Ron D. Moore, creator of BSG and long time Star Trek writer came onto the Voyager writing crew shortly after turning DS9 from a boring, mediocre show and making it’s final 3 or 4 seasons into some of the most consistent, entertaining and insightful episodes of Star Trek ever made. On one of his first days, as he tells the story, he was working with the other writers trying to figure out who the main characters are on the show. He asked the writers about B’leanna wondering who she is and why she behaves the way she does. She’s a conflicted character because of her half-klingon half-human genetic structure, but Moore was curious as to how she felt about he genes, and how it affected her psychology. He put up the question, “If she was in such and such situation, how would she behave.” Allegedly his fellow writers said (I’m paraphrashing) “We don’t really know. She usually behaves how we need her to for the story.” The talented Moore was unsurprisingly frustrated working for that show and left quickly to showrun BSG (this story may be apocryphal because I can’t find it, but it stuck with me because it makes so much sense).
The best tv shows are driven by strong characters. In sitcoms these characters tend to be groups of people who make us want to spend time with them. Good ensemble sitcoms make us want to hang with the group at Central Perk, drink with Norm at Cheers, work under Michael Scott at Dunder Mifflin, or hit on girls with Barney at Maclarens. TV dramas rely on their characters too. What would House be without Hugh Lauries titular character? Mad Men has a host of characters that, over time, viewers have become fascinated by. Lost spent 3 seasons developing their characters through flashback. People come back week after week to see the enrichment of these characters, and to understand who they are. Serialized entertainment nearly requires interesting characters because it’s longevity makes even the most interesting jobs of being doctors or ad execs or living on a paranormal island grow wearisome. Even in serialized literature, War & Peace uses the backdrop of the war as a playground for its ever memorable characters, and Dickens’ work is similar. Movies and shorter pieces do not require them to be compelling. Tolstoy’s Kreutzer Sonata and The Death of Ivan Ilych have forgettable characters yet both are great books. Movies sometimes use leads like those in Rear Window or Synecdoche NY, where the cast is used as mirrors for the viewer to observe himself.
Good serialized entertainment eventually gets comfortable with its premise, and relies on what remains interesting: the people it has created. This isn’t a criticism. The marathon that is TV makes it possible to have long emotional arcs ending in overwhelmingly cathartic moments. Spending so much time with these people allows us to know them more intimately than many friends because we see them in their weakest moments. We see the sides of themselves they try to hide, and knowing them so well makes these characters mostly predictable. Sometimes they defy expectation, but they surprise themselves in doing so.
Real people too, are mostly predictable. The reason we become comfortable around people is because we rely on them to react to jokes or conversational topics in expected ways. Good characters, tv or otherwise, are the same. Predictability is often thought of as boring, or a path to dystopian futures, but in reality, it adds to our enjoyment of life rather than taking away from it. People complain about their marriages and work life as routine and plain, but there are plenty of other options available to them. Divorce or new career paths are commonplace and socially acceptable today, but many stay on a particular path because their other choice is unpredictability, which is stressful and frightening. Conversations with strangers, while engaging, lack the heights of banter between two people who know the rhythms and cadences of their interlocutor. Much like sex, a good conversation starts out slowly and gains both volume and speed until a final big moment (often a laugh) is reached followed by an awkward pause for the people to catch their breath. Yep… It’s knowing people, and knowing what you expect of them that makes good conversation/sex possible.
Being predictable isn’t bad. People strive for it. The fact that people love TV so much is proof. Tv is stable for the most part. If we want unpredictable things we can watch movies which are capable of shaking us up and making us feel uncomfortable (Many movies are predictable, especially Action movies and Rom-Coms, which often follow the same rigid plot points and are populated by cliché fictional characters like Jennifer Aniston). Serialized entertainment survives by being mostly predictable, but all of the best shows offer us interesting characters who we can fall in love with because even if they are predictable in many ways, their personae remain interesting enough for us to come back to over and over again. Even when routines get dull and tired, the people who we let live in our lives, fictional or not, keep it interesting.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Community & Writing
(This essay should be filled with examples, but most of the examples I would use are in George Orwell’s essay “Politics and the English Language. I don’t have internet or any books while writing this. I have become frustrated with this essay, having intermittently been working on it for a few days now, and so I’m wrapping it up before I should because writing about writing sucks).
One of the great new shows of the past TV season was NBC’s Community. In it’s second half it managed to consistently find pathos by exploiting sitcom clichés and became sincere and funny even in its weakest episodes. What makes Community succeed is that the writers look at the sitcom stories tv watchers have grown so accustomed to (one of the strengths and weaknesses of sitcoms is that most are so predictable that from the introduction of any given plot line, the average viewer could spell out in detail the rest of the plot). Community uses these tropes, but plays with them by changing or contradicting them. The show breaks down clichés and attempts to show the emotion that first caused them to become clichés. The same stories, and the same words are revitalized by presenting them in a simple and unusual way.
The phrases and words people use in speaking or writing are often unconscious. In speech we tend to use ready-made phrases stored in our brains to gain time to gather our thoughts. They start out as filler, but often whole phrases and sentences become nothing but strings of prepackaged ideas. Similarly, many sitcoms (According to Jim, Big Bang Theory, Two and a Half Men etc…) are happy to follow established plots and jokes to entertain. Reality tv, perhaps the worst offender, is usually a string of easily repeatable words and the ‘reality’ part is contorted into an easy to follow story. Many people, however, demand more from entertainment than worn out plots, and are looking in tv shows or books or movies for honest emotion. The kind that brings them to the verge of tears or lets them smile for days, or rethink their behavior. Well thought out art tries to invoke these passions in its consumers, and great art succeeds.
These powerful sentiments are powerful because they’re unusual, while tired sentiments are tired because they‘re over-felt. There was a man who taught a course at Yale on Romeo and Juliet. He tells his students every year that he’s spent his whole life trying to recapture the feeling of reading the play for the first time again. He still loves reading the play, but what the play stirred in him can’t be felt as deeply ever again. The goal of a writer, from playwright to movie director to casual essayist is trying to inspire in people a feeling like that of the professor reading Romeo and Juliet
There are many ways which passion is aroused, but the first step is finding a new way to describe a familiar feeling. Hitchcock didn’t invent the feeling of suspense but he always managed to find new ways to make the viewer feel it. He did so with a master’s control of the camera and his shots. The playwright does it with his characters and dialogue. The essayist, especially the casual essayist, tend to do so with anecdotes and words. Often “hooks” are stories that seem, at first, unrelated to the essay, but as the essay develops, the reader understands both the purpose of the writer, and the anecdote in a new, clearer way. Sometimes that anecdote can be a story that’s been told many times, but through reading a good essay, that story evolves in the readers mind he is able to look at the story anew.
The stories and the purpose of writing is usually easy to arrive at. Vague ideas for essays arise throughout any given day, but it much harder to sit down and try to put those ideas into a coherent article. Well written essays always show that the writer cares about what he is writing by making the reader care about it too. The best writing can make people care about issues they cared about before. Making people care, however, is difficult because to do so the writer must avoid sounding pretentious, be clear and use phrases that are still able to affect the reader. Good writing is the hopeless endeavor to remove boring phrases and ideas from the mind and the page (with any inspection, this essay will cause the reader to laugh at this criticism which describes itself more than much writing). Amateur writing is made even more difficult because there are already so many wonderful essays written in English.
Writing is often painful and difficult. Rereading each paragraph almost brings pain because each time I go through them I see how much better they could be. Each sentence struggles and some flounder. I began this essay thinking it would be something else but, as usual, it became something different. I wanted to say one thing, and ended up saying, perhaps, nothing. This essay has caused me no end of agony and still is. Maybe soon I’ll come back to it and revise it. Make it better. But while writing it I’ve been forced to look at my writing, and the process of writing, and why I like to write. Because while attempting to clean out all the fluff on the page, I start to think a little clearer. While trying to figure out what to say, I always end up looking at my topic in different ways. Sometimes a brilliant thought looks idiotic when written down, and then that thought gets broken down and rebuilt and then thrown out and brought back in until, sometimes, it becomes brilliant again. Sometimes I’ll look at a daily activity and while writing it, something mundane becomes meaningful again and, for a while, the world becomes a place full of wonder. As a mediocre, novice writer, I may not have to skill to bring the reader along with me, but as a writer for myself it’s the process of writing that renews my world and keeps it an interesting place.
One of the great new shows of the past TV season was NBC’s Community. In it’s second half it managed to consistently find pathos by exploiting sitcom clichés and became sincere and funny even in its weakest episodes. What makes Community succeed is that the writers look at the sitcom stories tv watchers have grown so accustomed to (one of the strengths and weaknesses of sitcoms is that most are so predictable that from the introduction of any given plot line, the average viewer could spell out in detail the rest of the plot). Community uses these tropes, but plays with them by changing or contradicting them. The show breaks down clichés and attempts to show the emotion that first caused them to become clichés. The same stories, and the same words are revitalized by presenting them in a simple and unusual way.
The phrases and words people use in speaking or writing are often unconscious. In speech we tend to use ready-made phrases stored in our brains to gain time to gather our thoughts. They start out as filler, but often whole phrases and sentences become nothing but strings of prepackaged ideas. Similarly, many sitcoms (According to Jim, Big Bang Theory, Two and a Half Men etc…) are happy to follow established plots and jokes to entertain. Reality tv, perhaps the worst offender, is usually a string of easily repeatable words and the ‘reality’ part is contorted into an easy to follow story. Many people, however, demand more from entertainment than worn out plots, and are looking in tv shows or books or movies for honest emotion. The kind that brings them to the verge of tears or lets them smile for days, or rethink their behavior. Well thought out art tries to invoke these passions in its consumers, and great art succeeds.
These powerful sentiments are powerful because they’re unusual, while tired sentiments are tired because they‘re over-felt. There was a man who taught a course at Yale on Romeo and Juliet. He tells his students every year that he’s spent his whole life trying to recapture the feeling of reading the play for the first time again. He still loves reading the play, but what the play stirred in him can’t be felt as deeply ever again. The goal of a writer, from playwright to movie director to casual essayist is trying to inspire in people a feeling like that of the professor reading Romeo and Juliet
There are many ways which passion is aroused, but the first step is finding a new way to describe a familiar feeling. Hitchcock didn’t invent the feeling of suspense but he always managed to find new ways to make the viewer feel it. He did so with a master’s control of the camera and his shots. The playwright does it with his characters and dialogue. The essayist, especially the casual essayist, tend to do so with anecdotes and words. Often “hooks” are stories that seem, at first, unrelated to the essay, but as the essay develops, the reader understands both the purpose of the writer, and the anecdote in a new, clearer way. Sometimes that anecdote can be a story that’s been told many times, but through reading a good essay, that story evolves in the readers mind he is able to look at the story anew.
The stories and the purpose of writing is usually easy to arrive at. Vague ideas for essays arise throughout any given day, but it much harder to sit down and try to put those ideas into a coherent article. Well written essays always show that the writer cares about what he is writing by making the reader care about it too. The best writing can make people care about issues they cared about before. Making people care, however, is difficult because to do so the writer must avoid sounding pretentious, be clear and use phrases that are still able to affect the reader. Good writing is the hopeless endeavor to remove boring phrases and ideas from the mind and the page (with any inspection, this essay will cause the reader to laugh at this criticism which describes itself more than much writing). Amateur writing is made even more difficult because there are already so many wonderful essays written in English.
Writing is often painful and difficult. Rereading each paragraph almost brings pain because each time I go through them I see how much better they could be. Each sentence struggles and some flounder. I began this essay thinking it would be something else but, as usual, it became something different. I wanted to say one thing, and ended up saying, perhaps, nothing. This essay has caused me no end of agony and still is. Maybe soon I’ll come back to it and revise it. Make it better. But while writing it I’ve been forced to look at my writing, and the process of writing, and why I like to write. Because while attempting to clean out all the fluff on the page, I start to think a little clearer. While trying to figure out what to say, I always end up looking at my topic in different ways. Sometimes a brilliant thought looks idiotic when written down, and then that thought gets broken down and rebuilt and then thrown out and brought back in until, sometimes, it becomes brilliant again. Sometimes I’ll look at a daily activity and while writing it, something mundane becomes meaningful again and, for a while, the world becomes a place full of wonder. As a mediocre, novice writer, I may not have to skill to bring the reader along with me, but as a writer for myself it’s the process of writing that renews my world and keeps it an interesting place.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Wuv, True Wuv
There are few moments in life when a desire is so overwhelming that self preservation and prudence are abandoned to pursue it. These are exhilarting moments and each should be feared and embraced. In modern times this desire is most often erotic love.
In the C. S. Lewis Essay "We Have No 'Right to Happiness,'" he writes, "When I was a youngster, all the progressive people were saying, "Why all this prudery? Let us treat sex just as we treat all our other impulses." I was simple-minded enough to believe they meant what they said. I have since discovered that they meant exactly the opposite. They meant that sex was to be treated as no other impulse in our nature has ever been treated by civilized people. All the others, we admit, have to be bridled. Absolute obedience to your instinct for self-preservation is what we call cowardice; to your acquisitive impulse, avarice. Even sleep must be resisted if you're a sentry. But every unkindness and breach of faith seems to be condoned provided that the object aimed at is "four bare legs in a bed."
The rest of the essay is here: http://www.sunnipath.com/library/Articles/AR00000268
Lewis argues that erotic love should actually be treated as any other desire and that our obsession with eros is causing a spiritual and moral denigration in our society. If we are allowed to act however we like in the name of love,the laws lose meaning, virtue becomes outdated and moral codes vanish. Few would argue that in the pursuit of erotic love all is permissable, but perhaps against what Lewis assumes, erotic love is better that our other desires and there is more room to bend morality for its sake than for our other desires.
In his essay Lewis compares erotic love to self-preservation, avarice, hunger and the desire for sleep, but what separates love from these other impulses is that erotic love in this sense is a communal act. Our desires tend to focus us inward and cause us to fight for our own personal needs disregarding our empathetic and communal feelings for the sake of the self. Hunger and sleep deprivation cause us to snap at others and often to be cruel. Satisfying those desires is always a selfish act. Self-preservation is obviously only concerned only with the self, but love is consumed with satisfying the self and the other. The act of turning focus outward, and recognizing a being who has the same needs and wants is the beginning of empathy. Compassion for the other follows and, so long as that love lasts, the desires of the self and the other are comingled. What one wants becomes confused with the other. The identity of the self remains itself, but in the act of perceiving being in another it is wrenched out of narcicism and into shared experience.
Without a doubt people have sex for their own satisfaction while disregarding the other person, but in any healthy lasting sexual relationship there is always some witholding of personal sexual pleasure, or even going through some discomfort to please the other. Erotic love begs for us to share it with another and that love is at the basis of the purest and simple form of community, families. To say that the roots of all our communal and shared experiences are in this erotic love may be an exaggeration, but not much of one.
Socrates once said that “the only thing I say I know is the art of eros.” For him pursuing erotic love was the same as pursuing truth and being. Whitman took this eroticism and turned it into something more literal (see song of myself, O me! O life! or many of his other writings). These men both saw that in the soul of a man overcome with erotic love there is a desire more profound and powerful than the baseness that can accompany other desires. The precious few times in my own life when I’ve felt real, erotic passion, I have felt the desire to become a better, kinder person and they have always reignited my need to learn and understand the world and myself better. That’s why I always cling to those times and continue to search for new ones.
In the C. S. Lewis Essay "We Have No 'Right to Happiness,'" he writes, "When I was a youngster, all the progressive people were saying, "Why all this prudery? Let us treat sex just as we treat all our other impulses." I was simple-minded enough to believe they meant what they said. I have since discovered that they meant exactly the opposite. They meant that sex was to be treated as no other impulse in our nature has ever been treated by civilized people. All the others, we admit, have to be bridled. Absolute obedience to your instinct for self-preservation is what we call cowardice; to your acquisitive impulse, avarice. Even sleep must be resisted if you're a sentry. But every unkindness and breach of faith seems to be condoned provided that the object aimed at is "four bare legs in a bed."
The rest of the essay is here: http://www.sunnipath.com/library/Articles/AR00000268
Lewis argues that erotic love should actually be treated as any other desire and that our obsession with eros is causing a spiritual and moral denigration in our society. If we are allowed to act however we like in the name of love,the laws lose meaning, virtue becomes outdated and moral codes vanish. Few would argue that in the pursuit of erotic love all is permissable, but perhaps against what Lewis assumes, erotic love is better that our other desires and there is more room to bend morality for its sake than for our other desires.
In his essay Lewis compares erotic love to self-preservation, avarice, hunger and the desire for sleep, but what separates love from these other impulses is that erotic love in this sense is a communal act. Our desires tend to focus us inward and cause us to fight for our own personal needs disregarding our empathetic and communal feelings for the sake of the self. Hunger and sleep deprivation cause us to snap at others and often to be cruel. Satisfying those desires is always a selfish act. Self-preservation is obviously only concerned only with the self, but love is consumed with satisfying the self and the other. The act of turning focus outward, and recognizing a being who has the same needs and wants is the beginning of empathy. Compassion for the other follows and, so long as that love lasts, the desires of the self and the other are comingled. What one wants becomes confused with the other. The identity of the self remains itself, but in the act of perceiving being in another it is wrenched out of narcicism and into shared experience.
Without a doubt people have sex for their own satisfaction while disregarding the other person, but in any healthy lasting sexual relationship there is always some witholding of personal sexual pleasure, or even going through some discomfort to please the other. Erotic love begs for us to share it with another and that love is at the basis of the purest and simple form of community, families. To say that the roots of all our communal and shared experiences are in this erotic love may be an exaggeration, but not much of one.
Socrates once said that “the only thing I say I know is the art of eros.” For him pursuing erotic love was the same as pursuing truth and being. Whitman took this eroticism and turned it into something more literal (see song of myself, O me! O life! or many of his other writings). These men both saw that in the soul of a man overcome with erotic love there is a desire more profound and powerful than the baseness that can accompany other desires. The precious few times in my own life when I’ve felt real, erotic passion, I have felt the desire to become a better, kinder person and they have always reignited my need to learn and understand the world and myself better. That’s why I always cling to those times and continue to search for new ones.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Falling in love with a girl who isn't there
Sometimes I want to write not to express meaning to others, but to attempt to gain a clearer grasp of my emotions. Reading over some previous posts, many are difficult to understand because through the course of writing them I failed to do this, while others suffer from only beginning to understand what I want to say by the end of the post. Sometimes I'm hiding from troubling thoughts by obscuring my meaning . If this post lacks coherency or style it is because I am dealing with painful and difficult emotions might struggle to tie their chaos into something intelligible. I will not attempt to make my situation abstract or personal, I only attempt to write about my life. Here goes.
I met a girl at a sci fi convention and soon after, or perhaps during, we started dating. I adored her. Before I met her my life was manic. Since about February, when my blood was thining out for the spring I became desperate to figure out a part of my life which always seemed important to me, but only in the abstract. Sex, I had always thought, was wonderful, but sacrificing personal time and friendships for an erotic relationship was a waste. No longer. I awoke my womanizing side and headed out to the places where I could meet single people. Karoeke bars I found were often the best, but I learned to excel nearly everywhere. I became a slut. Short term dating and hopping from bed to bed is thrilling, and convincing myself that I could like a girl that I couldn't sometimes works. After the booze wore off, and I left another bed, the high was gone and only a feeling of guilt and sadness stayed.
The guilt isn't one over sexual relationships, but because I was misleading and manipulating girls who were not as intelligent as me. The sadness was lonliness and fear. To quote High Fidelity, "We were frightened of being left alone for the rest of our lives. Only people of a certain disposition are frightened of being alone for the rest of their lives at the age of 26, and we were of that disposition." I am too.
This, however, is not what I want to write about, and even now I am dancing around the subject.
By April I knew I was tired of sleeping around, but not as tired as I was of being single. It so happened that in April was the greatest singles convention I've ever seen. It was called Starfest. Laugh if you must but it's true. We met and talked all night and then one thing lead to another and we were making out outside of the hotel. Then we went to a Klingon/BSG party and ended up making out for an hour or so next to the vending machines on the fourth floor.
Sometime strange happened the next day. I woke up without the feeling of disgust. I was happy. We spent the next week texting and talking to each other and we went on a first date. She said she wanted to sing karaoke and we did. She was amazing. She was a senior studying physics at the Scool of Mines. She wanted to use that degree to teach physics. It shouldn't now surprise any reader who knows me that I would like her. Unfortunately what I also found was that she was going to Spain for the summer to begin work on her masters in physics. From late May to early August she would be studying electron disperal patterns with a Spanish physicist.
So we passed the one month we had getting to know each other. Sometimes we were good together. Sometimes we struggled with the pangs of getting to know someone with all of the unnatural expectations surrounding 'dating.' There were also moments of sheer greatness. Moments when the awkward pauses and sometimes jilted rythyms of a conversation with a near stranger, were forgotten and what showed was the underlying emotional state of our souls. The feeling that she could satisfy me like no one before her. The last night came and we stayed up all night whispering to each other. Then she left.
We could break up, we could stay together, or we could see other people while she was away. The third option is the same as the first in reality. I couldn't see myself finding anyone better, and I didn't want to forever wonder if I made a mistake.
I am unsure about things, jealous all the time, convinced in so many ways that by the end of summer I'll have just wasted three months pining away. I barely remember the way she looks. I fall asleep every night thinking about her. I wonder if we're actually a good pair or not. A month is such a short time to get to know someone and it's impossible to understand who she is in any profound way. She tends to keep her distance more than myself, but when she expresses herself it's passionate.
In the first week she sent me a song with one of her emails, and ever since we've been sending songs back and forth. Some about ourselves and some about us. These songs serve as the emotional nourishment of our relationship. They dictate how I feel about her, and I use them to prolong those emotions. I wonder if my perceptions about her are any longer tied to her true self. Since I never knew her well, and since she's been gone so long, I've become uncertain about whether she's the person I think she is, or whether she's something else and I've forced a desired set of perceptions on her.
So I pine and wait for summer to end. My desperation to figure out my lovelife has led me to limbo. I can't search for love while she hangs over my head, and I can't move forward with my relationship to her. I wait and it wears on me. The advancement of my life seems to depend on her, and she's not here. Perhaps she isn't even real, and perhaps I'm an overdramatic drama queen. I can't tell, and the story won't continue till August.
I met a girl at a sci fi convention and soon after, or perhaps during, we started dating. I adored her. Before I met her my life was manic. Since about February, when my blood was thining out for the spring I became desperate to figure out a part of my life which always seemed important to me, but only in the abstract. Sex, I had always thought, was wonderful, but sacrificing personal time and friendships for an erotic relationship was a waste. No longer. I awoke my womanizing side and headed out to the places where I could meet single people. Karoeke bars I found were often the best, but I learned to excel nearly everywhere. I became a slut. Short term dating and hopping from bed to bed is thrilling, and convincing myself that I could like a girl that I couldn't sometimes works. After the booze wore off, and I left another bed, the high was gone and only a feeling of guilt and sadness stayed.
The guilt isn't one over sexual relationships, but because I was misleading and manipulating girls who were not as intelligent as me. The sadness was lonliness and fear. To quote High Fidelity, "We were frightened of being left alone for the rest of our lives. Only people of a certain disposition are frightened of being alone for the rest of their lives at the age of 26, and we were of that disposition." I am too.
This, however, is not what I want to write about, and even now I am dancing around the subject.
By April I knew I was tired of sleeping around, but not as tired as I was of being single. It so happened that in April was the greatest singles convention I've ever seen. It was called Starfest. Laugh if you must but it's true. We met and talked all night and then one thing lead to another and we were making out outside of the hotel. Then we went to a Klingon/BSG party and ended up making out for an hour or so next to the vending machines on the fourth floor.
Sometime strange happened the next day. I woke up without the feeling of disgust. I was happy. We spent the next week texting and talking to each other and we went on a first date. She said she wanted to sing karaoke and we did. She was amazing. She was a senior studying physics at the Scool of Mines. She wanted to use that degree to teach physics. It shouldn't now surprise any reader who knows me that I would like her. Unfortunately what I also found was that she was going to Spain for the summer to begin work on her masters in physics. From late May to early August she would be studying electron disperal patterns with a Spanish physicist.
So we passed the one month we had getting to know each other. Sometimes we were good together. Sometimes we struggled with the pangs of getting to know someone with all of the unnatural expectations surrounding 'dating.' There were also moments of sheer greatness. Moments when the awkward pauses and sometimes jilted rythyms of a conversation with a near stranger, were forgotten and what showed was the underlying emotional state of our souls. The feeling that she could satisfy me like no one before her. The last night came and we stayed up all night whispering to each other. Then she left.
We could break up, we could stay together, or we could see other people while she was away. The third option is the same as the first in reality. I couldn't see myself finding anyone better, and I didn't want to forever wonder if I made a mistake.
I am unsure about things, jealous all the time, convinced in so many ways that by the end of summer I'll have just wasted three months pining away. I barely remember the way she looks. I fall asleep every night thinking about her. I wonder if we're actually a good pair or not. A month is such a short time to get to know someone and it's impossible to understand who she is in any profound way. She tends to keep her distance more than myself, but when she expresses herself it's passionate.
In the first week she sent me a song with one of her emails, and ever since we've been sending songs back and forth. Some about ourselves and some about us. These songs serve as the emotional nourishment of our relationship. They dictate how I feel about her, and I use them to prolong those emotions. I wonder if my perceptions about her are any longer tied to her true self. Since I never knew her well, and since she's been gone so long, I've become uncertain about whether she's the person I think she is, or whether she's something else and I've forced a desired set of perceptions on her.
So I pine and wait for summer to end. My desperation to figure out my lovelife has led me to limbo. I can't search for love while she hangs over my head, and I can't move forward with my relationship to her. I wait and it wears on me. The advancement of my life seems to depend on her, and she's not here. Perhaps she isn't even real, and perhaps I'm an overdramatic drama queen. I can't tell, and the story won't continue till August.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Living in a Material World
Life as an avid pop culture omnivore isn't always easy. There is something wonderful about the crisp written dialogue of movies, television and music that can't be replicated in speech. Well written conversations are wittier and more charming than what people are capable of real life. There aren't awkward pauses or clarifying questions in writing. Tv characters always talk over the laugh tracks instead of letting conversations getting derailed by a joke. Each phrase is filled with a host of sub-textual emotions, and every character's life is boiled down to a handful of scenes which contain the most dramatic moments of his life or year. Elton John doesn't waste time singing about Commuter Man, and the people at CSI are never seen doing the massive amounts of paperwork that would be required of them for all the illegal acts they perform in the name of 'justice' (I've never seen that show, but I figure a cop drama is a cop drama and CBS isn't known for it's originality in programming). Pop culture offers us fantasy and wish fulfillment, and having spent tens of thousands of hours watching, reading and listening to a wide variety of entertainment seeping through the funnel that is pop culture, I often mix up my emotional desires with those of Ted Mosby or Nicholas Hornby.
Paraphrasing the central question of High Fidelity, "which came first, what the tv told me or my emotional disposition? In the land of TV, the shows I enjoy are the shows which offer me emotional satisfaction, catharsis and characters that I adore. What follows, however, is emulation of my adored characters. It begins innocently by borrowing a catch phrase or an opinion about a banal subject, but then I perceive my entire life through the lens of a show (Most recently that show has been Community, which is a show about this very phenomena as much as anything else). Sometimes all it takes to make a brand new lens for the world is a 3 minute pop song with a perfect line or two.
This is all well and good day to day and contributes to my social life and the personae with which I meet people. It becomes a problem, however, when I am confronted with relationships which put me into a state of hyper-emotionality. The foremost of those being the chance of falling in love. No subject is treated more in pop culture than that of finding your special someone (except perhaps breaking up with that special someone). Pop music loves the feeling of falling in love with people because people love that feeling too. What pop culture does, however, is give us the impression that this person will sweep you off your feet and from that day forth you will always every moment feel that same feeling of falling in love and you will never have feelings or desires for anyone else ever because that's what true love is forever and ever. That is, of course, bullshit with a sprinkle of truth, but since it is the dominant concept in pop culture I can't help feeling like the Elephant Love Song in Moulin Rouge portrays a real emotion and one that can last forever. This is, of course, contrary to all experience. My parents have been married for over 40 years, and the love they share is nothing like anything in Moulin Rouge, yet because of my youth and influences, I feel like it should be. My love will be different and more pure. An unending erotic whirlwind that lifts me up where I belong. This attitude lends itself to having hordes of utterly unfair expectations of life and relationships. I expect them to be more like Casablanca than the dreary day to day that actually composes so much of life.
There is a reason to let my fancies slip into real life in the surprisingly many moments where life actually does emulate the feelings or events of pop culture. This moment is where the interior world of dreams and fantasy meet with the external world which so often mocks and rejects. Seizing these small victories is the only way to stay sane in this crazy world and once you know where to find them it becomes easier to recreate those moments and to continually force these fantasies onto the world.
When reality can be elevated to the level of fantasy, it becomes possible to change reality on a whim, and even though my fantasies may be as silly as a handful of songs and movies, they allow me to shape and change my fantasy world, make a dreary day into a necessary scene in the narrative and keep life interesting even if it's just for a line or two.
Paraphrasing the central question of High Fidelity, "which came first, what the tv told me or my emotional disposition? In the land of TV, the shows I enjoy are the shows which offer me emotional satisfaction, catharsis and characters that I adore. What follows, however, is emulation of my adored characters. It begins innocently by borrowing a catch phrase or an opinion about a banal subject, but then I perceive my entire life through the lens of a show (Most recently that show has been Community, which is a show about this very phenomena as much as anything else). Sometimes all it takes to make a brand new lens for the world is a 3 minute pop song with a perfect line or two.
This is all well and good day to day and contributes to my social life and the personae with which I meet people. It becomes a problem, however, when I am confronted with relationships which put me into a state of hyper-emotionality. The foremost of those being the chance of falling in love. No subject is treated more in pop culture than that of finding your special someone (except perhaps breaking up with that special someone). Pop music loves the feeling of falling in love with people because people love that feeling too. What pop culture does, however, is give us the impression that this person will sweep you off your feet and from that day forth you will always every moment feel that same feeling of falling in love and you will never have feelings or desires for anyone else ever because that's what true love is forever and ever. That is, of course, bullshit with a sprinkle of truth, but since it is the dominant concept in pop culture I can't help feeling like the Elephant Love Song in Moulin Rouge portrays a real emotion and one that can last forever. This is, of course, contrary to all experience. My parents have been married for over 40 years, and the love they share is nothing like anything in Moulin Rouge, yet because of my youth and influences, I feel like it should be. My love will be different and more pure. An unending erotic whirlwind that lifts me up where I belong. This attitude lends itself to having hordes of utterly unfair expectations of life and relationships. I expect them to be more like Casablanca than the dreary day to day that actually composes so much of life.
There is a reason to let my fancies slip into real life in the surprisingly many moments where life actually does emulate the feelings or events of pop culture. This moment is where the interior world of dreams and fantasy meet with the external world which so often mocks and rejects. Seizing these small victories is the only way to stay sane in this crazy world and once you know where to find them it becomes easier to recreate those moments and to continually force these fantasies onto the world.
When reality can be elevated to the level of fantasy, it becomes possible to change reality on a whim, and even though my fantasies may be as silly as a handful of songs and movies, they allow me to shape and change my fantasy world, make a dreary day into a necessary scene in the narrative and keep life interesting even if it's just for a line or two.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Stupid Expressions
"And indeed there will be time to prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet." -T. S. Eliot (this might not be quite accurate as I'm too lazy to look up the quote)
I was recently reading Paul's blog wherein he wrote a brief article about how the expression "I'll sleep when I'm dead" is stupid." While I agree with his assessment of the idiocy of that statement, I feel as though I should throw my own opinion in as far as stupid expressions are concerned. Perhaps I have a skewed view on this one, and it's really not an expression now that I'm thinking about it, but god dammit it pisses me off and it is something that Coca-cola and every advertising company has been using to appeal to the American spirit and it is "Be Yourself." That sounds nice right? Be Yourself. Seriously though, not only is that vague and unsatisfying when you stop to think about it, but also it's probably utter crap.
1.) Let's start from the shallow and work our way in. Perhaps we should consider an average Joe who is nice on the outside but ultimately a product of evolution which means he's savage, brutish, horny and occasionally empathetic, kind and horny. Should he behave like his inner chimpanzee desires too? Human beings pretend to be nice, but, and I know this is a really stupid and obvious thing to say, we're viceful and usually evil creatures. Those creatures lie at the very heart of the human "self."
2.) Well really the most important point in this rant is that we don't stay consistent as a "self" even around our closest friends. In any relationship the commonalities between two people define their relationship. When I'm around friends from St. John's I can make a series of complicated references to various philosophical ideas and assume that the person understands the enormous amount of context which follows in each reference. When I'm around other friends I can make those references to TV shows, or movies or whatever we might have in common. My point is that in each relationship, after reaching a level of comfort, there is a personality agreement which is reached between people. Long term relationships require that both involved parties are able to express a certain part of their "self" around the other, and that both parties appreciate and enjoy being that particular version of self. Many relationships, I think, end because after several months with another person you realize that perhaps you don't like the "self" or person the other makes you be.
3.) The worst problem with being "yourself" is that it's confining. All of the sudden you have demarcated aspects of personality or behavior that are not "you." Seriously, and I mean this, Fuuuck that. I know that even for myself there will be a time when I am more tied down by various people such as a spouse or children, and that this hinders, to some extent, the ability to rapidly change personalities. While it remains possible though, I would like to live through a million different personality traits. I want to be a jerk and a sweetheart, a tool and a charmer, a player and a husband. Each of these adjectives lives somewhere deeply in my soul. Sometimes I mix them in different ways, and sometimes they come out the same. Still, when I hear "be yourself" I can't help but wonder which one they mean. Is myself the one that boards himself up with the people he loves in a place he loves? or is he the one that goes dancing at clubs and picks up strange women he'll immediately ditch? Is he the compassionate one who'll do anything for his friends or the one who'll leave them by the wayside if they don't follow his every word. The only real answer that makes any sense is that he's one of these sometimes and another others. We can't help but be a plethora of contradictory things, after all, we're only human.
"I am large
I contain multitudes"
-Walt Whitman
I was recently reading Paul's blog wherein he wrote a brief article about how the expression "I'll sleep when I'm dead" is stupid." While I agree with his assessment of the idiocy of that statement, I feel as though I should throw my own opinion in as far as stupid expressions are concerned. Perhaps I have a skewed view on this one, and it's really not an expression now that I'm thinking about it, but god dammit it pisses me off and it is something that Coca-cola and every advertising company has been using to appeal to the American spirit and it is "Be Yourself." That sounds nice right? Be Yourself. Seriously though, not only is that vague and unsatisfying when you stop to think about it, but also it's probably utter crap.
1.) Let's start from the shallow and work our way in. Perhaps we should consider an average Joe who is nice on the outside but ultimately a product of evolution which means he's savage, brutish, horny and occasionally empathetic, kind and horny. Should he behave like his inner chimpanzee desires too? Human beings pretend to be nice, but, and I know this is a really stupid and obvious thing to say, we're viceful and usually evil creatures. Those creatures lie at the very heart of the human "self."
2.) Well really the most important point in this rant is that we don't stay consistent as a "self" even around our closest friends. In any relationship the commonalities between two people define their relationship. When I'm around friends from St. John's I can make a series of complicated references to various philosophical ideas and assume that the person understands the enormous amount of context which follows in each reference. When I'm around other friends I can make those references to TV shows, or movies or whatever we might have in common. My point is that in each relationship, after reaching a level of comfort, there is a personality agreement which is reached between people. Long term relationships require that both involved parties are able to express a certain part of their "self" around the other, and that both parties appreciate and enjoy being that particular version of self. Many relationships, I think, end because after several months with another person you realize that perhaps you don't like the "self" or person the other makes you be.
3.) The worst problem with being "yourself" is that it's confining. All of the sudden you have demarcated aspects of personality or behavior that are not "you." Seriously, and I mean this, Fuuuck that. I know that even for myself there will be a time when I am more tied down by various people such as a spouse or children, and that this hinders, to some extent, the ability to rapidly change personalities. While it remains possible though, I would like to live through a million different personality traits. I want to be a jerk and a sweetheart, a tool and a charmer, a player and a husband. Each of these adjectives lives somewhere deeply in my soul. Sometimes I mix them in different ways, and sometimes they come out the same. Still, when I hear "be yourself" I can't help but wonder which one they mean. Is myself the one that boards himself up with the people he loves in a place he loves? or is he the one that goes dancing at clubs and picks up strange women he'll immediately ditch? Is he the compassionate one who'll do anything for his friends or the one who'll leave them by the wayside if they don't follow his every word. The only real answer that makes any sense is that he's one of these sometimes and another others. We can't help but be a plethora of contradictory things, after all, we're only human.
"I am large
I contain multitudes"
-Walt Whitman
Sunday, April 4, 2010
No Words
I've been trying for the past few weeeks to gather my thoughts together and have written about five essays on my recent experiences, but none of the writings come together in a coherent way. I am not the best person at expressing myself in a concise way, and tend to meander too much to let my writing express anything of real importance. I do, however, think that anyone wishing to get inside my head right now should simply listen to the Spring violin sonata by Beethoven and then the Kreutzer. That should tell you more than I can with words.
If you want to listen:
There's a cleaner recording on the wikipedia page, but I don't think I can embed that
If you want to listen:
There's a cleaner recording on the wikipedia page, but I don't think I can embed that
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