To Someone Who Shall Ever be Unnamed

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Well, Longshot Magazine didn't take this essay, so I can publish it here now. It's dedicated to someone whose name I won't ever say, someone who saved my life, and someone to whom I wish all the happiness this sorry world can muster. Anyway, essay below.

“The Debt I Owe Her is My Life”

By BENJAMIN TAYLOR

I owe my ex-girlfriend for the fact that I’m alive.

I know, I know, it’s not supposed to work out that way, and the fact that I think it highly unlikely we’ll ever speak again just sort of complicates things. But here are the facts of the matter: I’ve suffered from severe, often crippling depression my entire short life. It’s led me to stupid deeds, copious quantities of alcohol, and a veritable cornucopia of intoxicating things. All of which I assume full responsibility for, mind you. The point being depression is a seriously angry and vindictive bitch.

Last autumn, it got very bad. Very, very bad. After getting completely wasted and threatening with every intention suicide, one of my roommates had the sense to call 911. I was hospitalized and had my first experience on a psych ward early in October in Cambridge, Massachusetts. The experience was interesting, to say the least. If you’ve never been on a psych ward – and I hope that’s the case with anyone reading this – it’s a place which is strictly regimented, smelly, and with very bad food. Also there are varying degrees of crazy, varying, that is, from depressed folk like myself to paranoid schizophrenics to drug-brain blazed-out individuals who evolve into paranoid schizophrenics. Now, a psych ward is a short-term sort of institution, and the latter two need long-term care for which we, as a society, should pay. That’s a separate issue.

Let’s just say, they’re not exactly vacation destinations.

Thankfully there was wi-fi, and House reruns. And a psych team, which meets with you once a day for about fifteen minutes and arbitrarily changes what meds your regular psych has prescribed you. This leads to tremendous fluctuations in mood, which, of course, are less than ideal for someone who’s landed in a psych ward. However, I was considered a “low-risk” patient, as I had only threatened to end my life, and then was released after a few days.

Needless to say, I found myself back in my Somerville apartment, not feeling much better for the wear. A few days went by, most of them consuming what-was-then-legal Four Loko and playing World of Warcraft. These were not enjoyable days.

And then I found myself at four in the morning, looking out into inky blackness through my window, and thinking “Yes, that’s what I want. Just permanent blackness.” Lacking the courage to inflict actual physical harm to myself – when I was fifteen I had taken the knife to my heart, but couldn’t actually do the deed – I ingested about 90 Aspirins. It was really all I had available at the time – a shitty way to kill yourself, and an almost laughable one, but it’s what I had.

I added to that a considerable amount of vodka I leeched off a roommate who had stowed it in the freezer. I don’t really remember much of what happened after that, but, waking up for work, my ex-girlfriend – whom ill-advisedly on my part had become my flat-mate – found me naked (I’m not sure what happened there) and unconscious on the bathroom floor.

Thankfully, she cared about me enough to call an ambulance. I recall none of this, nor (what I imagine were) her heroic efforts to get me into pants. I remember waking up in the emergency room and being forced to drink charcoal – which, as a food enthusiast makes me retch even thinking about it. The acetylsalicylic acid, which was running rather heavy in my bloodstream, had also – and much to my chagrin – wreaked some righteous havoc on my electrolyte balance. This involved drinking another vile concoction of phosphorous and sodium, which, to make matters worse, was the color of Tang.

After a short time, the orderlies wheeled me up to a room where I spent two days with an IV drip of God knows what, and answering questions posed to me by a very kind (though at the time annoying) physician overseeing my care. As it was the same Cambridge hospital where I had been earlier, when the time came to travel upstairs to the psych ward – this time for a considerably lengthier engagement – at least I knew the staff and a few fellow-travelers who were still on board for the voyage toward sanity. My first day I was placed on suicide watch – a matter of course; waking up alive has this way of putting a damper on your desire to die, I wasn’t a danger to myself, but to make sure, I was placed in the special room, and monitored at all times.

I did my time, and served it with as much courtesy, shame, and humility I could then muster. It’s taken since then to reacquire a scintilla of hope that I’ll ever be happy, that anyone could ever love me, that the moon to which I wrote adolescent poems by candlelight on the back porch would ever mean anything to me again. I’m not where I’d like to be yet, but the moon shines and thrills me again. I stay awake just to listen to the sound of the rain. I’ve discovered a new love of cooking and trying new cuisines. None of those were possible all of six months ago.

No, my ex and I don’t speak. I don’t expect we will again. Much of what went wrong between us was due to my inability to help myself and my pride in not seeking help. I can’t blame her, and don’t. We’re not even Facebook friends anymore, and I’ve since left the Boston area for the corn-and-soybean-inflected fields of northern Illinois. Yet I still miss her, and the debt I owe her is my life.

Countdown to Wednesday

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I am literally on pins and needles waiting for Wednesday night's friendly against El Tri. Not only is it Yankees-Red Sox level of rivalry, but also Jürgen Klinsmann's debut as national trainer. This post has no point except to share my anticipation. I'll be watching raptly and live-tweeting the match @destroy_time.

Terra's Theme

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Trying to put this to words, and words fail. Fucking heartrendingly beautiful.

"Network" and Our Current Epistemic Crisis

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Sidney Lumet's 1976 masterpiece Network (written by Paddy Chayefsky) remains one of the most prescient and chilling films in American cinematic history. Everyone on this site -- and presumably the vast majority of sentient Americans -- is well familiar with the cri de coeur of "I'm as mad as hell, and I'm not going to take this anymore!" uttered by Howard Beale, one of the film's protagonists, played brilliantly anda with extreme pathos by Peter Finch. That Network, for me, is the most memorable film of 1976 is saying something -- it was the most incredible year in the history of American film, producing Scorsese's seminal Taxi Driver (my favorite film of all time), Rocky, All the President's Men, Carrie, David Lynch's Eraserhead, and The Omen.

What the best of these films evidenced -- Network, Taxi Driver, and All the President's Men in particular -- was an epistemic break that resulted directly from the mid-70s breakdown in order due to the end of Vietnam, Watergate, the oil shock, Middle Eastern turmoil, and stagflation. This break created the space for gritty, shocking, and truth-telling films such as these to reach an audience that might not have been receptive to their subversion just a few years before. Contrast the content of those films with the popular cinematic response of our era to its crises -- a retreat into the fantasy worlds of Tolkien, Rowling, and countless superheroes. That, however, is another topic for another time.

Network, in contrast to the nihilistic violence of Taxi Driver and the explicitly political intrigue of All the President's Men, illuminated the ferment of post-Watergate America obliquely, through an institution which by that point had come to define an era: the news media. I won't bother summarizing the film's plot -- you can look it up on Wikipedia, or better yet, watch it (it's streaming on Netflix now). What Network is about, however, is the eerie and almost grotesque manner in which the news media distorts facts, exploits spectacle, and revels in crisis for its own sake to drive up ratings and ensnare unwitting viewers.

Beale's famous "I'm as mad as hell, and I'm not going to take this anymore" rant, therefore, places the viewer (both the current viewer of the film, and the fictional viewer of the UBS Evening News in the film) in a double bind that illuminates the manner in which our contemporary media functions. On the one hand, Beale's impassioned rant is just that -- a holy lambasting of the corruption that ran rampant throughout all strata of the mid-70s power elite leading to a system-wide rot and apathetic resignation:

I don't have to tell you things are bad. Everybody knows things are bad. It's a depression. Everybody's out of work or scared of losing their job. The dollar buys a nickel's worth; banks are going bust; shopkeepers keep a gun under the counter; punks are running wild in the street, and there's nobody anywhere who seems to know what to do, and there's no end to it.

We know the air is unfit to breathe and our food is unfit to

eat. And we sit watching our TVs while some local newscaster tells us that today we had fifteen homicides and sixty-three violent crimes, as if that's the way it's supposed to be!

We all know things are bad -- worse than bad -- they're crazy. It's like everything everywhere is going crazy, so we don't go out any more. We sit in the house, and slowly the world we're living in is getting smaller, and all we say is, "Please, at least leave us alone in our living rooms. Let me have my toaster and my TV and my steel-belted radials, and I won't say anything. Just leave us alone."

Well, I'm not going to leave you alone.

I want you to get mad!

Those are words meant to vilify utterly the complaisance of a society that had lost its political and ethical moorings, to rouse it into action of some sort, or at least into active consideration of the surrounding world. On the other hand, however, Beale's explosion into the nation's popular consciousness provides precisely the vehicle by which programming director Diana Christiansen (Faye Dunaway) latches on to the idea of exploiting the spectacle of Beale to revive UBS's flagging ratings. One can't raise one's fist in the air and shout with Beale without the concomitant awareness that doing so exacerbates precisely the problem that Beale inveighed against -- the disconnect between the opinion-making elite and its audience. This double bind is alive and well on both sides of the political spectrum today -- I hardly need name names, but we're all aware that all three major networks make use of spectacle and bombast to drive ratings. This elevation of spectacle above substance is a primary contributing factor to this strange epistemic relativism prevalent (primarily, though not exclusively, on the right) in contemporary America, where facts are a matter of opinion and reality a matter of preference.

Far less recognized, though equally important in terms of Network's enduring cultural significance, is the speech delivered by Chairman of the CCA (the conglomerate that acquires UBS) Board Arthur Jensen to Beale toward the film's end. Beale has just learned that a deal is in the works for an even larger Saudi Arabian conglomerate to buy out CCA, and in a nod to anti-Arab hysteria of the OPEC crisis days, Beale launches into a tirade at the close of one of his (much revamped for maximum entertainment value) shows to implore his audience to write or telegram the White House to stop the CCA deal. Jensen, incensed, summons Beale to a dramatically darkened board room to preach his "corporate cosmology":

You have meddled with the primal forces of nature, Mr. Beale, and I won't have it!! Is that clear?! You think you've merely stopped a business deal. That is not the case. The Arabs have taken billions of dollars out of this country, and now they must put it back! It is ebb and flow, tidal gravity! It is ecological balance!

You are an old man who thinks in terms of nations and peoples. There are no nations. There are no peoples. There are no Russians. There are no Arabs. There are no third worlds. There is no West. There is only one holistic system of systems, one vast and immane, interwoven, interacting, multivariate, multinational dominion of dollars. Petro-dollars, electro-dollars, multi-dollars, reichmarks, rins, rubles, pounds, and shekels.

It is the international system of currency which determines the totality of life on this planet. That is the natural order of things today. That is the atomic and subatomic and galactic structure of things today! And YOU have meddled with the primal forces of nature, and YOU WILL ATONE!

Am I getting through to you, Mr. Beale?

You get up on your little twenty-one inch screen and howl about America and democracy. There is no America. There is no democracy. There is only IBM and ITT and AT&T and DuPont, Dow, Union Carbide, and Exxon. Those are the nations of the world today.

What do you think the Russians talk about in their councils of state -- Karl Marx? They get out their linear programming charts, statistical decision theories, minimax solutions, and compute the price-cost probabilities of their transactions and investments, just like we do.

We no longer live in a world of nations and ideologies, Mr. Beale. The world is a college of corporations, inexorably determined by the immutable bylaws of business. The world is a business, Mr. Beale. It has been since man crawled out of the slime. And our children will live, Mr. Beale, to see that perfect world in which there's no war or famine, oppression or brutality -- one vast and ecumenical holding company, for whom all men will work to serve a common profit, in which all men will hold a share of stock, all necessities provided, all anxieties tranquilized, all boredom amused.

The news media from which most of us derive most of our information on a daily basis is an integral cog in this machine -- owned by those international corporations, the media and the corporate oligarchy exist both to tranquillize and titillate those anxieties, amuse that boredom, and to keep the news "consumer" fixed upon the spectacle and the Potemkin democracy in which we are taught to believe. Anyone who watched the manufactured debt ceiling crisis couldn't help but notice this dynamic in action -- very few could elucidate the underlying macroeconomic issues, but the framing of Obama v. Boehner, or corporate Republicans v. Tea Party, or corporate Democrats v. progressives will be sure to produce some knowing nods.

Jensen's speech -- even despite the Soviet and linear programming references -- has aged remarkably well, at least as well as Beale's. The two combine to illuminate a key contributing factor to the current democratic and fiduciary crisis in which we find ourselves. And -- spoiler alert -- all too fitting that the film ends with Beale agreeing to air Jensen's viewpoint. UBS finds his ratings plummeting, and, in the ultimate triumph of pure spectacle, Christiansen arranges for Beale to be assassinated on air. All for the sake of higher ratings.

(Cross-posted at DailyKos.com)

(and for some reason, the color doesn't match my usual color scheme... haven't been able to figure out what's up with that)

Gramsci Explains the Debt Ceiling Crisis Better Than Any Talking Head -- and What Underlies It

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Essentially that at certain points in history "realignments" among classes and the traditional political parties representing them occur, creating instability and creating the conditions for social upheaval, violence, and dramatic/traumatic reorganization. This is exactly what's happening within the U.S. political system -- for the last forty years, the lower- and working-classes have gradually shifted their political allegiance away from the Democratic Party, their traditional economic champion, toward the Republican Party. Likewise, the unholy alliance of the Democratic Party with Wall Street has peeled off a number of individuals who, in the 1920s, say, would never have considered voting with the workers.

The reasons for this are legion -- chief among them, perhaps, the role the U.S. media plays in politics, but certainly also the structure of our Constitution, the increasing reliance on private funds in campaigns, the conservative Supreme Court of the last twenty years, the sclerotic nature of the Senate, etc. You get the point.

Now, Gramsci wrote this in 1923, so obviously it's not a perfect analogy, but I do think what we're headed toward (hopefully we can skip the violence part) is a realignment of the parties on class interests. Or, I should say, I think that's the only to fix the political system -- to return to a politics that pits labor against land, and yes, to re-fight the political struggles that the left won between Haymarket and the New Deal. We'll see. Text below:

From The Prison Notebooks

"Observations on Certain Aspects of the Structure of Political Parties in Periods of Organic Crisis"

(tr. Quintin Hoare & Geoffrey Nowell Smith)

"At a certain point in their historical lives, social classes become detached from their traditional parties. In other words, the traditional parties in that particular organisational form, with the particular men who constitute, represent, and lead them, are no longer recognised by their class (or fraction of a class) as its expression. When such crises occur, the immediate situation becomes delicrate and dangerous, because the field is open for violent solutions, for the activities of unknown forces, represented by charismatic "men of destiny."

Addendum: Meant to say, the entire essay (probably his best-known) is well worth your time.

The Difficult Choices of Gay Christian Musicians

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Just ran across this article on NPR.org that goes into some depth about how difficult it is for queer Christian musicians to balance their sexuality and the belief that many of their audience members have that any deviation from their "Biblical" heterosexual norm is sinful. It caught my eye because one of the artists mentioned, Jennifer Knapp (whose voice is truly memorable), was a favorite of a friend of mine -- back when I was still a Christian and out nearly to myself nor anyone else as queer. I remember asking her when Knapp did come out how it affected my friend's judgment of her music, and her response was essentially that, unfortunately, Knapp was going to have to drop out of my friend's playlists.

I'm glad to see Knapp, at least, has returned to singing -- as the article says, as a folk rock performer. It's disheartening, to say the absolute least, to see talented and well-meaning people have their careers and livelihoods destroyed by bigotry; or, on the opposite side of the coin, to feel unable to be open with themselves, friends, loved ones, and audience members about who they really are.

Fantasy is Real Literature -- It's ALL Literature

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Writing the libretto to Final Fantasy VI: The Opera and falling in love with Westeros has given me occasion to think about the "art" status of fantasy, of fantasy as capable of being just as good as "high literature." Lev Grossman, true to form, explains why sneering at fantasy is not just wrongheaded, but shows an actual ignorance of the heritage of what we read today. To use a Sullivanism, money quote:

"Where would Spenser's "Faerie Queene" be without fairies? Where would Shakespeare have been without fantasy—his spirits, his ghosts, and his proto-Orc Caliban, the misshapen villain of "The Tempest"? You can't have Macbeth without the witches three."

"Go Cubs Go"

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plenty of versions out there, but I picked this one because it shows Wrigley and features Kerry Wood.

On the Sorry State of the 2011 Chicago Cubs

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I tweeted most of this yesterday, but wanted to write it long-form -- hopefully more coherently.

The 2011 Chicago Cubs really depress me. I didn't have lofty expectations for this team, even with the signing of Carlos Peña and trading for Matt Garza. I had some hopes that, in a relatively weak NL Central, they could at least compete with the Cardinals and Reds of the world. Those hopes were dashed by late April.

Starlin Castro is on the way to becoming a legitimate star (no pun intended). He could develop more power, yes, but is a deft shortstop who generally doesn't swing at bad pitches, hits for average, gets on base, and can run. Darwin Barney, the rookie second baseman (whose name alone I adore), seems like a keeper -- good with the glove, also can hit and can run. Beyond those two younguns -- well, it doesn't look good.

Aramis Ramirez is probably the best hitter on the team (still), and as much as I love him, the Cubs should deal him now, while his bat is hot and while he still has value. After a disappointing 2010 season, he's really lighting up opposing pitchers lately, but he's 33 and -- let's be frank -- the Cubs are going nowhere this year or the next few. Trade him, and get some value in return. I would say the same for Carlos Zambrano, who has yet to be his old self, but could bring some value for a contender in need of an innings-eater (albeit volatile) starter who still throws a mean 4-seamer and slider. Love the guy, despite his tirades, but the firesale needs to commence sooner rather than later.

As for the rest of the rotation, Matt Garza seems like a keeper. Yes, he's struggled with control all season, but in terms of raw "stuff," he's the best on the staff. Great fastball in the 94-95 range, wicked slider. Randy Wells? Despite the 6+ ERA, still have hope for the young chap -- he just needs to tweak his mechanics. Wish Larry Rothschild were still here to help him with that. I've been referring to Ryan Dempster as "Ryan Dumpster" for over a year now, but to be honest, that's not fair to him. He had a really awful start to this season, but another guy the Cubs should deal sooner rather than later. He doesn't have Zambrano's stuff, but he's wily like, say, Tim Hudson is, and is always good for at least six innings. A contender in need of a starter would trade for him.

The bullpen. Oy. I've been saying this for weeks now, but we need to get rid of Carlos Marmol, and the sooner the better. Or relegate him to long work, or a seventh-inning gig, or anything that keeps him from deciding ballgames late. His slider is still one of the best in the game, but the man has clearly lost his confidence. He seems terrified on the mound right now. Kerry Wood -- whom I love, whose 20 K game I will always remember, whose return start from Tommy John I was in the first row third-base side for -- looks washed up. I hate to say it, but it's true. Some mid-level prospects could be had in return. Sean Marshall is a keeper -- he's been great all season. John Grabow -- deal immediately. He's overpaid and underperforming. Not a favorable combination. As for the great enigma Jeff Samardzija, he's exactly that -- an enigma. I'm not sure what I think about him. Some days he's unhittable; some days he looks like Rich Garcés circa 2002. That's not a good thing.

As for the outfield, we all knew the minute he was signed that Alfonso Soriano would be one of the most overpaid, overrated, and unproductive hitters in the game. He has lived up to those standards. Sadly, there isn't a team out there that will eat the remaining years of his deal. We live with him and his nonchalance. Kosuke is in Cleveland, clearing the way for Tyler Colvin, who also gets the honorary Samardzija enigma crown. Decent fielder, has power, but has problems getting on base -- and more importantly -- playing with any semblance of consistency. Marlon Byrd has shown flashes of brilliance and flashes of epic fail. Also not sure about him, yet we're probably stuck with him for two more years.

Geovany Soto behind the plate mystifies me. Here's a guy who won the NL Rookie of the Year Award with a .285-23-86 line in 2008 with an .868 OPS (stats courtesy of baseball-reference.com), yet who has seemingly forgotten how to hit. He's reliable as a catcher, has a decent but not overwhelming arm, and he's far preferable to Koyie Hill. Just wish he'd remember how to hit.

All in all, the picture isn't going to make Cubs fans happy. It's been 103 years, and will likely be at least a few more. For this year and the next few, the pieces just aren't there. Deal our assets now and get some value in return. Fire Jim Hendry, and plan to try again in three years. Sadly, the "Go Cubs Go" song isn't going to be played as much as my heart would like it to be before I'm 30, but in the long run it'll give us a fighting chance.

Nubuo Uematsu

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Was really a genius. I can't stop listening to his compositions. If I listed them all, it might take up the entire page, but I recommend Tour de Japon's version of Aria de Mezzo Carattere Part B as something that rivals anything Puccini or Verdi ever composed. "Terra's Theme" is also stunningly good. "One-Winged Angel" is overrated, but still excellent, and "Dancing Mad" is perhaps his signature achievement. Really a giant of our times.

All of the above are available on YouTube.

First love?

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Waxing nostalgic, perhaps because of the thunderstorms, perhaps I'm old enough to appreciate the wonders life has granted me. This goes out to the first person I truly loved, and the first person who, upon kissing for the first time, made me feel like I could move mountains. That moment is something I will smile at when I'm 90.

I met her when I was all of 13. A short, skinny boy, precocious some would say. Awestruck the minute I met her -- she herself was somewhat scrawny, but beautiful (still is), and it was her humor and wit that drew me. Might sound cliché -- and it is -- but I'm attracted to those who intrigue me and tease what intellect I have rather than titillate my naughty bits. There was a summer I rode my woefully inadequate mountain bike to her house just to see her. Helped me get in better shape, yes, but it was about seeing her. Did everything short of a John Cusack "Say Anything" moment to catch her attention -- and we watched quite a few John Cusack flicks.

Anyway, it took over two years of pursuing her before our first kiss. I'm pretty sure she knew all along. It was perfection. I drove her home -- in my bright teal '95 Nissan Sentra -- I forget where from. She got out of the car, paused, then opened the passenger door and sat down. Told me -- words I will never forget -- "I think I'm in love with you." I can't for the life of me recall what I said. I hope it was something pithy at least. What I do know is that the kiss that followed was perfect, like straight out of a rom com, just passionate and anticipated and dreamt about for (literally) years. I hope whomever I spend the rest of years with can match that kiss, but it's a tall challenge. To this day, I still don't know how I made it home -- my legs were gelatin. I distinctly remember driving down North Alpine Road thinking to myself "did that just happen? did she actually kiss me?" Obviously it didn't work out -- mostly because I was a jackass (a common theme among my U-20 years), but that moment will live with me forever. --The latter not trying to be overly dramatic, but because it's true and meant that much and means that much still.

What's your defining "first love" moment?

At least I know where my next project's headed

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Its chance of success is practically zero, but no sense in not trying, right? Penning the libretto to the operatic version of Final Fantasy VI. Perfect story for an opera -- plenty of drama, love, loss, sympathetic yet flawed heroes/heroines, and a villain for the ages. Greatest game ever made in my opinion. Let's see it performed by professionals.

They're not "entitlements," they're a promise

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I posted a diary a while back on why it's important to frame same-sex marriage as "marriage equality" instead. Not because "same-sex marriage" isn't factually true -- it is. That's what it is. Framing the issue as marriage equality, however, presents it as a matter of basic equality. Which it also is. The same issue comes to the fore when we on the left discuss Social Security, Medicare, and Medicaid. I freely admit there's something vaguely Orwellian about these sort of language games; yet, like it or not (I don't), this is the way postmodern politics in the United States work.

Frankly put, we on the left must and absolutely must work our hardest to change this concept of "entitlements." This is the right's language. They've employed it with welfare reform and have been using it for years now to demonize the concept of a social safety net. Why it works so well: there's this concept surrounding the word "Entitlement" suggests getting something you haven't earned. It's been racialized with anti-immigrant hysteria and lingering hatred toward the African-American community on the part of white politicians and white right-wing media types. Beyond that, however, "entitlement" has been used by the right quite effectively to demonize what little social safety net we have here.

As if those benefits are things you and I haven't paid for out of each and every paycheck we've been fortunate enough to earn.

This is a classic political language game, and it's one defenders of what the preamble to the Constitution would call "the general welfare" have been losing on multiple fronts. The way forward is to stop -- for all time -- the use of the word "entitlement." It may not be right that that particular word has acquired the negative association it has, but as we're a fact-based community, we deal with it and move on. Instead, we refer to "the social safety net" or even "programs that promote the common good." Or "the bedrock of the New Deal." Because that's what those particular programs are -- the assurance that we, as a society, will sacrifice as a whole to protect our elders and the poor. The most vulnerable. Beyond that, Medicare, Social Security, and Medicaid represent the idea that in the United States, the most vulnerable among us will not be left behind by the least vulnerable. To do so is not only ethically reprehensible, but frankly un-American -- another Orwellian term I don't use lightly.

Anything that refutes the notion that Social Security, Medicare, and Medicaid are somehow programs that are unearned is incorrect and equally reprehensible -- the fact is that every working American pays into them. And as far as cuts go -- we do not accept them in any form. We march, we protest, we call our representatives and senators, and we let them know we're as mad as hell and we will not take this anymore. I have no expectation of enjoying Medicare or Social Security, and as a 26-year old, I think that says more about the America we live in than it does about my natural pessimism. Ladies and gents, we fight. Otherwise we're all screwed, young and old alike.

(Originally posted at DailyKos.com)

Jeff Sharlet is brave enough to read the "2083 manifesto"

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Of suspected Norwegian killer Anders Behring Breivik, and @JeffSharlet has some pointed and sage analysis. Check it out.

New post on the orange satan

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Which you can find here.

Some Fucking Awesome News for the LGBT Community

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DADT Repeal enacted! -- here!

The right's allergy to facts

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originally posted at DailyKos.com

find it here

New D-Kos Diary -- a rant on the economy

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Find it here.

DSM-V!!!!

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From Claire Rush @The_Rumpus: With Every New Edition, A New Schema of Labeling

Where the Left Goes From Here

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My take

New Review Coming Soon

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on Mark Wisniewski's forthcoming second novel Show Up, Look Good.

iTunes Thou Art My Master

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Periodically I find it instructive to take a look at my top 25 most played in my iTunes -- granted, these differ between my laptop and iPod due to different uses, and since I don't have my iPod handy, as of 07.20.11, here are my top 5 most played on iTunes (this data encompasses only the last 12 months, as I purchased this particular laptop last summer).

1) "The Temptation of Adam," Juliana Richer Daily (originally by Josh Ritter), 224

2) "Just Dance," Lady GaGa feat. Colby O'Donis, 199

3) "Boyfriend," Best Coast, 162 (became obsessed with this song toward the end of summer '10 and listened to it non-stop)

4) "New York State of Mind," Jay-Z (feat. Alicia Keyes), 140 (see above)

5) This Must Be the Place (Naive Melody), Talking Heads, 139 (favorite song of all time, pretty much guaranteed to turn up in any top 5 of anything of mine)

Honorable Mention: "Ready to Start," Arcade Fire (this would be higher, but I have to listen to The Suburbs as an album, so individual tracks get left out), "Cities in Dust," Siouxsie and the Banshees (another favorite song of all time), "Satellite Mind," Metric.

IL Judge Rules DCFS Must Continue to Refer Foster Children to Catholic Charities

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Sangamon County Judge John Schmidt ruled today that the Illinois Department of Children and Family Services must continue to refer foster children and adoption cases to the odious Catholic Charities, which gained notoriety earlier this month when it threatened to no longer provide adoption services, due to its contention that the state's new civil unions bill would force it to place children with gay and lesbian couples (heaven forbid), potentially putting 60 people out of work and leaving 350 foster care and adoption cases in the cold. Judge Schmidt ruled that the DCFS's subsequent decision to terminate its relationship with Catholic Charities following a Catholic Charities lawsuit (follow all that?) must be stayed until an August hearing regarding Catholic Charities' obligations regarding placement with same-sex couples under the new civil unions bill.

And all of that sucks, and allows Catholic Charities to continue its bigoted and evidence-less discrimination against same sex couples willing to adopt children in the foster system. It's Catholic Charities playing the politics of bigotry, and as always, the real victims are the ones who have no say in the process -- the children who desperately need a loving family and a stable home situation.

And On "Super Sad True Love Story"

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(originally published in the Rockford Independent Press)

“Shteyngart melds romance and terrifying satire in Super Sad True Love Story”

by BENJAMIN TAYLOR

Having built a reputation as one of the nation’s foremost and sharpest-witted comic satirists in his previous novels The Russian Debutante’s Handbook and Absurdistan, Gary Shteyngart seems an unlikely candidate to author the most frightening novel of the past decade.

Super Sad True Love Story, however, seems a likely candidate for the distinction, though – true to its title – Super Sad True Love Story explores a complex relationship with compassion as it terrifies.

Super Sad True Love Story takes place in a radically-altered America sometime in the 2020s. The dollar has lost practically all its value, and only currency pegged to the Chinese yuan has any value. The US military is bogged down in a military adventure in Venezuela. Secretary of Defense Rubinstein (in an echo perhaps of 1984’s Emmanuel Goldstein) has created a sprawling bureaucracy known as the American Restoration Authority which functions as a sort of secret police. Global corporations pretty much run the show, and they’ve gotten bigger, leading to monstrosities like UnitedContinentalDeltamerican Airlines. The protagonists’ parents flip back and forth between FoxLiberty-Prime and FoxLiberty-Ultra. In other words, it’s pretty fucking bleak.

Even more horrifying, though usually in a comical way, is the manner in which social mores have changed in this new and improved America. Practically everyone, young and old alike, is plugged in constantly to their äppärät – the nightmarish device smart phones have evolved into. Most text-based elements of the world have become obsolete, and people use their äppäräti to”stream,” and to monitor the worthiness of everyone around them. That’s another terrifying element of Super Sad True Love Story – the disappearance of privacy as a concept and social media have reached their logical end, and individuals can be “scanned” to discover practically any personal information, income, credit, “fuckability” and personality, the latter two of which have a point rating system based on others’ opinions. Everyone monitors everyone else at all times. Who needs Big Brother?

And it’s in this world that the reader is introduced to Lenny Abramov, a 39-year old anachronism of sorts – he apologizes on one occasion for still owning books – who works in the Indefinite Life Extension division for a conglomerate. Returning to the United States after a year in Rome, Lenny is desperately in love with Eunice Park, a 24-year old daughter of Korean immigrants he had met in Rome, where she was studying. Lenny – himself a second-generation American and invariably described in reviews as “schlubby” – moves uneasily through this hyper-youth-and-status-oriented world, longing to be a High Net Worth Individual in order to afford the services of his employer to appear younger while mentally quoting Chekhov and reading to Eunice The Unbearable Lightness of Being. He is sweet in a place where men and women in the same room are ranked by hotness, bumbling in his earnest affections in a time when prep schoolers attend “Assertiveness Class.”

At first sight, he’s also a complete mismatch for Eunice, who’s slight and “super-hot,” as one of her friends reminds her several times. She, like most of her generation, has a bad spending habit and a predilection for skimpy clothing. As Lenny notes, she’s also, however, in her own way, damaged goods. She’s at a point many 24-year olds can relate to – done with school, sort of considering law school and halfheartedly looking for work while not really knowing at all what the hell she wants to do. Her relationship with her family is complicated. Her mother is very stereotypically (almost too stereotypically) first-generation Korean – stay-at-home, very religious, and devoted to the strict social values of her homeland, while her father is an alcoholic podiatrist.

Yet the relationship that develops between the two is genuine, and the care Eunice develops for Lenny unaffected. Lenny’s fear of mortality finds solace in Eunice’s youthful vivacity, while Eunice’s detachment and need for affection are overcome by Lenny. To Shteyngart’s great credit, the relationship is as authentically-portrayed as it could be possibly be – certainly no easy task against the backdrop of bombastic satire. The counterpoint the ultimately-doomed love story provides to the decadence and tragedy of fin de siècle America is both bittersweet and poignant.

The stories of Eunice and Lenny, interestingly, are told from the first-person perspective, the two alternating narration in their respective diaries – Lenny, true to form, writing lyrically with pen and paper, Eunice in various posts to friends and family on her GlobalTeens account (the social network of choice) and peppered with the argot of the young and disaffected.

Super Sad True Love Story is sphincter-looseningly terrifying primarily because it does what great satire always does – describe something outrageous in order to illuminate the present. The mindless consumerism, obsession with image, plutocracy, Orwellian media discourse, and reactionary politics that populate Lenny and Eunice’s New York is the world we inhabit, and that will scare the shit out of any thinking person who reads Super Sad True Love Story. The genuine and wistful experience of actual connection between two human beings who had doubted its possibility, however, reminds the reader of the universality of being a piece of thinking, feeling, lonely and longing meat. That’s Shteyngart’s accomplishment in Super Sad True Love Story, and it’s a significant one.

Some Thoughts on 80s "bad-boys" Bret Easton Ellis and Jay McInerney

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“The Californication version of American literary history”

(Originally published in the Rockford Independent Press)

By BENJAMIN TAYLOR

So I’m normally going to use this space to highlight the amazing work our stellar crop of contemporary fictionists do, and will do so again in the next issue. Lately, however – and pursuant to a personal project – I’ve found myself lingering lovingly on the age-20ish works of Jay McInerney and Bret Easton Ellis. And I will readily admit, I loathe Ellis with a passion verging on mania, but Less Than Zero and The Rules of Attraction are undeniably magnetic and – at least to this 20something born in the 80s – represent my impression of the decade better than anything John Hughes ever filmed (though may he RIP). Pretty sure only Heathers even comes close.

And Bright Lights, Big City remains the novel Hunter S. Thompson would have written had he not burned himself out and had he been U-30 in the 80s. Precise, evocative, frankly brilliant writing that just captures everything it must have been to have been young in New York in that era. And yes, I freely admit to romanticizing the idea of the drug-addled, promiscuous, quite insane writer wreaking havoc on him/herself and everyone he/she knows. But Bright Lights, Big City is authentically brilliant.

McInerney I only encountered a couple years ago, working at an indie outside of Boston when he published his (too-soon) retrospective short story collection How It Ended. Picking that book up and reading about the unnamed narrator (whom it is safe to assume, is Jay McInerney) in the story “It’s 6 A.M. Do You Know Where You Are?” – the first and best-penned chapter of Bright Lights, Big City – was akin to being 17 and randomly coming across Fear and Loathing and Bob Dylan. Just electric.

Less Than Zero offers a similar experience – one of those novels you come across at a certain age and think to yourself “holy shit, I didn’t know you could do this with fiction.” Yet where McInerney’s characters – in the purview of Bright Lights, Big City for the purpose of this column, but I think applicable to his characters broadly – are tragically flawed in the Hank Moody sense, where you pretend to avert your eyes from the trainwreck, yet sympathize deeply with the flaw part, Ellis’s are just nihilistic in the most straightforward definition possible.

Clay, the narrator of Less Than Zero, is an unmitigated ass. His attitude toward copious quantities of coke – similar to the narrator of Bright Lights, Big City – is, to keep it understated, liberal, and his attitude toward women is that they’re walking holes into which he will do everything in his power to insert himself. For McInerney, the desire to fuck anything that moves is no different – yet the narrator of Bright Lights, Big City feels deeply the loss of Amanda. He recognizes that he fucked things up, but actually feels. Clay’s attitude toward Blair, for instance, is that she has a vagina.

This is an extremely important distinction between Ellis and McInerney, and illustrates how thin the line between asshole with a pen and “bad-boy” writer is. McInerney deals with actual people, flawed to the extreme, yes, but believable, and people with whom even the casual reader can identify with in some sense. There’s a sense of universality about his work, which resonates – yes, the 80s are over, and to quote Eric Stoltz as Lance, “coke is fucking dead as… dead,” but the damaged fuck-up capable of real emotion is a character who’s been with us since Odysseus. Ellis’s characters are familiar as well, just never that interesting. Yes they’re “depraved,” but with reference to an era most of us are unfamiliar with, and are unimpressed by. They fuck, snort, use each other, blow cash on blow, etc. etc. etc. It just isn’t compelling once the shock value becomes dated.

I mentioned Hunter S. Thompson earlier and for a reason – Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas is a book that centers on extreme drug use and otherwise insane behaviors, but is a book about the end of an era. The peak of Thompson’s writing – in that book, any others, and any article with the possible exception of the Derby piece – comes in the passage where he’s sitting at his typewriter, thinking about San Francisco and the 60s – “that sense of inevitable victory over the forces of Old and Evil. Not in any mean or military sense; we didn't need that. Our energy would simply PREVAIL. There was no point in fighting — on our side or theirs. We had all the momentum; we were riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave...” McInerney perfectly captures that elegiac lost idealism; all Ellis can do is wank off about his fantasized version of it. With Ellis, there’s no passion, because there’s no belief in anything but the pleasure of the moment. And no, it’s not ironic – he’s made quite a successful career out of nihilism. His recent sequel to Less Than Zero, Imperial Bedrooms, just reconfirms that. Yes, the few-standard-deviations-from-your-typical-Midwestern-family behavior is a draw, but Thompson and McInerney get at the human being shit. Ellis, I’m sure, fancies himself quite an aficionado of assholes – the human shit, though? Negatory.

While Armageddon Rages

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A stop on the deck with some basil-infused lemonade, some tuna ceviche, and a good read (Henderson the Rain King in this case) on a golden summer day redeem so much. Rockford, Ill. takes its fair share of shit (much of it deserved), but on a perfect July day, this is the most perfect place in the world to be outside.

On The Bright Side

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I've read David Foster Wallace, Dostoevsky, Proust, Joyce, Faulkner, Pynchon (enough to get a commemorative tattoo), Barthelme; I've listened to Sonic Youth, Broken Social Scene, and Bob Dylan live -- I've had the fortune to hear stunning albums by Arcade Fire, Bon Iver, and gems by The Smiths, Zeppelin, and Pink Floyd. Seen works by Jaspers, Rauschenberg, Twombly, Richter. Brilliant films from everyone from David Simon to the Coen brothers. We live in an era of extreme riches. I wish I could honor it as it's due, but as aforementioned, time constrains that ambition.

Juliana Richer Daily

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Belatedly posted, but here's the transcript of an interview I had recently with one of my favorite musical artists out there, and one who's destined for big things, Juliana Richer Daily. Check her music out, because she's that good. Originally published in the Rockford Independent Press.

This is a relatively faithful transcript of a phone interview with the extremely talented Juliana Richer Daily, 22, conducted by the Rockford Independent Press’s Benjamin Taylor, who is not a musician in the least. Daily is a graduate student at Cornell University in Ithaca, NY. Her work is available on iTunes, amazon.com, and at her website, julianaricherdaily.com

Q: When/how did you get started?

I’ve been playing piano since I was four, I just started playing. I did that for 11 years, did the whole Mozart/Chopin classical business. I had a guitar in high school, but I only got as far as really basic chords and easy songs to play. I went abroad my junior year in college to Copenhagen, brought a guitar with me, had a lot of extra time, and just started playing. I love music period and just made the effort to learn how to play guitar. I’m not an expert – I can’t shred or anything – I picked it up as a means of accompanying myself while I sing. I took to it, had a blast with it, and started writing my own material.

As far as singing goes, I’ve always liked singing to myself, but I’ve never had any voice lessons – in high school I was never that into music, I wasn’t in chorus or in band – I was more into painting and visual art. I’ve always been sort of shy about singing – I started playing open mikes at Cornell, and when I got back from being abroad, I started playing more live, and it was just sort of a personal thing, but once I started performing, I just loved it. My voice is the only instrument I have actual control over – the guitar is just sort of a sidekick.

Q: Who are your most important influences? Like the artists/songs who gave you that “holy shit” moment?

I listened to a lot of my parents’ music – Joni Mitchell, Dylan. I love Josh Ritter and dream about being the female equivalent of his sound – I really like Florence and the Machine and that kind of folky sound. I want to marry the music I listen to into something fuller that says something. I’m kind of struggling with what direction to go from here, actually – songwriting is kind of difficult for me, it kind of comes out in fits and spurts – once I can work with a band and other musicians who can help pull my vision out of me, I think my sound will work out.

Q: Touring – what are your intentions?

I played here in Ithaca and in the city a few times. I don’t have a definite plan, but I’m definitely going to head down to New York for a few years, and get a “real job.” I have these two degrees I want to make good on – if the music thing doesn’t work out, I’d like to have a career path to fall back on. I’m definitely going to take the music thing seriously when I’m down there. I have a couple friends who have some studio space, and are involved in production. So ideally for a year or two, I’ll hold down the real job and do music on the side until it works out, hopefully. And I don’t want it to be on the side – my biggest fear is that it’ll be a hobby. Just trying to take a realistic approach. I really want to try and do this for real, I’ll be kicking myself for the rest of my life if I don’t make a real effort to do this. I want to travel and play, and I know it doesn’t happen overnight, but it’s what I want most to do.

Q: What are you listening to now? Your covers range pretty far, from Dylan to Jeff Buckley to Dr. Dre/Bruno Mars. What’s the best show you’ve caught of late?

In the last month and a half, I’ve been listening to a lot of new albums that have dropped lately. So many good albums -- The new Fleet Foxes [Helplessness Blues] and Bon Iver [Self-Titled]. The new Cults album [self-titled].

Josh Ritter, Mumford & Sons – just to mention two I have on heavy rotation. I listen to a pretty broad spectrum of music and musicians.

As far as the best show recently, I’ve been working so much on this thesis that I haven’t caught as many as I’d like. I caught the Flaming Lips here, and they were pretty epic. I have plans to go to the Newport Folk Festival again, but it’s close to my thesis deadline, so unfortunately, whether or not I make it down will depend on where the thesis is at.

Q: So the music industry – like pretty much every creative endeavor – has changed a shit ton in the past even five years. You’ve been on top of this through your YouTube videos (how I came across your work), twitter, myspace, etc. How do you think this new landscape affects up and coming artists like yourself? Where do you think the music industry is going and how does it change things for young artists like yourself?

I think that it’s really cool that anyone in the world who has an internet connection and a means to record has access to an audience. I think it’s an amazing thing that you don’t need to have corporate production pumping money into your project to get an audience – anyone who can record can make a name for themselves. You can listen to the brainchild of any musician out there – anyone and everyone who wants to try and make it can try and make it. On the other hand, you’re competing with hundreds of thousands of musicians out there -- you’re one more of any other artists out there.

Yet from a listener’s perspective, it’s amazing – I can listen to any number of artists out there and watch their journey. I just celebrated my two-year anniversary on YouTube, and it’s funny to see how I’ve grown as an artist since then. The landscape is an interesting animal to wrestle with. As far as exposure goes, it’s great – that’s why I give my covers out for free – it’s an awesome gateway to get my music out there.

There’s no end to exploring concepts and developing as a musician – that’s my favorite thing about music – it evolves all the time. The musician I am now will likely not be the musician I am a year from now.

Q: Word – how do you feel about someone like Rebecca Black blowing up in the “YouTube era” when a much more talented singer like yourself doesn’t have that kind of instant exposure?

As far as someone like Rebecca Black goes – it’s a little frustrating, but I’m not trying to aspire to that kind of thing. YouTube is by no means grassroots, I like that this has been a growing experience, and my listeners have gotten to get to know me, and there’s not one video that’s blown up. I don’t know that my music is ready to be heard at that level. Personally, I have a lot of growing to do as an artist, I’m glad this journey has been a gradual thing.

On one level, it’s a bit frustrating, but at the same time, it’s part of the experience to let it take shape, and to let my listeners get to know me. I know as a listener, we all like to be part of the discovery of an artist. So the Rebecca Black thing just isn’t where I want to be.

Q: Band? On your last post on your website you mentioned looking for a band/moving away somewhat from acoustic – where do you see yourself going?

Getting a band together at Cornell is tough – people are so busy, and during breaks people scatter, and after graduation it’s even harder. It never really took shape here, and I’m still figuring out music and just wasn’t ready. I don’t really know what direction I’m going to go in artistically – those tracks were my first real stab at songwriting. I know I have some work to do as a writer, and I definitely think I want to have a much fuller sound.

Q: LP?

I’ll be releasing another EP later this year. I’m working with a European production company and pressing a vinyl collection of 3 EPs. I didn’t have any physicals released of my work, so I’m excited.

Frankly though, I want to release this stuff and move on from it. As I said, these tracks were my first foray into songwriting, but it’s not the end all and be all of where I want to be as a musician – I’d like to move on and explore different things. I don’t know that any of the songs I have out right now will come together as a full album – I didn’t write them with an album concept in mind.

I absolutely love when albums tell a story as an album, and it grows with you as you listen. Each album can tell a different story, there’s a rise and fall and movement in them. There’s something great and unique about sitting down and exploring an entire album, and you can get a full sense of where the artist is going. There’s definitely merit to having some standout singles, but I love to sit down and listen to an entire album. Letting yourself just hang out with that music I love.

Q: How’s your injury healing? [Daily suffered a fractured spine in January 2011 as a result of a snowboarding accident]

I’m doing all right, I’m not back 100%, but as far as breaking your back goes, I’m doing all right. I’m titanium-reinforced now, which is pretty cool. Doing a lot of swimming, biking. I’m grateful the accident didn’t turn out a different way.

Ben: Thanks so much, Juliana!

04.12.12: Way belatedly updated to change "skiboarding," which, as Juliana helpfully informed me does not exist.

This is All Sorts of Awesome

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Maybe since I just tore through this show, but this is amazingly good:

On a Cultural Embarrassment of Riches

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the fact that our current age suffers from an embarrassment of riches in terms of culture -- broadly defined to include everything from food to sport to literature to tv to architecture, et al -- and that it's literally impossible to consume everything worthwhile remains something that infuriates and confuses me. the most gratifying experience short of sex is watching/reading/eating/listening to something that makes you just appreciate how talented its creator is, and to think to yourself "this is fucking good." yet the number of cultural artifacts that elicit that response -- in my mind at least, and perhaps that's a function of maturing, but I think fairly objectively true contemporarily -- seem to keep growing. It's simply not possible to fulfill the cultural obligations to which I feel obliged. I haven't watched Breaking Bad, nor have I read Being and Event, though I feel deeply that I must do both, and I want to. I haven't listened to Lil Wayne or played Call of Duty. I haven't tried to cook a soufflé yet. I know jack shit about wine or spirits (beer, on the other hand, I am well-versed in). These are things I need and want to know about, I just don't know where to find the time. I can barely manage to keep up with literature and politics, my two supposed fields of expertise.

On the one hand, this makes me dizzy with happiness -- I feel so privileged to live in this era, have access to so much information, and to know people who care about their interests and pursue them with passion, skill, patience, and a willingness to learn. On the other hand, it can be overwhelming. On days when I let myself read all the blogs I'd like to read, listen to the music I'd like to listen to, watch the shows I need to catch up on, check out the visual art blogs that represent the artists I whose work I most enjoy, stock up on recipes and restaurant fantasies, there's no time at all to read books, make music, think, write, or cook. It's a conundrum.

There's no point to this post, other than observation, but I'd be interested to hear if anyone else suffers from the sort of anxiety I do at not being able to experience as much cultural excellence as I'd like/need.

Marriage Equality in Illinois

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The past few days have gotten me fired up about this, and with friends I know and friends I haven't met yet, we're going to make marriage equality happen in Illinois. Setting up a website this week, @equalityIL or marriageequalityIL@gmail.com until then. Also at my usual haunts. This is going to happen.

To Kos-ers

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Thanks so much for all the thoughtful comments party people!

On the difference between "same-sex marriage" and "marriage equality"

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This is going to be fairly brief, but I hope raises an important point. There is a substantial difference between referring to yesterday's epic win in New York as a victory for "same-sex marriage" and referring to it as a victory for "marriage equality."

Politics operates around language -- "conservatives" and members of the Republican party typically realize this better than progressives do. Excessive use of scare quotes, I realize, but concepts like the "war on terror," which never was a war and rarely focused on actual radicals intent on committing acts of terrorism was and has been an extremely powerful political concept focused almost entirely on a phrase that captures the imagination in a compelling way. Language games get tricky -- those of us who get physically ill when encountering the concept of "framing" understand this quite well. Yet, as icky as it may be, framing is critically important (even if vaguely Orwellian) when trying to make a political point or to advance an issue through the political process.

There is no actual distinction between "same-sex marriage" and "marriage equality" -- both terms refer to a legislative or judicial removal of the restriction prevalent now in 44 states that prohibits two individuals of the same gender to enact a legal procedure by which they are permanently linked (unless later dissolved) and enjoy the rights and benefits that state allows to two individuals who make that decision. The Defense of Marriage Act (DOMA), of course, denies those rights and benefits to any same-gender couple federally, regardless of state law.

Yet, there is a distinction -- and an important one -- between those terms. "Same-sex marriage," again, is functionally no different from "marriage equality," yet marriage equality presents the entire point of the LGBT rights movement in its essential form, and in a way "same-sex marriage" doesn't. The point being equality. Same-sex marriage isn't a special right that should be afforded to a defined and differentiated class of individuals. It's the same fundamental and equal right states and the federal government afford to opposite-sex couples willing to accord their relationship a legal status. It's the right to formalize love and commitment. I assume most of us here, and most progressives in general, recognize that gender is entirely incidental when it comes to that point -- marriage being a legal recognition of two individuals' commitment to one another.

So let's call it for what it is -- marriage equality. And civil rights. Words do matter, and this fight -- despite last night's amazing victory -- is far from over. It's only getting started, and as always, the power of bigotry is strong and mobilized. This is a battle worth picking, and language matters.

(Cross-posted at Daily Kos)

Unanticipated Irony...

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My last post was one congratulating (now former) Rep. Anthony Weiner...

Rep. Weiner Gets Righteous on Medicare for All

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Couldn't find a way to embed this, but um. This is exactly how to talk about Medicare and universal health care in general. Well played sir.

About Time

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Knew this would happen eventually (the moral arc of the universe does bend toward justice, after all), but I'm surprised it happened so soon: a majority of Americans favor same-sex marriage with all the rights and privileges accorded to heterosexual married couples. Yes we the fuck can!

Spoils From the Weekend

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Getting rained out of a Cubs game can have its benefits. To wit: I wound up hanging out in Wicker Park with a good friend of mine who -- despite being warned -- allowed me to wander unsupervised in a record store and a used bookstore. Picked up Slanted & Enchanted and Signals, Calls, and Marches on vinyl, and hit the mother lode at Myopic Books (which is one of the best-curated and best-organized used book stores I've ever been in) on N. Milwaukee. Bright Lights, Big City; V.; Falconer (which I've been trying to find cheap for a while now); No Logo; and The Adventures of Augie March -- all of which came to under $30. Very exciting!

Prom Advice from a Second-Grader

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This is all sorts of awesome (h/t sexgenderbody)

New Review Coming Soon

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I'm sort of on deadline for most of today since I sort of left writing this until deadline became a determining factor in daily scheduling since I'm sort of a horrific procrastinator but... I'll be reviewing Jennifer Egan's much-decorated (Pulitzer, National Book Critics' Circle Award, LA Times Fiction Prize) novel A Visit From the Goon Squad. I'll post it up here once it's published.

Next up will be Tea Obreht's The Tiger's Wife, which I'm really excited to read, especially after reading Charles Simic's glowing review in the NYRB. I'm also insanely jealous of her, but that's another issue for another time.

Note to Self

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Don't plan a trip to Madison on the day of University of Wisconsin's commencement. FML.

Levin Wins NYPL Young Lions Award for The Instructions

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Congratulations to Adam Levin, who just won the New York Public Library Young Lions Award for fiction for his sprawling novel The Instructions. Congrats also to McSweeney's for publishing it, and to The Rumpus, for making it a book club selection. Looks like I'll be picking this up finally (and belatedly).

Best. Correction. Ever.

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The New York Times realizes that it is not wise to fuck with Tolkien fans.

Five Questions Never to Ask at a Reading

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Emily St. John Mandel, author of the wonderful Last Night in Montreal and The Singer's Gun (which I haven't gotten to yet), lists the five questions that you, under no circumstances, should ask at a reading. My bookseller experience definitely confirms number four -- oh what I would have given for Cyclops-style laser vision on some occasions.

(h/t @TheMillions via @TheRumpus)

"Rodin's Debutante"

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My review of Ward Just's Rodin's Debutante is up at Bookslut -- check it out =D

Game Ones

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Well holy shit, never expected that of the Grizz -- Randolph and Gasol just pounding the paint, Randolph (in the least likely though accurate comparison I can come up with of late) looking like prime Hakeem, and their D just taking ruthless advantage of OKC's mistakes. Still think OKC comes away with the series, but damn, it might just be a series. I figured Memphis would take one at home maybe, but this might be serious.

As for Boston-Miami, I still don't buy Miami not slipping up and gifting Boston a game. They've done it enough times this season to expect one out of seven. And that series must go to seven -- David Stern will ensure it if the teams don't, and I think Boston, even Perk-less, just spreads the floor better and has so many more options. Rondo putting up 30-15-21 in the last three games of the Knicks series scares the living shit out of me, because I shoot about as well as he does usually, as a 5'6" white guy with no discernible athletic talent and whose last remotely competitive ballgame was at age ten.

But D-Wade and LeBron together can stop any team from any era dead in its tracks when they play like they did today. D-Wade was just on fire, and they're both such good passers that probability alone dictates that the one can find the other at key moments -- you can't double team them both. And Bosh, who's finally remembered how to shoot, and though not up to KG-Pierce-Allen "Big Three" status, can still do damage. I still don't think "The Heatles" can withstand a seven-gamer with Boston, but Game one definitely made Miami look hella good. There's no way they can deal with playoff intensity at the Garden, but they don't need to. Question is, can Boston grab one in Miami? I think they do, but both this series and the Memphis-OKC one are going to be great to witness. No pun intended.

God I love basketball, and this really is already the most memorable playoffs of my 26-year span -- every series, every game just wire-to-wire crazy, big shot after big shot, a 1 losing to an 8, and we're one day into round two.

Heat-Celtics

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Sooooo excited. So many subplots and genuine hatred of each other. Can Pierce renew his '09/'10 playoff domination of LeBron? Can Ray carry on being just stupidly clutch? Can LeBron show up for a seminal playoff series? Can Spoelstra out-coach Doc?

This series reminds me so much of those Knicks-Heat series from the late '90s, where you just knew every game (as has been generally true of pretty much all playoff games this entire NBA post-season) would come down to the last shot, all of which would involve extreme physicality between two teams who really fucking hated each other.

I think C's in seven, and still think the Bulls aren't ready for the sort of pressure they're about to walk into, just praying the C's get winded and the Bulls can dispatch Atlanta quickly enough to let Boozer get some rest and let Thibs do what he does.

So... The Pale King

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First off, is excellent, completely at the level of Infinite Jest, and just another testament to the endless brilliance of our late DFW.

The book has been written about endlessly, and I'm not even going to bother linking various reviews or career retrospectives, because they are legion and easily findable.

I will, however, link to Maria Bustillos' excellent article about how DFW endured his own tragically brief life. It affords insights into the inner world of the greatest writer of the last fifty years that were previously unknown, or at least never so well stated.

The Pale King is about mind-numbing boredom. DMV boredom. World of Warcraft boredom. IRS boredom. I.E., doing something effortlessly and entirely mundane from which the new-car smell has long evaporated, but doing it and doing it well because that's what, at the moment, you must do. You do it well because you expect nothing better of yourself. DFW called this true heroism. I don't know that I agree with him. Maybe enough of the young (R)omantic remains that I believe in the association between heroism and transcendence. It is, however, noble.

What DFW does in The Pale King, as in all his work, is be human in a way so few of us allow ourselves to be. Face it, we live in the weirdest era in the history of humanity, where privacy has altogether and permanently disappeared, in which media in all forms is literally ubiquitous, in which more people have more rights and more access to the tools to demand those rights than ever before, and in which giant private interests have more money and more access than ever to restrict those rights. It's a strange fucking world. Wallace, to a credit I think is entirely underappreciated, saw all of this coming in his seminal and just plain brilliant 1993 essay "E Unibus Pluram" (collected in "A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again,") in which he argued that the pervasiveness of television -- but by extension all visual media -- did far more than just influence us all as consumers, voters, parents etc., but actually changed the way we experienced reality. Now, look at permeation (let's call it) of visual media in 1993 versus that in 2011. There's just no comparable scale.

The point about Wallace's humanity is that he saw all of that, horrified no doubt, and made the most difficult artistic move: he swam against the tide. For all the critical talk about Infinite Jest's "hyperactive surrealism," the thrust of the book is in favor of sincerity. Hal decays because he can't grasp that; Gately moves on because he can. The Pale King comes at the same problem from a different angle -- for all the metafictional candy canes and psychics, the book is about acceptance, both of the inevitable flaws of others and of circumstances that... to use a corporate phrase, are what they are. Niebuhr's "Serenity Prayer" may seem trite, but what Wallace taught us, and what we all should know is that it's more than likely a path to a good life. I suppose in that sense, the characters in The Pale King are heroic, in the sense that they accept their fate and try not to overcome it, but to make a good life from it.

Break Up the Grizz

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4-2 over 4-time champ San Antonio, and only the second 8-seed to down a 1 in the 7-game first-round era. I think the Warriors beating the Mavs in 2007 was more exciting, but this Grizz team is definitely more impressive, considering that this may well have been the Spurs' last legit chance for another ring. Duncan -- one of the greatest power forwards ever to play the game -- Parker, great scorer but seemingly antiquated in the Rose-Rondo-Paul-Westbrook era, and Ginobili -- another great scorer who's going to be leading this team in the near future -- are poised perhaps for their Alamo next year. Duncan has, at best, one season left in him. George Hill can be a star, but can't get the minutes with Parker ahead of him. Tiago Splitter and Gary Neal are good role players, but that's all. This Spurs group has, at best, one more chance for another ring.

This is one of the cool things about the NBA -- great teams just seem to fall and rise in twos and threes. The Thunder, Blazers, and yes, the Grizz, are the future of the West, while San Antonio, the Lakers, the Mavs, and in the East the C's at least seem destined within the next year or, at the latest, two, for reasons of age, to regress. In the East, the future belongs to Orlando [if it can find another scorer not named Dwight, who's looking more and more like a potential Patrick Ewing -- dominant big without enough help, and dependent enough on spotty outside shooters to invest in past-their-prime guards (see turkoglu, hedo, arenas, gilbert, starks, john)], Miami (genuinely terrifying because LeBron and Wade are really that good, and LeBron can do a 40, 8, and 8 pretty much whenever he wants -- cap space will be their issue for the next several years though), and a young Chicago team that has a head coach who knows what the fuck he's doing despite one regular season's experience, a point guard in Derrick Rose who's not yet the best player in the NBA (that distinction goes to Kevin Durant, imho), but at 22 a 25 and 8 guy who would give up essential body parts to win (This fact also scares me, but as a fan I'd take a player who will do whatever it possibly can take to win over someone scared to be injured.) Paired with a Luol who seems to remember what winning feels like/takes and a 26-year old Joakim Noah, that team is going to be around for at least eight years.

The Celtics, if they can survive Miami (which I think they can), are still the team to beat. Because as much as I want to punch him (as a Bulls fan), Rajon Rondo is the best distributor in the league not named Chris Paul. And Chris Paul doesn't get to pass to Paul Pierce, KG, and Ray Allen -- the latter of whom remains the most frightening late-game shooter in the league, and clutch in the David Ortiz/Landon Donovan category. Pierce's jump shot isn't quite as ugly as Noah's free throw, but it's managed to work for quite some time now. And even at 34-almost-35, KG's athleticism and just... well... no better word for it than insane... intensity can outdo the rest of the field this year.

This post was about the Grizz though, and though I don't think they'll get past OKC, it's worth recognizing what they accomplished. The Spurs have a pedigree -- the Dirk-led (though I admire Dirk and think he could play into his 40s with that mid-range fadeaway) Mavs haven't won rings, much less four of them, have been to the Finals once, and though perennially contenders just can't pull it off. The Spurs on the other hand are 4-0 in the Finals, humiliated an electrifying Suns team three times in four years. What the Zach fucking Randolph-led Grizz did to a 61-win Spurs team is just incredible.

What a playoffs already, and the second round hasn't even started.

Authorial Interjection part the first: No, I didn't mention the Lakers, mostly because I despise Kobe, think Lamar's frivolous, and Pau's soft. Derek Fisher is an assassin, but I really just want to pretend the Lake Show is a poorly-rated reality show.

Also didn't mention how much I admire Steve Nash for sticking it out with the Suns when it was plain and clear that team was going nowhere in the stacked West, and how much I desperately want him to win a championship. He's 37 and still making opposing teams look silly... while passing to Gortat, an I-don't-even-pretend-to-give-a-shit-anymore Vince Carter and Grant Hill, who also deserves at least a shot at a title.

New Stuff

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Started working on a new short story today, and really am excited about where it's going. Been sort of languishing in a creative funk of late, and it's just so great to be working on something new that you know, given the patience, will not be destined for the circular file. Now just to work and work on that patience part.

On the Cultural Relevance of Susan Boyle

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Susan Boyle on "Britain's Got Talent" -- subsequent success and co-optation by the music industry tabled for the moment -- is probably the most uplifting media event the world has seen in the last several years. I might be biased, since "Les Mis" was the first musical I ever listened to, saw, and remains seminal for me as a person. And yet -- the fact that this middle-aged woman could walk out there with the confidence she had, to the complete disbelief of Piers, Amanda, and Simon who, very much in reflection of the sort of world in which we live, dismissed her immediately solely on the basis of her appearance -- is irrefutably a poignant rejoinder against the sort of jaded cynicism that I and so many among my generation affect.

Because the fact of the matter is -- and this seems to be so rare among at least the disaffected 20-somethings to whose cohort I too often belong -- that was a moment that couldn't be... cynicized. When she belted out the lyric "I had a dream my life could be/So different from this hell I'm living," that wasn't a jaded, polished singer just rehearsing lines. That was a woman who's lived something similar to Fantine's hell singing her heart. It's heartbreaking to watch and insanely inspiring. More importantly, it's completely genuine. There is zero in the way of shit that is affected during that entire performance.

What Susan Boyle did and has since done is confirm the essential human-ness of we humans. What makes us who we are, at our best, is an ability to be naive. Naturally, this ability, too, has been exploited, parodized et al many many times over the brief course of our history. Irony has sort of become its own religion among my generation, but it shouldn't be. Sincerity, the capability to feel and feel deeply -- these are what make us who we are, and are not to be fucked around with. It's rare that a media blockbuster affords the chance to celebrate that sort of innocence, nowadays at least. The Daily Show, 30 Rock, Colbert, Parks and Rec -- all trade (quite brilliantly) in professional cynicism. Yet, I can't watch this video without getting all verklempt, and for a good reason -- this may sound odd, but Susan Boyle provides an antidote to cynicism, and a desperately needed one.

Interjection first: Susan's version was likely the most inspiring, but Ruthie Henshall kicked the living hell out of that song, to a degree I, as a decidedly non-musician of any sort, can only wonder at: http://bit.ly/Y3RvP

Interjection the second: /clearlywatchinglesmisyoutube videos but holy fuck Lea Salonga is so talented.

Nine Types of Light

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New TV on the Radio album = very good. Return to Cookie Mountain remains the album of theirs that stopped me in my tracks and was the iPod reboot of choice once takeoff was done. In 2006, at least. Nine Types seems a little bit more pop accessible than Dear Science, which was inevitable. The entire album is... down? Every track seems elegiac, which is probably appropriate for this strange era in which we live -- and TV on the Radio has, to their credit, been on top of what America didn't know it felt, though it felt it deeply.

"Will Do" is a genuine pop hit. My inner elitist recoiled a bit when (I think it was) Stan Levy referenced it on SportsCenter the other night, but it's a fantastic song and deserves some popular play. This band is too good to keep locked up in the skinny jeans and ironic or not moustaches crowd. I'm sort of adamant about this -- if you have a moustache and you're under thirty, chances are you're an insecure douche. "Will Do" seems genuine, some sort of plea from a wounded heart capable of actual feeling and actual pain.

That aside, "Return to Cookie Mountain" with its opening refrain of "I was a lover before this war" and "Dear Science" are most likely the best musical perspectives on this extremely weird era from say 2003-2011 in which my generation has come of age. Come of age meaning that we understand pop culture and what it means, we understand politics and the shell game it is, and we understand that money is fungible and is at the end of the day what separates the skins from the shirts. It's a fucking strange era to be youngish in.

All of that aside, and take this for the first record review it is -- Nine Types of Light is good.

Elif Batuman on writing

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Awesome essay by Elif Batuman, author of The Possessed (which is an excellent book), about the life of a young writer, how it feels to be caught for the first time in the whirlwind of having published a bestseller, and asking Jonathan Franzen for weed at the National Book Critics Circle awards.

The Mortenson Debacle

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I have to admit, I haven't been following the growing furor over what 60 Minutes and Jon Krakauer allege to be severe factual errors and downright fabrications in Mortenson's super-mega-best-selling... humanitarian memoir (?) Three Cups of Tea that closely, nor have I actually read the book. So I don't really have much to say about the specifics of the case -- although Krakauer's 78-page expose is available as a .pdf at Byliner Magazine (I'm going to try to squeeze it in at some point this evening).

What I do find interesting about the whole thing, though, is 1) how eerily it resembles the James Frey fiasco a few years back with regard to his "memoir" of recovery from drug and alcohol addiction A Million Little Pieces; 2) how the social ritual of fame/fall from grace/mea culpae/rehabilitation/resumption of fame (hell, even Frey is publishing again) is so ingrained into our entertainment culture (and yes, this book counts as an artifact of entertainment culture); and 3) the desperation of the publishing industry to find the next big thing to shoot to the top of the bestseller list -- no matter how implausible the story -- so long as it's a page-turner, and tells a story that is (pick an adjective) heartwarming, uplifting, inspirational, profound, etc. Side thought: do publishers ever vet "too good to be true" stories?

Of those, I think 2) is probably the most interesting, as it's a phenomenon that seems never to die. Every time one of these stories comes along, the entertainment media falls all over itself to shame the individual responsible, knowing full well what course the story will take, and exactly how efficiently they'll be able to make bank off it. It's a pattern of exploitation exploiting exploitation -- in this case, media (amplified more than ever by its "social" variety) exploiting Mortenson's exploitation of his sources, audience, publisher, and donors in order to create this lurid spiral of publicity that will end up serving both the media and -- in the end, provided he plays by the rules -- Mortenson, while sucking the rest of us into a simulacrum of an ethical lesson about artistic integrity. Entertainment propagates entertainment all under the guise of a misplaced moralism. The media gets paid, Mortenson doesn't really suffer anything in the end, and the rest of us get to chatter about each step of the process, from downfall to renewal.

The real "lesson," if there is one, is to take one's art (broadly defined) seriously enough to practice it with integrity in the first place.

Addendum: It's also worth mentioning that Krakauer went on 60 Minutes last night with an already-prepared 78-page article ready to be posted the next day. Even the accusers are complicit in the publicity game. (h/t Kathleen Schmidt @bookgirl96 for pointing this out)

Michael Sheehan on The Pale King

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Michael Sheehan [who knows what he's talking about (I never know what to do with multiple links when there aren't enough to match each word... "knows" and "about" seemed the two most authoritative choices) when it comes to DFW] has a really good and thoughtful review of The Pale King up at The Rumpus.

Hopefully, if I can accomplish at least a few of the things I have in store for today, my reward will be cracking it open tonight. It's sitting there with that king of clubs on the cover staring at me.

Anne Frank Discovers Her Clitoris and Who Knew?

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I had heard vaguely that the version of The Diary of Anne Frank that we all read in eighth grade had been censored, but I really didn't know in what way, or what content had been expurgated in the name of upright American values.

Turns out -- and go figure -- the excised sections include a passage in which she contemplates her genitals and discovers her clitoris. This would seem to be a normal process for any fifteen-year old, and although it's entirely unsurprising that moralists terrified of sex would censor that passage, and it helps humanize a young girl who for many has become a sort of reified personification of the struggle between "innocence" and evil.

Citizen Radio

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Just discovered these guys, but if you're in the market for a free and people-powered progressive radio program, check out Citizen Radio. It's produced by Allison Kilkenny and Jamie Kilstein, who are both hilarious and incisively insightful (I just wanted to go for the rare "i" alliteration). Trying to figure out where I'm going to find room for them in my daily media binge, but it'll definitely happen. They get cool guests like Rachel Maddow, Matt Taibbi, Amy Goodman, et al. Woot!