Letter to my world-friend
March 30th, 2012 § Leave a Comment
Dearest,
I confess, first, to feeling silly addressing you like this—o dear me! Forgive my lack of pleasantries, you know most of all how I can be a lousy pen pal. You have as much time for correspondence as I, but here we both are. On a walk outside in the near-silent Berkeley hills, I was transfixed temporarily by the thought of truly following through with this sort of letter. This type of gravity is not new to me, but indeed the desire to make it stick cannot be confined to the illusion of the future. I humbly but urgently request your attention and compliance, for there is no better time than the Now to expect the ideal life for yourself.
It’s a loaded statement (metaphysically disingenuous, even) to say that it makes no difference whether you approach Truth now or later, because what I mean is that it makes no difference to me. I have seen that it makes every difference to you, and the urgency with which you approach Truth may be the salvation of your dignity and vitality. Is love real? Prove it by caring less about more and more about less; quantum phenomena politely cooperate with Sir Isaac Newton without overriding him. Postpone nothing of importance; Insh’Allah is a surrender, not a plea.

Image Credit: David G. Baker
You may at times identify your humanity in neither knowing nor doing, but you know also that there is much to do. Death as eternal rest is pure not-knowing. With neither stigma nor glory, simply acknowledge the fatal attraction of submission to inertia. Being “transfixed temporarily” describes an organic orientation towards the resistance of hope, but the illusion of temporality-in-general is delicious only as the fleeting salve of being able to tolerate not-knowing for a brief while. Our culture gives us little opportunity to encounter not-knowing without shame, but the wisdom of the middle path is accessible even if it is also for sale.
It can be frightening to lose control, but inexperienced pilots ground airplanes by over-correcting. Laugh earnestly at determinism; the answer is still in the question after all these years. Regardless, even philosophy should be approached with restraint. Everywhere there is excess, indulge in restraint. Everywhere there is fear, allow it to catch up with action—but only if it is able to keep up. The Shadow smiles constantly, encouraging and patronizing at the same time.
Human beings may not be rats in a maze, but we are the sorts of people who watch rats run mazes. A skepticism against (or disdain for) behaviorism will prove healthy in a quest to understand psyche and truly help people beyond the victim-blaming and awful monetization of today’s clinical psychiatry. However, such disdain will not render you invulnerable to conditioning. Remember Cialdini’s turkeys, the trigger features and the fixed-action patterns. Remember Death in Tehran, Jung in the Orient, Freud in Vienna: Joseph Campbell would be pleased to see how classically your efforts to evade the inevitable continue to bring it to fruition; of course the hero suits you; the terror of relatedness will be met with opaque defenses. Dr. Newton permits you to be either powerless or blameless, but not both.
In Portland, you asked hotly—with smoke in your lungs and stars in your eyes and blood in your ears—are we all actors on a stage? Or, are we chemicals in a flask? Well, what do you know now? With all due respect to participant observation as a research method, acting inside of a flask with as much theater and chemistry as possible is the opposite of a well-controlled experiment. Catch your breath: Maslow’s idealism was misguided, but not misplaced; man cannot survive on metaphor alone.
“Catching my breath is the term I use when the world gives up on me/ Can you love or not? The truth finds all of us eventually…”
The breath is the Duality, it tastes exactly like metaphor and survival. It takes in the chill of there and warms it to here without holding on. Even now, I’m afraid to say what I mean to you. I’m afraid to hurt your heart, to take responsibility for the wounds of which neither one of us can remember the origin. I’m rambling because I don’t have time to argue over specifics, and holistic thinking provides the perfect cover for that. Indeed, the specifics can be summed up with each breath: there is no eventually, and there never will be.
Self-loathing is also a defense mechanism; it grows increasingly absurd, until its filthy waters cloud the drowning truth. I’ve adapted the Gestalt prayer for you with regards to negative core beliefs: “Deliver us, Fritz Perls, from all resistance, and forgive us the delusion that our trespasses are significant.” You learn nothing from refusing to forgive yourself, except how to paradoxically excuse yourself from responsibility. Self-compassion is courage; be brave for both of us.
Synchronicity and paradox may cease to amaze, but only in the way that No-Religion ceases to worship. The path of least resistance may be to acknowledge resistance and struggle constantly against it, like the relaxed firmness of ideal zazen postures.
“Those who can’t do, teach” is funny when said about P.E. teachers, but it’s not funny at all about mental health professionals. Humility is not a surrogate for courage, and empathy is not a function of vocal tone or body language, but emotional gait instead. Do you know what I mean? I mean that it’s unethical to even wonder why your clients won’t do what you yourself won’t do, let alone ask them to try.
Boredom and panic are polar extremes of taking yourself seriously. If you should ever depersonalize, study the imagination of boundaries until you remember to breathe. Take care of yourself, let that be what you’re doing right now. With all its relentless associations, approach your brain with caution and curiosity and gratitude and gentleness or not at all.
Man’s search for meaning is about meaning it. There is nothing stupid about being stupid, only inauthentic. Intend to speak truthfully, but do not mistake speech for truth. Find peace in passion and charm in chaos. To take responsibility today for tomorrow is prayer, not platitude—Insh’Allah.
You don’t need to write back if you don’t have time, but do let me know if you have questions. I write to you because I cannot become you. Most of the time I am aware that I love you, but I am always concerned for you–even (if not especially) in my sleep. Again, take care of yourself, let that be what you’re doing right now.
Yours,
Me
P.S.: 
Image Credit: David Buckingham (Los Angeles, CA)
Faith and Feminine Intelligence
March 9th, 2012 § Leave a Comment
Question: Why do people assume that people who have a religious faith are unintelligent and uneducated? Just because they have a different belief system than you? The vast majority of Christians I know personally are college graduates, very well educated, well traveled, with a high I.Q.
This is a really good question.
First, intelligence and education are somewhat different. Considering just uneducated, the standard itself reflects our education system. The story of Western Thought’s advancement has been in many ways a rejection of religious authority. Even the ministry of Jesus is an example of this pattern.
History’s hero always tends to be the same plus or minus a few plot points: some rebel free thinker with a great idea that everyone laughs at that ends up being totally right about the universe beyond the wildest of then-contemporary dreams. Jesus himself, the stories go, walked the well-tred path of defying the religious authority to espouse some essential part of humanity’s truth. This occurred almost 500 years after Socrates drank the poison in his own ideological passion play.
The Scientific Revolution responsible for demystifying many of the essential truths of the universe was a bloody battle, and if faith and reason are truly harmonious parts of our consciousness, they certainly didn’t act like it. It’s easy to bifurcate certain aspects of religion today, but that doesn’t change the fact that Galileo wasn’t allowed to leave his home for looking in his telescope. The triumph of reason has diminished faith by necessity, by removing from religion’s purview the parlor tricks of satisfying our curiosity about the natural world.
I’m not going so far as to argue that empirical observation atrophies our need for spiritual engagement, except to point out that there are many satisfied atheists who feel that way. Still more non-religious folk prefer idiosyncratic spirituality, which seems to appeal especially to those who want to dissociate from all of the bad P.R. organized religion has received and make their own rules and language instead.
But, back to education, the reason that many Christians are seen as uneducated is because one’s churchiness is no longer a mark of a quality education. I don’t mean that flippantly; I’m merely pointing out that for a butt-ton of years the monks were the smart and literate ones, and even the Christian creation story is a tale of God asking us politely not to consume forbidden knowledge. My point is that religious education was inseparable from learnedness until very recently, civilizationwise, but that’s definitely no longer true in this part of the world.
So the state of modern education, to sum up a lot of other interesting historical developments, is in many ways a celebration of inquiry and a new sort of Faith which refuses to call itself so. In many cases, it’s the faith that controlled, measurable experiments will, when repeated, give a result that tells us something new about that thing. But (really) all it needs for us to consider it true is the resiliency that religious lore never had, an openness to being wrong and a satisfaction with how it’s currently right.
This capacity to know with increasing satisfaction is the appeal of education, whereas true faith is in one way an opposite action: the capacity to not-know with equal satisfaction. The Freud/Jung comparison is very relevant. Freud thought religion was for stupid people who hadn’t yet transcended it. Carl Jung, who himself saw no need to disrespect people of faith, saw past the characterization of religion as a security blanket to defend against death’s icy chill.
Our tendency to view Freud and Jung as opposed is an artifact of the very conflict (Christians are stupid vs. Christians are not stupid) you’re referring to. They’re not really opposites; there’s a polarity there between making people better against what’s holding them back and making people better by bringing out what’s deep inside their potential. Religion can do the latter for many, but it’s not as attractive as it used to be–no judgment there, it’s just not in fashion right now. And religion can certainly be a force that holds people back, it’s a very easy defense mechanism for some people because it represents a complete surrender of volition.
So the reason that Christians get a reputation for stupidity is because the term’s a bit loaded–it represents in some ways an over-valuing of KNOWING things, whereas Christianity should be in many ways a way of tolerating a state of not-knowing, of surrendering that tension to God. It’s easy to equivocate between not relying exclusively on a type of intelligence we’ve come to value (as it’s historically come of age against religious oppression) and being simply unintelligent period. It’s certainly unfair, but the rules have changed.
We now see intelligence as a very masculine act, a rigorous and transparent method of knowing to the best of our ability and being happy with that conclusion. As a result, there’s a pathology in modern Christianity. It’s in response to what society models as certainty. Carl Sagan calls science a “candle in the dark,” and that metaphor is sort of linked to the idea that a candle is our hope for understanding what else is around us–a too-perfect metaphor, really, because it lends a false security by barely illuminating a narrow sphere around a tiny flame. One arguing for the wisdom (seems less loaded than intelligence) of Christianity should point out how adaptive it would be to develop a comfort with the dark, rather than the probability of unseen demons lurking therein.

My guess is that “vast majority” of degree-holding Christians you mentioned (and let’s be honest, this is the internet so it’s a very generous concession to even hypothetically consider the veracity of your sample) do not use their Christianity to illuminate what they know to be true about the world, but rather have a more feminine (in an archetypal way, not related directly to gender) intelligence that wouldn’t respond aggressively to someone who tried to engage them on that masculine can-you-prove-it level. For them, it’s a way of tolerating the not-knowing, and science persists as a useful tool–a yin to their yang that they learned to love while wading through all that school you said they went to.
So, if those Christians are quietly balancing their faith and their intellect, who among the faithful to defend Christianity against the newly-crowned intelligent and their arrogant demands for “evidence,” “logic,” and “rationality,” is remaining? These folk are happily afflicted with the pathology in modern Christianity I previously mentioned. To put it mildly, they’re not the learned folk you make them out to be. Perhaps you don’t know any of them, or perhaps you’ve re-defined Christians so that they don’t count. However, to put it less mildly, if they did go far in school, they weren’t paying attention or went to a school where they can write a five page exercise in cognitive dissonance about how natural selection doesn’t work if you stick both fingers in your ears and sing hymns really loud at the fossil record and earn a doctorate for doing so, perhaps with a ribbon that reminds them that anyone who persecutes them is actually blessing them.
They’re damn vocal and they define the false dichotomy between intelligence and devotion by making an ass out of Jesus. They’re the ones for whom scripture review takes the place of peer-review, who interpret religion not through a peace-seeking tolerance of the unknown but with the unerring certainty even the least-controversial scientific realities won’t lay claim to. The reason they’re seen as stupid isn’t just that they’re 100% sure about some stupid things. It’s not that they believe that Jesus was the light of the world, a lovely and intrinsically-harmless thought, it’s that after claiming to believe in him we need not cope with the darkness of uncertainty.

Twitternomena & the philosoftware bugs
February 13th, 2012 § Leave a Comment
RIP Whitney; go watch that video of her singing the national anthem at the Super Bowl in 1991.

I think it would be a funny feature for a blog to post uninteresting stuff late on Sunday night to encourage people to go to bed and get ready for their week and stuff. Here goes: This is a pretty uninteresting piece from three and a half years ago about how hard it is to get twitter.
Not like, sign up for twitter, but, like get it, man; as though the reason we’re not addicted to twitter is because the perspective is metaphysically inaccessible. There’s a clear equivocation made between the author’s inability to explain something and the inexplicable in general.
We have moved beyond “generation gap” differences in technology use and moved into the “experiential gap” in terms of use and understanding. Your experience with an application such as Twitter provides an understanding that cannot be communicated by reading about it or even being told about it.
Twitter is simple–another hallmark of powerful applications. Blogging is simple. RSS is simple. These are all important technologies that characterize this second major phase of the Internet–but you wouldn’t know that unless you use them, unless you are involved with them.
I believe I’m with the majority of the internet in being completely aware of the importance of Web 2.0; however, like most of the real world, I have a job that doesn’t involve a laptop and a word count, so I don’t have time to push the food lever repeatedly. Presently, I’m not a twitterer myself. I have facebooked, but my account is currently deactivated. To be sure, I won’t deny that there’s likely some ephemeral qualia of twitter-ness. I just think it’s rather absurd for a tech blogger–who ostensibly makes his living on bridging the gap between technology and relevance–to claim such experience is entirely beyond the relational scope of all possible words.
Interestingly, the article ends with the understatement that twitter doesn’t have a business model, and may not endure in its present form. That was 2008. Today there’s still no business model, but people keep gorging themselves relentlessly on 140-character, cognitive-behavioral munchies:
…In the digital space, consumption does not deplete a resource, but rather encourages that resource to reproduce. The visitor can eat all they desire and never get full…
- define: Impossible Feast
The key to monetizing Twitter could be rolling out premium accounts, and for a price one could be let in on the secret of what the whole point is.
p.s. It is probably a generation gap, but I would probably deny that if I were Leo Laporte.
On starting a sentence with a coordinating conjunction
February 9th, 2012 § Leave a Comment
You can never start a sentence with a coordinating conjunction.
Other people can. But you can’t.
Also, am I a terrible person for smiling at Tracy Morgan’s now-infamous, anti-gay material? Not the unfunny part where he threatens to stab his hypothetically-homosexual son, but his [foreshadowing] conclusion: “if they can take a f*cking dick up their ass… they can take a f*cking joke.”
The internet is always around to contest the claim that you’re clever
February 8th, 2012 § Leave a Comment
I’m still reading about the Mariana Islands; this seems too good of a story to be true. I wonder why more people don’t live in beautiful, tropical locations. I guess I’ve always attributed that to a lack of adventuresomeness in the modern human; I’ve never once considered it could suck there.
I’ve spent hours over the past few days procrastinating. Earlier I became totally engrossed in a story about a Santa Fe cop who may or may not have screwed Elizabeth Enriquez (exactly) on the hood of a car, in uniform, while a chihuahua caught the whole thing on camera. Or something.
I’d be embarrassed to rattle off all the things I procrastinated with, I even spent a good 30 minutes looking at advertisements for a British clinic that would help me with my internet addiction. If I were British and local to them. And had an internet addiction. This feels different, foreign from the normal procrastination that comes with the territory of “internet user.” This alien phenomenon has not only eroded my impulse control, but is threatening my entire sense of agency. As of tonight, I don’t even experience fantasies of self-improvement as credible anymore; this is particularly frightening.
Full disclosure: not all of my procrastinetworking was lame, I also discovered some rad valentines from the early 90′s (I had totally forgotten how they specifically made somewhat neutral messages for some so that you could choose who got the mushier ones!) and got hip to the MIA apologyexpected (or in this case, apology-erroneously-reported) via the sharp-minded Sasha Frere-Jones, who is a hero of mine for reasons I’ll explain later. You know, after I sleep.
Yeah, this is a problem. I’m having to scroll up and down and add different sentences to these paragraphs to make them make sense, because my mind has no space left on the counter to put any of the thoughts it has waiting for another thought to be put on that counter, with the kitchen appliances–it’s a metaphor, the appliances are thoughts but I’m so tired that there isn’t space left on the counter (because I’m really tired) for a new thought to go while I consider an old one. Also, every time I see the autosaved notice I’m worried I’m writing a text message and running out of characters. My new phone doesn’t semi-helpfully split a big message into multiple ones, instead you just hit a brick wall. I never understood why I can stream HD video on this stupid battery-draining 4G multimedia communications device while simultaneously fetching a day’s worth of e-mail, but 160 characters is still the limit for sending a text to someone.
But anyway, back to sleep, and keeping in mind that all of the paragraphs below this one were written 15 minutes ago, I think I may be able to sleep like right now. I’m going to wake up really wishing that I washed my face and brushed my teeth and ate more food, but I’m worried if I go do any of those things that I won’t have access to this sleepiness anymore. Something about a kitchen counter or something. Fuck, I might not even turn off the light.
I know there’s a lot I could blame, but this is only confirming my suspicion that philosophy is hazardous to one’s mental health. Also, my physical health… it’s almost 4 in the morning and I’ve been eating less and less. I’m supposed to go see Lukas tonight again, and I probably will. Right now I’m fantasizing about ways to steal sleep tomorrow between work and school and class, but I’m not even trying to sleep right now.
You know about the wikipedia game, right? I think it came from the alt text of a decent xkcd strip, but the comment section on that first link suggests I’m wrong. Anyway, I got really excited because while researching having problems with impulse control,I noticed that the Impulse article is a winner. Until I remembered that I was wrong twice, both in considering an infinite loop (Impulse control = delayed gratification, a psychiatric equivocation that I’d hesitate to make) a winner & also in choosing the second link instead of the first. Intellectualism of course leads to philosophy, via panpsychicism, which clearly looks like a typo.
TL;DR: I’m tireder than I am clever.
The boy’s ‘not a buddhist but admires strangeness’
January 24th, 2012 § Leave a Comment
This week I see Lukas thrice, which has been Holy for me; I have not approached the possibility of not going. I’ve decorated it with plans. I’m attached. Driving over the sleeping dragon, I was wondering if it’s wise to miss class for it. This deliberation did not seem to challenge the plan, as though the only solution involved manifesting Schrodinger’s Student.
I had a really good lunch with a co-worker who is pretty damn serious about astral projection. I think I blindsided him with my openness, and he invited me to a lecture. I said that I’d probably have time to go before I left for the valley, but it turns out that Lukas starts at 3. I also had to decline an invitation for a Zen service and lecture, but we resolved to go some Saturday. We got to talking about lectures, though, and we Sat through an Alan Watts lecture. It was a different experience. I tried not to get caught up in the narrative, but the Pete Seeger charm & cadence was irresistible at one point: the Atman is the which from which there is no which-er got me just like one of those sax solos on an Etta James track.
Oh, and there’s something hella Tangled Up In Blue about the place I looked for that Watts quote. Amy and Etta, fallen angels, have been recurrent and I too have been sitting lightly with mixed feelings about that. Tonight I drank really good Samovar tea and we both admitted that we don’t know how to pronounce Lychee. Last night I learned a previously-vanished friend was still alive and four of us talked about that–the nerdy quality of having only read a word in print. He said he did it especially with characters from books, and I didn’t ask him if he was one of those kids who couldn’t pronounce Hermione.
Also, “do we need higher standards of evidence when we study the paranormal?” & more importantly, what is the metric for a body of evidence’s height?
If I keep making the same mistakes over and over, am I approaching authenticity or stumbling consistently? How can I defend my flight from agency without being a good steward of my own which than which there is no whicher? I intend to take responsibility for self and its corresponding universe, but it seems like just another box.
nsfw, adorable f-bombs.
PPS: If the false self thrives on one’s defense against it, how does one trick themselves into authenticity?
It seems as though to avoid one’s false self is to create one.
Rumor has it Wilfred is good
June 23rd, 2011 § Leave a Comment
I’m watching Wilfred on (gasp) eff-ex and it’s killer; I thought at first that it was about some man with a psychiatric disorder who thought he was a dog. It’s actually got this whole Calvin & Hobbes thing going for it. I’m glad something came along to fill my Workaholics & Community void.
Off top, I called it ten days prior about Adele’s Rumor Has It; KFOG’s been blastin’ it all day & a Princess reports hearing it as early as Wednesday. I’m quite pleased with myself.
With both Adele LP’s in near-constant rotation, I had to get some testostereo this morning.
More later, super busy.
Reasons why a mother could hate her baby
Summarized from D.W. Winnicott’s 1947 paper Hate in the Countertransference
- wasn’t really her idea
- it’s not someone else’s kid
- “The baby is not magically produced” *
- pregnancy can kill ya
- interferes with me-time
- one’s own mother demands the child in some way
- breastfeeding hurts
- they offer no gratitude & expect to be waited on
- no other option but to love the thing
- they seriously bite you
- they don’t really get what’s going on, their judgments impartial
- “His excited love is cupboard love, so having got what he wants he throws her away like orange peel.” *
- baby’s the boss
- it’s completely unaware of all you’ve done for it
- often prefers the cooking of others
- strangers think it’s cute when it’s actually been quite fussy
- your failures will manifest in its difficult life, therapy’s expensive etc.
- both cannibalism and incest (presupposing these would shut it up) just can’t occur
* Sometimes even the strange blowhard patois of the psychoanalytic theorist is best left unsummarized.
Where can one discreetly enjoy a nice, tightly rolled news story with a pleasing liberal bias?
June 14th, 2011 § Leave a Comment
“Let’s be blunt about it,” was the lead on KQED’s Marketplace (American Public Media) this evening.
Let’s!
Let’s pretend for a moment that all of the organizations ostensibly broadcasting news are doing no such thing. Let’s say they’re just businesses, even public radio. Recall they get a few pennies from taxpayers for each dollar they make in phone sales. Their product, we’re saying, is primarily a vague combination of extortion and acceptance. For all the outlets, pretend the mission statements, the programming, and even the pruned and deliberate lexicon are motivated by the psychology of marketing and not any assent to the public’s right to know.
So what’s with the lead? Let’s be blunt? If you guessed correctly, I think it’s funny that you listen to Marketplace. I wonder if you’re too lazy to change the channel or something, dude. How typical of the liberal media establishment to endear themselves to drug users with suggestive language. The story, of course, is as banal as abstinence-only education. Miracle Gro CEO says he wants to target pot growers, which is later suit-santitized into a statement regarding the viability of rapidly-growing niche markets in the legal medical marijuana industries.
It’s not necessarily evidence of a liberal bias. But it’s enough to make someone who’s on the lookout for one (invariably, an opponent) turn up their nose and complain about their time being wasted. For them, this kind of time is best spent discussing the relationship between Obama running this country into the ground and the skyrocketing price of gold and commemorative plates that will certainly result.
What, pray tell, is compelling evidence for a liberal media bias?
Let’s examine the state we’re in: every word that airs is the effluent of careful thought control. This begs the question of where I’ve put my tinfoil hat, but I want you to stay with this point. Clearly, I’ve disclosed my positive status as a liberal. But if you re-contextualize (after all, what else is bias?) the term “thought control” from a tool of the supervillainous psychopath and instead as a skill involved in professional psychology, you’re aware of the goal of many clinicians, especially those who work on a behavioral level. Fortune tellers, life coaches, salespeople of all sorts capitalize on our appetite for cognitive distortion.
I’m persisting with “thought control” because I’m following Orwell’s advice and being clear without sensitivity to “quietism.” It’s easy to see why anyone providing compassionate, psychiatric treatment would resist the term; other psychologists, however, arrest and manipulate thoughts without the rigorous and vigilant ethics demanded of the clinical folk. They’re called advertisers, and they seem worthy of malice projection; they operate without the hopeful pretense that a compassionate framework of humanistic empathy, support, and behavioral modeling will free you from maladaptive, harmful patterns. Instead, they know you’re probably going to suffer along with everyone else. They’ve seen the numbers, and it’s looking pretty likely that you’re not only going to wallow in dysfunction, distortion, and other dissonance—you’re going to celebrate it!
This is why a cycle of filling needs with commercial products (from “news” to foot cream) seems more like an authentic life than say, a narrative. In Orwell’s 1984, we’re presented with a narrative model of the thought-control process at work here. Spoiler alert: Big Brother wins because the language does not permit the thought required to transcend oppression. Unfortunately, that thesis has been relegated by populist anger to the domain of the obnoxiously bookish. Instead, it’s superficial message dominates: conspicuous authoritarianism is frightening. We’re immune though; we willingly watch the glowing screen, but it doesn’t watch us back. Enslavement to television is as Orwellian an exercise of one’s treasured freedom as archival incineration or any of the other relatively accessible metaphors in that story, but I digress.
Luckily, one doesn’t have to engage in elitist literary analysis in order to figure out what Orwell thought about Politics and the English Language. There’s an aptly-titled, straightforward essay. He cautions against making such analysis of language “frivolous” & “the exclusive concern of professional writers,” instead arguing that “to think clearly is a necessary first step toward political regeneration.”
(from near the end of the article you might not read)
I have not here been considering the literary use of language, but merely language as an instrument for expressing and not for concealing or preventing thought. Stuart Chase and others have come near to claiming that all abstract words are meaningless, and have used this as a pretext for advocating a kind of political quietism. Since you don't know what Fascism is, how can you struggle against Fascism? One need not swallow such absurdities as this, but one ought to recognize that the present political chaos is connected with the decay of language, and that one can probably bring about some improvement by starting at the verbal end.
“Improvement” here means the desire for clear thinking, ostensibly the goal of the clinical thought-controllers. But let’s turn to the dark side, first with an effort to re-contextualize them again for emphasis. They’re not a cabal of Pinky & the Brain types trying to govern your every action, they’re simply mundane, amoral board members trying to monetize those actions.
Why would their programming threaten this dominance? This would be like serving rotten food at a restaurant. This is the real conflict revealed by closely studying human psychology: we rarely want what’s best for us. Our own best interests are compartmentalized as abstracts in our brain, sequestered physically from the part that governs behavior. The insight to change what’s not working is shrouded in dense layers of our own B.S. This is as daunting to the treating psychologist as it is thrilling to the advertiser.
So, we’re back to our original hypothetical: what if news is a product just like any other? The taste for “authentic” journalism (if such a thing exists) is surely a less-lucrative niche market than growing medical pot. This is why the servers that house the iCloud are built to serve far more people than the narrow corridors of vinyl record stores, both of which can offer you the new(ish) Black Keys album.
So why all the bitching about a bias? If the clearest indicator of bias is adopting the conqueror’s dictionary, I see only a constant effort to yield to the delusion that reactionary, divisive obstructionism is the mainstream, morally-grounded ethic of everyone in America without an ocean view.
Fox News fans don’t hear “fair and balanced” as earnest descriptors, but rather as warranted barbs against the establishment. This is because the experience of being informed by current events is, in the commercial transaction, not about the expository content but about the emotional entertainment. An editorialism like “we’re fair and balanced,” (and the implicit they’re not) would, if designed with clarity in mind, sound like: “we validate your efforts to shape your sense as common.” The scapegoat of bias, content—murder, war, and impersonal poverty, etc.—varies little from audience to audience.
If every side of the ideology aisle is seeking the same base gratification in their news stories—kick ‘em when they’re up, kick ‘em when they’re down—why shame the opposition? Answer: thought control. The reality is that NPR has no accountability to the Fox News audience, no matter how many narcotics officers they interview.
Consider KQED’s benign effort to cover how Miracle Gro could benefit financially from marketing to rich kids paranoid about output and quality control? In some subversive way, this could be a liberal bias; it certainly seems more palatable to a right-wing, free-market ethic that a good old American corporation could benefit from a domestic, hand grown product. That was certainly the logic of the person who cleaned up the Miracle Gro CEO’s enthusiasm for taking the Nancy Botwin approach to business.
Moreover, it’s the logic of whomever organizes the language of NPR broadcasts.I see that, however, not as a product of liberal bias. It’s a product of immersion in an environment constructed by these profit-driven and false bastardizations of conservatism wherein a journalist is constantly on guard for their perceived allegiance to progressive ideology.
The story that followed this one was again about the lethal drug cartels in Mexico and how hard it is for law enforcement to contain the growing threat. Conspiracy-minded people sensitive to patterns like this would fear impending military action south of the border. I paraphrase the end of the broadcast: ~”~An estimated 22 million Americans use illegal drugs each year, do they share the blame for the escalating violence? ~”~
In Lies & the Lying Liars Who Tell Them, Al Franken presents, with classic liberal bias, his thoughts on the matter. There’s no bias in the content, he says, flippantly; instead, the private progressivism of journalists is a result of their inquisitive and educated nature. That’s what he thinks, anyway. In Orwell’s drama, though, we are being conquered by the conscious efforts of a ruling class. I think it’s simpler than this, I think it’s Darwin’s drama: we’re participating in this as a result of our natural appetites. The integrity of the systems we travel through to meet our needs simply isn’t relevant; the impetus of our thirst for stasis is too strong to cling to any one dictionary.
Thanks for allowing me to share my bluntness; I look forward to controlling your thoughts in the future, yeah?
This is the first song I ever remember hearing.
Won’t you get on my back for a piggyback ride?
June 13th, 2011 § Leave a Comment
Weekend getaways can be so thrilling; upon my return, though, my bed punished me for my absence with a night of restless blanket-pawing. Let me first mention that my festival appetite was barely satiated by the Kashi commercial Union Street Fair the week before. There was no music; stages were instead used to demonstrate natural cooking products and prefab foods. I had loads of two-ounce servings of granola, cereal, and salad. I scored some coupons for those honey-glazed slivered almonds they sell at Safeway; these, incidentally, are always on sale adjacent to coupons for them.
The Redwood Run was worth it. It was an actual festival, with musicians and junk. I bit my tongue about this all weekend, because rock stars prefer a deferential attitude. But now I’ve got to say it: I had the green wristband. My friend and I were backstage, helping out ostensibly. If you ever wondered whether enduring those the-show-never-stops-buddy personalities were worth the thrill of being “part of it,” the answer is decidedly yes–for the weekend, yes, totally.
Let me tell you about this tent, dawg. There were three headliners on Saturday night and only two “green room” tents. This begged the question: why was a third tent sequestered behind the outdoor kitchen, guarded by a sheet of copy paper with “BANDS ONLY” written on it? The answer, as always, is revealed by carefully observing the pattern. In this case, no band members whatsoever entered the lonely tent. Mostly staff and ladies tryna look pretty, but they were just people like us.
So in we went, to the empty tent
not a cent was spent in here to get bent
we cheered quite sincere for the tent
where the free beer did appear
that the tent persevered to our gut’s content!
Recall that they’re given their own tent full of whatever they want, reportedly minus brown M&M’s. That’s why there weren’t any bands in the tent. They combined two good ideas (hidden, bottomless beer and a decoy green room) into one transparent, super-idea. If only you could rent motorcycles for the weekend, though I suppose that would really piss a lot of folks off.
Also: I sliced, arranged, and delivered meat and cheese to some rock stars. I later heard people criticize an unarmed L.A. Guns for taking all the food they barely touched. I defended them, pointing out that they’re opaquely billed for the food somehow. I’m not sure if this is true, but I think it is. I’ve heard rockstars bitch about it; bitching about having it all, by the way, is my least favorite artistic message. But anyway, in my experience, a lot of the experience of being famous is constructed to make you feel like you’re rich and famous. It doesn’t seem to matter if you’re paying for the experience.
I had kickass soulfood at Hard Knox today with my high school guidance counselor, who actually passed away briefly and traumatically four months ago. He came back to life (thank God) to tell me a story about hanging with his Hollywood homie. I heard a tale of celebrity, residential restaurants run by tough guys illicitly between the hours of two and six AM, Monday through Thursday. That’s the kind of stuff I’m talking about, the whispers reminiscent of rhyming-slang that bond the somebodies. They thrive on private knowledge of where to bathe in exclusivity.
I’m no expert, but it’s precisely because I don’t really care about this sort of thing that I seem to have anything to say about what it’s like on the bus. To be sure, I don’t deny myself the thrill of inclusion. But if you want to get into it, you’ve got to get over it. If you’re normally attentive to the needs of your company, recognize their rarely-exercised right to be treated as normal people. Talk to them about whatever, but realize they’re often still at work even while they’re at rest. Not that it’s a terrible thing to get giggly and ask for autographs, but folks in a twist don’t make it on the list.
I was told about some T.V. show to catch tonight but I ignored it. I resist this kind of thing. I’m excited for one show, and one show is good for me: I can’t wait for Workaholics. Otherwise, I watch crap I hopefully won’t get immersed in. That’s what I did tonight. I watched Teen Wolf. It’s perfect. The dialogue go!
That’s a kickass outro from another entirely different show I’m resisting.
My dad may have hilariously mistaken Ronny Montrose’s lead singer for the drummer and towardly started some shit passed on the rumor that Sammy Hagar was planning a surprise guest appearance.
Hate to be a Weiner apologist, but that’s some apology he’s packin
June 10th, 2011 § Leave a Comment
I don’t like engaging in partisan hackery.
In the spirit of “to be sure,” let’s get the following out of the way:
- Poor judgment most definitely
- Ethics called into question
- Lying: always a bad idea; possibly unforgivable
- Most severe in my opinion, is complete ignorance as to the principles that govern the way information is transmitted today. This is inexcusable for someone who represents the people! As was the case when a certain Republican ex-Presidential-hopeful admitted to rarely using the internet, the question of how one can enact legislation that has far-reaching effects on say, digital privacy, comes to mind. It’s truly shocking that he would mistake a publicity-generating microblogging platform with something private. By something private, of course, I mean cornering the girls in person and showing off his tent; you simply don’t have digital photos of your crotch if you’re important.
I am all for older, eccentric folk scoffing at the computer as though it’s an unwelcome animal. But I want my congressperson to be current enough to have noticed the internet by now.
Phew; now that we’ve got that out of the way, I have to give props for the thorough and kickass apology that Weiner has crafted. Absent are the sorry-you-felt-that-way conditionals–you know, the “sorry” where you’re blamed for not participating in the defensive delusion that the person apologizing has done nothing wrong. He doesn’t try to blame the conservative (lame-ass) blogger who broke this significant story worth talking about.
I’m not going to <blockquote> anything from the speech, because the internet has an awesome phototranscript narrated by weiner-shaped Dachshunds.
But I will say this:
- He stays on point: he’s taking full responsibility for his dumb actions.
- His apology is only about him; he hurt and disappointed a bunch of people.
- His transgressions end up being rather benign for a political scandal.
I certainly don’t feel bad for the guy, but his apology was not what I expected. There’s no ambiguity, projection, blame, or general shadiness. It’s honest and emotional without sounding overproduced or saccharine. It’s really the only thing you can say after being so dumb.
Good job?
Why isn’t this her radio single?
Catchy, haunting, and that thick bassgroove…. damn!