Weird Mood

The other night, James Lileks had a dream about Hello Kitty drowning. Somehow that perfectly captures the kind of mood I've been in for the past few days. I think it must have something to do with reading so much about the devastation left by Katrina, and trying to imagine how I'd feel if Annapolis was under water, instead of New Orleans.

Probably also doesn't help that my mom calls me Katrina fairly often.

And that I read about 2 pounds of this months mammoth Vogue last night, leaving me with a desperate desire for thighs thinner than I could ever possibly have, draped in clothes more expensive than my house.

Even odder: in the two minutes it took me to type this, I got a phone call (wrong number) from a priest working at St. Mary's. Where we got married. He was very nice (as priests should be).

I'm going to do my best to take that as a good omen and cheer up.

Thesis in the Making

Rock stars and their visual art...

YuppiePunk grades various rock stars' artistic efforts. It's definitely an interesting collection, but I don't necessarily agree with the given grades. They seem awfully influenced by taste (both musical and visual) and by what's "cool" (it's hot right now to put down the Stones). I also can't tell if the grade is for one piece, or for an entire collection.

Plus, it's impossible to grade any artist just on one expression of creativity. Especially if that artist is David Byrne.

Hurricanes

I have never been to New Orleans, but it has been on my short list of places I want to go ever since I started my list of places I want to go. In the ten or so years in between, I've knocked off a bunch of places that require a longish plane ride (Paris, San Francisco, Lisbon), but for some reason, I've never made the much shorter trip to New Orleans. And now it looks like I'm going to have to wait a while longer.

As I've read about Katrina's destruction in New Orleans, I tried to comprehend it, but just couldn't. Two years ago, when Hurricane Isabelle hit Annapolis and Baltimore, the downed trees, flooded cars and power outages seemed like absolute chaos. But that was nothing compared to what's happening in New Orleans right now. At least we were above sea level, even if not by much.

I haven't read any new news in a little while, but I'll continue to hope that the few reports I read that suggested Katrina was veering slightly off course hold true...

Seedy

I am a huge, huge fan of most types of jellies and jams. (The lone exception is plain grape jelly. It does nothing for me.) They taste good and they come in cute packages. So imagine my disappointment today when I went to the store and couldn't find the one type of jelly I wanted: blackberry with seeds.

When I was little, my grandfather (dad's side) had a small number of culinary talents, but what he did, he did very, very well. He caught and cooked crabs, and he made homemade blackberry jelly (I believe the blackberries came from his backyard, but I could just be romanticizing the story.)

So I grew up eating blackberry jelly with seeds (he wasn't exactly the de-seeding type.) As a result, that is exactly how I like it. Smooth blackberry jelly just doesn't taste right. Actually, smooth jelly of any kind seems weird and synthetic to me, which might explain the aversion to grape.

Anyway, all I wanted to buy today was a little old-fashioned Waskom blackberry jelly. But no. I stood in the jelly aisle and counted nearly 70 different types of jelly (OK, I counted to 40 and estimated from there - people were looking at me funny). And probably 10 different seedless blackberries. But not one with seeds.

I don't think I'm overreacting to take this as an affront to my family. Clearly, jelly-makers have no respect for history or tradition. So disappointing.

Left-Brained

In my seventh grade English class, my crazy teacher, Miss Brock, had everyone take a test that indicated whether we were more right or left brained. The test was scored like a pH test - out of 10, with 1 being the most left-brained (logical, etc.) and 10 being the most right-brained (creative, etc.).

I scored a 6.4 and since then I've thought of myself as a creative free-spirit. I mean, except for the excessive list-making and routinization.

This morning, I decided to find a brain hemisphere test to take (the internet has everything), so I could compare my results to the Kit of 1987. I couldn't find any that had the exact same scoring mechanism, but I did take three different tests (this one was the most thorough and well-constructed, I think).

The decision? I am decidedly left-brained. I mean, I'm not off the charts - I'm somewhat balanced, but I definitely lean to the left - logic, routine, etc.

Guess it's time to start rethinking my persona.

Red

No wonder I'm so into Ann Althouse: she's a redhead. Even though she has blond hair now, she still (rightly) identifies with redheads as a group. I'm the exact same way. A few years ago, my red was overtaken by brown, but I still very stubbornly insist that I am a redhead. It's way too big of a part of who I am to give it up.

It does seem a little cruel that so many redheads lose their hair color so young. Especially considering that most spend their childhood years hating the color because it makes them stick out. When I was very little, I didn't like my red hair or my freckles. But by the time I was in high school, I was totally into both. It probably helped that I had several friends in the redhead club with me.

There is just something very special about having natural red hair. Which I will insist I do even when mine is pure white.

This Article Is about My Brother

Just kidding. He's not really that much of a Rock Snob. Or, more accurately, its never been all about rock for him. He's a little bit of a music hippie, too. Maybe an indie-yuppie-hippie?

Anyway, the article. It's all about how Rock Snobs are losing the exclusivity that makes them snobs because iPods make it so easy for unworthy fans to find and share "cool" music. As an unworthy fan of many types of music, I feel highly qualified to say that the Rock Snobs should relax. If most of the unworthy are anything like me, they're still too lazy (or just don't care enough) to seek out the rare, uber-cool tracks that you so appreciate.

And even if your moochy friends download all 10,000 songs from your iTunes, they'll never get around to listening to them all. So calm down. You're still cooler than the rest of us.

Thing I Would Not Have Guessed

That Stereogum is tight with a Volokh contributor. Small internetty world, I guess.

Getting Past Crazy = Smart

Who needs therapy when you can just read and write about it?

This interview with Albert Ellis, founder of cognitive behavior therapy, is just as good a reminder not to think too much as several very expensive hours on a doctor's sofa. The summary quote (in my opinion):

'Do you think depression is indulgent? Yes, it's "I run the fucking universe and it should do my bidding." That's arrogant and indulgent.'

Testing Flickr

paris
Originally uploaded by Kit Pollard.

I'm thinking about switching from Hello to Flickr to upload photos...and just need to test it out. I've posted this picture before - it was taken just before sunrise outside Sacre Coeur in Paris, during May of 2001. I thought I'd put it up again, since just one month from now, I'll be in Paris!

FYI GOP 2008

If she were to enter the race right now, my girl Condi would make a lot of "online activists" very, very happy. She's the front-runner by a LOT.

Technology Is Awesome.

Whoever took the time to merge the Google Maps code with Hot or Not, then to make it available to the public, deserves some sort of very public recognition.

You can search the Hot or Not files by zip code, gender and sexual preference. After looking for guys in Towson, Baltimore and Annapolis/SP, I decided that its much funnier to look at the girls.

I had no idea that people actually used Hot or Not as an internet dating site. Doesn't that seem sort of wrong?

Tiny Omens

Superstition is built into my nature. I think it must have something to do with the Irish on both sides and the crazy gamblers in my mom's mom's family. In my life, it manifests in small, silly ways. I'm nearly thirty, yet I secretly hold my breath when I drive pass graveyards (impolite to breathe in front of those who can't) and I do what I can not to step on cracks (for the sake of my mother's back, of course).

But I believe in good luck signs, too, not just bad omens. And I've always made them up as I went along. But I know I'm not alone in this.

Just after lunch today, I was in my car and I heard the song "Semi-Charmed Life." Huge in 1997, which was a very social year for me, as I was newly 21 and making the most of not worrying about being carded. So the song always reminds me of those days - a trip to New York with Suzanne (who's 30th on Friday, btw, was just as fun as I'd hoped), Saturdays pretending to be a Georgetown senior at F. Scott's, countless hours at McGarveys and, from the summer on, tons of time in Baltimore.

Today I happened to hear the extended version of the song - including the face down on the mattress part at the end. And immediately, I knew the rest of my day would go smoothly - all because one night in 1997, I sat in my friend Pete's room, waiting for him to finish getting ready to go out, and Semi-Charmed Life came on the radio. He looked at me and said, "If its the long version, you know we'll have fun tonight." I loved it, of course, like everyone loves finding out that they're not alone in having weird little superstitious ticks. And I loved it more when we heard the long version of the song.

Then we went out. And we had a great time (though we almost always did). And today, my afternoon really was pretty good. A whole lot better than my morning.

It's so nice when you can rely on little things like that, things that don't make any logical sense at all.

The Obituaries

These Six Feet Under obituaries are cool in how they fill out some of the details of the characters' lives. Most interesting to me: the line about Brenda's research.

I Couldn't Fall Asleep Last Night

Because I couldn't stop thinking about the end of Six Feet Under. I thought it was really well done, a little melancholy and extremely poignant. An extremely fitting finale.

(Not to mention that Olivier used my word of the week - maudlin).

Benfield Does Georgetown

I know the quality of this picture sucks, but it has been in my collection for nearly nine years now, and there's only so much I can do to prevent wrinkling and bending.

I'm posting it today for a reason, though. It is my friend Suzanne's 30th birthday (the other girl in the picture...right in the center) so tonight we are off for our second 30th celebration in a week (not that I'm complaining - I like 30th birthdays nearly as much as I like weddings, and that's a lot).

So tonight will be filled with lots of things I love: Annapolis, my high school friends, and an open bar on a boat. The picture gets me in the right kind of spirit. It was taken in Suzanne's Georgetown apartment on New Years Eve 1996, mid-pre-party (the liquor bottles in the foreground were courtesy of Pete and lasted us all the way through our April Violent Femmes/bar crawl weekend). We were especially festive and dorky after we realized we'd all gone to school together from at least second grade until we graduated from high school. Nothing gets us more excited, as I've noted here before.

After this shot, we found ourselves splitting up into twos at Old Glory (a bar that will always hold a special place in my heart). Not surprisingly, the night ended ridiculously and mildly inappropriately for all of us. Those days were so much fun.

As are these days. Our last Severna Park 30th was Pete's, at the beginning of July, and that was extremely fun, even for our parents. Tonight, undoubtedly, will not disappoint either. Unfortunately, Suzanne and I might be the only people from the above group in Annapolis tonight. Most will be spending the night in the hospital, probably. Pete's pediatricianing in Hawaii, Rasim's radiologizing in Baltimore and CJ and his wife have a baby due TODAY. And Rob...he's in Charlottesville, but who knows. He could show up. He's surprised us before.

Anyway, looking forward to a big night of Severna Park and sailboats. What could be better?

P.S. Just wanted to share my favorite quote of today, coming from my friend Chris, on the fabulousness of Severna Park and how it is sometimes lost on those who didn't grow up there (like my husband and his girlfriend): "They just don't understand. It was Laguna Beach before the Real Orange County."

Couldn't have said it better myself.

Mini-Obsessions

Like most people (I think) I go through phases during which I'm sort of obsessed with certain songs, and they pop into my head on a regular basis. From December to mid-May it was "Mr. Brightside." For a brief, random time at the beginning of July, I was all about Erasure's "Respect." I'm sure this is normal.

But for the past two weeks, I've had this kind of relationship with a quote and a specific word in the quote. Its from the funeral episode of Six Feet Under, when Brenda calls the poem Nate chose "mystical, maudlin crap." For no reason at all, that phrase has been in my head a great deal, and I've had to consciously keep myself from overusing the word "maudlin."

I wonder why this happens. Is there some sort of crazy psychological or even chemical reason? It seems so random...

Kidz Bop: Art Edition

I think this is pretty awesome (though I wish the article had more pictures). Artists in England, recreating major works of art using Legos.

Why did my brother and I spend so much time just building houses and football fields when we could've been taking Cubism to a whole new level? Picasso in block form? Meta.

Seeing the Positive

...in the Bangladesh bombings.

Austin Bay and Glenn Reynolds suggest that the bombings were meant as a message to the Bangladesh government condemning the work of the Grameen Bank. The bank is a micro-development lender encouraging entrepreneurial behavior (often among women) in small, extremely underdeveloped parts of Bangladesh.

Here's where the positive comes in for me: my senior year in college, I wrote a paper for my Economics of Developing Countries class on the failures of the Grameen Bank system. As my professor pointed out, it was really a sociology paper (though I got a B+ anyway), addressing the fact that the money loaned to women by the Grameen bank was regularly hijacked by their husbands and other male family members. And that the availability of those funds actually put women in a dangerous position, as the men around them demanded that they find a way to get more money all the time. The programs targeting women had the exact opposite effect of what was desired.

But here's the thing: I can't think of much that would make crazy jihadists more angry than the financial empowerment of Muslim women in rural Bangladesh. So what these bombs say to me is that in the nearly ten (!) years since I wrote that paper, some of the system's sociological glitches must have worked themselves out.

And that is good news.

Bobby Twoey and the Ceiling Cats

Friday afternoon, I had lunch with my mother and grandmother. For whatever reason, we got on the subject of imaginary friends. My mom reminded my grandmother that my brother and I (but not my sister I don't think) had imaginary friends when we were little.

I had a friend named Bobby Twoey. He was with me all the time. I'm pretty sure his name has something to do with my hearing about my older cousin, Bobby. And the fact that I was two.

My brother apparently didn't need human companionship. He had cats that lived on the living room ceiling. There were either five or six of them and they were each a different color. Orange, green, purple, etc. They'd jump down from the ceiling to play.

While I don't remember much about Bobby Twoey, I have always known about him (of course, I'm not sure if I know about him because I remember, or because my parents told me when I was a little older). I do remember the cats pretty well, though. I guess I was old enough then to understand, but not so old that I couldn't appreciate the pets.

So we were talking about this and I started wondering what imaginary friends say about the kids who have them. Were the differences between Bobby Twoey and the cats good predictors for the differences between my brother and me? And does the fact that my sister didn't have an imaginary friend mean something about her?

There's a lot on the Internet about imaginary friends, but it seems like most of it is designed to reassure parents that their kids aren't freaks just because they talk to the air. I can't find anything that explains how specific IF characteristics might be precursors to personality characteristics or areas of interest that emerge later.

Interestingly, though, this article talks a lot about kids having IFs at later ages - even until they are in middle school. It suggests that teenagers who keep diaries are working within a similar framework as kids with imaginary friends. That certainly fits for me - I gave my diary a name and talked to it like it was a person.

That also makes me wonder if traditional diary-keeping is tapering off now, as teenagers start blogs. But I digress.

Anyway, imaginary friends. New topic of interest.

Cultural Geography

"They took advantage of modernity, affluence and freedom to become practitioners of a do-it-yourself tribalism."

David Brooks writes in the NYT of the not-yet-completely existent field of cultural geography. The above quote refers to the tiny, highly specified subcultures that have cropped up all around the world, often in response to something, and in defiance of the mainstream.

Brooks suggests that for an 18 year old with a very big brain, the currently "impolite" subject of cultural geography might be the topic to study. I think he's right. However, in some respects, the topic is currently under study: it's called anthropology.

Of course, you'd be hard pressed to find an anthropologist who studies anarchists, or fringe Muslims, or any other touchy and segregated subculture, who doesn't also approach and write about his subject without the veil of liberal apology. That's just the way the anthro folk are educated, how they operate (after four years of working extensively with anthros from all over the world, I feel confident in making that sort of generalization).

But that doesn't mean that the principles of anthropology might not be a good place to start this sort of sociocultural undertaking. Personally, I find the idea of a study of cultural geography pretty engaging. Not that I'm an 18-year-old and not that I have the kind of "big brain" Brooks mentions, but this field of the future certainly has my interest piqued.

A New Way to Entertain Myself

My brother's girlfriend has started a (new) blog.

I kind of feel like I'm spying by reading, but that's not going to stop me.

Je suis une artiste incroyable.

That's right. I painted this rock. Patrons, feel free to come calling. Personally, I think its simplism conveys a sort of 5th grade naivete that's refreshing in such troubled times. And just look at the brushstrokes. Clearly, a powerful statement.

And the introduction to my post(s) about my big weekend at the Finger Lakes. Thursday afternoon, Cooper and I left Baltimore with our friend Bill in tow and made the 5-hour trek across Pennsylvania to the southern part of upstate NY, and our friend Alicia's family's lake house.

The drive itself has its moments - it definitely feels like a road trip when you pass Reptileland. Not to mention the "adults only" video stores that pop up every 10 miles throughout the entire state of Pennsylvania. They're all the same, too, with lovely covered windows and signs that say things like, "private booths" and "trucks welcome." Fortunately, we didn't actually see anyone entering or (worse) leaving any of these fine establishments. I can only imagine.

My drive was particularly eventful, as I was in the backseat behind a driving Cooper and a drinking Bill (who's FABULOUS wife was, unfortunately, not able to join us). The two of them snuggled, fought and danced their way all the way to New York. I've never seen such a stellar "Dancing Queen" in the front seat of a car. Seriously.

By the time we got to the house, it was late, but we kicked things off with a bottle of Boone's Farm and a little swim (well, Cooper swam anyway). That pretty much sums up the whole weekend: lots of watersports, drinking, and relaxation.

And laughing. The group of people at the house were such a group of characters that we really had to laugh the whole time (I know that "characters" sounds hokey, but that's really what they are). Alicia is like Julie the Cruise Director/Camper of the Week (coed, not just girls) on speed, constantly organizing or swimming or taking pictures. But never sitting. And her husband Mike doesn't seem to sit, either. He spent the whole weekend fixing things. Then there were Amy and Brian: she's a mostly reserved but sporadically foul-mouthed schoolteacher who is extremely partial to sweets and he's a super-conservative guy who gets more genuinely excited about trying new things than anyone I've ever met.

Then, of course, Cooper, Bill and me. And on Sunday, we saw Alicia's dad, who is such a character I can't believe he's not immortalized in a short story somewhere. He's a big, friendly, storytelling retired Irish cop who drinks Beast Light and loves pop-rap (especially 50 Cent). AND he went to high school with Tommy Hilfiger.

At any rate, if I told all the stupid little stories from the weekend, they'd probably come out boring. Most of our time was actually spent in deep discussion of Harry Potter and Laguna Beach, much like the contents of this blog. But I will share some pictures from our wine-tasting excursion, hanging out at the house, and our sunset booze cruise.

And say that our drive back home, past Reptileland and shops carrying all the dirty movies we could ever wish for, was more than a little sad. It was a good time.

Afternoon on Keuka Lake

This is a view of the lake house from the pier. I believe Mike is doing some sort of mating dance. He is an arresting dancer.

How to Drink Classy Wine

This is a sweet body shot of Alicia and me behind the bar at the Bully Hill Winery. And yes, that is a glass of very PINK wine in my hand. See how it coordinates with my skirt?

We visited three wineries on Saturday afternoon: Dr. Frank Konstantin, Heron Hill and Bully Hill. We saved Bully Hill for last, and with good reason. It was certainly the most fun, loud and drunk of the three for all visitors. Plus, it had by far the worst wine. Almost all their wines were sweet - and many were pink. We called it the Boone's Farm Winery.

Then again, during the course of the weekend, we also managed to drink three bottles of BF, as well as 2 four-packs of wine coolers. And you know what? Wine coolers are good. So is Boone's Farm.

That's right. I am 15.

View of the Lake at Sunset

On Saturday evening, immediately post-winery, we went on a lovely sunset cruise of Keuka Lake. At least, it would've been lovely (see the view) if everyone hadn't been more than a little tipsy. As the next few pictures will demonstrate.

"What a waste of perfectly good brie."

That was my reaction, as I watched Bill shove a melty wedge of brie in Cooper's face. I mean, who doesn't love a little brie, especially when its soft?

What Love Looks Like

Somehow, there's nothing in the traditional wedding vows about cleaning brie out of your husband's nose while he tries to bite your hand.

About 60 seconds after this picture was taken, Cooper got tired of the brie in his nose and ears and, without warning, jumped in the water. Brian, ever the adventurer, then stood up, took off his glasses and, also without warning (and while wearing a hat), jumped in to "save" Cooper.

Mike, who was driving the boat (and who was by far the most sober boy on board), was less than thrilled. But he managed to keep the exposed engine blades away from everyone in the water, so that was a plus.

And that was our weekend in a nutshell. Boone's Farm, brie and lots of water. It was really very, very nice.

The Crazy=Smart Conversation

I had dinner last night with Dartmouth Guy, a friend from business school (guess where he went to college). We met about five years ago in a class called "Power and Influence," then went on a very fun trip to Europe together a year later (also through school).

Every few months, we get together for drinks or lunch or something, just to catch up. Dinner last night, though, was a little less social. DG and his fiance just broke up, and are in the throes of cancelling wedding plans, as he buys her out of the house they own together. What a nightmare. He's obviously very sad (I'm sure she is as well) and isn't quite ready to start getting over her, even though he knows he must.

So, the original purpose of dinner was company-keeping and shoulder-crying. It quickly evolved, though, into a conversation that I've had with more people than I care to admit: the relationship between intelligence and insanity.

I wish I could say these conversations take place on a purely abstract level ("Yes, Van Gogh was crazy...so many of the great geniuses are...what a shame...think what they could accomplish if only..."). Unfortunately, they're much more tangible and self-serving than that. They always start with the self-analysis discussion and end with "I just think that everyone who's truly intellectual must overanalyze things to this degree. And to do so brings on craziness. So all truly intellectual people are crazy."

Of course, this isn't true. At least I have to hope it isn't true: my craziness has cleared up significantly over the past few years and I'd like to think that I haven't lost any sort of intellectual edge as a result (and yes, I am suggesting that I have some sort of intellectual edge. Keep it to yourself if you think otherwise.)

A few years ago, just as I was getting over my really deep craziness, I sent myself an email from work. The subject line was "reasons why it's good to be crazy." And the list of reasons was all about how nicely people treat you when you're teetering on the edge, and how you can think about yourself all day long without worrying that you're narcissistic - because you're crazy, and who would want to be crazy?

Sending that email was the real beginning of the end of craziness for me. Once you can see through what you're doing, you don't really have an excuse to behave so badly. The crazy=smart rationale is really just an excuse for that allows somewhat intelligent people to be self-indulgent and self-centered without the guilt. With pity instead ("poor me...so crazy.")

That said, there are times when its certainly OK to be crazier than others. And cancelling your wedding is one of those times. Dartmouth Guy will get through it - I actually think he's too smart not to get past some of the crazy (or at least manage it enough) to realize that living a sane life is actually much more enjoyable than genius insanity.

Guess Who Has DSL?

That's right...and it feels so sweet.

Unfortunately, I have a busy day today (things like yoga and a haircut, not actual work)...so I might not get a chance to write my Keuka Lake post I've been planning until much later. Maybe tonight. But at least now I can.

Best Night EVER!!!!

Is it weird that I already hope that in 10 years I'm looking at Kristin's wedding photos online?

(password is Alcone-SarahProm)

Steeeee-pheeeeen

If only I had DSL, and wasn't relying on dial-up that kicks me off the internet every three seconds, I'd have linked to this Gawker Laguna Beach expose last week, when it first appeared. Looks like those pics Erin posted were fakes...

But on to more current matters. I'm pretty sure nothing good can come of LC hooking up with Stephen, if that's what she did in Mexico. I'm sure it seemed like a good idea at the time, as so many things can on your 19th birthday. At this point, LC needs to resign herself to the fact that she's not going to have a decent relationship with anyone for a long time. She'll compare everyone she meets to an idealized version of Stephen in high school, and no one will measure up. And she'll continue to hook up with him every time he comes home. And every time he leaves, she'll be sad, but hope that this time he'll realize he loves her, and they'll live happily ever after.

Then one day, sometime around her 25th birthday, she'll realize that Stephen never really felt that way about her, and was never that cool anyway, because guys who are on reality TV never are. And that she's wasted 7 years of her life pining away.

I hope I'm wrong about this, but if LB is a really real show, that's exactly what's going on behind the scenes. Of course, if its only "real", then LC probably has nothing to worry about.

And yes, I do know what a huge dork I am for being this emotionally invested. But its like watching a thinner, prettier, blond version of myself at that age. I just want to help her.

Again, One More

But this time about Six Feet Under.

That scene when Claire walks into Nate's room and he's crying, listening to Nirvana, and says that Kurt Cobain was "just too pure for this world"? Besides that he's a horrible cliche...he also would've been 29 in 1994! Twenty-nine. My age now.

Maybe I'm heartless, but I'm pretty sure I'd hold myself together better in the face of that type of adversity.

Just One More

...post about Harry Potter. I'm Hermione.

Not at all surprising. I did raise my hand very eagerly in my classes.

Modern Applications of Universal Truths

As I've mentioned here before, William Faulkner's 1949 Nobel Prize acceptance speech is one of my favorite things to read. The core idea of it, that love, honor, pity, pride, compassion and sacrifice are the six universal truths upon which all good writing must be based, is something that's stuck in the back of my mind since I first read the speech, in Miss Brady's 10th grade English class.

Over the weekend, I thought about it some more. I reread JD Salinger's Nine Stories (because I couldn't find my copy of Catcher in the Rye, for whatever reason). The book is a little pretentious, in an 8th grade sort of way, but certainly taps into the universal truths. It's wartime writing, written 10 years after the war, which is almost cheating. Like writing your college essay about death, or divorce. The emotions of returning soldiers or unfulfilled war widows are such shorthand for the universal truths that Salinger doesn't have to work very hard (which, actually, might suggest that the writing's not as good. I'm not sure).

At any rate, it wasn't Salinger that made me think about Faulkner. It was JK Rowling. I'm a little hesitant about posting about Harry Potter AGAIN (especially since by now, I'm being mocked for it), but I will anyway. Just to note that the HP series is like a study in employing the universal truths, which is why the books are a) so well-received and b) such good reading material for kids (they teach the right lessons).

And last night, as I watched the third to last episode of Six Feet Under, then again this morning, when I read this Virginia Heffernan article about the episode (tons of spoilers, and reg required), I started thinking about the presence of universal truths in that story. Heffernan suggests that Six Feet Under is a part of the sentimental school of storytelling. I suppose that's true to some degree, but I associate sentimentality with shallowness (or faux depth), and I think that SFU is multi-dimensional. (To be fair, I'm pretty sure Heffernan would agree, since she obviously sees Brenda as a fairly unsentimental character.)

What I do think, though, is that Nate represents something Faulkner warned against: the distortion of the universal truths. Faulkner talks about weak writing confusing lust with love, and of writing with the glands. Clearly, Nate is guilty of this sort of superficiality.

Heffernan writes of sincerity, as compared to authenticity. She views SFU as settled near the sincere end of the spectrum. I think, though, that Nate's death is a statement about the value of authenticity of character.

Regardless, I can't wait for the next two episodes.

Verizon is the new Home Depot

Despite Verizon's claims that I would have DSL service on July 25th, then July 28th, then, finally, August 4th, I still don't have it. And won't for another few days. And that after my order has been "expedited". I don't know what they do internally there, but their departments don't seem to have much in the way of channels of communication. Or information-sharing. Even though they're on one database.

So posting will be light until then, as it has been. But when it returns, I will post some photos and stories from my very fun weekend at Keuka Lake, among other things.

Collar Up Is So Over

Even the Village Voice is talking about it. Talk about robbing a look of any traces of its original pretentious exclusivity. I'm pretty sure an article in the VV does that.

It made me laugh, though. Self-conscious and mildly funny writing that embues mass market trends with sociopolitical meaning always does. I'm into the whole hemlines/stock market thing.

My favorite sentences from the article...definitely the very Zen, "When there is silence in a place used to chaos...it's a reaction, whether it wants to be one or not" (on collars that are down) and the line that wins the "most likely to be said by my brother" superlative, "It's heavy lifting, changing the connotation of fashions, but I do what I can."

(Thank you, Steve, for sending me this. BTW, I took "It's probably the most "Kit would lovethis" thing I have ever read" in a positive way...I hope I was supposed to.)

Very Familiar Ground

Didn't Slate cover the whole inappropriate-songs-in-commercials thing a few months ago? Well, the NY Post (via Stereogum) gets back on it...with the requisite Iggy Pop/Carnival Cruise lines mention right up front.

That AP English Rush

Reading analysis like this almost makes me miss English class discussions (MAJOR Harry Potter spoilers in the link, if you care). Not in-class essays, though. I have enough stress in my life without those.

It's almost daunting to uncover the layers of JK Rowling's books. She's influenced by so many different things - one of the points mentioned is that she's established a color-based series based on alchemy. I don't know if that was conscious or not, but with as much as she obviously knows about mythology and the history of storytelling, I wouldn't be surprised.

It's amazing to me that anyone can write something so apparently effortless (it is SO easy to read) that has so many layers of significance. And that such a popular children's book is worthy of high-level analysis.

I can't say I'm not jealous...

Owen Wilson

I haven't seen The Life Aquatic, but I really loved The Royal Tenenbaums - it has a sort of conscious literary quality to it that totally appeals to my pretentious side. So naturally, I found this article about Owen Wilson's role in writing Wes Anderson movies very interesting.

My favorite line, naturally, is when the author describes the world created by Anderson as "a Michael Jackson ranch for the Salinger set."