Do You Feel Lucky, Punk?

Well, do ya?

I've been bothered recently by the use of "luck" to describe everything. Sooo, being the embittered (read lazy), but well-trained academic that I am, I looked up the definition of luck:

1. The chance happening of fortunate or adverse events; fortune: They met one day out of pure luck.

2. Good fortune or prosperity; success: We wish you luck.

3. One's personal fate or lot: It was just my luck to win a trip I couldn't take.

These definitions may be Webster-sanctioned, but I ain't buyin'. The first seems to hit closest to the mark, but let's clean it up a bit, shall we? To me, luck is a deviation from events which have highest statistical mass associated with them which, further, either confers some benefit upon you or exacts some cost; for instance, let's say you walk to the grocery store every day, and one bright shining day, you happen upon $100. That's lucky. It's an even which happens infrequently if ever, and for reasons beyond your control, you experience an event contained in the outer tails of probability distribution. Yes, you could also pass by a turkey one day, or a giant wooden ship parked in the parking lot for no particular reason; we would not assign the word luck to these events unless you're a turkey or ship hunter or have a morbid fear of turkeys and or wooden ships.

Now I get irritated by lots of uses of particular words, but I'm especially irritated with this case because people keep applying it to my life stories all the frickin' time, yo. Examples (drawn from my life and other sources):

1) My cell phone was stolen, but not my wallet. Response from many: "Wow, you got really lucky!"
2) On the news, I learned that a group of construction workers happened upon an unknowingly live mortar shell (bomb). They did not die. Response from reporter: "Yes, they certainly were lucky."
3) When watching the Katrina disaster stories on tv, many victims stated how lucky they were that they only lost their dog, their old uncle, their homes.

Maybe you see where I'm headed, dear reader. The above events are statistically improbable in some way; however, the net outcome is generally unlucky if anything. Luck is being incorrectly used here to compare two statistically improbable events, one of which occurred and one which did not. Now unless you're reaching into the far past of probability, we assign probability to events before they occur. So, just because one event occurs (which was assigned a small chance of occurence a priori) and one does not, does not mean we should count the first event as a statistically probable event; nor should we turn our attention to the second, unrealized event and declare "Ah! What luck!" The basic reasoning is: "Well, I never would have expected this sucky thing to happen; but at least a suckier thing didn't happen."

Having my wallet not stolen is not lucky. I generally don't expect my wallet to be stolen. Having my cell phone stolen is unlucky. The same applies, but it sucks and it happened.

Happening upon a live bomb and surviving is not lucky. Happening upon a live bomb is unlucky. Not dying is pretty much what I'd expect on a given day. Now, in this case, you might use some sort of Bayesian updating argument--Given that I have happened upon a live bomb, my probability of dying rises exponentially. That I do not, in fact, die, is then lucky.

Okay. But really--the first event (bomb) was pretty damned unlucky--let's not forget that.

And finally, while I admire the optimism displayed by many of the hurricane victims, let's think about this use of luck. Is it really lucky to be hit by a hurricane and have your dog die? It's no doubt better than dying with your whole family in the flooded basement, but neither event is statistically probable; the first occurs. Do we then say, thank goodness the other statistically improbable event didn't occur?

Think how bizaare it would be if everytime you shared a story of suck from your life, someone said to you, "Oh, but how lucky you didn't get attacked by a pack of wild hyenas today!"

Um, yeah, I guess, fuck-o.

So, is this use of luck (which is really really pervasive--start lookin' for it and you'll be inundated with so much "good luck" you'll run out to buy a lottery ticket) just our meagre attempt to make_ life_ happy? To see the glass half full? (when it's really on a quarter-full?) Or are people hip to a new psychosis I just haven't gotten hold of yet?

Mmmmovies

I finished watching Old Boy last night, and now for you reading pleasure, I offer my three and a half cents.

Warning: If you have not seen this movie, click away from my blog immediately--and go rent it (and, preferrably, watch it, also).

Now that that's out of the way, Old Boy is a Korean movie which explores vengeance, hero-complexes, love and compulsion. The movie also explores the layers and interconnections between dream and reality, subconscious and conscious in one of the more provocative ways I've ever seen. Before gushing a bit more, I offer a brief synopsis: Oh Dae Su is kidnapped one night and imprisoned in a hotel-like room for fifteen years, during which time he is drugged, gassed, and hypnotized. In an interesting twist, he is given a television, and the director exploits the strange existential element of watching a movie in which the main character watches and lives through his television for fifteen years (an irony not wasted on this gal--who watched the movie alone this last Friday night).
Oh Dae Su has no idea who has captured him, nor why someone wanted to exact this level of revenge upon him. About six years into his imprisonment, he is given an extra chopstick with his meal, and uses the chopstick to start digging through the wall to his escape; just as he has begun to "break on through to the other side," a hypnotist comes in and we fall into his subconsious mind, and the imagery suggested there by the hypnotist.

Now, before progressing further, this in itself was the first tip to me that this film was really going to be more than your usual revenge-flick (for prime examples, see the entire Charles Bronson catalogue). There's never a concrete point at which we know he's awakened, conscious that is, and actually living again--or whether we're simply going through the hypnosis with him.
Again, the director is amazing at exploiting the existential element of existence--by not only seeing him under hynposis on the couch, but rather falling into his dream-visions, we simultaneously are the audience and the subject--and our awareness of our role as audience changes our reasoning about Oh Dae Su's experiences.

Either way, now Oh Dae Su is out and about, free from the hotel-prison, and out to find out Who and Why--and to exact his revenge, of course. A young waitress immediately becomes his lifeline and only trusted ally in his quest. So, to wrap up the synopsis, he discovers that the Tormenter is really an old classmate, whom Oh Dae Su spied making out with his sister (Oh Dae Su was unaware that they were related), and about whom Oh Dae Su unwittingly started rumors that the sister was a slut, which grew into rumors that the sister was pregnant, to boot. Again, the director is excellent at exploiting the effects of an audience on the existence of a subject; the rumors became real to the Sister, so that she began to exhibit signs of pregnancy--we never learn if she actually was pregnant or not, and that's not the point. The director again drives home the point that fantasy/delusion/dreams are an integral part of a person's existence--and to do this so well in a revenge pic...well, I'm going to write a letter and propose to this man.

Back to the plot: So, in an interesting Hitchcockian twist, we learn that the young waitress is actually Oh Dae Su's daughter, who was also hynpotized to fall in love with Oh Dae Su--the Tormenter (brother) has succeeded in forcing Oh Dae Su to commit incest. Further, Oh Dae Su now begs the Tormenter not to reveal this secret to Oh Dae Su's daughter. Oh Dae Su falls to the floor, offers to become the Tormenter's bitch, pleas with him, demands of him, curses him, and finally cuts off his own tongue. The Tormenter decides not to tell the daughter, and leaves Oh Dae Su in his apartment with a tape of him making incestuous love to his daughter.

The Tormenter, his vengenace achieved, kills himself in the elevator.

The camera flashes into the future, a snowy scene in which we see that Oh Dae Su has aged considerably, and looks quite miserable. He has written a letter to the hynpotist used by Tormenter so that the hynpotist may relieve him of his awful secret. We fall again into Oh Dae Su's hynoptized mind; however, this time, we can't tell if the hynoptists' suggestions are working. The ambiguity of the movie (is it all a dream? is it reality? is some this and other that...) culminates with the ambiguity over whether or not Oh Dae Su has been able to forget his secret, whether his daughter knows the truth, whether the hypnotist was really there, etc.

So. This movie is now one of my top five EVER films. So many levels!!! The existential element was discussed as I wrote the plot summary; now I turn to other things (kind of):

One of the things I love most about this film is its resistance to hero-ize Oh Dae Su. As he's seeking vengeance, he notes that he is becoming a monster; vengeance is changing his very substance as a Man. Further, while you may have been cheering for him while he tries to take down Tormenter, after we learn the Tormenter's story, we realize that either every one's a hero, or there are no heroes here. That is, the Tormenter was doing the same thing in tormenting Oh Dae Su as Oh Dae Su wished to do for his imprisonment. Granted one's crime (the tormenter's treatment of Oh Dae Su) was more premediateted than Oh Dae Su's crime (he didn't mean for his friend to spread around the rumor, and warned him not tell anyone); however, the Tormenter repeats this phrase throughout the film: "Be it a grain or sand or a rock in water the both sink the same."

As an audience, however, we're not exposed to the Tormenter's pain, and therefore, we identify--and begin to root for--Oh Dae Su. In the final twist, we're left without heroes nor villains. We're left in a world of ambiguity--the most wonderful sort.

Just In Case

my blog wasn't providing enough fodder with which to procrastinate for you, my dear readers, I offer this link to "The 100 Most Awesome Music Videos" compiled by the kind folk at Pitchfork.com. I gotta say, most of them are excellent, but my fave three are this one by Bjork, this one by the Avalanches, and this one by none other than the genius David Hasselhoff.

But please, please, please visit the site and absorb the goodness that is The Jacksons as giant golden messiahs, the '86 Bears doin' the Superbowl Shuffle, and Wong Kar-Wai directing a frickin' music video (he directed In the Mood for Love--perhaps the most beautiful film ever).

Enjoy, my friends.

(And thank B-Baltimore for infecting you with this procrastination plague).

An Account

she's begging for forgiveness and my supplies are so low i need to ration them

would you like to open a credit card account?

the letters are pleading and dripping with compliments which for some reason make me roll my eyes with disgust

this is just a courtesy call

she clutches her illness in her fist, swinging it proudly above her head for all to see, her battle cry "i can't help it"

is there a better time when we may reach you?

an apology more precious to me than her, and i'm unwilling to give it; it just doesn't seem appropriate, not what she should be asking for, i don't know exactly why or what i'd prefer

we have a great offer for you

she just doesn't deserve it...not now, probably never again i've called her bluff and she is left standing ugly on that hill alone living out her own private fantasy and it just seems right that i should try to give her this since i can't give what she's asking for

thank you for your time.

Why I Hate Keroac

Yep. that's right. i said it. and i'll say it again: I hate Keroac. This will come as no surprise to Miss B-London, as she and I attended the same damned class that made us read it (the one beautiful thing coming out of that class was my friendship with Miss B). She thought I was cross-eyed for some time because, well, Keroac made me cross my eyes a lot in disgust...

I digress.

So Keroac. I was reshelving books today and my hand lit upon my Beat Reader. Now, I know what I'm about to say may apply to many of the Beats, but for some reason, my rage is focused upon Keroac. And I feel okay about that. Keroac romanticizes and enforces the Otherness of all minorities--and he's a mysoginist to boot. In his weird idol-worship of black musicians, he strips them of their humanity; I suppose it's the same sense I get when I hear people speaking of "the wonderful people of Africa"--as though the people of this huge continent are a homogeneous, smiling bunch of gracious souls. Watching Oprah the other day (you have your hobbies, I have mine), I saw Oprah and several rich white people discussing the beautiful spirit of the "African people." "They have so little, but they're so happy with life." Wow. First problem: "They". Second problem: so they don't have much but they're happy--why should we work to improve "their" economic condition, then? Shouldn't we preserve their "primitive" ways and conditions so that they'll not be tainted by the materialism of the West? ARGGGH!

It's always seemed strange to me that positive stereotypes are so readily accepted, while negative ones make us cringe. They should both make you cringe. Or cross your eyes, at the very least.

If You're Lookin' to Laugh...

You've come to the right place (today, anyway). Here is the following cut-and-pasted myspace email exchange from this morning. I just had to share (by the way, "Nico" is French and a complete stranger to me):



----------------- Original Message -----------------
From: Nico
Date: Jun 15, 2006 9:47 AM

Hello ,

You look very gorgeous!!!!!

Do you want to chat ?

Iam online right now

Nico

ps: ur breast is real or fake ?



----------------- Original Message -----------------
From: Lexi
Date: Jun 15, 2006 9:58 AM

Hello,

Thank you

No

I'm working

Lexi

PS Yes, they're real. But ewwww--who asks that in the first email??

----------------- Original Message -----------------
From: Nico
Date: Jun 15, 2006 10:01 AM

you look very fine Lexi , and u look to have nice tits.

i love you

---

Good grief. Does this actually work for people? I am so amazed at the emails I get off of myspace, and used to get off of *that other site*. More appalling than moist fungal panties.

Uh...Wow.

I've told you all before that I will watch anything on t.v.--especially when I'm coding the constitutions and parliamentary rules of Argentina. So, today, I looked up from my coding to see David Lee Roth on The View. (stop judging me!!) Anyway, he performed with his new bluegrass band. yep, his bluegrass band. And what did he perform? Why "Jump!", of course. 'Cause that song just sounds so natural against a backdrop of fiddles, banjos and acoustic guitars.

I think a little part of me died today.

I Have a Problem

I only want to eat sugar--in various forms, of course. I bit the bullet and made a real dinner tonight, but after five bites, I threw the bullet back in the fridge and grabbed more licorice. This last week, I have subsisted on gummy bears, licorice, banana nut muffins, oatmeal cream pies (good lord, those are tastey--i had just plum forgotten what merriment they bring my tongue), and a random orange, apple or fistful of grapes thrown in once in a while for good measure (well, to ward off scurvy).

speaking of scurvy, my friend once told me how her artist-father lived off of $2.00/day back when he was in college; he bought a coke, a pack of twinkies, and smoked a pack of camels. I was so awed, "Wow! That is so cool!" (I was more stoked that cigarettes were so cheap, and that the whole meal only cost $2.00...)

Her response: "The man got scurvy."

I'd eat berries if they were cheaper, but since they're not, it's licorice and me for now.

Oh, and here's the dinner I made tonight--a great summer dish:

Four cups cooked orzo
1 cup wilted spinach
1 red pepper, sauteed with one clove garlic
some crumbled goat cheese (or feta)
some fresh sprigs of mint, chopped
juice of 1 lemon
3 tbs olive oil
salt and pepper to taste

Mix together and serve.
If you use feta, some dill is usually a nice touch, too.

For dessert, I suggest cherry licorice.

How to Look Creepy 101

Did you notice that Anthony Hopkins looks incredibly creepy in Silence of the Lambs? It's not just the fact that he eats the other red meat; if you watch closely, you'll see that he never blinks. He closes his eyes with great relish and breathes in deeply to freak Clarice out a bit, but the real creepy comes in with his ability keep his eyes wide open for minutes on end.

So, that's number one.

My great artist friend, Jason, spends the bulk of his time noticing things as I do. He keyed into a second quirk which renders one immediately creeptastic: don't swing your arms when you walk. Working in an art supply store for many years, Jason came into frequent contact with creepy guys--he realized they all had one thing in common: they hold their arms stock still, glued to their sides, as they walk to and fro. Jason delighted in this revelation, and so, to creep all of us out, began to practice this walk. Of course, like so many jokes gone awry, he began to walk in this way without purpose, and now, can no longer break this habit.

Anyway, that's number two.

The thing about both of these behaviors is that, usually, one can't put his/her finger on why they're soooo freaked out by the person--they're subtle maneuvers, and if practiced correctly, can bring you hours of fun in bars, malls, and classrooms!

Why I'm Considering Becoming a Nudist.

Clothing sizes. Dagger Aleph recently blogged on the craziness of size zero. Actually, there's lots of craziness relating to clothing, and it doesn't end with size zero.

First, I hate clothing sales because going to them always reminds me that I must wear the most common size in the US--size 10. Sales at the Gap, Banana, etc., always have piles of size 0-4, and sizes 16-20 left for their sales. Hey, guys, let's update our beliefs about size and distribution! Maybe if they stocked more clothes for normal people (normal in the distributional sense), they'd, gasp, make more money! It just seems so obvious.

Second, I recently went with my pal Mary on a mini-shopping spree. We went to the apparrel stores, where I bought size 10 pants. Then we went to a sporting goods store, where I bought track pants in a size 14. It's quite clever, really: At a sporting goods store, they want you to think you're larger than you actually are (or at least thought you were)--solution? Buy more stuff from their gadgets and gizmo section to help you work off those extra pounds! Clever, clever people.

Finally, Mary and I also hit a trendy, high-priced store--more for research than actual purchasing. There, I don't think they made any clothes for me--Mary, on the other hand, a small girl, could squeeze into their size 10 jeans (Mary is usually about a size 2 or 4). Now this type of sizing has to do with exclusivity. Stores of this sort are catering to the model-wannabes, and the tiny rich Asian population. Soo, they don't want to suggest to their clientelle that just anyone can wear their clothes--that's why the clothes are so appropriately and exhorbitantly priced! Because 'only models shop here.'

You know, in general, I'm pretty happy with my figure. I don't own a scale, but I do the jiggle test once in awhile (stand naked in front of mirror, and holding my breasts down, jump up and down to see where I need to focus my exercises), and I'm in pretty darned good shape. But shopping almost always makes me feel like a giant freakshow monster with abnormally large hips and breasts who apparently doesn't deserve to wear the super-sexy jeans or too-cute cardigans.

Since when did hitting puberty mean the end of sexy clothes?

It's Not Just Catholics

My dog apparently just really hates all religions equally. We took a longer walk today, and he pooped right in front of the Buddhist Temple and the Synagogue. Hmm.

My aunt's dog has a penchant for bibles--he's chewed all of their bibles to shreds: the collectable ones, the ones in use, brand new ones on the shelf. He's hungry for the Word of God.

My dog just shits on it all.

I like my dog better.

Insomnia + Internet Connection = Blog

It's a simple equation, really. So, what have i done this evening to try to fill the boredom stretching into what was once sleep's territory?

It wasn't work, i can (or at least will) tell you that much. but in an ironic twist of my lifetini, I took a quiz to help me figure out what work I should be doing... But here, share in the results and joy of my quiz-taking: (Their results in blue, my comments follow)

You would be very happy in a career that utilised your level-headedness, and allowed you to work mainly on your own. You want a career that allows you to stimulate your senses and your mind, without having to be involved with lots of people. Some careers that would be perfect for you are:

* Novelist
* Photographer
* Vet
* Medical Technician
* Paralegal
* Geologist
* Marine Biologist
* Graphic Designer
* Online Content Developer
* Webmaster
* Computer Security
* Producer
* Computer Programmer
* Technical Writer
* Systems Analyst
* Meteorologist
* Artist

You like working and being alone. You like to avoid attention at all costs. You tend to keep to yourself, and not interact much with the people around you. You enjoy spending time with a few a close friends. You like to listen to others, but don't like sharing much about yourself. You are very quiet and private.

You are very practical, and only act after thinking things through. You don't like being forced to answer quickly. You have to evaluate the situation completely. You make decisions based on what you can verify with your senses.

You like to be involved deeply in one or two special projects. You like to be behind the scenes. You are very logical and fair. You feel you should be honest with others at all costs.

You trust what is certain. You only like new ideas if they can be practically applied to the situation. You value what is real. You use your common sense. You like to utilise the skills you have instead of learning new ones. You are very specific and detailed when writing or talking to others. You follow directions well. You like things to be laid out for you to do instead of working them out for yourself. You like decisions to be made. You don't like things to be left in limbo. You like to know what you are getting into before you commit to something.

You like to focus on the here and now. You enjoy completing projects. It is important for you to achieve and succeed. Therefore, you believe in working hard and playing later. You like to set goals and work towards them.

So, first, I would like to say that I would just *love* to be a novelist, artist, or photographer. But I also enjoy eating. So, while these may be excellent hobbies for quite some time, I fear they would not constitute employment (at least not currently).

Next, I find the penultimate comment hilarious. There's actually a question on the quiz: "Do you prefer to work now and play later? Or play now and work later?" I specifically recall answering, "play now and work later." 'cuz that's what i'm doing every_time_i_blog, y'all.

also, i find it fascinating that they suggest marine biologist, and not plain old biologist. maybe i'm just too fast-livin' to be a boring ol' biologist...

And, regarding "online content developer", I suppose I'm doing that for you people...for FREE! maybe you would all like to contribute to my musings? No? S'okay.

Producer. Of what?

Paralegal but not lawyer. Hmmm.

The other jobs sound mind-numbingly boring; they probably aren't, but I think I would rather open a few veins than become a systems analyst.

Maybe I should do the Peace Corps for a couple of years...while i write my novel and take pictures of the landscape, to be painted later.

I Couldn't Make This Up If I Tried.

Today, I’d like to talk about friends. Y’know, how you should choose your buddies, and the art of forgiveness and grace for your pals, who might flub up once in awhile. And when they goof, you should drop them like cold stones in the Arctic. They’re no good. Leave them. Immediately. Don’t dilly dally around with people who have flaws; with people who might lie to you to try to save your feelings—because those people suck.

This, of course, was not my view on life until recently. But Bill O’Reilly has opened my eyes with his heart-warming book, The O’Reilly Factor for Kids: A Survival Guide for America’s Families. I share with you now the pearls of wisdom and goodness dripping from this sage’s pen:

“This guy and I had known each other since first grade and we were pretty solid. At least, I thought we were. Freshman year is always tough because you are the youngest in the school and still trying to figure out the program. There was this dance I wanted to go to, but I didn’t want to go alone. I wanted some guys to hang with so the girls would think I was cool. So I asked my friend, who was usually for this kind of thing, if he would come along. He said he couldn’t go. I said fine and found a couple of other guys to go with me. But when we arrived at the hop, I couldn’t believe my eyes. My so-called friend who told me he couldn’t’ go to the dance was out there doing the twist like a madman. What was up with that? I cornered this so-called friend later, and he admitted that some of the guys he went to the dance with didn’t like me, so he didn’t want me around.
“If that happened in a TV sitcom, everybody would have made up and had a few laughs. But life is different. I never trusted that guy again and rarely spoke to him. Since he never apologized, I think I made the smart decision. He wasn’t a true friend and that happens a lot in life. By not wasting any more time with him, I went on to make real friends, many of whom I hang around with to this day. I’m that kind of guy: once I become friends with you, I’m in for life unless you do something bad to me. Even though I am now famous and successful, I still keep my old friends. And believe me, none of them looks like Jennifer Aniston. It would not be hard being her friend.” (O’Reilly Factor For Kids, page 4).

I'm not even going to touch the creepiness of that last line in a children's book. Well, I'll touch it a little: EWWWW!!!

I'd add more to this, but really, any more jokes of mine would be superfluous humor. This man is a comic genius.

I Fear for the Future

Perhaps my private schooling insulated me from the cold, hard truth: society is brimming with idiots. And they ain't just dumb, they're lazy to boot.

I am teaching intro to political science, and the essays I've received are so awful, they're not even laughable. They were told to include 6 to 8 academic cites; in their works cited, a few of my students have cited the same work three times, with different page numbers for each of the three cites...that's a strategy, I guess.

Wikipedia. Let's talk about it, shall we? It's not an academic cite! Not only am I telling all of you this (who probably don't care), I've told them this. Several times. With emphasis. And conviction. I told them, "Do not cite this anywhere in this paper, nor any paper you ever write here in your college career. It is akin to citing your Grandpa; and may, in fact, be citing your Grandpa. It is open source--this means you have no idea if a professor wrote the entry, or your drunken roommate on a dare."

And yet, my students are citing Wikipedia like it's a guaranteed A.

I had to give a student an F today. I hate failing students. I mean, this person put in effort to paraphrase a book, type up this paraphrasing, and approximate a works cited page (which includes several cites which are just titles...that's it--no author, no publication date). But when the amount of effort put into the paper is less than the amount of effort I have to put into grading and attempting to correct his/her grammar, then I feel I have no choice. (Don't worry, it was not only sloppy, it was mostly wrong, too).

I think this angers me so much because I struggled so hard throughout high school to try to win scholarships and financial aid to attend a good school--and once there, I worked my ass off to earn my education. I value education--in terms of both its intrinsic value, and the value I've assigned to it through my own efforts and struggles. And it seems that most of my students are here because they wanted to live near the beach, their parents were willing to pay the full tuition, and going to college seemed like the *cool* thing to "do." But they're not doing it! They're barely even faking it!

I'm also pissed because I know I'm going to see these failed students in my office later, where they will expend more effort whining for a better grade than they put into their papers originally.

Random Walks through the Sunday of My Mind

I've been poring over the constitution and parliamentary rules of Sweden and have come to this conclusion: the words Sweden and Swedish look and sound funny very quickly.

Other words which I find strange after repetition: pool, toilet, swoop, swish, bongo, sabbath.

Also, my dog has taken to pooping on the lawn of the Catholic church on our walks through the neighborhood. I've switched our route, to try to, um, empty him before we hit the church, but he always manages to drop a contribution in their lush and grassy donation plate. Hmmm. Though I always have my bags ready, today I fervently hoped that Mass wouldn't let out in the middle of his act of heresy...

I also ordered two more cds on-line, and began reading Gogol, Dead Souls. This reminded me of my friend, B, who also buys his music on-line exclusively, his reason being that music stores remind him of his mortality. "While you can step into a bookstore and delude yourself into thinking you could skim through all of the books in your lifetime, a 60-minute album takes 60 minutes to listen to, no matter what. So, you know you'll die before you can ever listen to all of the music before you in Amoeba."

Luckily for B, netflix has solved this dilemma in the realm of film...

I, of course, have many more random thoughts, but why crowd them all into one post?

It's Not Always Sunshine and Roses.

My mother attempted suicide again about two weeks ago. My cell phone was stolen, my landline doesn't work, and neither she nor her those in contact with her have access to email. So, thankfully, I've had a bit of respite from the demands of my grandmother and uncle, the pleas from my mother, and everyone's requests that I assume guardianship of her and commit her to a state mental hospital in Mississippi.

I haven't complied with this request not because I'm trying to avoid responsibility, but because I don't understand why everyone assumes a state mental hospital is preferrable to her repeated suicide attempts. Rather than prevent her from taking her life so that she may waste away in an underfunded and dismal institution, why not provide her with a more humane way to fulfill her wish? I just don't understand why suicide has to be avoided at all costs; her repeated attempts, and the endless stream of phone calls detailing the reasons she no longer wishes to live over such a prolonged period suggest to me that perhaps this would be best for everyone. I don't say this because I hate my mother, or even because I am tired of comforting her at 4 am (which is certainly true); I say it because if she is really so miserable, why should we force her to keep living? And especially in what will most certainly be horrid conditions?

We, as a society, have become so consumed with protecting and prolonging life under all circumstances that we've begun imposing our own desire to live on those who have no such wish. Why is it acceptable that a cancer patient opt for hospice rather than continued extreme courses of therapy, and unacceptable for my mother to make, substantively, the same choice? How is a state mental institution less extreme, less undesirable than painful chemotherapy? I've never understood why suicide was illegal; it imposes no financial costs on the state or the citizenry, it impinges on no bystander's rights, it's 'victim' is also the perpetrator. No, it's rarely, if ever, prosecuted, but still, the state is saying that you don't have the right to decide whether you live or die; you have a right to pursue life, liberty and happiness, but if happiness is death, then all bets are off.

Sorry to be so morbid, everyone. These are perhaps thoughts that do not belong in the ether.

Hell has a soundtrack

and, coincidentally, it happens to be the same soundtrack they play at the mall!

today, i share a lengthy quote from Mamet's book, The Cabin, which i'm currently enjoying immensely:

"I am offended by the universality of recorded music being played in situations where the listener is powerless to escape.
"I do not find it necessary that restaurateurs, businesspeople, and captains of transportation should elect to fill the arguably nonmusical moments in my day with their notion of the correct theme.
"I would prefer the street sounds, general, quiet, or the lovely rhythm of human conversation to music played in a restaurant. Why should the tastes of some restaurant 'consultant' predominate over my own predilection for silence?
"One might argue that said music is simply background, but it is not so for me. I love music. I play music, I write music, and when it is being played I am unable to tune it out. I am listening to it against my will, distracted from my thoughts, my book, my work, and hating the choice, the fact, and the arrangement, of the music, and the arrogance of those who have subjected me to it. Can it be that those of a certain class cannot imbibe their alcohol or chew their food without hearing Ella Fitzgerald or Billie Holiday, would feel cheated if the synthesizer arrangement of Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds were not playing while they rifled through the men's department?
"I suggest that no one enjoys that music. That it is there because it is there, and that most peoiple either do not notice it or have come to accept it as the correct background noise for the above activities."

Amen, Brother David.

I think they play the worst "music" possible--so unique in its un-musicalness, it has been termed muzak--so that everyone suffers equally; if no one is enjoying the music, then no one feels individually slighted--all of humanity is suffering the burden of Kenny G's butcherings.

i always feel badly for the musicians, most of whom are, arguably, technically sophisticated if a bit soul-less, and not one of them could be enjoying the process of recording that crap. sure, they're getting a paycheck, but it would be akin to being an actor and landing a gig playing Santa at the mall.

Civilization has gone horribly awry.