jeblog

phoku.19

taste loss epidemic

I didn't actually think the URL was for real, but such is the new media synergy that websites mentioned on parodic commercials actually sometimes exist.

I'm talking about www.preventtasteloss.com, the website that is associated with the current Miller beer advertising campaign. You follow the URL and you come to a pseudo-medical site with a creepy/funny Pixar-esque doctor talking head. It reminded me of the faux infomercial that was part of the trailers for Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (which did not get enough Oscar nominations--c'mon, Jim Carrey should have got a nod).

I'm normally suspicious of entering info on websites for advertising purposes (why else would they want the date of my birth), but it was worth the price to be able to play around and hit all the jokes.

I think it would be a lot funnier, however, if they kept the sweepstakes further away from the main page and the interactive Taste Lost Prevention Guide. A little more verisimilitude, even at the price of a tiny dip in revenue, wouldn't hurt too much.

I'm here to tell you that, when it comes to advertising, humor works. I mean, look at me, I hate beer, and I'm surfing their site and blogging about it. Next time you see me, ask me if I want a Miller--I might accept. Probably not the beer, though. Don't they have one of those vodka cooler things?

I'm the next American Idol

I finally saw an episode of American Idol. I now can see why it's so addictive. That nasty Simon! That pouty Paula! That black guy who didn't register enough for me to remember his name! And Kenny Loggins! What the hell are you doing in Las Vegas, on that show, as guest judge? You're too nice for catty deprecation. And why couldn't we see you do Elvis too?

I could beat out most of those losers. Tomorrow I'm on the bus for Cleveland, for next week's auditions. I'll do the theme-song from the Drew Carey Show. I know it: I'm the next American Idol.

slapstick

Just finished re-reading Slapstick by Kurt Vonnegut. Vonnegut is also a writer I usually read while on break from school--one of my literary "guilty-pleasures." I've read all his novels at least once, most of them more than once. It was time to do Slapstick again.

I should admit here that I worship Kurt Vonnegut. He's been my favorite writer for 25 years. I want to say that Slapstick was my first Vonnegut, but that's not true. I recall now having to read Cat's Cradle my sophomore year of high school. But I had to read it, so I didn't really appreciate it. Slapstick was the first Vonnegut I appreciated (read on my own). Once I finished it, I knew I would read all his books. He does that: you want to grab another one of his books and start reading; either that or re-read the one you've just read.

What was the appeal? It was an easy read, for one thing. Vonnegut is a master of the short, quippy chapter. It was funny, too, while dealing with what would generally be thought depressing. It is depressing, a sugar-coated bitter pill. But it was a pill that I hungered for in my late-high-school nihilism, a pill that was medicine at that time in my life. He also is one of the most compassionate writers I've ever read, making heroes of misfits, making that misfit that was me a hero as well.

I also love the way he brings in different kinds of texts and media into the stories--handbooks, telegrams, papers disputing the laws of gravity, not to mention drawings--and his catch-phrases ("Hi ho.") And I especially like his autobiographical prefaces. These are often the best part of the book, especially when he baldly recycles jokes from the preface in the novel proper.

I've always had the gift of being able to pick up a book I've read a few years later and have a totally different reading experience. That was true of this reading of Slapstick. Once again Vonnegut masterfully created a funky dystopia. Vonnegut is the only writer who regularly makes me want to live in his dystopias, usually because the community of crazies who live there are so entertaining, and so human. So once again I laughed, I cried, I read late into the night. Once again I fell in love with his crazy fools, in this case the freakish twins Wilbur and Eliza, with their wild schemes to make the world a better place. Imagine a presidential candidate (Wilbur) who's main policy proposal is to program a computer to generate a random middle name for every American, instantly creating a new family of thousands for everyone. He'd get my vote.

I did have a little problem with the book which I don't remember having when I first read it. The main narrator dies before the story ends, but the story is continued by another narrator speaking in the same voice. Why Kurt? I guess I need to ponder that one like a koan.

At this point I give a shout out not for dear Kurt (hoping he'll relent and write another novel, which he's vowed not to do), but to Audrey Braun, who gave Slapstick to me to read the first time 25 years ago. Who knows, maybe she'll Google herself sometime and find this entry. Thanks Audrey. Hope life is treating you well. Thanks for giving me the gift of Vonnegut. As Wilbur says, "I had to laugh," and you knew that, and gave me the book that would make me do it. Thanks again.

Hi ho.

Gates of Paradise: Plate 10

Plate 10

In this plate, Blake is getting Oedipal on us. From the inscription "My son! My son!" I'm assuming Blake is making reference to the Biblical Absalom and his father King David, who, after the death of Absalom (which occurs as the result of Absalom plotting to displace his father on the throne), utters in despair "Absalom, Absalom, my son Absalom!"

Here we have a similar situation: the youth (presumably male, though it is an effeminate figure--not resembling the Michelangelo-esque muscular titans in other Blake plates) aiming his spear at the distracted king/father on the throne.

The youth is not just preparing to commit parricide/regicide, but is at the same time mesmerizing the old man (perhaps the reason why he's distracted), using the sibyl-gesture that Blake employs elsewhere to denote mystification. The image may denote a killing or a brainwashing. Either way the conflict is between youth and age, perhaps between revolution and the ancien regime (the youth, come to think of it, resembles the young Orc, very present in Blake's mind at this time), and the old man Urizen.

Again, the question is why would Blake include this war between generations in its original form in the "For the Children" version of his emblem book? And why include it in "For the Sexes [Adults]" for that matter? Then again, the two different versions emblematize some kind of relationship between generations: first Blake creates his emblem book for children, and then for adults. And then pits the two books against each other, causing the reader to surf the two versions intertextually?

I also ask, as I always do, how is this a "spiritual" image? At least it's Biblically-based, but there is only conflict, no solace, to the image. Once again it's the young Blake battling with an old Urizen-like figure--Orc/Lucifer Blake battling with God. The war of contraries, held in conflictual equipoise. Should either side relent, the world would fall apart.

graffito 3 & 4

I think there is an ambitious grafitti artist creating an installation of his work along metro stops on the Red Line, between Glenmont and Union Station. I've captured a couple of his/her works (if it is indeed one artist) on film recently, traveling on that route. For media he/she is using electrical boxes and black spray paint. This is the first one, at Takoma station:

It's not often that graffiti artists do figures as well as words, and even more rare for it to be of this quality. I think it's a very interesting caricature. Unfortunately, I could not get a very clean shot of it from the platform. I was not willing to risk the wrath of the third rail (not to mention station attendants), by climbing down onto the tracks to get a good shot. I will probably try it from a train window at another time.

This photo was taken at Ft. Totten Red Line station. Am I justified in seeing these two images as related (calling this a series)? I think so, but only because I swear I've seen maybe two other images like it at other stops. I reckon I ought to document it with pictures, AND study the signatures. Sounds like a project to me.

more free reading

A couple more quick reviews of books I've read over the holidays.

Drop City by T.C. Boyle. Another recommendation from friends; it's kind of making the rounds in my drumming group. It's the story of a 60s-style commune, with all the counter-cultural trappings such as sex, drugs and rock-and-roll, forced to move operations to the Alaskan wilderness. I admit it, I read it as an exercise in hippie nostalgia, and as such was much entertained. The story is also good, the characters interesting and worth getting to know, and the writing entertaining. My only caveat is the occasional polysyllabicisms Boyle commits while narrating from the point-of-view of characters that would never use such words.

The Eye of the Heron by Ursula LeGuin. LeGuin is often one of my holiday pleasure-reading guilty pleasures. That is not to say that she isn't a very literary science fiction/fantasy writers, because she is. She also deals in interesting ways with real-world political and religious themes, many of which I've been interested in for a long time, such as anarchism (The Dispossessed), Jungian psychology (The Earthsea Tetralogy), Taoism (her translation of the Tao Te Ching) and Gandhian non-violence (The Eye of the Heron). In this short novel, LeGuin creates a world originally used as a penal colony and then later becomes the exile home of nonviolent activists. The plot centers on the inevitable clash between the world-views and ideologies of these two very different cultures. The story ends hopefully yet tentatively, showing that the desire for freedom is a great aspiration, but one with a cost.

holiday reading: blindness

I'm on break from school and when I'm on break, I tend to binge on non-academic books. I even go so far as to read (gasp!) genre fiction, such as espionage novels (love Le Carre) and fantasy/science fiction.

If you'll indulge my old guard old media inclinations, I would like to say something about books.

First book I grabbed for pleasure-reading was one recommended by a friend: Blindness, by the Portugese writer Jose Saramago, who won the Novel Prize for Literature in 1998. So give me credit for that: once released from the shackles of reading-for-papers, I reached for genuine literary fiction. And I have to admit there was some trade off in terms pleasure: you can't really describe a book about a world suffers from an epidemic of blindness and slips into madness and anarchy as being pleasurable--at least not in the way that most folks describe pleasure these days (which is titillating rather than evocative/provocative).

But there is certainly much with which to engage the reader which might be considered in a more Aristotelian sense. An interesting premise taken in unexpected directions, characters that I cared about and found authentic, a wily narrative style in which the omniscient narrator revels in his(her) all-seeingness and occasionally makes wry marginal comments. I would have to say the narrative voice is the most remarkable thing about the book; it represents the word games and distinctive verbal performance that wins you literary prizes.

The book reminded me of The Plague by Albert Camus: a similar premise, using a human disaster to do a sociological reading of society. For Camus, the Plague represented Nazi-occupied France and the Resistance, but also the existential situation of 20th century humanity; for Saramago, blindness represents...? It's not clear, which is, of course, appropriate. Certainly the vestiges of European existentialism remain, with, the fear of terrorism (though the book was written before 9-11).

One possible critique. The friend who recommended the book to me said he had to read it for a class. He said none of the women could make it through the gang-rape scene. Yes, there is a gang-rape scene, and it is hard-going. But the chapters that follow show the centrality of the scene for the plot and themes of the novel, and there is retribution for the act which starts a chain that ends in the liberation of the women, and the men and child, who are imprisoned in a hospital for most of the book. But that is a man speaking: I would like to hear more from the women on that subject.

phoku.18

graffito 2

I saw this graffito one block over from where I live. I'm not sure if a spray-painted stencil can be officially described as a "graffito," but then there's hardly anything official about graffiti. I thought it an interesting example of street art. I've seen other examples of this stencil, and others, which I hope to capture on film.

I should say that this image is slightly Photoshopped. It had an inscription above it, added by another hand (I think) which said: "MUST KILL [a certain person of power who will be celebrating a special something next week]." Not only did I not want to risk putting something that inflammatory up on my blog, I also, as an adherent of Gandhian non-violence, do not share the sentiment. So I took the liberty of digitally wiping it away, though there is no love lost between me and the person alluded to above.

I also was intrigued by the placement of the stencil graffito on a Washington Gas control box. Not seen (in the picture) is the solar panel that is standing above the box like a big sunflower. Interesting technology to put in such a place and one wonders whether the stencil ended up there as a commentary on obtrusive technology, on how our society is saturated with it, in effect, perhaps, leading to the roboticization of culture. If so, it's not a commentary with which I concur, though I encourage stencil artists to keep reminding us of the dangers of the machines we let into our lives.

Gates of Paradise: Plate 9

Plate 9.

After the playfulness (or was it?) of the previous plate (showing an angel breaking from a shell) we are back to the fearfully contingent. This image shows a wild-eyed male figure in tight breeches, waving his hat behind him, as if preparing to swat the wingless angel hovering in front of him.

Why a wingless angel? Again, as mentioned in my previous post about Plate 8, sometimes Blake's angels are not what they seem. The Songs of Innocence and of Experience are full of them (in fact, this angel seems a quotation of the wingless angel in the frontispiece of The Songs of Innocence), some representing compassion and goodness, others, such as "the covering cherub," representing the dominant and dominating systems, acting as tiny, hovering policemen. I would like to think that Blake plucks the wings of his angel here as a way of unmasking ideological mystification, but then perhaps this is how Blake truly saw his little visitants.

And I haven't mentioned the dead or injured baby, lying face-first at the feet of hat-waving man, his eyes filled with horror, and right below the wingless angel. Are we to think that the angel has killed the child, and the man is trying to swat the little assassin, trying to drive him off? That would seem to be the logic of the composition.

This is yet another example, in The Gates of Paradise, of what we might acronymize as WWHT ("What was he thinking?"). This design, with the dead or injured child, was originally part of his emblem book for children, For Children: The Gates of Paradise. Most children would be quite disturbed by this image I would think. I mean, a child seemingly murdered by an angel-figure? It's he stuff of childhood nightmares.

When I looked at the older image (For Children, I noticed that the inscription was only one word: "Alas!" But then he added text to the later version (For the Sexes, the version I've been reading here), which goes as follows: "What are these? Alas! the Female Martyr Is She also the Divine Image?" If we read any thing that Blake is creating at this time (1793), we can assume that he meant this rhetorical question to be answered in the affirmative. In later books, such as Jerusalem, he might hedge his answer a little bit. But it seems clear here that Blake includes women as reflections of God and as recipients and agents of liberation. But at what cost?

This is perhaps the most idiosyncratic plate I've looked at so far, once again undercutting any sense of a comforting religion, or a comforting anything. In a spiritual sense, the viewer is tried as in fire, leaving off all certainty. It is, as many of Blake's plates are, almost more Buddhist than Christian.

TV-B-Gone

Marc Fisher had an interesting column in the Washington Post today. Apparently there is a product that you can buy which can be used to surreptitiously turn off televisions in public places. Fisher talks about the games he plays with his zapper toy, which some of his correspondents classify as "vigilante-ism." But who among us be hesitant to use such a tool to turn off that blaring, obnoxious TV in a besides-you-empty restaurant? It beats having to negotiate with the wait-staff, which I've had to do on more than one occasion.

Anyway, below is the URL for the article, where you can find the URL to buy this device if such is your wont. There's also discussion of promising technology to point and shoot (a remote, people) to disable annoying cell phone users.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/articles/A5049-2005Jan12.html

existential game 24: man vs. drain

This game requires the use of 1. a bathtub, 2. pumice stone, and 3. toe-warts.

I classify this as a "superstition game," which may not be saying much to folks who think all superstitions are games.

To begin play, pull the stopper in the drain of the bathtub and begin rubbing your toe-warts with the pumice stone. You have to finish your wart routine BEFORE the water drains out of the tub. That is where the adrenaline kicks in because, as everyone knows, if you don't get out of the tub before the water drains out, your soul will be sucked down the drain.

And I'll have you know that because I play this game every time I take a bath, my warts are almost completely gone. When they are completely gone, of course, I'll have to think of something else to do while the tub drains, like shooting water out of the rubber ducky's mouth at a shampoo bottle.

existential game 23: where's the wacky weed?

I played this game a few days ago, just north of the now-under-construction Thomas Circle on Vermont Avenue, in Washington DC. I was riding my bike and smelt that ineffable smell. I looked around. Who was it? Was it the person waiting at the bustop with the long, black, London-y umbrella? Don't think so. Could it possibly be emanating from the U.S. Postal Service truck? Nah. Have Rastafarians taken over Luther Place Church? Not likely.

I didn't win the game because I didn't come up with a plausible suspect. I may need to keep riding around there on the off chance that I might get a chance to play again.

And if you're wondering how I might be able to recognize "that ineffable smell," I leave that as a game for you to play.

existential game 22: reading with gloves

Since I've been on break from school it's been nothing but fun and games, some of which I will describe here in my blog.

Like this one, called "Reading books in the metro with thick gloves on."

There's not much description needed other than the title. I've been playing that game a lot lately and getting pretty good at it. I think if I moved someplace colder I could be a real pro, like those who train in higher altitudes tend to be better runners because it expands their lung capacity. I'm sure there are better players of the reading-with-gloves-on game in, say, Antarctica.

For a real challenge try mittens.

graffito 1

I've created a new category for my blog. It's a "graffito" category, in which I will feature interesting street art. Immediately below is the first one, taken on Columbia Road, near Kalorama. I thought it had an interesting, though menacing, design. It made me pause and take a picture anyway.

confession

I have to admit I'm no longer doing my blog entries by candlelight. For the good of my eyes, I bought a desk lamp today. I am using it now. For once, my eyes are not about to pop out of my head because of the strain. Forgive me, dear digital readers, for using artificial lighting to do my night scribbling by. Of course, using a keyboard to type into a form on a website that is part of a much larger network is not in the least bit artificial...

existential game 21: flower pancakes

I can't take credit for this game. It was invented by my housemate Katy this morning (though there are probably hundreds of other co-inventors). It's making flower pancakes.

To play, you just have to make some pancake batter, and then use the batter to make flower shapes, like below.

My diminuitive housemate Jonah, Katey's two-year-old, was either stunned by the artistry of his mother, or playing a game of his own, because he didn't seem to be interested in eating the flower pancake, as you can see below.

I suppose another version of this game would be to use real flowers in pancakes. That's pretty much what a friend of mine did once, making day lilly samosas. I'm sure she's not the only inventor of that game either.

INs and OUTs

I always read on New Year's "The List" in the Washington Post Style section. The list tells us, at the turn of the new year, what is IN and what is OUT. As always, many of the things listed failed to register. This is because I don't keep up with pop culture as much as I should, or as a good culture consumer should. But there were two things, digitally-related, that did register with me.

1. On the IN/OUT list, "Evites" were OUT. "Willfully ignoring Evites" was IN. I was so happy to be in the loop on this one. I've hated Evites for years and have occasionally ranted to friends who use them about how I don't appreciate being sucked into another ad-infested website, which is how I perceive Evite pages, since I'm surrounded by so many ads as it is, on- and off-line. So I've been willfully ignoring them for years. I may unwillingly read them to get necessary information, but I will not fill in the forms, check the boxes, etc. I will reply to the email that contained the link to the Evite, if I reply at all. But I prefer--I tell the Eviter--to get the info I need in the email and to respond to only that.

2. The Firefox browser was IN, Internet Explorer was OUT. Again, I was ahead of the curve on this one. I've been using Firefox, the new Mozilla browser, for a couple months now. I like it. It's nothing fancy, but it does the necessaries, including block most pop-ups. In contrast, ever since the big Service Pack upgrade of Windows XP, my IE browser has been annoying and wacko, too-functional and not-enough functional.

It seems to have been attacked by some worm or trojan or something because even though I have pop-ups blocked, THEY STILL POP-UP, even when I'm merely using the browser to look at a page I'm editing on my harddrive. At the same time, everytime I open a page with ActiveX scripts, an IE-generated popup tells me first that its wrestling with a pop-up, and then after I click on it to allow the pop-up, it tells me its an ActiveX script, which I have to click on again to make the page work. There may be ways to allow ActiveX scripts, but I'm too annoyed right now to fiddle with it--I just avoid using IE.

And in terms of the unblocked pop-ups, which are also highly annoying, I've found out that they're add-ons which I have to go into tools and individually block. Maybe there's a solution for this too, but why bother when Firefox does the job (and it has the added virtue of not being Microsoft)?

For near, and maybe far, future, Firefox will remain IN and Internet Explorer OUT.

seeing the streets as texts

I realized recently, as I was once again cruising the streets with my camera, that I have trained myself to read the streets, through my camera, as texts.

This started when I began making my phoku. I took a bunch of photos and then realized that there was no space in which to artfully place my haiku texts. I learned from that to take pictures in such a way as to leave space for my texts.

I've also become very intrigued by the texts that are already there on the streets, because other people see the streets as texts as well, which they are compelled to write upon. So I take pictures of those texts as well.

I've begun to see with a double-vision as well. I saw the image immediately above first (and took a picture) and then saw the one above that (the chalk drawing) and took the picture mainly because I thought it would make a nice double-exposure shot with the first image. Thus:

I've taken two texts and made a completely different text ("contra el sistema," or "going against the system," is equated with a children's drawing on the sidewalk: think about it).

So I read the streets as texts, as a place for my texts, and as a place where various vantages can be combined together. Of course, if I keep reading the streets this way, I may get run over a car one of these days.

Here's one more image/text, inspired by my reading experience on the streets:

review of House of Flying Daggers

I saw House of Flying Daggers, directed by Zhang Zimou, a couple weeks back. Some reviewers see it as a companion piece to Hero, which, though finished a couple years ago, was released in the U.S. only a couple months ago. I saw more differences than similarities between the two films. House was much more realistic in its fight sequences than Hero, for one thing. House also does not have a Rashomon narrative structure like Hero, though there are certainly twists and turns and surprises. Both films deal thematically with deception, but in different ways.

Quick summary. Two soldiers in 9th century China are charged with infiltrating an secretive society of assassins called the House of Flying Daggers. Through a ruse, one of the soldiers, Jin, a playboy, insinuates himself into the trust of Mei, a suspected assassin who is also blind, and goes on the run with her, chased by governent soldiers, led by the second soldier, Leo.

Mei, the blind assassin, soon proves herself to be a top-notch fighter, but only after first proving herself an amazing dancer in the "Echo Game" scene. This is one of the best drum-centered scenes I've seen in a long time--worth the price of admission for me.

I can't say much more about the story-line because it would spoil it for those who haven't seen it. Needless to say, there are a number of twists. In the end, though, the two soldiers end up fighting over Mei, in a scene that is remarkably bloody and realistic, compared to similar scenes in Hero. In that film, wounds were represented by red ribbons, and similar gestures, but in House blood is represented by blood, and we see clearly how un-romantic their methods of fighting were.

The effects in the film are amazing, the cinematography, like in Hero, is breath-taking, as is the fight-choreography. The directing, writing, acting--particularly the lovely Ziyi Zhang, who also appeared in Hero--top-notch. I would say the willowy young Zhang is one of the best martial arts artist in film today.

A few more specific observations. I'm surprised that a film coming out of China would portray a mostly-female revolutionary organization so sympathetically (though their own brand of real politik reveals itself by the end). But then they were fighting against an ancient, declining, corrupt regime, so the Communist governent I imagine would approve of that much.

I also thought, while watching the film, that I might not even mention it to friends, let alone review it on my blog, because it seemed misogynistic. But once the twists come into play it seems to go beyond that. And the mostly-female House of Flying Daggers, as I said, or portrayed with quite a lot of sympathy.

I also thought the film was interesting in thematizing gaming as a way of life, in terms of personal relationships, and as the way of the universe, in terms of contingency and chance. The film itself--like any narrative, I suppose--is a kind of game as well, with the viewers as players. It is all about PLAY, as both game and performance, as, it might be argued, life itself.

So, in short, I recommend the film and count us lucky that two Zhang Zimou films have been released in such quick succession.

Gates of Paradise: Plate 8

Plate 8

I must admit I've been strangely comforted by this plate, showing a baby angel with wings breaking out of a shell. Surreal, yes, but certainly not as oppressive as the last few plates. No one being crushed by a mountain, no one fretting over an empty universe with only teasing, twinkling stars above. No, a sign of hope, an angel, with a goofy grin on his face. And am I alone in seeing this as a self-portrait, Blake imagining himself as he was as a child? We finally have an image that a child might understand and appreciate (the plate was originally designed for For Children: Gates of Paradise). We also finally have an image appropriate to a "spiritual" reading, it seems.

And what of the text/motto? It says "At length for hatching ripe / he breaks the shell." A hopeful message to match a hopeful image: liberation from constraint.

OK, this is Blake, so we have to ask: does this plate represent what we think it represents? Does the angel denote some kind of spiritual system of which Blake more or less approves? I would tend to think so except the image of an angel breaking out of a shell gives me pause. The angel is likened to a bird, rather than depicted as some kind of sublime, transcendant being. The angel is naturalized, if such a term is appropriate in such a case, perhaps even vegetated. If we take that interpretation, that the angel is as much a vegetable as the baby/root/worms in earlier plates, this is as radical as anything Blake is saying in Gates of Paradise. Even angels, even spiritual systems, can be vegetated, shown to be contingent/surreal rather than embodying true spirituality/imagination.

Which calls into question a "spiritual" reading of this plate, and this book. Am I looking for a confirmation of traditional Christian iconography? If so, I am sure to be disappointed. Sometimes Blake's heavens are hells (or earths), sometimes his earths are heavens (or hells), etc.

It all comes down to "An Eye altering alters all" (Mental Traveller l. 62), purifying consciousness by passing through the flames of Blake's vision, leading us to our own.

However, I'm not there yet, if I will ever be. And I hesitate slightly removing this sweet angel (disguised demon?) from my desktop wallpaper. I'm sure he'll be sending his demons of despair back out to shove us even further from our expectations.

phoku.17

review: Motorcycle Diaries

I've seen The Motorcycle Diaries, the biopic about Ernesto "Che" Guevara, twice now, so I guess I should review it.

It's not that I don't think it's a good, even wonderful film: I do. I just didn't see any "new media" or "textual" moments in the film. On the second viewing, I did.

First a general review: I really like this movie. I would have to classify it as one of my top three favorite films for 2004 (don't make me list ten: I see a lot of films but I don't think I can remember 10). The acting is terrific, especially Rodrigo de la Serna as Granado. Gael Garcia Bernal, as Che, is no slouch either: he does a great job showing us a young, slightly callow, roman-a-clef (or roman-a-revolutionary) Che.

Though if the film has a weakness its that it may be a little too hagiographic. It was fine for folks who admire Che, as I do, but it might be too much for those who have experienced first-hand the darker sides of revolutions.

And I have to contest one of the things Che says in the film: when he and Granado go to Machu Picchu, he says the revolution without guns is doomed to failure. I think there have been plenty of examples in the past 25 years (since Che died) of the efficacy of nonviolent revolution, such as the Philippines and Haiti in the late 80s, not to mention the end of the Soviet empire (wonder how Che would have felt about that).

The cinematography, especially, is well-done, as is the direction. The writing is pretty good, though some of the situations seem a little bit contrived.

Now my "new media" and "textual" review. Texts are an important part of the story. The larger frame is the diary Ernesto was keeping during his travels. There are quite a few excerpts in the film, as well as shots of Ernesto writing in his diary. There are also excerpts from Ernesto's letters to his mother.

Then there are occasions in which texts play a part in the story, namely when Ernesto's girlfriend breaks up with him by letter, and Ernesto gets the idea of planting in a newspaper in Valparaiso a story that describes he and Granado as famous leper doctors, which buys them a few meals and places to sleep for the night.

There is also one of the few occasions in recent films of a literary review, as Ernesto critiques the novel written by their earnest doctor host in Lima.

The doctor has plenty of books, some of which he recommends to Ernesto and Granado. And can anyone imagine a time in which reading a novel, collectively, at the dining room table, would be possible?

Of course, one of the themes is the movement away from book knowledge to real life experience, such as Ernesto and Granado discover at a leper colony, as they become what they fictionalized for themselves in the newspaper article.

And "new media" moments? I would describe as such the very effective, and moving, effect of having "living snapshots" of people the two travelers meet on the road. The film goes to black-and-white, to simulate photographs, and the models are mostly still, but there is slight movement, so that you know this is a live shot of film, not a photograph. Photographs remediated as film, from which film originally came. They show that a camera can never really capture these life-changing moments, or technology never capture the soul of the people. Which is maybe what I found moving. Or the sense that these were real people, not actors. Anyway, there were some amazing compositions. I especially liked when in one "living snapshot" a gaucho stares into the camera, with a horse behind him. After ten seconds, the horse turns around and faces the camera, breaking the illusion. I liked it anyway.

Finally, there was a sort of archive-textuality moment at the very end when actual photographs taken during the trip show Ernesto and Granado in situations featured in the film. This also broke the illusion of the film world, burning down the cinematic fourth wall. As did the final image of the film, which I also found very moving: showing the real Rodrido de la Serna, an old man, watching the same plane fly off that we saw earlier, when Ernesto left Granado in Venezuala to fly back to Buenos Aires. Breaking the filmic illusion, but also bringing us into the story, into the revolutionary struggle.

Finally, a little political comment. The film is a fine depiction of the education of a revolutionary, as he encounteres the poverty and injustice endemic to South America at that time (and still, for the most part, now), and there's a mention at the end that the CIA was involved in Che's assassination in Bolivia in 1968. But there was not a mention of another key part of Che's political education: when he went to Guatemala to see an indigenous socialist government in power, in the Arbenz presidency (which was much more Rooseveltian than Leninist), and witnessed the CIA's overthrow of an elected government, replacing it with a military dictatorship that continued mroe or less unbroken until 1985.

As much as the film makes North American audiences "feel good," we need to remember that we killed Che. And we continue to kill Che, as well as provide the seedground for other Ches.

database solutions: live at leeds

God help me, including the word "database" in a phrase that includes "live at leeds."

Yesterday I recorded to my harddrive, using Real Audio, the Who's eminent album Live at Leeds.

I just went to play it and found that Real Audio re-numbered the second disc during the recording process, that is disc 1 and disc 2 are both numbered 1 through whatever, so Real Audio is mixing in the non-Tommy songs with the Tommy songs. Since I wanted to hear just the Tommy songs, this just would not do.

So what did I do? I clicked on song number, to order the songs by number, thinking that would somehow work. It didn't.

But then I noticed there was a song rating category. You click on stars to signify how much you like, or don't like, the songs. I rated all the songs on side 2 (the Tommy side) with one star (tho they're probably worth four or five--i was lazy). Then I clicked on song rating at the top, ordering the songs by rating. I now had all the songs from the Tommy side lined up in order.

I am now enjoying the digital fruits of my database solution, listening to the who do their rock-opera Tommy, live at leeds.

"Tommy can you hear me..."

existential game 8: bowl of pink something

The game here is to figure out what this is all about.

Bonus points: decipher the phrase written on one of the slips of paper. (Yes, that's what they are. There's a clue right there).

Two other clues (actually gives the game away completely): the two entries below this one.

Blake my paper doll

My Blake paper (see below) was quite an adventure in textuality. I read a lot of books and articles, many of them found by accessing the (what used to be called card) catalog of my school library via the internet, some of them downloaded from the internet which I printed out. I like this brave new world of digital scholarship. I like not having to schlup to the library to find the articles I need.

I did some of that anyway, and made copies. Found a few of books too.

I had me a little system with sticky notes--I'm sure I'm not the only scholar to revert to stickies. I decided that, with my paper, I would look at how Blake actively disrupts reading practice, disrupting ideological readings of which he does not approve: that is, disrupting state/religion, rationalist, and media readings. So, for my reading (of Blake's misreadings, or misprisions), I went with a color-coded sticky strategy. I assigned the three ideological readings to three sticky colors. Yellow for state/religion, blue for rationalist, pink for media. I would put the sticky at the edge of the page, sometimes right upon it, so I could reference it with the book closed.

Nice idea. Too bad that thesis proved to be way beyond the bounds of a 25-page paper. I narrowed it to look at Blake's relationship with the public sphere, i.e. periodical culture, as reflected in Jerusalem. So all those yellow and blue stickies died for nothing.

When I was writing, as I found and used quotes and citations, I would ceremoniously pull off the sticky and put it on a plate which I had brought up from the kitchen with some tasty treat at some point.

Actually, later on, with citations I wasn't sure I would include, I would pull the sticky off and put it in the center of the page, so that I couldn't see it with the book closed, but it was still there if I opened the book.

I played, at one point, of adding another category, or taxonomy, or menu, that is have stickies sticking out at the top of the book, to go along with the one on the side. But I ended up not needing that extra layer of documentation.

Do other scholars do this or am I just a nutty professor in the making?

I'm going to need a system that's a little more sophisticated for preparing for my comps and dissertation. I'll probably steal my friend Marc Ruppel's idea of blogging comments while reading so my advisors/committee can see what I'm up to, and it would provide me with precious documentation when it came time to write.

But I'm wondering about software out there that I might be able to use, one that would let me take annotations in database format, so that I could find citations by keyword. Anybody know of any such program? Don't make me invent it. I've got a dissertation to write.

the joy of papers

I finally finished my seminar paper on William Blake's Jerusalem. So now I can blog again!

I have to confess: I really like writing papers, but only if they seem like they might kick my ass. That is, I tend to get big-time ambitious. If you want to see what I mean, read the next entry (chances are you already have--it's the entry that appears above this one).

I guess it's good I'm becoming a scholar. I can actually make a living at writing papers (OK, and other things, like teaching...).

I still remember with fondness working on a paper my freshman year of college. It was spring, it was lovely outside the library, and someone opened the door, so I could see the sunshine and feel a breeze and hear birds sing, and that was enough for me. I was content to stay in the library and read dusty books and make my notes and (this was pre-computer, certainly pre-laptop--I date myself) write my paper.

It was on the Albigensian Crusade, and I was totally into it, believe it or not. I got a perverse frisson attacking the Catholic Church for its violent methods of combating heresy--did I mention I was in my first year in seminary, studying to be a Catholic priest? It wasn't my last paper attacking the Catholic Church--I also remember papers about the California mission system and an anti-Jewish pogrom in 1096 in which I was critical of the Church. I felt I could criticize the Church because I was going to be a priest. Of course, those papers probably led later to my leaving seminary, and then, years later, leaving the Church.

Anyway, my prof, a Catholic priest, really liked my paper on the Albigensian Crusade. A couple years later, at my graduation, he compared it to a dissertation.

So I guess I'm in the right place, studying to be a perennial studier, a scholar. After my fifteen-year detour following seminary of course, doing very unscholarly things, such as activism, taking care of AIDS patients, office manager, web stuff.

I'm not sure if I approve of the autobiographical turn this entry has taken.