nerdmeyr & K

Greetings Earthlings! wow. How do you begin a narrative about a trip that has no end in sight?  I’ll start with the important facts. 

Ursus californicus was designated California’s official state animal in 1953. I am pretty fond of the (Oregon) beaver, but I love the California state flag, which for those of you who don’t know features a bear and a star. 

I am the new proud owner of two bus passes and a library card. 

I receive official work memos that make reference to Arnold Schwarzenegger. 

Rarely a day goes by that someone doesn’t explain to me that I am currently standing in a “microclimate.”

So far, this state has not disappointed. Things are burning, literally. I’ve yet to receive a paycheck, but have already been furloughed. Already a reference to Black Delilah in the papers. Already I’ve seen a one man show on Buckminster Fuller! In all seriousness, there is something comforting about moving to a place in turmoil because you feel that your own inner turmoil is not out of place. 

It occurred to me shortly after we moved here that I’ve been studying this state my whole life. I think it is entirely likely that I’ve voluntarily read or seen more histories of California than of any other place, beginning in high school with Helter Skelter. And since then, Kenneth Anger’s Hollywood Babylon, Mike Davis, City of Quartz, Marc Reisner, Cadillac Desert, Rebecca Solnit’s River of Shadows: Eadweard Muybridge and the Technological Wild West, Elaine Brown, A Taste of Power, Nicolas Sammond, Babes in Tomorrowland: Disney and the Making of the American Child.  And that’s not even counting movies or Vanity Fair!

Every U.S. state has a brand and the first time you visit a state, you realize that you were already familiar with its brand even though you’d never been there (I know you think Arkansas doesn’t have a brand, but if you actually went there, you would realize that it does and that somehow it has already imprinted itself on your brain). But my knowledge of California goes well beyond brand recognition. I’m not saying that’s exceptional. It actually makes a lot of sense given the amount of entertainment this state produces. But it is strange to realize. It’s like, analyzing California is what we do to make sense of anything. Like, if we could make sense of California, we could understand the significance of this particular moment in human history. Or is that just me?

Don’t get me wrong! I appreciate the hubris. I’m only trying to figure out why I would already know so much about a state that I’d never even been to until this year (if you don’t count the time I went to Disneyland when I was three). 

Reading back over this post, it sounds so star struck! There is one odd thing, though. For all I knew about California, I never knew there was a Tomb of the Unknown Surfer in Santa Cruz. Amazing. 

My second favorite line from this hyperbole-plagued editorial that cheers Wal Mart’s decision to disclose the environmental costs of producing its merchandise is: “One small step for Wal Mart and one giant leap for Planet Earth.”

And my favorite line: “small companies will feel crushed by the giant’s new non-carbon footprint.”

yeah, suckers! reduce this.

I decided to go to a movie the other night, which means I exercised my, as you’ll see, idiosyncratic-to-the-point-of-demented movie selection process.

1) see what films are in 5 Buck Club (5 Buck Club – I’ll miss you!)

2) of those films, which are rated R

3) of those, which I’ve heard mention of/seen preview of

4) of what I’ve seen/heard, which film holds the most potential for being mildly entertaining and not making me want to stab my eyes out

Using this fool-proof method, I came up with: The Hangover. It fulfilled the first two requirements, and fulfilled the third because I had recently read a post on the blog of a well-respected feminist scholar titled “why i LOVED the hangover” [capitalization in the original]. A pretty ringing endorsement from someone it seemed I could trust.

So, I saw the Hangover. What is it they sometimes say about kids who have been molested? – The damage was more emotional than physical.

After leaving the theater, I vowed (not promised, vowed) that I would always always always read Rotten Tomatoes before seeing a film, although since then I visited RT and read the reviews of HGO and I’m not sure it would have saved me, although I think I’m critically minded enough to have noticed the red flags, like “the Hangover is the ultimate antidote to Sex and the City.” That right there would have tipped me off, feminist endorsed or not. But, there is always the possibility of being taken in if you’re not paying attention, and it’s best to read carefully because I think there must be movie review software that randomly generates quotable endorsements, such as “The Hangover instantly has the feel of one for the ages” [actual review]. Or, “The Hangover is an outrageous, entertaining, laugh-out-loud classic from beginning to end” [also real], so that reviewers do not have to watch the film, as is clearly the case here.

The thing about my new vow is that I cannot break it for any reason whatsoever not even if someone I hold in high regard gives a film a good review. In all fairness, though, I did revisit the feminist blog to make sure that I hadn’t mis-read it or confused it with another film (like, maybe she actually reviewed Up, which could be confused for Hangover since they’re both directional terms). Here is one of the reasons why she LOVED the Hangover:

“my critical acumen seems to drop as the temperature rises, hence i am able to almost ignore the fact that there are, like, no women in this movie”

Thinking back, I can see how I read that statement as saying “if you’re hoping this film shows signs of the social revolution, you’ll be disappointed.” And I can see how I wouldn’t have been too put off by that since I have no expectations whatsoever that Hollywood films will reflect my ideological leanings (and would be scared if they ever actually did).

The thing is, Feminist Blogger is just plain wrong. Technically speaking, there are quite a few women in The Hangover. All of them are completely abject, pitiable creatures — the harpie shrew girlfriend, the clueless bridezilla, the Catastrophe Formally Known as Heather Graham, the old lady who gives loser Dude a blow job in an elevator — but nevertheless women. The only thing I can think of is that Feminist Blogger did not recognize these women as sentient beings related in anyway to herself, which is sort of understandable, and also not exactly a reassuring sign of feminism’s future direction.

Frankly, I’m not sure what would have been gained had more women starred in this film.Would increasing the volume of women have spared me Mike Tyson’s disturbing cameo in which half his lines are indecipherable due to either a speech impediment and/or brain damage? (Seriously, even all the people who yucked it up throughout the rest of the film couldn’t bring themselves to laugh at Tyson.) Would it have rendered less offensive the effeminate Chinese man caricature (the one who jumps naked out of the trunk in a scene Feminist Blogger LOVED)?

Am I being totally humorless?  Well, the thing is that I paid to see this film. I wanted to be amused. And as you can see, I hadn’t set the bar very high. It’s not that I didn’t laugh at the film. The film did not make me laugh. Perhaps that is because I don’t have a dog in this particular race (that would be the: how-much-can-dudes-get-away-with-and-still-get-free-sex-from-their-disease-free-wives race), and I just do not get the endless fascination with that scenerio.  The most generous thing I can say about this film is that at least it never tries to suggest that it’s not totally mocking marriage. 20th century insane asylums look like a model of institutional integrity compared to the institution of marriage as depicted in The Hangover. The phrase “the inmates are running the asylum” comes to mind.

A recent medical study published in the Journal of Applied Physiology awesomely titled Thermal effects of whole head submersion in cold water on nonshivering humans has discovered that any uncovered part of the body loses heat at the same rate and proportional to the amount of body part exposed. That is why, on new year’s eve, when you’re drunk on absinthe and crawl into bed ONLY to discover that is not your person in the bed next to you because you’re not even in the correct domestile AND THEN you run out into the snow wearing a hat (because your mom always told you to do so) but without your pants (because you were in a bit of a hurry), you will quickly turn very very embarrassed. And also much colder than you would had you forgotten your hat but remembered your pants.

In other words, the parental litany of “Don’t Forget Your Boots And Put A Hat On (Because 70% Of Your Body Heat Is Lost Through Your Head)” may have made a No. 1 country hit for BJ Thomas (on the b-side of his ‘75 “(Hey Won’t You Play) Another Somebody Done Somebody Wrong Song” single), but it is erroneous instruction for the youth of today.

Now when you go out wearing your Dr. Seuss stacked peppermint raver hat, you have nothing to blame for it except your poor fashion sense.

Editor’s Note: Despite what it may say above, this post was a dual-writing-venture by both K and Nerdmeyr.

Nerdmeyr and I just returned from a rousing and restful trip to one of Indiana’s state park inns – Turkey Run. Turkey Run delivers two heaping tablespoons of charm in the form of the main lodge’s stone fireplace, free coffee, and comfy couches open all night, the nature center that feeds 5000 squirrels a day, the indoor swimming pool that supposedly closes at 11pm but never does, and the basement arcade full of 25 cent games (except for the 1985 Sega Hang On that rattles so badly you expect smoke to billow out the back and which costs 50 cents a game). There’s also an second story veranda with rocking chairs, a dining room open for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and a gift shop selling 10,000 squirrel figurines – that’s two hand carved renditions of each actual park squirrel.

After reading the previous paragraph, your head may be swimming. But Wait!!! There’s More!!! As in, the theoretical reason for the very park’s existence, which is to say, the beautiful natural surroundings. No superlatives like “majestic” or “breathtaking” will escape your lips, but the park does a steady and reliable job of inspiring appreciation of nature. Curious sandstone cliffs, tricksy trails, mud aplenty if you go on the one day in December it reaches 65 degrees and is bookended by precipitation, and an abundant population of pileated and downy woodpeckers.

A large part of the park’s charm comes from its history as Indiana’s second state park. The first 2,382 acres of the park were purchased in 1916 (year of the Indiana State centennial) at the recommendation of Colonel, businessman, and future park commissioner Richard Lieber. The Inn was built in 1919 and once was host to a train line. In the 1930s, a fossil exhibit was loaned to the park, the first of the park’s interpretative programs. Indiana now has six such state parks, each with inns and cabins that charge no more than $75 a night. This is the fourth time we’ve been to Turkey Run and always I wander around imagining a renaissance of the American state park system. The time and place seem ripe for such imaginings, if only on the scale of one landlocked state. If it were to happen, there is good reason why it should and could happen in Indiana: only seven years until Indiana’s bicentennial; six existing parks, five of which are within a hundred miles of one another; miles of defunct rail lines that could be transformed into bike trails connecting each park; languishing local farms that could supply the dining rooms of each inn with meat, eggs, and produce; a slightly higher than national average unemployment rate (7.1%) and high poverty rates in the surrounding counties that might yield a 21st century Civilian Conservation Corp. Given the existing infrastructure, the historical function of the state park (to preserve nature and sites of historical interest, educate the public in the value of conservation and wildlife appreciation, and provide affordable recreation), and the present turn toward eco-tourism (a turn that, oddly, has yet to include U.S. park systems), Indiana state parks could be the recipe for a rebirth of ye olde Americana.

And lest you think this last photograph is from somewhere else, no, it is not. Turkey Run, among its other charms, excels at sending small children and not-sure-footed adults to their death. Trails that, in other, more civilized parts of the country, would produce a fly-swarm of wrongful-death litigation, in Turkey Run hardly warrant a Beware! sign and instead are featured on t-shirts in the lodge gift shop proudly claiming “I Survived Trail 3″.

Photo credit (last photo): bmtpix

From Letters to the Editors @ Fort Worth Star-Telegram – September 15, 2008. Note: I pulled this from a post someone else made on a listserv, edited it, and added my own commentary.

How racism works:

It attributes an individual’s decisions and character to some sort of biological drive that cannot be overcome or undone. When those decisions and characteristics are “bad,” than racism enables us to believe that the individual (who is representative of their race) cannot be any other way.

Those who are identified as white are credited with acting of their own accord and with possessing the ability to overcome poor judgment and life mistakes.

To see racism in action, ask yourself the following:
What if John McCain were a former president of the Harvard Law Review and Barack Obama finished fifth from the bottom of his graduating class?
What if McCain were still married to the first woman to whom he said “I do”?
What if Obama were the candidate who left his first wife after she no longer measured up to his standards?
What if Michelle Obama not only became addicted to pain killers, but acquired them illegally through her charitable organization?
What if Cindy McCain graduated from Harvard? What if Obama were a member of the “Keating 5″?
What if McCain was a charismatic, eloquent speaker?

Found this when reading K’s dissermatation:

Mills argues that “White (male) philosophy’s confrontation of Man and Universe, or even Person and Universe, is…predicated on taking personhood for granted and thus excludes the differential experience of those who have ceaselessly had to fight to have their personhood recognized in the first place.” [Charles Mills, Blackness Visible: Essays on Philosophy and Race (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1998), 9.]

I was all set to re-ify my disgust and hatred of bottom-feeding self-absorbed celebrities (and I’m not even talking about Lance Armstrong, either) when I watched Paris Hilton’s video reply to that white-haired dude running for president.

I do believe an actual, real-life laugh escaped from my lips.  If there’s one thing nowadays politics needs, its more confusion about what’s real, what’s show, what’s ridiculous, and what’s right on. And the fact that Paris held forth on an energy policy statement without losing her “o-mi-god, can you believe i’m actually talking about this?” smirk was icing on the cake for me.

For me, the real amusement here is Paris inserting herself into the McCain – Obama dyad like a reincarnated Ross Perot with better fashion sense (have you noticed how they both have distinctive ears?) McCain’s ploy – to equate Obama’s potential and past to that of Hilton’s – seemed like something a bitter and doddering old  man would do. There’s plenty to get Obama on; why make such a clumsy and i’m-totally-out-of-it type of criticism?  Obviously, I’m no McCain fan, but its not like I’m really excited about Obama either. His faux-progressive bombast combined with his reactionary and business-as-usual policy statements (e.g. turned down public funding, his relentless and dumb support of ethanol, his hardliner stance towards opening up relations with Cuba, etc. etc.), have left me feeling even more lukewarm about him lately than I did during the primary. I guess I’m disgusted enough with the proceedings that I find delight in clapping and cheering for a verbal pie-throwing idiot savant court jester like Hilton.

If anyone reading this can point me to something cool Obama’s done lately, please let me know!

… the resulting love child, after a 25 year gestation period, would’ve been Lovelock.  I hesitate to blog about these guys, as I have a feeling it will publicly out me and my undying love of dripping-in-cheeze-sauce synth  pop with a cup of Quiet Storm faux-soul/R&B poured on top (see esp. Lovelock’s Maybe Tonight). This delectation would include somewhat permissible people like Sade, Luther “Even Anderson Cooper came out of the closet eventually, but not me” Vandross, and Teddy Pendergrass but also dentist office muzak stalwarts like Anita Baker, bless her heart.  IMohsohumbleO, Lovelock is the perfect music to play when you’ve got a glass of cabernet, are wearing a slippery shirt made from petroleum products, and its raining outside… throw it on, compose your face in a “i’m a lover, not a fighter” expression, and gaze thoughtfully out the window.

Faithful readers may have noticed changes in this remote electronic chronicle. We sport a new tag line, new visuals, and new categories. We assure you that these changes pose no threat to the hard hitting cultural-political commentary and fanciful re-tellings of our lives that you’ve come to expect. Nerdmeyr promises to keep delivering those breathless death-defying blink-and-you-might-miss-me analogies that put the “Mars” in marvelous and the “Pryor” in gee wiz. For my own part, I will continue to deliver factoids of mind-bending quality and arrange them alongside other startling bits of pure white uncut information until your joints disjoint with the significance of it all. In short, we’re the same, only improved. We’re Scout and Boo Radley together as you’ve always wanted to see them; technicolor dolby techtronics as you always believed it could be.

Why the new theme, you might ask? The theme is inspiration and a suggestive frame for all that we write. Keeping this blog — an open-ended public journal with a low threshold for sense-making — has been an interesting experiment. What do you write when you can write anything? Who do you write for when you have no idea who might read your entries? For someone who makes her living crafting carefully worded arguments for a select audience, blogging has been a strange exercise. I found that I’m not all that interested in writing about myself and more interested in writing about things and their relationship to other things. What I like about this particular medium is the license it affords me to put anything in relation to anything else with little need for justification. That quality is what promised to revolutionize journalism, but the traditions of journalistic writing and the desire to “speak truth to power” disarmed blogging of its inventive potential. Disappointment abounded when blogs failed to be the hoped for founts of previously suppressed news and instead only managed to decentralize commentary. As usual, I arrived late to the party, skeptical and largely indifferent. Now that I’ve been won over by my charming host, I wonder where everyone went (I know, I know: off to twitter). I like this cheaper and more readily accessible version of the dream of a radio free world. Everyone broadcasting without censure their thoughts, news, tales, and favorites at all times of the day to whoever will listen. Social networking sites offer something similar, but it’s hard to get away from the self-profile, self-promotion, self-disclosure of social networking. Being shy, ambition-less, and text-oriented makes the blog a better match for my broadcasting aspirations.

Blogging has given me new insights into the function of order because it requires all kinds of arbitrary decisions regarding the order of things. The use of tags is one obvious example, but even the need to give some kind of theme to a blog is a kind of ordering. As Nerdmeyr pointed out, these practices have even spawned a study of order distinct from taxonomy and cataloging: folksonomy. The more I thought about what I wanted to write, the more I realized it wasn’t a matter of choosing a topic, but of how to order it. I’ve been wanting to write about fish, for instance, but what could I say about fish that hasn’t been said a million times and is probably available in a much more convenient and comprehensive format elsewhere? It eventually occurred to me that the function of this blog is not to provide information, but to re-order existing information to see if, by rearranging it, it means something different. Once I understood my purpose, I stopped worrying about what I would say about fish and started thinking about how I could organize information on fish. This liberation led to all manner of questions about order and…a new theme was born.

Re-ordering our blog proved the first lesson in order, as we discovered that it is a massive pain in the ass to re-categorize old posts. There is simply no convenient way to do it unless your old categories have a one to one correspondence with your new categories – and how often is that going to happen? Message in a bottle: could someone please invent some kind of matrix with the titles of posts on one axis and old and new categories on the other? Then bloggers could uncheck the old categories and check new categories without having to open each post.

While the re-ordering was a joint effort, all technical and graphic credit goes to Nerdmeyr who worked coding wonders to make the flashy lights and whizzing do-dads that now adorn our site. And there you have it. We hope you’ll all enjoy the show and tell your friends about us.