Blogging un Cheval Mort: 04/01/2004

sorry. no vidblog this week. probably no posts either. busy. busy. busy.

Vidblog #29: CA Dreams
As per Señor Jett's request....

"Sensible people were left devastated Monday by false reports that troubled singer, Michael Jackson, has fans."

"Fans of pop superstar Michael Jackson were left devastated on Friday by false reports the troubled singer had committed suicide" (report from IMDB news). So is anyone else left wondering why Jackson's fans (he has fans?) would be disappointed that the suicide reports were false? I mean, sure. Rockstars/popstars gain more noteriety post-mortem, but that's usually before they reach has-been status. Maybe the continued breathing of the King(?) of Pop is just too much for the average fan to take - not that Jackson's tarnishing his rep anymore now than he was ten or fifteen years ago....

Okay, so. Having a tough time coming up with an idea for tomorrow's vidblog and requests could be entertaining.

I finished reading Amazon's #17 ranked book last week. Life of Pi was a worthy read - though occasionally extremely frustrating. My first bout of frustration occurred 3/4 of the way through the book when I was full-bore into thinking that this was the most incredible story I had ever read—then I discovered it was fiction. Yes, I know the cover says "A Novel" but due to the author's note in the prologue, the chapters that were the author's parenthetical asides about his interviews with the grown Pi Patel, and the sheer weight of factual exposition, I assumed that at the least, this was a tale inspired by a true and honestly historical narrative, only deviating in the regular kinds of storytelling liberties. Nope. This tale was one-hundred percent fabrication. And that took some adjustment on my part.

The second frustration was with the final portion of the book and to speak about it, I'll have to speak about the details of the book's ending. And so, those who have yet to read the yarn and detest having a good tale spoiled, please avert your eyes.

So then, the second frustration occurs when Pi, having related his incredible experience only to be met with skepticism and frustration, retells the story in an altogether more believable fashion. His retelling seems all the more plausible as he comes up with believable anthropological replacements for the four animals with which (or whom) he supposedly travelled.

In fact, the likeliness that this second telling is the more accurate representation of things the way they actually happened rendered for me the last 300 pages of story irrelevant. It was an echo of the old comics I would read that advertised that a main character would die. Of course it would turn out to be a dream or a hoax and an issue or two later, the mortified character would return with no lasting consequence. There was a slight difference here that tends to make Pi slightly more acceptable, but still... when I finished the book, the first thing I thought was, "Crap."

In the end I realize how in Pi's life and theory of living, the Tiger Version was real and the People Version an invention simply because of the line of thought he builds throughout the book that people need the imagination to eschew the "dry, yeastless facts" in order to experience "the better story," but you know...? I like the facts. I don't think them dry nor yeastless. I think, the facts, shown in the proper light can be just as invigorating as - or more so than - the mere fabrication of men. (Hmm, echoes of recent Passion discussions there.) I also noted that it was Yann Martel's intention to create a story that could be viewed as true - once one accepts Pi's notions of truth, factuality, and the better story. And so, if I would have thought more or Pi's weltanschauung, my original frustration would have been alleviated and replaced with bliss at what happened to this poor, amazing little boy. But I didn't and so it wasn't.

I was happy with the ending for one reason though. It served to illustrate Pi's life in such a way that you could finally understand why on earth he would choose such a senseless path of religion, embracing Hinduism, Christianity, and Islam simultaneously. It's because truth doesn't interest Pi. Only a good story, a fanciful yarn. The more bizarre and colourful, the better. Who cares if the three religions are all mutually incompatible - they're so fun and the experiences of the god of imagination revealed through their practices so invigorating.

Clearly Pi and I are different animals - and though I now understand him, I have little respect for his way of thinking, living, being. The poor deluded, orphaned little nut.

So. Growing another beard. Last time I had one was at least a long time ago. I looked in the mirror and what do I find? Grey. My chin is now mottled with grey. Actually, I find it rather cool. I'll look smashing with a white beard in a few years, but there is a travesty of justice afoot.

I now have grey hair AND I still get zits? How is that right?! How is that fair?! Isn't there s'posed to be at least a good five/ten years of freedom from the marks of age? And here I contend with both simultaneously. Hmm, perhaps this is karmic retribution for all that violence I perpetrated against gummi bears.

Vidblog #28: Periodical - 6

Still sick, but I'm gonna try to have a vidblog up for you guys tonight. In the meantime here's a story from real life:

[Location: video store in Laguna Beach. Cast: A bedraggled Iranian store owner who's been in the business maybe five years too long AND a blond thrity-something woman who could easily pass for a blond forty-something woman.]

BLONDE

I'd called ahead to rent Jesus of Nazareth for two days.

OWNER

Yes, here it is. Did you see that one that is so popular now?

BLONDE

Oh yes, it was pretty good. But Jesus of Nazareth is better :-) That's why I'm renting it for Easter.

OWNER

Okay, for two days? That's five dollars.

BLONDE

Five? But all the other two day rentals are four!

OWNER

Yes, but not for Jesus.

BLONDE

What? Why?

OWNER

Jesus is five dollars!

In the end, I give the man creativity points in his bargaining enterprise. Perhaps he was making a point about the intrinsic value of the Lord of the Universe. Perhaps not. Although, hmm, he was also trying to get her to rent The Last Temptation of Christ pretty bad - maybe he woulda rented that for four dollars. In the end, he relented and it turned that Jesus is four dollars after all. I was so pleased with the resolution that I left the store without renting anything, having had my entertainment needs met for that evening.

Vidblog #27: The Reason

Not that I need one, thankyouverymuch.

I have detected an inconsistency.

What is one of the primary objections we'll hear raised against women performing in sexual occupations such as modelling, prØn, or prostitution? From one quarter at least, you'll hear that such tasks only contribute to the objectification of women. Clearly this is bad. You know, because objects are bad. No wait, because women who are objects are bad. No wait, i'll get it, I promise... it's because women are far more complex than even the most multifaceted of mere objects. They live, they breathe, they think, they mudwrestle.

Or something like that.

So then, what is this grand difficulty I have stumbled upon? Simply this: art.

Culturally, we like to think to think of art as noble, art as pure, art as an expression of ultimate truths that while escaping semantic cages might be at the least corralled by the brush, the pen, and the chisel. But in truth, art is far more insidious for under the able camouflage of nobility and truth, it is the most objectifying of all pursuits.

Art ignores all aspects of a woman's frame save those that can be rendered immovable to the naked eye. Art distills all life, mind, personality, and worth from a woman and makes her the object of a dignified leer. The photographer or painter seeks none of the distraction of the real woman, but focus solely on the aesthetics of that woman. She becomes imaginary in the moment of her reconception. She is no longer someone to interact with, but merely a thing to be admired with the eye alone.

All this is to say that art is as bad (or worse as it performs its transformation under camouflage) as prØn in its objectification.

Corollary to this is that maybe objectification isn't the devil we thought it was (and perhaps the problem with prØn has little to do with objectification).

A further corollary: art is not such a noble thing after all but really only a very base pursuit - though one we enjoy very much (like juicy lamb shanks and gladiator movies). I think this is likely the case and it's really only our awe of the elite (who in years past were the only ones with discretionary funding enough to take any consistent interest in art) that made us ever believe that art was something so noble.

Among that group of things that could be accurately called, "My Favourite Things to Do to Calendars," there stands alone one great and wonderful thing that can be accruately called, "My Favourite Thing to Do to Calendars." Really, I just like adding word balloons to the pictures to add context to the scene that is playing out before us over the course of the month. Here is this month's effort, straight outta Compton, yo.