Codex Ivstianvs

Why, hello. Fancy seeing you here.

Emperor tropique du cancer toucan beak

Saturday, July 30, 2005

Unjustifiably Obscure Dead People


Some of you may have heard of Mr. Frederick Law Olmstead, but not enough of you. FLO, as his peeps called him, was one of the great forerunners of progressive America. He is most famous as the designer of Central Park in NYC, though he also designed the Buffalo park system, the campus of Stanford Univeresity and Chicago's Riverside neighborhood. It is in this capacity that I was reminded of him by a phone call from a friend in New York. But FLO wasn't just a landscpae architect, he was a journalist and an abolitionist and a publisher. He wrote an anti-slavery series from the South for the New York Daily Times (now the NYT) from 1852-1857, it was compiled as a book and published during the first months of the Civil War to arouse abolitionist sentiment in the North. He also founded the oldest surviving newsmagazine in America, The Nation. FLO was so absurdly accomplished and influential that it is strange that he is largely obscure today. But that's what I'm here for people: reinvigorating the memories of long dead people for the six of you out there that read this blog.


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Friday, July 29, 2005

Sweet, glorious Jesus let this be real and not another wonderful dream

I got this from This Modern World
This is...ah...it's...um...yeah...well...what can I say? Apparently, now bear with me here, there is to be a new comic book--8 issue mini series--called Liberality. It takes place in 2021, and Liberals have taken over and the distopian future can only be saved by right wing radio talk show hosts like Sean Hannity. Those dudes would all be like 70 years old in 2021, you ask, how could they fight the evil liberal overlords and their dastardly free healthcare for all policies? Because, and I swear this on my life, they are (get ready for it) biomechanically engineered.

Seriously, go read the description. It's wonderful...it's magical...it's hilarious. The best part? Oh, there are so many, but I think the very bestest part is that there is no irony here. This is so damned earnest that I can hardly believe it. Now many a comic books makes a political point, in fact most of the best ones do, and to be fair there is a heavily liberal bias in the comics. But no liberal ever actually made Walter Mondale a goddamn superhero, they invented heroes to crusade for their causes. X-Men = Civil Rights Leaders. The Justice League = The United Nations. That sort of thing. But G. Gordon Liddy, I mean, c'mon. Honestly. It's so bad it's good, it's the very embodiment of camp.

Let's look at the title. Liberality. First and foremost it's "liberal reality"--just like the future reality of liberal domination. But the money shot is on the cover of the comic book. The logo for the series is where we get the "deeper" meaning. Through the magic of design--different colored fonts--it becomes: LIBERALITY. The Red is star-spangled, and the blue is UNish. Get it. Liberty. Yeah great. And the "ali" for UN is kinda Arab, so you know that's bad

Oh God, it's funny.

All I can say is that I'm getting the first issue. This is going to be great.


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Thursday, July 28, 2005

One more thing to blame on Dubya.


So I was thinking today, for whatever reason, that I don't really read "The Boondocks" anymore. The Aaron McGruder cartoon in the newspapers used to be one of my favorites. But I haven't liked it much since college. And I don't think it's me...I think it's Mr. McGruder, but really it's President Bush.

Let me explain.

I have this sense, born of no particular data or expertise, that there has been a progressive trajectory to American history for a while now. Not just the Manifest Destiny, always optimistic, New World crap that's been on this continent since Eruopeans landed; but a serious commitment to political and social progressivism in a variety of forms no matter what.

In 1904 or so (dating from the election of Teddy Roosevelt, the first true progressive president--Bully!) we all got together and said, "Hey, y'know what? From here on out, let's always try to take a step forward and never back. Even if it's just a tiny step, let's just all agree to commit to positive change in some form or another, and at the very worst let's not regress to the bad old days. We're America, we're better than that." The franchise was extended, equal rights for women and minorities (religious, gender, and ethnic) advanced, labor rights recognized, advocacy leaves the local town commitee and finds a seat at the table in DC. We get rid of the Department of War and get Education, HHS, VA, Labor. All kinds of things just keep going forward. And everytime we take a step back, we force things forward even more to make up for it--again 100 years ago we all just got together and decided to be grown-ups about this. Or so it seemed.

Then George W. Bush was appointed to the presidency under dubious circumstances and didn't govern with humble consensus befitting his political position. He just smirked and went ahead turning the nation into [shudder] Texas. We all know the story, I'm not going to recount the list of malfeasances...such a list is far too long for one man.

So back to "The Boondoocks" and Aaron McGruder. Mr. McGruder had a sharp eye for both the visuals and the dialogue of his strip. He made incisive comments about race, economics, and culture in the modern America of suburbs and mixed or single-parent families. Then Bush came. And McGruder and people like him, people who had always just sort of relied on that progressive consensus that ruled across ideologies and political parties (it seemed) were kind of in shock. I mean, it's not so much that we had a Republican president, we usually have in the 20th and so far in the 21st century. It's that these ideas, things that we had settled in the preceeding century, things like the validity of science to explain the world around us or the idea that America is inclusive, even--especially--of those who seem outside the mainstream, well these ideas went out the window. So McGruder started devoting his little bit of public space to Bush bashing and some other stuff. And I just can't read it anymore. Not because I dont' agree. I do, heartily. But because I can't watch smart incisive people flail about in sadness and anger and try to recapture what was lost. It's really my weakness, not McGruder's. And I would probably do the same thing. But ultimately I blame Bush. One, because I just fucking feel like it, the smug asshole. And, two, because it is ultimately his toxic influence on the culture that has tarnished so much. The Left seems shrill at times, like it won't stop Bush bashing, but that's because we are howling in the wilderness trying to get people to see that he isn't just a down home guy who fights terrorists, but a serious departure, even a break, from the progressive tradition of American values that made this country great. And it's so incredibly frustrating that at this point I have begun to understand why people just got to shut down sometimes and go on auto-pilot. I do it too. I know I shouldn't, I know I should suck it up and do something. But this isn't moderating Reaganomics...this is bailing out the Titanic. We have been reduced to defending science. I mean, fuck man, it's science. What the fuck have we become?!

So I don't really read "The Boondocks" anymore, because I can't take the outrage and the sadness, I'm too full of it myself.


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Wednesday, July 27, 2005

How much for thee weemen?

CNN.com - Goats, cows offered for Chelsea - Jul 27, 2005

I think that this is the greatest thing ever. Ever.


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Sunday, July 24, 2005

Strong Like Bull

So I had a bad experience recently with a bad bottle of wine. Low priced, organic zinfandel. While it seems like a great idea at the time---well it was not. I felt like ass all day Thursday. So this weekend was a detox weekend: brown rice, steamed vegetables, green tea, the works. It takes discipline to maintain such a regiment and repair the body.

Long story short: I've been huffing bug poison and I have the meat sweats.


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Saturday, July 23, 2005

Dead Europeans...with a twist.

I have neglected my duty lately to bring you the story of a Dead European. Once it was merely a Fenchman, (never the Welsh or Spaniards) and then on to Europe as a whole. Now on to women...and tomorrow: The World. (It just seemed silly to have dead people in general, so I set limits, but there will no longer be limits, now I shall bring you the people of the world). So let it born today: The Obscure Dead Who Deserve More Attention.

Today: Julia Margaret Cameron


A Victorian era British photographer, Cameron's photos are striking early uses of the medium as art. She was, of course, denied admission or even proper recognition from the Royal Photographic Society (or some such stodgy name) of her day. Apparently having a vagina means that you cannot make art. I didn't know that, but the men of 19th Century England did--they knew it was a certainty. She was born in Calcutta under the Raj thought she lived in Kensington (as well as the Isle of Wight) and she didn't begin her photographic career until 48. She did Arthurian tableaux and the photos of celebrated persons such as Lord Tennyson. So go look at her pictures and be moved. They are remarkable.


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Friday, July 22, 2005

Booyah!



I just found my copy of The New Romance by delightful band Pretty Girls Make Graves. I thought I lost it, but I didn't and I'm so happy. I love me some PGMG. It was in the bottom drawer of my desk. Of course it was, [head shake], of course it was.


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Sunday, July 17, 2005

I can't control myself...it's a disease

Among the very earliest posts on this little blog I call home was a confession of my then newly acquired taste for Harry Potter books. As you may or may not know, the newest book, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, came out yesterday. I purchased it at a sharply discounted rate at the Meijer at around 4:30 yesterday afternoon (for those of you who don't live in Michigan, Meijer is a superstore that has everything). I read the book until I finished it at 5:00 this morning, I then slept for three or four hours and now I'm a little punchy. I actually sat down and read the damned thing for 12 and half hours (with some breaks). I couldn't stop. I went to bed at 1:00 am, but I just kept reading. Damned J.K Rowling, she has an unholy control over me. I now begin the painful process of waiting a year and half for the next book to come out. Hopefully the movie this fall will tide me over.
I will be in the village square, awaiting your rotten tomatoes and jeers of derision.


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Thursday, July 14, 2005

We are the hollow men...

...Head piece filled with straw. It seems, that this is the way the world ends, not with a bang but with a remake of "Road House."
I remember so very little, but I remember this. I was young, a naif with dark hair and dark eyes and an old soul and I came upon something...something glorious. It was Saturday and it was on the Superstation. I did not know the ways of the world then and I do not know them entirely now, but I saw Patrick Swayze with God's Own Haircut and that man was kicking ass at an improbably redneck fantasy land called simply "Road House." A blind boy played the (electric, white-people) blues and women walked around in bikinis for reasons we are not meant to understand in our works and our days here on our poor Earth, but a shadow of the ideal realm of "Road House". Oh, to be at the Double Deuce Club (with it's double entendre name, ha! such wit) in the heady days of 1989. Should one not ask to wander the agora while in Pericles' Athens, would ye not tarry with Voltaire at the court of Frederick, or take the ferry to old Manhattan with Walt Whitman his eyes a-twinkle?
Of course one should, and so too should you try to catch Road House if it's on cable anytime soon...unless something better is on, like Seinfeld re-runs, then just watch those.


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Monday, July 11, 2005

"Civil War" and eloquence

I've rented (for the 20th time) Ken Burns's Civil War documentary and, of course, the standout element is the sheer eloquence of letters home, even from (relative to today) little-educated private soldiers. So I was thinking about this wierd turn of events, how we got better information and more access to it, and yet seem to have lost rhetorical skill in our personal correspondance. I wonder if it is because will the advent of telecommunications anc television and movies, we can now say more wiht inflection and tone of voice than could have been said with letters that needed to travel days and weeks. So now we need not be so loquatious when we can simply say the same things with less in less time.


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We must destroy the West to save it.

I don't actually read the National Review so I got this from Matt Yglesias over at TPM.

National Review reporter John J. Miller gives us another of those compelling outside-the-box ideas that have made conservatism the dominant political force in America:
Instead of electing professors, how about deporting them? For every handful of immigrants we take in, we can send a professor packing. Maybe we can even sell it to the profs as multiculturalism. With any luck, we'll wind up bringing in computer scientists, engineers, and physicists -- and kicking out comp lit specialists.


[I know that this is "just a joke" but it's one of those jokes that isn't funny because it isn't a joke. It's a frivolous suggestion that nobody is actually advocateing as policy, but it does reflect a widely heald belief that academics are useless. One should note that the uselessness of academics in conservative eyes is in direct proportion to how much they disagree: truly an emlightened position.]

Obviously, as Matt pointed out, that there are in fact people who are both engineers and professors. Like the ones here, 10 minutes from where I'm sitting right now, deep in the heart of decadent, bluer-than-blue, Ann Arbor. And as of right now, those of us with humanites and social science backgorunds have yet to force them to convert to out perverted life of non-mechanical logic, queer artsy shit, and interest in the interstitial meanings of social texts. (Not yet, anyway. Those of you in The Cabal will be happy to know that the first phase of "Operation Liberal Arts" is beginning nicely--I personally have handed out 12 "Intro to Sociology: From Comte to Durkheim" textbooks to chemistry students, while our comrades in the Art History Department have already executed the first bits of the "Matisse Maneuver.")

But there are two other serious problems with Mr. Miller's little piece.
1.) It is a minor point, but nonetheless, the odd little bit about the exchange of "handfuls" of immigrants for professors is just creepy. It's like: "Well, if we have to have immigrants, can they at least think exactly the same way I do, and not be poets or philosophers or anything."

2.) And what is with the anti-intellectualism of the right, I mean, I cannot get over how much they can't get over shit. Yeah, we get it, you don't like Lit Crit or feminism (or biology, or geology, or ecology, but soft my pretty!, we musn't explode the myth of conservative as hard-headed realists). But what's the threat? Seriously, so you took some lit classes in college and didn't like the fact that there might be more to reading a book than just reading it and your "easy A" in British Literature from 1616-1914 went down the crapper when you were asked to contextualize Milton in his times given his political activities, and you were asked what the implications of Burke's pro-Empire yet seemingly anti-Colonialist legacy was when all you heard from your John Birch masters was that Burke was on your side so he's okay to read. Is that it? Is the fact that Kant seemed complicated and Neitzsche said some impolitic things about Christianity enough to just make you hate modernity and the liberal arts? Just hate it, hate it, hate it, you-can't-make-me-you'll-see-I'll-be-a-writter-some-day [sobs]. And then you learned that Socrates liked dudes, and it all came crashing down. So now its all applied physics and engineering.

Well Oppenheimer was a hippie before there were hippies, Einstein believed in Spinoza's conception of the Divine (I assure you Mr. Miller, you don't), and the only physicist I know personally writes this. So hell yeah, bring on the physicists and engineers.

Anyway, the idea that comparitive literature is useless is itself laughable. The humanities and social sciences are the basis of this Western Civilization that the conservo-croud keeps going on about. It's just kind of funny (and yet, strangely appropo) that these same people want to tear down the civilization to save it. One begins to think that the modern right is just a giant teenager who thinks that literature and science is gay anyway so its okay he got a C-. Always remember, critical thought is critical thought, regardless of context, gitting rid of lit crit profs won't be enough for these people, they will have to wipe it all out to save their souls, nothing will be safe. After all, it was that emminently practical discipline of architecture that gave us postmodernism.


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Saturday, July 09, 2005

Post London

"So I rode down to the waterside, . . . and there saw a lamentable fire. . . . Everybody endeavouring to remove their goods, and flinging into the river or bringing them into lighters that lay off; poor people staying in their houses as long as till the very fire touched them, and then running into boats, or clambering from one pair of stairs by the waterside to another. And among other things, the poor pigeons, I perceive, were loth to leave their houses, but hovered about the windows and balconies, till they some of them burned their wings and fell down."
--Diary of Samuel Pepys, September 2, 1666.

Old Sam Pepys wrote about the last great disaster in London but one (that "but one" being the Blitz, of course) in his diary and it's the standard account we have today, though others proliferate. The city was wooden for the most part then and there were no such civic creatures as fire departments. In was in this age that London modernized, it saw its greatest art and architecture, it's first modern literature and the establishment of its modern legal and social structures. The fire was an agent of progress, a terrible agent, one that consumed innocents but birthed modernity along with tragedy.
So too would the Olympic flame. London plans to raze old East End neighborhoods that have languished in post industrial poverty and squalor and build the Olympic Village there for the 2012 Games. The athlete housing will be converted in to low cost public housing and infrastructure after the games. Fire as agent of progress.

But water, water brings death and pestelence. Open sewers and contaminated drinking water have brought plague and cholera to London in the past and it was the metaphor of the flood that fueled the Clash's vision of apocalyptic metropolis in "London Calling." (Which was all could here in my head all day for the past couple of days). And the flood is the best metaphor for what happened. Seeping in underground the flood damages foundations and weakens infrastructure. The flood comes and we cannot stop it. Sand bagging it can keep out the deluge but not the damp, some always will get in. We rely on on great damns, pillars and rock to keep back the waters, men like Tony Blair and Ken Livingstone whose immediate public displays and speeches were the very definition of the lion's courage and stiff-upper-lip-ness we expect from Britain's shores--and glorious contrast to our own timorous President after 9/11, who took far to long to come up with encouraging words. But granite blocks don't keep out the flood.

When the flood comes and it has and surely will again, we must be prepared, but we needn't go about like fools selling the house and moving to higher, more fortified ground. A society that is a target to terrorism is often, by this fact, indicated as a society worth preserving. Terror needs fighting, but London is the very definition of a city prepared for terror, they have been for years. The detentions, the torture, the wars, all seem apparently not to work. The water seeps in.

Of course, if you don't buy the water thing--or you think that the flood can be contained-- and you think that terror is a fire that we can put out, well friend, the fire is always still there too. From Pepys on May 5th 1667: "Sir Jo Robinson ... doth tell me of at least six or eight fires within these few days, and continually stories of fires; and real fires there have been in one place or other almost ever since the late great Fire, as if there was a fate over people for fire."


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[clever title here]

My buddy Jeremie has his own blog here. And it's quite good, it will doubtless inspire me to blog more regularly since my ego will not tolerate its superior quality. I kid, but seriously, it's really good.
Today's post is about Dos Passos's first novel in his U.S.A. trilogy, The 42nd Parallel.
I read it my first year of law school and really liked it. Americana was my theme that year (largely to wash the taste of Proust out of my mouth) and Dos Passos was just the ticket (and Bernard Malamud and Nelson Algren--This year it's the Middle East, but only up to the Second World War, more on that later.)
Anyway, go read Jeremie's take.


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Ah, the soft sciences.

I just finished writing my first Sociology paper in three years, and it feels grrrrrrreat! [a la Tony the Tiger]


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Thursday, July 07, 2005

Three things:

Number One: Fuck this. Way to go terrorists, not only a senseless loss of life, but know the G8 summit is going to be all about you and not the global spread of HIV and the forgiveness of third world debt. So there you are, all your rhetoric about opression has been once and for all proven to be a bunch of hollow talk from goat-fuckers. Man, I really hate goat-fuckers.

Number Two: Today is Gustav Mahler's 145th birthday. And I just don't like him at all.

Number Three: I have recently spent several days at beautiful Clark Lake, MI due to the hospitality of the Hoppert clan, and damned if it isn't just the greatest little garden spot ever. But I still don't like the Midwest.


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