Pomo Schlomo

This is a hilarious exchange on literary theory and postmodernism, through very jaded eyes (and appropriately so). I particularly like this assertion:

It was generally true that the young academics who opted for literary theory and its related forms of scientism had been on the Left and were looking for a comfortable bolt-hole where they could either cherish their principles or quietly give them up, but a bad conscience was not the problem. On the contrary, many of them thought they were Noam Chomsky: an illusion on their part which depended on the mistaken idea that his structural linguistics was a form of literary theory too. But linguistics depends on scientific method, which can go wrong, as it did even for Einstein. Literary theorists are always right, like Cagliostro.

Right on! And I agree with this, from another commentator:

My take on the American love for post-modernism is that, (1) it's still the easiest way for academics to pass off lazy scholarship as something profound, (2) it fills a spititual void for these self-loathing bourgeois, and (3) it's a perfect way for them to act out their petty resentments. In other words, for basically the same reasons academics used to be into Marxism.

No bloody kidding. The whole discussion, though, is worth reading, if you have the time.

Mercurial Designs?

I had to post this for my female readers who will no doubt be revolted by the notion of having, shall we say, potentially 'winged feet'. Some people have far too much time on their feet. I have to admit, I'd be curious to hear from anyone who dares to give the design a try. ;-)

A VERY Speedy Trial?

Pity the presiding judge: considering the legal merits of a case like this one simply cries out for the intellectual acumen of a John C-- er, Oliver Wendell Holmes.

What's next? Being sued for disturbing the peace? The last paragraph made me laugh out loud.

On Seamus Heaney's "Act of Union"

Act of Union

I

Tonight, a first movement, a pulse,
As if the rain in bogland gathered head
To slip and flood: a bog-burst,
A gash breaking open the ferny bed.
Your back is a firm line of eastern coast
And arms and legs are thrown
Beyond your gradual hills. I caress
The heaving province where our past has grown.
I am the tall kingdom over your shoulder
That you would neither cajole nor ignore.
Conquest is a lie. I grow older
Conceding your half-independent shore
Within whose borders now my legacy
Culminates inexorably.

II

And I am still imperially
Male, leaving you with the pain,
The rending process in the colony,
The battering ram, the boom burst from within.
The act sprouted an obstinate fifth column
Whose stance is growing unilateral.
His heart beneath your heart is a wardrum
Mustering force. His parasitical
And ignorant little fists already
Beat at your borders and I know they're cocked
At me across the water. No treaty
I foresee will salve completely your tracked
And stretchmarked body, the big pain
That leaves you raw, like opened ground, again.

--- Seamus Heaney, from North (1975)

I don't quite know what to make of this poem, particularly in terms of its tone. The allegorical connections are clear enough, but there's more than a hint of satire in the poem-- and not against the English imperial figure, but against the notion of such awkward allegorical suggestions: the use of some phrases and words ('battering ram,' 'the heaving province,' and 'sprouted' stick out particularly) seems to be just over top enough to be comical. My thinking here is that if the poem is trying to be satirical, or at least tongue-in-cheek by nature, the poem works wonderfully, and the awkward metrics of the two sonnets become playful and clever. If, however, the poem is earnest in its allegorization, then the poem seems rather clumsy, ham-handedly reinforcing the analogies to the point of cliche. Whether it's just me or not, I don't want to read this poem too seriously: the contrivances seem too forced for Heaney's normally deft manner. There must be a larger mockery going on, and I suspect it's against the almost ritualistic tendency to define imperial powers as intrinsically male and colonized states as female, against the tendency to rely on such simplistic metaphors, like the common feminist trope of associating the sexual act, or the act of union, with violence and colonization. In many ways, it seems Heaney is trying to use every trick in the innuendo bag: 'head,' 'a bog-burst,' 'legacy,' 'fifth column,' 'cocked.' They creep into the poem with a kind of cheeky inevitability--not to mention rapid succession-- that makes the idea of reading the poem with any kind of sincerity pretty much impossible.

I don't know for sure, but this is one of the rare times I think knowing a poet's intentions would help to contextualize the poem. If the poem is indeed a sincere allegorization, it has its virtues, but it falls victim to its own desire to maintain the correlatives. If the poem is a satire, as I read it, it's very clever satire indeed, feeding the ideological associations of those it mocks while doing its business on those targets without their knowing it. If the former, the poem is all too obvious; if the latter, the poem is quite wry, and does a nice job not just on the idea of victimization and colonization, but also on the desire to make overly reductive historical and ideological comparisons (and to revel in the language that is used in making such comparisons). I could consult some of the criticism I have of Heaney, but I think I'd rather not. I think I'd rather hold to my own interpretation at this point, if only to hold fast to my considerable admiration for Heaney as a poet, even if my own experiences with reading Heaney suggests that I'm probably not too far off in my estimation of the poems satirical manoeuverings.

And, yes, it *was* about time I got back to writing about real literature on this blog. ;-)

Term

Term

At the last minute a word is waiting
not heard that way before and not to be
repeated or ever be remembered
one that always had been a household word
used in speaking of the ordinary
everyday recurrences of living
not newly chosen or long considered
or a matter for comment afterward
who would ever have thought it was the one
saying itself from the beginning through
all its uses and circumstances to
utter at last that meaning of its own
for which it had long been the only word
though it seems now that any word would do

--- W. S. Merwin

Let's Hope It Was A Short Service

Now this, I think you'll agree, is taking sentiment way too far, especially if you read far enough to find the guitarist's lyrics.

GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLL!

Now this might make the game fun.

The Wall-'Flower'

Sometimes, it's just not worth the hassle and the expense, right guys? Apparently, a community organization in New Zealand refused to buy the winning artwork in a local competition, that of "a large, bright yellow vagina" (pictured at right). The piece was assessed at $8500. See here for details. I particularly like the remark that the trust has to be "selective and sensitive." How i(r)onic. I'm remembering all too well the words of Colin Mochrie: "That's the flimsiest vagina I've ever seen." Oh, lord, there are so many things I could say... Where is Gully Jimson when you need him?

Classics, Porn Style

This has been around for a while, but here's a list of classic-based porn titles.... As I Lay Diane The Ass Menagerie As You Lick It Beth Comes for the Archbishop The Bugger's Opera Captain Fellatio Hornblower A Christmas in Carol Cock Without Hands David Cop A Feel The Devil and Daniel Webster in Miss Jones Eat Me in St. Louis The Enema of the People Five Little Peckers and How They Grew Four Saints in Three Unnatural Acts The Four Whoresmen of the Apocalypse French the Lieutenant's Woman! A Handful of Bust Hedda Gobbler Her Groin Was My Valley He Stoops to Honk Her Inside Daisy Miller Ivan's Ho' Lady Windemere's Fanny Lord Jism The Lust of the Mohicans Madame Ovary Mansfield Pork The Man Who Came on Dinner A Member at the Wedding Moaning Becomes Electra Moby-Dyke The Naked in the Dead Of Human Bondage and Discipline One Day in the Wife of Ivan Denisovich The Penile Colony Penis and Adonis The Pit and the Pudendum Portrait of the Artist as a Hung Man Pubic Enemy The Satanic Nurses The Shape of Things That Come The Schlong of Roland A Tale of Two Clitties Tales of a Wayside In and Out Tess Does the D'Urbervilles The Three Muffketeers Twat Makes Sammy Run Uncle Ream Us Wetness For The Prosecution The Wife of Bath's Tail

and a few more from Doctor J: The Layer of Casterbridge The Old Man And The Semen Tight Ass Andronicus Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Get Head The Pound And The Fury Quim and Punishment The Apprenticeship of Duddy's Crevice The Juice of Malta The Iceman Cummeth Flossed Horizon The Golden Hole The Burn Of The Screw A Cunt Tickle For Liebowitz The Waist Gland Gargantua and Panty Drool Fifth Jizzness Spankenstein Fear Of Clothing In Las Vegas The Bitch Liker's Guide To The Galaxy Corey's Old Anus King Leer Pair of Thighs Lost Fair and Hot #451 What Maisie Blew Bride's Head Revisited The Crying of Lot 69 The Scat In The Hat Every Man And His Hummer The Ivory Shower Snatch 22 Thus Sprayed Zarathrustra The Vision of Piers Plowing Men The Sphincter of Dorian Gray The Legend of Sleazy Swallow

and the inevitable

Load Of The Flies

Justa Hunka Hunka Burning Love

This is hilarious. Perfectly in line for the recent kafuffle over the statue of the Ten Commandments. LOL.

Actually, a lot of the stuff at their site is quite funny. Worth a glance around.

Wipe That Smile Off Your Face...

Holiday Inn is very likely going to regret this decision. There are probably some reasons those towels were, er, secreted away. The reasons I know of (from others, pretty much entirely) all involve stories *nobody* wants to hear.

A Suitcase Full of *What*????

This is just plain weird-- and horrifying.

This Is Just Off The Top Of My Head, But...

I have a new and sudden appreciation of the sound of the word 'forestation'. *Ew*

Culture Shock

Let's face it: the words 'mad' and 'scientist' go together like coffee and cream, as evidenced by this story. Yeah, sure, hide behind the penicillin story: we know what you're really interested in.

Now There's A *Father*

Hugh Beaumont and Robert Young have nothing on this dad.

"Gee, Dad, you seem to have gained weight...."

Modified Archives

For my own sake, but also for the convenience of anyone searching this site for literature proper, I've totally revamped the archives page of this blog-- and boy have I revamped it. There are now individual links to poems published here, as well as to more significant quasi-literary excerpts. There, too, will go the store of those quotes that you'll see below the banner of this blog. AND, you'll also find the old writer's gallery that used to be attached to the main of this site. All in all, I think it looks pretty good, and its design and colour scheme are moreorless consistent with this main blog.

My own reasons for this should be obvious: to be able to find at a glance the poems I thought enough of include here; but there's also a more practical reason, that this blog has been more about quirky news articles and personal bits and pieces than about literature per se, so anyone actually here for lit stuff should go straight to the archives. The archives are not, as of now, in any way out of date: they come up to today; but they do make for a more convenient method of location, short of a search engine that can be very laborious.

Anyway, check out the new and improved archive page here. Let me know if there are any problems or dead links.

And, no, don't ask me why I bothered with this. ;-)

At Least They Didn't Change It To Aquamarine

Something to make you go 'Doh'. How many idiots does it take to make a stupid marketing decision?

Talk About Five Alarm....

Do NOT read this story unless you have a truly iron constitution. Disturbing thought: how many people did, er, it take to make the vile concoction? *Shudder*

I really do wish I were handsome-- or charming, or magnetic, or anything beyond that which I am. The cruellest thing about mediocrity is seeing it, and knowing it, in yourself.

A walker in the rain, a dancer in the dark.

Another Just-For-Dr.-J-Link

This link is mainly for my own purposes, and perhaps the odd literature geek out there will find it of interest, but here is an interesting discussion of the relationship between Modernism and ideas of imagination by Brian Vescio at University of Virginia.

(Mostly Quirky) Articles from Ananova

On this story, probably the less said the better. Cheers!

Imagine being the poor lad in this story. Actually, I don't have to imagine. At least it has never been over a thousand miles.

And here is another story -- from the opposite end of the spectrum. I wish the old man luck. Hopefully he won't meet Anna Nicole Smith.

This is just plain sad. No wonder the rest of the world thinks of Canadians as cold fish.

And then, of course, there's this story which I am sure will have everyone weeping uncontrollably. I could speculate a few reasons for her, but I will behave myself. For now.     Must say nothing. Must say nothing. Must say nothing. Musssss..... Well, gee, could it be that you're a skanky ho who threw away what could have been a dignified and meaningful musical career to become the fetid poster girl for butt floss and Monistat? Could it be that you're an airhead with the personality of haemmorrhoid ointment? Could it be that you're an overexposed prima donna that no one in his or her or even its sane mind could tolerate longer than the second and a half it would take to realize you're a vapid waste of increasingly-precious oxygen?????    Ah, sorry about that... Moving on...

And, more seriously, a brief note: Charles Bronson, RIP. "Maybe I don't look like anybody's ideal," he famously said, but became a symbol of real masculinity. Selah. Selah.

Go Ahead, Make That Call

This week's chuckle-inducing column on an issue that is very much a peeve of mine... And no, I won't be saying shiver me timbers.

Cynical Summer Coda

Well, it's been another rotten summer, probably the worst yet, as just about everything that could have gone wrong did. At the end of it, I ask myself: what did I get out of it? what did I do? did I have a good time at least? and so on and so forth. And the answers are pretty much the same as usual: not much, not much, and not really. It's been a summer 'to get through,' not enjoy. *Shrug* 'Tis the way of things, it seems. I don't like it, but I'm used to it.

It's been a summer, really, of nothing: I can't say I really accomplished anything, I can't say I travelled or did anything memorable or liberating, and I can't say I feel at all refreshed by the summer. It's been another summer of the same old things, happening in moreorless the same old ways. Blah.

Ah, at least the familiarity of it all makes it easier to dismiss it with appropriate cynicism. One starts to wonder, though, if one is 'putting in time' or 'killing' time-- and one starts to wonder, too, if it's true that by killing time we injure eternity. Natch. Hopefully autumn will bring better things. Probably not, but one can hope....

LOL

I received my first 'porn' hit. Apparently, some guy searched Yahoo for 'photos of female masturbation wanking' and somehow came (pardon the term) upon my site. The search engine, I think, brought the poor bastard here because of an old post on euphemisms for masturbation which also must have included, in the weekly publication, something on females and 'wanking.' What does one do? ;-)

Oklahoma!

Following the last post, check this out, especially the "Enlightening Quotes" section.

The Dogs of Terror

This is just disturbing. The mother in this piece has it right on: the police would have been negligent not to search for weapons, but to prosecute after finding nothing? This just boggles the mind. It seems to me the prosecutor here wants to see the dogs of terror lurking everywhere. People like this ADA are the reason for the term 'bitch-slap.'

But What About Rosemary and Thyme?

Read this and *don't* forget about it.

Seriously, though, I hope there's something to this more than the typical 'this will help you' scientific survey material. Alzheimer's is the disease that I find the most terrifying of all.

Naked, Swearing, And Holding Proudly A Picture of Gray Davis

From today's NY Times, Craig Kilborn has a funny piece explaining why, in his words, My Couch Is Too Small for 135 Candidates.

Face It: It's Investment, Not Expenditure

This article spells out what should have been obvious to our politicians a very long time ago:

Most economists who have analyzed Canada's and Ontario's productivity challenge conclude that education is an important part of the solution. A more educated, better-trained labour force simply creates more value. Studies show repeatedly that individuals' earnings increase with the level of education. In fact, the best single predictor of personal income is level of education. The best advice parents can give their children is to stay in school. Every extra year of school or additional degree raises income prospects.

Some of us have been talking about this for years.

And ANOTHER One For The Pile

I guess the woman in this story REALLY had her husband by the you-know-whats. Sheesh.

Add Another One To The Pile...

Sometimes, the medical notion of 'better safe than sorry' just doesn't work. If there's a choice, I'd have taken the cancer.

Belated With The Scan But...

Anne's version of things....



Told you I'd do it, brat. ;-)

When Mom Just Won't Go Away

Okay, this is just plain creepy.

Something Rotten, But In The Wrong Country

From Sweden, a story that suggests one way to make money from your boss...

Gee....

Apparently, the Oxford Dictionary of English-- not to be confused with the multi-volume Oxford English Dictionary-- has added a few new words, including "blog," "Muppet," and "egosurfing."

The most curious addition, though: "Eeyorish." Gee, I've had that word applied to me for years, as someone well knows (you know who you are).

My, My...

I pity the bastard that bogarts the subject of this story. Sometimes, one supposes, a cigar isn't just a cigar.

Okay, How Many Good-Phallus Jokes Can You Come Up With?

Especially after reading this story, about a plot "made out of pure love." LOL.

Watching CNN

As I take care of my morning things, CNN is on the tube, and it's airing time and time and time and time again the open-mouth kisses issued by Madonna to Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera. One wonders exactly how many diseases and infections were transmitted therewith. One also wonders if CNN can't find something better to do this morning.

And, yes, one wonders why this blog finds itself actually bothering to comment on it. *Shrug*

Big Names In Business

The NYTimes puzzle aforetitled arrived today, and after the cleverness of last week's this was really disappointing. Composed by Patrick Berry, it contains a lot of awkward clues that are definite 'stretchers.' Examples? Water Sprite = 'nixie.' Lean = 'List.' Huh? Isolate, possibly? = "Ice In". Black varnish = 'Japan'. These are pretty cheap, really. While the primary theme isn't especially difficult, a lot of the small corners or sections of the puzzle will throw most people, understandably. Some other words, not illegal or awkward per se, include 'daphnia,' 'diopter,' 'cassoulet.' And, of course, obscure names: Bendict I, Cuyp, Samsa.

The theme? Oh, silly clues related to celebrities. "Studio started by a TV actor?" = "TEDDANSONSTRUCTION." "Travel services started by a Spanish actress? = "PENELOPECRUZLINE". The others are at least a bit better (Eydie Gorme Foods, Oscar de la Renta Car, Mean Joe Greene House, Tammy Faye Bakkery), but 'Jodie Foster Care is just pathetic. Not impressed with this one.

More than a whiff of desperation here.

Transcripts of Horror

I really don't know what to make of the court-ordered release of the transcripts of the September 11th radio conversations of the New York and New Jersey Port Authority. While I understand the desparate of need of some 'to know' what happened, and I understand too why they technically should be released under freedom of information policies, I really don't know what good any of this does for anyone involved, with the possible exception of the emergency personnel who might be able to determine errors in judgment and find ways to prevent similar errors from happening should future attacks take place. I can't say I'm ambivalent on the matter, but I can't say I'm of a pro- or con- opinion either. Is it in any way cathartic or helpful for the survivors? Does it expose any fundamental cover-ups on the part of the Port Authority? Does it really provide any ultimate insight?

My answer to all of those questions, based on what I've seen and heard, is no. Even the errors of judgment seem to me to have been inescapable with the truly horrifying nature of what happened that day; there will always, sadly, be people who make what turn out to be the wrong decisions in the end, given, especially, the situational chaos and the emotional and mental haze that finally clouds one's actions within such a nightmare. I don't know. I think they have to be released, if only for archival purposes, if only for people to know that they're there. In the end, though, the transcripts strike me as artifacts we keep to remember history, to remember what truly can and does happen in this world.

As for me, I don't think I want to study them closely, or even peek in on the dying. Then again, I have no desire to visit the camps at Dachau or Bergen-Belsen, either. Perhaps that makes me weak, or perhaps it means I want to be able to turn at least a partial blind-eye to history, to have not to look right into the horror itself; but I also think that I don't need to watch corpses decompose to understand death better than I already do. I just hope that people treat these transcripts with appropriate sombriety and decency.

For those interested, you can read the piece in today's NYTimes on these transcripts here, if you have the free subscription.

Lists

Discovered in my random wanderings these lists from Random House of the "best" books of the past century. You can check out the lists, and I'll supply a few comments here.

Non-Fiction: It's nice to see works by Frye, Bloom and Kermode here, but the list is dominated by the typical texts, not in the canonical sense, but in the ideological sense. Ayn Rand's and L. Ron Hubbards' location at the top of the list is to me indicative of the power of the 'converted' to vote for their texts in a kind of religious nomination. And-- what the fuck?!?!?! Howard Stern's Private Parts is on the list?!?!?! Proof positive democracy is not all it's hyped up to be.

Fiction: This is the list you may have seen in the press just after the millenium turned, and it makes considerably more sense than the Non-Fiction list. Notice, though, the disproportionately high location of Huxley's Brave New World, Waugh's Brideshead Revisited, Dreiser's An American Tragedy and Sister Carrie, McCullers' The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter, Orwell's Animal Farm, and Kipling's Kim. Note, too, the relatively low placements for Conrad's Heart of Darkness and Faulkner's Light In August.

Frequently Challenged Books of 99-00: The list here is awkward because it's mostly contemporary, and doesn't include many key texts, like Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet and The Merchant of Venice, constant victims of the moral authorities. Notice the primary concerns, though, with sex and sexuality? But of course, Dr J says, in his worst mock-francais.

The Guardian's Top 100 'Best Books' Of All-Time: Don Quixote ranks first, apparently, but no other rankings are provided. Where's T.S. Eliot's Collected Poems? Where's A Portrait of the Artist...? There's just too much to do with this list, but it's worth a study.

For other lists, check here. Looking at these lists makes me remember exactly how futile it is to make such silly things.

Can You Feel The Law Suit?

Publishers Weekly reported three weeks ago on the pending suit by Van Morrison against Chicago Review Press and biographer Clinton Heylin. By the sounds of it, there's stuff to object to, but Heylin should most certainly have heard about the difficulties that earlier biographers like John Collis and Brian Hinton and Steve Turner went through. Van's notorious about his privacy, understandably, and yet the line-up of biographers ready to face the lion seems undeterred. Fools. I have to admit, too, that I have a pretty fundamental distrust of biographers in general, many of whom are more interested in the salacious and the aspersive than the actual. Of all people, though, to go after Van is just askin' for it: the Man is notoriously litigious about attempts to intrude into his privacy or to write about his life or even to use his lyrics (in many ways, he's much like the Eliot estate, extremely protective). Ya gets whats ya asks fer.

The book has had limited release through Penguin in the UK, but the suit is attempt to stop US publication through CRP. Here is a brief description from the Van Morrison website, and here is a pretty useless review from The Independent, which offers very little about the book itself. Blender offers an equally unilluminating discussion here. The Guardian, however, has a more interesting discussion here (as one might expect from The Guardian); I particularly like the line, "the whole show is dressed up like a mugger in Gucci shoes, with footnotes and square brackets and all sorts of cross-references to lend the impression of professorial authority, all the while hiding the stiletto." Very nice.

I'm starting to think my pair of articles on the Man were very fortunate not to get me sued. ;-) Then again, I didn't give a whit about the man's personal life.

A Sudden Respect

...for Justin Timberlake, of all people: from Reuters: "Timberlake won Best Pop Video, Best Dance Video and Best Male Video -- a category in which he beat out Johnny Cash, a rock and roll legend old enough to be his grandfather.

"'This is a travesty, I demand a recount,' Timberlake said when accepting the Best Male Video award. 'My grandfather raised me on Johnny Cash ... and I think he deserves this better than any of us here tonight.'"

Between this and his muted response to his abuse at the SARS-Fest concert, I have to admit the kid's earned a few points from me. Whoda thunk it?

A Short Interview With Frank Kermode

From Amazon, here is an interesting interview with Sir Frank about his then new work, Shakespeare's Language. Kermode is just one of the elder statesmen of literary criticism who bemoan recent developments in the history of the graduate school in literature. And, damn it, I think he's right on. Shakespeare's Lanaguage is a damn good book.

Also of interest: this link will take you a list of pieces by Kermode for The London Review Of Books on the likes of Auden, Empson, John Updike, V. S. Naipaul, and Martin Amis. Check out, too, this article on writing about Shakespeare, in which he asserts, I think, quite rightly:

...it seems to me wrong to seek to advance your career by professing to be concerned with Shakespeare, while actually writing about what happens to interest you more, forcing a limited set of new interests onto the old topic, using that topic as an excuse to write about these more fashionable concerns. It is true that this approach is now more likely to win institutional approbation, for the institution authorises this evasiveness and firmly supports a historicism which excludes attempts to differentiate between writing that was once regarded as literary, of aesthetic value, and all other contemporary documents.

Indeed. Kermode's attention in the later stages of the article on selected passages is well worth the read for the literarily inclined. He has a fine ear, if a speculative one at times; but he provides in sum a valuable way of considering Shakespeare so as to avoid a lot of the idiotic trappings of modes of criticism that might be described as 'tyrannous in their genius.' I'm seriously thinking of compelling my students to read Kermode's essay, especially considering most of them, by the nature of the course pending this year, if only to provide some much-needed tonic to the course's over-arching generality and thematicism.

Struth!

It was only a matter of time before we had this, the Bible rewritten - Aussie style.

~~Ya Gotta Have A Gimmick~~

And the winner of the Mother of the Year Award is....

So wrong, so very, very wrong.... *Cringe*

I did not read this story, I did not read this story, I did not read this story.

Hmmmm....

Writing that last post, it's occurred to me how many of the 'elder' statepeople of 'rock and roll' (using that term in its loosest possible sense) have had significant comebacks in the past fifteen years. A few examples:

>> Bob Dylan makes the comeback of a lifetime with Time Out Of Mind, and the album dominates the Grammy awards that year.
>> Carlos Santana has a huge hit with "Smooth," and the source album Supernatural wins numerous awards and finds a suprisingly large audience among younger crowds.
>> Joni Mitchell released Turbulent Indigo to surprise acclaim and audience acceptance. It too wins two Grammys, defeating the likes of Mariah Carey and Whitney Houston in its year.
>> After The Best of Van Morrison, the Belfast Cowboy was marketable again, and found his new albums receiving radio play (with songs like "Real Real Gone," "Have I Told You Lately" and "Days Like This"), and his new songs especially finding their way into mainstream films. The Best Of... spent over five years on Billboards Top 200.
>> James Taylor made quite a comeback with Hourglass, which saw the folkie picking up several awards, too.
>> Ray Charles started getting radio play again in the early 90s with his Grammy winning cover of Leon Russell's "A Song For You."
>> Johnny Cash has actually been through this twice. This last time, audiences pricked up their ears again after his rendition of "The Wanderer" proved to be the best thing about U2's Zooropa album.
>> Not that I can stand her, but Cher made quite the comeback, too, with that fingernails-on-blackboard tripe called "Believe." It went to #1, though, and had people under the age of 20 realizing she actually sang.
>> Leonard Cohen made a stunning comeback at least in Canada, with his multiple-platinum selling album The Future.
>> Eric Clapton's Unplugged and his song "Tears From Heaven" from The Rush Soundtrack were huge hits. "Unplugged" won several Grammys, and was the top selling album of that year.

I'm sure there are many more, and I'm not including here the names of people who more or less didn't fade from public exposure too much (The Rolling Stones, Bruce Springsteen, James Brown), or those who were only essentially 'reissued' hitmakers (like the Beatles' and Elvis' remarketing stints). All of the musicians listed above were at least 40 when they made their comebacks, and many were over the age of 50. More importantly, all of the above were at one point or another considered 'unmarketable,' and many faced being cut from their record labels, especially during the 1980s. And all of them seemed to come 'from out of nowhere' with their returns, and many of them found their popularity reignited by associations with film (Morrison, Clapton, and Dylan especially). Interesting.

Hurting for Cash

Here is a very good article on the fascinating phenomenon of Johnny Cash's revival among younger audiences. I know it may seem I'm making a bigger deal of this than I should, but it really is stunning that Cash has -- thanks in large part to the quality of the "Hurt" video-- been able to defy all the normal conventions of musical popularity and acceptance. It reinforces a tiny little speck of hope that remains in me that even the most normally oblivious can be touched by the sublime, if only they'll give it a chance-- and even reinforcing the littler speck of hope that they actually might give it a chance. Every now and then, there's diamond in the dross, and it reminds you why you sludge through the dross in the first place.

Oh, And I Almost Forgot...

Friday's NYTimes puzzle ("All Keyed Up" by Jim Page) was very, very clever-- and certainly one of the best they've done in a while. The theme was tricky, and it nearly stumped me: the catch was realizing that at certain points, one had to use numbers instead of letters, and then that in two places one had to use the word (or symbol) for "star" and "pound." Yes, there was a telephone keypad design at the heart of things. Nice topper: I can't say there were any overly arcane clues. So, all said and done: fair, clever, and enjoyable.

Rhetoric Abuse

When people ask, especially on campus, why I'm not more politically active or politically inclined, my first instinct is to say that politics is not, or is no longer, about the rational discussion of issues but about labelling and rhetorical slander. It drives me up the wall that 'interested' groups, in the advocacy or criticism of issues, tend to refuse to engage the concerns of their opposites, and instead they invoke the language of moral superiority. The buzz-words of the partisans are thrown about willy-nilly, meaninglessly, even abusively-- and that in itself I find objectionable. Oh, you know the words: Anti-Semitic, racist, sexist, and on and on and on. Words like those should be used sparingly and precisely. Question anything about Israeli politics, for example, and the 'especially involved' will trot out the charge of anti-Semitism when that charge may or may not be valid-- but they do so with a kind of knee-jerk defensiveness that makes genuine debate impossible. It also suggests to me closed-mindedness and self-righteousness.

Here is a good case in point, a response to a column written by Liberal backbencher John Bryden. Admittedly, I find many of Bryden's assertions tenuous and bordering on the offensive, but he does raise some questions that should be more thoroughly discussed-- the question of judicial versus parliamentary law-making, the question of whether or not the application of the legal term 'marriage' to same-sex couples has broader implications than we might initially expect, the question of whether or not a child raised by parents of the same sex has any sort of deleterious effect, and so on. That last issue is more of a sticking point than one might suspect, not because homosexual couples are any less capable as parents, and there's no reason at all to think that being raised by two homosexual parents would be any more damaging (or beneficial, for that matter) than being raised by two heterosexual parents. But there remains the question of whether or not a child 'misses' something in not being raised by parents of both sexes (after all, so much of our understanding of sexuality and gender is learned in childhood by simply watching the way parents act and react), and whether or not 'missing' that is even all that important. There remains, too, the issue of the semblance of parody that I mentioned some time ago; clearly, Bryden is reacting in part to that, as many Canadians are. Bryden's article is not particularly persuasive to me, and I think he skirts around issues, but I think it's important to recognize two things: that he speaks for many who have concerns about what same-sex marriage legislation might carry with it (however much one may agree or disagree with him), and that this is an issue that has nasty tentacles to it, tentacles that reach into notions of the family, and they further problematize the always contentions relationship between human rights and religious-spiritual beliefs. There remains, too, the serious issue of whether or not such an issue should be defined by the courts (as the protectors of rights and freedoms, as spelled out in the Charter) or by the legislature (as the supposed spokespeople for the populace).

The respondent article, however, is an extended exercise in self-defensiveness, even if the letter writter at the end makes some important points. The web page throws out the charges of 'bigotry' and intolerance (complete with flashing image accusing Bryden of 'child abuse'), and the holier-than-thou association of Bryden and company with the Inquisition. But, at least as far as I can see, most of the criticism of Bryden is based on inferences about what he said rather than explicit statements per se; and just as the letter-writer makes the good point that to be judged based on one's sexuality is hurtful, so too is the page's (but not the letter-writer's, I should clarify) labelling of him, as is the general dismissal of any of his arguments. I should add one caveat: I don't know if there's any truth to the letter-writer's accusation about Bryden's personal remarks to individual constituents. That may be true, or it may be an exaggeration or even misunderstanding.

The thing is, I know John Bryden. I worked for him for a summer years ago, not in a political way, but as a historical researcher. Many of Bryden's views might be described as 'socially conservative' -- and some might say 'redneckish.' But he also represents a significant portion of society (as evidenced by the uproar in the Liberal caucus, not to mention recent opinion polls), and his concerns should not simply be branded with cheap rhetorical labels better saved for discussions where bigotry is more clearly, and more explicitly, the issue. The approach is manifestly pejorative rather than considered-- and, indeed, the irony is that in these two written cases there is a stronger air of 'intolerance' evident in the article claiming the intolerance of the other. But that is the way things are these days: our activists for tolerance of whatever form are often as guilty of intolerance (and righteous indignation) as those they oppose; theirs can be a Puritanism of a different sort, except it's a Puritanism guised as 'social enlightenment.' Archie Bunker was a bigot. Jesse Helms is a bigot. Strom Thurmond was. But I can't say the same applies to Mr Bryden, whether based on my knowledge of him or based on my reading of his article. If there is a bigotry there, it seems to me relatively latent, and perhaps Bryden's coming discussions of the issue may reveal this; but at this point, and based on what I've seen, the response is all-too-typical of the kind of knee-jerk moral-superiority that utterly disgusts me. Instead of engaging concerns and debating them, the tactic is instead to dismiss categorically and arrogantly. And I find that just as cheap and abusive as any form of bigotry, prejudice, or intolerance. To call someone a bigot or a misogynist or an anti-Semite or whatever is, more often than not, not an act of precise statement but an act of snide besmerchment that is often as offensive (and perhaps outright slanderous) as any social epithet. It's an act of dismissing someone as an ignorant social pariah, an act of outcasting as potentially heinous as the outcasting that closeted, oppressed, or otherwise subjugated countless people, mostly minorities, over the centuries. Yes, we should stand against intolerance and so forth, and we ought to call bigotry bigotry. There is, however, a difference between identifying and naming bigotry and brandishing the word so cavalierly that it loses its meaning-- and, worse, we become practitioners of the kind of stigmatization that we purport to denounce. Sadly, we live in a society all too given to casual stigmatization, as many have learned all too well and all too painfully.

This leads me to a larger point about political and ideological rhetoric: be careful what you say, and be careful how you label-- not just for the consequences to others, but for the consequences to yourself, lest you become just another version of that which you oppose, lest you become what I think the most insidious creature, the righteous hypocrite, the immovable figure that cares only about getting its own way and not about what is best or wisest or fairest.

Uggidy Ugh Ugh Ugh

Stratford is trying to cash in on the 'trendy' factor this season by doing a 'gayed-up' production of Troilus and Cressida. Directed by Richard Monette, the very notion of the project seems ludicrous, from the inclusion of male nudity to the ending of the production with "Closer to God" by Nine Inch Nails. Oh, isn't Monette clever? **Smirk** Check out this review from The Globe and Mail, or this one from The Toronto Sun. As Gary Smith puts it in a review in The Spectator, "When David Shelley [as Patroclus] finally flings off his form clinging white towel to bare all in powerful white light there were an equal amount of gasps and giggle." Gasps and giggles, eh? I'm sure that's what Shakespeare had in mind.... *Shakes head, rolls eyes*

Another Wake For Dr J

Well, the dreaded day came and went. Thank God it’s over. I won’t bore people by describing the events here, but for those who know what my birthdays are like, suffice it to say that it was pretty much as always, save for two differences: the surprise appearance of Anne (thanks, kiddo!), and the fact the night ended with me stone cold sober (unfortunately), despite Mr Robeis’ gesture of “30 years of Bushmills for The Good Doctor” (i.e., three shots of ten year-old single malt). As Anne learned firsthand, my birthday always seems more like a wake than a celebration, and this was no different. I wound of giving in on exiling myself totally, mainly because my maternal unit made it perfectly clear that she wanted us to ‘do something,’ which meant doing the same thing as always, except with fewer gifts and no cake. On that last clause: the fact of fewer gifts doesn’t bother me at all, and the absence of cake was at my request. And, as usual, most of my ‘friends’ – or people who ostensibly care about me, including many of whom who were insisting that I celebrate the day – were not to be heard from in any shape or form. Typical. In the end, I’m just glad it’s over and done with. Hell, even my horoscope predicted a two-star (out of five) day for me for the day. But thanks to those who did send good wishes (or more): Mom & Dad, Bruce & Yvonne, Marg & Dave, Gram, Anne, Catherine, Karen, Kim, Jere and Mr Robeis. And my gifts? Dinner, The Two Towers on DVD, a bookbag/carry case, forty dollars, two beers, and the three aforementioned whiskies. Yah.

For the record, from the newspaper, on being born on my date of manifestation: “You have the unique opportunity to make a difference this year. You have an unusually gentle manner that separates you from many. You have only good intentions, though sometimes someone misreads you. Responsibility weighs on you, often encouraging you to take another path. For some, there might be a change of residence. For others, a lifestyle transformation might be in the works. The good news is your flexibility. You enter a new life cycle in September that could be unusually lucky, but events and feelings often go to extremes. If you are single, you are likely to meet someone this fall who will knock your socks off. If you are attached, you will often find your partner to be difficult or perhaps overly energetic. Seek guidance from Leo.” Yeah, right.

All in all, pretty depressing. The best part is that I won’t have to go through this again for a whole year. Now that’s something to cheer about.

Dr. J's Pre-Exile Mantra

"What if this is as good as it gets?" --- Jack Nicholson in, you guessed it, As Good As It Gets

And now Doctor J is going to vanish for a day or two. Or maybe more. If this indeed is as good as it gets....

He wanted to write, but something held him back . . .

Puffington For Governor!

Dave Barry's column today is on the race in California and though it takes a bit to get going, it gets very funny at the end.

Full Of Broken Thoughts

It's possible that Johnny Cash might clean up at the MTV Awards for his rendition of Nine Inch Nails' "Hurt." I'd just *love* it if he kicked the asses of Missy Elliott and Justin Timberlake. Cash's "Hurt" is something the original song wasn't-- a kind of life-anthem, hauntingly resonant and utterly unforgettable. And since the passing of June Carter Cash, watching the video again has a kind of cruel poignancy, especially in those shots where she watches Johnny sing and you can see her sadness only barely restrained. Johnny's voice itself is unforgettable-- withered yet strong, it carries the lyrics with a kind of broken majesty that few other vocalists could. If Cash doesn't win in his categories, there is no justice.

.... And yes, I do know the MTV Awards are absolutely meaningless, rewarding more often than not the mmost insipid of acts simply because of their popularity and so forth. But I want Johnny to win, mainly because it would be a great personal consolation that people these days would value greatness over the pissant-ic. (Yes, I'm coining a new word there. I kinda like it. ;-) ).

Oh My Lord....

Canada Links Arrest of 19 to Possible Terrorism Ties: What's more frightening, the details of this story, or realizing this was bigger news in the NYTimes than it was in the Canadian media?

Googling Doctor J

I have to say I found this funny. Apparently, a friend of mine lost the http address for this blog and searched for "Dr J words" (no quotes) on Google. This blog -- surprisingly enough, considering the relatively common search terms-- came up first on the list of sites. That, however, is not the funny part. Said person then went back to Google and with the same search terms clicked on "I'm Feeling Lucky" and was brought directly to this blog. Of course, inquiring mind that I am, I checked this out, and it's true (at least for now, anyway). So now you know, dear readers, whoever you are, if you're feeling lucky, you'll end up with Dr J.... LOL

Willow: Have you googled her yet?
Xander: Willow, she's 17!
--- from Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Melts In Your Mouth?

**Received this from Mr. Ublansky today. Worth a read-- and good for a laugh.**

Please take time to read this slowly. If you pay attention to the first two judges, the reaction of the third judge is even better. For those of you who have lived in Texas, you know how true this is. They actually have a Chili Cook-off about the time Hallowe'en comes around. It takes up a major portion of the parking lot at the city park.

The notes are from an inexperienced Chili taster named Frank, who was visiting from Canada. Frank: "Recently, I was honored to be selected as a judge at a chili cook-off. The original person called in sick at the last moment and I happened to be standing there at the judge's table asking for directions to the Coors Light truck, when the call came in. I was assured by the other two judges (Native Texans) that the chili wouldn't be all that spicy and, besides, they told me I could have free beer during the tasting, so I accepted".

Here are the scorecards from the advent: (Frank is Judge #3)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chili # 1: Mike's Maniac Mobster Monster Chili
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Judge # 1 -- A little too heavy on the tomato. Amusing kick.
Judge # 2 -- Nice, smooth tomato flavor. Very mild.
Judge # 3 -- (Frank) Holy shit, what the hell is this stuff? You could remove dried paint from your driveway. Took me two beers to put the flames out. I hope that's the worst one. These Texans are crazy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chili # 2: Arthur's Afterburner Chili
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Judge # 1 -- Smoky, with a hint of pork. Slight jalapeno tang.
Judge # 2 -- Exciting BBQ flavor, needs more peppers to be taken seriously.
Judge # 3 -- Keep this out of the reach of children. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to taste besides pain. I had to wave off two people who wanted to give me the Heimlich maneuver. They had to rush in more beer when they saw the look on my face.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chili # 3: Fred's Famous Burn Down the Barn Chili
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Judge # 1 -- Excellent firehouse chili. Great kick. Needs more beans.
Judge # 2 -- A beanless chili, a bit salty, good use of peppers.
Judge # 3 -- Call the EPA. I've located a uranium spill. My nose feels like I have been snorting Drano. Everyone knows the routine by now. Get me more beer before I ignite. Barmaid pounded me on the back, now my backbone is in the front part of my chest. I'm getting s**t- faced from all of the beer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chili # 4: Bubba's Black Magic
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Judge # 1 -- Black bean chili with almost no spice. Disappointing.
Judge # 2 -- Hint of lime in the black beans. Good side dish for fish or other mild foods, not much of a chili.
Judge # 3 -- I felt something scraping across my tongue, but was unable to taste it. Is it possible to burn out taste buds? Sally, the barmaid, was standing behind me with fresh refills. That 300-lb bitch is starting to look HOT... Just like this nuclear waste I'm eating! Is chili an aphrodisiac?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chili # 5: Linda's Legal Lip Remover
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Judge # 1 -- Meaty, strong chili. Cayenne peppers freshly ground, adding considerable kick. Very impressive.
Judge # 2 -- Chili using shredded beef, could use more tomato. Must admit the cayenne peppers make a strong statement.
Judge # 3 -- My ears are ringing, sweat is pouring off my forehead and I can no longer focus my eyes. I farted and four people behind me needed paramedics. The contestant seemed offended when I told her that her chili had given me brain damage. Sally saved my tongue from bleeding by pouring beer directly on it from the pitcher. I wonder if I'm burning my lips off. It really pisses me off that the other judges asked me to stop screaming. Screw those rednecks.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chili # 6: Vera's Very Vegetarian Variety
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Judge # 1 -- Thin yet bold vegetarian variety chili. Good balance of spices and peppers.
Judge # 2 -- The best yet. Aggressive use of peppers, onions, and garlic.Superb.
Judge # 3 -- My intestines are now a straight pipe filled with gaseous, sulphuric flames. I shit myself when I farted and I'm worried it will eat through the chair. No one seems inclined to stand behind me except that Sally. She must be kinkier than I thought. Can't feel my lips anymore. I need to wipe my arse with a snow cone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chili # 7: Susan's Screaming Sensation Chili
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Judge # 1 -- A mediocre chili with too much reliance on canned peppers.
Judge # 2 -- Ho hum, tastes as if the chef literally threw in a can of chili peppers at the last moment. **I should take note that I am worried about Judge # 3. He appears to be in a bit of distress as he is cursing uncontrollably.
Judge # 3 -- You could put a grenade in my mouth, pull the pin, and I wouldn't feel a thing. I've lost sight in one eye, and the world sounds like it is made of rushing water. My shirt is covered with chili which slid unnoticed out of my mouth. My pants are full of lava like shit to match my shirt. At least during the autopsy, they'll know what killed me. I've decided to stop breathing, it's too painful. Screw it; I'm not getting any oxygen anyway. If I need air, I'll just suck it in through the 4-inch hole in my stomach.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chili # 8: Tommy's Toe-Nail Curling Chili
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Judge # 1 -- The perfect ending, this is a nice blend chili. Not too bold but spicy enough to declare its existence.
Judge # 2 -- This final entry is a good, balance chili. Neither mild nor hot.Sorry to see that most of it was lost when Judge #3 farted, passed out, fell over and pulled the chili pot down on top of himself. Not sure if he's going to make it. Poor fella, wonder how he'd have reacted to really hot chili.

Contest Over

Quoted here for no particular reason except my own to-remain-undisclosed whim....

Oh, my common one . . .
Oh, my storytime one
Oh, my treasury in the sunset
Take a walk with me
And I will show you
It ain’t why . . .
It just is . . .
Oh, my common one
With the light in the head
And the coat so old
Oh, my high in the art of sufferin’ one . . .
Oh, my common one
Take a walk with me
Down by avalon
And I will show you
It ain’t why . . .
It just is.
Oh, my common one with the light in her head
And the coat so fine
And the sufferin’ so high . . .
All right now.
Oh, my common one . . .
It ain’t why . . .
It just is . . .
That’s all
That’s all there is about it.
It just is.

The words on the screen, I'm sure, don't look profound. And until you hear Van Morrison sing them, they aren't. Let your red robe go....

Obi-Wan's Curse

From imdb.com:

Ewan McGregor's 'Star Wars' Depression Led to Boozing

Movie star Ewan McGregor has admitted to binging on alcohol in order to cope with the depression brought on by his role in the Star Wars prequels. The Scottish actor saw his career skyrocket when he played the role of Obi-Wan Kenobi in the hit franchise, but soon felt the pressure of being an international movie star. This fueled the Moulin Rouge actor's hatred of the George Lucas- helmed movies - and he began drinking heavily to get through the intense publicity. Ewan admits, "I used to get drunk before meeting journalists. I thought it would get me through. But then it just leads to you saying things that you wished you'd never said - stupid things." But the father-of-two has now curbed his boozing ways, and is happy to be recognized as Obi-Wan by young fans. He says, "After Attack Of The Clones, I stopped drinking for interviews. Now, I'm very happy to do them, I really am. And I like being Obi-Wan Kenobi. I like it when kids speak to me about it because I remember being that way about the first three Star Wars films myself."

I guess Ewan has learned what Alec Guinness learned-- the pressure of being catapulted from acting into inescapable association. Difference is, Guinness was an older man by the time of Star Wars (he was 63) with a long career behind him. And Guinness never turned to the bottle, as far as anyone knows. Not sure I'd have been that way; like Ewan, I'd likely have developed a distinct distaste for everything except alcohol. And, poor Ewan, he faced the inevitable comparisons to Guinness (including, I admit, from me); a tough act to follow. Suddenly, I actually have some sympathy for McGregor.

Moses, Let My Gold Go!

I really don't know what to make of stories like this one. Now, the immediate reaction is to say "what bullshit, oh my God...." When one considers, though, how often people around the world wear their ethnicities' (or societies') history of oppression and wrongedness as rationales for their actions, it doesn't seem quite as far-fetched; after all, many defenses, especially, in the United States are based on 'two hundred years of persecution and yadda yadda yadda.' Such thinking is, ultimately, a result of an extremely litigious international society, but I think the problems go deeper than that. The Egyptians can sue for theft, the Jews for persecution; the Jews can sue the Christians for persecution and oppression, the Christians the Jews for supposed accomplicity in the act of deicide; all religions can sue the Mongols for the raiding and looting of their culture in the Middle Ages, and the Mongols can sue, well, I'm sure there's something.... And in this case, I wonder who could sue the Egyptians for their gold, stolen from them thousands of years ago. The Ethiopians, perhaps?

The thing is, we lend credence to some of these arguments. Historical wrongedness remains a quasi-acceptable defense for some groups, but an unacceptable one for others. Human history, unfortunately, is about winners and losers, about victims and victimizers-- and this becomes more and more difficult when one considers who, really, are the victims? doesn't everyone become a victim at one point or another, even as the victimizer? and how long does one accept this victim mentality as a rationale for one's less than righteous actions? And, perhaps, most of all, where does this daisy-chain of mutual fuckery end and begin? And when does the "You done me wrong" mentality cease to be a viable defense?

Round and round and round, pointlessly. Perhaps we should all donate everything we have to whatever the first society was, Eden or Jarmo or whatever, and live the rest of our lives indentured to our history of victimization and wrongedness (and our sublimated and denied period of victimizing and wronging others). Or do we establish a statute of limitations? But if we do this, how do we arbitrarily decide when one should be forgiven, or worse, when one should forgive and forget?

Ask any wronged lover. There is no statute on when 'things just go away.' Sometimes history evaporates, sometimes it lingers. Some injuries are forgotten before the scar is formed; some remain long after the actual injury has apparently healed.

Such arguments are disturbing because they are both intensely rational and historical in nature, but also absurd and pointless ultimately; this is the point where sense becomes nonsense, or when nonsense starts to make sense. And while this can be a profoundly interesting thing in relation to literature and metaphysics, it gets us nowhere in the real world. It becomes the myth of the ouroboros, the snake that eats its tail. It becomes a world only lawyers love.

Maybe Shakespeare had it wrong: First thing we do, let's kill all the litigants!

Oh, but wait, that would just make for more litigants. Ugh. Move on people, move da fuck on.

A Few Random Notes From The Life of Doctor J, or Pussy and the Grass

Writing that leader, I realized yet again how pompous the name 'Doctor J' seems on its own, divorced from the context(s) that brought it to being. Ugh. But there it is, and there it stays. Anyway....

Revamping the blog design today was exhausting, mostly because my own machine seems, like me, to be cursed; not only is it antiquated in many ways, but it keeps shutting down on me and what I see on my screen tends to be very different than what others tend to see on theirs. If I had known how badly off-kilter the colours were before, I'd probably have done something sooner, but on my monitor it didn't look nearly as bad. It was only when, in my frustration with dealing with my own machine, I moved to another that I discovered how much of visual eyesore it was. Hopefully it's better now, but I am frankly too damned tired at this point to really care too much.

Curses and all, I am blessed by two small things: first, the pending departure of the parental units (they leave later this afternoon to go camping for the weekend), and, second, the joy of discovering something very surprising about my eight year-old cat, Trouble. Trouble, you should know, is a character-- the cat who thinks he's John Wayne, sauntering about the house with a misanthropy strong even for a cat. Given his tough-guy, don't-give-a-shit mentality 95% of the time, and his general tendency to ignore and or to sneer at toys or treats or anything of the ilk, I have managed to discover something new.

The little fucker is absolutely ga-ga for grass. No, not pot. Plain, everyday grass.

Now I'm sure you're thinking, Yeah, but lots of cats love grass and plants... I could tell you stories..... And you'd be right of course.

But this is my feline, and that's the difference: this otherwise very stoic cat has been turning into an easily excited 'little boy' of a cat, meowing at me each time I go out the door, and following me as a dog would follow someone with a steak in his/her hand, whether or not I actually have bothered to pick up any grass from the lawn. He follows me, he meows at me constantly, he jumps to the ready at every turn I make, he sits next to me like a child waiting for candy as I parcel out the slivers of grass; he's even reached the stage of 'sitting pretty' as dogs might do for bones or biscuits, and doing so on the couch or on my lap or whatever.

I tell you, the cat has gone crazy, absolutely bonkers. He doesn't do this for cat food, wet or dry, and he doesn't do this for toys, or even catnip. And, even more ironically, he tends to leave the very few plants we have within his reach about the house quite alone. So, go figure.

Of course, once the grass is gone he more or less returns to his cantankerous state. And that's the joy of it, really, that one little gesture on my part (or even not done on my part, just his thinking that I've done it), and the grump becomes a boy-- giddy, excited, happy. That's a particular kind of joy most of us thrive on when we find it, when we know that doing just one little thing will make someone's day, or make them change their behaviour for the better, or whatever. And it's a greater joy when you discover that after a long time; it reminds you that there's always more to discover, whether with another person, or even a sour-puss of a pet. The further irony is this, that it's almost always such a little thing, so little we tend not to stumble upon it even over an extended period of knowing.

And if a sot as miserable as Trouble can turn on a dime-- or, should I say, a few blades of grass-- so can the rest of us. Food for thought, and indeed hope.

Well....

I've revamped the design on this blog yet again in the hope of making it clearer and easier on the eyes. Any feedback would be appreciated, as I especially do not trust my sense of colours. (Alas, the constant frustration with making colours 'match,' and the awareness all my efforts will never entirely succeed.) Ugh. Yeah, the graphical links are a little crudely done (Hey, what did you expect from me?), but hopefully they'll be a little less straining on the eyes than the plethora of text links I might otherwise have had.

I may re-add a writers gallery, but I've removed it for now to make the page load faster. Should I bother? We shall see.

Suggestions are, of course, welcome; just don't expect them to be followed through on anytime soon. ;-)

Cheers & best all,

Dr. J.

But Are We Ready For The Home Game?

This is just disturbing, not heartening: General Physician Carries Out Do-It-Yourself Vasectomy. I particularly like the final words from the spokesperson for the General Medical Council: "It makes sense for a doctor to treat minor ailments, or take emergency action when necessary but doctors should avoid treating themselves or close family members wherever possible. This is a matter of common sense and good medical practice." LOL.

Now The Doctors Are Doing It!

A Brazilian man who went to the doctor suffering from ear trouble ended up undergoing more radical treatment than he expected - when he underwent a vasectomy.

Valdemar Lopes de Moraes, 39, was suffering from muffled hearing, and thought his name had been called out in the waiting room at a clinic in the town of Montes Claros in south-eastern Minas Gerais state, Reuters news agency reported.

He promptly went into a consulting room - where a doctor was performing vasectomies.

The staff had really called out Aldemar, not Valdemar - but they say they gave the full name, Aldemar Aparecido Rodrigues, of the man who was scheduled for the snip.

"The strangest thing is that he asked no questions when the doctor started preparations in the area which had so little to do with his ear," said clinic manager, Vanessa Guimaraes.

Mr de Moraes, a local farmer, later told staff he thought his ear inflammation had reached as far as his testicles.

The father of two, who had the vasectomy last week, turned up at the same clinic on Wednesday for the ear examination he failed to get the first time - but made no request for a reversal of the operation.

Ms Guimaraes said: "A local newspaper said he is going to sue us, but he did not tell us about any claims."

--- from the BBC News

He thought the inflammation had reached as far as his testicles?!?!?!?!?! Oh, dear lord....

The Answer To My Financial Woes?

Associated Press
Aug. 20, 2003 08:35 AM

OAKLAND, Calif. - What did you do during your summer vacation? Police in Oakland charge a teacher is turning tricks while school is out.

Shannon Williams is due in court today on a misdemeanor charge of soliciting prostitution. She was arrested last week after allegedly agreeing to have sex with an undercover officer for $250.

Berkeley school officials confirm Williams is a teacher in the district.

According to police, Williams told them she only works as a hooker during the summer, to earn some extra money.

But Williams says it's all a misunderstanding. She vows to fight the charges in court. "

No comment. Abso-smurf-ly no bloody comment.

Is This An Epidemic Or Something?

Jeebus Murphy, what is with these stories of penile mutilation lately? Last week, a man takes a psychotropic drug and chops off and then cooks and eats his penis, and now there is this...

Associated Press
Aug. 19, 2003 01:15 PM

MEXICO CITY - A construction worker was hospitalized on Tuesday after getting drunk and paying two boys to castrate him, according to officials at the Aguascalientes state attorney general's office.

The spokesman for the agency in the central Mexican state, Oscar Arredondo, said in a telephone interview that 50-year-old Ernesto Rodriguez Hernandez was drunk at building site in Aguascalientes city on Sunday when he met two 11-year-old boys who had gone there to play.

He told them that he wanted to be "castrated to live more calmly" and because he had no wife, Arredondo said, then offered the boys money.

Arredondo said Rodriguez gave the boys 200 pesos (US$20) after they cut off one testicle with a razor he gave them.

The boys' parents notified police after the children told them where the money had come from. Rodriguez was taken to a hospital and the two boys were placed under court jurisdiction while officials investigate the case.

Is there a bug going around? This world just doesn't make much sense anymore. And what about those boys? Anything for a few bucks these days. Sheesh.

His Face Rings A Bell.... Just Like Quasimodo's

Over the years, like anybody, I've been subjected to statements that begin with (or otherwise echo) "you know who you look like?" or "you know who you remind me of?" and it's always turned out that the names that get brought out are names I do not in the least understand, or that I do not in any way see the logic for comparison. Moreover, I can't say the comparisons ever feel complimentary. For example, years ago, a woman in a grad class told me that I looked like Ewan McGregor in Trainspotting (!?!?!). I still do not see that, then or now, but it was especially weird since I think I resemble Ewan McGregor as much as I resemble Jar Jar Binks. (No comments from the peanut gallery, please.) Another woman thinks I look like a young Anthony Perkins, which, again, I do not see, but which sends chills down my spine, in part being compared to an actor famous for playing psychopaths. She claims it's more the Perkins of Desire Under the Elms, but I still don't see it, and I still don't like it, damn it. When I've had a beard, I've been compared countless times to Jesus, though it seems anybody with a brown beard gets that these days. But, of course, I've also been told (more than once) that I look like Hitler (!), most recently like the Hitler played by Noah Taylor in Max, and I frankly don't see the basis for comparison. Somebody recently said I look like Ralph Fiennes in The End of The Affair; another, some time ago, said I looked like Jeremy Irons (WTF!?!?!); another said I looked like Willem Dafoe, which I absolutely do not see. It boggles the mind. And people wonder why I wince whenever people say I remind them of someone-- the comparison is pretty much pre-destined to be incomprehensible to me, and sometimes offensive (even if the person saying whatever is saying they don't intend to offend). Now, to be honest, there's no one I think I particularly look like, and there's no one to whom I would particularly like to be compared, but, geez, this is ridiculous. *Shakes head repeatedly* So many comparisons (I'm mentioning only a few here), and not a one I can say "Hey, I like that" to.... Ugh.

On the flip side, I guess I can honestly say that I've never received anything because of my looks. I'm not sure if that's entirely a good thing or not.

And Remember Not To Be Fat

Everyone can probably use a few Public-Speaking Tips

Sanctity

To be a poet and not know the trade,
To be a lover and repel all women;
Twin ironies by which great saints are made,
The agonizing pincer-jaws of Heaven.


I Had A Future

O I had a future
A future.
Gods of the imagination bring back to life
The personality of those streets,
Not any streets
But the streets of nineteen-forty.

Give the quarter-seeing eyes I looked out of
The animal-remembering mind
The fog through which I walked towards
   The mirage
That was my future.

The women I was to meet
They were nowhere within sight.

And then the pathos of the bloind soul,
How without knowing stands in its own
   kingdom.
Bring me a small detail
How I felt about money,
Not frantic aslater,
There was the future.

Show me the stretcher-bed I slept on
In a room in Drumcondra Road,
Let John Betjeman call for me in a car.

It is summer and the eerie beat
Of madness in Europe trembles the
Wings of the butterflies along the canal.

O I had a future.

--- Patrick Kavanagh

How Did I Miss This?

As straphanger Joyce M. Judge, 42, stared out the window of the Boston subway car during morning rush hour on July 30, she started dripping profusely, and a minute or so later, a baby fell out from underneath her skirt and slid around on the car's floor. According to witnesses (some of whom vomited at the sight), Judge at first acted as if nothing had happened, then finally picked up her newborn, declined the help of passengers, nonchalantly continued the ride, and left the train at the next station (stopping only to pick up the placenta when it fell to the ground). She subsequently reported to Boston Medical Center, where the baby was in good condition (and where the mother was referred for a mental health evaluation). [Boston Globe, 7-31-03]

Oh My God....

Some people's kids are beyond redemption. If they don't convict this kid as an adult, there is no justice.

I've Heard Of Bikini Waxing But...

From Reuters:

BERLIN (Reuters) - German police have briefly detained a 36-year-old man after he tried to shower naked in a car wash in the southern town of Fuerth.

"The man stripped off and said he wanted to take a shower, but he couldn't start the machine," a Fuerth police spokesman said on Tuesday. "It wasn't a great idea. He could have been coated in car wax, scalded by hot water or rubbed raw by brushes."

The car wash owner alerted police after spotting the man gearing up for his shower among the brushes and hoses. Police said the man had been looking for somewhere to wash since losing his home at the start of the month.

Now I'm sure all of you are thinking: Dr. J, what's with all the sex-related stories lately? Honestly, I have no idea. They seem to be everywhere these days. It must be the summer sun. Or people are just getting sillier and sillier. And part of this blog's self-appointed duty is to note the silliness and snicker at it with according superiority. :-)

And Speaking of Silliness....

Somehow, I don't think sexuality is something you choose by default. And check out this sentence: 'Mr Carney said that despite the encouragement for women to "explore other options", married and miserable was still better than alone and free, unless there was abuse.' *Smacks head*

How To Make Sex Even More Fun

I saw the link for this on Dave Barry's blog, and of course had to add it here. Definitely points for creativity!

Fakespeare

All Is True? Naye, Not if Thy Name Be Shakespeare is an interesting piece from today's NYTimes about the Folger exhibit of Shakespearean forgeries and artifacts. Worth a look.

This Just Boggles The Mind

I guess this scuttles the ham torso project. You have to love the artist's assuaging words at the end: "I was quite proud of the result, although it's sagging a bit now."

Wedding Jitters Redefined

I guess this young lady really had to get rid of a bad taste in her mouth.

"Try The Cock...."

Did it taste like chicken? *Shuddddddddddddddder*

(Gentlemen, read at your own risk.)

Weird

Here you can find a list of the various things that have happened over the years on August 26^TH, the Doctor's dreaded day. Some of the things are cool: Caesar invaded Britain; Joan of Arc entered Paris; Michelangelo was commisioned to carve the Pieta; the Amistad was captured; women were given the right to vote in the United States; and many famous people were born (including, of all people, Mother Teresa and Macaulay Culkin) or died (including Charles Lindbergh and Hailie Selassie).

But note the entry for 1987: Ronald Reagan proclaims September 11 1987 as " 9-1-1 Emergency Number Day." Eerie.

More Ox :-)

The Ox of Chinese Astrology is no bull in a china shop. Steadfast and solid, this powerful Sign is a born leader, being quite dependable and possessing an innate ability to achieve great things. Oxen tend to be plodding and methodical; they approach projects in the step-by-step manner that serves them best, and they never lose sight of their goal. They are tireless workers who are detail-oriented and believe in doing things right the first time.

The world may perceive Oxen as being far too serious or incapable of loosening up. This sturdy sort is less than social by nature and tends to become introverted in a crowd. To make things worse, they can't be bothered with what other people think and prefer to do what makes them feel best. Behind that calm facade, though, lives an Ox who can feel hurt, lonely and unable to connect with others. Friends and family are a great source of comfort to this beast, even if they don't always understand what makes the Ox tick. As a lover, friend, family member or housemate, the Ox makes a wonderfully strong, tender and affectionate companion who is protective and always reliable.

Out in the world, though, Oxen tend to be stubborn, dogmatic, my-way-or-the-highway kind of people who have no concept of when to back down. Oxen don't care to be pushed, especially since they think they're the good guys of the Chinese Zodiac. There is some truth to that theory, since the Ox is smart, trustworthy, caring and honorable. If you need honest, steady and unbiased advice, call on the Ox.

A good lesson for mighty Oxen is to strive to overcome a judgmental nature that keeps them from getting close to others. If they can learn to value their own good qualities, they'll have more room in their hearts to invite others in.

Some Quotes

"Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute, and it seems like an hour. Sit with a pretty girl for an hour, and it seems like a minute. THAT'S relativity." --- Albert Einstein

"Nothing pains some people more than having to think." --- Martin Luther King, Jr.

"LOVE: The irresistable desire to be irresistibly desired." --- Robert Frost

"Do what you feel in your heart to be right. You'll be criticized anyway." --- Eleanor Roosevelt

"Love built on beauty, soon as beauty, dies." --- John Donne

"Give strong drink unto him that is ready to perish, and wine unto those that be of heavy hearts. Let him drink, and forget his poverty, and remember his misery no more." --- Proverbs 31: 6-7

"Do not allow children to mix drinks. It is unseemly and they use too much vermouth." --- Steve Allen

The Fenwick Papers

There's an interesting review/study of the recent biography of Katharine Hepburn in today's NY Times. It's a nuanced review, though it certainly evinces self-aggrandization tendency on the reviewer's part. You can read the full (and lengthy) article here: 'Kate Remembered': Bringing Up Biographer.

I Wonder If I've Strengthened Anyone's Right Arm.... **shudder**

Below are several answers to a question from sets of course evaluations at Brandeis. Some are silly, some are hilarious, some are just a little too fucking honest (you'll know what I'm talking about when you read it). And, yes, I've had some equally loopy comments on my evaluations over the years....

Area 3: "If you feel that this instructor should be nominated for a teaching award, please explain why."

Because he should be president of his own Latin American country, so this is the least we can do.

Because he's the bomb....

First of all he's got a cool taste in clothes, but that's beside the point.

For miraculously transforming me into a confident creative fountain.

HAHAHA! Yeah Right. I burn more calories dreaming them setting in this class. Don't do this to more innocent incoming freshmen.

"Half Man . . . Half God . . . All that!"

"He can spin piano benches on his head."

He is awesome + really smart. Plus, he's cute.

"He is so like deep, man."

He is the Superman of the department.

"He'll haunt the halls of Brandeis as the reincarnation of Buddha."

He possesses the enthusiasm only young professors have, before struggles for tenure have made them bitter."

He rocks my socks.

He's a great guy, wish he was my grandpa.

"He's a'ight"

He's really good at what he does, lecturing, but this isn't always a good thing.

He's the coolest. Zippy Rules!

"I don't know why, he's just great, you should come see a class."

"I gave the Prof head"

"I'm not sure I understand the question, I suppose it depens on what kind of award."

"I've grown more as an actor this year than any other single year in my life, and I refuse to take all the credit."

"Like Have-A-Cow is the bomb diggy diggy. The man will help you get a job. How cool is that? And he's down with the lingo."

"likes beer, just kidding"

Nice Guy. He gave me dinner.

"No, the reason I'm saying yes to nomination isn't because you probably know who I am due to my handwriting, it is because I thoroughly enjoyed the course."

"Professor's pimp-like status baffled me."

"She is an endless pot of knowledge"

She's cute and she sings to us.

"This class was better than any professional therapist I ever went to."

Very enthusiastic about Reproductive Biology.

We talked about Bees once.

"What's the teaching award?"

You really learn something from this class, maybe you can not get a good grade, at least, you don't waste your time.

"I am in love. His name is the man. I wrote a poem for him:

Oh man, oh man you're so great
To your class I come late (sometimes)
You help me get so huge
When I think of you I splooge.
Because of you my right arm is so strong
Oh man, oh man is our love so wrong?"

Addendum: I have to say, onomatopoeically, the word 'splooge' tops even the great 'twat' in its revulsiveness. You can almost hear.... No, no, no, I will stop there....

Math In The 90s

Let's see if this reaches the kids today.

Out Of The Mouths Of Babes

This is adorable, and a must-read: Kids' Ideas About Love.

I like this kid: "Love will find you, even if you are trying to hide from it. I been trying to hide from it since I was five, but the girls keep finding me." -- Dave, age 8. Hehehehe.

Don't Fear The Penis

If this brings to mind an episode of The Simpsons.... Some people really have to find *ahem* bigger things to worry about.

Lovingly With A Roofing Timber

Dave Barry has a good column on educating the young. My favourite bit: "Knowledge is our nation's most precious resource, after agriculture and Ray Charles." :-)

The MOUSE That Roared

I don't want to be pointing any fingers, but does this apply to you? *Clears throat*

OMG

Hehehehehehe... I shouldn't laugh.... I really shouldn't. But.... this is hilarious.

And: Poor, poor Alec Guinness is probably rolling over in his grave....

Hands Off!



Wisdom Through The Ages...

Check this out, too: Quotes. BTW, nice panties there, Brooke... ;-)

The Bridge On The River Kwai

I've been thinking. Tomorrow it will be twenty-eight years to the day that I've been in the service. Twenty-eight years in peace and war. I don't suppose I've been at home more than ten months in all that time. Still, it's been a good life. I loved India. I wouldn't have had it any other way. But there are times when suddenly you realize you're nearer the end than the beginning. And you wonder, you ask yourself, what the sum total of your life represents. What difference your being there at any time made to anything. Hardly made any difference at all, really, particularly in comparison with other men's careers. I don't know whether that kind of thinking's very healthy; but I must admit I've had some thoughts on those lines from time to time. But tonight... tonight!

--- Colonel Nicholson (Alec Guinness)

Somebody Call Ripley's

Cuz believe it or not, this is true, or at least it's true of me -- and a lot of the guys I know.

Alright, Time To Stand On Guard For Thee

Anything for my country.

Did Ya Get The Spirit In The Dark?

Well, that was interesting.... 21 hours sans power.... Except for a tendency toward boredom, I actually kind of enjoyed it. Last night, around midnight, I walked through the local darkened streets, surveying the scene, and experienced what will probably be the closest I'll ever know to the feeling people like T.S. Eliot had wandering the streets of London after the Blitz: darkness everywhere, bedimmed faces moving about... No, I did not run into a familiar compund ghost, but it was a truly fascinating experience.

But now, boys and girls, we get to watch the fallout. We know someone's going to lose their head over this. Regardless, it's good to be back, and empowered.

Correction

This blog would like to correct an error from a previous posting: the lines "In the lost childhood of Judas / Jesus was betrayed" are not from Clough, but from the poet AE (aka George William Russell). I'm getting clumsy in my old age.

One Word: COOL.

You must remember this... Finally.



The Dr has an eight-foot tall copy of this poster. He only wishes he had the space to hang it up. And, yes, further proof that the Dr is, in the end, inescapably sentimental...

Waiting For The Stars To Fall

Here's an interesting article from the Washington Post on the expectation of failure, and its social endemia: Bennifer: Why Are We Hoping for A Flop?. This blog would like to add this caveat, that it doesn't give a badger's ass if Jennufleck fail as a couple, or anything like that; it, did, however, thoroughly enjoy watching two media whores go down in social embarassment with a film that even in the propsectus stage must have said 'For Idiots Only.' *Shakes head* In the words of Homer Simpson, in fantastic denial: "No comeuppance! No comeuppance!"

A hilarious addendum: you know it's bad when.... Purple Hearts might be more appropriate. ;-)

Agreed.

Buy-sexual TV getting ridiculous makes the good point that a stereotype is still a stereotype. I am so sick of this bullshit.

More Musical News

Ray Charles has had to cancel the remainder of his current tour. Apparently, this is the first time the Great Man has cancelled a tour in 53 years of performing. It's okay, Ray; after 53 years.... Get well soon.

Ray, always the Real Man.