Culture Glutton

scott embarrassed

- *hiccup* “Excuse me! I think I ate too much…”

A blog idea I came up with last night – presented to you after slight editing…

I am on a race with the clock against the sleep aid/melatonin nightcap that is racing through my bloodstream. I need to capture some observations before pharmacopeia-induced sleep hits me.

It has taken  3 1/2 seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, 2 seasons of Spaced, and a severe nutritional deficiency of good reading, for me to realize that consumption of too much visual entertainment is bad for my creative output.

It has been great for the analytical half of my brain. I find myself more aware of story elements, plot, character development, the filmography of numerous directors and actors. I even find myself increasingly aware of the details in the world around me. But my own inner eye has been squeezed to a tiny squint. Any natural flow of ideas has become encased in the frozen walls of other writers’ visions. I can clearly visualize the creative works of Josh Whedon, Simon Pegg, James Cameron, Hayao Miyazaki. Less clear are the endless worlds that once floated in my mind, like tantalizing fruit hung from a tree ripe and ready for the plunder. Two years ago I couldn’t type fast enough to capture the images and characters boiling away in my head, brimming to the surface in dreams – both waking and sleeping.

I suppose I could go back, retreat from cultural relevance, abandon my IMDB Top 50 movie project. Stop watching Buffy. Forego television (well, my Hulu and Netflix equivalents thereof). Become just another mediocre writer with lots of ideas but no creative well to draw from. A writer who is a mile wide and a cultural inch deep.

But I think it can be done. Balance that is. Take Stephen King for instance. The man is a cultural glutton, yet somehow he finds the time to publish dozens of books while wading neck deep in music, television, and film. Granted, he is a self-prescribed hermit. And he does not volunteer his time to the mission of his local church. And I wouldn’t exactly say that all (or most) of his books are particularly stunning – from a strictly literary perspective. But he has found some modicum of balance (or maybe he just learned how to live without sleep once he got himself off the cocaine). Either way, he demonstrates that it is possible to remain both creative and analytical; aware of the world around him, even as he creates the worlds that exist only in his head. There is a balance there.

One I have not yet discovered.

Published in: on September 5, 2009 at 7:36 am Comments (1)
Tags: , , , ,

It’s all Yiddish to me

the_yiddish_policemans_union

An amateur’s review of Michael Chabon’s The Yiddish Policeman’s Union

by D.Scott Phillips

Michael Chabon, author of Wonder Boys and The Adventures of Kavalier and Clay, Pulitzer Prize winner, also Hugo, Sidewise, and Nebula award winner, began his literary meteor-strike with Werewolves in Pittsburgh. An east-coast native, a supporter of rigid writing discipline (10am-3pm, Sunday-Thursday), he began writing Yiddish in February of 2002, and released it to critical acclaim in May of 2007.

Part hardboiled detective story, part historical fiction, it is a completely unique retelling of the Jewish plight post-WWII. The title derives from a fictional and mostly inept organization of detectives residing in the Chabon-created district of Sitka, Alaska, the place where Jewish refugees have been exported after the failed Jewish re-settlement to Israel, 1948. Truly, “a novel only Michael Chabon could have written.”

The story begins with a murder in The Hotel Zamenhof, the place where washed-up homicide detective, Meyer Landsman, has landed after a failed marriage, a disastrous career, and the overall shambles of his slivovitz friendly life. The death occurs during an inconvenient time:  the Jewish district of Sitka is a few months shy of Reversion – the 60 year generosity of the American government has come to an end and the Jewish district will revert to just another chunk of Alaskan soil. Landsman discovers that his murdered neighbor is a heroin-addled chess prodigy of some renown, but as he digs further, he is told to “black folder” the case and end his investigation.

Told from the 3rd person present tense, Yiddish reads like exotic candy, partly from its unusual perspective, but also because the book is filled throughout with genuine Yiddish phrases, enough to warrant a 4-page glossary at the end. Like Wonder Boys and Kavalier & Clay, Yiddish is not for the literary faint of heart, grappling as it does with a strong sub-text of spiritual and political tensions. A fictional “what-if” for adults, Yiddish is for the adult reader who likes their fiction with a stiff flavor of the real and intellectually deep.

Fans of Susanna Clark’s Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell will find themselves in familiar territory, as Chabon does for Jewish-American history what Clark did with her own native England – combining fresh prose with interesting research and loveable characters, leaving the reader second-guessing the stories told in history books. There is magic in Yiddish, and American fans in particular will rejoice in finding the literary Tzaddik Ha-Dor we’ve been longing for.

Published in: on August 16, 2009 at 10:39 pm Leave a Comment
Tags: , , , ,

Death Tweets

dead_bird

“Someday soon, a celebrity will Twitter straight to the grave.” 

-Farrah’s Stunning ‘Story’ EW

Mark Harris was on to something as he gave his opinion of Farrah Fawcett’s “Farrah’s Story,” which aired on NBC. A former sex-symbol, actress Farrah’s story is one of disappointment, despair, and the disillusionment of remission as recurrence settles in. It is the story of a glamorous life reduced to cancer and chemo, a sad reminder of the fall; death and dying aired for 9 million viewers’ pleasure. 

Mr. Harris’ article raises poignant questions about the blurring of lines between the public and the private life, between decency and humiliation, between full disclosure and sealed lips.

Would you blog your doctor’s diagnosis? 

Would you Facebook update your chemo treatment?

Would you vlog your funeral?

Would you  tweet your death?

         _________

Where is the line?

Published in: on June 19, 2009 at 7:23 am Comments (2)
Tags: , , , ,

Take a bite out of

teeth500

I had a dentist appointment today. This is also known as a bad day.

The procedure that I need is complicated, expensive, time-consuming, and far too embarrassing to talk about in a blog post.

No, really.

Instead, I am going to use my current oral fixation to talk about teeth, as any good writer should:  using allegory, symbolism, and metaphor.

Teeth issues are some of the most embarrassing to have. Buck teeth, gaps, missing teeth, crooked teeth, or, worst of all, hideously stained teeth, the product of a lifetime of sacredly held vices. Teeth problems steal smiles, thereby siphoning joy. Rather than flash our brokenness, we hide it beneath the veil of sealed lips. Well, most of us.

I have a friend (who will remain unnamed, though it is impossible to embarrass her) who used to play with her flipper during social functions. What is a flipper you ask?

 Flipper300

 

(Kind of looks like something Neil Gaiman would fantasize, doesn’t it? Possibly something cooked up by Coraline’s Other Mother?)

And what kind of social functions? Any.

Church functions, birthday parties, and small groups of friends in intimate settings. She would play with that damn thing whenever the fancy took her, and it took her often; and it didn’t matter how many times you saw it, the sight of someone flipping her tooth back and forth through her lips is disconcerting at best, and very redneck at least.

I have another friend who has teeth dreams. She told me once about a dream she had where broken pieces of her teeth were falling from her mouth, and she was trying to cup them in her hands before they hit the ground.

I’ve read that this signifies change in one’s life. Or insecurity. I think it’s probably a mix of both.

These memories were running through my mind as I sat in the dentist’s office. The hum of the fish tank mixing with the easy listening elevator music. Today was one of the few times I’ve been in a dentist’s office as an adult, and I realized that something changed from when I was a kid.

I remember having my front baby teeth taken out. The dentist knocked me full of drugs, plunged me into a Lethean dream, and when I woke, I was a gapped monstrosity. But I didn’t feel like a monstrosity. Sure, I was slightly embarrassed, but if the same thing happened to me now, I would be devastated. Think about it. Can you imagine Mr. President giving his Cairo speech with no canines?

Something changed. But where is the balance? I think the line has to be somewhere between flippant disregard and nightmarish concern, when it comes to the way we portray ourselves to the world.

But maybe I’ve bitten off more than I can chew. Care to take a bite?

Published in: on June 5, 2009 at 7:26 am Comments (2)
Tags: , , ,

“Rupert & I” or “Old Meets New”

 

Why, hello there blogging world! I thought it was time to creep out of the nether regions of day-to-day life, and return to the wondrous world of blogging. 

Has it really been 4 months since my last post? I’m surprised my WordPress account hasn’t forgotten me after all this time.. 

Well, as it has been a while, I thought I’d fill you in on the biggies:

1) I am engaged to this lovely little lady

28thStHousePics (6)

Isn’t she cute?

Her name is Diana Taibi. She is an Associate Professor at the University of Washington, a damned fine musician, a brilliant researcher, and a huge fan of zombies. ‘Nuff said. 

2) (Ok, so I know you’ll want to hear more about #1, but tough, I’ve got 4 months of ground to cover!)

I moved again. Not out of Seattle, but that does make 3 times in 1 year, not a record, but more than my ol’ settlin’ bones care for these days.

Somehow, I keep landing great Christian landlords; this is the 2nd time I’ve rented a room through friends from church, friends who insist on letting me eat their food as part of my rent. I don’t know whose ass I kissed in my past life to get these kind of deals, but I sure hope Diana doesn’t taste anything funny on my lips when we kiss..

3) My lovely fiancée bought me an Underwood Typewriter for Valentine’s Day (can we say, best romantic gift of all time?). I have decided to name him Rupert Underwood (after the Watcher from Buffy the Vampire Slayer). 

Rupert and I

There is something nostalgic and wonderful about using a typewriter. The clunk of typebars, the satisfying *ding* as the platen reaches its end, and the thrill of sliding a blank sheet down the feed roller. It is a machine made for writing.

Don’t get me wrong. I love my lappy, too. I love the ease of editing, the wealth of online research material, and the simplicity of an Alt S. But there is also Facebook, Youtube, even Wikipedia (who hasn’t gotten lost down that rabbit hole!) to distract and pull away from the task at hand. 

I suspect over the coming months that Rupert & I are going to join up with my Apple lappy to bring the blogging world some Old World Meets 21st Century Stock Photo Magic. 

stock photo magic400Giles: Grave-robbing? That’s new. Interesting. 
Buffy: I *know* you meant to say gross and disturbing. 
Giles: Yes, yes, yes of course. A terrible thing. Must, must put a stop to it.

Published in: on May 29, 2009 at 6:12 am Comments (2)
Tags: , , ,
« Older Entries