Monday, February 06, 2012
The Month That Was - January 2012: Because it's very important that I not have any free cash around to tempt me to such evils as food and gas and clothing, I get to buy a new furnace. I love my house but it could just kill me. But what the hell, the Mayans say this year is it, may as well be warm.What it actually means is that major travel is pretty much out. It'll be cheap long weekends and holidays for me.
Apart from that since returning from New Orleans (below) things have been pretty steady. I have been writing. I think I'm going to kick out something fairly esoteric as an Amazon Singles and see how it goes. There may be something in that going forward.
Oh, and I finally got my Thanksgiving week photos up on smugmug.
[Books] Book Look: Ready Player One
[Rant] Nothing New
[Travel] Down Nawlins
[Books] Book Look: It's Beginning to Hurt
[TV] It All Started With a Big Bang
[TV] TV Roundup
Labels: Monthly
Book Look: Ready Player One by Ernest Cline: I can't imagine a book that would be more fun than this one. It's been a long time since I anxiously tore through a book in a couple of sittings, but this one got me.In an apocalyptic future, the main source of escape and entertainment is a huge virtual universe called OASIS. When the creator of OASIS died he left clues that lead people on an extended quest through this virtual universe. The first one that completes the quest gains wealth and fame and inherits control of OASIS. Naturally with such high stakes in play, nefarious forces from the real world bring an element of real danger.
Sounds kinda lame, doesn't it? Especially when you add in the cliche of good-hearted, downtrodden, multi-ethnic, nerdy high-schoolers overcoming an evil profiteering corporation and finding love and an appreciation of reality over virtual life. I cringe just writing that.
But it was a blast. Here's the thing. The creator of OASIS was obsessed with pop culture form the 1980s, when he was a teenager. John Hughes movies, Monty Python, Dungeons and Dragons, old Atari video games. So part of it is just my personal sense of nostalgia. When I was in my 20s and I could play Missile Command and Defender for as long as I wanted on a single quarter. I could recite huge swaths of The Holy Grail. So yeah. The other part of it is the the plot moves at a breakneck pace, the puzzles solved are relate-able to anyone familiar with '80s gaming. The prose reads easy, and the characters, if cardboard cutouts, are at least likable.
It is limited, of course, by it's simple-minded plot and its, perhaps appropriate, dialogue from an eighties sitcom. In fact, apart from a couple of superfluous adult-themed passages, I wondered seriously why this was not marketed at the young adult demographic. Then I remembered the young adults in 2012 will not likely have a working knowledge of '80s pop culture (although, really, everybody should).
Should you read Ready Player One? I can't imagine any harm coming to anyone from reading this. Certainly if you are forty-ish-plus and did not grow up in an Amish household, you probably have the pop culture knowledge to relate. If you are forty-ish-plus and were even mildly nerdy as a youth, this is a time trip, courtesy of someone who clears knows what it was all about.
Labels: Books
Nothing New: The Ready Player One review (above) made me realize something. The Eighties was the last decade that was aesthetically different. That is to say, if you went back to, say, 1996 today you wouldn't see any blatantly obvious differences (except that nobody would be texting on a giant smartphone). The clothes, hairstyles, music, cars, and stores would all feel very familiar. It is new to my lifetime that this is the case. You can spot the '80s in an instant. Same with the 70s, '60s, and '50s. Differentiating between them is obvious. It's as if in the last twenty years, the visuals of popular culture have just stopped changing.I first took notice of this a few years ago when I read a throwaway quote by Gregg Easterbrook about the film American Graffiti. He pointed out that American Graffiti was produced in 1973 as it was a nostalgia filled examination of simpler the simpler times of 1962. In '73 you could look back 11 years and see a different world. Today, if you looked back at 2001 you'd see a reflection.
It's an interesting exercise to evaluate how cultural signs have stayed settled over the last twenty years. In the realm of the arts, the '90s was the endgame of the ongoing ascendancy of Film and Video (and their black sheep cousin, the videogame) over all other forms of art in terms of cultural significance. Genre books occasionally capture a mass audience, but only once in a while and even they get their main boost from Film/Video adaptions. Mainstream fiction is purely niche at this point. Even popular music gave way, only maintaining cultural relevance when associated with Film and Video, such as inclusion in a movie soundtrack, or being highlighted on American Idol or Glee, otherwise music is fragmented into nearly atomic markets, partially thanks to technology.
In fact, with the film and video microcosm, the '90s was when TV overtook movies for quality drama thanks to boundary busters like Buffy and Sopranos, both of which have not dated in the slightest. Movies have been reduced to sequels and remakes and remakes of sequels. The only thing that's changed about this is that people are starting to notice. (Bragging: I was about 10 years ahead of the curve on TV being better than movies.)
In personal style, let's see: stupid teenagers and even stupider young adults still let their pants fall down their butts. There was a side burn thing a few years ago. For a while, men were wearing suits without ties thanks to George Clooney. Oh, and some people seem to like spikey hair. There has been a barely noticeable return of preppy. Clogs anyone? None of this is remotely widespread or so far outside the mainstream as to challenge the status quo. Since the '90s we have had nothing widely adopted as leather jackets and brylcream ('50s), tie-dye and bell-bottoms ('60s), silk shirts and platform shoes ('70s), leg warmers, parachute pants, and multiple swatches ('80s).
How about music? Rock, Funk, Disco, Punk, various forms of Electronica, New Wave, Indie, Rap, Hip Hop, Alt-Country. All pre '90s inventions. Is there a new genre that I don't know about? If there is, it can't be all that relevant can it?
In the realm of cars, well, we now drive SUVs instead of Minivans. Despite a gas price shock or two, the best-selling cars are still mid-size sedans (Camry, Fusion) and pickups (Ford F-150). A lot of cars now have little electric motors to help them along, but that's functional technology advance, not an aesthetic one.
Common architecture hasn't changed one whit, although that has been the case since before I was born.
I don't profess to have any deep understanding of why this is. I'm sure everyone will jump to the conclusion that it's symbolic of some sort of grand socio-political sea change. One such person is Kurt Andersen over at Vanity Fair, who has an excellent and slightly different take than I do. I'm not so sure it's not just chance -- the probabilistic waxing and waning of ideas reaching a tipping point.
Also, let's not forget that, while we are stagnant aesthetically, technology is still turning our culture on its head regularly, said the man with his entire collection of books and music in his pocket who manages employees half the world away and hasn't seen a bank teller or stock broker in years. The results of disintermediation alone (eliminating the middle men, such as publishers and prfessional sales forces, in any exchange) will keep us on our toes for years to come.
Labels: Rant
Down Nawlins: Good ol' Crescent City. It's perfect for a long weekend with friends. There are really two things to do in New Orleans: music and food. You can do some of the historic tours or visit the Garden District, but that's one day tops. After that it's all about eating great food and enjoying the music. And that, for the most part, means you're going to be centered on the French Quarter, and Fauboug Marigny for some added options.And that's what we did (Me and Miss Kate and HRH Miss Anna). Gumbo at Mr. B's. Beignets at Cafe Du Monde. Et touffe and muffalettas and jambalaya, oh my. Trolling the crypts in St. Louis Cemetery. A Pimm's cup and Napolean House. Nightcaps at the Monteleone. New Year's Eve with some traditional jazz at Maison Bourbon. Strolling around St. Louis Cathedral and the French Market.
Oh and there was a football game. We were on a package tour for the Sugar Bowl. It included a pep rally which was wedged into such a small space that we watched from a store window behind the stage, a short paddlewheel boat tour where we were to be served "heavy hors d'oeurves" and had a waiting line so long and was so obviously going to be crowded enough to capsize that we skipped it altogether, a "tailgate" held inside a hotel ballroom with an expensive cash bar and a chintzy and crowded buffet line and not enough chairs so we were sitting on the floor, and tickets to game with seats in the last row of the Superdome which is one of the least hospitable stadiums in the world.
The game itself was an amazing, undeserved overtime victory for Michigan and that made up for a lot. And we were in New Orleans, that made up for everything else and more. Miss Anna has decided she wants to go back to the French Quarter with her friends on spring break (what could possibly go wrong with that?). If we ever go back to the Sugar Bowl, we'll get game tickets only. A long weekend in New Orleans requires no guidance from the outside.
Labels: Travel
Book Look: It's Beginning to Hurt by James Lasdun: Since we're relating things to Ready Player One (above), I'll say that this book is the polar opposite. It is a book of quiet short stories featuring characters coming to terms with weltschmerz. Weltschmerz is the sorrow that arises when you realize the real world can never meet the idealized image you have in your mind. When you are young you can simply acknowledge this intellectually without it really affecting you. As you age and the images of life in your mind become more realistic and essential, coming to terms with not meeting them has more force. As you get even older and you find yourself without time to make even the struggle worthwhile, it is gut wrenching to say the least.I have never been attracted to short stories. They are marvelous writing exercises: to build character and scene, conflict and resolution in a few pages -- it's a challenge to say the least. They are inherently impressionistic, though, which makes me think of them as a sort of a sigh, as if they all come down to a kind of primordial "alas". They are often designed to leave you with a certain feeling rather than relate a narrative. Not that there's anything wrong with that.
But as you can guess, when trying to face down existential weltschmerz, short stories work well because it's all about the feelings. The stories here are filled with characters coming to disappointing realizations, about themselves, about loved ones, and about the paths they have taken with confidence only to find doubt and uncertainty. They react in various ways, usually ineffectually. It's Beginning to Hurt is an apt title.
Critically there is a really little more to say. Lasdun is a confident and clean stylist with no discernible affectation. If you are of an, ahem, certain age you will feel a palpable familiarity in these stories. Lasdun has clearly "been there" and has expressed it assuredly. Moreover, an aspect I found truly admirable is that there really are no fringe presonalities here. The characters are middle-class normals. Long time readers know one of my hobbyhorses is how writers have a bad habit of focusing on the edges of humanity. Deeply abused victims or perverse hedonists or violent criminals get lots of coverage at the expense of the drama of normality. Lasdun bucks the tend, which alone makes him a stand out author.
Should you read It's Beginning to Hurt? It won't cheer you up. There is no "action" in the common sense. Just quiet anxiety. It will touch the emotionally mature only.
Labels: Books
It All Started With a Big Bang: It's been a long time since I've really like a standard network three-camera sitcom, probably since Seinfeld, but Big Bang Theory got me. The setup is 4 young scientists, living in the deepest depths of nerdom, find that an exceedingly hot little blond ditz has moved in across the hall. Hijinks ensue.Except it is so much more than a rehash of Revenge of the Nerds. The nerds are not portrayed as pathetic little puppies to be laughed at, yet pitied. They are, in their own way, truly cool people who I would love the hang with (well, every once in while maybe). What makes them this way is the exceeding wit of their dialogue and the delicacy with which they are provided just enough humanity to engender attachment.
It's easy to completely overlook what a tremendous writing achievement it is to pump out a consistently funny sitcom for years on end. The writers of great and glamorous cable shows that highlight how astounding TV writing can be have an advantage in that they only need generate a dozen or so episodes every year and if they aren't quite up to snuff, they just delay things for a few months. This is a positive development for writing in general, but it is no greater an achievement, I would argue, than cranking out 26 sitcom episodes every year, like clockwork, no delayed deadlines, and having them be consistently funny and fresh.
Yes, there are clunkers Big Bang Theory but surprisingly few considering the constraints. You have about 24 minutes per episode. You need a short bumper, you have roughly two 8-10 minute segments to hammer through three acts, and you have a trailer. You may not use profanity. Adult themes are under scrutiny. No long story arcs. You are stuck with limited set options and virtually no special effects. You cannot do anything too unexpected ro challenging. You need a laugh line or gag about every twenty seconds.
Imagine sitting in a writers room with a handful of other stressed out, underpaid writers, with nothing but blank paper and an empty whiteboard in front of you, and knowing you have to come up with an conforming premise, plot, and teleplay by the end of the day, and if it's not completely hilarious you will be writing corporate press releases to pay your rent.
Big Bang Theory writers have mastered that environment for multiple seasons now. For what it's worth: Respect.
Most of the accolades for the show have centered around the actors, which is fine because they are astonishingly great comic actors. Impeccable timing all around. And multiple Emmy winner Jim Parsons as Sheldon is as good as everyone claims. Even the guest stars sparkle. There's another unsung hero: Casting.
It's a geeky show, that's part of the premise, and if you were are at least fractionally geek you will apreciate all the in-jokes and references. There's another writing triumph: they trust their audience enough not to feel the need to explain every Star Trek or computer gaming reference. When one character says, "I am the Internet Explorer to your Firefox" or they make a reference to the "The Ice Planet Hoth" no one feels the need to elaborate for those that don't get it.
In it's own way, Big Bang Theory is as fine an achievement as the best of the high concept cable dramas.
Labels: TV
TV Roundup: I really begin to wonder how long TV, as it were, will continue to be relevant. I have about a year left in my subscription to Charter. Nothing would make me happier than to go to a totally on-demand set-up -- get everything off Netflix/Amazon/Hulu/Apple TV/Whatever whenever I want them and not worry about paying for shows and channels in which I have zero interest. At some point your delivery method of choice will be irrelevant (phone, pad, plasma screen, brain implant) and the only thing of concern will be the content. I know that day is coming, probably in my lifetime, but I doubt we'll reach it in a year. Which means I'll probably end up with another subscription.That's not to say Charter is a lock for a re-up. They have turned out to be at least as expensive as Comcast, for less content. I may have to check out DirectTV, although I have heard conflicting stories about its reliability. The one I would really like to try is FIOS from Verizon, but since they currently only cover about 15% of the country the chances of them reaching Dexter, MI in the next year are approximately zero.
Anyway, here's my latest tube impressions. Evidently, I continue to be attracted to shows that with stand-out dialogue.
Justified - the plots are wonderfully twisty, if somewhat contrived, and border on black comedy. Which is to say it aptly channels the soul of Elmore Leonard. But what I really love is the dry drawly wordplay. It virtually musical. Any conversation between the Timothy Olyphant and Walter Goggins is worth rewatching. They really catch the wily country boy rhythms.
Spartacus: Blood and Sand - This series, completed and replaced by the just beginning Spartcus: Vengence, is pretty much the ultimate in exploitation of sex and gore in the service of attracting attention. But a funny thing happened on the way to the orgy. They managed to create some excellent and affecting stories and characters, all couched in a heavily-styled quasi-Elizabethan dialogue that's really quite delightful. It's an odd juxtaposition, kind of like Milch's uses of profanity in Deadwood. It raises the show above its own lurid presentation. It is everything the old HBO series Rome tried to be and failed.
Luck - Oh yeah, baby. The master of awesome dialogue seems to be in good form. It's still early, but I think The Milch is going to nail this one. Like all his work, it's clearly going to be a slow build. Probably multiple episodes before you even have a full grip on the universe. But it's going to be beautiful. Watching Milch after watching any other show is like hearing Brahms after leaving a loud nightclub. It's already been picked up for a second seaosn. Did I mention that I'm reading all about the art and science of gambling on thoroughbreds just so I can keep up?
30 Rock - On the downside we have this show. It's pretty abd. I've only seen a few episodes, mostly because the reruns come on right after Big Bang Theory, and I am occasionally too slothful to reach for the remote. The acting is atrocious. The comedy completely unfunny. From what I've seen it's a bad show with bad ratings yet it creates all kinds of journalistic buzz, apparently because of the numerous US Magazine-level celebrities who play roles. In that sense it bears a strong similarity to Jersey Shore. This is what I mean when I say I hate paying for things I don't watch.
Labels: TV
Friday, January 06, 2012
The Month That Was - December 2011: Thank you for your patience. I really needed the break last month. Now back to normal.So it's 2012. The end of the line for the human race. Appropriately, I spent New Year's Eve in a Jazz Club on Bourbon Street in New Orleans, then stayed through to see Michigan's improbable win in The Sugar Bowl. But that was January, so it'll have to wait until next month.
December involved buying some furniture, food poisoning, reconnecting with a dear friend who was back for a periodic visit, being fiendishly busy at my day job, and getting addicted to re-runs of The Big Bang Theory. Notice what is not in that list: writing. That will be addressed promptly.
[Books] Book Look: The Elementary Particles
[Books] Book Look: 1Q84
[Travel] Long Gone
[Rant] It's Happening Again
[TV] Luck
Labels: Monthly
Book Look: The Elementary Particles, by Michel Houellebecq: This is the second Houellebecq novel I've read and, like the previous, it made me want to shower afterword. Houellebecq's primary theme is that contemporary culture hammers into us the commoditization of sex resulting in the complete denigration of any sort of real emotional intimacy. This is essentially an elevation of the crudest instincts of humanity. It began with moral relativism that ascended in the 1960s and was fueled primarily by feminism and consumerism. The result is a broken and hopeless existence where a handful of beautiful people satisfy themselves with empty thrills while the majority are resigned to frustration and failure.In The Elementary Particles we see these played out by two half-brothers. Born into the self-obsessed hedonism of the ‘60s, they become symbols of two sides of the societal malaise. As children, one lucks into the care of a somewhat neglectful, but caring aunt of a previous generation, and becomes a successful scientist, though anhedonic; uninterested in sex and unable to pursue love. The other is an ugly awkward child who suffers at the hands of bullies and from adolescence through adulthood, lives in a miasma of prurient sexual frustration. Late in their lives they both have fleeting opportunities at true love, but death takes their mates rather quickly (that's romance for you). In the end the nihilist goes insane and the scientist, well, he cures the world of its malaise, but not as you might think. No love-conquers-all ending here. He fixes things by enabling humanity to evolve into a new species, a species without ego or individuality.
Well. I am not unsympathetic to his ideas. It's certainly hard to argue with the notion that empty thrills are what we are sold from day one (e.g. anything Kardashian). And if you of the mind that feminism's ultimate triumph is Sex and The City then it's hard not to point a finger at it. On the other hand it is easy to mistake a fashion or trend line for the inevitable future. While there is validity to Holuellebecq's cultural critiques, sometimes a problem is just a problem to be solved, not a death sentence. And it's especially easy to mistake personal disappointments for societal evils. While it's undeniable that the form and function of personal relationships has changed we can't reliably state that emotional fulfillment was greater in the past, can we? If so, how?
Whatever you may think about his ideas, you cannot deny they are far outside the progressive (small p) mainstream that permeates virtually every breath we take. That alone makes The Elementary Particles a worthwhile creation. We like to think we are open minded and always pushing the boundaries of our beliefs. Becasue of that, we tend to think anything that we approve of must must have that quality, when in fact, it's thoughts that run coun ter to our dogma that push boundries. We praise as daring those who push the presentation of sex and violence to extreme limits without consequence (I'm looking at you HBO). We call dramatists courageous when they elevate characters who share our values of cultural sensitivity and compassion while damning those who don't (I'm looking at you Aaron Sorkin). Wouldn't it take more courage to think the opposite? Critics and pundits have accused Houellebecq of every societal sin in the book -- misogyny, racism, homophobia…hell, just call it a comprehensive misanthropy. He is anti-democratic, anti-capitalist, even anti-individual to some extent. It seems to me there is a huge social risk in airing such opinions and being generally reviled, and that it takes more courage to go through life like that than it does collecting Emmys.
Also, Houellebecq takes love more seriously than any other artist I know of.
So should you read The Elementary Particles? Probably not. It is beautifully written. The clarity and confidence of the prose is striking even in translation (from the original French) despite Houellebecq's occasional bouts of exposition. Then there are long stretches of nothing but descriptions of (intentionally) joyless non-erotic sex. Top that with the repellent ideas. So no, I can't really recommend it for most people. For serious and committed readers only.
Labels: Books
Book Look: 1Q84, by Haruki Murakami: Well, 900-ish pages on and I still don't know why I like Murakami but I do. His stories are riddled with long but incomplete explanations (one character even gives voice to this: "If you can't understand it without an explanation, you can't understand it with one." Uh, what?) He is given to occasional literary name dropping. He uses entire chapters to say what could be said in a few paragraphs. He is relentlessly sentimental. And, as has been commented on in many quarters, his prose style feels out of sync. English speakers can pass this off as an effect of translation, but native Japanese speakers often claim that his original prose reads like English that has been translated into Japanese. Really, what is the attraction? If the mystery of Hemmingway was how he expressed such complicated emotions from such simple language, perhaps the mystery of Murakami is that he can create such a vibrant, engaging, affecting story when he seems to just be pulling stuff out of his butt. But I did like this book. It was a good story and it held my interest for the entire 900 pages, even when I was squinting at the style with suspicion.The core of 1Q84 is a dead simple love story. Our first protagonist is Aomame, a full-time fitness instructor and part-time assassin. She only kills bad guys who are known perpetrators of violence against women, doing so at the behest of a wealthy widow. Our second protagonist is Tengo, full-time a math teacher at a "cram school" and aspiring novelist who gets involved in a scheme to secretly re-write a strangely compelling novel by an unearthly seventeen year old girl.
The protagonists have been, both directly and indirectly, connected since childhood. Tengo's father was a bill collector who used to force Tengo to accompany him every weekend as he made his rounds, kids being more difficult to refuse. Similarly, Aomame's parents were devout evangelical Christians and Aomame was forced to participate fully in the proselytizing. The result of this was an emotional caution and a sense of isolation that vectored them off into what might be considered somewhat cold and lonely lives as young adults.
The direct connection is that they were peers in elementary school and as 10 year olds they shared a bonding experience. A brief moment wherein they clasped hands -- a moment so charged with meaning that not only did they never forget its visceral power, it convinced both children that each was the only one the other could ever love -- a conviction that they continued to hold firm into adulthood despite not having seen or heard of each other for twenty years. You see what I mean about Murakami's sentimentality.
The bulk of the pages are filled with pure Phillip K. Dickery: conspiracies, hidden dangers, and malleable reality -- although from a fantastic angle instead of scientific. There are strange little people who build cocoons out the air and a bizarre and vengeful religious cult that worships them. There are assassins and shady operatives. Spirits of the dead; psychic connections; a virgin pregnancy -- just a gumbo of unreality.
Yet through it all there is the simple, rather sweet story of Aomame and Tengo coming to terms with their deeply stifling upbringings and clinging to that one moment of childhood emotional connection they found in each other. It is, in a way, an epic love story.
Should you read 1Q84. I can't imagine why not. It is dauntingly long, though. (In Japan it was released as a three novel series, so you can think of it as committing to a three novel series.) In an interview, Murakami stated that 1Q84 is essentially an extended version of the short story On Seeing the 100% Perfect Girl One Beautiful April Morning he wrote from the sohrt story collection The Elephant Vanishes. Since it's just a few hundred words, it might be a good place to start.
Labels: Books
Long Gone: Nearly two full weeks is a long time for me to be away. If I hadn't had help, my plants would have died. I even had to have my mail stopped. Usually I‘m not gone long enough to have to worry about such details, but this was my one extended trip this year (thank you house) so I made the most of it. An extended road trip through the Southwest to destinations old and new, I was able to renew my acquaintance with the seemingly interminable, sparsely trafficked roads through Arizona and the Mojave.In my travels I have discovered there are two things that exert a powerful visceral pull on me; simple acts that I can perform quietly and peacefully for long stretches. One is floating and bobbing in the waves of a warm ocean (generally the Florida Atlantic, but also The Gulf, or Hawaii). The other is cruising steadily along the western two-lanes highways, virtually no other cars (off season), just the mountain backdrop and the occasional settlement off in the foothills. The road seems to go through the mountains and into the sky. Until I started visiting the West, I never understood how big the world is.
Pseudo poetic blather aside, this trip fell into the category of the later, and can be neatly divided into four parts.
The Grand Canyon
I'm probably one of the few people in the world who could be disappointed in the Grand Canyon. Funny, in all the years I've been travelling in and around Las Vegas, I had never made the four hour trip to the biggest name attraction in the country. But I must say I feel justified. I have thrice been to Zion and Bryce Canyon. I have been to Death Valley. I have been to Carlsbad Caverns. I have been to Canyonlands, Arches, and Mesa Verde. I have to feel as though I was right in covering all those before the Grand Canyon. The Canyon is certainly Grand. The scope is enormous, but that's part of the problem. The Grand Canyon is deeply impersonal. It is almost as if it is a place as opposed to a thing, if that makes sense. It's a geographic area you happen to be in, not an activity you are involved with.
The park itself (at least the South Rim) is built around a long winding path along the rim of the canyon. Even off-season, it's heavily peopled. You can cover the entire rim path on foot which would probably take the better part of the day, or you can take the nice efficient shuttle bus to the key areas. The south rim park is filled with places to eat and shop and buy souvenirs -- most are open through the off season. There are also several lodges in the main village area. If you can snag room in one of these it's much preferable to staying outside the park in one of the numerous motels just outside.
But you should book early. I didn't and ended up in a Holiday Inn Express just outside the park. The internet connection didn't function and the front desk guys abdicated any responsibility just referring you to a third party to call and complain to. (More on hotel internet complaints later.) There is a decent breakfast buffet, but be ready to eat it standing up because they don't supply enough seating. The walls are thin. The hallways smell of some indiscernible form of cooked flesh. Really, a very bad hotel.
The lodges inside the park however, appear pretty nice, however. Most have comfy looking lobby areas, decent restaurants or lounges, and you get the convenience of easily walking or shuttling anywhere you'd like. It's the only way to go.
Of course there is more beyond the rim path; you can go hiking into the canyon. There are a number of trails including some that will take you all the way down to the Colorado River, where you can cross and go up to the North Rim. That, however, is backcountry camping -- bring a tent and provisions and etc. Day hiking consists of varying lengths of hikes down, followed by turning around and coming back up. I hit the most popular trail in the AM and hiked down and back up -- a few miles, round trip. The views were fine; a slightly different perspective from the rim, but it didn't really change my somewhat jaded view of the place. I might feel differently if I were to schedule some days here and actually make the full hike down to the river and back to the north rim. Perhaps that would provide more of a personal connection.
After lunch I settled in at the lounge in the El Tovar Lodge (highly recommended, would be my first choice were I to return), for beer and the Michigan-Nebraska game. An older couple wearing Stetsons had commandeered the juke box and were slow dancing to Patsy Cline. I had a burger that was cooked into submission served by a homespun bartender. You would think you were in any ol' western roadhouse, with no hint that just outside was a tourist mecca.
The remainder of the time I spent trying to get some good photos, which I couldn't. I found it virtually impossible to get any sense of the extreme height or depth. I‘m sure part of it is not understanding the lighting and part of it is my mediocre photography skills, but I would take shots of imposing cliffs and sites with visual arresting contrasts and everything just came out bland. Perhaps unjustly, I again blame the nature of Grand Canyon itself. It is not like visiting an attraction, it's just too big.
All that said, I don't want to discourage you from visiting. You will have a good time, especially if you have kids. The place is almost Disney-like in its superior infrastructure. And if you can plan ahead and get a lodge in the park and maybe even arrange for an overnight camping trip in the depth of the canyon, then your impression might be vastly different from mine.
As for me, other things equal, I could recommend you something you'd better.
Lake Powell/Antelope Canyon
I really didn't know what to expect from the area around Page, Arizona. A few years back I had reached a point a little way east of here -- Monument Valley in Utah -- when I was exploring out of Moab, so I expected some red rock action, and got it, but beyond that everything was a surprise. Page is a small vacationy town on the banks of Lake Powell. Lake Powell is a big man-made lake that was created by the Glen Canyon Dam. As such you get the standard lake like activities such as boating and fishing, but you get them amidst towering canyon walls.
My first order of business, however, was to go underground. That's where the most visually striking feature of the area is, namely Antelope Canyon. Antelope Canyon is what's called a "slot canyon." Aptly named since you access it by sliding down through what literally looks like a slot in the earth. The canyon is formed by flash floods that plunge beneath the surface, carve out space, and smooth the wall surface into round, soft curves, looking like a red rock pop art animation.
There are upper and lower Antelope Canyons. Both are Navaho owned and operated, but they appear to be run by different families. The Upper one is more popular and any number of tours can be arranged in Page or presumably you can just show up and wait to join a tour, but the only way to see it is to fork some cash over for a tour.
I chose to visit the Lower Canyon because I heard you could pay admission to the park directly then wander about on your own. That didn't appear to be the case. You don't need to hook up with a formal tour, but you do need to hire a guide (they are waiting there for you). I suspect what actually happens is that when it gets busy rather than have everyone get a specific guide they station them around the canyon and let you walk through on your own. Whatever the case, I had plenty of opportunity for photography, although I certainly didn't capture anything as striking as Wikipedia's photo.
It only takes about 45 minutes to cover the entire canyon; it's not strenuous at all, although there are a fair amount of stairs in the Lower canyon. Whichever you choose, I can't recommend it highly enough, truly one of the most arrestingly beautiful natural sights I have seen.
I spent my one full day in Page exploring the area. Page itself is a nice small town that presumably swells up in season with multitudes of road tripping tourists; I would guess mostly families touring the West, and boaters and river runners. There are more than a few value hotels, chains or otherwise, and a handful of standard casual dining restaurants and pubs. The town is literally on the edge of the Glen Canyon Dam and Lake Powell and there is a terrific viewing area where you can watch the Colorado flow through the canyon hundreds of feet below.
Page is also the primary south base for Glen Canyon National Recreation Area which follows Colorado river upstream all the way up to Canyonlands National Park, near my old buddy, Moab, UT. For the most part, the points of natural interest in the area are only accessible by boat, and a leisurely trip up the river to Hite, UT would be a sweet trip. But one spot accessible to autos is Lee's Ferry.
Lee's Ferry itself is a point of minor interest. There are some interesting rock formations on the way there. There are the remnants of some historic buildings. There is a boat launch. There is no longer an actual ferry. Lee's actual Ferry gave up the ghost decades ago when bridges were built, but until then, it was a key transportation choke point where one could cross the Colorado river. Otherwise anyone wanting to get to Southern California and Nevada was required to loop up almost to Wyoming.
What Lee's Ferry does have is a truly sweet and steep hiking trail. You access Spencer's Trail by walking a short way along the river from the boat launch. Then you go up. It's well maintained and marked. About 4.5 miles round trip, with an elevation gain of 1700 feet. Quite steep for the casual hiker. Great for the heart, let me tell you. Sadly, as happens all too often, I didn't make the top. I made it about half way up when I crossed paths with a downhill hiker. We chatted briefly. He told me I was about half way up and that it got steeper from here. That's cool, I can handle it, I replied. Then he pointed out the weather. Clouds were gathering, the wind was freshening.
If youth makes you stupid, age makes you scared. I started to plow ahead but then I thought better of it and turned back. Were I younger, I probably would have plowing ahead…and subsequently been caught in a mud slide or something. The rain hit with conviction just before I got back to my car. So chalk up another half-lived experience. Also chalk up another reason to go back to Page. Great place. Next time I'll rent a boat a see the river canyons.
Vegas (as if you didn't know…)
To get this out of the way, I lost a trivial amount of money on my football betting. You see, I have a system; a system that has never done worse break even for any given week. I have probably played it 20 times over the past few years and even when I don't win I have never done worse that break even. (Actually that's not true, I have been down the vig in a few of those weeks, but that's practical rather than a predictive failure.)
So why am I not rich? Well, because I am not such an idiot to believe there is any such thing as a reliable system, although I have been given pause by my consistent successes, or at least non-failures. So I don't bet enough to cause me any serious financial issues if I lose. I am not a degenerate, just a gambler.
Also, I am not disciplined enough to stick to the system. I'll throw the odd bet on this or that, usually lose, and end up down slightly -- which is what happened this time. My systems bets broke me even, but I took a flyer on a Thanksgiving Day parlay and that was the total of my losses. La dee da.
I stayed at Paris. Got a cheap rate for a cheap (but serviceable) room, which was fine because I don't hang out in my room, but I think I will splurge more in the future -- Aria or Cosmopolitan probably. Most people go to Vegas for the excitement, I find more and more it is a sort of comfort for me. I have made uncountable trips there going back to the boom years and lately it seems to have struck a fine balance between my expectations and new experiences.
My routine is to troll the sportsbooks to find the best odds. Play some low stakes poker. Eat the Ravioli Di Stracotto at Carnevino. Get a straight razor shave. Torture myself in the hot tub/cold plunge combo at Qua in Caesars. Besides that, just investigate anything new. This year I discovered the Ceviche at Julian Serrano in Aria -- so moist and tender it's almost like eating passion fruit. I also visited the bar on the 23rd floor of the Mandarin Oriental, which is my new favorite bar in Vegas. Music not too loud and obnoxious. Comfy chairs. And astounding strip views. It's like a classy Manhattan bar transplanted to Vegas.
That's about perfect. That's what I want and expect from my Vegas Thanksgiving.
I did try one kitschy thing. I drove north along Las Vegas Blvd. and tried to visit the shop from the Pawn Stars TV show. There was a line out the door and down the street just to get in and see the place. OK, I realize it's famous for the TV show, but it's still just a pawn shop -- sheesh. I turned around and left.
Palm Springs (and parts nearby)
Speaking of perfect, there is Palm Springs.
I suppose there are a number of ways to reach Palm Springs from Vegas, but I strongly recommend barreling through the Mojave. Duck off I-15 and the shortcut south through the Mojave National Preserve will provide you with deserted roads (at least on the Friday after Thanksgiving) through endless groves of Joshua trees. Dirt roads and trails lead off in every direction from the main road making this an off-roaders paradise. The right time of year you can't help but spot tarantulas scurrying across the pavement in search of love. It is starkly beautiful, but plainly unforgiving. You'll want a reliable car and full tank of gas and enough water to last a while because this is not a good place at all to be stranded.
Crossing the Mojave from the north, you'll only encounter two settlements. The first is Cima, which is generally described as a ghost town, although there are obvious signs of life. There appears to be a function general store of some sort (closed when I passed) with a lonely cow fenced in behind it. Apart from that there are some trashed out cars. It would be a good place for a bunch of teens to get lost and hunted by the toothless local desert rats.
The second settlement is Kelso Depot, which also serves as the local tourist hub and the formal welcome center. Here there are businesses and historical exhibits and the usual sorts of services you would find from the national park service. It's a very cool place to hang for a few. You can get some food and water and unclench from the subtle anxiety of being the middle of the pitiless Mojave.
Leaving the Mojave Preserve there is a still a long run south, past sparse, hard-scrabble settlements until you eventually hit Twentynine Palms, the first town that actually looks like a town. From here you head west as the little towns become increasing more suburban looking. Eventually the road turns south again and you come to pass an enormous wind farm, with hundreds huge white propellers dominating the horizon, and from there into Palm Springs proper. The transition from desert grunge to pristine cultivation could not be more pronounced.
When I say Palm Spring is perfect, I mean it is precisely what you expect it to be. Mid-century modern homes with flawlessly manicured landscaping. Wide, palm-lined streets. Beautiful people on promenade along Palm Canyon Drive, leading their pocket sized dogs, sipping wine in the open air restaurants. One thing is clear, however: they are all delighted to be in Palm Springs. As well they should be. It is eighty degrees and sunny, the air is clear and dry, and you probably have access to a pool, because if there is a perfect place to have access to a pool, it is Palm Springs.
Apart from lounging by the pool and promenading around with your toy breed, what does one do in Palm Springs? Well, golf is big, but I don't golf. In town, I suppose the Art Museum is something of popular attraction. It is not big, but it's open and invitingly designed. It is devoted to modern and contemporary art and while there are a few interesting pieces, I found the vast majority of the works to have a narcissistic feel. Much of the work is in-your-face mixed media giving the sense that the artists are crying "Look at me! I'm being symbolic! Or ironic! Or both! My art is important and daring! It comments on the world! Drop my name and you will gain instant status!" In other words it's the sort of art that, when mixed with wine and cheese, will bring people who promenade with their toy dogs to a reception.
I tease the Palm Springs nobility. If leaving the old Impeach Bush bumper sticker on your Prius and paying ten times the annual average wage of Zambia to feed organic food to your chihuahua keeps Palm Springs the way it is, then you have my full support. Honestly. You live in a truly awesome place.
And I am quite happy to have all the pool time I can get. My pool, in this case, was the fine one at the Hilton. The Hilton here is pretty nice on the surface, but there are little angles that bear closer scrutiny. First, you have to be wary of the free breakfast buffet. They have a full buffet, but it's only free if you confine yourself to a continental breakfast. If want to avail yourself of the full selection of tasties, they will credit you for the equivalent continental price, which effectively gets you a top notch buffet for about $10. A fair deal, but they could do a better job of managing expectations.
{Rant alert! Skip this section if you have no interest in my whining.}
The other problematic issue was that for all four nights I stayed, the wi-fi never worked. I honestly fail to understand why they can have reliably functioning wi-fi at McDonalds or Starbucks, but hotels can't seem to get this simple thing right. It may be because they have some notion that they should control access to it so they can charge for it in some circumstances, thus complicating the system and causing it to be unreliable. That's completely fat-headed. Throttle bandwidth if you must, but don't limit access. Really, a traveler can't get along with at least occasional web access. Why continue to treat it like a luxury? But the worst aspect of this is that when the wi-fi is not working, no one seems to know what to do.
I mentioned above how at the Holiday Inn they just pass you the number of a third party who, rather send someone out to address the problem, will do what is referred to as "troubleshooting" where they have you reboot and do all kinds of things to convince you that you are doing something wrong. No, I'm not doing anything wrong. It's 2011, connecting to wi-fi is a completely brain dead activity for a modern computer or phone. Clue for hoteliers everywhere: if someone is not able to connect to wi-fi, 99% of the time the problem is your wi-fi. No amount of "troubleshooting" with the user is going to sort it out.
At the Hilton they at least acknowledged the problem, but as near as I could tell, nobody took any action to correct it for four nights running. I ended up going to a nearby coffee shop to connect. Whoever is responsible for attention to that particular detail at the Hilton should be very ashamed. If the a/c didn't work or if the TV was out, action would have been taken immediately. Why is wi-fi different?
Attention hoteliers: If, for whatever reason you are unable to match McDonald's for quality of service, here's a procedure you can follow when someone complains about wi-fi being down:
- Have a laptop available to test with -- just some el cheapo job that you can fire up and try to connect on your own.
- If you can't connect that means the wi-fi is down. (You may have to check both the lobby and the location where the guest tried to log on.)
- If it is down, call the people responsible for fixing it right then and there and make arrangements to have it corrected.
- Have a back-up wired connection in the business center for urgent situations.
The real top-notch five-star service properties would even take a more active approach by verifying the connection is available across the property in the morning before everyone is awake and late afternoon before any chance of repair is lost. Just part of the MOD's standard daily procedure. That is the sort of behavior that is the mark of a truly superior hotel.
But nobody listens.
{Here endeth the rant.}
OK. That felt good. On with the story.
For me, apart from the blindingly perfect winter weather, the coolest thing in Pam Springs is the hiking. Indian Canyons [Caution: auto-play maudlin Indian peace pipe music which cannot be turned off!], not ten minutes from where I was staying, has the goods. You simply drive up the long, winding South Palm Canyon Drive, or if you are smarter than me, you rent a bike and enjoy the day even more, which terminates in the Indian Canyons Park.
Indian Canyons appears to be part of the homeland of the Agua Caliente tribe, as far as I can tell, although it is never referred to as a reservation. It is a semi-mountainous region crisscrossed with many miles of hiking trails. For the most part these trails wind through desert scenery but at its core along the main trail you get to see why Palm Springs came into existence. It is, literally, a desert oasis; just like you would picture an oasis -- lush greenery, with burbling springs and soaring fan palms. There's not much of it -- probably not more than a square mile along the stream bed, but it's an entire ecosystem and a startling contrast to the arid scrub surrounding it.
Stop at the visitor center for a map, and take a moment to check out the swarms of buzzy little hummingbirds hovering and darting around the hanging feeders. From there hike the main route along the river for a while to appreciate the oasis vibe, then turn off on to the Victor Trail which takes you on a moderate ascent to an overlook that will give you the full view of the park and the city beyond it. Stop at the top. Appreciate.
My trip was winding down and as I try to do with each trip out west, I wanted to make sure I saw new sights and logged new experiences. In that vein this trip was a gem, but that's not to say there wasn't been a clunker or two. One side trip I chalked up that is certainly not for everyone is about 30 miles southeast of Palm Springs: The Salton Sea.
What is the Salton Sea? Here's the official description:
One of the world's largest inland seas and lowest spots on earth at -227 below sea level, Salton Sea was re-created in 1905 when high spring flooding on the Colorado River crashed the canal gates leading into the developing Imperial Valley. For the next 18 months the entire volume of the Colorado River rushed downward into the Salton Trough. By the time engineers were finally able to stop the breaching water in 1907, the Salton Sea had been born at 45 miles long and 20 miles wide – equaling about 130 miles of shoreline.What it actually is, though, is pretty nasty by most standards. But it's not without attraction as a curiosity.
When I say it's nasty, let me explain. The Salton Sea is fed by some small rivers and creeks and a fair proportion of agricultural runoff from the surrounding farms and groves. The only way water exits the Sea is by evaporation. So assorted silt and chemicals trickle in and get concentrated as the water evaporates. As a result, the water is saltier than the Pacific Ocean.
Many years ago it was regularly stocked with various fish in an effort to attract recreational business. In time all the fish species, except Tilapia, died off. So Tilapia own the place and they swim around fat and happy for the bulk of their lives, only threatened by the occasional pelican or fisherman, then they die of old age and there is nowhere for the body to go, so they just wash up on shore. There are stretches of shoreline that are just covered in dead Tilapia husks. The smell will hit before the sight.
There are a few little towns around the Sea which sprang up back in the ‘50s and ‘60s when the plan was to make the place a recreational mecca. Now they seem to be mostly ghost towns. Or more properly, ghost trailer parks.
But despite all that, people still come here. There are fairly active campgrounds and boaters happily swarm the waters. Fishermen have been known to catch hundreds of Tilapia in a single day, but I don't think I would eat them. Considering all the watersports going on, I suppose actually entering the water would not burn your skin off. In fact, the salinity is so high it's probably difficult to actually swim; you are more likely skimming over the top. It's also a bird watchers paradise as it's a key stop off for many rare species.
Still, as a tourist destination, I'd give it a miss or just devote an hour to a brief stop at the visitors center and nearby dead fish covered shore to get the complete experience.
And that was that. All that was left was a leisurely day of driving back to Vegas, dropping off the car, collecting on my winning bets, and hopping my red-eye back home. Sadly at some point in those activities I snagged a nasty case of food poisoning and spent the next three days is agony, but it didn't ruin the trip for me. I'd do it all again. And maybe I will next year.
Labels: Travel
It's Happening Again: The scourge of all mankind, Politics, is upon us again. I really hate this. Clear thinking people can reduce any policy conflict to a core philosophical difference in about 2 minutes. What passes for political discussion is not thoughtful inquiry; it is finding the appropriate position to signal what sort of person you are to others. Are you caring and compassionate? Are you fiercely independent? You may think you are arguing some policy point, but even without hearing your contentions I feel statistically confident in telling you your argument is full of holes and contradictions and the only reason it rings true to you is that demonstrates the personality point you approve of.Of course I'm not talking about you personally. You are the exception. Your beliefs are all the result of skillful reasoning and logic. Your internet forum comments are rife with insight. Your blade-sharp wit deftly punctures the falsehoods of the other side. You are capital C correct, and you know it. I'm talking about other people.
Look, I'm not against holding political opinions. I'm against the faith you have in them that makes you feel like it's OK -- no, IMPORTANT, that you express them everywhere. During the last election, I don't how many sites I had to remove from my feed reader because every other post was some wiseass political comment. No movie critic could write a review without turning a back flip to make a half-baked snarky aside. No sports journalist could describe a game without twisting to find an angle to relate it to the election. Facebook and Twitter were overloaded with links to "brilliant" clips from Jon Stewart or Bill Maher or some idiot on the Huffington Post. (By the way, I am the only one who thinks absolutely every "news" outlet should be paying royalties to Paddy Chayefsky?)
And what does it all amount to? You can elect Republicans to reduce the deficit and watch them go on a spending spree. You can elect Obama to close Guantanamo and end hostilities and watch him get all drone happy and shrug his shoulders about military detentions. And you'll do it all again four years later because it's not about policy, it's about your self-image -- you are showing the world what kind of person you are. This is fine; maybe even for the best. But doesn't it at least give you pause to wonder whether you should be so righteously bludgeoning the people around you with your editorial commentary? I mean, even though it's in the guise of "issues", you are after all talking about yourself -- what sort of person you are, and how correct it is to be that sort of person, and how important it is for others to be that sort of person too. I mean, generally when people do that we make fun of them behind their backs.
Oh, but not you. I'm not talking about you. I'm talking about other people.
Labels: Rant
Luck: I have been anticipating this for a good long while. Dec 12, after the finale of Boardwalk Empire, we were treated to an early viewing of the first episode of the David Milch / Michael Mann series, Luck. I realize it's early and that it could fall flat, but I am seriously geeked to see this.I knew it right from the outset. It just doesn't feel like anything else on TV. There is quiet and deliberation and implication and complete sentences. You couldn't find a greater tonal contrast for a show coming off the uranium-fisted Scorcese of Boardwalk Empire. It's requires attention. It leaves plot points open ended. It will likely be a ratings disaster, despite Hoffman, Nolte, and Farina. It's got Milch written all over it.
I've already procured a copy of Betting on Horse Racing for Dummies (not kidding) because I don't want to miss a stitch of what's going on. My favorite scene was a brief explanation of the strategy behind the selection on a pick-6 wager. It was one character looking over the picks of another gambler and talking through the thinking behind it. Almost whispered, no bombast, but it really capture the mix of reason, speculation and gut feel that goes into gambling.
Even the action is understated. There are no gun fights. No slit throats. Not a punch thrown. The closest thing to violence was the sight of a horse breaking its leg in a race, the touching reaction of the jockey, and the horse being painlessly, almost casually, put down via injection. Yet it more striking and memorable than any slaying on Dexter.
Hoffman and Farina have great chemistry as two old guys who appear to be taking one more shot at evening up the score. But evening up the score with what? The guys who Hoffman took a fall for? Or just life? Another quiet scene: Farina expresses to Hoffman that he feels out of his depth with his role in their plan. Hoffman simply replies that he (Farina) doesn't know his own depth. A complicated relationship between two desperate old male friends. How do you turn that into ratings?
You don't. You never will. You do have a shot at being a critic's darling, and that might sustain you. They liked it at Grantland, and at A.V. Club. I can't wait for it to start up in January. May we all have good luck.
Labels: TV
Tuesday, December 06, 2011
The Month The Was (Lost) - November 2011: I’m afraid I have to do something that I promised myself never to do: bail on the monthly update. In all the years I have been keeping this diary, and the blog it was before, going back before the turn of the century, I have never failed to at least do a monthly update. But at the moment I just don’t have time to generate anything of value. I have things of value to write, but it’s really too late.The deal is, I extended my annual trip out west this year from a few days to nearly two full weeks -- road tripping through Arizona and Utah and Nevada and California, naturally including the habitual Vegas Thanksgiving. Then when I got back all fired up to tell the story I got a devastating smack down in the form of food poisoning that laid me out cold for days. (I have since discovered that everyone has a food poisoning story and they all involve not eating for days, dehydration, and an suddenly intimate relation with bodily fluids and functions. Now I have mine.) I only just yesterday emerged from the fog.
I have a couple of book reviews and, of course, an extended trip report, but I have no time to get them sorted into any coherent form. So I apologize. Sincerely, I feel quite bad about this. I vow that next month will be extra long and reasonably close to on-time. Don’t kick me out of your RSS feed just yet.
Labels: Monthly
Sunday, November 06, 2011
The Month That Was - October 2011: As I write this I am in the midst of a malicious head cold (my first in over a year, I think) and I am facing a call for jury duty tomorrow. I already feel like I am making no progress and now I am going to be a few more days behind. My house is no further along than it was at the outset of the summer *pause for a deep breath* and...I have spent the better part of a month in comic misadventures just trying to get an electrician over to do some lighting upgrades. I scaled back my furnishing purchases because I needed to gauge my cash flow more accurately after some unexpected expenses from wood rot. The handyman who promised me bathroom shelves in the spring still hasn't got them installed. I paid to have the windows cleaned inside and out for fall (lots of windows in my place) and a month later I had to get the entire exterior sprayed for Box Elder bugs/European Paper Wasps/Japanese Ladybeetles, dirtying the windows again. The sprinkler guy told me he'd arrange to blowout my system for the season in a couple of weeks; that was over a month ago. I planted Hydrangeas and the deer ate them. I went to cut the grass for the last time of the season only to find a dead mower battery.
I'm a patient man, but I do have my limits. And I do have an Uzi. (Oh, come on. I don't really. As far as you know.)
On the other hand, from the Department of Count-Your-Blessings, I had my first colonoscopy -- which is something you young'uns have to look forward to when you're fifty-something -- and I am clean, figuratively and literally. It is not a pleasant experience and I will not recount the details although I am surprised it hasn't been the source of a South Park episode yet. Bottom line, my innards are just dandy.
As promised I did shake the minor, fleeting addiction I had to a couple of reality shows and started hammering through the next draft of my latest writing project. Slowly, as usual.
[Books] Book Look: Whatever
[TV] TV Roundup
[Tech] Owned by My Phone
[Science] You Don't Know What You Don't Know
Labels: Monthly
Book Look: Whatever, by Michel Houellebecq: This is a tricky one to evaluate. It is defeatist, pessimistic and even contemptuous, but it is not without a sort of refreshing point of view.The overarching theme is the degradation of human relationships in general and romantic relationships in particular. We follow a mid-level technical instructor as he travels to government sites to train users on a new software system which, as it turns out, nobody wants and will not really be used. He is paired up with an ugly and socially awkward partner who, even at age 28, makes a desperate fool of himself in pursuit of women he can never get. The lead character has seen and accepted the sorry state personal interaction in the world; the ugly partner fights to the very end. Death and madness ensue.
Houellebecq's hobby horse is that in the wake of feminism and liberalism (small "l"), sex, and by extension other social interaction, has become a winner take all contest. There is a strict hierarchy where those at the top get all the spoils and the rest are left with nothing. And, correspondingly, love is no longer possible because it simply doesn't matter when there is only feast or famine.
This novel triggered some strong reactions when released, mostly because it goes directly counter to the prevalent progressive (small "p") mode of thought that dominates all public communication. That in itself makes it rather refreshing. What we commonly refer to as controversies are really just perfectly positioned opinions that allow people to tell themselves they are being forward thinkers or open minded, when in fact, they are being as dogmatic as possible. Holuellebecq is definitely not maneuvering for a properly position opinion. For that reason alone I will likely read more of his work. I don't much buy into his view of things. It seems to me, as with most critiques of modern society, there is an implicit romanticizing of the past, and, as with any social novel, there is a tendency to elevate a personal frustration to the level of societal illness. But like I said, it's refreshing to find an unusual angle, even if it is depressing. Plus, Holuellebecq is an exceptional stylist -- laser sharp sentences; so strong it comes through in translation. There is no filler here, it reads quickly and powerfully.
Should you read Whatever? Probably not. I suspect most people would find the underlying philosophy somewhat off-putting, if not offensive. If you are feeling disaffected or bleak, it might fit the bill, or if you yearn for ideas far out of the mainstream. But be honest with yourself about that, you probably don't.
Labels: Books
TV Roundup: Let's start with the good stuff. Breaking Bad ended another great season. I am mildly surprised that it was so good since I read at the outset how the showrunner, Vince Gilligan, went into the season unsure of its direction. Ninety-nine times out a hundred that's a recipe for disaster, but they pulled it off and made a classic. Tremendous build up in tension throughout the entire season eventually reaching an ending that, while it pushed the boundaries of plausibility, fit very well.Even more interestingly, once the season was over, was that the overwhelming majority of opinion is that Walter has gone to the dark side; that he is now one of the Bad Guys. Even Gilligan thinks so. Me, I'm not so sure. At the outset of the series he was a doormat. His wife was a contemptuous ball-buster, now she's dependant and pleading. His brother-in-law was the tough guy alpha male, now, through the string of events that doesn't count in Walt's favor, they are equals. His handicapped son, who loved him but didn't seem to admire him, now worships him. He was essentially reduced to meekly begging for help from past friends who had won astounding success, while he toiled thanklessly as a high school teacher. Now he is rich and needed and just defeated the biggest drug cartel in the Northern Hemisphere through guts and will and brains. There have been costs, but there is also a cost to being pitiful, ineffectual dust speck to the last.
Hey, if the answers were clear, it wouldn't be good drama. Looking forward to the next, and last, season.
I remain very entertained by Psych and whether you would be depends almost entirely on your taste in comedy. Like all the USA shows, the plots are borderline incoherent, but they do really well with the snappy crosstalk dialogue, including an occasional moment of comic genius. But then, my sense of comedy was formed in the time before all jokes involved bodily fluids and anatomical assessment, so make of that what you will.
Dexter is doing OK, this go around. Last season was a pointless mess. This one is getting kind of interesting. But, of course, being Dexter it will never be more than a guilty pleasure. There is a strong, Christian theme going on this season. There is a good repentant Christian and a bad extremist Christian to prompt Dexter to chew on the value of belief. One would expect this to turn into a rehash of all the adolescent level "If there's a God why do bad things happen?" drivel that bad writers lean on in desperation. But they've done a good job of being even handed with respect to spirituality so far. Dexter has come a long way from being a true sociopath who is incapable of feeling, which was needed for there to continue to be any ongoing drama. Still, from a dramatic standpoint, it's a tight squeeze between sociopath and normal dude who just likes killing people. Go too far either way and you lose the character and the show. For now, continues to be good creepy fun.
I should like The Walking Dead more than I do. There are some decent story lines, lots of open-ended unresolved issues, the episode that just aired prior to this was an examination of the cost and value of living, heighten by the reality of the zombified world. Some choose suicide, parents question whether their children wouldn't be better off dead than face the inevitable, some kill so that others may live. Life as a point of priority. Great premise, decent acting, nice visuals. But the characters are really as shallow as possible and the dialogue is painfully bad. Nothing but expository blather and hopeless clich‚. The "I can't do it!" "Damn you, you have to!" school of discourse. Really, I have to DVR this and fast forward through talking. Could have been a contender.
More disappointing still is Boardwalk Empire. The Scorcese connection gave this cache and ill-informed critics declared it to be a classic early on when it was actually never even close. One of the most heavy handed shows ever. It is typical of late Scorcese in that it is nothing new. Just the same old gangster stories rehashed with a different setting. The characters here and completely interchangeable with any number of characters in The Departed or Gangs of New York. The men are either cowardly and conniving or ruthless and power hungry. The women are either Madonna or Whore. The brash upstart rebelling against his father figure, the veteran scarred in both body and soul, the upright detective with a dark secret. Every story arc is telegraphed. HBO mistakenly renewed this for another season of the current one. This show needs to be wrapped up as quickly as possible.
The most promising news is that the Return of The Milch is coming sooner than expected. The Luck pilot will air on December 11th, nearly a month and a half before the regular season is scheduled to start. I can't wait to hear me some Milchian quasi -iambic pentameter again. Plus we get some Michael Mann stylings and a Dustin Hoffman versus Nick Nolte thespian cage match (also involved: Dennis Farina). Plus it's about gambling. It could cause a rift in the fabric of space, or be the biggest disappointment since John from Cinncinnati.
Labels: TV
Owned by My Phone: I am now a Verizon contract customer with a Windows 7 HTC Trophy phone. I am also paying roughly 10 times more than I was for my prepaid T-Mobile on an old school RAZR. With a 2 year lock in, it had better be worth it.I have to confess once I managed to convince T-Mobile I was really who I say I am, which took a couple of days, it was pretty easy to get my number switched over. The phone cost me exactly one penny through Amazon Wireless, whom I recommend if you're in the market; they are offering the one penny deal on some pretty sweet phones. In the future all stores will be Amazon.
Setup was pretty easy. I never referred to a manual. I got my email/facebook/twitter all set up fine. It took me a bit to realize that the only way to get the latest version of Windows Phone 7 (Mango) was to hook up to the Zune service on my laptop, but that too went off without a hitch. Kudos to Microsoft on this. They've done well. I suspected they would. They did a good job with the late, lamented (but not lamentable) Zune player. I still use my first gen 30 gig hard drive model to store all my music.
In combination with Verizon, which has awesome coverage, even for me out in the sticks, it looks to be a pretty solid combo. Still, I gack at the $80/month. I just have to keep reminding myself of how many calls I missed thanks to T-Mobile's parsimonious coverage. After two years, it'll go up for re-evaluation. I can survive with it that long. My big fear is that I find myself dropping $80/month and only using it once a week or something.
And I will NOT get addicted to Angry Birds. Not gonna happen. I swear.
Labels: Tech
You Don't Know What You Don't Know: The 20th century was a watershed century in physics. It brought us the Copenhagen Model, Quantum Mechanics, and of course, Relativity. These theories proved to be remarkably accurate as models and enabled tremendous practical advances, to the point where they began to be thought of as more than just models. They began to be thought of as reality; as if anything that violated the model (conceptually, if not measurably) would in time be explained away.Now it's beginning to look like the 21st century is going to slap down any notion that we had possibly zeroed in on reality. First there was the hullaballoo over a faster than light neutrino. Relativity makes it quite plain that nothing whatsoever can go faster than the speed of light. IF something actually has gone faster, it doesn't nullify relativity as a measurement and prediction tool, it just means it wasn't the real answer -- accurate but wrong.
Of course, we are a long way from verifying faster-than-light neutrinos. There are a handful of tests for verification set up for 2012, so we'll see. More interesting is my recent discovery that there is a small, but steadfast cadre of physicists who don't really buy into relativity at all, even if the speed limit is valid. One book that piqued my interest is Questioning Einstein, by Tom Bethell. I need to order this and once I read it you'll get a report (here's an author summary), but I gather the argument is that Special relativity is unnecessary and General Relativity is outright wrong. In light of the neutrinos, no wonder there are no cheap copies floating around.
An equally troubling development is that no one can seem to find the Higgs Boson. Tritely described as "the God Particle" the Higgs boson is the thing that, in broadly accepted theories, endows things with mass. It is what allows there to be tangible things in the universe. And the flagship project of CERN was to locate the Higgs boson. They had it all lined up. And they began marching through the various possible energies where it might be located and now, after marching through a good number of them, it's not looking good (curiously, Stephen Hawking had bet the search would fail).
We are probably as wrong as Newton. Maybe as wrong as Aristotle. For some reason, the older I get the more comfort I take in seeing that we aren't really any better/smarter/wiser than ever. I guess I see a corollary being that we probably aren't any worse/dumber/more foolish either, which is what's comforting. All of our best-of-times-worst-of-times histrionics are just sound and fury. I don't know. I don't really understand why I like the idea that everything we know is wrong or at least mis-imagined, but I do. Maybe it makes me feel better about getting so much wrong in my own life.
The upside is despite their existential errors, the theories still yield tremendous practical benefits and lead to some astounding technological advances. So no complaints and sneering. Just be happy to pay $80/month for Angry Birds.
Labels: Science
Saturday, October 08, 2011
The Month That Was -- September 2011: One thing I remember about living near Washington DC is that the bums were quite clever. Instead of begging for a dollar or spare change, they would often ask for very specific amounts of money. "Can I have 78 cents?" "I need $1.20. Can anyone lend me $1.20?" The implication being that they weren't just begging for anything they could get, they had a purpose, a goal they were trying to achieve.I got the same sensation once now that I've turned 51 (on the 13th). Saying you're 51 is precise. Saying you're 50, can leave the impression you really 50-something and you're just being casual, like you don't really care how old you are. People respond, "Exactly 50?" Being 51 is like being a clever bum.
I have no idea if that is a cogent connection, but at age 51, one grasps for anything positive.
Only one bit of travel this month. On September 10th I was up at Mackinac Island for the annual 8 mile run around the circumference. It was beautiful and cool and not crowded. I managed to better my time from last year by about 50 seconds per mile. Afterwards the bars were full for the great Michigan comeback against Notre Dame. About as good of a weekend as you could ask for.
Apart from a major deck clearing of all my summer reading, there is a distinct Michigan theme to the posts this month. Not intentional, but I guess I am just becoming a bit of a homer.
[TV] Opposing Pawns
[Books] Book Look: Summer Reading Round Up
[Rant] Fear The Hayride
[Good Links] Link Slam Opposing Pawns: I admit it. I got sucked into another reality show. Now mind you, I don't watch things like Jersey Shore or anything featuring a Kardashian. And I'll pass on the various flavors of dancing and surviving. But I admit a passing interest in the blue collar ones - American Chopper, Deadliest Catch, Ice Road Tuckers, etc. Before you point and laugh, I'm not a religious devotee; they typically run these shows several times a week and I'll often flip one on while doing other stuff (like writing this post).
Anyway, one that recently caught my eye was Pawn Stars. It's set in a pawn shop in Vegas (just up the street from the strip casinos, in fact), and either due to the location or the fame from the show, people bring in some serious cool stuff to sell or pawn. And I love cool stuff. I couldn't care less about the manufactured interpersonal drama, and luckily they don't really overplay that. It's all about the stuff. Really, I'm going to make a point of stopping in the shop next time I'm in Vegas.
But it's nothing like any pawn shop you've ever been in. Pawn shops are generally dreary places loaded with cheap jewelry pawned by assorted marginal characters for tiny amounts of cash which is subsequently invested in Colt 45. Enter a competing show: Hardcore Pawn. (Note how I forewent a pawn/porn play on words for the title of this post, instead going for a chess reference. From this you should conclude I have a lot of class.)
If Pawn Stars is Barney Miller, Hardcore Pawn is COPS. No Vegas sunshine here. Hardcore Pawn is set in Detroit, right on the infamous Eight Mile Rd., about three miles from where I grew up. Judging from the show, about half of their customers get ushered out the door by a posse of enormous bouncers when they don't get the deals they want. People try to pawn all sorts of things -- underwear, broken garden tools, all manner of fake jewelry. Every encounter is on the edge of rationality and carries the potential for outright violence. To summarize, it is pure, distilled Detroit. Disturbingly compelling.
Also, this business of watching reality TV, even decent reality TV, means I need to get back to writing. Book Look: Summer Reading Round Up: I have actually pre-ordered two books from Amazon, both coming in October, so now is as good a time to catch up with some quick reviews of my summer reads:
I'm Gone, by Jean Echenoz -- This is a lightweight comic novel about an aging, womanizing art dealer who gets involved in a convoluted pursuit of antiquities. It doubles as a murder mystery and lad lit. It is also one of the best-selling and most beloved examples of recent French Literature, which is very surprising to me. It is not remotely deep or epic, just wistful. It's a fun read, but it's really fluffy entertainment. Perhaps it's lost something in the translation. Should you read it? Sure. It'd be a great beach read. (And as you would expect of a decent comic novel, it's out of print.)
It's All Greek to Me, by Charlotte Higgins -- This book was fun. It's an irreverent and good humored overview of Classic Greek arts and culture, and its influence to this day. A topic that's generally presented as dour and academic turns into something light and enjoyable but still informative. Not remotely comprehensive, but great for kibitzing. Should you read it? I can't imagine why not. How often do you get to do something fun and be smarter for it?
Playback, by Raymond Chandler -- Nothing better than a hard-boiled mystery and double shot of bourbon to take you out of the world for a while. Playback has all the hallmarks: a murder, a mysterious client, a redheaded femme fatale. The last, and generally thought to be the weakest of Chandler's novels, many people think it was mailed in, but I saw it as stripped down, laser focused Chandler. There is nothing but Marlowe and the mystery, no other points to be made. Not a superfluous word. It's Chandler with nothing more to prove. It's a fitting close to Marlowe the character and Chandler's career. Should you read it? If you like classic hard-boilers, yes.
Driving Like Crazy, by P.J. O'Rourke -- Good Ol' P.J. Few writers are as consistently funny and insightful while maintaining a perfect middle-of-the-road humanity. P.J. has a personal and professional relationship with cars over the years, starting with his family business in Ohio. In this book he revisits all the car oriented pieces he's written over the years, along with delightful reflective commentary, in some cases many decades on. Imagine how a sixty-something would look back on an article written in his youth entitled "How to Drive Fast on Drugs While Getting Your Wing-Wang Squeezed and Not Spill Your Drink". Should you read it? Absolutely.
The Emperor of All Maladies, by Siddhartha Mukherjee -- One of the smartest people I know once told me, "Cancer is what kills you when you survive everything else." That's a terrific way of looking at cancer, which is not like a normal disease, it is inherent in the nature of our biology. Even if you avoid high doses of known carcinogens, you are all rolling the dice against cancer every minute of every day. Live long enough and it'll get you. Mukherjee comes to approximately the same conclusion over the course of this highly dramatic, but not dramatized (I think), account of the history of cancer and cancer treatments. Written as catharsis to help him come to terms with the emotional upheaval of facing his own cancer patients. He gets a little overwrought when discussing his patients which is understandable and even admirable.
His canvas is large, perhaps overwhelming, following the researchers and charity organizations and so forth, but his prose is unfailingly clear. Winner of the Pulitzer Prize. Should you read it? Most likely. We'll all be touched by cancer in some way. This will give you a good base of understanding.
Mapping the Deep (also called The Restless Sea), by Robert Kundzig -- A lively and vivid history of oceanography, from the first tentative drag lines to the multi-mile deep submersibles. A feast for the curious, you can really get a sense of the horrendous difficulties of deep sea exploration and what an astoundingly bizarre world it is. The most fascinating being the alien life forms and eco-systems the spring up around the superheated, sulfur-infused water pouring out deep sea vents. For some reason they changed the title from The Restless Sea to Mapping the Deep and also added pictures and illustrations. I highly recommend the buying the later version, Mapping the Deep. I have the earlier one and it would definitely benefit from pictures. It also suffers in spots from PBS-style environmental handwringing, but it's not overwhelming and you can see it coming and skip over it.
I admit to having an interest in the deep sea ever since that killer episode of Blue Planet came out a few years ago, so I didn't really need any special reason to read this. Should you read it? If you are curious about the topic or the state of scientific knowledge in general or just appreciate good pop science books, then yes. But it won't have the broad appeal of Emperor of All Maladies for a scientific history.
The Half Made World, by Felix Gilman -- One of those fantasy novels where the setting is historical, but there is a strange twist to things. Here we find ourselves in the Old West, but a Steampunk Old West. The major power is The Line - a strange amagalm of totalitarian egalitarians and massive sentient machines, like nightmarishly huge steam engines, who crush all before them and destroy the land as they go. Years ago they effectively squashed the increasingly mythical Old Republic, and are now only opposed by a shadowy quasi-anarchic group called The Gun, who wreak havoc and chaos through the use of magical guns to which their owners have a symbiotic relationship. The story follows characters through various hyper-violent conflicts in pursuit of the last survivor of the Old Republic who may harbor a secret that could bring peace.
Whew. That's heavy. The Half Made World breaks no new ground and is rather predictable in points, but benefits greatly from the pacing and the vivid description of the Half Made World itself. Should you read it? If you love the whole steampunk aesthetic or are a maven of alternative historical fantasy, don't miss. Otherwise, if it sounds interesting to you, it probably will be. It's a good escapist adventure.
Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell, by Susanna Clarke -- This book is a wonder. Another historical fantasy, this set in England around the time of Napoleon, but with magicians. Except magic has disappeared from England, it is really only studied as a point of historic interest. Enter two magicians, an arrogant older man trying to horde knowledge, and an arrogant younger man trying to change the world. Their paths intertwine as both allies and enemies and eventually like-minded souls. Along the way there is intrigue and betrayal and good humor, battles and lives and loves are found and lost. It is as full a story as you can imagine.
Clarke writes in a pastiche of classic English styles from Austen-ish gentility, to Victoria propriety, to dry Edwardian irony. She hugs the line of cuteness by using intentional misspellings, but overall the effect is similar to that of Patrick O'Brien; it lends a sense of authenticity. She uses footnotes to tell tangential stories that give the book the meta feel which, again is risky but she makes it work partly because she is simply such a good story teller.
But the big gift here is the characters and their development. So often when fantasy gets injected into a story, the focus turns to defining the mythology. The characters are afterthoughts, cliches to be puppeteer around to show off the coolness of the world. But not here. Instead you will find complex, fully formed and dramatically intricate characters, all following comprehensive arcs, including many of the smaller role players. Just wonderfully done -- astonishingly good. Should you read it? Unless you have a fervent hatred of the fantastic, then yes you should. Be warned, it is long and involved, but very rewarding.
Labels: Books
Fear the Hayride: When will these threats to the safety of our children finally be addressed? Who will so the courage to stand up to this terror? If not us, who? If not now, when?I am speaking, of course, of the horrible scourge of hayrides. And I am speaking, of course, sarcastically.
The outskirts of Ann Arbor is peppered with little cider mills and farmer's markets and other homespun, quasi-rural , family-oriented sites of interest. Most open up in late summer and go until it gets too cold. Some of them are dedicated facilities, some are working farms. I don't go to them very often but they are one of the charming points of living on the cusp of the rural and the suburban. Most of these establishments offer hayrides -- horse-drawn wagons filled with bales of hay on which you (mostly children) ride around the grounds for a small price.
A couple of weeks ago, at one local market, there was a hayride accident. It was a bad one. The driver fell off and was possibly hit by the wagon or stepped on by one of the horse -- details are confused as usual in such circumstances -- and the result was tragic. It looks like the driver may be paralyzed. It's a horrible thing to have happen.
But in our brave new world, we can't see an accident as an accident and mourn the tragic outcome. We have to have a scandal. We have to have moral indignation. We have to sue and legislate.
As part of a diligent journalistic crusade, AnnArbor.com has discovered that there is no state agency regulating hayrides! How can this be? It turns out there have been two -- TWO!!! -- hayride accidents in the last two years. Not two this season or even two in the same place. Just plain two. So of the hundreds of hayrides and thousands of hayriders, there have been two accidents. No wonder we want to get the government involved.
Amy Hogg said many people don't understand the risks from hayrides. "I've tried so hard to educate people on makeshift hayrides and how dangerous they are," she said. "They don't realize that this isn't a freak accident. This is happening a lot."Evidently, two is a lot and requires education and regulation. You can tell because of the rhyming catchphrase.
She said she made up her own slogan to try to educate people."If it wasn't built with sides it wasn't meant for rides," she said.
You'd have to be blind not to see the way this will play out.
- Somebody, perhaps the aforementioned Amy Hogg, forms an interest group: Mothers Against Agricultural Violence. Despite having a total membership of four (including Betty from up the street who only ever came to the first meeting and just ate a muffin then had to leave) they find some a congressman willing to champion legislation in the hopes of building some family-values cred.
- Regulatory legislation slides into law in some sort of omnibus bill. The three lawmakers that actually read the hayride legislation aren't enthusiastic about it but they can't risk being painted as heartlessly pro-business.
- A new office of Agricultural Entertainment is created and filled with bureaucrats charged with implementing the regulation. They conclude that,
- All hayride drivers must take a safety certification course -$50
- All hayride operators must be licensed - $125/year
- All hayride wagons must be modified with fixed seating, including three point restraints, and guardrails - $2500/wagon
- All riders under the age of 18 must wear helmets - $600
- Any hayride with a capacity of 5 or greater must have a hydraulic lift to accommodate the differently-abled - $3000/wagon
- All hayrides proprietors are subject to annual inspection - $200/year.
- AnnArbor.com runs a human interest story about the grass roots success of Mother's Against Agricultural Violence with photos of determined looking women and smiling happy children.
- Hayride operators struggle to meet these new requirements. They try to raise prices to cover them but that just cuts into the volume.
- AnnArbor.com runs a human interest story about the economic struggles of hayride proprietors featuring photos of downtrodden looking rural workers.
- Hayride operators band together to form an interest group, The Society for Farm Heritage Preservation. Despite the fact that only two of their members are actual farmers, they find a state congressman willing to champion legislation in the hopes of building some limited government cred.
- The Hayride Tax Relief Credit slides into law in some sort of omnibus bill, the three lawmakers that actually read the hayride legislation aren't enthusiastic about it but they can't risk being caricatured as hindering small business, and besides, the property tax increase will cover it.
- The following summer, in an effort to win a prize offered by the cable show Who's America's Biggest Assclown?, a teenager unbuckles his safety harness, tears off his helmet, moons the other riders, and leaps from a hay wagon on to a passing dirt bike driven by a friend. Not surprisingly he cracks his skull and breaks about thirty-seven bones and ends up in a coma. But the video taken by his cohort gets the most hits on you tube for five days running.
- His parents sue for 5 million dollars arguing the restraints and helmets are too easily removed. They settle for 50 thousand, 25 of which goes to their lawyers and another 12 goes to the IRS.
- Insurance companies, spooked by the risk, quadruple the price of liability coverage.
- By the end of the next summer, hayrides have nearly all disappeared. A start-up firm attempts to market a Virtual Hayride app for the iPhone. It never catches on, despite an AnnArbor.com feature about all the jobs it will bringing to the area.
- In the year 2032, somebody circulates a list regarding the characteristics of the high school graduating class. In addition to "Never heard of a fax machine" and "Vanuatu has always been underwater" there is "Never been on a hayride."
But that's just a guess.
(Addendum 1: For those of you have been following my occasional references to signaling and how so much of what we do is little more than identity proclamation, this situation is a face-slapping example.)
(Addendum 2: If you're interested in a humorous take on this sort of thing, I strongly recommend the comic novel Big Babies, by Sherwood Kiraly. It's a lighthearted, and good-hearted, story of a fellow who invents a head-to-toe protective covering for children. It's actually about the fellow's relationship with his brother, but the baby armor is the MacGuffin. Good work; similar to something I might write. Of course, like all good comic novels, it appears to be out of print.)
