I waited a long time before I watched "The Killing Fields" (1984). I mean, duh: I was a young'n when it came out, so Mama wasn't exactly rushing me out to see it like it was E.T.
But after hearing of it in reverent terms for many years, I knew I ought to see it yet still avoided watching it until a rainy day. You don't exactly rush out to rent a film that is not new -- in fact is 10-15 years old -- and contains stories of epic human tragedy that you're generally familiar with but, history aside, you'd rather not be reminded of.
Actually, I wonder how many people who were children when "Shindler's List" was released have later rushed to see it to keep up with the cultural references of their elders?
(I am reminded of the unfortunate day after Thanksgiving when the lady-friend and I decided to use our cherished mutual day off to rent ... *drum roll* ... "Hotel Rwanda!" Now there's a pick-me-up for your holiday! We sadly don't see films much at all these days, so we still laugh when we recall choosing that one, at that time, with predictable tear-flowing result.)
Anyway, the subject of that film, Dith Pran, survived four years in the Cambodian killing fields before escaping to Vietnam and then the U.S., to be reunited with his American journalist friend and develop a career as a NYT photographer. After escaping those horrors and living a life to raise awareness about them, Dith died of pancreatic cancer this week.
NYTimes.com has a nice "Last Word" short on him, with a tasteful interview from his hospice bed. Pretty amazing to see someone at that stage of life, with all he's been through, and the perspective he has.
All of the 20th-century atrocities are mind-boggling -- and granted, they probably differ from other centuries' greatest hits only in their mass efficiency and multimedia documentation. But the sheer backwardness of the Khmer Rouge effort -- eradicating all the educated class and forcing via execution an attempted shift back to a purely agrarian society -- is another level of bizarre and backward human absurdity to try to comprehend.
That's why I appreciate efforts to not let us forget them: because the fact is they do happen again. These things are downers, yes, and awareness freaks can get tiresome. But Rwanda, Darfur, Bosnia, wherever: the more I live life in comfortable Western society, the more I appreciate the sober reminder of how the weakest capacities of human nature can be realized when people simply collectively look the other way.
We see every day how individuals can be murders, deviants, etc. That is its own syndrome or syndromes. But when a whole mass of otherwise reasonable people are nudged or incited into this sort of organized homicidal insanity -- that's when I really wonder what the hell it is we're made of.
I finally got a digital SLR camera because the prices were coming down, but I long coveted one because of the joyous detail they capture. My compact Sony did a lot of nice jobs and occasionally captured a wonderful shot, but too many times it fell short. Be it sunset or smile, action or close-up, I could never count on it getting the color right or the focus true. I played roulette with too many great moments or scenes.
But the SLR, though -- aiyee! -- it puts the artistic side of photography suddenly at the hands of a novice. People come alive; scenes are what I imagined them to be.
What I love most about photography is the ability to isolate perspectives that exist in front of our eyes each moment but are rarely noticed. We take in too much in our field of vision (and our daily grind) to appreciate the vivid little details and wild perspectives that circulate around us. Photography brings those home. And the digital SLRs makes that photography accessible to my foolish hands.
The easiest home illustration is on our black dogs. When captured on the compact point-and-shoot, they are indeed as we see them in passing: black blurs of fuzzy dog-ness. But upon close inspection, they are combos of shaded hairs reflecting light to varying degrees. With the SLR, that blur transforms into the kind of vivid, complex face that would give a cat pause. And it takes two seconds and zero knowledge to capture.
Not enough bandwidth here to display the full effect, but here's a hint of what's possible.
Speaking of photos, the deck page has been mildly updated with the latest pics and addendums. More torrential rains this weekend and Monday, so I appreciated their hurry to get the roof on last week.
We went to the hardware chains to pick out a ceiling fan for the builders to install. Although years of going to the Lowe's Depot for this old house has taught me to consider all eventualities before you make your trip, we still screwed it up. Still somehow managed, amid our focus on other variables, to get a fan that wouldn't work with the angled ceiling of our room.
So back out into the rain I went. At this point, as long as the thing rotates quietly ...
A note to all parents was sent home with my nephew's preschool class the other day. Not being a caretaker, and being a long way past childhood (technically, at least), I enjoyed the window into that world:
Dear parents,
I need to ask you to talk with your children about a few things. We’re having a hard time remembering the rules.
1. We need to use the toys for what they’re made for. Too often the children are making guns or spaceships with the toys and running around the room chasing each other. 2. We need to use walking feet in the room. 3. During center time, we need to play within the center, and not just run around the room playing superheros. 4. During circle time and story time, we need to have quiet, listening bodies.
But but but ... What else* is there to life besides flying spaceships and being a superhero?
Scientists should study my brain chemistry, because I'm often overcome by a pervasive sense of good fortune not always relevant to the situation at hand. A feeling that I'm lucky -- that I've already lived a good life well worth the price of admission. (Voice in head: Uh, you have NO idea how much interest and fees are yet to come due.)
Not lucky as in, "I'll win the lottery some day, I can feel it." Not good as in, "I'm not worthy." Just good as in: "Damn, this ride is nice, and I'm in full position to enjoy it." Serotonin levels appear to be naturally managed just fine. Even episodes of depressing troughs are an object of fascination for me that ultimately end up being "fun" in retrospect.
I just finished an epic trip to Denver to ski in the mountains and see the NCAA's "Frozen Four" college ice hockey championship. While those activities were events in themselves, the true joy was doing the trip with eight friends.
They included my own brother and two other sets of brothers. Some solid characters who make you laugh so much you cry. Physical activity, the rush of gravity on the slopes. Gorgeous mountain views and ponderings on the ski lift rides up. Food and drink fit for kings. Laughter and mirth. Ball-busting ridicule only a friend can appreciate.
Conversation ranged from particle physics and how to deconstruct Christianity for your kids to -- more frequently, I assure you -- juvenile jokes such as all manner of innuendo for the brother who joined us in the hottub naked because he left his suit at home.
The look of horror on my brother's face when he's returned to the hottub, drink in hand, and settled in only to discover -- through murky jet bubbles -- that the new guy has brought a loose snake into the waters ... well, that's a priceless look.
For a "night on the town" in Denver -- one of those adventures whose surreal nature escalates with each new destination -- one friend wore the following ensemble (pictures to follow later): dirty sky blue sweat pants, slip-on Crocs, a 15-year-old college t-shirt, and a leather jacket to tie the outfit together. A source of endless entertainment, he was even approached by a stylin' woman on the street who was dressed to party and said:
"Wait ... oh my GOD, those are sweatpants. Dude that's not right!"
Her tone was not mocking. Under normal meatmarket rules she wouldn't give him the time of day, of course, but hers was the kind of semi-appreciative tone that carries with it an inherent admission: Many social norms are ridiculous, so if you're going to blur them, best to shatter them beyond recognition. Her appreciation was an unspoken commendation: Well done, sir!
So at trip's end I'm sitting in the airport with a low-level headache. Tired, beaten by skiing, altitude and alcohol, the last thing I want is the Airport Experience, where food is awful and my tube of toothpaste is a threat to national security.
But as I'm sitting with my brother over bad airport food, the thoughts running through my head turn to how good I have it. I just had a beautiful trip with friends and family. Flirting with heaven's bourne and covering several of the tenets of what life is, or should be, about.
A bounty of shared experience among friends informing newer ones. Laughter from the day's beginning to the night's end. At the end, a wife I love to return to. A remarkable lack of hardships in general. *ducks for the incoming asteroid*
Yeah, I've had it good.
Two years ago on this Colorado trip, the front-right tire flew off our Jeep on the highway just minutes after we got out of the mountains. Had it come off 15 minutes earlier, I'm probably done on this planet as a single cohesive living unit. Yet even if that incident had turned out differently, I'd still have to say in retrospect -- my family's sorrow excluded: Yeah I had it good.
Of the new gas, and encasing the Sears Tower in Jell-o
I think I first saw "ennui" used when I read Kate Chopin's "The Awakening," about a woman who marries young, as instructed, and only later discovers herself and her neglected libido, and behaves in ways contrary to what's expected of her. She sort of stops tending to her husband and children in the ways a Good Woman Should, has an affair, gets her groove on. (Incidentally, the book is also great for its delicious depiction of Louisiana, and its 19th-century around-the-bush treatment of scandalous things.)
People are scandalized and gossip in various late-19th-century ways. I sympathize with the main character not because "Yay for affairs!" but because people forced into conditions they don't deserve are always welcome, in my book, to react in disobedient ways.
Anyway, I think Chopin used ze French word "ennui" to describe how the main character feels in her circumscribed marriage and life: bored, listless, unmoved and lacking any reason for passion.
"Ennui" later applied for Permanent Status in my vocabulary at the ol' PR firm, when it appeared in a business article in a way that resonated with me and a coworker. I don't remember the story, but it was probably to do with a telco's business move, which the writer said "fills me with ennui."
Why am I doing this extensive background for what is ostensibly a quick link to a couple stories from The Onion? I don't know, really, but you don't realize how a simple word can bring you sudden joy until you see it used well -- and out of nowhere -- as you sift through hundreds of industry-specific articles each day. Concocting humor out of tedium is an essential skill.
In truth, maybe I misremembered the whole episode (save for "The Awakening" part), and the "fills me with ennui" line was from a movie review or a StoryTime email among colleague friends. Either way, it quickly became assigned to multiple telco business stories as we entertained ourselves with the absurdity of the communications business race, its lobbyists and its surprisingly high stakes.
So even today, whenever I see "ennui" used I have an extra giggle at the memory of that time -- even if I don't remember its details.
And on that note, I'm tickled by The Onion's story about the new "ennui gas" chemical weapon, which "overwhelms its victims with sudden philosophical distress over the meaningless tedium of human life and a sinking sense that everything they have ever accomplished ultimately amounts to dust."
Well-tickled, me. And on that note's note, it's fitting that The Onion features in its archive of similar stories this wonderful bit, which I never did link to before: "Conceptual Terrorists Encase Sears Tower in Jell-O." The conceptual terrorists release a three-hour video taking credit for the act:
"Your outdated ideas of what terrorism is have been challenged," an unidentified, disembodied voice announces following the video's first 45 minutes of random imagery set to minimalist techno music. "It is not your simple bourgeois notion of destructive explosions and weaponized biochemical agents. True terror lies in the futility of human existence."
That's just plain good shit. Leave it to The Onion to point out how obviously terrorism and art go together -- at least satirically -- in our 21st-century zeitgeist.
A glass (or two) of wine and some looming writing deadlines will lead the mind these ways...
The other day, in an email exchange about soccer which included an admittedly varied assortment of vocab words excerpted from a hilarious English game article, the Gmail ads next to my email message included "$299 pallet jack," "Bamboo pole and fence" and "Criminal Justice Programs." How the words in our soccer exchange attracted those ads, I don't know. But I must say I'm damned pleased with my new pallet jack. The $299 excluded tax, by the way.
Meanwhile, my wife made "Amish friendship bread" -- one of those deals where you take some dough mix [I must now apologize to all Amish and kitchen experts for whatever details I hereby botch], divide that mix up, and pass it to friends, who are then instructed to do the same. It's a 10-day process with minimal work. Something like add milk and flour once and stir once a day. At the end of 10 days, you bake the dough and pass some of the starter dough on to friends, repeating the cycle. It's how Amish make friends, apparently.
So my sister, a recipient of some of the dough, comes clean and tells us, via email (there was other email news to discuss), that after 10 days her dough mix -- which isn't refrigerated -- smelled funny. Being sound of reason and a doctor*, she tossed it. So I wanted to reply to her: "For a shiksa, you make a crappy Amish girl, too."
*which might make her a slightly more tolerable shiksa
But not being well-versed in Jewish pejoratives, I wanted to make sure I had the right spelling of "shiksa" [sidenote: how did I miss the "Seinfeld" episode about "shiksappeal"?! Where was I?! Is that too offensive to air on Midwest-channel reruns?]. While I was at it, I decided this fun epithet (fun for the thick-skinned, anyway), would be amusing to look up on Urban Dictionary, the online Wiki-esque dictionary of slang and youthful terms you don't know and made-up terms every foul-mouthed frat boy would desperately like to popularize. ["Dude...how come only two votes for 'shilarious'? I only had 7 Natty Lights when I wrote that!"]
And what is the Web ad that appeared on the Urban Dictionary entry for shiksa? A Scientology ad! With messages like "Think for yourself," and "Get the facts," linking to a Scientology video channel!
I guess if a crazy modern religion were going to advertise on Urban Dictionary, perhaps someone looking up "shiksa" -- who's potentially having a theo-identity crisis -- might be the right target. And I know these bulk ad buys don't get to choose every site their ads arrive on. [And in fact, the ads are all over UD, not just on the shiksa entry.]
But it seems like a strange spot to try to win converts for your funky religion. I mean, most of the kids on Urban Dictionary probably like to mock-and-point at Scientology videos when they're not making racy videos of themselves or saying "nothing. wat RU doing?" to each other on Facebook. It just strikes me as an odd choice.
(As does the use of a cross -- as in crucifix -- in the "I" of the Scientology logo in these ads. Really? You use the symbol of a completely different religion in your logo? Does the cross just have great, mass theo-appeal? So it lends theo-credibility? Like the viewer thinks, "Well, that Tom Cruise might be a total nutjob, but I can respect a sect that's down with the whole cross thing.")
Anyway, as always, Web ads amuse me. I always expect them to be more finely tailored to the perfect niche audience that the Web enables -- Voice-Recognition Software for Jackasses Who Blog about Religion and Vocabulary and Web Ads While Avoiding Paying Work! -- but in the end they're so often like any other mass ad medium. A buncha crap you don't want, to be bought by each minute's sucker. Only more unintentionally funny.
I can't wait to see what ads appear** next to THIS post.
**so far: travel ads for Tonga. *shrugs* Of course! Why not?
As you may have noticed, the site has changed. Sampa, the free-site host, did a version 2 of some sort.
Despite an FAQ that made it sound like allowing one's site to go through v.2 surgery would be okay, there were several flexibilities that surprisingly disappeared with the click of a button. (e.g. I cannot believe sidebars like this one are even narrower than before.)
And I'm told -- miraculously! -- that the conversion cannot be undone. Truth be told, I'm actually quite pissed. But free is free. Sampa has otherwise been good to me.
So I need to sort through site "features" to see how I can make do. Except that I don't have the time at the moment, in the middle of graduate classes and Lighthousehockey.com. (btw, I've removed that Lighthouse RSS feed so that you're not clogged with random Islanders hockey gibberish).
But I promise to touch up the accessories when I get a chance, and return to irregularly scheduled blogging.
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December, 2007