House of Jazz

Updated complaint

2007-11-25T01:09:00.000-05:00

So just after I posted my previous blog about AAPL and GOOG not working together, the chat started working in gmail. That's nice, but the name of the page gets stuck on the person who most recently chatted me: "Hana says..."

I'm not one to complain about bugs. They'll fix it soon. But did you ever notice that macs just can't handle youtube? And now that youtube is part of Google, I can blame one of the two combatants. Boooo!

T9-word

2007-11-23T15:36:00.000-05:00

Is also known as iTAPEN. Or iTAP-English. Now I bought myself a RAZR with full knowledge of motorola's shitty cell-phone operating system, but what really bothers me about the phone is the iTAP.

Who decided that no curses would ever be programmed into these phones?? It's horrible! Sure I wanted to type ducking, why not? One tiny piece of shitty American anti-adult culture.

It seems that the iTAP does learn, however, from painstakingly entered fucks. But I just can't seem to rely on it.

Apple v. Google

2007-11-18T22:07:00.000-05:00

I think Google and Apple have declared war on each other, and nobody seems to have noticed. It took Apple (or was it Google?) up until Safari 3 came out for many of gmail's decent functions to appear (like rich text formatting). Still no chat. Google has no desire to appease Apple; Apple has no desire to submit to Google.

It goes beyond that. What about Google Maps? Nothing gets my macbook's fan fired up more than this page. Google Docs? Spreadsheets are dead. Google Finance? The wheel doesn't work. It's been like this for years.

I could go on but you see the point. I suggest these two makes friends and soon. Honestly, if it comes down to it, Google will win. I like Apple a lot, especially their stock, but Google has become essential in a way they haven't.

Picture Time

2007-11-11T17:35:00.001-05:00

Has anybody else noticed how much Mahmoud Ahmadinejad looks like Steve Carrel?

Maybe it's just me.

Metaphor alert!

2007-06-04T23:58:00.000-04:00

I propose to anthropomorphize the automobile. Consider its function: to go. Are there any others? We might say that another function is to park, but once this happens the car loses its primary function, sort of like a virus without a host. So cars go, and go, and go. And there are millions of them, everywhere, like locusts. It's an invasion.

We've introduced this plague into our system ourselves. We rolled out the asphalt carpet. Whenever a new road bores through our system, it erodes. All this going everywhere, going, leaving, spilling out into people, hungrily going and devouring anything in its way. Its function cannot deal with something in its way: it must go. Every bump must be eliminated. Anything which prevents unobstructed 60 mph transport of these creatures must be destroyed. All beauty is reduced to fulfilling this function: to go. The ultimate system fulfilling its own prophecy: to go.

Girls

2007-04-07T20:03:00.000-04:00

It strikes me that I may be alone, or at least quite rare, in my fond obsession with the girls I've known. Not to be too deep about it, but I recall vividly every single girl, all the way back through high school. I can remember faces, scents, religions, and names. I can remember instances and situations. But most of all I remember movements. I remember looks, skittishness, hugs and kisses. She way she picks things up and puts them back down.

No, I'm not alone here, but this is a big part of my life. While I've attempted to compile personal histories through other milestones, none leave more of a mark than which girl was where, when.

Pomo definition

2007-01-31T11:55:00.000-05:00

I'd like to enter a plea of non placet for my definition of postmodern: when a phenomenon's meta completely consumes it. Art imitating itself; the postmodern simulacrum. Is semiotics language or is language semiotics? Art totally penetrating reality.

These are all the same thing, and are my working definition of the postmodern. But by sheer etymology, why should this be right? Rather, I'd call these phenomena hyperreality. This word works perfectly well, because it's not technical, like meta-reality, nor loaded like postmodern.

I can't exactly make out the road ahead, but I think the postmodern will be the human reaction to hyperreality, accompanied by Hegelian discourse on what constitutes reality, just to be safe.

Now I seriously can't foresee the philosophy of postmodernism. But I know it must be a collection of perspectives which may or may not entail a moral dictum, a change in the style of speech, or a newfound rejection of modernist art.

Browsing

2007-01-30T13:08:00.000-05:00

I have a reaction to this article, in which the author tries to describe how a car-based city, Houston, can support vibrancy. He talks about how in terms of travel time, virtually the same amount of stuff is available to a Houstonite as to a Manhattanite. He then describes how, in terms of difficulty going out to do stuff, Houston and Manhattan are about equal, given the various difficulties of the subway and so forth.

But I think the biggest problem with his argument is that when you're driving you can't easily stop-- therefore you can't browse.

Picture this: say every new article of clothing you bought you had to come up with at home, then you went out and picked it up. You'd never get anywhere. Rather, we go to a store and browse around what's there, and designers give us ideas. In the burbs you come up with what would be fun in your house, rather than going out and seeing what's there.

The public forum of ideas of what to do and what to buy and what to make is what's at stake. And neither faster highways nor the internet can replace the sidewalk.

Theory of Art

2007-01-06T15:31:00.000-05:00

It's about time I reformulated my theory of art. Thus far I've been adamant about the death of the artist-- since I cannot know the artist's intentions or any detail of his life, I cannot consider it in my reaction to the work. This is the classic dichotomy of Kant's noumenal and phenomenal worlds, which became important to me with Sartre's existentialism.

Recently I said to a loved one that philosophy was important to me because it made my life, and in particular art, so much more beautiful. The issue now is that my philosophical development, while not linear, is nonetheless a development. It changes; it's dynamic. Furthermore, to appreciate art with the philosophy requires that I know the philosophy before I see the art (excepting, of course, a vivid memory, which for simplicity we assume I don't have). So the philosophy precedes art-- the philosophy precedes the artist as well.

However, this isn't irreconcilable with my previous philosophy of abandoning the artist as a whole; it is, if anything, liberating. The reconciliation, however, will have to take place in the realm of epistemology as a whole-- in particular, the limitation of a single life lived. Art cannot be experienced outside of one's own history of philosophical development, so it is imprecise to assume it away.

My new philosophy is not yet fully molded. I am happy to report, though, that it is a brand new vector I haven't considered.

The Completion of Washington, D.C.

2006-12-17T21:02:00.000-05:00

Cities and landscapes are the tangible expression of our material & spiritual worth. For good or for ill they express and define how we use or waste our resources, energy, time and land. Two score years of modernism and two score centuries of tradition stand to be compared and to be judged. In the historic districts of Charleston, Savannah and Williamsburg we possess ideals how small town America wants to live and present herself. No such emblematic model exists for the metropolitan centers. The eyes of the nation are turned towards Washington at all time. I believe that the symbolic heart of democracy and seat of government is destined to become the criterion for the rebirth of urban life & culture. What Venice is to us Washington will be to our children. The ultimate urban paradigm.

--Leon Krier, The Completion of Washington, D.C. 1985

Orientation

2006-12-09T01:20:00.000-05:00

A number of people have heard me discuss my putative urban development project. Lots have been baffled by that title, and asked, well, what I'm going to write about. The project has been so open-ended so far that I couldn't even answer that question. But I think I've finally come up with my topic: Orientation.

The idea for orientation has a few sources. One may even be able to determine them elsewhere in this blog. Consider Sartre's definition by the Other, and how, on a grander scale, virtually everyone wants to be defined by others. One can only be guaranteed he is observed, though, when he is at the focal point of everyone else's eyes. This happens in certain parts of cities, and doesn't happen in others. Think of it as a goal of good design: to provide the most focal points.

The next source stems from my hatred of the radiant city, which has a similar idea of a lack of focal points, but in a much more stunning and morbid way. The sadness that comes from the radiant city is uniquely American, as was first pointed out by my hero, David Foster Wallace.

The third source comes from the beautiful facades of the architecture in Washington, D.C. I recognized right away the fact that these buildings had beautiful front doors added greatly to their aesthetic quality, but I want to take it just a little further and say that they make the city itself. Other cities, especially Paris, share this quality.

The last source I'll mention here comes from Leon Krier's 1985 project, The Completion of Washington D.C. Only through this beautiful collection of drawings for his vision of the city did I truly understand the original L'Enfant plan. Washington's avenues are designed to orient the city itself toward its most famous landmarks: the Washington Monument, the Capitol, the White House, etc. The city was designed as a capital city, and orientation is the key factor to realizing that dream.

However, I do not here propose listing various instances of the necessity to realize that orientation is what's at work. That would be easy (I just did it four times, for example). What I propose is to use existentialist philosophy to turn orientation on its head. To prove, through the emotions evoked by orientation, some key fact about the nature of reality. Now that I'm aware of it, my journey can begin.

Rugged

2006-12-02T12:13:00.000-05:00

I wouldn't call myself a rugged individual, so much as a rugged individualist.

Indeed, as I was riding the train to New York the other night I found myself completely alone simply ruing every single group of people I've come across. You name them, I hate them. There will be no e.g. here, lest I insult you.

It left me feeling a bit depressed, actually. To think, I hate every group of people out there. It lasted a while until I realized that it wasn't people on the whole that I hate, it's groups of them. We've known this for years. As Tommy Lee Jones once said, "A person is smart. People are dumb, panicky, dangerous animals and you know it."

Fortunately the streets of this fine city dispensed quick redemption as I made my way to Thursday night gallery openings. While the people involved with these openings were the most apparent of the individualist nature of the night, the unseen artists were my true heroes.

For the former, nearing the end of the night with much booze in my system, I entered a gallery with a wall-sized display of mirrors and lights, which everyone was staring at. Except one guy stood in front of it facing the other direction, drinking a can of PBR. I asked him, without turning around myself, if there was any art back there. He said he was looking at the real show. I've felt it many times myself: the majesty of these gallery openings is the crowd that attends them. The beauty of this moment was, however, how a single man got me to appreciate it.

For the latter, imagine a large gallery filled with vivid pictures of LA from 1979. A clever time capsule. The pictures were similar to all urban photo shows: unseeming streetscapes which are just beautiful if you stop to see them. Once again, the crowd, or a more abstract version of it, the city, shown to be beautiful by one clever individual.

I've always supported admitting the nature of reality as soon as possible, no matter how brutal. The fact is that crowds make up reality, but individuals are the ones who perceive it.

The tortoise-shell hippie bus

2006-11-30T00:45:00.000-05:00

These people from otherwise asshole societies being cloyingly nice to each other does not provide extra economic efficiency, which is the usual demagogue. The idea does not provide extra aesthetic enjoyment either, as is witnessed by the preceding "cloying". Rather, sociological phenomena, such as impromptu poetry parties and jazzmen commandeering park benches, do provide the latter, and as moss can emerge from unlikely parts.

Money

2006-11-04T21:21:00.000-05:00

As I put on my freshly-laundered shorts before some Italian girl sitting on my bed, I reached in and found a crumpled up dollar bill in one of the pockets. As you know, I had found a 50 in a similar fashion the year before, but I was still pleasantly surprised. She said to me, "That's such an American thing to happen! I never leave money lying around in my pockets..."

Then it occurred to me: this is a very American thing to happen. But I like that. I've noticed before that this is one of the things I really like about this country, which sometimes fails elsewhere. Having "finally" reached a high enough per capita income and enough diversity at the local retail outlet, we don't quibble over small financial discrepancies. We share. We even have charities in place of government handouts.

It's because most Americans realize that the time spent quibbling simply isn't worth the money. Lose a dollar, lose another dollar, but lead a happy life.

The BoBo Reconsidered

2006-10-17T11:53:00.000-04:00

[New York Bohemia] is threatened not by penury but by gentrification.

- James Traub, The New York Times Magazine

"Threatened" implies an action, a movement. There in an enemy closing in, and our quaint bohemians must move to avoid it. Whereas a hundred years ago in Paris the poor artists served as doorways to the abject poor, today in New York artists serve as doorways for the nouveau riche, and then must move to new, low-cost areas. By turning the argument on its head, we can say that

New York Ghettos are threatened not by more penury, but by Bohemia.

And many of you will agree that this is a very good thing.

The Bourgeois Bohemian

2006-09-09T19:00:00.000-04:00

I've been called a BoBo, that is, a Bourgeois Bohemian. Now I think one can easily asses what this entails, mainly a taste in expensive, cutting-edge stuff with a rejection of the ordinary. But I immediately recognized a possible contradiction here (or maybe someone told me, I can't remember): what has expense got to do with bohemia? Fortunately the New York Times Magazine this week attempted an answer to this very question!

Now in the usual Times style, the author, James Traub, first declares the state of the world in moral terms and then deduces the implications:

In New York City, Bohemia is determined by real estate: artists gather in raffish neighborhoods where studio space is cheap; the new outposts of culture and consumption they establish make the quarter desirable, thus raising the rents to prohibitive levels; the artists then decamp for the next shabby enclave.

That is, in New York, bohemia is replace by bourgeois: the two are mutually exclusive. But dig a little deeper here: artists, at least the young, fiscally insolvent ones, are forever doomed to cheap real estate. This seems natural enough, but they have the special power of revitalizing areas, even making them the coolest places in the whole city. Then are we to believe that the spoils belong only to them, that they wouldn't even want the more affluent to patronize them? It seems that the whole reason New York is the art capital of the world in the first place is the money and patronage.

Furthermore, just because the artists move out, does that mean the area is no longer bohemian? That is to say, are we to believe that embourgeoisement is always in bad taste? This leads me to believe that Bohemia must be where artists live, and have affected their surroundings. This article also says this area must be walkable:

But the middle-class householder geography of Queens offers too barren a soil for the rooting of a new Bohemia. Fortunately, there is lots more Brooklyn available.

I make a conjecture: walkable space is finite in America. Construction is not, and new urbanism is surely doing its part to provide more of it, but it's simply more expensive to individuals at this point to build it. (Of course the argument is that it is cheaper to society, and that the true cost is hidden in time spent driving, the lack of bohemia partout, and subtle subsidies virtually unrecognizable and inextinguishable.) But at this point the ring of suburbia surrounding New York has made the space finite, and so when the switch happens from cheap coffee to expensive latte, our moral philosophers are up in arms:

[Today's artists] are threatened not by penury but by gentrification.

But I don't agree with this philosophy, because it once again supports the view American cities must be dumps. More of the article goes to support this view:

In short, downtown, or the idea of downtown, has become thoroughly implicated in the cultural and economic forces that it once resisted with every ounce of its scruffy integrity. The misfits and longhairs and revolutionaries deemed unassimilable by mainstream culture ... are now considered "edgy".

This statement is even more loaded than just that: not only must American cities be dumps, but there's an integrity to it! Furthermore, "mainstream," typical, call them middle-class, Americans are rejected by the city. If artists don't reject them, they are no longer Bohemian, no longer edgy. This is an insult both to artists, who perhaps have good, eccentric taste not out of pure rejection of mainstream but out of creative introspection, and to the patrons of the arts, who brought artists to New York in the first place.

I've turned the argument on its head: Traub argues that Bohemia grows out of rejection by the mainstream, I say it grows out of rejection of the mainstream, which can be completely reduced to an argument of taste. Therefore the Bourgeois Bohemian can exist, and he will as the proud heir of great American cities.

A Cute Parallel

2006-08-30T19:12:00.000-04:00

I've come up with the perfect analogy for the difference between Montreal and New York. In both cities there is a free newspaper called Metro. In Montreal one generally picks it up upon arriving in the metro, and generally gets it read by the time he arrives at work. It's in French, but has the same green logo.

In New York one arrives at Penn, Grand Central, or any other large subway stop and upon arriving at the top of the stairs there are at least five huge black women yelling "METRO!!" and shoving it at you and whoever else is around, which is, needless to say, a lot of people.

Sure it's annoying and inconvenient, but that's the price you pay to have your choice of so many free papers.

Civil Liberties Snipit

2006-08-24T22:32:00.000-04:00

Most of my friends know that I'm a very big fan of The Best of the Web Today, by James Taranto. It's clearly conservative, but only in the sense that it's incisive in exposing flaws in many liberal articles. And what's more, it's extremely funny. A blog that shows the truth and does so in a hilarious way definitely fits my bill.

But the other day Taranto finally disappointed me in his comments about an article in the New York Times magazine which admittedly I didn't understand until I read his criticism:

Will Civil Liberties Self-Destruct?
Christopher Caldwell has a fascinating essay in--of all places--the New York Times magazine, in which he ponders the future of civil liberties:

Just hours before the police arrested 24 British-born Muslims suspected of plotting to blow up as many as 10 airliners over the Atlantic, the British home secretary, John Reid, gave a comprehensive description of how Tony Blair's government saw the war on terror. Reid, who probably knew the raids were coming, called international terrorism the gravest threat to Britain since World War II and attacked civil libertarians as people who "just don't get it." He highlighted a speech that Blair had made little more than a week earlier. Global terrorism, Blair said then, "means traditional civil liberty arguments are not so much wrong as just made for another age."

If you wanted to figure out how the airline plot will change the West, Blair's words would be a good place to start. . . . Blair was not trying to buck us up and steel our resolve by saying that we're at war and that we'll have to pitch in and sacrifice our liberties for a while. He was saying that war has shown many of our liberties to be illusory. The "civil liberties" we know do not bubble up from natural law or from something timeless and universal in the human character. They may be significant accomplishments, but they are temporal ones, bound to certain stages of technology or to certain styles of social organization. Maybe there was something like an Age of Civil Liberties, Blair was telling us, but it is over.

We must say, we are highly ambivalent about this. We are quite fond of our civil liberties and would hate to lose them. On the other hand, we're appalled at the fatuousness of today's civil libertarians, who seem to care more about terrorists' rights than national security. That very much includes the New York Times, with its penchant for compromising national secrets.

In an age of terror, society ought to be able to strike a reasonable balance between civil liberties and national security. By insisting that liberty is an all-or-nothing proposition, civil libertarians make it more likely that we will eventually end up with nothing.

It's not that Taranto is wrong in saying that civil liberties should be held in high regard, it's that he doesn't understand that the physical reality of public interaction has shifted. Technology has changed: we are now on the defensive, simply because offensive technology far overpowers it. It's similar to the Cold War in that regard: with the advent of huge nuclear arsenals we shifted to a strategy of Mutually Assured Destruction, instead of contending that we had a viable defense strategy. Caldwell was simply saying that the structure of our society has changed, and that what is possible as a civil liberty has changed. Therefore it's no longer a question of forces competing to give or take away freedoms, rather it is one politician, Blair, attempting to show the world that what is happening is unavoidable.

Now, Taranto has a nice point about the "fatuousness of today's civil libertarians", and of course makes a jab at the Times, but he fails to comment on the structural change in society that Caldwell is discussing. Caldwell can certainly flesh out his argument a bit more, so there's a bit more dissection that can happen, but Taranto would be well advised to stick to the thesis of the articles that he criticizes, even if they are very intellectual.

Thirtysomething sexual coming to being

2006-06-21T00:50:00.000-04:00

by Owen Martin

On the 7:30 train home
I noticed her half asleep
Taking up all two seats
With her knees, calves, and feet

Her pose was tired, comfortable, and neat

Because it was late
She had passed her smile to her eyes
Her smile having faded with the day's work

I mistook those eyes for gravity

I couldn't imagine her helpless,
Squeezing, or afraid

Nor imagine her flustered, sneezing,
Or loving me all day

She's a sexual creature with a bodyguard

We're too many stops past New York
There's nobody around
And while she my blink or wiggle her feet
She'll never make a sound

American Communism

2006-06-07T22:51:00.000-04:00

I feel obliged to publish the fact that I will not be writing my well-hyped essay entitled American Communism; or, Jacobs v. Busch. After nearly a year of living on the Busch Campus in Piscataway, New Jersey, I felt it was time for me to exact my revenge through powerful, emotional words and well-thought-out arguments.

It was to start: "This essay is an attack on the design of the Busch Campus." After having finally finished The Death and Life of Great American Cities by Jane Jacobs, I was going to use her templates and arguments to criticize every aspect of the design of the campus.

And I did come up with a number of really good ideas, but after a while it dawned on me that one axiom of Jacobs simply did not apply at Rutgers: capitalism. It didn't matter if the blocks were long or short, if the buildings were both young and old, if the population density was high, or if there was a mixture of primary uses. No new enterprise could be undertaken there by pure administration fiat.

Of course it was true: the blocks were too long, mainly generated by sprawling parking lots. The buildings were virtually all built in the 70s, and all in the same state of general blandness. The population density was entirely too low, having pushed all the dwellings to one corner, and having driven away the desire for more by a lack of services on campus. And of course, there was only one primary use: school.

And what a shame! Students, having so much free time and lack of obligations, are perfect generators of city diversity. But none of it matters because the Busch Campus is immutable. I finally know how it is to live in a communist housing project. And what's worse: the exterior of this Soviet wasteland is the most sprawled out suburb on the East Coast: completely devoid of a main street or a viable alternative to 5 miles of driving to get a cup of coffee. I was caught between the worst part of the Eastern world and the worst part of the Western world, and look at how similar they were.

Since my daring escape I've toured the west and east of DC, on foot and by car, respectively, and then installed myself in Manhattan having safely stowed my car on Long Island. Soon I will be back in New Brunswick, but with slightly higher morale and the impetuousness of youth.

Excerpts

2006-04-06T00:39:00.000-04:00

No, it's for all k. But the k = 0 fails... unless it works.

The freedom of thoughts in the abstract
It's like PBR cans mashed up
And a special groove

Why do they make songs with out of tune singers. Or singers in a different key. Or with non-hot girls?

Silently he moved about the kitchen
Smoking a chewed fagbutt

The smartest girl in Spain

Those who pray, those who think, those who speak

Hundreds of eyes on one point
Those eyes must have bodies
Eyes.

Balloon
On the eastern rim
Small, yet...

Business

2006-04-05T13:58:00.000-04:00

What I don't like in a conversation is too many points of business. However, I dislike a lack of purpose as well.

The conversations I'm speaking of clearly aren't business-oriented, over-the-phone interviews. Then I have no problem. I actually mean more like hanging out with friends, calling beautiful girls, or meeting someone new on a train or in a bar.

So what's business? Almost invariably it is making plans to get together another time. There have been times when I could feel myself steering the conversation toward topics that might make the jump to making plans less awkward. But this ruins the whole talk! So in particular I'm sorry to RD for eliminating joyous bantar in favor of making a date, I'm sorry to Joe and Brian for constantly pressuring them for answers to my problems, and I'm sorry to every stranger I've met in a bar with whom I couldn't just relax.

Purpose, on the other hand, is organic. Having no purpose is quite obvious: disjoint sentences, with pauses, with no common theme. Organic purpose is effortless, exciting, and pure fun. So keep that in mind.

How to guide thoughts

2006-04-04T02:12:00.000-04:00

Lately I've been investigating the inner workings of my brain. I've noticed that I like to trace any problem to its end. Frequently the "solution" to many of them are a blatant contradiction to the nature of things, which triggers an emotional reaction. Now I ask, why is this emotion always depression? How about I be mad? or sad? My new year's resolution had been not to be so hard on myself, and this is what I've just begun to do.

Is the life of an intellectual characterized by taking minor problems way to seriously? I like to think it's characterized by taking everything too seriously but also with integrity. That makes me feel alright. But that said, let me try, in writing, to discover the method I've been following these days to assuage the aforementioned bad effects.

First of all, life is life, and one day is only one day. So one day being good or bad shouldn't be reason to think they are all as such.
Nothing is symbolic.
One's 20s is for jerking off and playing nintendo... maybe doing some math too.
Jazz still exists, though not where I live.
Beautiful women still exist, though my meetings with them are usually quite short.
Keeping busy is a good thing.

No no no I want the thoughts. Yes, the thing I noticed is that I can ponder things to no end (no end because the end must be a contradiction), so I have to stop pondering them. Instead, I should ponder things which actually seem to bear fruit. That's the point. I think this is one tiny way in which I've grown up.

I have to learn to fantasize again, instead of considering only how to realize my fantasy. Done.

High stress

2006-03-22T15:43:00.000-05:00

Greetings,

I am under high stress. I think people don't consider the work they love stressful. What is really stressful is when you have to do something but you keep thinking about other things. My life isn't particularly difficult (well, it is, but only in the sense that math is difficult), but I can't focus on one thing. The sword of Damocles is hanging on by a thread.

Actually, I wish it would just fall. Somehow I think I would be more formidable at picking up the pieces than holding things together as they stand. I'm only on day three of my two month adventure through dry math, and my heart won't stop beating like a madman's. My brain won't ever consider a single aspect of this life, and, in considering it, make it beautiful. So it's all ugly.

What I would consider relaxing, besides racketball, would be to speak broken French with Agnès the way I used to. What would be really relaxing would be to spend the evening of a truly hot summer day in a coffee shop near union square, reading Joyce or Bukowski or the Power Broker or the Death and Life of Great American Cities. Or to silently peer over these books to contemplate a woman not as a part of my life but as a part of life as a whole and remember that since it (life) keeps chugging I have nothing to worry about. Suddenly age 22 can be romantic again, and age 30 is a dream as is 70. But this won't happen until I'm 23, I'm sure, so my heart keeps beating so incredibly fast. And my brain still surges with useless intellectualism.

An eerie coincidence

2006-03-13T13:50:00.000-05:00

Have you ever noticed that the Gym is just like a dance club? Notice,
first of all, that you have to put on special clothes to go. Specific
shoes, no jeans. Then while you're in there you can't make eye contact
with other people. Well, you can, but it's a bit awkward. The whole
time there's dance music thumping away, while you pump yourself up
trying to look entertained. You can go by yourself, but you'd much
rather go with your buddies, so you can make fun of the other people.
For example, you might have a grand old time pointing out a fat ass or
the hugest boobs.

Of course, in the gym, you're not trying to pick up girls but rather
trying to get a good workout, which means getting the best machines.
Think of these as the analogue to girls. The best machines are always
surrounded by guys, not letting anyone else cut in on their action.
Sometimes you see a machine that's perfectly deserted from far away,
but when you go up to it you see that it's broken. Maybe a piece of it
is missing, or it's simply not plugged in. Maybe it's too much work
putting the weights on it yourself. Either way, all the other people
in the gym noticed this before and that's why there's no one using it.

As a side note, my favorite 'machine' is really just those two metal
arms that you can suspend yourself on and lift your legs up. When I
use it, I kinda feel like I'm snowboarding.

Fun Thoughts

2006-03-12T01:16:00.000-05:00

-Racketball
-New sneakers
-Haircut
-Early morning drive
-Going out by myself...
... to go meet a girl
-LaTeX
-Brownstones
-The smallest city around
-Un petit d'un petit
-Bringing booze: PBR, belgian-style
-Computer in coffee shops
-Stashing a supply in the glove-box
-Biking to running
-The utility of mathematical finance
-Crappy guitar when hungover
-Mountain-climbing when it's way too cold
-Expensive paper
-Depot Postale
-Thinking of this list as a blog

My KCRW Messenger Bag

2006-02-26T18:53:00.000-05:00

Favorite Music: KCRW.com

Simple enough. And if you don't get it you can get it easily with standard internet research: go here. That said, I think it's obvious to everyone that I'm a big fan of NPR in general, KCRW in particular, and that a huge fantasy of mine is to meet a girl purely based on NPR.

So I was in Panera earlier today (actually I still am), and I had sat down with my sandwich and my copy of The Power Broker for a long session of reading. Two tables down I immediately recognize a girl, ca. 22, who I had seen, and even found cute, in this Panera before. I couldn't help recognize her because she was talking rather strongly about politics. Her moderate position was quickly evident, as she said that the Republican party had been subverted and the Democrats can't put up a good candidate to counter them. But then she launches into how Americans are apparently unaware of how we are out of favor in the rest of the world, how we have no idea of how the rest of the world functions, and then how her dad, an "extremely, ridiculously intelligent" Jewish man, did not know who Ariel Sharon was. And on and on...

I find myself extremely sensitive to politics these days and knew that staying where I was, able to hear her every word, would not result in much progress in my books. So I decided to move to the back as subtly as possible: a quite difficult task since I had a buttload of stuff. Eventually I wound up back here, cheerfully enjoying my turkey sandwich, when the very same girl came back and asked me if "that was a WNYC messenger bag"! My biggest fantasy come true!

I said, "Well not really, it's actually KCRW, the one out in L.A." I can't really tell if she could understand that by "one" I meant NPR station. Still, I think she was impressed, and seeing as how she comes here all the time, I'm sure I'll get to know her eventually. But I'm scared of her politics and I really don't want to get in a fight with her. I hope you enjoy the irony, though, that she came up to talk to me about NPR even though I had changed seats to get away from her.

A thought on Ulysses

2006-01-19T01:34:00.000-05:00

I've never considered myself particularly good at English criticism, but since I took that Ulysses course somehow I feel the right to an opinion. Usually the source of immunity to denunciations of my analyses is to avoid symbolism. Not that I like symbolism much anyway. So consider the following and tell me if it's incisive or way off.

In the Ithaca episode, Stephen and Bloom follow parallel courses for the first half, then, at a climax, Stephen escapes to the night. Bloom's story continues for an equal amount of time, gradually fading into nothing. Into sleep. This arc of events actually mirrors a man's life as a whole, which is particularly apparent since the whole of Ulysses exposes the life of two men, one at the apex of action, and one fading into routine. Stephen, in his twenties, is constantly moving, creating, and experiencing. Bloom, in his forties, only notices the slighest of niceties in his life, and his greatest excitement is this young man, Stephen. The very layout of this chapter is precisely this arc: the first half exciting, and coming to a climax, the second half slowly and comfortably getting ready for bed.

All the same

2006-01-10T01:31:00.000-05:00

I have a question. Is the apparent abundance of inconsistencies and contradictions that I face limited just to me? Or does everyone feel this way? Let me just list them, and we can decide if anyone else thinks this way.

First of all, I've been extremely depressed over what I call the end of Europe. This stems mainly from this article, but also from a number of commentaries I've heard on NPR. The simplest synopsis is that in two generations, native Europeans will be virtually wiped out, to be replaced mainly by Muslim immigrants who may or may not espouse the liberal tradition. If they don't, we face a much different future than most of us realize. I've heard that in one hundred years, a Europe under Muslim fundamentalist rule would be a threat far greater than Nazi Germany or the Soviet Union.

Pretty quick synopsis, so don't take it as news. You may see why this stuff would come up in the news, though. And I consider it pivotal. The thing is that, from what I've observed, most people don't think about this, or haven't noticed it, or anything.

Next point-- I've heard for years that Americans, in general, were fat and unattractive. Now I know why-- it's the cars. There certainly exists a solid minority to whom this does not apply, but the fact of the matter is that if you walk all day, you'll be skinny and attractive. All these years people have made me feel bad about this, but now, it's once again: did anybody notice?

So that brings me to this point: I really want to live without a car. Forever. And in America there are only a few places one can do this without being a tool. They are, so I've gathered, New York, Boston, Chicago, and possibly Washington, D.C. There are a few other places, but they are less major.

Then there's also Montreal, and there's also Europe. But remember what I said about Europe? What a tragedy. It's as if there is only one option left for me (New York), which is the one I'm taking anyway, but the city is tough sometimes, and unforgiving. Also, thinking about living there (and not living anywhere else, per se) really doesn't suffice for the moment.

There's one other point, and this one is up for the most debate. Does anyone consider who is watching them or who isn't watching them as much as I do? All the philosophy I've read has had this as its central issue, but never admitted it! Nietzsche was a lonely, lonely man, and he had to be. Sartre-- I think he chose to be alone. Me, I prefer it, but only when I choose it. And that's way too simple.

Good morning

2005-12-18T17:16:00.000-05:00

Hello my darling! You looked so beautiful when you were sleeping.
Shall I cook us up some eggs? It's wonderful to be awakened by a
burning red reflection of sunlight off the snow. Isn't it just lovely
being suspended fifty stories above this lovely park?

Why are you so sad? Still remembering the movie last night? I know, it
was heart-wrenching. They took that poor girl with her sad voice and
dragged her through the worst atrocities. It was such a tragedy.

Sometimes I think our lives are just as sad. We watch these tragedies
to escape the seriousness of our own plight. All to escape the gravity
(from fifty stories up) of this miserable life. But it's sunrise, why
won't you lie here with me and contemplate going downstairs together?

No no don't cry, you are beautiful. Everything is alright, you'll see.
I'll protect you.

Roles

2005-12-01T19:41:00.000-05:00

As I've said, I don't think I'll be blogging Thus Spake Zarathustra, which I finally finished this week. To do so would trivialize it. But let me point to some giant steps (Coltrane) I made with his help.

So we all know the social-psychological power of Roles. That is, in certain situations we find ourselves defending a position because that's what someone does in that position, not out of personal beliefs. In particular, imagine an American in Paris (Gerschwin).

Now here's what he's showed me-- to be placed, forced even, into a role is exactly the populace bringing you down to their level. They make you make your philosophies categorical. They make you defend America. And you know, America is based on choice. New Jersey isn't very pretty, but you don't have the right to say that other people fucked it up. You are absolutely free (Frank Zappa) not to live there, you have the right to try to improve it, and you can realize the beauty that actually is there. But not to say that "they ruined my land".

This isn't my point. My point is that in most of the debates about America or politics in general I've gotten into of late, my opponents main strategy is make arguments ad hominem. Consider "your government has done this, and that!" Well, immediately there's a problem. Now I don't even consider this to be a very subtle point. Everyone should realize it at a young age. But most people are more concerned about winning an argument or at least perturbing their opponents.

So I suppose as a "policy" in future arguments of this type I will be immediately offended by said ad hominem attacks, rather than the content of the argument. Should they drop the strategy, we'll continue with a real debate, should they not, the conversation will be dead and lovely (Tom Waits).

What I think of my life, as told to Diana

2005-11-20T01:30:00.000-05:00

> My roomates are both very nice (and very different from each other), but
> you know how it is, your roomates aren't your hanging-out friends, unless
> they were your friends before you moved in together.
*** Actually, precisely one of my roommates, Larry, is quite awesome,
and he and I hang out all the time.

That said, he, I, and my other roommate, Julio, found ourselves down
at my favorite bar, Clydz, on thursday night. And I must say that
Julio, while he is nice on a personal level, completely cramps my
style in a bar situation. I mean, at this point I'm completely
comfortable in bars, even upscale ones like Clydz, and have even
gotten to the point of getting women's phone numbers while at bars.
But Julio's philosophy is completely different-- He's more of the
macho type, the reserved, perfected, on the attack, no chest hair,
browns, blacks, whites, and khaki's type. I mean, to the point of
being the exact opposite of me. Now, I kinda like this-- I've been
wanting a foil this good since the departure of Zach Finkelstein, and
in a way he's even better. I mean, I'm battling for the sake of my own
style against someone who still succeeds at getting laid by hot girls,
but everything he does I disapprove of, and vice versa. That's a much
better enemy than a guy who's bent on being a liberal. So it's useful,
for now... but still on thursday I was not happy in the bar because of
him.

So on we go to friday night. Last night. I went out with this Puerto
Rican girl who I've gone out with once or twice with only poor results
just for kicks. I get a kick out of her, it's true-- which is weird
because later on thursday I wound up chilling with her sister for a while
who well, sucked! But anyway, the deal is that we enjoyed a bit of L
on a wooden bench around town somewhere, and then walked through the hospital's
emergency room to get to this hole-in-the-wall bar, McCormicks. Yes,
5$ pitchers of PBR in this place. And between me and this 120 lb.
girl, 3 pitchers were consumed. I was completely completely trashed.
But I was so happy-- I haven't enjoyed a beer that much in so long. So
of course I talked garbage with my neighbors. I swear I said the
weirdest things to these people. But still-- I came out with
sufficiently mature and intellectual shit, just at the point where you
can be like "eh" or respond with as creative a response as you'd like.
I got a little of both. I seriously had a blast.

Then tonight, I went to a grad student party out in the town that's
next to my town. This town has no bars, but a surprising number of
grad students. Anyway, the party was relatively low-key. Something
which I imagined was the case b/c the party was supposed to be more
adult. But now let's see-- First off, I was the only American. This is
a problem. There were other native English speakers-- first an Irish
guy, who was quite cool, and a Canadian guy from Toronto, who, as
expected, was quite adamant in imposing the fact that he was not
American. The point is this-- the low-keyness of this party, despite
its intentions, wound up making this party AS BORING AS HELL! It
actually took me a while to notice the fact that I was really bored.
But like, after the 3 interesting Turks left the party, I realized
that no one was saying anything interesting! No one told a joke, or
talked about anything intellectual, or told an interesting story. It
was like this huge clique in which people were more concerned about
not doing the wrong thing than doing the right thing. And what's to
boot, I was probably the youngest person there. Usually these events
have people ages 22-32 or so. But I would hate to think that in ten
years I'm going to put up with the same cliches and talking for
effect.

Honestly, it's so easy to come up with random shit to say! And based
on a tiny bit of emirical knowledge, I think that smart people, with a
sense of humor, really want to hear something new while they're out. I
mean, if now, it's not really worth my time! And that's at age 22.
Could you imagine in 5 or 10 years?

So as the only American in the crowd, I caught some of the same slack
I always do. I talked to this Spanish girl for a while, thinking she
was smart (and cute, in fact). The motif of the bulk of our
conversation was-- come up with a completely random question to ask.
See- what an idea! And it came up so naturally. And yet, in the middle
of this little game, she managed to the the completely trite line:
"how can you go off to the army at 18 but not be able to drink until
you're 21" it's like-- thanks. I've never heard that. It'll really
change my thinking-- maybe I'll ponder that now!

That's not what conversations are. They're not you reciting practiced
speeches or practiced theses about certain popular topics. They're
using the response of the other person to actually have a new thought
yourself. And you know, that's what flirting is too. Even if a girl is
beautiful (like you), I would hate to sit there about spout lines
that's I've practiced in the shower for four years at her and hope
that she'd think I was cool because of it.

Seriously, I would say that I've got to move to the city. And soon.
But, my times in these bars have said otherwise. I mean, a piece of
shit bar like McCormicks and I had a much more fun and intellectual
time! The point of a party is to invite interesting people. I guess
that philosophy failed. No, the bars are good. I'll keep going to
them. Every thursday and friday.

Girls with American Express

2005-11-12T21:44:00.000-05:00

Girls with American Express cards are cute. Really, that's adorable.
I've spent a lot of effort trying to determine why this is. You know
me, my tastes can be pretty weird: I really liked girls with
retainers back in high school. So why American Express?

Well, first off, localize the group of girls we're discussing.
They're post-college, pre-career 20-somethings who are single. And
cute by their own rite. And single.

Now that that's settled, consider how they must be building their
lives, just like me. They have to establish a credit line, and when
you first start working, the only card you can get is an American
Express card. Somehow, of course, I didn't get one myself. It makes
me think the girls must be a little naïve not to go straight to visa.
Or maybe they have bad credit.

Maybe it's the idea that they had to think this up at some point. "I
need a credit card that daddy doesn't pay off." They had to apply for
one, get it in the mail, and start to carry it around in that huge
wallet full of cards that girls always have. The fact that they have
to pay it off later, or just imagining it, is itself cute.

That said, I think there is no way for me to say that American
Express cards on girls is cute without sounding entirely sexist. But
isn't that the point of attraction, after all?

A viable definition of art

2005-11-09T22:57:00.000-05:00

Someone once asked me, "Hey Owen, what's the definition of art?"

I thought about it for a minute, stroking my beard, and finally responded: "Well, it's anything that's in an art museum."

She responded, "Um, well then what's an art museum?"

I said: "Oh, it's a building that has a whole bunch of art in it."

See, it's like a chicken and the egg problem. Which came first, the art or the art museums? A grave question, one which I pose to you, with the hope of seeing some responses in the comments section.

Fun on craigslist

2005-11-01T00:16:00.000-05:00

I'm just a sucker for those "missed encounter" posts. Especially in New York, because I frequently know the place they're talking about. Here's one that's short and sweet.

Oh, Mr. Handsome I just can't take it anymore! You're still the most handsome man I've ever seen. I'm getting closer to saying hello. I just wish you'd give the ipod a rest so I have the chance to do it.

See you when I get on at Bayside at 8am.

P.S. -- nice haircut. I love your brown hair and brown eyes.

this is in or around Port Washington Line

How modern is this, really? I can just imagine how cute this girl is. Her desperation, at age 29, for a man in her situation. Her repeated attempts. Her attention to details. Maybe she's emotional; maybe she's professional. Maybe she's quite reserved with her feelings usually, but while writing on craigslist, like me writing this blog, lets all her emotions out because she knows no one will ever read it.

Bjork

2005-10-27T20:41:00.000-04:00

Let me preface this discussion of Bjork with a discussion of Bjork's looks. Not unlike most guys I've talked to, I don't find her very attracitve. But no one can deny that she is extremely cute. I've always been of the school: cute $\Rightarrow$ hot. And in this case it just might work.

On to the music. I've come to realize that Bjork's lyrics are a lot deeper than my first impression. Surely the melodies are always a combination of melancholy, sinister, lyrical, and playful, and always with dark harmonies. The lyrics, to me, don't look very good on paper. Let me cite one that I will investigate in more detail as time goes on:

This way is as is she
And he placed her
Unclothed
Long long longlegged
Atop of the family tree

And if he has chosen the point
While she is under him
Then leave her coily placed crouched sucking him
For it is I with
Her on knee

It seems that these words are mostly all cloying, typical poetic words. "Longlegged", "family tree", "coily" are all words that a crappy poet would force into a poem. But with her, the lyrics go along perfectly with the timbre of her voice, the melodies, and especially her style. She sings high, almost weakly, but almost too strong as well. One word for it: emotional. I've compared her singing to other female singers of a similar genre (cf. Inara George) and it's as if the other women are singing this way because they imagine other people will understand them better if they do. Bjork, on the other hand, sings this way because this is the way she feels.

There is no way for me to know this, of course, but that's the effect the music has on me. And well, that's all that matters. Now let's reëxamine the lyrics. You may have noticed that they're actually very explicit. They're exposing. And when Bjork sings these words it's as if she's showing us one of her most private moments. Whereas other girls (singers or not) expect me to understand the profundity of their virginity (albeit gone), with her I don't need any background! I grasp her emotions without any historical context. I consider this a virtue in any art form.

To top off the Bjork anecdote, let me say that she's a kind of girl I've become familiar with. The emotional type. And my desire for a girl like this just increases exponentially when I hear her sing about it. And why shouldn't I want a girl like this? It's as if my whole life I've been trying to find an antidote to this type. I think it's better to take each girl as objectively as possible, each time a new one comes around.

But that said, Bjork is unique. Which is why I'm so happy I wound up fucking her in a recent dream! Yes, I think one's allowed to be proud of that. I mean, it happens about as often as actually getting laid, and about as arbitrarily as well. Okay, it's not the same pride, but it's pride nonetheless.

Clothes

2005-10-27T12:17:00.000-04:00

There seems to have developed a clothes problem. You may have noticed,
if you've known me personally, that my style of dressing is usually
referred to as "European", "metrosexual", or "gay". Not that I'm all
that extreme with it. And that's my point.

What if I were to tell you that I really hate wearing clothes that
flop out the front, bulge out the back, hang off my shoulders, or fall
down my hips. Can you accept that? Good then know this: only clothes
marked with a capital S are the ones which don't do this! I think I'm
entitled as much as anyone to present myself as aesthetically as I
can, and not only that, I prefer to!

Basically, you have two options with clothes, once you become aware of
their impact. First, you can dress to blend in perfectly. No one can
claim your clothes are bad, but there's nothing special to them. This
is what I did in high school by wearing college t-shirts and khaki's.

The other option is to dress to impress. How do you impress people if
you're not going to a black-tie event? You have to make it subtle.
Very subtle. Here's where I find suburban New Jersey (spelled
Nugioirsi in Italian, by the way) fails miserably. Basically I see
three options: you have no clue and so wear sweatshirts, you're too
lazy to dress so you wear track pants, or you want to get laid so you
wear Abercrombie button-downs. So I'm not going to imitate the people
around me. Not now.

The issue goes very deep into personality. The point being that you
imitate the personality of the person who would wear the clothes
you're wearing. Maybe I would be cool with this shit if I actually
wore the uber-American style I encounter from time to time. But as of
yet I can't handle putting forth a face like that. My body isn't big,
my face isn't gruff, my hair is blond. I dress accordingly.

The anti-anti-racist

2005-10-26T18:25:00.000-04:00

You may be thinking that's a double negative, but consider it as a
philosophy that calls for as pure objectivism as you can muster.

Consider the following article:

http://www.opinionjournal.com/editorial/feature.html?id=110007457

Here, Shelby Steele exhibits the relationship between blacks and
whites in the same style as Simone de Beauvoir famously did between
men and women back in the 1950s. This method is definitely a very
useful approach to sociology. I myself have noticed the concept of
definition by the "other" in many aspects of life, particularly
Canada, and how much Canadian culture is defined by its difference
from American culture.

But let me apply some idealism here. The goal is for the "name, age,
race, creed" of people not to make them unequal. (Sorry, that was a
forced quotation from Ulysses). Using the sociological strategy above,
while it breeds perspective on the situation, does not lead us to the
ideal. As the means lie embedded in the ends, real racial equality
will not be obtained using this sociological phenomenon to guide us.

I'm young enough to remember when I was young enough to approach the
subject perfectly objectively. Unlike my parents' generation, I had no
need to be anti-racist, because I was never racist in the first place.
The fact of the matter is that anti-racism is a form of racism in
itself. So I became an anti-anti-racist. Which is to say I do not
support bastardizations of the language (and especially our laws!) in
support of some conquest over racism.

Unfortunately, after time, anti-anti-racism will be considered racism
as well. Which means that the true objective stance recurs infinitely.
A difficult proposition and one which I have yet to resolve.

The other point here is that I demand of my peers the same objective
stance that I have. Or moreso. If you can't take the heat, get out of
my generation.

Where to live...

2005-10-21T23:52:00.000-04:00

Take the Hill Center as the center point. Then consider New Jersey as a state and all its possible living locations. This is the biggest decision pending right now. So let's go through them.

1) Stay here in grad housing. This place sucks. I mean, I did meet some cool people so far, and it's kinda cool that we're all together here. But altgother it blows. It's not the city. The only way I'd consider another year here is if I actually got a car and that made a big difference.

2) The College Ave. side of New Brunswick. Filled with students-- undergrad style. Lots of life at night, but no nightlife. I mean, there's junk around, and it is junk, but at least it's around.

3) The Clydz side of New Brunswick. I just mentioned the best part-- the martini bar. There are quite a few 20-somethings in this region, but the region is small. Very small. And it doesn't peter out, it turns into a ghetto. A little more expensive than College Ave. but probably not to the point of fault. There's a starbucks and shitty grocerty store.

4) Highland Park. This is on the other side of the river from the NB train station. An old Jewish community. Some cute stores, most likely closed on saturdays. The commute to school is a few minutes with a car, 20 minutes on bike, 30-40 on foot. The main draw of this area is that there are stores so I wouldn't need a car, and the fact that lots of grad students I've met are considering moving there. I really like the idea of a grad student community.

5) Newark-- still Brick City. No further info.

6) Princeton. Pretty, expensive, stores. Probably couldn't get a place close enough to the train station. So I'd need a car. This is a bit of a contradiction.

7) Jersey City. A veritable Balhalla. So close to Manhattan you can see the skyline. It's also got a cute light rail that will take you to Hoboken. I'll see more about this place on Sunday, but it's very cool. Now here's the problem: I have the commute clocked at 1:20 during normal hours, almost 2 on off hours (i.e. 10PM etc.). This means I've got to be really sure. I do like to read on the train, and to be honest I don't get much reading done in life anyway so this is an opportunity. Two more issues: some of the stat kids I talked to said they might want to move out there. Maybe I could organize a carpool. The other one: Joe is a potential roommate in a venture like this, which would be very cool. The other thing is that that might not be available if I put the move to Jersey City off a year and chill in New Brunswick next year.

See? Lots of research. Pretty good, huh?

Ten things I hate about...

2005-10-18T13:59:00.000-04:00

I'll imitate my brother's list of ten things I just don't give a fuck about. He extended the invitation, as usual, to his inner circle, rather than to the world as a whole, which would include me.

10) Sewing
9) Hiking
8) Ancient Greek
7) The Blues
6) Fast Italian cars
5) K-rock
4) Russia
3) Global Warming
2) Che Guevara
1) Fantasy novels

Hm. I didn't put much thought into the order. Take them as equal. I will, however, to further expose my own personality, put up things that I am interested in which are antonyms to these just mentioned.

10) Fashion
9) Walking
8) Latin
7) Jazz
6) Maximas
5) NPR
4) America
3) Gas Prices
2) Robert Moses
1) Good literature

Is it coffee?

2005-10-18T13:45:00.000-04:00

I like coffee.

I like tea, I love the java jive and it loves me. I still remember all the old songs I used to sing with Joanna. Those were great times-- how I wished she'd wanted to do it more often! Or that I'd met someone since who can sing jazz. Well, besides me. But then I'd still have to find someone to accompany me!

My voice has gotten a lot better in the last year. I mean, I made my biggest breakthrough about three years ago when I realized that if my notes were anything they were flat. So I sharpened them up etc. And my latest progress has mainly been motivated by actually singing in my range (which is about a 4th down from where I've been having to sing my whole life). And in addition I've been adjusting to what my voice sounds like. It's that I take the sound that's there and make it good, rather than take what I think would sound good and try to make it my voice.

This is what I think Chalie Parker did. I feel with his time, that he knows exactly when the note comes out of his instrument, not that he knows when the beat is and then he blows to hit it. That's why he sounds so relaxed even though he's going a million miles an hour.

I still need more inspiration to sing the songs. And write new ones. The world can always use more music. What kind of KCRW member would I be if I didn't believe so?

What I should have said

2005-10-14T18:27:00.000-04:00

I've taken to carrying a white notebook around with me at all times, and when I stumble upon an especially well-constructed thought, I write it down. Not very original. But notice that, based on my personality, these thoughts will most likely be what I'd say to certain people at certain times. And the more I analyze them, the more I get to know myself. So let me dive into the theory another time, and start posting these snipits of fake conversations right away.

Unless stated otherwise, I of my current age am the speaker. You can probably judge the context.

*** It's so liberal of you: Crowding out everything we want because of this addiction to compromise!

-To my mom and Rob

*** It's good to hear (obviously anyone likes to hear that sombody wants him), but you'd better give me a few days to let this information sink in, lest I say something I don't mean.

-To Shadia if she ever called me

*** You're the best Starbuck's employee I've ever seen... you make me enjoy my frappuccino so much more.

-To the cute girl in the Starbucks

*** I forgot that life goes on after the Ph.D. The question is: will I be so drastically changed that that life isn't worth it?

-To people who know how to have fun.

***I cannot and should not compartmentalize these aspects of my life.

-To my dad

*** I have a number of things I'd like to discuss with you, not the least trivial of which is ars amatoria.

-To Sara, the sexy post-doc

*** Think of July 1, 2005 as microcosm of what I can accomplish in the next four years. Is that fair? To dip current standards to spring higher next time? Of course. It's called investment.

-A pep talk

*** I particularly like the idea of studying at the New York Public Library.

-To my dad

*** This notebook is an exercise in thought collection, and boredom. To have a new thought I must cease reflection on the idea of having a new one. Therefore, I do not sit down and write. I sit and think. And when a new thought comes, I write it down.

-To someone special enough to read this notebook

*** Whereas the Greeks were thrilled to develop reasonable thoughts on metaphysics and technology, I will be forever plagued by the fact that these thoughts have no end.

-To purveyors of science

*** For me, philosophy is more the exercise of saying the problems of the human condition more and more poetically, than it is to develop a system of thought which is somehow deeper than the one I already have.

-To my European self

***The very last time I walked home at dawn.

-A Montreal sympathizer

***I'm trying to reclaim all the old aspects of my life, but now they've been perverted.

-To my future girlfriend

***Is there anyone you think you might want to bring to the party?

-To the hot girl in break-dancing class (a subtle boyfriend inquiry)

*** I see now that statistical procedures can be motivated both by actual situations and purely mathematical theory. When think through both of these faculties simultaneously, one approaches the noumena we're studying. Question: Is the point of studying statistics to mathematically justify procedures and ideas that are intuitively useful?

-To my future self

Why you can't trust writers

2005-09-18T01:12:00.000-04:00

I'll start with the most popular reference available during the first
half of this decade and proceed to an area which virtually no one
discusses.

In the third or fourth episode of the OC, Ryan winds up working at the
local beach diner. There he meets a co-worker: some other guy from the
mean streets of LA. They connect, theoretically, because of this.
Their discussion goes something like this:
- Isn't this place really rich and fucked up
- Totally everyone's totally fake and plastic.
The one line that the guy (not Ryan) said that stuck with me was:
- There are some real people out here.
And as he said it he seemed to have a genuine look in his face. Now, I
imagine it's relatively easy for an actor to do a teenager, but still
kudos to him for his delivery.

So the story continues with him bringing Ryan and his step brother to
whatever party. And then the next time he comes to their party (in
Newport), with a couple of cronies. They trash the place, and when the
kids from Newport start fighting back, the guy pulls out a gun. A
fucking gun!! You're in NO WAY real!!

Now, I admit that we shouldn't look to the OC for what good writing
is. But the point is not expectations. The point is the moment when
the guy said, "There are some real people out here" he was completely
serious and I thought it was maybe the way people acted in real life.

I was going to expand into more reputable shows, but I think there is
no need. The point is that I've found the same thing applies even to
good shows like the Sopranos.

Let me describe, instead, the way in which I am offended by this kind
of lying. First, while I thought I was learning a bit about life and
maybe how to act when I get out there, turns out none of it is
practical knowledge. Second, it convinces me that I can't believe that
characters good writers create actually exist. I'm permanently on the
defensive-- waiting for the moment the character betrays all reality.
Call it a subtle deus ex machina.

This does however, go to reassure me of how good Ulysses really is. In
a way Leopold Bloom is more real than me or you.

Funny wikipedia

2005-09-06T20:28:00.000-04:00

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Douchebag

The ending is part is particularly nice.

A beard of bees

2005-09-06T16:12:00.000-04:00

As many of you know, I'm now officially single. I wore a beard of bees
for that woman but it still didn't help. (The pun here is on how she
insisted that I keep my beard, back in the day).

So I'm starting fresh. It's both good and bad. I mean, was it the high
life up in Montreal? Well, it was very decent, but that's because a) I
had practiced it for 4 years and b) I had a luxury apartment which I
really couldn't afford these days. I feel the main problem right now
is that I have no one to show the results of my projects. And these
projects are:
> The Ph.D.
> Learning to speak Italian (before I learn Spanish)
> Composing music on my computer
> Reading the Power Broker
> Improving my acting/reciting skills
> Writing the poetry itself!
> Excercising

Some more avocational activities include:
> Drinking
> Watching TV (on my computer)
> Finishing San Andreas

And by the way: no one gave me a book to read based on a previous
blog. I meant it-- I want a book of philosophy that aptly deals with
the situation before me.

A life...

2005-09-04T01:12:00.000-04:00

Fellow bloganeers,

I must question what it's like to have no life. Now let's get this
straight: for the last half year I've been delving into Nietzschean
philosophy and all the gifts that brings. But what it truly has been
accomplishing for me is precisely a way to stick to my principles
dispite a rather large population shoving me in the other direction.
All my efforts have been to declare my own independence among such a
crowd. How to live in the city without being a citytype.

And the philosophy is grand, but it no longer applies! And why? There
remains no crowd! No city! I'm in Jersey-- with no friends, nothing to
do, and especially, no human cushions bouncing me from bar to coffee
shop to park. No glaring eyes making me feel embarrassed for being
American, or having glasses, or not being drunk. No beautiful women
passing by, letting me know how beautiful my girlfriend really is.
It's all melted away.

I've said for years that there is only one place where the population
density is high enough that I can finally relax-- the island
of Manhattan. And it just goes to show: I'm as nervous as hell!

So what do I do with a life of solitude? Can you name a book to read?

--Owen.

Power

2005-08-27T16:36:00.000-04:00

Time for an obtuse connection: between Nietzsche and Robert Moses.
This speech is standard, so I'll just blast through it.

First of all, the entire "Will to Power" that Nietzsche describes I
interpret as a will towards personal freedom. Indeed, he does say that
one aspect of power is taste and tasting: that is, I'm entitled to my
own opinions of things, and I'm entitled to try to experience the
things which I judge to be of good taste. Now what is this but
personal freedom? Many people think of Power in the Nietzschean sense
to be controlling others. Of course, if you know a bit about the
nature of society, you may realize that it's quite difficult to
control others. Sure, you can pay them to do something, but then
you're giving up quite a bit.

Furthermore, I've noticed that, in my life, whenever I judge something
to be good in the utmost sense, it's invariably something which leads
to more freedom for myself.

Good. We know this already. Perhaps someday I'll find the quotations
in Zarathustra which directly led me on this path of discovery. But
let's talk about power in the other sense: Robert Moses.

Now I can't claim to be an expert on the man, especially since thus
far I've only read 100 pages of the Power Broker. But the evidence of
his control is prevalent on Long Island, and particularly absent here
in New Jersey. The point is that to consolidate power all to himself,
Robert Moses made the accomodating the automobile top priority in New
York City public works. And in order to do so he designed Long Island
to be exactly the land that cars work best. So much so that life
without a car on Long Island is impossible. So this means fewer poor
people (or young people), and having to pay a toll in order to leave.
Furthermore, this system cannot be changed. Things are too spread out
on Long Island to introduce an efficient public transit system. And
they always will be.

So whenever I find myself driving on Long Island, especially during
rush hour, I find myself under Robert Moses' umbrella.

Now, I realize that I myself don't contribute much to the demand side
of the economy (and even less to the supply side!), and that most
likely my preference that stores etc. be located close together enough
that any mode of transportation, even walking, is feasible. Thus life
on Long Island isn't quite my type. But the fact of the matter is that
the style of Long Island commerce and therefore life has been
dictated. It's been chosen by someone in power.

People still choose to live there. First, for the jobs. Second because
they like it. Perhapsy they don't know of anything better (it is rare,
especially in this country (look to LA)). So I can't blame them. But
when I'm this young and don't have much decision-making power, all I
can do is feel the shadow of Robert Moses' umbrella.

Bodily Functions

2005-08-26T19:25:00.000-04:00

When I got back from my soiree with Perez, I sent her the following IM:

so since I've been home I've urinated, shat, ejaculated, puked, spit, sweat, bled, blown my nose, picked my ears, taken lint out of my belly button, shaved, farted, and clipped my toenails

Of course Joe and I decided to update it to this effect:

so since I've been home I've urinated, ejaculated, pulled drugs out of my ass, shat drugs out of my ass, shat, farted, had anal sex, and hung out with Ian

She never got either IM, though, and never inquired as to what they were when I mentioned it to her. I took it as a sign.

The Philosophy

2005-08-11T02:53:00.000-04:00

To discuss the philosophy would be a blatant and utter violation thereof.

This cute poetic sentence with oxymoronic undertones was fist put together by me and Joe back in the 6th grade. It wound up, of course, being much more true than most people guessed.

For one thing, although people laugh at me when I say that I'm writing my blog for no one, it is true: I'm writing this for NO ONE. No one will read this. Well, maybe someone (you) will stumble upon this someday, but it's not so much an up-to-date conversational exchange. Let me thus consider myself alone.

And now I'm free. I'm talking to myself. Everyone talks to himself. Oh wait, I can't know that. But I do and that's all that really matters. It's never really bothered me. I've never really thought I was crazy for it. Sometimes I feel like I'm practicing my accent or my acting skills, or my flirting skils, or yes, even my numchuck skills. My mouth isn't very far away from my brain. I've always maintained that as thoughts go, the only ones that go anywhere beyond instinct are ones you conceive of in language. So I'm thinking aloud.

Anyway-- all this is not my point. How about this for a source of freedom: take the initial sentence. What say you heard me say: My philosophy is not to talk to anybody about my philosophy. That's where the sentence comes from. But I've already broken it. But then, okay, let's just say that at any new point, I can reaffirm the philosophy. From now on I can tell no one. That's the point, in and of itself. Can I be alone? Can a philosophy be independent of all but one person: me?

I've thought about this question for years. And it seems with each passing year it becomes more and more relevent. I'm at a phase right now where I'm redoing my entire judgment system of the value of others. For some out there they're taking as given. Me, I'm more of a loner. I've always been lonely. So I need this philosophy. Here's what it boils down to: Am I the source of my own inspiration and curiosity and happiness, or is the fact that I'm always so lonely just mean that I'm a dismal person. See, I want the first. In a way, I can force the first to be true. But I need as an axiom the philosophy. The one in the title.

Enjoy the Silence

2005-07-24T04:33:00.000-04:00

Words like violence
Break the silence
Come crashing in
Into my little world

Painful to me
Pierce right through me
Cant you understand
Oh my little girl

All I ever wanted
All I ever needed
Is here -- in my arms
All I ever wanted
All I ever needed
Is here -- in my arms

Vows are spoken
To be broken
Feelings are intense
Words are trivial
Pleasures remain
So does the pain
Words are meaningless
And unforgettable

All I ever wanted
All I ever needed
Is here -- in my arms
All I ever wanted
All I ever needed
Is here -- in my arms
Words are very unnecessary
They -- can only do harm

Words like violence
Break the silence
Come crashing in
Into my little world

Painful to me
Pierce right through me
Cant you understand
Oh my little girl

All I ever wanted
All I ever needed
Is here -- in my arms
All I ever wanted
All I ever needed
Is here -- in my arms

Vows are spoken
To be broken
Feelings are intense
Words are trivial
Pleasures remain
So does the pain
Words are meaningless
And -- forgettable

All I ever wanted
All I ever needed
Is here -- in my arms
All I ever wanted
All I ever needed
Is here -- in my arms
All I ever wanted
All I ever needed
Is here -- in my arms
Words are very unnecessary
They -- can only do harm
Can only do harm

Sometimes we can quote others for just what we need.

Shisha

2005-07-17T23:19:00.000-04:00

Just for those who don't seem to know:

Shisha, the tobacco-like substance, the aparatus, and the spirit itself are all components of one of the nicest activities available. Some may know the pipe as a Hookah, but according to certain Egyptians (;-), that's also called a Shisha. Or something.

Listen, the part that's bad about cigarettes are that their addicting and they contain tar. Tar kills you. Slowly. Nicotine makes you addicted (and feel really good). But if you smoke something you're addicted to that doesn't give you any tar, you're in the clear!

I know you know this. But there are some people who don't. I think maybe a nice purpose to a blog is to promulgate useful information that you don't want to have to explain in person. Like existentialism.

Loyalty

2005-07-16T18:20:00.000-04:00

Greetings all (i.e. no one):

I told many real people that I wouldn't continue my blog until I had internet in my apartment. Well, it finally happened: I'm stealing wireless from someone out there-- I just have to sit close to the door.

I also have something to talk about. Now, my trip to Europe initiated a whole branch of new thoughts for me regarding independence. A profound realization of what it really is. Now, let me not pass any judgments on it right here. You can determine the virtue in profound independence all your own. Let me describe how this affected me upon my return.

Picture this: I brought Joe and Brian (both biatches in the good sense) up to Montreal for the Jazz festival. One night we were in Brutopia (a pub, duh). And so, the three of us plus say, five others were around this one L-shaped table. Two of them felt rather uncomfortable at this table and so suggested we move, moved themselves, then I followed. Then Joe and Brian remained so I went to get them with a bona fide invitation: Hey guys do you want to come and sit over at that table.

Joe was, not unlike myself at earlier junctures, a little bit ticked off at all the moving and following people around and so forth (let's assume there had been other instances earlier that night). I started telling him about the independence (well, again) and he said that's not what friends do--to up and leave.

Now, let's go through it again. My schtick is that I'm always the one calling people; I'm always the one organizing stuff; I'm always the one having people over; and finally, I'm always the one buying people more drinks when they look out of it. Not to toot my own horn. There are many people out there who do this. I just find I'm the only one in my group of friends who does. Anyway, that said, I think that entitles me to push for what I consider the true brand of fun: the libertarian brand of fun: you go where you want when you want and talk to whoever you want. It's just as it always was with me, only now I feel I'm better at it!!

But according to him, Loyalty (avec un grand L) is not running off for the purposes of fun. I guess at this point I'll get his rendition wrong because I found it arbitrary to begin with, and was too drunk anyway. The idea is that there is a line during a soiree dividing loyalty and bad behavior. It's something like, we go in together, we leave together. You don't run off at any point. If you do, you preface it.

Hmm it sounds good on paper (monitor) but to me, say, the instants of fun are precisely those improvisations and conversation extensions to unknown murky people--the ones at the bar or at the next table or on the dance floor and honestly I've talked to my friends so many times that. No. They're still good. They always are: but variety is what makes me appreciate them. Variety gives me more to talk about, and allows for the unknown.

What we say to each other may be hilarious, but to achieve moments of coolness or precise definition by the other (re: existentialism) or surprise, we have to talk to strangers.

A Proper Analysis

2004-12-16T19:11:00.000-05:00

What is loneliness, really? After so much philosophy I would say it's simply anguish over a lack of human contact in the future. Do I know myself to be charming, or at least acceptable enough to have friends in my later life? I believe so. But let me not analyze it from this context; I fear it is a little too trite.

The effect of loneliness on me: A lack of drive. A lack of accomplishment (is all accomplishment measured out in others' coffee spoons?). Truly, it is a quest each day from rise to retire to convince myself that what I'm doing actually matters to me. I'm certain I like what I do, but that does not answer the question.

What does it mean to matter? What is importance? Are these questions simply too difficult to answer fully? I can provide examples and counterexamples, but no precise definitions that would make deduction easier. I need them. I need philosophy.

The promulgation of style

2004-11-26T01:51:00.000-05:00

I asked myself: if my creativity is being stymied, at what juncture precisely is this happening?

That is to say, there must be something within me that keeps changing which leaves me with a slightly different personality than before. This must be the acquisition of style.

But reflection tells me that it must be a discrete moment. While it may be subconscious, there must be a moment when a true change in attitude comes to the surface. And I notice it.

I think what happens is that that moment I feel myself being "creative." I'm improvising, experimenting with a slightly different motif. I also noticed that if someone is around you then they notice that you're acting weird. On a more observable plane, you may notice that if you come back to your friends a few days later after having had an epiphane of sorts, they'll certainly think you're acting strangely. So imagine me: I always have a certain individual around me. The only way to avoid this feeling is either not to change, which I deem impossible, or to change into precisely the person that I think she expects out of me.

And they say you can't change someone... you're doing it all the time!

So, in the spirit of monitoring on all possible levels I brought it up. I said to her: I think I'm going to act a little eccentric. Will this preface truly curb that look in her eye or will it just palliate it? And if the latter is the case, will that be enough to regain style? We'll see.

Am I the only one who's fucking normal anymore?

2004-11-08T21:35:00.000-05:00

Sorry for the curse in the title. I just feel bad when I change Eminem's lines.

So, Saturday morning I suggest to a McGillian friend of mine nee in Ontario that my girlfriend, Joanna, would be lucky if she moved to America now because of the exchange rate. It wouldn't be too expensive to start there, and after she got a job, it wouldn't matter anyway. (Deep down, I don't know if I can testify that this comment was made to make conversation without having to result in an overstated political theorem)(that's because I've gotten too accustomed to doing so, I don't notice if it's happening or not).

She responds, "Yes, but then she'd have to live in the States." I return the blankest stare I can muster, and she said, "Sorry, dude."

I must say, you don't have to be a die-hard liberal if you don't want to! But wait, your boyfriend and all his friends are.... hmmm... I guess it is a little hard to found your own ideas under that context (yeah, right!). But even then, you could go to the source and make some conclusions and simply keep quiet when things arise. Like me. Then again, I didn't really do a good job of that since everyone hates me anyway: I am the embodiment of what their fighting against right? I mean, they have no trouble taking down an ignorant evangelican, but an actually intellectual who's conservative? Lo and behold! O wept! But still I'm sure with your social skills you can avoid having to show conviction on any issue. But then, you are Canadian, and nationality is much more important that well-being or integrity.

Don't take that too seriously, but be warned: if your only news source is your friends, you forfeit your right to an opinion.

What's more! The next member of the group sends out emailings semiweekly with political propaganda! What pretensiousness! What gall do you have in you that convinces you that people want deep down to read the quasi-intellectual slanted jerky you can produce. I'd seriously like to discuss this at length. Someone email me.

And there's more. I mean, what has four years here at a difficult university taught you? Band together in packs? Survival of the fittest? If you're not with us, you're against us? And since I can't claim to know so much more about adult life I have to wonder: what is going to happen to me out there. Will I find another group with an equally unfounded demagogue which sucks in potentially free thinkers?

I'll be back. I'm not done.

Whew! Back.

2004-11-08T18:24:00.000-05:00

Hi there--with smily face--good to see you.

Yes I've been gone for a while but I had a good reason: my girlfriend started reading my blog. In fact, I'd say she was the only one, but that would prove that you do not exist, which is impossible, since you are reading this.

That is a good reason: and here's why. If she reads whatever I write, prepared to criticize, then it's as if I'm writing these entries to her. But then I also have to write them to a general audience. Writing to both of these readers at once is impossible without either a lack of shame on my part or a lack of content on the blog's part.

Frankly, I'm quite frank in here. I'm that way that 13 year olds get when they think all non-sexually perverted thoughts and present them to slightly older compassionates in order to confuse them and ellicit pity.

In a sense, this blog has a better existence without followers, but that lack of followers eliminates its existence.

Still, it's free, so why not do it, Owen?

Why not,
owen.

2004-08-19T00:45:00.000-04:00

From south of West Egg:

Let me tell you I'm sick and tired of this sick and tired shit. It's the embodiment of the summer. My life in abeyance.

And what kills me is when I get my enthusiam back for one brief, shining moment:

Godel, Escher, Bach. What a book! At long last the conciliance I picked up from Mr Stephen Jay Gould can finally be put into practice. So I read the first chapter and of course it was a dream come true. Then some sort of lethargic wash hit me at the first chapter break. I remembered that my pleasure was workaholism.

I learned one thing this summer: I need forty hours of work per week. And real work, not drinking beer or even blogging. Which is why I could never be a writer --> if I considered it work, it'd never be good! At least this way I can be spontaneous.

Ring me up a check.
Post a forty label on my forehead, and call it art.

An Attempt at Self-Criticism

2004-08-04T10:36:00.000-04:00

...in the words of Nietzsche.

Seriously, Brian told me he read my blog, which of course took him ten minutes, and said that while it was "fine" it was virtually nothing. I have to update it a few times a week! I can make having a blog my style. So Brian what should I write about? -Your thoughts. -What if I have none? -Make them up. -But I want to write well. -Practice.

Look, let's review what the purpose of this rambling really is. First of all, since my audience is so limited, I can't put my thoughts down every time, because all my friends will have already heard them. No, there has to be a higher purpose. At first I thought that one could be to write out thoughts which are too complicated to articulate in conversation. That is a noble goal (heh.... noble...), but I can't say I have too many of those.

I've been reading Ken's blog (feel free to ask me who Ken is) (or anyone, really), which he had dropped for a number of months, but recently started adding entries to every other day. He said:

It's time to get this going again, anyway. For a couple of reasons. One, is that the only way I know how to be funny is by self-deprecation, and I'm getting a little full of myself. I need to get back in the habit of self-analysis so I can get rid of the idea that I'm doing pretty well. I don't believe anything good ever came from being content. Also, due to various circumstances I'm going to be moving out of my apartment in the next couple of months. Which, of course, means new apartment adventures, which is what this space is all about. Yeah!

In reverse order, let me tell you that no new apartments are on the way, so damn. I agree that very little good comes out of being content, but then sometimes I take it a little too far. Ken is a very smart guy, but his theories are like mine: too catholic when expressed in words (please, look up "catholic" in the dictionary, don't just let it slide by). They work well in my head though, and supposedly in his too.

As for self-deprecation, let me tell you: I definitely throw it in the blog. But unlike Ken, I'm not funny, I more starkly depressing. Look at that last sentence, for charity's sake! I'm not afraid of admitting anything I think. What I am afraid of is realizing that avowing my own nature does not make it better. It actually leaves me with no options on how to improve--- as in, okay, I admitted it, I'm an asshole, what do I do now??

The Back Page

2004-07-23T13:28:00.000-04:00

As a quick thinking senatorial aide switched on the Senate's public-address system and cued up the infamous "Seven Minutes of Funk" break, Mr. Leahy and Mr. Cheny went head-to-head in what can only be described as a "take no prisoners" freestyle rap battle.

-The New Yorker

It's not even my own writing, but I knew when I read this earlier today that I had to share it with my listeners. But if I may rant, I must say I was disappointed with the rest of the New Yorker that I encountered. The "Talk of the Town" section really had nothing but cloying rhetoric: the same left-wing arguments I've heard my whole life only written with more style. To draw a parallel, let's think of the left-wing as all minor keys in music. Minor keys lead straitway to interesting melodies brimming with style. Very few major melodies share in this popularity. Of course, good music must use both major and minor feels, just as good politics must have competition.

To give you a sense of what I mean, let me fish through the magazine for an example.... Adam Gopnik writes about the nascent ubiquity of the bicycletaxi in midtown. Yes, the "modern" rickshaw. In the spirit of today's periodicals, he first drops a few names then makes a moral judgement, (then drops another reference):

What Robert Reich has talked about for years, and John Edwards has talked about for the past several months--that the gaps has widened between the wealthy few and everybody else--is, in the bicycle taxi, suddenly given a local habitation and a loud bell. The feeling is not even so much capitalist as feudal. You are the lord of the manor, being pulled through the streets on a sedan chair; he is Piers Plowman, in spandex shorts.

See: it's good writing. Let me criticize it, rather than the underlying politics. First, the last word: shorts. "Spandex" would suffice perfectly in this context, but saying "spandex shorts" makes him sound like an old fart. I conclude either he is an old fart (that is, he lacks the ability of young people to adapt to new things), or he's trying to be one for his audience, which is more offensive. But this brings me to my second point: that it is precisely young people who do this job. Could you fathom anyone over the age of twenty-four pedaling the bike? I never imagined feudalism as the old money-holders protecting the young able-bodied workers.

Do readers of the New Yorker really exist in a bubble that somehow this writer is without? He's saying: look, midtowners, now you have to own up to young people's lack of wealth. I'm certain that businessmen and women were also young once and quite aware of how much work and sacrifice they had to put in to attain their current position (as the people who can afford to ride in the bicycle taxi).

So to criticize the name of the section "The Talk of the Town," my question is this: is this what people discuss (I mean literally, not just something that might come up under espresso-charged ruminations), or is this fuel for discussion? And if someone brings one of these topics up, he's sure to use the same style as those authors. So that's what the New Yorker now strikes me as: style in a can.

Ccccccars

2004-07-06T13:32:00.000-04:00

I noticed that most of the kids I know like sports cars. Let's see: CLK 500, S2000, and then those companies which I consider out of the running: Ferrari, etc. But why this obsession? I mean, since life isn't Grand Theft Auto 3, we really have no use for fast cars. So what do you use these really small (even two seater), low to the ground, bumpy ride cars for? Basically to make up for your small penis.

Alright I'm exaggerating. I don't doubt that you have a healthy-sized penis. But there seriously is little more obnoxious than those drivers who peel out of a red right because that's the only speed they can use their big engine.

If you're going to spend the money, why not get a luxury car? I mean, my dream car is the S600 (once again, there are some cars which are out of the running: Aston Martin, Bentley, etc.). But say you have a reasonable amount of money for your car (ca. US$ 30k). Then you can get a Maxima or an Avalon, which both have tons of leg room, good gas mileage, and luxurious suspension. Or, if you still insist on a luxury car (or if you want a small car because you live in a city), you can get a Mercedes C-class or BMW 3-series. Both of these have awesome handling (which really make driving much more fun than a big engine).

Or you could get another one of my favorite cars: the Chevy Trailblazer. Now for those of you who hate SUVs for the sake of hating SUVs, let me tell you something. This car gets awesome gas mileage (three times my midsize, admittedly old, Taurus). Some figures include 27 MPG city, over 30 highway. I'd also mention that it handles like a mercedes (and has a really tight turning radius like a mercedes). Finally, cars are really really easy to drive if you're high up. This leads the car to be safer. Being right off the ground in a Lambroghini doesn't give you the greatest perspective of the road. It's fun because it's scary, but you can't claim to be a better driver for it.

Of course, it'll be years before I can afford a decent car. Until then I'll be sticking to gas-guzzling eleven-year-old GM's with huge GM doors and keys that fall out of the ignition while you're driving.

Internal Debate

2004-06-19T14:37:00.000-04:00

Tonight, I was supposed to cook dinner for a girl. But then she called me up this morning saying that she didn't really feel comfortable coming over and that we should go elsewhere for a coffee (or something like that I don't really know it was in French). And what a shame this is! I had practiced the dish (chicken marsala) just the other night and it tasted great! I had all the necessary ingredients, plus wine and cappuccino (had she wanted either).

So I'm going to see her later, and I can't help asking myself whether or not to let her know about all the effort I put in to getting the dinner ready. I mean, what will I do with the ingredients at this point? Throw them out? Make the dinner for myself? I'm certain they will spoil soon.

You see how besetting it is to me, but that's not my point. I'm wondering if telling her about my effort is a way to make her feel guilty, maybe even to put her under me (figuratively), or in my debt. Anyone would have a drive to do this. It's the idea that I can but don't that bugs me. I mean, she doesn't know that I'm "sparing" her, and I could never tell her, because that categorically destroys "sparing" her.

After so many years of experience and reflection on situations exactly like this one, I've concluded that I actually can handle not telling her, and not getting the juicy satisfaction that comes with it. Of course, I'm telling you who are reading the blog, so it's not left completely unsaid. I think the true foundation of nobility (however skewed the definition may be in this case) lies in refusing to tell at least one other person about a good deed. You have to find the satisfaction within yourself.

It's like I've said: To discuss the philosophy would be a blatant and utter violation thereof.

Steady Hands

2004-06-18T17:38:00.000-04:00

If you ever buy a school bag at the McGill bookstore, they will advertise free repairs on it for its lifetime. As my school bag had had its arm ripped from its shoulder last semester, I decided to take them up on their offer. I then discovered that this free repair was in fact a couple of weeks without the bag, while I myself mail it to the company. There was, however, a note on the bottom of the statement that read, "For our montreal customers, come to us directly and we'll do it on the spot. Take the 165 north to..." well it was a distance, but anything to save a trip to the post office. Armed with my broken bag, a copy of Ulysses, and a monthly bus pass well-haggled from the cutest of physics students, I set off to Ecogold's factory.

The 165 goes the distance, all the way past the bakeries and Maisons de la Presse of Cote-des-Neiges, past a Canadian Tire in the core of a shopping center you don't know exists, and through some light residential to the Mont-Royal train station. I got off at rue Goyer, on one of the most pleasant of spring days. It was a thursday afternoon, maybe 2 PM. The regulars were all at work; the workers were outside working. There were still the very old, efficaciously reserving their spots on the line at the bus stop, and there were the very young who were all but carefully monitored by their mothers who never ever notice me.

Stately, I leave the cote-des-neiges bustle and head into some back streets littered with low-rise houses. Chain-linked fences arbitrarily dotted the scenery, belonging to the more weary residents. It was a lower-middle class neighborhood, but overall I could sense the effort that the locals put into their houses. Just to my north I found the street where Ecogold supposedly resides. This street immediately reminded me of Railroad avenue on Long Island (that's where you find the sock factory). At night it's desolate. During the day you can sense activity, based on the occasional passing van or hearing accentless chatter through a dusty window tilted open. I could not escape the feeling that nine out of ten of these factories were abandoned, and those who remained felt their absense.

I chose one building out of ten based on the address. No signs anywhere, no buzzer to get in, no people nor birds watching me choose. I climbed up three sets of stairs and pushed through a door with no latch. Make one last corner and finally I spied past two sets of fire doors Ecogold's black and white logo, poster size at the end of the hall. I made my way there and found a little buzzer beside a door. I pressed it and a minute later a door behind me was opened by a little man. He greeted me and invited me into the sewing room. His French was gentle but his English was gentler. There were enough machines to handle a working force of fifty, but I found only two others in the room, who were quite content not to stir at my presence. I showed him my bag's dislocated shoulder and he brought me over to his machine.

I knew I could relax on that metal stool and watch him. His thick, calloused fingertips carefully removed the bobin of red thread from inside the machine. He searched his drawer and withdrew a bobin already prepared with black thread and loaded it. He then found the same black thread on a spool and loaded it on the top of the machine, steadily drawing the end around a wheel and finally through the needle. I watched him position himself to use the petal. After so much preparation, he finished fixing my bag within a few moments, his blue eyes monitoring his steady hands from up high.

While I probably could have stayed there in a my own style of meditation, I knew it was time to leave. I thanked him and made my way back to the bus stop. I remembered that I used to do physical work and while I didn't enjoy it at the time, I missed it the instant I stopped. I think maybe people are designed to enjoy a repetitious frame of mind. A meditation of the hands.

Sartre

2004-06-10T11:49:00.000-04:00

There are three legs to my philosophy as a whole: Nietzsche's false idols, Sartre's definition by the Other, and Kierkegaard's leveling process. Now that's both an inaccurate exaggeration and an exaggerated inaccuracy. But you simply must hear about Sartre.

Back when I was a little kid, oh perhaps 15 years of age, I shared with my audience down at the coffee house my brand new theory: I am no one. I am precisely no one. In fact, I'm solely made up of all the other people I've ever met. Well, they thought it was cute but they didn't think all too much about it. I basically buried the idea until just recently when I realized it was exactly what Sartre had in mind.

To run this philosophy down as quickly as possible to get to the juicy applications, let's start with the assumptions: Existence precedes essence. That is to say, we can define everything's essence by our own experience. And I think therefore I am. That is to say, my consciousness exists (the part that thinks!). But what about this body that keeps following me around. Is that me? Is that an extension of me? How can I know?

Well, when I recognize another consciousness, another subject that I know is just like my own, I become aware of my own body. I have an emotional response to what my body is doing: if I'm naked, I feel embarrassed; if I'm caught stealing, I'm ashamed; if I'm caught looking damn good, I'm proud. And guess what, if there's no one there, I feel none of these! These emotions prove that I am my body (my ego as Sartre liked to put it).

There are some direct applications: first, we can use this to observe what we think about others. The level of embarrassment we feel is different before different people. Way back in the day I dare suggest that, having no flirting technique whatsoever, I would frequently resort to being downright weird in front of girls. I can't remember flat out what it was that I did (I'd have loved to share it with you), but suffice it to say that I would not behave this way in front of my guy friends. Nor would I ever tell them about it. Eventually I realized that telling myself only to act in the way I would in front of everyone would produce better results. This isn't that hard and fast a rule, but it certainly counts for flirting in high school. So what does this say: it says that I felt that my guy friends could understand me more than these random girls. Naturally--they were my friends. Having grown up together we obviously thought pretty similarly. They would know exactly what I was thinking, and know exactly how shitty my thoughts really were. But only they could, and my embarrassment proves it.

One time I was in a grocery store among countless 40 and 50 somethings clad in sweatpants and sunglasses on chains. One in ten brought their offspring, who generally tooled abortively around the store. Remember how kids act? Drunk, screaming, bumping in to you. So imagine this: I see two girls of 8 years at opposite ends of the aisle. They approach each other bitching out their mothers. Then they see each other, and they both become calm and composed and try to look as cool as possible (for a grocery store, a feat worth mentioning). The girls did not feel embarrassment in front of their mothers, only in front of each other. Their change in behavior shows this, and this embarrassment proves that they recognized each other as the most observant of subjects.

And the applications have just begun! Stay tuned for more, but right now I have to go back to work.

Gay Marriage

2004-06-03T00:06:00.000-04:00

So Owen, are you for Gay marriage?

Well, yes I'm "for" it, but that's a pretty easy way out, isn't it? It isn't all that pragmatic. I think it's really important to investigate some of the factors involved.

First of all, gays can already get married. Indeed, two people can sign a social contract that will be validated (and enforced) on the state level. And as more people do this, the more standard it becomes (common law) and the easier it becomes for the next couple (precedents).

So then it became a federal issue. I don't know whose doing this was, but they are at fault. Remember our first assumption: attitude follows behavior. Behavior is this: marriage as a term is not attributed to gays, gay couples aren't prevalent outside of cities, and homosexuality is not supported by the church. In fact, many people find sodomy disgusting (I couldn't imagine why...) So what's the resulting attitude: marriage should be protected from bastardization.

Bringing an issue like this to the federal level is not how to enact change in this country! Of course people will react negatively! Because it's different! One changes the law first, and attitudes follow. Martin Luther King knew it, and that was why he was our greatest civil rights leader. So I, of course, think that whoever or whichever group brought this to the forefront was trying to make a stand. Trying to confront people who have been denying them their natural rights.

I mean face it, if you're gay in high school you're going to get made fun of big time. I got made fun of for something--I can't quite recall what--and really took it to heart. But that's just it: some people would want retribution for all that torment. They might want to say, "After all these years, I win."

I imagine it was people like this who brought this issue up. The only real way to show their oppressors that they won requires that it be a national issue (because people tend to mind their own business out in the suburbs). And what makes this ploy especially viable is that it was guaranteed to have a negative response.

So the question is this: do gays want marriage or do gays want everyone to know that they have marriage?

Now you're angry.

What amazes me is that Bush's orignal stance what the right one: when elected, he said that is was a state issue and that it should stay a state issue. But due to the inherent reaction of our populus he then was advised to change his stance to get votes.

Hem, it's hard to be libertarian. You can only choose the lesser of two evils.

2004-06-01T15:19:00.000-04:00

Someone offers a hand shake
I give him a 5-5

Flashbulbs speaking diggity wiggity
while these hicks are thinking
they're bigger and better than all I muster
Jobim
Ten rolled snowballs
yelling --wrap it up, O

Head-holed chunks in a woodchuck's graveyard
How much hand can a rotten man hold?
A man alikened to a christian death
A silver cat scratches on my welcome mat.

A mandate for the masses

2004-05-29T20:02:00.000-04:00

This is a number of years in the making. Have you all noticed a common characteristic among the recently popular movies of Troy, the Lord of the Rings and Gladiator (and I can go on...) Something about the way they talk. A proto-Shakespearean dialogue which distances reality leaving us in the story world.

But this isn't good. I recently learned that this way of speaking is referred to as "Stage English." Now if you ask me this is an oxymoron. The stage, or acting, is all about style. The way to express human experience without improvising. Well, improvising, but not the actual words. Stage English is designed completely to lack style and emotion, to distance the speaker from the audience. Yes, we get the fact that you exist in a fictional world. Is this a world without human experience? Without emotions? Apparently. All you do is fight for a religious good.

And apparently the American public cares about a world such as this.

Honestly, I don't have the time anymore.

So what precisely makes this English so bad? First, nobody speaks this way. No it's not American nor British, nor is it ancient. It's a joke; and every line delivered, once you have this mentality, is worse than the last. English vowels have style (there are 32 distinct vowel sounds in English--more than any other common language), but Stage English tries to eliminate many them. English uses a glottal stop, but due to its imprecision, it goes unused in stage English.

Secondly, everybody speaks as if he's Yoda. You're not Yoda. Tolerate any more sujects gratuitously added to the end of sentences I won't. And most importantly, "shall" should only be used in the first person. Never again shall the evil of Mordor plague our peoples.

And my third point is that the entire idea behind these movies is tthat they be legendary. And the way they try to achieve this seems to be only through stage English. The charachers are distanced from the audience just because they speak through a falsely official tongue. If I were to hear someone speak this way, be he a student or my boss or my professor, I'd seriously have to ask him if he were drunk. This language is a deception to the people. None of us should stand for easy answers or a false presentation of the official, the important, or the good. We should determine on our own what's important, then seek actors who can present it in the most genuinely human demeanor.

I noticed that some of the lines are just great to hear, because they're powerful or noteworthy or sound bite meriting. A simple solution is to listen to Tom Waits, because he's said it all before, with more style than any of these clowns.

New Year's Resolution

2004-05-27T13:07:00.000-04:00

Today I finally turned 21. And I think it's the perfect time for me to start my weed rebellion. When I was younger there was an ethos behind smoking weed. Perhaps it was just the fact that we weren't supposed to. Perhaps it was that older kids liked it. Much more likely is that the effect is completely unexpected. Indeed I spent years trying to figure out exactly what it did. But that's just it, I think I do know what it does, and I do expect it. I believe that most people think it "feels good" in the simplest sense. Of course I don't enjoy it in the way most people do. I was always in it for the intellectual experience. One more change in perspective.

But that's all over, and it has been replaced by extreme paranoia. Now, I'm not so scared of the 5-0 nor my parents (I've figured out ways to escape those (mainly being in Montreal)), it lies embedded a little deeper. And thanks to the brain-mapping power of weed I was able to express it eloquently: paranoia = overmonitoring.

So what is monitoring? We've decided that human beings are the only creatures who are truly free. That is, we have free will. And this is because we are able to monitor our own thoughts, and change them when they don't seem to work. And the part that truly makes us free, unlike animals, is that, recursively, we can monitor any monitor, ad infinitum. One can always take a step back from whatever one's thinking.

But I don't want to monitor all the time. I mean, having to think so much is a curse. The only escape is when thinking is productive. Monitoring is fundamental to thinking, but elements that are not reflective are of utmost importance.

Imagine trying to write a haiku in the style of Jack Kerouac. An improv, a joke, a sample of writing. As he directed: "Telling the true story of the world in interior monolog." Write one word and then write another before you think. The true interior monologue. Then you mess it all up by thinking, "Boulders and pastries -- wow that's a great start... oh shit I'm thinking oh shit what would be good now, something that has to do with boulders or pastries or sounds like pastries how about pastoral junkies and..." ...and you lost it. (Note that each "oh shit" is one step backward, one kernal of popping corn). This is precisely what weed does: I reflect more. I become more of a fox than a hedgehog. But to the point of being bad. To the point of being useless.

Then, couple that with my new-found adult life. The one where I'm paranoid ever sober moment I have anyway of trying to find a good job and a good school and a girlfriend and how I always say things that are borderline dirtbag to every girl I know. That's what overmonitoring does: it stymies productive thinking on how to solve these problems while leaving me at the one point where I actually feel the anxiety of the job search, the apprehension of university, and the unmitigated shame of being a dirtbag. With no hope of taking a step forward.

That's paranoia; that's overmonitoring. That's why I'm quitting smoking phattie blunts.

New Thing

2004-05-25T01:08:00.000-04:00

Welcome to my first blog. In a purely selfish and conceited move, I'm going to attempt to explore all the thoughts and musings I can muster. I will show you what it's like to think like me. I will present promogulations you never thought existed. I will practice.