This Blog is Stolen Property

Saturday, August 05, 2006

Illegal Reprint!! sssshhh....

I am, for now, speechless:

Bye-Bye, Bootstraps
By David Brooks
The New York Times

In all healthy societies, the middle-class people have wholesome middle-class values while the upper-crust bluebloods lead lives of cosseted leisure interrupted by infidelity, overdoses and hunting accidents. But in America today we’ve got this all bollixed up.

Through some screw-up in the moral superstructure, we now have a plutocratic upper class infused with the staid industriousness of Ben Franklin, while we are apparently seeing the emergence of a Wal-Mart leisure class — devil-may-care middle-age slackers who live off home-equity loans and disability payments so they can surf the History Channel and enjoy fantasy football leagues.

For the first time in human history, the rich work longer hours than the proletariat.

Today’s super-wealthy no longer go off on four-month grand tours of Europe, play gin-soaked Gatsbyesque croquet tournaments or spend hours doing needlepoint while thinking in full paragraphs like the heroines of Jane Austen novels. Instead, their lives are marked by sleep deprivation and conference calls, and their idea of leisure is jetting off to Aspen to hear Zbigniew Brzezinski lead panels titled “Beyond Unipolarity.”

Meanwhile, down the income ladder, the percentage of middle-age men who have dropped out of the labor force has doubled over the past 40 years, to over 12 percent. Many of the men have disabilities. Others struggle to find work. But in a recent dinner-party-dominating article, The Times’s Louis Uchitelle and David Leonhardt describe two men who are not exactly Horatio Alger wonderboys.

Christopher Priga, 54, earned a six-figure income as an electrical engineer at Xerox but is now shown relaxing at a coffee shop with a book and a smoke while waiting for a job commensurate with his self-esteem. “To be honest, I’m kind of looking for the home run,” he said. “There’s no point in hitting for base hits.”

Alan Beggerow, once a steelworker, now sleeps nine hours day, reads two or three books a week, writes Amazon reviews, practices the piano and writes Louis L’Amour-style westerns. “I have come to realize that my free time is worth a lot to me,” he said.

His wife takes in work as a seamstress and bakes to help support the family, as they eat away at their savings. “The future is always a concern,” Beggerow said, “but I no longer allow myself to dwell on it.”

Many readers no doubt observed that if today’s prostate-aged moochers wanted to loaf around all day reading books and tossing off their vacuous opinions into the ether, they should have had the foresight to become newspaper columnists.

Others will note sardonically that the only really vibrant counterculture in the United States today is laziness.

But I try not to judge these gentlemen harshly. What I see is a migration of values. Once upon a time, middle-class men would have defined their dignity by their ability to work hard, provide for their family and live as self-reliant members of society. But these fellows, to judge by their quotations, define their dignity the same way the subjects of Thorstein Veblen’s “The Theory of the Leisure Class” defined theirs.

They define their dignity by the loftiness of their thinking. They define their dignity not by their achievement, but by their personal enlightenment, their autonomy, by their distance from anything dishonorably menial or compulsory.

In other words, the values that used to prevail among the manorial estates have migrated to parts of mass society while the grinding work ethic of the immigrant prevails in the stratosphere.

This is terrible. It’s a blow first of all to literature. If P. G. Wodehouse were writing today, Bertie Wooster would be at Goldman Sachs and Jeeves would be judging a meth-mouth contest at Sturgis. Anna Karenina would be Miranda Priestly from “The Devil Wears Prada.” “The House of Mirth” would become “The House of Broadband.”

More important, this reversal is a blow to the natural order of the universe. The only comfort I’ve had from these disturbing trends is another recent story in The Times. Joyce Wadler reported that women in places like the Hamptons are still bedding down with the hired help. R. Couri Hay, the society editor of Hamptons magazine, celebrated rich women’s tendency to sleep with their home renovators.

“Nobody knows,” he said. “The contractor isn’t going to tell because the husband is writing the check, the wife isn’t going to tell, and you get a better job because she’s providing a fringe benefit. Everybody wins.”

Thank God somebody is standing up for traditional morality.

Sweet Fancy Moses, he got paid to write that. The mind boggles. I've reprinted it here for all you lazy proles who can't afford the $49.95 that the Gray Lady charges to read this...this..."stuff."

I can't afford it either, but my employer has a subscription. I, too, am a lazy cheating member of the lumpenbourgeoiteriat.

Friday, August 04, 2006

CFP? A-OK!

More wacky calls for papers from my inbox:

Among the usual CFPs for work on "Queer Masculinities" and "Dramatic Enactments of Suffering Bodies in Restoration England," were these gems:

"How to Brow" (To what? To brow? Is that a verb? Is that even a thing?)

"Eudora Welty and Detective Fiction" (?)

and my personal favorite:

"American Medieval: American Popular Culture in Medieval Film"

Huh? Is it just me, or does this sound like it's about movies made in the Middle Ages where the characters quote Seinfeld or something?

Like that great 13th century classic, "Heigh Fydelyte."

Peter Travers of Rollynge Stone raved: "A konnynge scrite. Ich lawhyed, for ich ben wel plesyd."

Thursday, August 03, 2006

Totem Poem

So, today was the semi-annual book purge chez Feemus. My intention was to keep all my "totem" books (see previous post), with the stipulation that I would actually read them.

There is an exception.

I have had A Brief History of Time on my shelf for about a decade and a half and I don't think I've ever even OPENED it. That book just ain't gettin' read.

It is in the pile headed for McIntyre and Moore, puveyors (and purchasers) of used books.

In honor of this fallen totem, I offer the following text-stat elegy (I still can't find a good name for this genre--any suggestions accepted gratefully).

small black body...
bang!
energy expanding.
matter expanding.
another small space,
black hole:
gravity must matter.

Habent Sua Fata Libelli , or The Many Ways in Which Feemus is a Big Jerk

What does the Delphic oracle say? Know Thyself? Well, Feemus must have missed that day in Inscription 101.

I decided to "work" from home today. Which means that I slept in, opened my laptop, got ready to go to the gym but didn't go, turned my laptop on, watched a little television, sat down at my laptop.
Read blogs. Checked box scores. Posted a blog entry (about the fresh, new issue of gay marriage). Checked how my fantasy baseball team was doing (about as well as the Mariners--some fantasy!). Read some more blogs.

Sigh.

But then I decided that since I was home, I would take care of the book situation. They breed, as anyone who owns a lot of books knows. They are taking over my living room. And dining room. And bedroom.

Today I am being ruthless. I will show those books no ruth.

There are some easy cuts: if you own four copies of Measure for Measure, probably at least two of them can go. Maybe three. But then there are the ones that just stymie me: how did I get them? Why have I kept them? What should I do with them? These fall into a few different categories:

1. "Classics" that I think I should own
These are usually books from classes that I have taken or classes I have taught that have historical (or even literary) value, but which I don't ever intend to read again. Uncle Tom's Cabin is the sort of Platonic form for this category. I will never read this book again, I don't like it, but I haven't been able to part with it. Because, you know, it's important.

Today, I am parting with it. With them all. At least, that's the plan.

2. The Totems
These are the books I know I may never read. But somehow owning them gives me the sense that I participate in their power. I may read a paragraph now and then (if there's ever a pop quiz on the opening paragraphs of Truth and Method, I'm all set), but mostly my relationship to them is one of magical thinking: If I own the complete works of Heidegger, I will somehow--without exerting any effort--know more about German philosophy.

For all I know, this may actually be working--who know how little I might understand German philosophy if I didn't keep these books collecting dust on my shelves? It's theoretically possible (but only just) that I could know less about the subject. But only just.

These I am keeping, vowing to read them.

3. The Pretenders
This is a somewhat, but not entirely, overlapping category with the totems. But with these books, the power comes not from the object, but from the visibility of the object. I couldn't, for instance, have people come over for supper and see that I don't own a copy of the latest Coetzee. It just wouldn't do.

This category is, perhaps, the "taboo" to the aforementioned "totem." Not owning these books represents a kind of transgression that I am not willing to make.

I'm exaggerating a little. Still, I'm not going to (re)read about 60% of them. They're outta here.

4. The "What the Hell?"
This is a broad category that encompasses all the books whose relationship with my shelves seems entirely inexplicable. Books of Portuguese poetry (I don't know Portuguese). The odd romance novel (no one in the house reads these). 5 copies of Blake's The Marriage of Heaven and Hell. Five?? I don't even really like Blake.

Blake's gone. I'm probably never going to learn Portuguese well enough to read poetry, so they're gone, too. Although...I am getting to be able to read the signs on the buses that are in Portuguese. Mostly they are telling me to get tested for HIV. The Portuguese word for "narcotics" is "estupeficantes." Ok, ok I can't actually read the signs, I just pick out the cognates and fill in the rest from the English sign. I will never read that damn poetry. It seems like a nice language, though. Sorry, Portuguese poetry, but you're gone.

Oh, and the bosom-heavers are gone, too. All but one--it has a pretty sexy cover.

So, I have been sorting books and making some unpleasant self-discoveries. And I haven't gotten any work done. Maybe I should just throw in the towel and see if I can catch a rerun of Celebrity Fit Club on VH1. The wonderful thing about t.v. is how little it asks from you. You can watch all you want and it doesn't take up any more space in your living room.

Who Cares? They're Going to Hell Anyway

The case of Andersen vs. King County, the Washington State Supereme Court case that upheld "heterosexual marriage rights," reflects the delightful schizophrenia of Washington state politics.

Washington, like Oregon and California, is a red state with a self-righteous and self-satisfied blue coast line. As with Oregon, both the red and the blue are shot through with libertarianism (I don't know what color this is. Green is taken. Orange?). So this ruling is a mess. On the one hand, if affirms the rights of gays to be gay (go ahead gays! the court says it's ok! Shine on, you crazy gay diamonds!). On the other hand, it argues--try to follow the logic--that because gays have gained some margin of legislative protection, they do not need the courts to affirm their rights.

If you're confused, it's because you're paying attention.

On the third hand (yeah, I know), they write:

"limiting marriage to opposite-sex couples furthers procreation, essential to survival of the human race, and furthers the well-being of children by encouraging families where children are reared in homes headed by the children's biological parents."

What? I think the logic is that if you can only get hetero-married, you will do so. And start popping out the kids. Maybe they haven't heard about the population crisis.

Of course, this is risible. The objections are too obvious to state. But also too obvious not to state: what about straights raising adopted kids? What about gays raising biological kids? What about people like me who hate kids? What about old people?

Do they really think that banning gay marriage will "further procreation"??? Who is going to be having these extra babies? Gays? Or will straight people be so damned happy to have their institution all to themselves that they will just start humping like there's no tomorrow?

But, of course, no one believes this. This "protection of marriage" thing is a sham, and everyone knows it, supporters included.

I think they should just be honest and call it the "It Squicks Me Out to Think About Two Guys Going at It (although a couple of attractive ladies are ok, but we can't let them get married because then they might not let me pay to watch) So I Don't Want Them to Get Married Bill."

Oh, and for the folks in the other Washington: in case you haven't noticed, there's a fucking war on. A couple of them, in fact. Worry about the homos after you get that sorted out. Maybe it'll be the rapture by then anyway.

And don't worry. Married or not, they're still going to hell.

Tuesday, August 01, 2006

CFP-o-Rama

Got a fresh new batch of CFPs (or "calls for papers") in my inbox today. There is some wacky stuff going on out there.

From the highly specialized (English Language Perspectives on Flemish Culture) to the abstruse (the New Queer Historicism) to the wacky (Zombies). There's truly a lid for every pot.

My all-time favorite CFP:

Taking Modernity From Behind:

In Negotiations, Giles Deleuze famously characterizes his history of philosophy as “a sort of buggery,” the practice of “taking an author from behind and giving him a child that would be his own offspring, yet monstrous.” Using this description as an organizing impetus, we invite submissions for a panel on approaching theories of modernity from behind – i.e. from texts retroactively designated as “early modern.” What kinds of “offspring” does such an analysis generate? And to whom would they be monstrous?

Papers should stage a conversation between modernity and early modernity in order to demonstrate not simply the utility of using modern theories to analyze early modern texts, but to demonstrate how a sodomitical reading practice de-familiarizes, hybridizes, and perhaps eroticizes both modernisms and early modernisms.

Ok--but what do you tell your mother when she asks about your work? Moms just don't want to hear "sodomitical." Ever.

Trust me.

"Jews or Booze?" Quiz: The Answers!!!!

Note: If you were playing "Gibson Rules," the answers may vary slightly.

1: c.
2: c.
3: b.
4. b. and c. No wait, I think we went to see Road Warrior, not Lethal Weapon. Wow, I'm old. And Dana, wherever you are, I'm sorry I cried afterward. I was just so grateful. If I'd known better, I would have wept from embarassment as well as gratitude.
5. None of the above--this was the will of God.
6. b.
7. another trick question. The answer is Sergei Eisenstein. See any Brian de Palma movie for proof.

Scoring
Everyone's a winner. Have a drink. Have some Manischewitz.

Monday, July 31, 2006

Quiz!!!!!!

Ugh. I just can't let it go. Mel Gibson apologized to the police, specifically, and more generally to "anyone he might have offended."

For saying that Jews are responsible for all the wars in the world (this gives a whole new dimension to Holocaust denying: the Jews started it), he apologizes vaguely to "anyone he might have offended."

Nice, Mel.

That's like saying, "I'm really really sorry that you're mad at me."

This is a man who at his most egregious claims that his Holocaust-denying father has never lied to him, and at his most conciliatory claims that victims of the Holocaust are no different from any other war casualties. Except that the Jews and Gypsies and Catholics (sometimes irony just isn't funny) who perished in the concentration camps were NOT casualties. They were murder vicitms.*

Dead is dead, that's true enough, but to suggest that systematically segregating, impoversihing, enslaving, torturing, and exterminating a particular group doesn't present its own set of ethical concerns betrays an astonishingly enfeebled moral imagination. It's obscene.

But, I am willing to cut the guy some slack. After all, he was drunk. And we all know that liquor causes anti-Semitism (not for nothing the stereotype that Jews don't drink). So, in honor of my 2nd favorite drunk bigot,** I hereby offer a quiz: "Jews or Booze?"

Here's how it works. For each of the following historical events, decide who was responsible. In order that it not be too easy, there will also be a third choice. If you're playing "Gibson Rules," of course, you can ignore this one.

So here we go:

JEWS OR BOOZE?:

1. Drunk Driving
a. Jews
b. Booze
c. bad judgment
2. Anti-Semitic comments
a. Jews
b. Booze
c. bad judgment
3. Lethal Weapon 3
a. Jews
b. Booze
c. bad judgment
4. Losing my virginity
a. Jews
b. Booze
c. Lethal Weapon
5. Killing Jesus
a. Jews
b. Booze
c. the Romans
6. The Passion of the Christ
a. Jews
b. Booze
c. the glorification of cinematic violence fused to a misguided sense of spiritual duty
7. Hollywood's Glorification of Violence
a. Jews
b. Booze
c. Mel Gibson movies

Answers will be posted tomorrow. Get your number 2s sharpened!

*Poor Ronald Reagan also didn't get the difference when he insisted on visiting Bitburg and saying that the Waffen SS were also victims of the Nazis. Um, Mr. President, the SS were the Nazis. But Reagan was addled and manipulated. Whereas Mel Gibson is...nevermind.
**The number one slot still belongs to a blind date I went on about ten years ago (hi, Denise!), who after 4 or 5 drinks proceded to tell me what she thought about blacks and Laotians and Democrats (at least we agreed on the last one). But I'm sure she didn't believe any of those things when she was sober.

"The Jews Made Me Drink!"

Or did the liquor make me anti-Semitic?

I herewith issue a call to arms for all the respectable alcoholics and problem drinkers out there:

TAKE BACK YOUR DISEASE.

Look, alcoholics have got it pretty rough as it is. The boss hassles you. The wife nags. The head pounds. The liver swells. And let's face it - the hooch ain't cheap. Being a problem drinker on a middle-management salary takes some disciplined budgeting.

Or so I've heard.

The last thing an up-standing falling-down drunk needs is some guy saying that one of the side effects of booze is bigotry.

I've never heard of liquor making anyone hating Jews. Liking Steely Dan, MAYBE, but hating Jews? C'mon Mel.

I haven't felt this much schadenfreudic glee since the Virtue Czar got caught gambling. As I recall, HIS excuse was that he was rich. And that it's not a sin to gamble if you're rich.

Just like Jesus said in the Sermon on the Mount: "And the rich shall have a different set of standards for personal morality."

That was right after his rant about how the Jews totally control the papyrus industry.