Taboo to you?

What's taboo to you? What are morals, how are they determined and are they fliexible or fixed? Is there a single morally correct code, invariable across distance and time?

This little quiz , created by the Philosphers Magazine challenges what you really think and, the function I most like, spots contradictions in your beliefs. My results were 0.00, 0.00, and -1.

They also have an interesting quiz called "Battleground God", which does not debate the existence of God, but rather judges your responses based on rational consistency. I was smugly confident about this one but actually got tripped up twice!

Greener Pastures?

I'm trying a new blog host. I like some of the features but I can't fiddle with the html the way I can here. I'm giving it the free 30-days to decide. Most of the content is the same as here, but if you want to check it out you can leave a comment on any of the posts.

“If he really likes you, he’ll throw up into your ear…”

In the interesting Interview With A Parrot, we meet Alex, the African Grey parrot that speaks. Sounds basic enough. But this bird displays more than simple mimicry, and more than a learned response to specific stimuli (the correct syllables uttered to name a presented object). Alex apparently speaks with intent.



He is reported to be able to count, and distinguish objects by color, size, material, and texture, and even make comparative judgments such as “larger” or “smaller”. So far so good. Alex is interesting, right? There’s more. He utters such phrases as “Wanna go back,” when he wishes to return to his perch or end a particular session. And as he continues to learn, Alex also teaches his fellow parrots. Or rather, he is being used to teach. Observing the correct responses from Alex teaches the other birds much faster than observing the correct response from a human.

Alex has stumped animal behaviorists and linguists alike and has challenged the current tenets of the type of brain needed to produce true language, which veers into the sticky what-really-separates-humans-from-animals debate.

Language development was long believed to be an evolutionary achievement of the advanced primate brain. (Chimps can, apes can, monkey’s can’t.) Alex has a brain the size of a walnut.

Researchers lecturing on the current data supporting the uniquely primate origins of language, are reported to reluctantly add, “"Except…for that damn bird."

Why is this so surprising? Anyone with a daily sees animals displaying repeated, predictable behaviors to communicate something, especially to communicate a desire. Most of our pets simply lack the vocal mechanisms needed to produce complicated speech sounds. The bird-brained pets that can produce these sounds, have been assumed to lack the required mental faculties and have not, until now, been trained in anything but pure mimicry.

But true language is more than simple gesture, even when the gesture clearly communicates an attitude, desire, or idea. It takes complex and abstract thinking to pair symbols (words) into intricate strings or patterns that create the consistent and meaningful expression of concrete ideas. It’s this kind of functioning that makes Alex’s abilities so startling. Just what’s going on up there, anyway? Of course many of Pepperberg’s colleagues refute that it is anything more than learned, reward-driven behavior devoid of comprehension or volition to communicate. At this point it seems difficult to discern, but when I read accounts of various owners of African Greys who tell of their bird switching on a lamp to better find a bead that has fallen on the floor, or, hearing unfamiliar sounds in another room calls out, “What’s going on in there?”, it certainly makes me wonder.

As Pepperberg says, “Grey parrots, such as Alex and Griffin, are never going to sit here and give an interview the way you and I are conducting an interview and having a chat. But they are going to produce meaningful, complex communicative combinations. It is incredibly fascinating to have creatures so evolutionarily separate from humans performing simple forms of the same types of complex cognitive tasks as do young children.”

When she leaves the lab for the night, Alex will call after her things like “Goodbye. You be good. I’m gonna go eat dinner. See you tomorrow!”


More info:
Pepperberg’s Site

The Alex Foundation.

Phoenix and Alteira ParrotLearn. This site says that it is “subjective” about the abilities of Parrots to speak and think. It’s not, but there are some cute stories here.

New York Times Article.

Also check out Steven Pinker scientist and author of The Language Instinct and Words and Rules and How The Mind Works I haven’t read these yet, but the reviews have been incredible.

(Words and Rules)
“When a gifted scientist and a gifted writer are all in one, you have Steven Pinker. He takes you by the hand and leads you through the mysteries of language by studying something you will never guess, irregular verbs. It turns out to be a riveting story and totally fulfilling. I couldn’t put it down.”
-- Michael Gazzaniga, author of The Mind’s Past

“How the Mind Works explains many of the imponderables of everyday life. Why does a face look more attractive with makeup? How do "Magic-Eye" 3-D stereograms work? Why do we feel that a run of heads makes the coin more likely to land tails? Why is the thought of eating worms disgusting? Why do men challenge each other to duels and murder their ex-wives? Why are children bratty? Why do fools fall in love? Why are we soothed by paintings and music? And why do puzzles like the self, free will, and consciousness leave us dizzy?” (From Book Jacket)

With all the exceptions and severities launched in the name of national securioty and the War Against Terror, there is still one thing too extreme to tolerate, no matter what.

No time to write on this now. Speaks for itself anyway...

Quote of the Day

...It's no good pretending that any relationship has a future
if your record collections disagree violently or if your favorite films
wouldn't even speak to each other if they met at a party.

- Nick Hornby, "High Fidelity"

I haven't read the novel, but the film is one of my favorites. It helps if you're an undergroundish early-ninties music buff (if you ever listened to your college station or have heard of belle and sabastien, you're probably okay), but then again anyone who's ever tried to manage a jumbled love life should like it too. John Cusack is perfect in the lead role as a 30-something record store owner who constantly categlogues top-five lists and keeps a conscious running sountrack to his life. He's looking for love and purpose, of course, and a way to deal with his latest (second worst..or is it first?) breakup with his girlfriend played by an incredible Danish actress named Iben Hjejle, who since seems to have disappeared from US film/TV, working exclusinvely overseas.

It also features Tim Robbins, Lili Taylor, Joan Cusack, and Katherine Zeta-Jones. Directed by Steven Frears of "Dangerous Liaisons", "The Grifters", and 2003's "Dirty Pretty Things.

So there you go - quote of the day and my first flick pick.

Quote of the Day

Of all tyrannies a tyranny sincerely exercised for the good of its victims may be the most oppressive.
It may be better to live under robber barons than under omnipotent moral busybodies, The robber baron's cruelty may sometimes sleep,
his cupidity may at some point be satiated; but those who torment us for own good will torment us without end,
for they do so with the approval of their own conscience.

- C.S. Lewis

What the Faahh???

I've been trying to enable streaming media on this site, and if I had it now I would most certainly upload The Audio Bullys' "We Don't Care" because all I can say about this article is "What the FUCK?" Except I suppose that would denote surprise and after everything, why should I be surprised that such a god-fearing man would have such views as this.

Massachusetts ruled this week that the ban on same sex marriages is unconstitutional! Well, duh. The media frenzy over this "groundbreaking" event led to my response of, "You mean it's not legal in all the other states?" (So I live under a rock...)

The answer that faced me of course, was no. Not quite. Currently, thirty-seven states have enacted "Defense of Marriage Acts" (DOMAs) that ban same-sex marriage. Other states have similar legislation pending. Think of the word choice -- defense . What exactly is under attack? How does the fact of two men being married destroy the validity of your own marriage? But it is perceived as precisely that - an attack. A little ego-centric, don't you think?

The following map is courtesy of Religious Tolerance.org, which is a pretty cool site. Their mandate is as follows: "To promote religious tolerance and freedom. To describe religious faiths in all their diversity. To describe controversial topics from all points of view." (Haven't explored enough to know if they actually do that, but even I, who gives religion as much credence as a stale cracker left out in the rain, thinks it's a great endeavor.)

The status of same-sex marriage across the U.S. as of November 19, 2003:

Now, a bunch of red-faced conservatives are waving their hands in the air and spouting phrases like "moral fabric" and "children" and my favorite "as it has always been." How did this ever get to be an arguing point on anything? Because it has always been. And your point is...? Tradition? Fear of change? How does "because it has always been" function as a rational argument about anything?

Slavery existed for hundreds of years, I'm sure Jeb Callowhill felt that the institution "had always been" too. It had always been legal to beat your wife with a stick no thicker than your thumb (rule of thumb...). In the United States women "had always been" banned from voting until 1920. My sweet grandmother, the smartest person I've ever known, was not allowed to vote in the United States. And this deemed constitutional.

At least in this case I can see the risk inherent in changing the suffrage laws. Millions of people with unknown views (who really asked a woman's opinion on things, anyway?) would sudden wield political power. They'd not hold office, of course. THAT craziness hadn't yet entered their frantically defensive minds. But the power of the vote?? This could directly impact the lives of these men who were so vehemently against it. They were afraid of the unknown, as those in power often are, and stodgily resistant to change.

But same sex marriages? What does this have to do with you? Why should you care and furthermore, how can you want to live under a government that supports vigorous control over the intimate lives of its citizens? It doesn't matter because the citizen isn't you?? How would you be threatened by gay marriage? You can still regard homosexuality as filthy and abhorrent as ever. Thius doesn't change anything you are or are not able to do.

Is this the outpouring of a legion of repressed homosexuals with wives and children who are so personally threatened with the impending normalcy or perceived legitimacy of the gay/lesbian lifestyle that they run to the pulpit, to their web logs, to radio interviews, and Op-Ed columns to vocalize their severe opposition? Why are they wasting so much energy? Again I ask - why do you even care?

Even a free black man or woman wasn't allowed to marry until after the Civil War. And interracial marriages were not legalized throughout the country until 1967.

George W Bush himself will "work with congressional leaders and others to do what is legally necessary to defend the sanctity of marriage." Marriage between a
man and a woman, he specifies. Defend.

In a gay New England paper I found at least a small coalition of clergy urging the freedom to marry a same sex spouse. Refreshing, if slight.

The Christian right's "it has always been" mantra melts into "it's been for a while now" when it suits them. The ten commandments were not always in front of courthouses in the US, the phrase "under God" was not always in the pledge of allegiance. In fact, the pledge "had always been" without it when they decided to add the phrase in the first place.

Next, there is never was but should be...…

Read the CCA's response to the ruling. It's basically a save-the-children approach. ...Explain that again?

You may think that shooting down the logic behind the rhetoric of the CR is a little like shooting ducks in a barrel. You are right. It's just I'd never taken the time to shoot those ducks before and there is something satisfying in so many solid hits with such little effort. Like putting a video game on easy because you're frustrated and just want to kill/smash/or drive real fast.


…Addendum: WBUR is an public station in Boston and it features a nifty “Legal Translator” (See what lawyers see in legal documents.) Pretty cool and it does a great job of detailing the legal facts and underlying legal implications of the MA ruling.

Ah, This Mortal Bird...

"I don't want to achieve immortality through my work, I want to achieve it by not dying..."

"Why are our days numbered and not say...lettered?"

"It's not that I'm afraid to die, I just don't want to be there when it happens."

-- Woody Allen

Okay, this is both morbid and hokishly generic, but surprisingly motivational.

Quote of the Day

They that can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety.

- Benjamin Franklin

Book Review: JCO as Rosamond Smith

Joyce Carol Oats is unequivocally one of the world's most prolific writers. With over 45 novels, 26 short story collections, 8 volumes of poetry, 5 collections of plays, 10 non-fiction works, 16 edited collections, and 5 works for children and young adults. I imagine her mind writing constantly as her body goes through the routine of its day.

Double Delight is one of eight mystery/suspense novels penned by Oates under the pseudonym "Rosalind Smith". In an article published in the NYT Book Review in 1987 she discusses the draw of the "Psyeduenm Self".

It may be that, after a certain age, our instinct for anonymity is as powerful as that for identity; or, more precisely, for an erasure of the primary self in that another (hitherto undiscovered?) self may be released.…

She draws on the views and works of numerous pseudonymic writers such as Romain Gary (Emile Ajar), Karen Blixen (Isak Dinesen), Jonathan Swift (Isaac Bickerstaff, Esq), Charlotte Bronte (Currer Bell), Lutwidge Dodgson (Lewis Carroll), Doris Lessing (Jane Somers), Gore Vidal (Edgar Box).

Choosing a pseudonym as the work's formal author simply takes the mysterious process a step or two further, erasing the author's social identity and supplanting it with the pseudonymous identity. For who among us, identified with such confidence by others, has not felt uneasy, if not an impostor, knowing that, whatever they know of us, we do not somehow share in that knowledge? Fame's carapace does not allow for easy breathing.

In the "fast-paced" mystery vein, it is a skillful work. Rich in character exploration and threading a common theme (duality) throughout. There is something of a pattern in much of Oate's work. An adult traumatized as a child and lives in constant pursuit of righting what has been left undone. Voices from the past float through the text, and without explanation we recognize it to be the character's subconscious mind. Much of Terence can be seen in the striving to please "Corky" from Oates' 19-- novel What I Lived For A violent trauma as a child, a step up by marriage from blue collar into the well-ordered circles of old money, and a man out-of-synch with his inner motivations and in the constant, desperate attempt to compensate for perceived childhood inadequacies...

And yet she does so with such fluidity and insight that the reader hardly recognizes the formula. It was not her most impressive work and yet still JCO is a writer I highly admire and respect and hope to, in many ways, emulate in my future writing career...

Accidental Posting

I don't know if anyone is out there, but I aplogize for my contimual accidental posting of unfinsihed thoughts and, honestly, things I am still contemplating whether to post or not. I seem to have difficulty with Blogger's "save as draft" function, or else it's misfunctioning. Virtually no one even knows about this site at the moment, but it's certainly an uneasy, exposed feeling to publish stuff you hadn't meant to...

This is the second time it's happened. You'd think I'd learn to check. From now on I'll save drafts in word. Jeez.

"Calling the Moon"

Referencing the Dar Williams song.

Howard Greenstein captured some pretty cool pictures of last night's lunar eclipse. The next total eclipse is supposed to be (or will be, I suppose it's not like forcasting a hurricane) will be on May 4, 2003. The next one visible in North America one October 28, 2004. Check out more info.

Coming Soon...

Eyes, Ears, & Mind - A few thoughts on a few things

Reviews:
Double Delight & overcap of JCO
Afterglow
Sites:
metacritic
actforchange
the meatrix

Nighttime on the deck …

notebook excerpt July 21, 2002 –

Nighttime on the deck …

Disembodied children’s voices call from beneath a darkening hull of trees.

“Hurry!” They giggle and urge, “No, under it! Go UNDER!”

I want to follow weightless, aloft, a voice among the leaves. But whom would I beckon? What words? Which way?

To be bodiless. That is the allure. But voice, the shape of words, an unchecked tone, finding this and the speaking of it has always been a search of mine. A yearning. And still, inches from my grasp, an eternity.

I would whisper through the cool gray of a sunless dawning. At dusk I’d peal the names of children, keen and fibrous as a song. I’d gather them amid the tender echo of their names, my open arms wide as branches, and call them home to the scent of roasted almonds, to apples boiling on the stove.

The air seeps to darkness now. My page aglow in the blue-gray air. A smiley-faced moon, a melon rind, the hulking shapes of backlit trees eerily still. My hair falls across my bare thigh, cool and soft and damp. I am baby-oiled and sweet and clean and I clutch my sides in impenetrable fear.

TV noise wafting faint as voices in a hotel corridor, drifting past. A plane rumbles and whines overhead, air conditioner units hum, lightning bugs tap my legs. At the moment of death they blare brightly and linger – 20 seconds more, 30? They will fade, inescapably, their last mark waning slowly, without them. On my windshield they flare and protractedly extinguish and I wonder at my own moment –

will I burst with light and linger?

Listen To This...

HEAVY These guys are the kings of cool music. Every month they have a different streaming mix called sumosonic. It rocks! I've discovered all sort of new tunes. If you like funky, dub, club, punkish, rappish, alt alternative, a real genre blending mix of the unexpected, you'll love this. Over the past few months I've entered the worlds of Princess Superstar Do it like a robot, dude. RJD2 Good times, pt 1. Gotta have pt 1. And Fanny Pack "Hey Mami...can I get that number?" I swear, I'm 31 years old and I want to go clubbin'. This stuff is infectious.

I've been less impressed with November's mix, but there's still some worthwhile stuff. The site also has games and music/humor stuff. But they got rid of the best web show I’ve seen. "Heavy Petting" went into the universe of real fringe sex/music genres the likes of DJ -- Peaches -- Outrageous Evangelical Comedian Songwriter. Her music has been described as "A satirical take on Christian values". Think you're not easily offended? Take the test. Try Tammy Faye Starlight. "Heavy Petting" has suddenly disappeared from Heavy.com. Where it has gone and if it's available anywhere is anyone's guess as Heavy seems to have the world's worst customer service. In fact, as far as I can tell, aside from giving your credit card number to obtain a membership (I use the free access, so far...) there is absolutely no way to contact them at all. Bad move.

Also -- being that the Phila area has NO GOOD RADIO...

[I'm sorry, it's true. WXPN 88.5 once had potential, and has over the years turned me on to handfuls of new artists, their increasing dependence on membership has lead to pandering to a certain, very conservative audience. It's light classic rock meets light singer-songwriter, although they are always morphing, I'd say currently it's a 70/30 mix. I'm sorry old Van Morrison, old CSN, old, old, old... Too much great stuff is out there. I don't expect them to embrace trip-hop all of a sudden, but they've crawled into a shell compared to what they were even six or seven years ago.]

...the wonderful world of the web brings us to the west coast and KEXP Seattle. Check them out. Really. Find out what they're playing right now They have a live online play list, audio stream, and weeks of archived material. My personal favorite is John in the Morning. Like Death Cab For Cutie? The Audio Bullys? If you listened this morning you'd have caught The Verve, Nina Simone, PJ Harvey, Tones on Tail, Strokes, Tripping Daisy, Beck, Pavement, Violent Femmes, New Order, Afghan Whigs, Radiohead, Black Box Recorder, and more...
It's like the best of college radio, done professionally. These guys have their shit together. I danced around my apartment when I found this station. Maybe it's just me...

lucky pt 2

I realize that I haven't given much of a book review for this as of yet. Just a personal reaction... Here's a more formal review.

"lucky" is a brave, intelligent and unsentimental examination of rape and its aftermath. At times raw, funny, intimate, and devastating, Sebold does a tremendous thing. She takes her experience and writes a book about a community, a society in which rape can and does happen. The book is not only about herself, it is about the every person she touches on her journey and how they change and are changed by their interaction. The people you will meet in this book are extraordinary, because they are everywhere. It's astonishing. I think it can't all be real, she must be making this up. This woman lived only twenty minutes from where I've lived my whole life. The mild Philadelphia suburbs. She attended Syracuse. Manicured lawns, decent dorms, well lighted quads.

The strange thing is, after reading this book you realize that Alice, for all the undeserved violence and terrible life-shattering events, actually is comparatively lucky. She makes the point that her innocence - her virginity, her baggy clothes, her utter sobriety, the observable cuts and bruises, all were to her advantage. And still, when her father hears that the rapist dropped the knife (unbeknownst to her) early in their struggle, he says "How could you have been raped if he didn't have a knife?"

I won't give more away. I will just repeat that this book is more than worthwhile. It will open a world to you that has been here all along. It may not be pretty, but it is searingly, achingly human.

"You save yourself or remain unsaved." You don't have to be raped to learn from that.

lucky ?

Comments on my latest readings...

lucky by Alice Sebold

If you read this book, you will never be the same. Really, I challenge you to read this book and not be altered by it. I was tired. I had dragged my computer and stack of manila folders to a local barnes and noble to get some work done without the distraction of answering the phone, reading email, surfing the web, playing with the cat, cleaning the house, or any of the countless procrastinating activities I pull out of my *ss when I am blocked and under the luxury of two days or more before deadline.

So I’ve worked several hours, am coming down from three coffees, and have a slight headache. But before I go I might as well browse the new titles. Hell, I think, I've earned it.

A quick stroll through one or two aisles, and then home. Except that didn't happen. I picked up a paperback the color of a mid-morning sun. I recognized the author because the leader of my writing workshop once handed out the first chapter of Sebold's last novel called "The Lovely Bones". It was on my eventual "to read" list. This book, however, was non-fiction. It was memoir.

After glancing at several rave reviews I opened to the first page and read:

"In the tunnel where I was raped, a tunnel that was once an underground entry to an amphitheater, a place where actors burst forth from underneath seats of a crowd, a girl had been murdered and dismembered. I was told this story by the police. In comparison, they said, I was lucky."

I don't know how long I stood there, as if in a trance, but when I blinked and looked up I was on page 20. I have no money to buy anything. The coffees had been a splurge. But I knew I would buy this book.

In my journal that night this is what I wrote:

10/18/03
I spent several hours in barnes and noble tonight, working on that study guide. Before I left I browsed some of the newer fiction books. I came across a book by Alice Sebold, who I know as the author of “lovely Bones” because the leader of my fiction workshop handed out the first chapter of that book. It was really good and I’ve wanted to read the rest. This book though was a memoir called “lucky”. They very first chapter is when she gets raped and beaten as an 18 year old on the campus of her college. I couldn’t put it down. Time stopped. I literally don’t know how long I stood there, but I do know I covered 20 pages before I stopped and looked around me. I gathered my things and bought the book. I brought it home and was afraid to pick it up again, so I let it sit awhile. I heated some leftovers, watched some TV, then made a drink and lifted the book from its bag. I read maybe another ten pages before I stopped and sobbed for a long time. What’s wrong with me? I know that I have never been molested, never been accosted, never been raped. It would explain a lot if I had, but I haven’t. Something about this woman’s story nails the very core of me. Makes me crumple here on the carpet.

I know I have a history of depression and I know that’s led to behaviors and lifestyles which bring me shame. I know there are things about myself that I can’t explain. But there is nothing to account for this. No live experience that they text books say should explain me.

I tend to not believe in past lives, but with this I wonder. Is that crazy? Crazier than a god, in which I can’t believe? The belief in multiple me’s??


More later...

Ferlinghetti Unfurled

One upon a time I had meant to put up the inspiration for title of the blog, but never did. A tribute my favorite beat poet.

[Constantly Risking Absurdity]

(excerpt)

Constantly risking absurdity
and death
whenever he performs
above the heads
of his audience
the poet like an acrobat
climbs on rime
to a high wire of his own making

[Monet's Lilies Shuddering]

Monet never knew
he was painting his 'Lilies' for
a lady from the Chicago Art Institute
who went to France and filmed
today's lilies
by the 'Bridge at Giverny'
a leaf afloat among them
the film of which now flickers
at the entrance to his framed visions
with a Debussy piano soundtrack
flooding with a new flourescence (fleur-essence?)
and rooms and rooms of
water lilies.

Monet caught a Cloud in a Pond
in 1903
and got a first glimpse
of its lilies
and for twenty years returned
again and again to paint them
which now gives us the impression
that he floated thru life on them
and their reflections
which he also didn't know
we would have occasion
to reflect upon

Anymore than he could know
that John Cage would be playing a
'Cello with Melody-driven Electronics'
tonight at the University of Chicago
And making those Lilies shudder and shed
black light.

I love the last two lines of the first stanza

"and rooms and rooms of water lilies..."

These aren't in exact form becasue I'm having trouble setting tabs in html. Read these and other works in one of my favorite collectionsThese Are My Rivers: New & Selected Poems 1955-1993

love i am so different

Pass the cheese and don't piss me off.

People truly astound me. We toddle about our everyday existence quick to bitch and wanting to be loved. I witnessed the following in line at a Walmart deli (did you know that Walmarts have supermarkets in them now? And that, in terms of overall sales, Walmart is the NUMBER ONE largest company in the world? Number ONE -- this means bigger than Exxon, bigger than Turner Broadcasting, bigger than Microsoft for pete's sake!)

SIDEBAR:[okay, just who IS "Pete" and why should I care about his welfare? Obviously is it a mutation in the intention of piety. You can't say "...for Christ's sake!", and still be holy, so it's fortunate that over the past several decades devout Southern Baptists have provided all sorts of creative and colorful alternatives to using the lord's name in vain. Even "I swear!" is technically swearing and therefore changed to, "I Swanee!" (If you're not from the South Eastern US, trust me on this...it's true.) So, my question is -- is Pete a code name for Christ? If I pray to Pete will God answer? Everyone prays right to the BigGuy, is using the secret nickname like having a less-used private phone line. Will Jesus pick up on the second ring?)]

Okay - back to the scene in Walmart...

Order has been disrupted here. The ticket machine is empty, its lid pried open in a cavernous maw, and no one seems to be working on the problem. A hesitant line forms. A heavy man in a stained bib-apron moves from meat case to slicer at a constant, unhurried pace. A woman near the front watches the deli man with some impatience. She wears a smart blue blazer which clearly says she's just come from work. She's a blonde in her forties with a pony tail tied sensibly with a matching blue schrunchy. She is too tan, an obvious smoker, with cool blue eyes and distracting pink lipstick. She grips a grocery list in a well-manicured hand and shifts her weight from left to right and back again.

"Ma'am?" The deli man looks questioningly at a dowdy housewife to the woman's left in front of the cheeses. She wears elastic-waist pants and a loud-print cotton shirt. She peers through plastic-framed glasses on a little gold chain. She removes them to speak.

"One pound of Tavern h--"

"Excuse me," the blonde steps forward, " I believe I was here first." Stand your ground, never acquiesce. People in this world will walk all over you.

"Oh...um, go ahead..." the housewife, mildly unsettled, leans on her shopping cart and forces a smile at the 8-year old who accompanies her, but who seems somehow not her child.

"Thank you." The blonde woman places her order.

The deli man is methodical, precise. "This thickness, Ma'am?"

"No, thinner please. Thanks." The blonde must be preparing for a party, a feast, a packed lunch for an entire fourth-grade field trip.

"Anything else, Ma'am?" He hands her fifth item.

She orders two pounds of sharp cheddar and piles her cart with the plastic packs of meat.

"This okay, Ma'am?" The scale reads 2.48 lbs.

"Well, no," she says, "I asked for 2 pounds, 2 pounds is all I want." She turns to the housewife, "Thank you for your patience," she says, with a little shake of her head.

The housewife raises her eyebrows, sighs, and with the barest chin lift turns away .

We growing band of waiters-in-line have not yet realized it, but it has begun.

"Hey -- do you have a problem with me?!"

The housewife, unprepared, finds herself without words. She waves a dismissive hand. The women are less than two feet apart.

"Don't you shake your hand at me! How dare you wave your hand... Look, I don't have time for you. I have a...a babysitter, I work THREE jobs, I --"

The hand flies up again, as if of its own will, and the housewife, a little horrified, cuts her off, "You just need someone to talk to."

"I... what??" They begin to speak over each, though both strangely refuse to shout. A tense muttering fills the air. "My god, you're a piece of work. First you tried to cut in line, then you can't even have the...the decency, the...the courtesy or patience when someone like me is trying so hard..."

"I'm not talking to you. I'm just not. Not talking..." The housewife attempts a breathy laugh, then turns to the meat counter and tugs on the chain to her glasses.

"Yeah, you better..." It is unclear what the blonde means to say. It's like a stare down between animals in the wild, where one finally lowers its head or averts its eyes. The blonde is the dominant cat who proudly claims the higher perch. "People like you...unbelievable..."

"I'm not. I'm just not..." The housewife holds a tight-lipped smile and, in a gawky gesture of playfulness, taps the child on the nose.

The deli man has finished the order. The blonde takes her 2 pounds of cheese and strives for sincerity, "Thank you very much." Then, "Excuse me," as she makes her way politely through the sea of waiting customers.

And she is gone. But the story is not over. In a vibrant display of humans wanting approval, quick to bitch and wanting to be loved, the housewife places her order.

"Krestedder's Tavern Ham? One pound, please."

But they don't have Krestedders. Try this one, the deli man suggests. She is unfamiliar with the brand.

She hesitates, then nods quickly. "Fine, sure. Great, thank you." She smiles and gives her first surreptitious glance to the gaggle of customers behind her, then occupies herself making funny faces at the child.

The deli man picks up various meats and replaces them. He is having trouble locating the right ham. The housewife watches him with an anxious, pasted-on smile. "That's all right," she blurts, "Just use whatever you have there," she pushes forth a breathy laugh, "Whichever!"

He flicks his gaze at her briefly, then finds the proper ham, and proceeds to the slicer.

"This okay, Ma'am?" He brandishes a flaccid slice of meat.

"Perfect! Great."

He turns slowly and begins slicing in slow, even strokes. As he works she engages the little boy, revealing obvious roots as a school teacher.

"Now," she bends a little toward him, "we have one more thing to get. Can you think of what it is?"

The boy seems to have suffered a home haircut performed with a dull pocketknife. He is calm and wide-eyed, patient as a cow. He shakes his head.

"It's for the soda..." she prompts, "...to keep it cold..."

"Um, ice?"

"Iii-ce!" She sings the word, "Very good! Very good." She laughs as though someone has told a joke. For just one moment I am concerned for her, on the brink of losing my certainty that, had she not met the blonde woman, she'd be acting more normal than this.

"You're right. We. Need. Ice." She nods once, then tousles the boy's hair. Awkwardness abounds. Her intent is penultimate niceness, her delivery is self-conscious, half-cracked nut.

The deli man continues to slice. She turns to him and yanks at her glasses chain again. She seems trying not to speak. She fails. "That's good!" She calls out with another wave of her hand, and although his body blocks any view of the pile of sliced ham, she continues, "Whatever you've got sliced there will be fine!"

The deli man turns slowly and gives her a look she's been asking for. It is his first real facial expression of the afternoon.

They look at each other. Silence, and then, "I'm not sure if I'm going to like it," she says, "...that's really the reason!" Now it gets weird.

"Do you want to taste it?" He holds up a slice of pink meat.

"That's okay!" Her voice has risen in pitch.

He shrugs, brings the meat to the scale.

"A pound and a half." He says. It's fifty percent more than she'd asked for.

"That's okay!"

He raises his brow and bags the meat.

"You're doing a terrific job," she smiles hard. "You have a hard job," she seems unable to make herself be quiet. "...Don't you worry about it. You're doing fine!"

The deli man, who could not seem more unconcerned, hands her the package over the counter.

But somehow, she can't quite leave. She lingers, her arm still outstretched holding the meat above the counter. In a rush she says, "The woman who yelled at you, yelled at me!!" She laughs, and there is a prolonged pause. Finally, she fades her laughter with a sigh. "C'mon Chief!" She turns to the child to find he has already moved their cart out from the counter and stands waiting.

Quick to bitch and wanting to be loved.

The only addendum I have to this tale is this:

I watched them walk away, trying to decide whether I can dredge any sympathy for this woman or if I think she's a total flake. I mean anxiety attacks happen to some people, and who am I to judge the excessive level of her embarrassment, though she did let fly the snotty response to the woman, what was really ticking in there? But then I noticed that "Chief" wore frilly white socks and blue sparkly sneakers. Dear god, someone gave that hideous haircut to a little girl? I am not big on prescribed gender differences. My little boy likes Barbies? Fine. My little girl wants GI Joes and wears pants only? Sure. My son - at an appropriate age, wants an earring? Who cares? But this bugs me because as a kid I was forced into an ultra-short boy haircut I detested and was mistaken for a boy many many times. It's not that the little girl has short hair, or doesn't like nail polish -- it's the horrendous hack-job, the carelessness which pisses me off. It is the fact that I am sure the little girl didn't choose the style, and am furthermore projecting my childhood frustrations on to her. And so it goes. (And - unless my child really really really wanted to - the frilly socks on a boy are a bit much. )

In Passing

"In Passing" (and I promise to think up a cooler name at some point) is a collection of over-heard snippets of people as they go about their everyday life. Some are entirely out of context, others are interesting precisely because of their context. They are all real, and so far over heard by me. (So far, I only have one.)

"Actually, you smell more like chewable vitamin C."
-- Girl to her boyfriend as they pedal past on bikes.

"It's all the same and it's always expensive."
-- Creative writer on death.

Email baby

Sebastian Faulks ~ There's More!

I've done a bit of poking around - small bits of research I should have done perhaps before I wrote my raving little review.

I came across many reviews of Birdsong, none of which found any fault with the book whatever, let alone a structural flaw. I'm not saying that I'm wrong, and I am not at all changing my view, I'm simpy reiterating the fact that this is merely my personal opinion, that's all.

I also discovered that Birdsong is the second of what has been described as Faulk’s “trio of French novels”.

The first of these was released in 1991. The Girl at the Lion D'or is the tale of a troubled young girl in a little French town called Janviellers during the 1930's. The final book in the trio details the life of its title character, Charlotte Gray, a young Scottish woman in WWII England.

Okay, the summations I've provided are quite trite; I've not read either of these novels yet.

But Charlotte Gray will be next because, although only released in 1999, 2001 saw the wide release film version of the book, by Australian director Gillian Armstrong and starring a woman I consider to be one of the most talented film actresses of today, Cate Blanchette.

Armstrong is an Australian director who has won numerous awards for her work, including the Women in Hollywood Icon Award for her lifetime contribution to the industry.

Armstrong earlier directed Blanchette and Ralph Fiennes in the ultra disturbing (to me) Oscar and Lucinda. Extremely well-acted, well-shot, and interesting story the last 20 or 30 of minutes of which are almost unbearable to watch. I will give away only that there is no happy ending, not really. I reveal this bit because I was so unprepared and astounded by the creeping and compounded turn of negative events, that I’m sure I will not watch the film again. (In fact, I should hardly write about it as it’s been several years and the details are merely a wash of hope turned to chagrin.) And this says a lot because I will watch any film featuring Blanchette (hence “Bandits”: a cute flick, but worth renting for her performance alone), and highly respect the work of Fiennes as well. I had, in fact, rented Oscar and Lucinda immediately following the release of Schindler’s List in a desperate attempt to smear the hideous image of Amon Goeth from my trembling mind. I was fairly sure no film in which I saw this man, straight through the end of time, would be able to do the trick. Of course, I was wrong.

The Most Incredible, Wildly-Effecting, Memorable, and Structurally-Flawed Book I've Ever Read

I've just finished Birdsong, by Sebastian Faulks. My god, can this man write. There are parts of this book which will be seared into my consciousness for all time. And I'm not easily "wowed". Really.

I'm not sure how to say it more plainly. I highly recommend you read this book. You. Whoever you are.

I will try to explain without revealing too much of the plot, and in my view, with any book, this mean virtually none of the plot at all...I'll see what I can do.

Most of the book revolves around Stephen Wraysford, and nearly two-thirds of the book deals with Stephen Wraysford as a British solider during WWI. This two thirds is the absolute gem of the book. Language, imagery, and details that if you’d thought and imagined for hours about life in and around the front during this war...you'd never come up with. Unless you served at the front line of a war, or very near it, and as much as we've all seen Saving Private Ryan, as much as we tend to wear this information age with pride, and feel informed about all sorts of unthinkables, trench warfare being perhaps the least of them… you will be blown away. Um, no pun...

But this isn't a book about the horrors of war. Nor is it a book about human triumph, quite. It's a book about humanity: extraordinary, vile, and ordinary. It’s filled with the kind of details which bind a well-paced plot, variously drawn characters and requisite series of obstacles into a world which strips away the reader’s armchair, the Starbucks coffee growing cold upon the table, the very identity of the reader herself. The kind of details which take an ordinarily good book and make it great.

Read a small excerpt.

But wait, structurally-flawed you say?

Yes, I do. The first 130 pages, while not horrendous by any yardstick, are lengthy and mediocre enough to let me several time consider abandoning the novel. By page 132, I was hooked. The beginning is a protracted telling of Stephen’s young love, combined with an ample and un-subtle nod to the social and political strife preceding labor unions. Okay – these experiences help us to understand Stephen as we later meet him in the war. Still I say, 130 pages flounder when 65 would have done nicely. But this alone is minor and would not be enough for me to brand such a work as “structurally flawed”.

The bigger flaw is this.

It is the leap, the jarring and unrewarding plunge from the riveting life-or-death world of 1916 (and right off one of the most affecting scenes in the book) smack into 1978 where we meet Elizabeth – a young single woman with the single-woman problems akin to selecting a chic wine for dinner, and choosing between the men who’d like to date her. I, the once fastened reader, believe we have jetted into a new era, that Stephen and the war are gone for good, and I am ready to put down the novel yet again.

But I push through, finding that within 35 pages I have been introduced to thirteen new characters including Elizabeth who we find, after learning about her love life, her fashion sense, and her choice of food at parties, is on the trail of learning about her grandfather Stephen Wraysford.

Then right back to the war.

We revisit Elizabeth again for the final few pages of the book after we’ve seen Stephen “real-time” through most of what he has to offer, plot-wise. But Elizabeth grandly uncovers for us a secret we readers knew about all along.

This book is structurally flawed because Elizabeth shouldn’t be there. The tying of past and present together by way of a present character who strives to find themselves by digging into an ancestor’s life…well, it’s been done. And it’s being done more and more often. There are some very good books written with that structure, in fact. But the core of Birdsong is so eloquent, so startlingly fresh, that it doesn’t need this. In fact, even if the writing in these sections didn’t noticeably suffer, the technique itself is, in my opinion, beneath such an otherwise rare and beautiful book.

Save Internet Radio

"Help Us Fight To Prevent The Impending Death Of Internet Radio!" Okay - the headline gets a bit carried away. And I’m sure there's plenty of opinion on the site that does as well. In my view, it's not unreasonable for artists and labels to want proportionate compensation. (key word = proportionate!) Internet Radio isn't going anywhere. It's just headed for some changes, and changes will involve higher compensation to music makers for the web casting of their product, but if the current act gets passed, everyone involved will be hurt from this in the end.

The Save Internet Radio site does fill in the gaps about the issue. (My gaps at least!) It gives a concise history of the legislation which goes back to 1998 when Clinton signed the "Digital Millennium Copyright Act" allowing that record companies were owed compensation for music played over the internet. The rationale for this is said to be the "perfect" quality of digital copies and its projected impact on music sales. ("Perfect" as in equal to buyable cds, I suppose. How this was not the case in the days when cassettes ruled the musical kingdom, I'm not entirely sure.)

Broadcast Stations pay royalties based on revenue to the composers of songs, but record companies and artists are deemed compensated enough by the "promotional value" of the free exposure of airplay. (please see rant in earlier post...)

So disputes ensued over what rate of compensation to employ, finally resulting in the current Copyright Arbitration Royalty Panel (CARP) who took six weeks last summer to reject the revenue-based model and instead the per song per listener system and opt for the much pricier across-the-board approach which threatens to wipe out all but the largest internet radio stations, narrow the breadth of music currently available to a web listener and, unwittingly or not, cut down on free and decent exposure (i.e. SALES) for a huge wedge of otherwise up-and-coming music makers and their labels.

The public has their say.
Check out this discussion board on the issue at radiohorizon.com

Also - here's what I've dug up from "the other side":
Sound Exchange, a "dynamic and modern organization comprised of large, medium and small recording companies" presents a collection of rebuttals to the negative press the act has received in its Letters to the Editor section. And Executive Director John L. Simpson offers a concise and disappointingly flat summary of Sound Exchange's view.

Another post.

Let's go right on into a sound-off, shall we?

I discovered this from KCRW - an awesome public radio station out of Santa Monica CA.

ASIDE: I HIGHLY recommend this station for its music shows. It has a live streaming feed and archives you can listen to anytime. I've become addicted to "Morning Sounds Eclectic" which airs 9-noon PST. (Perfect for late east coast risers like me.) If you love an eclectic mix of hip-hop, funk, alternative (whatever that means these days), electronica, singer-song writer, soul, and every experimental mish-mash you can think of - check it out. Archives and band interviews are encapsulated for anytime listening under the title Sounds Eclectic. Okay, the show is actually more formatted than I've made it sound - but they are definitely on the cutting edge and I've been turned on to many bands I'd never have discovered without it.

BACK TO THE RANT:
So, KCRW has been doing a phenomenal job of spreading the word and airing both sides of the current debate regarding internet radio. It seems the association for music composers (not sure I have the organization title correct) is pushing a legislation through Congress that would charge every internet station on a basis of per song AND per listener! I’m sorry, being played over any radio, and in many ways ESPECIALLY internet radio is the best thing that could happen to most artists. Not only are they getting free exposure, they are usually clearly IDENTIFIED in a way they are not with traditional radio. How many times have we said, “Oh, who was that?” Only to never find out. On the web you not only have artist, label, and cd, information, you are often linked to band bios, similar groups, other releases by the same band AND A DIRECT LINK TO PURCHASE THE CD! I’m a little confused as to how an internet station could owe an artist, composer or label more than that. If composers don’t get adequate compensation for the produced material – isn’t that a contract issue between the writer and the artist or the writer and the label?

Labels woo commercial stations with free concert tickets, advanced and free cds galore, band information, etc… Unless people were downloading from streaming shows and making money by the sale of permanent, repeatable music, I don’t see the validity of this case. And certainly not for a rate as exorbitant as proposed here.

Also – personally, I’ve grown addicted to the freedom and wild diversity of internet radio. It has fast become the answer to all of my dreams as a kid trying desperately to pick up local static-drenched college stations, or tuning in to”120 Minutes” past my bedtime once a week. The internet is changing the way people think, act, and most blatantly, the way people do business. Copyright is a touchy subject and one that will take some time to air out. But government control is NOT the answer. We need to adjust to the way we regard these things. There are always ways to make money. There are MORE ways to make money, in fact. They are just new ways. And FREEDOM is the key.

This is just my ranting – for comprehensive information on this issue visit KCRW’s
Save Internet Radio.

There’s even information on how to contact your local Congressman to have your say in the matter.

Monet's Lilies Shuddering

My first weblog, named for a Ferlighetti poem that I love.
Let's see - I suppose I’ll start with stuff about me

WHAT I LOVE:
The ocean, words, wit, a great book, bravery, diet coke, good poetry, windy days, big dogs, my cat (not anyone else's though...usually), Anne Sexton, that rare, true personal connection, independent film, cheez-it crackers, solitude, Monty Python, the piano, freedom, language, the sound of rain, creating, intense theatre, acting, the unknown...

WHAT I HATE:
Hypocrisy, deception, being cold, sauerkraut, Howard Stern, FEAR, bad poetry, the unknown...

WHAT I DO:
I'm a freelance marketing writer professionally, and a poet and fiction writer...uh, spiritually.
I also read read read, write, run, swim, dance, sing (horrendously), find live music, travel the world (when I can), argue philosophy with my dear old friend, read, and breathe, and wonder.