08 June 2006

Musings

Pacifism: A Brief Return



I've been feeling bad today about the infantile violence at the heart of my rant about Ann Coulter. Yes, she's a stupid, ignorant, freakish-looking bitch. She is. But that's no reason for me to go calling for resolute kicks-to-asses now, is it?

I am a self-professed pacifist.
I am a wannabe Buddhist--by which I mean I like what I know about Buddhism, I subscribe to the right magazines, and I sometimes try to meditate but still can't bring myself to give up sushi.
In any case, I shouldn't be advocating violence of any kind.

Often, when I tell students that I'm a pacifist, the more conservative factions often try to bait me into that "necessary violence" line of thinking. "Oh sure, Professor Whining Stranger," they announce. "We're for non-violence too, but what if somebody attacks us, then it's necessary, and then we have to fight back harder, to prevent chaos... [insert various crude rhetorical moves here] ...and so that's why the American military must command the insanely huge budget it does, even though that money could go to public education and health care."

But does the military budget need to be so grotesquely big?
Do we need guns at all?

Indulge an idealist for a second, will you?

Most people I meet, if posed with this question, "Do you think you ever want to bash someone in the face? For real. Just wind up and punch them in the face?" would respond with an aghast, you've-challenged-my-status-as-a-rational-being, "Of course not!" I'm sure that if I took a survey of most adults in the world and said, "Do you ever feel the need to take out a gun and shoot someone and watch them bleed?" the percentage of respondents who reply in the negative would be in the high-90s. Those that answer in the affirmative, of course, are either just fucking with me or in need of a serious time-out.

So.
Since most rational people don't really want to do physical harm to others, why don't we all just make a pact?

I know I can sign a document--and have it notarized!--that announces that I will never commit an act of physical violence on another human being. So why don't we all do that? If each of us were to focus on pledging non-violence and channeled all our determination toward that goal then we could start channeling public funds back into health care and education, couldn't we?

Now, I can already hear the cynical snorting from here. My opponents' likely response: "Oh sure, I'll agree to do that and then some guy will punch me and steal my wallet and so [insert crude rhetorical moves here] that's why the American military budget needs to be so high." Well, I'm not asking you to worry about other guys. I'm asking you only to worry about and to control yourself, since that's the only person you ever really have any dominion over anyway.

And really, much of what passes for acceptable behavior in North America turns on leaps of faith anyway, right? Or is it rational to believe that some guy who lived 2000 years ago was a) the son of God; b) got nailed to a stick just to save your sinful self; and c) rose from the dead to seal the deal at the end of one wild weekend? Is it really reasonable to think that you have any tangible affinity, living as you do in Nebraska, with some other bloke out in West Virginia, merely because you both have homes within a geography bounded by an invisible national border?

And, finally, is it really so crazy to ask adults to sign a pact calling for non-violence, given that the Right (my perennial enemies) seem to find it perfectly reasonable to ask teenagers to sign pacts as the only true way to combat STDs and unwanted pregnancies? Hrm.

Anyway, in the quiet of this night, with the face of a fallen terrorist spread triumphantly all over every news report I see, a world of self-conscious people who commit themselves to peaceful activity and a personally willed cessation of violence is certainly pretty to think about.

The Whining Stranger's Song of the Day

8 June 2006



[Note: I started typing this entry before midnight to be 8 June's song of the day but then blogger.com tech problems derailed me.]

"Exit Music (For a Film)" by Brad Mehldau (from the album, The Art of the Trio, Volume 4: Back at the Vanguard, 1999)

One of contemporary jazz piano's favorite sons covers a moody ballad by Britrock wunderkinds Radiohead. Mehldau strips away the sonic hullabaloo of Radiohead's moonscape production values and exposes the lovely melody lurking beneath, arranged here for piano trio. But while Mehldau brings a nakedness to the sound of the song, he opens up its form, turning an ostensibly simple melody into an expansive platform for improvisation. The result? Introspective, inventive, relevant jazz from a masterful, precocious talent.

07 June 2006

The Whining Stranger on Politics and Current Events

Well, I guess you would know what a witch looks like, witch...



Sigh.
I'm a critical thinker.
I know how marketing works.
I know that Ann Coulter, that ol'-too-skinny-bitch-who's-the-face-of-ugly-conservative-America, is just trying again crudely to play the provocateur and incite discussion (i.e. earn cash through scandal-inspired sales so she can continue to buy cocaine and black boots), by calling certain 9-11 widows opportunistic "witches" who actually delighted in their husbands' deaths.

I know I should turn away.
I know I should not get dragged into anger over another annoying subtle-as-a-piano-falling-to-the-pavement rhetorical ploy from a bonehead conservative pundit.
I know this is just a cheap attention-getter like O'Reilly picking on Jeremy Glick.

And yet.
I would love to kick Ann Coulter right in her skinny ass.

And by this, I don't mean metaphorically. This is not whimsical hyperbole.
My boot; her ass.
One swift kick.
Ann Coulter lands on Mars.
Much rejoicing by civilized people.

And in less of a departure from my pacifistic ways, I will say that it's interesting that after five years of enduring the wolfish Right's use of 9-11 as sentimental justification for all kinds of unethical bamboozling of the American people, Coulter would potentially alienate her Cro-Magnon fan base by writing so insensitively about people hurt so devastatingly by that Event-About-Which-We-Don't-Discuss-Critically-And-Thoughtfully-Because-It-Means-You're-An-Anti-American-Terrorist-Sympathizer-If-You-Do.

Even Fox News is saying she's out of line this time.

Again.
My boot; her ass.
One swift kick.

I need another beer in the mean time.

Musings

Hasta la vista, beard (8 May 2006-7 June 2006)



Well, at four weeks, it was a good run. From those first scratchy days of not shaving to the mature phase in the past seven or eight days, when I emerged triumphant, hirsute into my 19th century Russian novelist look. But it was time to go. I'm heading to visit family soon and I don't want to listen to my beloved grandmother go on about the smooth cheeks of her generation, or worse, embarrass my friend--son of conservative family, whose parents already think I'm an immoral loose no-gooder as it is--at his wedding while I'm there.

I'm going to miss the beard though. I'll miss the time it took off of my shower (no shaving!), and I'll definitely miss the look I was sporting in our neighborhood pick-up basketball games of late--when I was rockin' the 70s vibe with my beard and Pistons-blue sweatbands and armbands. Now I'm just another preppy guy with short hair.

It took the better part of an hour to shave it off, in part because I had to amuse my partner with the various possibilities in those stages toward clean-shavedom. First I did the trucker-sideburns-with-goatee look; then the 1970s relief pitcher look with serious handlebar mustache; then my best Rupert Pupkin imitation (a cheesy mustachioed look that left her squealing, "You look like a porn star! It's scary); and then finally, the Hitler/Chaplin mustache afterthought, just to remind myself why that look got put to rest forever sometime around 1945.

Smooth cheeks now. Maybe until fall, when the start of a new semester and a full-time return to my professorial guise might tempt me to let it grow again.

The Whining Stranger's Song of the Day

7 June 2006



"Sunny Afternoon" by The Kinks (from the album Face to Face, 1966)

In anticipation of another blazing sunny afternoon, a quirky summer serenade by those High Priests of Wit from the British Invasion, Ray Davies and co. As the mercury rises, look for a life of luxury--open a cold beer, repeat.

06 June 2006

The Whining Stranger on Politics and Current Events

God Spelled Backwards is Still Dog



Stuck in traffic today, I had the good fortune to be crammed behind another jackassedly big pick-up truck, this time sporting a bumper sticker which read, "If you take the God out of America, it ceases to be America."

Oh, how I wanted to follow my fellow citizen to his destination and remind him that as that ol' loveable democratic homeboy, Thomas Jefferson (who surely articulated the best of democratic ideals while he shamelessly flouted them in practice) once wrote:

"Believing that religion is a matter which lies solely between man and his God, that he owes account to none other for his faith or his worship, that the legislative powers of government reach actions only, and not opinions, I contemplate with sovereign reverence that act of the whole American people which declared that their Legislature should 'make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof,' thus building a wall of separation between Church and State."

Alas, the light turned green, my fellow driver, Hoss--ever God-lovin', may he be blessed by Allah--sped away and I didn't get the chance to engage in a lively democratic exchange.

Later, and this is only mildly related, I was sitting in the waiting room at the car lot while my beloved fuel-efficient four-cylinder was getting its scheduled maintenance, and a big blustery bloke walked in, with a flat-top brush cut, and a cigar (!) sticking out of his mouth and an obnoxiously loud cellular phone, the ring tone of which was (I kid you not!) "What Would You Do with a Drunken Sailor." (I know this with certainty since he took three or four calls while we were sitting there.)

Fittingly, when I got back into the car and drove away from the lot, Donald Fagen was singing on my CD player, "In this everlasting twilight, home is just a sad abstraction."

Some Art I Have Seen and Liked

Part 3: Untitled by Donald Judd (1988)



Ah, Donald Judd. Who knew there could be such beauty in precision, in boxes upon boxes? But there is. Judd's work moves me in strange ways.

Go minimalism!

The Whining Stranger's Song of the Day

6 June 2006



"Also Sprach Zarathrustra (Theme from 2001: A Space Odyssey) by Deodato (from the album Prelude, 1972)

A funkified version of Richard Strauss. The recording for which Deodato, the Brazilian one-time bossa nova artist, is most famous, this track takes the Strauss piece that Kubrick had used so effectively in 2001 and transforms it into a hip-shakin' boogaloo affair with a beat so catchy even the monolith might want to hit the dance floor.

05 June 2006

Musings

Am I Just Too Much of a Nostalgia Junkie?



...or has North American culture really gone down the toilet in the past fifteen years?

The impetus for my asking this question was listening yesterday to a retrospective of number 1 songs from the past thirty years. Number 1 songs from my early salad days (say, from the time of my birth in the mid-1970s to sometime in the mid-80s) all seemed so, well, good. At the very least they were all passable. The Bee-Gees I can handle. 98 degrees? Not so much.

So it got me to wondering about a pro vs. con list: 70s-80s vs. 90s-00s.

1970s-80s had Robert Redford and Dustin Hoffman; 90s-00s have Brad Pitt and ben Stiller. Advantage: 70s-80s.

1970s-80s gave us Diana Ross; 90s-00s offered Mariah Carey. Advantage: 70s-80s.

1970s-80s had Reggie Jackson; 90s-00s have Albert Pujols. Advantage: 70s-80s.

1970s-80s had Happy Days; 90s-00s have Beverly Hills 90210 or The O.C. Advantage: 70s-80s.

1970s-80s had Kurtis Blow; 90s-00s have Kanye West. Advantage: 90s-00s, begrudgingly.

1970s-80s had bumbling or deceitful Republican presidents; 90s-00s have, Wow. Advantage: 90s-00s for the double-whammy: bumbling and deceitful.

I'll wrap it up there, on a high note.

The Whining Stranger's Song of the Day

5 June 2006



"Genius of Love" by Tom Tom Club (from the album, Tom Tom Club, 1981)

It's always bugged me that pop music fans my younger sister's age (i.e. born around 1980) think of that hook-thief Mariah Carey and not Tina Weymouth and Chris Frantz when they hear the signature squidgy synth sound of this classic tune from the early 80s. (Carey sampled the squidge for her insipid tune, "Daydream.") "Genius of Love" has everything I think a great dance tune should have: an inspired hook, funky bass, and a nonsensical lyric. (It ranks high with another fave of mine, Deee-lite's "Groove Is in the Heart" on the funky nonsense factor.)

So, "Whatcha gonna do when you get out of jail?" "I'm gonna have some fun!"

Musings

Like Sally Field says, "You Like me! You really like me!"



Well, I'll be, this is what happens when you give a luddite a blog. Apparently, I mistakenly set the comments function on this blog to "must-be-approved-by-Whining-Stranger-who-obviously-doesn't-know-what-he's-doing-so-please-be-patient." Thanks to EDW, who emailed and notified me about the snafu.

And look, comments. Yay. Comments.

And I'm a google hit for "corduroy sportsjacket." And my partner and I went for sushi for dinner! Life is good, amigos.

Amen.

04 June 2006

Musings

Looking for This?



Yesterday I discovered via statcounter that somebody found their way to this humble blog by searching "corduroy+sportsjacket" on Google. I was ecstatic. If there's one material item with which my identity has to be associated, I can deal with it being that one. My elation burns like a June sun.

It almost made up for there being no comments left here in forever.
Almost.

Nobody's reading this anymore are they?
Come back, corduroy-sportsjacket lover, come back!

03 June 2006

The Whining Stranger's Song of the Day

4 June 2006


"My Love" by Paul McCartney and Wings (from the album, Red Rose Speedway, 1973)

OK, so effectively I missed the song of the day for 3 June, and I realize this is the second McCartney song to be SotD in the past week, but it's appropriate. This one goes out to Ms. You-Know-Who-You-Are on her 33rd birthday. This was the number 1 song in North America on the day you were born.

Happy Birthday!

Musings

Ou est les lecteurs?



Sigh.
The Pistons are eliminated from the playoffs.
No comments here in forever. Is anybody even reading this thing anymore?
Just finished watching Woody Allen's Love and Death. I love Woody, but found this one sorely disappointing. Off to watch March of the Penguins now and will be back in an hour and a half with a song of the day.

Anyone out there?
Hello?
Hellllllllllllooooooooooooooo?

02 June 2006

The Whining Stranger's Song of the Day

2 June 2006



"The Tracks of My Tears" by Smokey Robinson and the Miracles (1965)

Dear Larry Brown,

My smile is my make-up I wear since my break-up with you--

The Whining Stranger on Sport

A Brief Announcement from Detroit Pistons' Coach Flip Saunders



"Hi. I'm Flip Saunders. I inherited what was clearly the finest team in the NBA's Eastern Conference. I took a championship-caliber, defensive-minded team, and added an average three or four point surplus to our offensive total per regular season game. Then, in the playoffs, when--as every sports fan who's ever listened to any color commentator ever knows--defense truly wins championships, I let a defensive-minded, championship-caliber team dissipate into a confused-looking, finger-pointing bunch of whining incompetents. As Kurt Vonnegut wrote, 'So it goes.' Anyway, I enjoyed coaching in Detroit, but I hear there might be a vacancy soon at the helm of the New York Knicks. Hasta la vista, Motor City."

01 June 2006

The Whining Stranger on Books and Reading

Which Member of the Glass Family Are You?



I saw this quiz online today and it amused me enough to see it through. After years of assuming I was clearly Buddy, or perhaps Zooey, I was somewhat surprised to see that I might be, in fact, Seymour. Yikes. Keep your bananafish to yourself, s'il vous plait.

Musings

My Favorite Words



I love words. I do. I know in our current anti-intellectual climate, as the barbarians roll through in pick-up trucks, those of us who like to nurture our vocabularies are constantly depicted as effete, elitist, irrelevant. But I really do love words. And not just esoteric words, but words from all ranges of the spectrum, from the high to the low, as it were.

Here are some of my favorites. Comment with your own!

weltschmerz [with regrets to dear Finola Hackett, who surely understands the meaning of the word now]
ostensibly
jackass
ubiquitous
rats [or alternately, "drat!"]
prestidigitation
sesquipedalianism
fuck [with regrets to my mother who probably wishes my eloquence was more consistent]
zeitgeist
wistful
dig [as a verb; as in, "I dig John Coltrane."]
vicissitude
assuage [though I never pronounce it with confidence in conversation]
malaise
puckish
dolorous
pulchritudinous
kirschwasser [as you can see, I have a weakness for German words]
hirsute [makes me giggle]
karma

The Whining Stranger on Film

Embarrassing Movies We Like



The other night, chilling on a friend's patio for Memorial Day, someone introduced this as a topic of conversation: "What's an embarrassing movie that you actually really like?" As proof that I'm not a complete snob when it comes to my cinephilia, here's one of mine:

Bright Lights, Big City (1988)

This movie inspired me, as an undergrad creative writing major, to sneak into nightclubs underage wearing one of my dad's sportsjackets and ties with blue jeans. While I was never a coke-sniffin' fact checker for The New Yorker, I did fancy myself a world-weary urban scribe in the [snort, laugh] Michael J. Fox mode. Jay McInerney's novel, on which this is based, is of course much better for its laconic, witty narrator, but something about this film always keeps me entertained when I stumble upon it late at night. I could try and save face by pointing out the Donald Fagen score, but really, Michael J. Fox wins me over. Go, Alex P. Keaton!

The Whining Stranger's Song of the Day

1 June 2006



"So Danco Samba" by Antonio Carlos Jobim (from the album, The Composer of 'Desafinado' Plays, 1963)

A playful Brazilian bossa nova tune to bring a little cool to the first day of June. This one sways like branches in the breeze; it's sweet like a fruit-juice-based cocktail in a kitschy fake coconut shell. Untouchably good mood music by way of Brazil.