film to the stars

I am quite excited as casting news is finally rolling in about the upcoming film adaptation of the Dark Materials trilogy. Hopefully there will be some exciting otherwordly goodness to feast our eyes on sometime next year!

I have posted some videos on Youtube, including one of me on a Segway. I quite like it.

fanfic

Ever so often, I like to descend into the literary cesspool that is fanfiction writing. Here is the first bit of a Harry Potter fanfic. I'm not expecting too much feedback as there seem to be new stories posted every minute. There are over 250,000 HP fanfics on the fanfiction.net site alone. This is quite staggering!

PS. I apologize for the grotesque portrait of me as Harry Potter. Sometimes I get carried with Photoshop.

Secrets of Lost revealed...Station 7

An inside joke. Don't ask.

paper writing

One of the unforeseen benefits of not passing my oral exam the first time around was that writing my first of two final papers seemed like an escape from the gaping jaws of madness of preparing for the do-over. Now on my second paper, I am floundering, taking refuge in a constant flight of reading and note-taking. Not that this isn't productive activity. The problem is that the more material accumulated the greater the strain to assimilate all of the parts. So, I am trying to focus my mental energy, decide on what is necessary and superfluous. One cheering thing is that page minimum is only 14 pages. I keep thinking, "If I can write four pages on Lefebvre, that means I'll only have 10 more to go!" Everything is psychological warfare in grad school.

Tatum on Youtube

I am kind of addicted to Youtube. You can find this video and another one of Tatum there.

"I would prefer not to"

I just emailed my first of two final papers. This means that I have one more final paper to write then I'll be done writing seminar papers. I added up that through the course of 4.5 of graduate courses, I've written at least 24 of these papers. The frigthening thing is that I wrote this paper will relatively little difficulty. In other news, I've been tweaking the look of my blogs. Mainly just inserting new graphics and new colors (or lack of color).

exam passed

I am pleased to report that I passed my oral exam. This is a great relief.

Anti-Freeze

The coffee shop where I spend most of my coffee shop-time at installed countertops along the windows that face Main St recently. At first I felt ambivalent about this development. Now I like it. The countertop allows one to spread out a bit more. I say this as set-up for what follows.

I was studying for my oral exam "do-over" tomorrow when a taxi cab pulled up alongside the coffee shop. The little Hobbit gentleman named George who comes in ever so often got out of the cab and began plodding his way inside. Meanwhile the taxi cab starts steaming and a river of bright green, highly toxic anti-freeze is streaming from underneath the car. Obviously the radiator is busted. I watch in horror as the rills of green death stream towards the gutter, towards the storm drain, and towards the water supply. I become increasingly agitated as I imagine any one of the countless dogs that bounce along with their owners dipping an unsuspecting paw in the glop. I pictured people tracking it home and toxifying their homes. Yet I am utterly paralyzed.

The irony is that I have been wearing an old boy scout t-shirt. Now despite all the bad things about Scouting (let me count the ways), it is meant to prepare you for moments like this (see the Oath and Motto to understand this little guilt-making machine). Again, I just sat there, agitated, disturbed but passive.

The driver pushed his car over and the useless junk store owner across the street dug out a watering can. They were trying to add water to the radiator (but of course it was just passing right through and onto the street). The anti-freeze was beginning to evaporate. I shrugged off my desire to leave immediately and began studying again.

The prelude to this story occurred when I first arrived. A woman (who is always toting around a musical instrument of some description) yelled at the guy cleaning the windows for spraying window cleaner "around people who are eating."

Avoidance

I've really been avoiding studying for my exam "do-over." I recently watched "The Satanic Rites of Dracula," a cheap Hammer Studios horror film that I picked up at Walgreen a while back. The draw however was Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing (who starred in many Hammer horror films). It was actually quite entertaining! I bring this up because I found myself reading the message boards on IMDB about the film. I suddenly realized that I was finding every way possible to avoid studying.

oral exam

The oral exam (which always makes me think of a dentist appointment) for which I have been preparing for the better part of year did not go so well today. My committee politely asked me to do it over again. I wanted to say "No." Instead I smiled and and nodded.

Review of The Proposition.

I found myself wishing that I was the group of chatty 50-something yuppies (this coming from a 20-something embryonic yuppie) sitting behind me who didn't know who Alex and AJ nor Raven Simone were during the pre-film slideshow and probably don't know who Nick Cave is or that he sings his way through the soundtrack of the movie he wrote. Just knowing that Mr. Cave has released albums with titles like Murder Ballads made the whole get up that is The Proposition seem too...gotten up. This movie veers between a kind of post-modern realism (viscous blood and sweat stained blouses abound) with an equally post-modern sense of what constitutes myth (but what Jameson just called the post-modern's propensity to surface). This movie just has no real sense of time or place. Two things that drove me crazy was the inconsistent characterization of the captain and the botched reference to Origin of Species (it wasn't until Descent of Man some 10 years after OofS that Darwin dared advance his theories of human evolution). If you like your violence crunchy and slurpy then you might not mind this film. And if you have been in a cave that isn't named Nick, then you might feel a bit more unbiased than I did.

the world's awake

One of the brilliant things about living in a place where spring actually announces itself in all of its ambivalence is that when the sun finally does cut through the April showers the world really seems to come alive. I have seen more people today walking around on the streets. People are just strolling about, taking the world in. It is a very infectious thing to watch. Unfortunately, I am on the wrong side of life, sitting in the cafe. The even crueler irony is that I am taking notes on Blake and Wordsworth. These poets both demand having some kind of sensuous contact with the world. So, I must stay in-doors for now and just let the infant world throb in its spring time joy.

funny cover

Slate has a nice photo gallery of literary classics given pulp covers in the 1950s. Being a Victorianist, my favorite, of course, is the cover for Jane Eyre. Who knew that Rochester was really Johnny Cash? Rochester--he walked the line.

u-plate

I made a really good playlist recently. The consequence of this action has been that I am staying up late again playing the first two levels of this puzzle game called Cubis over and over. Some highlights of this list include: Once Bitten Twice Shy by Ian Hunter (this is the original that Great White covered) who was once part of the great Mott the Hoople; Shake Appeal by Iggy and the Stooges (this song really makes you want to...shake); Killing of a Flash Boy by Suede ("All the white kids shuffle to the heavy metal stutter"; is there a better first line that that? what about the line, "Shaking obscene like killing machines here we go"); Baby Boomerang by TRex ("New York witch in the dungeon of the day / I'm trying to write my novel / And all you do is play/ Baby Boomerang") and the White Stripe's cover of Stop Breaking Down (the Rolling Stone's version from Exile on Main Street is pretty great too). So piping music directly into my brain is keep me up-late at nights.

da vinci code

I'm usually not one to go in for the "conspiracy theory" style of cultural criticism. So the point I want to make isn't really of the "conspiracy" variety. Nonetheless I was reading this morning about the critical backlash against the Da Vinci Code now that it has been screened at Cannes. Now I was tempted to think that this is just the standard fare of critical cultural elitism attacking a low-brow book being made into a positively surley browed movie. A critic on the BBC points out how the movie is cloaked in armor due the popularity of the books (videogame culture has a great term for this phenomenon: "fanboy"). Certainly the movie would seem to occasion a kind of critical muscle flexing, allowing critics to vent their anger at the culture industry against a product whose revenues won't really suffer because of it (and of course there is no escape from this perverse loop). But then I as I thought about it I think these negative reviews are actually something much more savvy. In a way they are a rearguard action against the film's protestors. It is as if these critics as saying, "This is just a cheap piece of lowbrow entertainment with no serious message. You are allowed to go enjoy it without any concern regarding the content." So, really these critics are forming a protective armor of their own around the movie. Well, I at least feel relieved that I can go enjoy the film without any higher imperatives bearing down on me.

satire

I cut my teeth as a literature reading junior on William S. Burroughs. Burroughs was, among other things, a great writer of satire. His satire always creeped up in these oblique quasi-parable/allegories. In any case, my writing notebook has been laying on my floor for the last few weeks by my chair. I was reading Society of the Spectacle last night when I picked the notebook up and wrote down what amounted to "Homeless people are so ethical today." The gag of what I wrote was that the story had nothing to do with homeless people in the conventional sense at all. Rather it was a satire about a family who would rather be homeless than live in the house built for them by "illegial aliens." I really wanted to write something about this email forward my wife received from her friend who sends (from our perspective, well maybe from any perspective) questionable email forwards. I've also been turning over the beer story in my mind. But more on that some other time. I may put the story up here since it is not that long. By the end of writing it, however, I felt very ambivalent about it. You see (always beware a sentence beginning with "you see") the point would seem to be that this family's act of "resistance" was harmful, even ridiculous. I tried to show how these people so clearly misperceived their situation. But what situation? I found this hard to define. This reading would represent the kind of entropic movement that most satire (I think) exhibits. But in another way what the story (which of course you can't read right now) laments is how far fetched it is that anyone would actually go to such lengths to resist something. Well, these are just things that are on my mind when I should be doing things like, oh, studying for oral exams and so on...

laffy taffy

I'm feeling quite bad about myself at the moment. I've stayed up too late wasting time. Tonight was the first Italian class taken in preparation for the summer trip to Italy. This has made my day into a 12 hour learning extravaganza. I know that I am going to be tired tomorrow. I called and cancelled my doctors appointment in the morning because the thought or huffing up and down Chicago Ave. all day fills me with horror. Meanwhile, there is a backlog of reading piling up for Friday. Least of this reading includes the gazillion poems that I am supposed to have read in order to teach them. Also, my prof for Afterlife of Marxism suggested an extra session for grad students (even though it became an open invitation) for which we are supposed to read Society of the Spectacle. Now this little treatise is quite complicated because it is so enigmatic. It deals with the organization of the economy and society into images that produce or incite desire. There is a somewhat well known French philosopher coming to campus. This requires reading as well. There is no worse feeling that staring dumbly at the people sitting around you at a talk hoping they have hung on to a thread of the paper long enough to say something. All of these pressures have to do with the pressure I am putting on myself to "professionalize." This basically refers to the process of turning your will into laffy taffy (not the rump shaking kind though). There are stupid jokes involved in this process. Basically it means running around campus and sitting in ill lit corners of the university frantically reading materials that are too dense to be read with your back up against the wall (this reminds me of an article in the Times I saw about Airbus' plans for standing room only seats on planes: instead of groundlings of the old theatres I guess they'll have to be called "airlings." Why don't they just develop enormous ziplock bags and sling shots and just hurl people across time and space?). Oh and I'm supposed to be studying for oral exams. Right now I'm racing through Woman in White by Collins. Its a lovely novel (fortunately I read it before). But now that I've learned my committee is going to be comprised of two profs I barely know and one who has a disarming propensity to be simultaneously hot and cold. Needless to say, I'm a bit concerned. Everyone says that I will do fine on the exams. Surely I will. I have experience since January, however, a recurrent feeling that I cannot retain information in my brain. It is as if some thrifty shop mechanic went into my skull with a diamond bladed grinder and just made my brain resemble the chicago bean. (Note: I realize that link is a bit overkill in so far as it is meant to show/reveal what the bean is, but I digress...). BAsically, my complaint boils down to the genre of the "grad student's lament." There is nothing new to this. Only now it is my turn to be jostled down the gauntlet of self-doubt, inscrutable demands, and pressure.

Multitude

I often find myself overwhelmed by the sheer multitudes of people I encounter whilst scanning the internet. I particularly find flickr unnerving. How does one account for the multiplicity and plurality of bodies and moments and places? I guess this is a case of digital voyeurism gone bad (Zizek says that no real encounters can take place in cyberspace, hence the slogan that appears on my cell phone "No sex please we're digital"). After all what could be more unsettling than to think that you are leisurely peering into the intimate recesses of some stranger's existence only to find yourself confronting the meaningless facticity of your own life?

Paradise unread

I should be reading Paradise Lost right now. Instead I am distracting myself on the computer. I have been trying to break this habit of late. I have been mostly successful. It is astonishing how much interest one can take in the flat surface of the internet. I never really learn anything interesting online. The internet really is a non-event. A perpetual revolution of the same. Yet I still stare away. Back in the pre-Internet days I used to spend many hours reading my CD-ROM Encarta encyclopedia (of course I used to spend many hours reading, writing, and making mix tape covers, ie I used my time creatively). Then, at least, I learned something. The internet is sometimes just too hyperactive for my already hyperactive state of mind. In any case, I have been listening to an excellent album, Suicide's 1977 eponymous debut. I have known about this album since high school. At that time I purchased the excellently titled album, Some Girls Wander by Mistake, a collection of early singles and B-sides by the Sisters of Mercy. Andrew Eldritch mentions in the liner notes being enamoured with Suicide. Now, Denver had/has a great record store downtown called Waxtrax (many a weekend pilgrimage on the 0 bus that shot down Broadway were made to Waxtrax in those days. During the summer, I would ride with mom to her job, pick up the bus and spend the day downtown, going into thrift stores, sitting at the Market (back in those days the cafe was split into two halves, one smoking and the other non-smoking), walking around alleyways; quite fantastic days those were). You just couldn't find Suicide albums back then (or at least I couldn't and that was before Amazon etc. I often feel that pop culture became too hyper-intense with the internet, no longer does one have the thrill of the collector upon the experience "stumbling" upon something, even though I have the nifty "Stumble-Upon" plug-in installed on my computer). In any case, Mute re-released the album in 2000 (who has populated by collection of CDs with everything from Throbbing Gristle to Einsturzende Neubauten (yes, I was an industrial-head back in the day). Anyhoo, the Suicide album is very nice, a kind of affect-less sublime sort of affair (work out the paradox).