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PG Poe

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How is Edgard Allan Poe’s body of work after 200 years fairing in our educational system? According to sci-fi/horror author Nick Mamatas, what he sees is as jaundiced as the man himself.

A quick Google search is illuminating. On the wiki for the classes of one MsCKelly, we can read the sort of Poe-related assignment kids are made to suffer through:

Students will research information and discuss their thoughts on whether Edgar Allen [sic!] Poe died from Alcoholism or Rabies. [capital letters sic] Students must include a minimum of three posts with thoughts and ideas that are supported and linked to website resources. At least one post must be your informed position on the discussion topic and at least one of your posts must be to refute another classmate’s stance based on a post that they contributed to the discussion topic.

In a better world, grade-schoolers would be excited to argue over alcoholism or rabies all night long, but the bright kids must have trouble taking seriously an assignment with the author’s name misspelled, the ridiculous demand for “thoughts and ideas” in a Web post, and the notion that Poe’s death was the result of one of only two possible causes. The average student will just resent having to look stuff up.

He continues.

So how should we read Poe? In our banal little classrooms, we’ve all read his stories for multiple-choice questions about theme, or as a reflection of “our society” (our society? include me out!), or as a biography arrayed in a patchwork of prose and poems. But we should read Poe for the sheer bloody-minded pleasure of knowing the truth: Some motherfuckers just have it comin’.

By stating the obvious–that there are varieties of experience that stray far outside the coloring lines–Mamatas is making the classic appeal to art for art’s sake and so bemoaning the attempt to whitewash that literature which frequents darker quadrants. In a sentence: The problem is in confusing the metaphor that Poe is as American as apple pie to Poe is as wholesome as apple pie.

kewt

say it with me…awww

Inauthenticity

In the last November issue of the New York Review of Books Zadie Smith reviews two novels from 2008. The title of her article is “Two Paths for the Novel;” one narrow, twisty and uncertain (Remainder), the other cleared, mulched and packed (Netherland).

Netherland is written as lyrical Realism and the only one Barnes & Noble had in stock. Remainder by Tom McCarthy is a rejection of style and a challenge to the genre. “When we write about lyrical Realism our great tool is the quote, so richly patterned,” says Smith. “But Remainder is not filled with pretty quotes; it works by accumulation and repetition,” This is precisely what I found shocking in Remainder, its absence of lyrical prose. I latently and then uncomfortably recognized this absense as a style-flirtation with purple prose, unique turn of cliché-endemic in much of what I read.

Remainder can be repetitious, wearing its reader down with seemingly mundane trivialities. And yet you keep reading because you expect-and a few times expect to call the author’s bluff-a huge pay-off, perhaps a craftily disguised dues ex machina followed by the revelation and final reckoning. What we get is a protagonist waking from an injury-induced coma. A large sum of hush money. A strange sense of artificiality in people, himself included. The entire novel has him reconstructing scenes and reenacting events, real and imagined, repetitively, until they become almost real for him. There is no background story and, save for near the end, very little in the way of exposition on this odd behavior. Satirically, brain damage sets him off in this quixotic search of authenticity. And so Remainder provides us with an excellent novel-long proof of argument by way of failed experiment.

This story brought to mind aspects of the “Theatre of the Absurd,” evoking Camus’ Myth of Sisyphus. Smith notes this as well. But this is a geeked-out topic du jour for artists. It seems significant that nobody in this novel appears to care or understand what the main character is attempting-even the other actors/enactors?!

Smith links the protagonist’s preoccupation with authenticity to white male insecurity over inauthenticity: “The frustrated sense of having come to the authenticity party exactly a century late!” (Note that she begins with psychoanalytical hand-waving-”A flashback-inclined Freudian”-a sign of insecurity many literary academics have, or should have, in regard to their field.) What am I to do but grimace and bear this historical contingency that has me as white educated male considered by many exempt and incapable of generating  authenticity or, more so, even recognizing it. N’est-ce pas?

Forced to face our alleged insecurities might make for an uncomfortable read. What’s humorous is Smith’s statement that these two novels concern themselves not with the Platonic ideal but its antithesis: debris, refuse garbage, the remainder. For these white males, authors and protagonists alike, there is sanctuary among, and authenticity in Dorian Grey’s “rotting flesh- assemblage hanging in his attic.” So this is where the search for authenticity leads us. But does this really differ from that all too familiar quest for the unique and novel when confronted with existential angst, that intrepid spirit lauded among male Brits of previous centuries? Am I just satisfying impotently an ancestral need?

Smith says view the world like the post-colonialist writer V.S. Naipaul: “…such an attitude is often mistaken for linguistic or philosophical nihilism, but its true strength comes from a rigorous attention to the damaged and the partial, the absent and the unspeakable.” That’s as close as anyone gets to authenticity. Inhabit this realm with my thoughts and words much like my forefathers did with their germs and guns. What a cliché! It is their world and so we must finally colonize.

My main grievance with Remainder is a technical one, something Zadie Smith overlooks, the significance of the “short councillor” as a contrivance. This character is equivalent to a movie using interior monologue to lay out for the audience the protagonist’s motivation. The “short councillor” broke down that “Realist” agreement between author and reader, as if, late in the story, McCarthy second-guessed his application and decided to confess. Maybe it is a case of coming full circle from avante-garde to hack writing.

For further reading on authenticity by McCarthy read his joint manifesto.

Former Rep Aide Caught Scalping Inauguration Tickets

Gina, Big House, Santucci, former aide to Rep. Ted Poe (R-TX) and the shorter-haired blond in the picture handing over some award, is in a bit of hot water. Immediately after her inauguration scalping caper hit the fan, the Senate passed legislation making what was once unethical, scalping inauguration tickets, criminal.

How did a seemingly straightforward, low-risk money grab fail so completely? Did Santucci’s middlman double-cross her? Was her house bugged by The Man? Does she have enemies in high places? Did she leave a paper trail? Was she seduced by a spy? Was her plan overly complicated? Did she secretly want to be found?

Actually, Santucci turned herself in when she handed over her real name and email address to Jackie Kentucky, an amateur sleuth on Craigslist.

The Red Hand:

Santucci: “Jackie - Just to confirm, you’ll pay $3500 for 4 tickets? Are you able to pay in cash? I am picking up the tickets on Wednesday afternoon and will be able to meet you after that.”

A while later…

Santucci: “Yes, I have an email, but will redact information identifying Member of Congress as he is a personal friend of mine and I do not want to cause embarrassment.”

Former EPA Admin Speaks Out

Nature

Your inbox, Mr President

Christine Todd Whitman

Former administrator of the US Environmental Protection Agency.

Clarify who will speak for the President on environmental matters.

It is clear from everything he has said, that President-elect Barack Obama considers environment and energy issues to be at the top of his agenda. The importance of the commitments he has made cannot be understated and all of them have to be considered in light of the current economic crisis that we are facing.

In terms of key policy matters, the administration must decide how far the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) should go on meeting the Supreme Court’s decision that the EPA has the legal right to regulate carbon dioxide. Although congressional legislation setting a limit on carbon emissions and establishing a trading system or carbon tax would be the best way to move forward, that is unlikely given both the complexity of the issue and the other challenges facing the new Congress.

An early indication of how aggressively the administration will move forwards will be their decision on whether to allow the EPA to grant California a waiver so the state can enforce stricter vehicle-emission standards than those required by the federal government — the state’s proposal is a 30% decrease in emissions by 2016. At least 16 other states are anxious to join California, citing the US Clean Air Act, although car-makers in Detroit have fought the regulation vigorously, and successfully, until now.

The Obama administration will also want to look at all the pending regulations moved out in the last few months of the Bush administration, such as those on New Source review — governing when power-plant facilities must install pollution-control technologies — and drilling in wilderness areas. In analyzing these regulations and ensuring both that the work that led to them was complete and that the regulations represent policy supported by the new administration, the incoming appointees would do well to listen carefully to career staff. Such staff are knowledgeable and, for the most part, interested more in a policy agenda than a political one.

Additionally, Obama needs to clarify who will be determining environmental policy — the EPA, the Council on Environmental Quality (CEQ) or the newly created energy tsar Carol Browner. Environment and energy are inextricably linked and, although there is always need for administration-wide coordination, it must be clearly delineated as to who speaks for the president on these issues. Too many voices create confusion and allow issues to fall between the cracks. Although President George W. Bush originally told me that the EPA would be the administration’s representative on the environment, subsequent actions by the vice-president and the CEQ proved otherwise. In fact, towards the end of my tenure at the EPA I was told in no uncertain terms that when the CEQ spoke, it was speaking for the president even if on an issue that the EPA felt needed more work. Although I believe that the EPA administrator should be the voice of environmental policy, the president must ultimately decide — and that delineation should be clear and consistent throughout the administration’s term.

Finally, the Obama administration needs to be clear on its directives and expectations for the EPA. Morale is low for a host of reasons, not the least of which is because environment was not a priority for the Bush administration. The mood will get worse if staff and appointees feel that they are not part of the crucial discussion and that all decisions are coming from the White House. Incoming administrator Lisa Jackson will find at the EPA many highly talented people whose skills, ideas and extensive institutional knowledge should be cultivated. There are some tremendous public servants there and their contributions should be welcomed and encouraged.

And A Happy Monkey To All!

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PZ Myers posted some recent hate-email he received from a few science skeptics denialists. I posted some nice examples from the Pharyngula website below.

After a Creation Museum signed a contract with the Cincinnati Zoo for an outreach program, Myers suggested a letter-writing campaign to zoo administrators, suggesting that this venture was not in the best interest of an institute that wants to be taken seriously by smart people. Unsurprisingly, the Cincinnati Zoo woke-up before they embarrassed themselves with national headlines, all thanks to a quick-acting Myers and the help of his giant online following. Even more unsurprisingly, quite a few rightwing bible-bots went and had themselves a conniption fit. They gnashed their teeth and screeched like monkeys at what Myers had done. You see, PZ Myers has a knack for really bringing out the crazy in these people. To read one of their letters is to experience the written version of a wailing child with a poopy diper.

“One can only derive that you are actually a Satanist,” said one kindly Creationist. “Only a Satan worshiper would fear the teaching of Christ! What does an atheist fear[?]“

I’m envious of Myers over this one:

This nation is going crazy with left wing attacks on traditional America and the Christian principles on which it was founded (not the revisionist historian separation of church/state myth)…

Evolution is the biggest lie Satan has ever told. Have you ever even read about where the idea of “millions of years” come from? It wasn’t entirely Charles Darwin’s idea. He simply used that idea to justify his own personal revelation to discount God…

Liberals complain about creationism being taught in school. Well, you know what, we do not want evolution taught in our churches and if we want to build a museum dedicated to the creator, then that’s our right and our business…

Evolution is used now as a tool to promote the vulgar and disgusting homosexual movement that has recently become violent. By claiming that evolution is real, the gay community can claim that they were born gay, which is absurd. No one is born gay. it is a psychological problems that stems from early childhood scenarios….

I wish I could get a job teaching at a University, but I am not qualified. I am not a terrorist (BillAyers) and do not worship the environment(global warming nuts), do not seek monkeys as my creator (evolutionists) and do not brainwash other people (Marxists)…

Until then, happy monkey! (or what ever non Christmas evolution people say)

Happy Monkey everybody,

Red-Veined Darter

Martin Amm/Stephen Amm, Naturfranken.de

Top 10 Art Blogs of ‘08

Don Dos Santos at SF Signal released his favorite art blogs this year. The educational Gurney Journey, of Dinotopia fame, is there, along with some new newbies, such as the obviously appellated Paint and Brush. Chock full of groovy Heavy Metal Magazine art of Amazonians with hissing lizards slinking around their impossibly long legs, or rippling Gladiators summiting mountains, guarded by bone-club weilding necro-yetis, emerging from ice-caves. As an example of exaggerated human anatomy it probably deserves a place on the Biolog blogroll.

Frontman for Eagles of Death Metal on Britney Spears

Jesse ‘Boots Electric’ Hughes: I’ll go on record with this: I love Britney Spears. I think she’s great. I really do. I don’t think anyone has the right to look down on her. She’s accomplished more shit simply as a performer than most people will accomplish in their actual lives. Hold on a second, dude, my mother’s on the other line. Let me just tell her to stop calling. [One minute passes.] Hello? Dude, my mom’s so rad. She’s like, “You’re doing an interview with The Onion? Awesome!” See, we love The Onion.

I have every Britney Spears album ever made, and I ain’t ashamed of that. She gets the best producers and songwriters money can buy, and puts them to work on her albums. That sounds like a pretty good production effort to me. And she’s got hot tits and a wonderful ass and she likes to make herself beautiful, just for me. If somebody puts on Britney Spears and you ain’t dancing, it’s probably because you’re Stephen Hawking.

Indeed.

Better Never Than Late

The title refers to art I never want to experience. Everyone should have their own list.

Around the inescapable fact of death we prioritize our time. From this perspective I spend incredible amounts of my time on art: not necessary for survival: something I can do without, which is why the list widens. And I don’t mean the art I’ll never get around to experiencing; the following is a brief list of the art I avoid.

Perhaps I should write a book titled 100 Works of Art You Must Not Experience Before You Die. Instead of telling people what to do–you must sit through all of The Nutcracker–I’m proscribing what not to do, which seems more kindly to me. The first chapter of the book would deal with any and all TV series and spin-off movies premiering prior to June 2002, or anything before The Wire and quite possibly after. This is a paradoxical and possibly deranged stand for not only a scientist to take, but also for one who loves 1950-60s era sci-fi genre fiction. I harbor a healthy distaste for Star Trek, Stargate SG-1, Battlestar Galactica, Akira, Babylon 5, etc. despite the aplomb and guarantee of true cinematic greatness from those whose tastes I normally agree with. It’s inexplicable: I tolerate Star Wars, yawn over E.T., enjoyed Dark Crystal, loathed Cocoon. In general serial dramas are ungainly behemoths lumbering to nowhere and shamelessly manipulative in their narrative arc: a tyranny of suspense. (There was a semester in college where I experimented with the Dragon Ball-Z series and now I’m over it.) The seventh layer of hell isn’t fanned by the Dark Prince’s wings. No, it is where you are cast in a serial drama, a place where dying won’t even save you.

Now that the hype has worn off, can anyone say that they would watch the Sopranos all over again? From someone who has only seen ten random episodes I have no desire to go back and supplement my brain with twenty DVDs of filler. Heralded as the Great American Drama, the Complete Series Deluxe Edition (released before Black Friday this year) will not likely find its way on too many Cephalopodmas lists. And yet, as testament to our Fallen nature the 30 disc monstrosity will nonetheless wind up under the Christmas tree of loved ones through this great nation. It would be disingenuous if I didn’t account for my one exception to the rule, The Wire. Proximity to Baltimore, emancipated by Netflix from the weekly hour-long doses doled out by corporate television, and the shows relatively short lifespan in the pantheon of crime dramas (Law and Order, NYPD Blue, CSI, Miami Vice, Magnum PI, Murder She Wrote, etc.) are the only excuses I have, besides the trivial–that The Wire happens to be the only crime drama I’ve ever watched.

It’s not that I wasn’t willing to get a little giddy over the hype of Harry Potter. It’s just that I consider wading through several pounds of a children’s book series, and a few more pounds of supplementary work, a waste of my precious mortal energy. Even those hordes of Potteristas will admit that the first attempt, Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, is hard going…so why bother? And it’s not just the saga of an adolescent boy learning the messy business of when to weild his wand and whether for pleasure, anger, or out of a sense of chivalric duty, I tend to shy away from all serial fiction simply because if it takes an excess of 1000 pages for character and denouement then chances are you are not reading the final draft.

“Like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives.” Ironically, the long-running American soap which uses this as its tagline jumped the shark back in the 90s when James E. Reilly, the show’s writer from 93-98, resurrected a main character from the dead–three times!–created another who went by Billy Warlock, and, in a full slip down the slope, subjected a third to a demon possession, Exorcist style. I never saw a single episode outside the ones my babysitter forced upon me.

I don’t like Bob Dylan. I’ve resisted his rasp and folk wisdom for so long now my dislike must in some way be significant. It’s not just that his songs are tough to listen to, lyrics are mostly irrelevant to music (Dylan has been nominated for several Nobel Prizes in Literature). For example, the three tenors will move you regardless of your ignorance of the Italian language. And how else do we account for the continued popularity of Pearl Jam’s Yellow Ledbetter, a song whose lyrics were made up during a jam session, are incomprehensible on the first ablum and live, and often change between performances? There are even occassions when knowing the lyrics dimishes the value of a song. I’m thinking specifically of everything from the Brittney Spears and Madonna catologue. Unlike those two whose music I do enjoy, Dillon is considered a lyrical folk genius, his stream-of-conciousness style is the length by which subsequent folk singers–from Jewel’s idle poetry to Tom Waits–are measured. I actually enjoy most Dylan tunes…when they’re covered by someone who can sing.

The QVC artist, and self-titled “Painter of Light,” Thomas Kinkade is the only oil painter whose work I actively avoid. Not only do I not appreciate his work, I stay away to prevent any inspirational contagion floating about. His paintings look like those lens smeared with Vaseline dream sequences from any 70s era sitcom: vague, schmaltzy, soft sentimentality as lowest common denominator, and of great mass appeal.  As Emerson said, “Pictures must not be too picturesque.” Kinkade is to painting what DC Talk is to hip-hop and what Rachel Ray is to Italian food. Many popular pieces of art wind up on refrigerators as magnets, on desks as mouse pads, and wall outlets as nightlights, but unlike The Scream, Tournée du Chat Noir, or Escher’s Reptiles, a Kinkade is the only one not notably diminished by reduction in size. I’m an elitist bastard for saying this, but art safe enough to be hanging behind your grandmother’s davenport is art I must experience as little of as possible before I die.

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In a Bizarro World moment, it was brought to my attention that a Kinkade print actually does exist in one grandma’s house. I also stumbled across the chortling fact that Kinkade is directing the marketing venture Thomas Kinkade’s Christmas Cottage, the movie. Vanity Fair sunk the polemic hooks into “the postmodern Norman Rockwell for the Evangelical set” when they unearthed the artist’s guidelines (16 of them) on how to create “The Thomas Kinkade look.” Guidelines number four, fourteen, and sixteen, respectively, are choice cuts of ham and cheese: ” Star filters used sparingly, but an overall ‘gauzy’ look preferable to hard edge realism; The concept of beauty. I get rid of the ‘ugly parts’ in my paintings. Most important concept of all — THE CONCEPT OF LOVE. Perhaps we could make large posters that simply say ‘Love this movie’ and post them about.”