretty penny, but you can’t make omelets without breaking some eggs. The jig was up and Joe couldn’t keep his ill gotten gains. He wasn’t all brawn and no brain, he knew you can’t take two bites at the cherry and that the brass ring comes around only once, so he vowed to turn a new leaf. After all -touch wood- it’s best not to push one’s luck and run while the going is good.
He was all ears when he heard through the grapevine that someone had been cooking the books, and it spread like wildfire before all hell broke loose. He was running against the clock, this could blow up in his face.
They put him on the spot, accused him of taking them for a ride and turned up the heat. He knew there was no paper trail, they couldn’t catch him red-handed. But he had an escape goat, that fat cat born with a silver spoon in his mouth, who was now dead as a doornail in the middle of nowhere. The fat cat was a bundle of nerves and broke down in tears before he bit the dust. But Joe was on the horns of a dilemma, he was faced with a catch 22 and had to rub him out. It was a no brainer that the fat cat would have spilled the beans, Joe had bet on the wrong horse for a partner.
Now, between a rock and a hard place, he had the oldest trick on the book up his sleeve. He would pull a fast one and grease these guys’ palms so they say he’s on the level. It would be a tall story, and it would cost him a pretty penny, but you can’t make omelets without breaking some eggs. The jig was up and Joe couldn’t keep his ill gotten gains. He wasn’t all brawn and no brain, he knew you can’t take two bites at the cherry and that the brass ring comes around only once, so he vowed to turn a new leaf. After all -touch wood- it’s best not to push one’s luck and run while the going is good.
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