Maybe I'm just drawing false connections, but sometimes it seems as if there are these clusters of meaning or themes that coalesce into something that begs to be divined. The tea leaves are spelling something out, and while I don't know why exactly, it seems foolish to pass them by without pondering them for a bit.
This time, I think the key term here is "mission statement," or some approximation of it. For one thing, tomorrow we're going to start working on defining our office's mission at work during a group retreat (part two, actually). For another thing, I sat down for crepes and chai with my friend MS for a couple of hours yesterday, and among other topics we talked about how she is sure to make a list of things that are true about herself, so that whenever she's not so sure or she's in danger of losing herself, she can look back at that list and gain a little more confidence and a firmer grasp on who she wants to be. We both talked about what our lists look like. I've never been one for seeking out inspiration in anything but a modest way, but I did find it interesting that, while I'd focused more on what I want out of a job, her statements had a lot more to do with herself without the job, without other people, and with little to do with time or place. It was as if she stripped everything away and then added the essentials back in. My job has definitely helped me define a lot of what I want, but I guess it's not the whole picture. It's about what's important to me.
So let's see here (I had some help from SM)...
- I think I'd rather be doing good than promoting good. And I don't mean that in a halo-earning sense, but rather in an actually-benefiting-someone sense. Even that is pretty broad, though, and I interpret that benefit pretty loosely, albeit as directly as possible.
- Authenticity is important to me, and thus try to put myself in as few inauthentic moments as possible. This leads to really enjoying time with people I actually like, and trying to minimize time with most other people. I don't want to spend time lying to myself or others; it's draining and pointless.
- My friends are very important to me. It's a given that I will always do what I can to be there for them, whether it's showing up at their events or listening to them.
- I will pretty much do anything for my family. I will always do what I can to support them.
- Learning means a lot to me. I like being informed, but I also like the act of learning. I also like learning about others learning and helping others learn in the best ways for them.
- I'm no fun sometimes because I take life too seriously, but that's okay. I think someone has to take life seriously because otherwise we wouldn't accomplish anything.
- I like understanding how things work and using that knowledge to get things done and make things work better. Practical application is fascinating (and necessary).
- Being resourceful and exploring the best way to do something means a lot to me. Taking the initiative to look for the best method is commendable and also efficient in the end.
I think that's a start. I'm not very happy with the list, actually, because it seems so narcissistic, but I think the concept is sound and certainly helpful if you ever feel so buried or disconnected from yourself. Do you think I'm missing anything from my list? What would you have on your list?
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Monday, November 22, 2010
Speaking of getting older...
The older I get, the more I find myself fulfilling my destiny to become the kind of person who writes formal complaints. I've written one to Amtrak, and I had a mind to write one to the CTA about a certain route before a few bus drivers got a clue. As AL brought to my attention, though, I'm "sending them to the wrong sources in those examples since those are gov't run to varying degrees." Alas. Maybe once we move out of here I'll mellow out a bit. Until then, though, the sentiment is definitely there. Watch out. You've been warned. I know how things are supposed to be run, dammit! I'm mad as hell, and I'm not going to take it anymore! Hey, at least I'm moderately liberal.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Another Year, Another Imminent Thanksgiving
This weekend I went to two different birthday parties where two of my friends were turning 27. You know what's weird? I remember my mom's 27th birthday party. I was 5.
My parents got married at 21 and 20 years old. They're not terrible people by any means (well...), but there are some things that don't need repeating, so in some respects I want to take their model and set it on its head. When I turned 21, I said to my friends, alright, all I have to do is not get married. Should be pretty simple. It was. Check. My mom had me when she was 22. Out of the question. On my 22nd birthday, I told my friends, alright, all I have to do is not get preggers. A little bit riskier, a tad harder than last year's goal, but certainly doable. I passed with flying colors. With those two hurdles cleared, each subsequent birthday diverges more and more from the model. In a month I turn 25. I was 3 years old, reading, and almost off to preschool by this point in my mom's life. At 25, my mom had 2 kids and was on her way to the third, so as long as I don't have twins or triplets in the next year, I'll be golden.
But seriously, though, I'm getting to an age where I not only existed but actually remember existing when my parents were at the very same point. So many things are becoming clearer, so many of their choices demystified, so much of our financial woes justified. As much as I joke about not wanting to follow in my parents' footsteps, I have to give them mad kudos for raising me and my siblings, maintaining a home for us, sending us to private schools, etc. I certainly couldn't have done it. Imagining me sending a kid off to school every morning in the next year of my life seems beyond belief.
When I was younger, I always wanted to be the young mom who had a lot of energy for her kids and was still very much in touch with her younger years, like my mom was for me. As I grew older I realized how ridiculous that was, how different my circumstances had to be, and how insane it was for my parents to have found each other ready and willing to go forward with such a life, fully believing that they would succeed. (Together they lovingly dreamed of having 10 kids! WTF. Imagining having a similar conversation with SM is laughable on many levels.) And succeed they did (for the most part). They raised 6 great, smart, mostly obedient kids with very little money, many hard times, but always high expectations. They both had guts and determination and instinct that I will be lucky to ever possess. As Thanksgiving approaches, I am so grateful that they did so well for all of us. And I'm grateful I don't have kids.
My parents got married at 21 and 20 years old. They're not terrible people by any means (well...), but there are some things that don't need repeating, so in some respects I want to take their model and set it on its head. When I turned 21, I said to my friends, alright, all I have to do is not get married. Should be pretty simple. It was. Check. My mom had me when she was 22. Out of the question. On my 22nd birthday, I told my friends, alright, all I have to do is not get preggers. A little bit riskier, a tad harder than last year's goal, but certainly doable. I passed with flying colors. With those two hurdles cleared, each subsequent birthday diverges more and more from the model. In a month I turn 25. I was 3 years old, reading, and almost off to preschool by this point in my mom's life. At 25, my mom had 2 kids and was on her way to the third, so as long as I don't have twins or triplets in the next year, I'll be golden.
But seriously, though, I'm getting to an age where I not only existed but actually remember existing when my parents were at the very same point. So many things are becoming clearer, so many of their choices demystified, so much of our financial woes justified. As much as I joke about not wanting to follow in my parents' footsteps, I have to give them mad kudos for raising me and my siblings, maintaining a home for us, sending us to private schools, etc. I certainly couldn't have done it. Imagining me sending a kid off to school every morning in the next year of my life seems beyond belief.
When I was younger, I always wanted to be the young mom who had a lot of energy for her kids and was still very much in touch with her younger years, like my mom was for me. As I grew older I realized how ridiculous that was, how different my circumstances had to be, and how insane it was for my parents to have found each other ready and willing to go forward with such a life, fully believing that they would succeed. (Together they lovingly dreamed of having 10 kids! WTF. Imagining having a similar conversation with SM is laughable on many levels.) And succeed they did (for the most part). They raised 6 great, smart, mostly obedient kids with very little money, many hard times, but always high expectations. They both had guts and determination and instinct that I will be lucky to ever possess. As Thanksgiving approaches, I am so grateful that they did so well for all of us. And I'm grateful I don't have kids.
Monday, October 4, 2010
The Social Network [Spoiler Alert]
By now I think it's apparent that I view the inability to stop thinking about it as one of the markers of a good movie. The Social Network is, for better or worse, the latest addition to my list of hearty cinematic fare.
One of the things I find most striking about the film is not necessarily the plot, but all of the questions the making of this film brings up: where is the line between fiction and reality? What are the facts on which this story is based, and where do they align with the plot points of the film?
As far as the plot of the film goes, one of screenwriter Aaron Sorkin's best moments of construction and a testament to Kirk Baxter and Angus Wall's' editing was the juxtaposition of the two key lawsuits: one from a group who believes Zuckerberg stole their idea, and another from his "only" friend who was shut out of the company. There's the business side of things, and there's the personal side of things. The business side is pretty clean cut, and it's made clear in the film that the group suing him doesn't really have true case, but it's viable enough to question how a jury would react, and so they settle. The personal side of anything is going to be a lot more complicated, and this case is no different. Digging up the details of the case is painful for both friends, and more evidence turns up of their friendship (and Zuckerberg's supposed awkwardness) than of a reason why Zuckerberg did what he did. The question is actually never answered: it remains an inexplicable open wound. Sorkin parallels these two stories to highlight the corresponding sides of Facebook: the money and the business and the facts are cleaner cut (and lame by comparison) than any of the strange new bonds people maintain on the website.
Sorkin's black and white view of the social platform is well-executed, but certainly cause for concern. It's clear that he doesn't know anything about social media, and as you can read in countless places, facts aren't his chief concern either. It was thus that much more interesting to compare and contrast the film with the timely profile of Zuckerberg featured in the New Yorker. My first impression was that, from the author's description, Eisenberg nailed Zuckerberg's personality -- a feat, considering the star of the unauthorized picture has most likely never had the chance to meet his private, introverted, and self-proclaimed awkward non-fictional counterpart. Unlike some dimwits out there likely to take the story as fact and exposé, I think I have the sense to see a film about any origin story as sensationalized at the least, but reading the article brought Facebook's founder into the mix as well. After completing the piece, I had to admit there was more to this than getting a character's quirks down or at least exaggerating them to the perfect degree on screen. I started thinking about how it would feel to have a movie made about me: of course it would frustrate me that a) it existed in the first place, b) any grain of truth in it was most certainly going to be exaggerated, and that c) it would be possibly sensitive parts of my life portrayed onscreen by people who have no idea who I really am. But perhaps most of all, it would bother me that people out there would actually believe it. They wouldn't think twice. I really found myself pulling for Zuckerberg in all this, not necessarily because of the truthfulness of the facts or the level of acting, but because he's a guy who did some great things and some not so great things, just like everybody else, and we should just leave him alone.
One fleeting moment of the film SM and I spent a lot of time talking about was Rashida Jones' lawyerly explanation (if caught, for the benefit of the viewer, moreso than for Zuckerberg) that settling doesn't imply guilt, rather it admits defeat in the face of inescapable perception of guilt. All the prosecution has to do is convince the jury that theft was merely possible. He could have been thinking it, so he could be guilty. That's all it takes. As much as I might think I would react differently to any of the situations Zuckerberg faced, this was what it came down to: sometimes it doesn't matter what you do, people are going to extrapolate what they wish and judge you accordingly. I saw it as kind of concession by Sorkin for Zuckerberg, tucked away among the drama and the sometimes-harsh characterizations.
Is the goal of a film based on reality to tap into that reality for answers, for truth? Or do we watch these films as a mirror into the distant past, just to reaffirm that it happened, like clicking through a Facebook photo album? After watching this film, I would hope that Sorkin and Fincher were going for the latter. The former is just too fraught with incomplete truths and funhouse-reflected moments in history to do any justice to a real investigation. Maybe it's just too soon, or too much altogether. I thought the same of Oliver Stone's W: why am I watching this? What's the point of this exercise? He was a young guy who started a game-changing website, or a president who made some questionable choices...so what?
Overall, I think the movie was well-crafted, but ultimately a hollow experience. I found thinking of Facebook outside of Facebook for a while was the interesting exercise, regardless of the contents of the film. While waxing philosophical about the "power of social networking" is annoying to me, I do know that I joined the website before I was even a first year, in the summer of 2004. I knew that University of Chicago was the second tier of schools added after the Ivy Leagues, but I had never put that timing into perspective: Zuckerberg rolled out Thefacebook.com in February of 2004. When he was 19 years old. 19. The rate of growth of his consumer base was absolutely ridiculous, and he didn't have to advertise. It is word of mouth and desire to be involved that continues to drive the whole beast. That is pretty powerful, whether you like the (portrayal of the) guy or not. And I think what really sells him to me, though, is that he's not in it for the money. He enjoys building things, like so many of the other unknown developers and hackers in Silicon Valley, and he will continue to build it out until he moves on to something else, if ever. I can respect that from afar without having to know the ins and outs of his personal life, Sorkinized or no. I just hope this dramatization of him and the founding doesn't get in the way of other people doing so as well.
Further reading:
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/10/04/business/media/04portrayal.html?th&emc=th
http://www.slate.com/id/2269250/
One of the things I find most striking about the film is not necessarily the plot, but all of the questions the making of this film brings up: where is the line between fiction and reality? What are the facts on which this story is based, and where do they align with the plot points of the film?
As far as the plot of the film goes, one of screenwriter Aaron Sorkin's best moments of construction and a testament to Kirk Baxter and Angus Wall's' editing was the juxtaposition of the two key lawsuits: one from a group who believes Zuckerberg stole their idea, and another from his "only" friend who was shut out of the company. There's the business side of things, and there's the personal side of things. The business side is pretty clean cut, and it's made clear in the film that the group suing him doesn't really have true case, but it's viable enough to question how a jury would react, and so they settle. The personal side of anything is going to be a lot more complicated, and this case is no different. Digging up the details of the case is painful for both friends, and more evidence turns up of their friendship (and Zuckerberg's supposed awkwardness) than of a reason why Zuckerberg did what he did. The question is actually never answered: it remains an inexplicable open wound. Sorkin parallels these two stories to highlight the corresponding sides of Facebook: the money and the business and the facts are cleaner cut (and lame by comparison) than any of the strange new bonds people maintain on the website.
Sorkin's black and white view of the social platform is well-executed, but certainly cause for concern. It's clear that he doesn't know anything about social media, and as you can read in countless places, facts aren't his chief concern either. It was thus that much more interesting to compare and contrast the film with the timely profile of Zuckerberg featured in the New Yorker. My first impression was that, from the author's description, Eisenberg nailed Zuckerberg's personality -- a feat, considering the star of the unauthorized picture has most likely never had the chance to meet his private, introverted, and self-proclaimed awkward non-fictional counterpart. Unlike some dimwits out there likely to take the story as fact and exposé, I think I have the sense to see a film about any origin story as sensationalized at the least, but reading the article brought Facebook's founder into the mix as well. After completing the piece, I had to admit there was more to this than getting a character's quirks down or at least exaggerating them to the perfect degree on screen. I started thinking about how it would feel to have a movie made about me: of course it would frustrate me that a) it existed in the first place, b) any grain of truth in it was most certainly going to be exaggerated, and that c) it would be possibly sensitive parts of my life portrayed onscreen by people who have no idea who I really am. But perhaps most of all, it would bother me that people out there would actually believe it. They wouldn't think twice. I really found myself pulling for Zuckerberg in all this, not necessarily because of the truthfulness of the facts or the level of acting, but because he's a guy who did some great things and some not so great things, just like everybody else, and we should just leave him alone.
One fleeting moment of the film SM and I spent a lot of time talking about was Rashida Jones' lawyerly explanation (if caught, for the benefit of the viewer, moreso than for Zuckerberg) that settling doesn't imply guilt, rather it admits defeat in the face of inescapable perception of guilt. All the prosecution has to do is convince the jury that theft was merely possible. He could have been thinking it, so he could be guilty. That's all it takes. As much as I might think I would react differently to any of the situations Zuckerberg faced, this was what it came down to: sometimes it doesn't matter what you do, people are going to extrapolate what they wish and judge you accordingly. I saw it as kind of concession by Sorkin for Zuckerberg, tucked away among the drama and the sometimes-harsh characterizations.
Is the goal of a film based on reality to tap into that reality for answers, for truth? Or do we watch these films as a mirror into the distant past, just to reaffirm that it happened, like clicking through a Facebook photo album? After watching this film, I would hope that Sorkin and Fincher were going for the latter. The former is just too fraught with incomplete truths and funhouse-reflected moments in history to do any justice to a real investigation. Maybe it's just too soon, or too much altogether. I thought the same of Oliver Stone's W: why am I watching this? What's the point of this exercise? He was a young guy who started a game-changing website, or a president who made some questionable choices...so what?
Overall, I think the movie was well-crafted, but ultimately a hollow experience. I found thinking of Facebook outside of Facebook for a while was the interesting exercise, regardless of the contents of the film. While waxing philosophical about the "power of social networking" is annoying to me, I do know that I joined the website before I was even a first year, in the summer of 2004. I knew that University of Chicago was the second tier of schools added after the Ivy Leagues, but I had never put that timing into perspective: Zuckerberg rolled out Thefacebook.com in February of 2004. When he was 19 years old. 19. The rate of growth of his consumer base was absolutely ridiculous, and he didn't have to advertise. It is word of mouth and desire to be involved that continues to drive the whole beast. That is pretty powerful, whether you like the (portrayal of the) guy or not. And I think what really sells him to me, though, is that he's not in it for the money. He enjoys building things, like so many of the other unknown developers and hackers in Silicon Valley, and he will continue to build it out until he moves on to something else, if ever. I can respect that from afar without having to know the ins and outs of his personal life, Sorkinized or no. I just hope this dramatization of him and the founding doesn't get in the way of other people doing so as well.
Further reading:
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/10/04/business/media/04portrayal.html?th&emc=th
http://www.slate.com/id/2269250/
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
The Audacity of Certainty
Since I was pretty young, I've had a real affinity for Jewish religion and culture. One of my very first friends from preschool on up is Jewish (now living in Israel, actually), and since then I've had the privilege of participating in various Jewish traditions with her and her family. From Chanukah to Passover to Rosh Hashanah to Shabbat dinner with her Bubby and Zaideh, those times had a huge impact on me, and I enjoyed every minute. On top of that exposure, I went to an Episcopalian school whose amazing religion program made ample room for learning about both Judaism and Islam. There weren't any outspoken Muslims in my school while I was there, but the Jews in my class (my friend JK included) actively bolstered the curriculum with input about their knowledge and experiences. Additionally, my parents (mom especially) were the kind of Christians who embraced Jesus as a Jew, never failing to remind me that the Last Supper was a Seder, and fully acknowledged the overlap between the two religions. I never understood how any Christian could hate (anyone, especially) Jews.
Back in high school and early college, I was thinking somewhat seriously about converting to Judaism. My mom wasn't very happy about it, not at all because of any feelings about the religion itself (see above), but because doing so would full-on negate everything raising me (pretty hardcore) Christian was all about: at the very core, either you believe the Savior's come already, or you don't. For me, it's never been that simple. Forget all of that hogwash about who killed whom; it really means nothing to me, and it makes no sense to hold an entire people accountable for something that supposedly would already have been planned for by an omniscient God-figure, right? Among many other things. But I guess at this point, I have to concede that my attraction is a lot more cultural than religious. I personally have no problem making a sort of land bridge of logic between the two religions in my mind, but the actual particulars and holes waiting to be poked in my own convictions is a lot harder articulated than believed, not to mention I don't even have a hard and fast religious take on anything. I have no answers. And maybe that's what's attractive to me about it after all: (not to go totally overboard with this, but I am a cinephile and a Coen Bros fan...) in A Serious Man, the Coen Brothers attempt to sum up the faith this way:
Larry Gopnik: I don't want it to just go away! I want an answer!
Rabbi Nachtner: Sure! We all want the answer! But Hashem doesn't owe us the answer, Larry. Hashem doesn't owe us anything. The obligation runs the other way.
Larry Gopnik: Why does he make us feel the questions if he's not gonna give us any answers?
Rabbi Nachtner: He hasn't told me.
Perhaps this is why the Catholic funeral I attended just a few days after discussing this with SR was so disturbing to me. Even in talking things out with her then, I noted one thing I hate about organized religion: "I just wish religious people would stop the whole right/wrong thing, though," I said. "They put stakes on your soul which doesn't seem fair. But to some people, that's the whole point." While questioning everything (without necessarily finding all the answers, while at the same time placing meaning on things we do know) is a core part of who I strive to be and something I see in Judaism, Catholicism struck me as the exact opposite.
I'd heard about Catholic guilt, but I hadn't really been in the same room with it during my last and only Mass experience about 7 years ago, Christmas. This time, the air was ripe with it. I don't want to get into details about the heart-wrenching service, but I was angered by the opportunities that were taken by the Church to further their agenda. Mrs. L. had lived in New York for over 20 years, so the staff at the church didn't know her. The priest and his helpers (whom we met at the wake the night before) were just so impersonal, reading from binders without looking up, and calling her a "woman of God." I didn't know her, and I don't want to take anything from her, but they didn't know anything about her, how she lived her life, or if she'd even been to Mass in the last 10 years. They proceeded to talk about how those who are saved will be consoled, phrasing it as an ultimatum, a trade of a soul for relief from grief. The service felt so routinized and cold, and I couldn't relate sitting and standing periodically to consoling my friends.
Maybe a Jewish funeral feels the same way, but it was striking how much my feelings on religion in general had swung the opposite way in a matter of three days. Part of what I'd liked so much about my Jewish experiences growing up was their strong associations with family. I see it in the traditions, I see it in my memories, I see it in my friends. In such a crucial time for someone and something to lean on, I didn't see Catholicism doing any of that. Instead, it just felt like they co-opted the situation for the propagation of their own ideas. It's the very sentiment that's pushed me away from the protestant upbringing in which I was raised. So many of my friends are atheist or agnostic, and over the years I've gradually kept my own beliefs to myself. In reality, I don't think it will ever be an option for me to believe that there is no God, but I respect others' desire to do so. In keeping to myself, I've had a growing feeling that religion and spirituality is only what you know and feel it to be, and I don't spend much time trying to explain myself anymore. Coupled with my University of Chicago education, the only thing I'm sure of is that I don't know anything. The most impressive nature to me is one of questioning and humility, and I want that in my faith too. To barter souls for peace of mind assumes one holds the key, that they know, that they are confident and sure, that they are done searching. I don't think I can stand for that.
Back in high school and early college, I was thinking somewhat seriously about converting to Judaism. My mom wasn't very happy about it, not at all because of any feelings about the religion itself (see above), but because doing so would full-on negate everything raising me (pretty hardcore) Christian was all about: at the very core, either you believe the Savior's come already, or you don't. For me, it's never been that simple. Forget all of that hogwash about who killed whom; it really means nothing to me, and it makes no sense to hold an entire people accountable for something that supposedly would already have been planned for by an omniscient God-figure, right? Among many other things. But I guess at this point, I have to concede that my attraction is a lot more cultural than religious. I personally have no problem making a sort of land bridge of logic between the two religions in my mind, but the actual particulars and holes waiting to be poked in my own convictions is a lot harder articulated than believed, not to mention I don't even have a hard and fast religious take on anything. I have no answers. And maybe that's what's attractive to me about it after all: (not to go totally overboard with this, but I am a cinephile and a Coen Bros fan...) in A Serious Man, the Coen Brothers attempt to sum up the faith this way:
Larry Gopnik: I don't want it to just go away! I want an answer!
Rabbi Nachtner: Sure! We all want the answer! But Hashem doesn't owe us the answer, Larry. Hashem doesn't owe us anything. The obligation runs the other way.
Larry Gopnik: Why does he make us feel the questions if he's not gonna give us any answers?
Rabbi Nachtner: He hasn't told me.
Perhaps this is why the Catholic funeral I attended just a few days after discussing this with SR was so disturbing to me. Even in talking things out with her then, I noted one thing I hate about organized religion: "I just wish religious people would stop the whole right/wrong thing, though," I said. "They put stakes on your soul which doesn't seem fair. But to some people, that's the whole point." While questioning everything (without necessarily finding all the answers, while at the same time placing meaning on things we do know) is a core part of who I strive to be and something I see in Judaism, Catholicism struck me as the exact opposite.
I'd heard about Catholic guilt, but I hadn't really been in the same room with it during my last and only Mass experience about 7 years ago, Christmas. This time, the air was ripe with it. I don't want to get into details about the heart-wrenching service, but I was angered by the opportunities that were taken by the Church to further their agenda. Mrs. L. had lived in New York for over 20 years, so the staff at the church didn't know her. The priest and his helpers (whom we met at the wake the night before) were just so impersonal, reading from binders without looking up, and calling her a "woman of God." I didn't know her, and I don't want to take anything from her, but they didn't know anything about her, how she lived her life, or if she'd even been to Mass in the last 10 years. They proceeded to talk about how those who are saved will be consoled, phrasing it as an ultimatum, a trade of a soul for relief from grief. The service felt so routinized and cold, and I couldn't relate sitting and standing periodically to consoling my friends.
Maybe a Jewish funeral feels the same way, but it was striking how much my feelings on religion in general had swung the opposite way in a matter of three days. Part of what I'd liked so much about my Jewish experiences growing up was their strong associations with family. I see it in the traditions, I see it in my memories, I see it in my friends. In such a crucial time for someone and something to lean on, I didn't see Catholicism doing any of that. Instead, it just felt like they co-opted the situation for the propagation of their own ideas. It's the very sentiment that's pushed me away from the protestant upbringing in which I was raised. So many of my friends are atheist or agnostic, and over the years I've gradually kept my own beliefs to myself. In reality, I don't think it will ever be an option for me to believe that there is no God, but I respect others' desire to do so. In keeping to myself, I've had a growing feeling that religion and spirituality is only what you know and feel it to be, and I don't spend much time trying to explain myself anymore. Coupled with my University of Chicago education, the only thing I'm sure of is that I don't know anything. The most impressive nature to me is one of questioning and humility, and I want that in my faith too. To barter souls for peace of mind assumes one holds the key, that they know, that they are confident and sure, that they are done searching. I don't think I can stand for that.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
The New 'Hood
It's high time for a post about our new apartment. On or around July 1, SM and I moved into a new apartment in Chicago's North Center neighborhood. It's pretty awesome. The surrounding area is quiet, but has a bunch of cool restaurants and bars and cultural activities. We're pretty much just as far west as we were before, but we are 12 big blocks north. Also, we're now a 5 minute walk from the Brown Line at Irving Park, which is a huge improvement from the 20 minute walk we had before. I don't mind walking of course--the nice walks around the neighborhood was one of the things that attracted us to this spot--but when it comes to getting to work in a timely fashion, a 5 minute walk can make all the difference.
I've explained it this way: at our old place, if I was ready to leave the house 8am, my choices were to wait for the bus and get to the train station (to wait however long for a train) in 5 minutes or walk to the train station in 20 minutes. If I use CTA Bus Tracker to discover that there's a bus in 10 minutes, it saves me 5 minutes, but I'm still starting my commute at 8:10 instead of 8am. These days, I can leave whenever I want, and 5 minutes later, I'm at the train station on my own two feet, and there's usually a train (and a seat!) about every 5 minutes during rush hour. I'm getting to work consistently in an hour or a little less, instead of an hour one day, an hour and 10, 20 minutes the next.
If I'm going some place other than work, the CTA options are still plentiful. There's the Brown Line to the loop (or the Brown Line to the Red Line to 95th), the Ashland bus south but staying west, the Lincoln bus to the west of us going southeast, the Clark bus to the east of us going southeast, the Damen bus to the west of us running north and south, and the Irving Park bus down the block going east and west. Each of these options is within a 10 minute walk from our door. It's transit heaven!
Inside the apartment, it's absolutely beautiful. The building was built in 1931, and it's all brick on the outside, old wood on the inside (dark wood door with glass panes in the dining room, old style windows). It's large, with a sizable living room and bedroom, 2 closets, a hall way, a bathroom, a linen closet, and a kitchen with a separate dining room area. There are lots of built in cabinets and, as I've implied, tons of storage place, which was something we were adamant about on our search. There is also a dishwasher and a microwave above the stove. There is free radiator heat, which is pretty cool, because that's how I grew up. It's very much a practical and awesome place.
Another thing I like about our apartment is just the new perks of living alone. Alright, so I'm living with S, but he's no roommate or anything. We even have similar cleanliness and organizational habits and design desires, so most roommate differences don't even count. Anyway, there's so much you can do when you live alone. All the space is yours. All the food is yours. You don't have to move anything you don't want to. The TV is always yours. The living room is always yours. You can go into another room whenever you want. If so inclined, you can do any business you want in the bathroom with the door open.
But my #1, most favorite perk of living alone is that you can wear as little as you want at all times. (Gross Out Alert) You can walk around completely naked. It is in my top 3 most liberated feelings. One of the first things I do when I get home from work is take off my pants. It's awesome. And some days, you just need to strip down. It's your right; it's your place. If you don't already, I highly suggest getting your own place for that reason alone.
As my good friend OBM once said, "nudity and happiness go hand in hand in living in one's own place." If you don't like where you live or you're feeling down in a rut, I recommend shedding some of that clothing and taking a tour in your birthday suit. Go ahead. DO it. Take a deep breath and feel renewed. There's really nothing like it.
I've explained it this way: at our old place, if I was ready to leave the house 8am, my choices were to wait for the bus and get to the train station (to wait however long for a train) in 5 minutes or walk to the train station in 20 minutes. If I use CTA Bus Tracker to discover that there's a bus in 10 minutes, it saves me 5 minutes, but I'm still starting my commute at 8:10 instead of 8am. These days, I can leave whenever I want, and 5 minutes later, I'm at the train station on my own two feet, and there's usually a train (and a seat!) about every 5 minutes during rush hour. I'm getting to work consistently in an hour or a little less, instead of an hour one day, an hour and 10, 20 minutes the next.
If I'm going some place other than work, the CTA options are still plentiful. There's the Brown Line to the loop (or the Brown Line to the Red Line to 95th), the Ashland bus south but staying west, the Lincoln bus to the west of us going southeast, the Clark bus to the east of us going southeast, the Damen bus to the west of us running north and south, and the Irving Park bus down the block going east and west. Each of these options is within a 10 minute walk from our door. It's transit heaven!
Inside the apartment, it's absolutely beautiful. The building was built in 1931, and it's all brick on the outside, old wood on the inside (dark wood door with glass panes in the dining room, old style windows). It's large, with a sizable living room and bedroom, 2 closets, a hall way, a bathroom, a linen closet, and a kitchen with a separate dining room area. There are lots of built in cabinets and, as I've implied, tons of storage place, which was something we were adamant about on our search. There is also a dishwasher and a microwave above the stove. There is free radiator heat, which is pretty cool, because that's how I grew up. It's very much a practical and awesome place.
Another thing I like about our apartment is just the new perks of living alone. Alright, so I'm living with S, but he's no roommate or anything. We even have similar cleanliness and organizational habits and design desires, so most roommate differences don't even count. Anyway, there's so much you can do when you live alone. All the space is yours. All the food is yours. You don't have to move anything you don't want to. The TV is always yours. The living room is always yours. You can go into another room whenever you want. If so inclined, you can do any business you want in the bathroom with the door open.
But my #1, most favorite perk of living alone is that you can wear as little as you want at all times. (Gross Out Alert) You can walk around completely naked. It is in my top 3 most liberated feelings. One of the first things I do when I get home from work is take off my pants. It's awesome. And some days, you just need to strip down. It's your right; it's your place. If you don't already, I highly suggest getting your own place for that reason alone.
As my good friend OBM once said, "nudity and happiness go hand in hand in living in one's own place." If you don't like where you live or you're feeling down in a rut, I recommend shedding some of that clothing and taking a tour in your birthday suit. Go ahead. DO it. Take a deep breath and feel renewed. There's really nothing like it.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Inward Observations: part 1 of ∞
1. I think I need a career that can offer lots of independence. I like setting goals for myself that are tied to larger, more life-affirming, and practical aspects of life (i.e. education, conflict resolution, health, etc.), as opposed to being obliged to adhere to goals set for me that are tied to smaller, subjective, shorter-term initiatives.
2. The things I like best about my current job are the editing and the shooting, when I can fully immerse myself in the creation of a solid product. I don't particularly like troubling myself with the distribution or the client desires, but when I do, I am often disappointed with the relatively small sphere of influence, short term goals, and/or enthusiasm over what I see as proportionately small events/meaning.
3. I like working with something hands-on, and I learn better by doing.
4. I'm really bad at being fake, and I hate having to be fake. Fake smiles, fake interest, and fake enthusiasm tire me out. Relatedly, impressing anyone besides those I care about is never high on my list.
5. My hopes for something are almost always trumped by possible realities. I'll get really excited about something if the logistics are there to support its potential.
6. More than approval or praise, I want feedback.
7. I like when questions have a purpose, for example to come closer to a conclusion, when someone truly cares, or when the information will be used for something.
8. Inefficient systems and unnecessary elements irk me.
9. The test to pass is whether or not the issues one talks about in a meeting have any implications outside of that particular closed community. Immigration? Yes. The history of film? Yes. An upcoming community event? Doesn't excite me.
Given all of this, what is the best career for me?
2. The things I like best about my current job are the editing and the shooting, when I can fully immerse myself in the creation of a solid product. I don't particularly like troubling myself with the distribution or the client desires, but when I do, I am often disappointed with the relatively small sphere of influence, short term goals, and/or enthusiasm over what I see as proportionately small events/meaning.
3. I like working with something hands-on, and I learn better by doing.
4. I'm really bad at being fake, and I hate having to be fake. Fake smiles, fake interest, and fake enthusiasm tire me out. Relatedly, impressing anyone besides those I care about is never high on my list.
5. My hopes for something are almost always trumped by possible realities. I'll get really excited about something if the logistics are there to support its potential.
6. More than approval or praise, I want feedback.
7. I like when questions have a purpose, for example to come closer to a conclusion, when someone truly cares, or when the information will be used for something.
8. Inefficient systems and unnecessary elements irk me.
9. The test to pass is whether or not the issues one talks about in a meeting have any implications outside of that particular closed community. Immigration? Yes. The history of film? Yes. An upcoming community event? Doesn't excite me.
Given all of this, what is the best career for me?
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
A Better Dreamer [Spoiler Alert]
**NOTE: I've been writing this for 3 weeks, so it's a bit choppy and disjointed. Let me know if you need any clarification of my points, and I'll do my best to shed light on something or other.**
Exploring the three levels “on which our minds live: the past, the present, and the conditional - the realm of fantasy” ~ Federico Fellini
Of course a lot of talk has been going around about Christopher Nolan's Inception. I for one thought it was great, until I thought about it and decided that it was flawed, but still great. Christopher Nolan has great concepts in his head, and he really has a vision for his work, it's quite obvious. But my main answer to anyone who asks is that I don't think he thinks things through in layers, rather he thinks a movie through via it's plot.
Remember that whole story vs. plot thing? The plot is confined to the film or piece of fiction, whereas the story can bleed beyond the pages of the book or screenplay. The key difference is that the plot of a work of art (told in order) can portray a story out of order. Take Nolan's Memento for example: the story portrays Leonard tattooing himself to combat his short-term memory loss as he searches for his wife's killer; the plot presents these events backwards for dramatic and artistic effect. My claim is that Nolan is really good at thinking of a captivating plot, but he is not as good at fleshing out the layers of a good story.
In the case of Inception (and I won't go too in depth because that is not my main point here), the concepts such as totems, architects, and the concept of inception itself, seem intriguing on the surface, but as soon as they're done furthering the plot, they are dropped. We never find out anything more about Ariadne's totem (or much more about dream architecture once its existence as a concept is done explaining her presence); we never find out how long all of this dream stuff has been around (Mal supposedly invented the use of the totem, but if this thing has a long and storied history, you would think someone else would have needed to keep a grasp on reality); and we never find out anything about the other characters beyond their functions on Cobb's team. To those of you who use these facts to support your stupid "it's all a dream" theory, I say BOO. Even if it was a dream (which, I maintain, would be a cop out), I believe that it is important for a movie to have depth beyond what happens on screen -- more story, less plot.
The dream bit actually brings me around to my real point here. Interestingly enough, I had the pleasure of seeing 8 1/2 again last night. Great film. For once Ebert and I agree when he said that it's the best film about filmmaking. Hands down. Anyway, my main thesis here is that I think Fellini did the dreaming Christopher Nolan was aiming for, both achieving more of a dreamlike quality (one popular critique of Inception), and more successfully incorporating all those rules Nolan beats into you during all of that futile exposition. (Again, I think it's flawed, but still great.)
8 1/2 focuses on Guido, a middle-aged film director who is struggling to make the movie he's always wanted. It is a metafilm adventure, as we discover that the project described therein that is supposedly doomed to fail by all of his colleagues in the picture is eerily similar to the very film we are watching. Guido wrestles with his subconscious to figure out what he believes about love, what his life really means, and what those around him mean to him. It is personal in every sense of the word, first and foremost because we automatically assume in the first minutes of the film that the director portrayed must bear some resemblance to the real and famous Italian director, Fellini himself, and secondarily due to the behind-the-scenes look we get at Guido's varied relationships, his director's-block, and how each of them affect his work. But perhaps most personal is the fact that we dream with Guido and not only witness how the film's events affect his work, but also how they affect his subconscious. More accurately, we witness how his subconscious affects his work--even more plainly, his subconscious is the work. Thus, dreaming is a very important element to the film, and the common ground between this and Nolan's latest piece.
Returning to Inception for a bit, Nolan sets out several rules in the beginning his film that are supposed to alert the viewer and the dream invaders that they are in a dream world, and that the subconscious is alive, well, and ready to turn on the intruders. Rules range from keeping tabs on others around you (the more everyone looks at you, the more their subconscious is aware of your presence, a sign that you have tampered with too much), to staying abreast of how you arrived at your current position (a sign that you are probably in a dream), to being aware of the either the "kick" or death as some of the only ways you can forcibly get out of the dream state. Nolan lays out these rules and tips as Cobb introduces Ariadne to the world of extraction.
I would claim that, while one film predates the other by 50 years, Fellini adheres to similar rules of the unconscious/subconscious. Better yet, he teaches these rules of the dream world to the viewer by throwing them into the fray instead of giving googobs of exposition. We follow Guido seamlessly in and out of the dream world, unsure of how we arrived or where we are. Guido's dreams, like the film itself, are ripe subconscious material, ripped straight from the events of his life, past, present, and future, and holding important clues for interpretation, much like the dreams the extractors probe in their work. The eye contact of those who populate Guido's world is also an interesting characteristic of his subconscious. They stare at him (and us) with an unnaturally steady gaze, prying into his motives and desires, and, like Nolan's extractors, trying to discover what his deepest secrets are.
Throughout the movie, Guido tries to interpret his own dreams to answer his questions about making his film while battling his personal life on the side. The two intermingle until he has a realization that. Cobb, too, struggles to find a balance between his work and his personal life, and he also comes to an intermingling conclusion. While the protagonists have many similarities, it's the directors in my mind who differ in their storytelling styles. There is a subtlety that Nolan could learn from Fellini that I think is highlighted in their dreamscapes. The ease with which Fellini glides through 8 1/2 underscores the harmony between story and plot; perhaps this was because the story was so personal to the director. Nolan really told a great plot in Inception, but, for me, the transitions were rocky and drew attention to the incongruity between the story and plot. Inception is an undoubtedly an entertaining film that gets people talking and thinking, but when it comes to the better dreamer, I maintain that Fellini's got him beat.
Exploring the three levels “on which our minds live: the past, the present, and the conditional - the realm of fantasy” ~ Federico Fellini
Of course a lot of talk has been going around about Christopher Nolan's Inception. I for one thought it was great, until I thought about it and decided that it was flawed, but still great. Christopher Nolan has great concepts in his head, and he really has a vision for his work, it's quite obvious. But my main answer to anyone who asks is that I don't think he thinks things through in layers, rather he thinks a movie through via it's plot.
Remember that whole story vs. plot thing? The plot is confined to the film or piece of fiction, whereas the story can bleed beyond the pages of the book or screenplay. The key difference is that the plot of a work of art (told in order) can portray a story out of order. Take Nolan's Memento for example: the story portrays Leonard tattooing himself to combat his short-term memory loss as he searches for his wife's killer; the plot presents these events backwards for dramatic and artistic effect. My claim is that Nolan is really good at thinking of a captivating plot, but he is not as good at fleshing out the layers of a good story.
In the case of Inception (and I won't go too in depth because that is not my main point here), the concepts such as totems, architects, and the concept of inception itself, seem intriguing on the surface, but as soon as they're done furthering the plot, they are dropped. We never find out anything more about Ariadne's totem (or much more about dream architecture once its existence as a concept is done explaining her presence); we never find out how long all of this dream stuff has been around (Mal supposedly invented the use of the totem, but if this thing has a long and storied history, you would think someone else would have needed to keep a grasp on reality); and we never find out anything about the other characters beyond their functions on Cobb's team. To those of you who use these facts to support your stupid "it's all a dream" theory, I say BOO. Even if it was a dream (which, I maintain, would be a cop out), I believe that it is important for a movie to have depth beyond what happens on screen -- more story, less plot.
The dream bit actually brings me around to my real point here. Interestingly enough, I had the pleasure of seeing 8 1/2 again last night. Great film. For once Ebert and I agree when he said that it's the best film about filmmaking. Hands down. Anyway, my main thesis here is that I think Fellini did the dreaming Christopher Nolan was aiming for, both achieving more of a dreamlike quality (one popular critique of Inception), and more successfully incorporating all those rules Nolan beats into you during all of that futile exposition. (Again, I think it's flawed, but still great.)
8 1/2 focuses on Guido, a middle-aged film director who is struggling to make the movie he's always wanted. It is a metafilm adventure, as we discover that the project described therein that is supposedly doomed to fail by all of his colleagues in the picture is eerily similar to the very film we are watching. Guido wrestles with his subconscious to figure out what he believes about love, what his life really means, and what those around him mean to him. It is personal in every sense of the word, first and foremost because we automatically assume in the first minutes of the film that the director portrayed must bear some resemblance to the real and famous Italian director, Fellini himself, and secondarily due to the behind-the-scenes look we get at Guido's varied relationships, his director's-block, and how each of them affect his work. But perhaps most personal is the fact that we dream with Guido and not only witness how the film's events affect his work, but also how they affect his subconscious. More accurately, we witness how his subconscious affects his work--even more plainly, his subconscious is the work. Thus, dreaming is a very important element to the film, and the common ground between this and Nolan's latest piece.
Returning to Inception for a bit, Nolan sets out several rules in the beginning his film that are supposed to alert the viewer and the dream invaders that they are in a dream world, and that the subconscious is alive, well, and ready to turn on the intruders. Rules range from keeping tabs on others around you (the more everyone looks at you, the more their subconscious is aware of your presence, a sign that you have tampered with too much), to staying abreast of how you arrived at your current position (a sign that you are probably in a dream), to being aware of the either the "kick" or death as some of the only ways you can forcibly get out of the dream state. Nolan lays out these rules and tips as Cobb introduces Ariadne to the world of extraction.
I would claim that, while one film predates the other by 50 years, Fellini adheres to similar rules of the unconscious/subconscious. Better yet, he teaches these rules of the dream world to the viewer by throwing them into the fray instead of giving googobs of exposition. We follow Guido seamlessly in and out of the dream world, unsure of how we arrived or where we are. Guido's dreams, like the film itself, are ripe subconscious material, ripped straight from the events of his life, past, present, and future, and holding important clues for interpretation, much like the dreams the extractors probe in their work. The eye contact of those who populate Guido's world is also an interesting characteristic of his subconscious. They stare at him (and us) with an unnaturally steady gaze, prying into his motives and desires, and, like Nolan's extractors, trying to discover what his deepest secrets are.
Throughout the movie, Guido tries to interpret his own dreams to answer his questions about making his film while battling his personal life on the side. The two intermingle until he has a realization that. Cobb, too, struggles to find a balance between his work and his personal life, and he also comes to an intermingling conclusion. While the protagonists have many similarities, it's the directors in my mind who differ in their storytelling styles. There is a subtlety that Nolan could learn from Fellini that I think is highlighted in their dreamscapes. The ease with which Fellini glides through 8 1/2 underscores the harmony between story and plot; perhaps this was because the story was so personal to the director. Nolan really told a great plot in Inception, but, for me, the transitions were rocky and drew attention to the incongruity between the story and plot. Inception is an undoubtedly an entertaining film that gets people talking and thinking, but when it comes to the better dreamer, I maintain that Fellini's got him beat.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
It's how you f***ing play the game
I love sports. More specifically, I love baseball, football, tennis (admittedly the only sport I play semi-regularly), and hockey. And every four years, I love soccer.
I don't get it when people say they don't get soccer. What's not to get? It's pretty much one of the simplest games in the world: ball, your side, my side, keep away. You either do, or you don't. But rules aside, one of the things I like about soccer, especially the World Cup, is that it's a game for the whole world. I think it's really cool that there's this simple game that doesn't take a lot of money, that kids all over the world with whatever quality of equipment are playing right now, and are pretty kick-ass at it. But, I suppose it's that high school-era socialist in me that's talking.
Really, though, what I love about World Cup soccer along with most of my other favorite sports is that there's always room for surprises. I'm one of those fans who most of the time ends up cheering for the underdog. But it's not just the principle of the thing. Sure-fire wins always seem so boring to me. Blowouts hold none of my interest. Of course, I can always get into the excitement of an individual game. A game in and of itself of any kind can almost always be interesting. But in the scheme of things, there's a little less heart, and it leaves me a little more bored than I would have been otherwise.
This World Cup, I was cheering for the underdog the whole way. First I cheered for the post-colonial teams (and America, of course, which I'm not counting as "post-colonial" because we held colonies of our own at one point) in celebration of the equality of the sport, that they, too, have their own superstars and hopefuls and achievers. After they all died out I rooted for the New World over the Old. Sure, my teams have lost, but they all put up a commendably good fight, and it was totally worth it. I thought all of the teams played quite well, and I really enjoyed the heart-wrenching matches, especially when it came to Uruguay vs. Ghana. What a game. I hope the Netherlands wins over Germany. (So I guess that means I'm temporarily cheering for Germany. Just one game. For you, DG.)
Anyway, to broaden my point, as I told SM today, I think that's one thing I love about my Minnesota Twins. Sometimes it's annoying that they're often inconsistent, and that their first and second halves of seasons often differ, but even in their good years, they're rarely dominant. In their good years, they're solid. In baseball, you've got to be solid. That's what wins. I don't want a dominant team. They would bore me.* Fortunately, baseball itself is rarely boring in that way: there will always be surprises in baseball. Fuck the perfect season.** It doesn't exist. As S pointed out, the 2001 Mariners had the best record in history (46 losses), but they lost in the playoffs to the Yankees. Even the Yankees, the most winningest franchise in baseball history (besides the Giants), have had one some of the best seasons in the AL and have lost in the playoffs a bunch of times.*** Lastly, think of all the wild-card teams that have gotten to or won the World Series: nothing is certain. And it's beautiful.
As S and I agreed today, evenly-matched teams are always going to be the most exciting to watch. But don't just depend on those stats. Sure, sometimes it's the superstars who make the difference; sometimes, though, it's the who's on the field against whom, in what order, to what rhythm; and sometimes it's just how badly the players want it. But the best part is that we never quite know until the end just how all of that is going to play out.
*I hate the Yankees.
**Obviously, American football's 16-game season can be impressively perfect, and I still love it. Having fewer games definitely puts more on the line during each game, but surprises still make for the Best Games Ever. See Super Bowl XLII, 2008, Giants vs. Patriots. OMFG.
***Muahahahaha.
I don't get it when people say they don't get soccer. What's not to get? It's pretty much one of the simplest games in the world: ball, your side, my side, keep away. You either do, or you don't. But rules aside, one of the things I like about soccer, especially the World Cup, is that it's a game for the whole world. I think it's really cool that there's this simple game that doesn't take a lot of money, that kids all over the world with whatever quality of equipment are playing right now, and are pretty kick-ass at it. But, I suppose it's that high school-era socialist in me that's talking.
Really, though, what I love about World Cup soccer along with most of my other favorite sports is that there's always room for surprises. I'm one of those fans who most of the time ends up cheering for the underdog. But it's not just the principle of the thing. Sure-fire wins always seem so boring to me. Blowouts hold none of my interest. Of course, I can always get into the excitement of an individual game. A game in and of itself of any kind can almost always be interesting. But in the scheme of things, there's a little less heart, and it leaves me a little more bored than I would have been otherwise.
This World Cup, I was cheering for the underdog the whole way. First I cheered for the post-colonial teams (and America, of course, which I'm not counting as "post-colonial" because we held colonies of our own at one point) in celebration of the equality of the sport, that they, too, have their own superstars and hopefuls and achievers. After they all died out I rooted for the New World over the Old. Sure, my teams have lost, but they all put up a commendably good fight, and it was totally worth it. I thought all of the teams played quite well, and I really enjoyed the heart-wrenching matches, especially when it came to Uruguay vs. Ghana. What a game. I hope the Netherlands wins over Germany. (So I guess that means I'm temporarily cheering for Germany. Just one game. For you, DG.)
Anyway, to broaden my point, as I told SM today, I think that's one thing I love about my Minnesota Twins. Sometimes it's annoying that they're often inconsistent, and that their first and second halves of seasons often differ, but even in their good years, they're rarely dominant. In their good years, they're solid. In baseball, you've got to be solid. That's what wins. I don't want a dominant team. They would bore me.* Fortunately, baseball itself is rarely boring in that way: there will always be surprises in baseball. Fuck the perfect season.** It doesn't exist. As S pointed out, the 2001 Mariners had the best record in history (46 losses), but they lost in the playoffs to the Yankees. Even the Yankees, the most winningest franchise in baseball history (besides the Giants), have had one some of the best seasons in the AL and have lost in the playoffs a bunch of times.*** Lastly, think of all the wild-card teams that have gotten to or won the World Series: nothing is certain. And it's beautiful.
As S and I agreed today, evenly-matched teams are always going to be the most exciting to watch. But don't just depend on those stats. Sure, sometimes it's the superstars who make the difference; sometimes, though, it's the who's on the field against whom, in what order, to what rhythm; and sometimes it's just how badly the players want it. But the best part is that we never quite know until the end just how all of that is going to play out.
*I hate the Yankees.
**Obviously, American football's 16-game season can be impressively perfect, and I still love it. Having fewer games definitely puts more on the line during each game, but surprises still make for the Best Games Ever. See Super Bowl XLII, 2008, Giants vs. Patriots. OMFG.
***Muahahahaha.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Snowballs
Do you ever have those experiences in which you have an idea you attempt to fill out in your head, but then a series of experiences causes the idea to grow into, not one, fleshed out idea, but several related ideas?
In high school, MCS and I would preface many of our latest thoughts and discoveries with a quick rundown of the train of thought that led to the epiphany. Here's mine: first I was fleshing out a post centered around these articles and my personal experiences and reactions to them as a black female, but then I started relating those thoughts to the book I'm currently reading, Sellout: The Politics of Racial Betrayal. After that, I was talking to KAC about the book as well as what another meaning sellout could be nowadays, especially since sometimes the most visible black people are those making a "bad name" for us and perpetuating terrible stereotypes that even our friends are guilty of believing we are only an exception to, as opposed to members of a heterogeneous race with many different types of people (see: "Kids 'Make it Rain' on Mom"). And then it all came back home with a stressful situation at work that I won't go into. All of this in a matter of about 2 weeks.
I don't even know where to go from here, especially since the work situation continues to stress me out and make me want to cry (as I did yesterday, alone in my office).
I can only conclude this: Race is a very complicated issue that has not yet gone away. I wonder, though, how much will things have changed by the time our generation are the ones running the world? How much of current attitudes (in multiracial communities) reflect the tension between the older generations -- so close to the Civil Rights Movement and its aftermath -- and the younger? I am pretty confident that while our generation is not by any means completely "post-racial," the playing field has and will continue to change along those lines. (That is not to say, however, that something bigger, like huge class-related problems, is on the horizon.) The question is, what effect have all of those multiracial TGIF shows and textbooks had on the growing adults of America? How much will be changed once we rule the world?
In high school, MCS and I would preface many of our latest thoughts and discoveries with a quick rundown of the train of thought that led to the epiphany. Here's mine: first I was fleshing out a post centered around these articles and my personal experiences and reactions to them as a black female, but then I started relating those thoughts to the book I'm currently reading, Sellout: The Politics of Racial Betrayal. After that, I was talking to KAC about the book as well as what another meaning sellout could be nowadays, especially since sometimes the most visible black people are those making a "bad name" for us and perpetuating terrible stereotypes that even our friends are guilty of believing we are only an exception to, as opposed to members of a heterogeneous race with many different types of people (see: "Kids 'Make it Rain' on Mom"). And then it all came back home with a stressful situation at work that I won't go into. All of this in a matter of about 2 weeks.
I don't even know where to go from here, especially since the work situation continues to stress me out and make me want to cry (as I did yesterday, alone in my office).
I can only conclude this: Race is a very complicated issue that has not yet gone away. I wonder, though, how much will things have changed by the time our generation are the ones running the world? How much of current attitudes (in multiracial communities) reflect the tension between the older generations -- so close to the Civil Rights Movement and its aftermath -- and the younger? I am pretty confident that while our generation is not by any means completely "post-racial," the playing field has and will continue to change along those lines. (That is not to say, however, that something bigger, like huge class-related problems, is on the horizon.) The question is, what effect have all of those multiracial TGIF shows and textbooks had on the growing adults of America? How much will be changed once we rule the world?
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Say Shhh...
SM and I went back to Minneapolis for my brother's high school graduation last Saturday through Tuesday. After this weekend being so long what with work all day Saturday and everything, it seems like it was already so long ago, but I figure it's not too late to officially attempt to set down in writing a few reasons why I think Minneapolis is the greatest and a few other thoughts I have about the town.
I love the scale of Minneapolis. It's a lot smaller than Chicago, but it's still packed with a lot to do. Sometimes, I feel like a giant among the buildings downtown, but it's a lot more manageable, and its features feel functional and efficient, nothing more or nothing less than is needed. The layout is clean and clear. Also, skyways are amazing.
Public transit has gotten a lot better, and the plans for the newest leg of the Light Rail are in the works. One of the things I truly appreciate is something that evolves organically, and I think that MetroTransit under R.T. Rybak's guidance has done just that for the public transportation of Minneapolis. Instead of sprawling until it's too late to put together a working system, the city has taken the time to figure out what it needs and really promote it from a heartfelt place. The Light Rail is a prime example, as is the fact that downtown they already have the upcoming buses on display at bus stop kiosks, something Chicago has only recently caught on to. Also, speaking of transit, the bike system is amazing. This year it's been officially named the most bike friendly city, but it's been in the top tier in past years as well.
It's a great blend of city and nature. I never went crazy being in the city for long stretches because I could drive for less than 40 minutes and hit farmland or large estates. Even before that, there are just trees everywhere, in all neighborhoods, and the plethora of lakes creates mini oases out of many areas of the city without locking people in to super-defined neighborhoods. This is something I really treasure, because, while Chicago prides itself on its neighborhoods with distinct personalities, unique patches within the larger quilt, I am constantly frustrated with just how true that is. Unless one makes the effort to look at that larger framework, one can easily get caught up with the intricate patterns of one's own square. There are so many native Chicagoans (friends and family included) who don't know anything outside of their own neighborhoods. The neighborhoods are set up to be self-sufficient and can be quite isolating unless one's goal is to delve into a new place for the sake of seeing how it fits into the rest of the city. Unfortunately, that means the people who get the most out of this quilted metropolis are the outsiders who care to look.
One more thing I really love about Minneapolis is that it's free to live outside of the shadow of other cities. While Chicago is too busy going blow for blow with New York, there's enough Minnesota/Minneapolis confidence in creating its own thing. Who cares about New York vs. Chicago style pizza? Both are good, so don't waste time with imitations: just make a good pizza and forget the label. We don't need to stack ourselves up against other places when it comes to the arts either. Sure, we know that New York is a big place with big museums and theaters, but we've got our own theaters and museums and a deeply rooted appreciation of the arts that has garnered national attention without an unnecessary complex.
I could go on and on about the smaller and more personal reasons I love Minneapolis (it would probably be a list of names and places), but that would just be gushing, and it would be beside my point of pointing out Minneapolis's strength as a city. To temper the high opinion you all know I have for my hometown, I must throw in a caveat. I don't know much at all about the nightlife. I've enjoyed it, but I don't know it well enough to put forth my two cents on the subject. Unfortunately, I left Minneapolis just as I was able to take advantage of a very important facet of city life.
Whenever I go back, I get really excited, and then I realize I don't have anything to suggest to my friends when we want to hang out. Places I'd even vaguely heard of have turned out to have d-bag clientele or no longer fit who I am today. I feel powerless in that kind of situation, completely dependent upon the handful of my closer friends in the area who have stuck around to make their adult lives there. I would really like to be able to spend enough time there to make my own social decisions about the place. I'm sure it's always hard to go back to any hometown under those circumstances, when you've built your life in another place and grown into another person while being there, but I think it's especially hard, when one has such a glowing review otherwise, to be in the dark about a sizable facet of what life is for one now. Hopefully one day that will change, though. In the meantime, the places my friends have discovered and shown me have been right on target, and I look forward to the next time I get to visit my hometown, my territory, my state.
I love the scale of Minneapolis. It's a lot smaller than Chicago, but it's still packed with a lot to do. Sometimes, I feel like a giant among the buildings downtown, but it's a lot more manageable, and its features feel functional and efficient, nothing more or nothing less than is needed. The layout is clean and clear. Also, skyways are amazing.
Public transit has gotten a lot better, and the plans for the newest leg of the Light Rail are in the works. One of the things I truly appreciate is something that evolves organically, and I think that MetroTransit under R.T. Rybak's guidance has done just that for the public transportation of Minneapolis. Instead of sprawling until it's too late to put together a working system, the city has taken the time to figure out what it needs and really promote it from a heartfelt place. The Light Rail is a prime example, as is the fact that downtown they already have the upcoming buses on display at bus stop kiosks, something Chicago has only recently caught on to. Also, speaking of transit, the bike system is amazing. This year it's been officially named the most bike friendly city, but it's been in the top tier in past years as well.
It's a great blend of city and nature. I never went crazy being in the city for long stretches because I could drive for less than 40 minutes and hit farmland or large estates. Even before that, there are just trees everywhere, in all neighborhoods, and the plethora of lakes creates mini oases out of many areas of the city without locking people in to super-defined neighborhoods. This is something I really treasure, because, while Chicago prides itself on its neighborhoods with distinct personalities, unique patches within the larger quilt, I am constantly frustrated with just how true that is. Unless one makes the effort to look at that larger framework, one can easily get caught up with the intricate patterns of one's own square. There are so many native Chicagoans (friends and family included) who don't know anything outside of their own neighborhoods. The neighborhoods are set up to be self-sufficient and can be quite isolating unless one's goal is to delve into a new place for the sake of seeing how it fits into the rest of the city. Unfortunately, that means the people who get the most out of this quilted metropolis are the outsiders who care to look.
One more thing I really love about Minneapolis is that it's free to live outside of the shadow of other cities. While Chicago is too busy going blow for blow with New York, there's enough Minnesota/Minneapolis confidence in creating its own thing. Who cares about New York vs. Chicago style pizza? Both are good, so don't waste time with imitations: just make a good pizza and forget the label. We don't need to stack ourselves up against other places when it comes to the arts either. Sure, we know that New York is a big place with big museums and theaters, but we've got our own theaters and museums and a deeply rooted appreciation of the arts that has garnered national attention without an unnecessary complex.
I could go on and on about the smaller and more personal reasons I love Minneapolis (it would probably be a list of names and places), but that would just be gushing, and it would be beside my point of pointing out Minneapolis's strength as a city. To temper the high opinion you all know I have for my hometown, I must throw in a caveat. I don't know much at all about the nightlife. I've enjoyed it, but I don't know it well enough to put forth my two cents on the subject. Unfortunately, I left Minneapolis just as I was able to take advantage of a very important facet of city life.
Whenever I go back, I get really excited, and then I realize I don't have anything to suggest to my friends when we want to hang out. Places I'd even vaguely heard of have turned out to have d-bag clientele or no longer fit who I am today. I feel powerless in that kind of situation, completely dependent upon the handful of my closer friends in the area who have stuck around to make their adult lives there. I would really like to be able to spend enough time there to make my own social decisions about the place. I'm sure it's always hard to go back to any hometown under those circumstances, when you've built your life in another place and grown into another person while being there, but I think it's especially hard, when one has such a glowing review otherwise, to be in the dark about a sizable facet of what life is for one now. Hopefully one day that will change, though. In the meantime, the places my friends have discovered and shown me have been right on target, and I look forward to the next time I get to visit my hometown, my territory, my state.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Talkin' Film and Droppin' Names
First off, RIP Dennis Hopper. Huge fan. Personal favorites, most to least: Easy Rider, Apocalypse Now, Cool Hand Luke, Blue Velvet.
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I had the great opportunity to meet and learn from Haskell Wexler on both Thursday and Friday of this past week. On Thursday he visited The University of Chicago Film Studies Center's screening of his film, Medium Cool. Friday I was invited to a small Master Class where we screened and critiqued student work.
Medium Cool was fantastic. I have to admit I was a bit skeptical at first, and didn't really know how everything was going to fit together, but by the time I got into the rhythm of it, I was definitely enjoying myself. There are so many questions it asks, so many themes it explores. My favorites were the objective and amoral position of the cameraman (you might watch a terrible scene unfold, but do you do anything to help? no); fiction vs. reality (Wexler had written a fiction film that anticipated serious things happening at the 1968 DNC in Chicago, but he hadn't expected anything close to the violence and tragedy that he actually ended up catching on film); and the parallels setup quite subtly at the beginning and end of the film (car crashes, violence, freedom). After the screening, I found the man himself a lot more rambling and deaf than I'd anticipated, but he was still great.
Interestingly, he didn't seem to enjoy talking about the craft itself. He was more like, it is what it is: someone asked him if he has any certain things he does to achieve such stunning photography, and he replied, "no. It's just cinematography." I was telling DP about this after the fact, and it struck me that there are so many tips and rules that are thrown out there by our teachers, but it doesn't seem that anyone wants to listen. Not to simplify the craft, but stuff like good lighting and composition, the Rule of Thirds, zooming in to focus on the subject, leaving the camera running (capturing as much as possible, as opposed to just trying to get the shot you want, especially in documentary filmmaking), sifting through to find the gem of a shot in the editing room, they're all important, and they can make for some beautiful shots. I think his answer was so apt. There's nothing you can really do but do it well, you know?
The Master Class was awesome, and it really made me miss class. I miss sitting in a room with smart people who think critically, trading thoughts and debating consequences. It was really fun. He was very honest with his criticisms and doled out his accolades subtly. Again, though, he was very matter-of-fact about the whole business, and sometimes it was as if was going between questioning why he even needed to be there and just taking part of the discussion like just another quiet student in one of Judy's classes.
It also made me miss Film in general. One reason I was drawn to the subject was because of its superior balance of theory and practice. I could never be one of those boring schmucks who talks about film in a purely theoretical sense, but it also didn't sit right with me to just go to film school and learn the craft without tapping into the rich history and the more abstract and academic potential of the medium. I've rolled my eyes in the presence of both camps. But the academic aspects mesh really well with the nostalgia I feel sometimes when I think about what drew me into cinema and media studies - film. There's so much there on both sides of the emulsion: a careful and historical practice that takes some serious skill on one side, and the consequences of capturing reality and the history of the ontological image (<3 Bazin) on the other. Nowadays, though, none of that really carries over into the cheaper, more convenient, and DIY video medium. I use it, and I know it, but I don't enjoy it nearly as much as I enjoy everything about base, emulsion, halide crystals, mirrors, lights, and everything captured on it.
So what to do when you're just born at the wrong time? Film's expensive and slowly dying. My American Cinematographer magazines splash the latest digital hotness on its pages. I like to think too much about what I'm putting out there to actually go to film school for the craft. Freelance is all about video, where my heart just isn't. Meanwhile film theory is full of ridiculous people who abhor touching cameras. This transitional period in the world of film and video is like coming of age in the town in The Last Picture Show, where the town is dying just as you're old enough to enjoy it, but you can't bring yourself to ever leave.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I had the great opportunity to meet and learn from Haskell Wexler on both Thursday and Friday of this past week. On Thursday he visited The University of Chicago Film Studies Center's screening of his film, Medium Cool. Friday I was invited to a small Master Class where we screened and critiqued student work.
Medium Cool was fantastic. I have to admit I was a bit skeptical at first, and didn't really know how everything was going to fit together, but by the time I got into the rhythm of it, I was definitely enjoying myself. There are so many questions it asks, so many themes it explores. My favorites were the objective and amoral position of the cameraman (you might watch a terrible scene unfold, but do you do anything to help? no); fiction vs. reality (Wexler had written a fiction film that anticipated serious things happening at the 1968 DNC in Chicago, but he hadn't expected anything close to the violence and tragedy that he actually ended up catching on film); and the parallels setup quite subtly at the beginning and end of the film (car crashes, violence, freedom). After the screening, I found the man himself a lot more rambling and deaf than I'd anticipated, but he was still great.
Interestingly, he didn't seem to enjoy talking about the craft itself. He was more like, it is what it is: someone asked him if he has any certain things he does to achieve such stunning photography, and he replied, "no. It's just cinematography." I was telling DP about this after the fact, and it struck me that there are so many tips and rules that are thrown out there by our teachers, but it doesn't seem that anyone wants to listen. Not to simplify the craft, but stuff like good lighting and composition, the Rule of Thirds, zooming in to focus on the subject, leaving the camera running (capturing as much as possible, as opposed to just trying to get the shot you want, especially in documentary filmmaking), sifting through to find the gem of a shot in the editing room, they're all important, and they can make for some beautiful shots. I think his answer was so apt. There's nothing you can really do but do it well, you know?
The Master Class was awesome, and it really made me miss class. I miss sitting in a room with smart people who think critically, trading thoughts and debating consequences. It was really fun. He was very honest with his criticisms and doled out his accolades subtly. Again, though, he was very matter-of-fact about the whole business, and sometimes it was as if was going between questioning why he even needed to be there and just taking part of the discussion like just another quiet student in one of Judy's classes.
It also made me miss Film in general. One reason I was drawn to the subject was because of its superior balance of theory and practice. I could never be one of those boring schmucks who talks about film in a purely theoretical sense, but it also didn't sit right with me to just go to film school and learn the craft without tapping into the rich history and the more abstract and academic potential of the medium. I've rolled my eyes in the presence of both camps. But the academic aspects mesh really well with the nostalgia I feel sometimes when I think about what drew me into cinema and media studies - film. There's so much there on both sides of the emulsion: a careful and historical practice that takes some serious skill on one side, and the consequences of capturing reality and the history of the ontological image (<3 Bazin) on the other. Nowadays, though, none of that really carries over into the cheaper, more convenient, and DIY video medium. I use it, and I know it, but I don't enjoy it nearly as much as I enjoy everything about base, emulsion, halide crystals, mirrors, lights, and everything captured on it.
So what to do when you're just born at the wrong time? Film's expensive and slowly dying. My American Cinematographer magazines splash the latest digital hotness on its pages. I like to think too much about what I'm putting out there to actually go to film school for the craft. Freelance is all about video, where my heart just isn't. Meanwhile film theory is full of ridiculous people who abhor touching cameras. This transitional period in the world of film and video is like coming of age in the town in The Last Picture Show, where the town is dying just as you're old enough to enjoy it, but you can't bring yourself to ever leave.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
I didn't sign up to watch Melrose Place [spoiler alerts??]
We started talking about our favorite television shows, and things quickly spiraled into a comparison between Six Feet Under and The Wire. Obviously, both were on the list, but what exactly was it that pushed The Wire to the front in our minds? What was it that made the 4th and 5th seasons of Six Feet Under (with the exception of the series finale) so distasteful, while The Wire was just so wholly delicious and left us wanting more?
My best answer is that The Wire's writers and production team made a conscious effort to subvert the characters' personal lives in favor of the broader narrative, while Six Feet Under did not. The choice to push the broader narrative of the city and its drug lords, police, docks, schools, and newspapers to the forefront was not made from the beginning, however. The first two and a half seasons are littered with the HBO-standard gratuitous sex scenes and a lot more about each character's personal lives. But as the show progressed, it seems the writers and producers honed their thesis and focused instead on the various systemic ailments that both plague Baltimore's citizens and inadvertently recreate countless versions of the characters we grew to know and love.
This thesis is restated and underscored during the montage in each season finale, and is brought to a depressing yet realistic head in the series finale's montage. In the first season finale, all that the detail worked for is undercut by a montage of drug dealers in various parts of the city and even in New York City (where we leave Omar), nameless yos in every color and ethnic background, untouched by the detail's work. One feels a sense of helplessness, that the problems are just bigger than all of us. Each season finale's montage seems to stress that as much work as each beloved character puts in, there is always going to be more work to do.
The series finale takes that hopelessness one step further. Not only is there always going to be more work to do, but even the characters we'd spent so much time getting attached to are just placeholders; no matter what happens to any of them, there will always be someone else directly behind them, ready to assume their very attitude, conviction, motives, and actions. McNulty's not the only one who cares; Omar is not the only rogue; Carcetti is not going to be the last mayor. The truth is hard to swallow, but that's what makes it all so great. It really feels like truth. Life goes on with or without our characters, with or without us, and what remains is the city and the people who make it go and the motivations that get them there, regardless of their names.
Six Feet Under works backwards from this model. The main ideas and goals are somewhat understood in the beginning: How do people deal with death? What are the ways we prepare/fail to prepare for the inevitable? Does dealing with death on a regular basis affect those questions in any way? And the context in which the characters are placed does a lot to set up our study of these questions: A family who owns a funeral parlor in Los Angeles, California; three children and a widow with their own distinct personalities; first term G.W. Bush; carefully placed generational gaps.
Of course things are going to be closer to home during the first season as the Nathaniel's death is our first case study. However I think as the family heals and moves on the writers continue to do a good job of looking at the main questions through different lenses. They have a good setup: there are plenty of ridiculous and eclectic people in LA whose backgrounds lend themselves both to crazy deaths and to different ways their families deal with them. From bikers to Born Again Christians to Nate's own untrained handling of clients, there's a lot of good material.
And of course if we're looking through the lens of one family, we're going to get close to them. I concede that the scope of The Wire is a lot bigger. Not only were there a lot of main characters, but the focus was on multiple sectors of a city's population. Six Feet Under had a main cast of fewer than 10, and they had mostly interesting lives. There's a young character, an old character, two gay characters, and the entry characters who are most likely the age/generation of most viewers. I truly enjoyed (the beginning of) Brenda and Nate's relationship. I also enjoyed Nate and Claire's relationship. I loved Ruth. I liked David, loved Keith.
But I think the show started to go downhill fast when the focus was more on the personal lives of the characters and less on the funeral parlor and death. What was with David's attacker? Why should I care about Brenda's supposed sex addiction? WTF was up with Rico's affair? And why the hell did Maggie even exist?? The fact of the matter is, I don't care. I didn't sign up to watch Melrose Place, I committed to watching a family deal with death.
What's worse for me is that they lost all that they had set out to do. It wasn't just that they decided to delve into the characters' personal lives, it was that they did so and lost all context that once existed. I used to watch General Hospital with my mom when I was little, and I can pretty much guarantee that if I were to turn it on today, I would be up to speed within 10 minutes. Those names are really all that matter: the Quartermaines, Luke and Laura, Lucky, Mac and Felicia. Even the actors themselves change up every few years, but the characters and even the storylines remain the same. Port Charles? Who cares where it is. It doesn't even matter that there's a port. And the Hospital? I can probably count on 2 hands in all my watching the times when the Doctorness of a character or the setting of the hospital even mattered. But that's a soap opera, and the flaws I've pointed out are its veritable strengths: they put the personal stories at the fore because that's the part people tune in to watch, and it's the part that never changes in spite of all of the tumult of our own real lives.
For Six Feet Under, it soon became irrelevant that they were in LA or that they were of certain ages or that they were a pretty liberal family living during the Bush administration. And for a family so contextualized in the beginning, their actions began to lose all credibility. Take Lisa, for example. Lisa comes into the story as Nate's friend, and as we find out, the mother of his child (a dubious entry, IMO, but I never really warmed up to her). However, her eventual death should have been the perfect opportunity to come back to the heart of the show. Instead, the mystery behind her death is focused on as a source of drama, and the way Nate deals with her death is overtaken by what actually happened to her, an unsolved mystery that points to an affair with her sister's husband, Hoyt. Under suspicion, Hoyt kills himself, and they never really return to the family to see how they cope. I think this a great example of an opportunity that probably never should have existed but was missed anyway.
Six Feet Under is not the only show with a great premise to turn into a soap, regardless of genre. The last two seasons of The West Wing were bogged down by the President Bartlett's illness and desire for a legacy. The Office is a classic example, ruined by Jim and Pam's love and other wedding stories. Even lesser comedies are guilty (see: That 70's Show, which ended up having nothing to do with the '70s after the first season and was just a teen comedy with actors in increasingly less-bell-bottomy bell-bottoms).
I guess this post could go on forever, and it's already much longer than it intended to be, but I guess I'm trying to say that context makes a good show great, it brings in that realistic aspect that so many other shows are missing. But when you lose that context and bog the fictional world down with personal drama, the show's soul and originality is lost.
My best answer is that The Wire's writers and production team made a conscious effort to subvert the characters' personal lives in favor of the broader narrative, while Six Feet Under did not. The choice to push the broader narrative of the city and its drug lords, police, docks, schools, and newspapers to the forefront was not made from the beginning, however. The first two and a half seasons are littered with the HBO-standard gratuitous sex scenes and a lot more about each character's personal lives. But as the show progressed, it seems the writers and producers honed their thesis and focused instead on the various systemic ailments that both plague Baltimore's citizens and inadvertently recreate countless versions of the characters we grew to know and love.
This thesis is restated and underscored during the montage in each season finale, and is brought to a depressing yet realistic head in the series finale's montage. In the first season finale, all that the detail worked for is undercut by a montage of drug dealers in various parts of the city and even in New York City (where we leave Omar), nameless yos in every color and ethnic background, untouched by the detail's work. One feels a sense of helplessness, that the problems are just bigger than all of us. Each season finale's montage seems to stress that as much work as each beloved character puts in, there is always going to be more work to do.
The series finale takes that hopelessness one step further. Not only is there always going to be more work to do, but even the characters we'd spent so much time getting attached to are just placeholders; no matter what happens to any of them, there will always be someone else directly behind them, ready to assume their very attitude, conviction, motives, and actions. McNulty's not the only one who cares; Omar is not the only rogue; Carcetti is not going to be the last mayor. The truth is hard to swallow, but that's what makes it all so great. It really feels like truth. Life goes on with or without our characters, with or without us, and what remains is the city and the people who make it go and the motivations that get them there, regardless of their names.
Six Feet Under works backwards from this model. The main ideas and goals are somewhat understood in the beginning: How do people deal with death? What are the ways we prepare/fail to prepare for the inevitable? Does dealing with death on a regular basis affect those questions in any way? And the context in which the characters are placed does a lot to set up our study of these questions: A family who owns a funeral parlor in Los Angeles, California; three children and a widow with their own distinct personalities; first term G.W. Bush; carefully placed generational gaps.
Of course things are going to be closer to home during the first season as the Nathaniel's death is our first case study. However I think as the family heals and moves on the writers continue to do a good job of looking at the main questions through different lenses. They have a good setup: there are plenty of ridiculous and eclectic people in LA whose backgrounds lend themselves both to crazy deaths and to different ways their families deal with them. From bikers to Born Again Christians to Nate's own untrained handling of clients, there's a lot of good material.
And of course if we're looking through the lens of one family, we're going to get close to them. I concede that the scope of The Wire is a lot bigger. Not only were there a lot of main characters, but the focus was on multiple sectors of a city's population. Six Feet Under had a main cast of fewer than 10, and they had mostly interesting lives. There's a young character, an old character, two gay characters, and the entry characters who are most likely the age/generation of most viewers. I truly enjoyed (the beginning of) Brenda and Nate's relationship. I also enjoyed Nate and Claire's relationship. I loved Ruth. I liked David, loved Keith.
But I think the show started to go downhill fast when the focus was more on the personal lives of the characters and less on the funeral parlor and death. What was with David's attacker? Why should I care about Brenda's supposed sex addiction? WTF was up with Rico's affair? And why the hell did Maggie even exist?? The fact of the matter is, I don't care. I didn't sign up to watch Melrose Place, I committed to watching a family deal with death.
What's worse for me is that they lost all that they had set out to do. It wasn't just that they decided to delve into the characters' personal lives, it was that they did so and lost all context that once existed. I used to watch General Hospital with my mom when I was little, and I can pretty much guarantee that if I were to turn it on today, I would be up to speed within 10 minutes. Those names are really all that matter: the Quartermaines, Luke and Laura, Lucky, Mac and Felicia. Even the actors themselves change up every few years, but the characters and even the storylines remain the same. Port Charles? Who cares where it is. It doesn't even matter that there's a port. And the Hospital? I can probably count on 2 hands in all my watching the times when the Doctorness of a character or the setting of the hospital even mattered. But that's a soap opera, and the flaws I've pointed out are its veritable strengths: they put the personal stories at the fore because that's the part people tune in to watch, and it's the part that never changes in spite of all of the tumult of our own real lives.
For Six Feet Under, it soon became irrelevant that they were in LA or that they were of certain ages or that they were a pretty liberal family living during the Bush administration. And for a family so contextualized in the beginning, their actions began to lose all credibility. Take Lisa, for example. Lisa comes into the story as Nate's friend, and as we find out, the mother of his child (a dubious entry, IMO, but I never really warmed up to her). However, her eventual death should have been the perfect opportunity to come back to the heart of the show. Instead, the mystery behind her death is focused on as a source of drama, and the way Nate deals with her death is overtaken by what actually happened to her, an unsolved mystery that points to an affair with her sister's husband, Hoyt. Under suspicion, Hoyt kills himself, and they never really return to the family to see how they cope. I think this a great example of an opportunity that probably never should have existed but was missed anyway.
Six Feet Under is not the only show with a great premise to turn into a soap, regardless of genre. The last two seasons of The West Wing were bogged down by the President Bartlett's illness and desire for a legacy. The Office is a classic example, ruined by Jim and Pam's love and other wedding stories. Even lesser comedies are guilty (see: That 70's Show, which ended up having nothing to do with the '70s after the first season and was just a teen comedy with actors in increasingly less-bell-bottomy bell-bottoms).
I guess this post could go on forever, and it's already much longer than it intended to be, but I guess I'm trying to say that context makes a good show great, it brings in that realistic aspect that so many other shows are missing. But when you lose that context and bog the fictional world down with personal drama, the show's soul and originality is lost.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Foundations
This was something I originally wrote/posted April 5, 2008. DP says he really likes it, and so I thought I should use it to set more of a mature tone for this blog. Perhaps I'll have to give a status update on what our fridge looks like after SM and I move into the first place we'll have to ourselves in July.
9:58 am - My fridge
When I was younger, living at home with a full house including both of my parents and my five siblings, I used to dream about what I would have in my own refrigerator. In our house nothing lasted very long. All the finer things in life would especially disappear within hours of my mother's purchase. I longed to have applesauce that would still be in the fridge when I got back from play practice. I ached for one more pickle. I craved grapes at all hours, but I felt buying them myself was futile: they'd be gone before I went back for a second bunch. I swore to myself that when I grew up and had my own fridge I would stock it with all of the delicacies I desired. I would have jars and jars of applesauce. I would have a steady supply of fruits and certain vegetables. My fridge would be overloaded with yogurt and cheese. No milk, but in later fantasies soy milk was a must.
When I came to college I was shocked at the fact that I could finish the foods I had started. It was amazing! I bought yogurt, and the whole thing was just waiting for me when I got back. Sometimes I even had trouble finishing things before they went rotten. It was such a change for me that I sometimes forgot how long I'd been waiting for moments like those. Sometimes, though, I longed for even more freedom to stock my refrigerator and pantry. I lived with a number of different roommates, each with different opinions on sharing food, buying food together, etc. Instead of becoming completely autonomous with my fridge choices, I had to learn how to share in a different way from living with my family. Do I share food with my roommates? Do we buy groceries together? Or is it a completely separate arrangement in which I can't even touch their food? I decided I don't like having things that are off limits in my own refrigerator. That just won't do. It completely foils all the plans I have in mind for it. The dream still lives. In some cases we arrange certain foods that are for everyone, like eggs, so we always have a supply of them. The rest of the food pretty much belongs to the person who bought it, unless you ask of course. This arrangement is a good one, besides the fact that sometimes I just don't have the money.
And that's another aspect that has kept my dreams from being realized. Mom isn't buying all the food anymore; I buy my own food with my own money, and sometimes there just isn't enough of it. All those items in my dream fridge add up to a hefty bill sometimes, especially because in my dreams I'm always using the food in my fridge to Live Well. It's become an accessory in my Well-lived life. So the dream has evolved and grown into a fridge that is not only free from invasion, as I wished when I was living at home, to a wellspring of Good Things and a sign of prosperity, humility, and frugal living. Perhaps all of this is just a little too Utopian and way too invested in such a small thing. But for me dreams of my own refrigerator have permeated my life and represented other dreams all amalgamated into what I want my life to be. I've dreamed of getting out of the house, of living on my own, of how I want to conduct human relations, of financial freedom, of quality of life, all through my refrigerator.
The next development in mind is tied to my love of grocery shopping. I love going grocery shopping with people, and I look forward to a time when I will fill my fridge with foods that someone I love and I have picked together. (Does that make sense? I was trying not to say that I wanted to fill my fridge with someone...I keep getting images of someone stuck in a fridge...) It's a step from buying my own food but sharing some with my roommates to buying food with my boyfriend to fill up our fridge; of course there is room in between. For example, I might live with my brother in an apartment on the northside of Chicago next year, and I'm looking forward to going grocery shopping with him to fill up the fridge we will share. It's a feeling of family and community that combines the good points of my old life--living with my mom's fridge--with the good points of my new one--buying my own groceries for my own fridge. But taking that a step further, I think sharing a fridge with my boyfriend is something I really want to do. It's a further developed and totally new feeling of family and community I don't think I am ready for yet. But I think it will feel really good.
9:58 am - My fridge
When I was younger, living at home with a full house including both of my parents and my five siblings, I used to dream about what I would have in my own refrigerator. In our house nothing lasted very long. All the finer things in life would especially disappear within hours of my mother's purchase. I longed to have applesauce that would still be in the fridge when I got back from play practice. I ached for one more pickle. I craved grapes at all hours, but I felt buying them myself was futile: they'd be gone before I went back for a second bunch. I swore to myself that when I grew up and had my own fridge I would stock it with all of the delicacies I desired. I would have jars and jars of applesauce. I would have a steady supply of fruits and certain vegetables. My fridge would be overloaded with yogurt and cheese. No milk, but in later fantasies soy milk was a must.
When I came to college I was shocked at the fact that I could finish the foods I had started. It was amazing! I bought yogurt, and the whole thing was just waiting for me when I got back. Sometimes I even had trouble finishing things before they went rotten. It was such a change for me that I sometimes forgot how long I'd been waiting for moments like those. Sometimes, though, I longed for even more freedom to stock my refrigerator and pantry. I lived with a number of different roommates, each with different opinions on sharing food, buying food together, etc. Instead of becoming completely autonomous with my fridge choices, I had to learn how to share in a different way from living with my family. Do I share food with my roommates? Do we buy groceries together? Or is it a completely separate arrangement in which I can't even touch their food? I decided I don't like having things that are off limits in my own refrigerator. That just won't do. It completely foils all the plans I have in mind for it. The dream still lives. In some cases we arrange certain foods that are for everyone, like eggs, so we always have a supply of them. The rest of the food pretty much belongs to the person who bought it, unless you ask of course. This arrangement is a good one, besides the fact that sometimes I just don't have the money.
And that's another aspect that has kept my dreams from being realized. Mom isn't buying all the food anymore; I buy my own food with my own money, and sometimes there just isn't enough of it. All those items in my dream fridge add up to a hefty bill sometimes, especially because in my dreams I'm always using the food in my fridge to Live Well. It's become an accessory in my Well-lived life. So the dream has evolved and grown into a fridge that is not only free from invasion, as I wished when I was living at home, to a wellspring of Good Things and a sign of prosperity, humility, and frugal living. Perhaps all of this is just a little too Utopian and way too invested in such a small thing. But for me dreams of my own refrigerator have permeated my life and represented other dreams all amalgamated into what I want my life to be. I've dreamed of getting out of the house, of living on my own, of how I want to conduct human relations, of financial freedom, of quality of life, all through my refrigerator.
The next development in mind is tied to my love of grocery shopping. I love going grocery shopping with people, and I look forward to a time when I will fill my fridge with foods that someone I love and I have picked together. (Does that make sense? I was trying not to say that I wanted to fill my fridge with someone...I keep getting images of someone stuck in a fridge...) It's a step from buying my own food but sharing some with my roommates to buying food with my boyfriend to fill up our fridge; of course there is room in between. For example, I might live with my brother in an apartment on the northside of Chicago next year, and I'm looking forward to going grocery shopping with him to fill up the fridge we will share. It's a feeling of family and community that combines the good points of my old life--living with my mom's fridge--with the good points of my new one--buying my own groceries for my own fridge. But taking that a step further, I think sharing a fridge with my boyfriend is something I really want to do. It's a further developed and totally new feeling of family and community I don't think I am ready for yet. But I think it will feel really good.
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