February, 2007

creative writing — No Comments
28
Feb 07

If You Want To Go To Graduate School (Part 20)

The Jam’s “Liza Radley” is about a free-spirited young woman who lives in a small town/middle class neighborhood and does not fit in at all. That name kind of its my friend, who like the others, can’t be named.

Liza Radley (continued)
First, Liza called me the next day and told me something had happened after Gabriel and I left. She could not remember a thing at all, but she asked Brandon if he used a condom. Then Brandon sent her flowers and aplogized.

I don’t remember who called whom, but I talked to Brandon next. He told me his side of the story, saying that Liza came on to him and really wanted it. I listened to him, heard what he had to say, heard him defend himself, but never accused him. Somehow, things were not going to be the same. We were close, conspiritatorial friends in the beginning, ditching Teaching Composition classes and even going out to see the Sick and Twisted animation festival and the MFA party together. He would often jokingly give me a hard time about being gay. No more.

Even though I didn’t intend to take sides, I took Liza’s. She felt awkward, couldn’t talk to Brandon at all for a semester. And it took a while for her to forgive him for what had transpired, but she did.

to be continued…

Uncategorized — No Comments
27
Feb 07

If You Want To Go To Graduate School (Part 19)

Last time in this series, I discussed my own 9/11 craziness and explored Professor Joseph K’s “Madness in Literature” course. It’s been a while since I’ve written any installments for this series, so here’s a link to the introduction if you want to read up. This latest entry is the story of a friend I met in the program.

Liza Radley
If any of my MFA experiences were like Christopher Isherwood’s Berlin Stories or Cabaret, then Liza Radley was my Sally Bowles. She had that classic gamine appeal, somewhere between Audrey Hepburn and Liza Minelli*. Artsy and free spirited without having the affected persona that often accompanies those traits, Liza commanded attention nonetheless. Though small in stature, she was outgoing, openly passionate, and loudly opinionated, which made her a memorable presence as a poet.

I met Liza at the first or second week mixer for new MFA’s. It is difficult to remember everything about someone at those meetings. I also met her on the bus ride home from one of my fiction workshops and on a bus evacuation of the campus during 9/11, but neither of those meetings had much impact on me. Even though she was never my girlfriend, a date had the most impact on me in getting to know her as my friend. Since Liza was new to town, she often took new friends to Hipps, a notorious drag queen nightclub was in the district where she lived. Somewhere between my time at Professor K. office doing journal work and her time at the poetry journal office, we agreed to meet at Hipps at the end of the week. I put on my favorite iridescent shirt and boots, while Liza showed up in a simple red chemise. Oddly, some blonde women who looked like they were from the more conservative eastern part of the county thought Liza was a drag queen. We both found that perception strange and amusing, and something about conspiratorially watching the drag queens humiliate selected patrons was fun. After Hipps had its run, we went down to a British styled pub, where Liza flirted with an Irish bartender who knew nothing of Seamus Heaney. At the end of the night and our drinks, we walked arm and arm for a couple of more blocks and crashed at her apartment. We had breakfast at a Russian restaurant a block north of her place, which was good for our hangovers.

I soon started to hang out with Liza and Alexandra, a gifted, but conservative poet who pursued having a close friendship with Liza. Occasionally in the orbit of the Liza/Alexandra nucleus were Brandon, the mid-western surfer poet who sounded had more of a southern California accent than I, and Gabriel, a textbook Gen-X type who always had something sarcastic to say about everyone. There were a few times where Alexandra, Brandon, Gabriel, and I hung out and played cards and drank lots of red wine. Then there was the time where we went to Monster Trucks at the stadium. Liza made spontaneous plans to go to to the event and got Alexandra and Gabriel on board. I got the message late, so I bought a ticket from a scalper and tried to find them once there. If I had a cell phone, locating them would have been easy. However, I spent an hour canvassing a few levels, and finally met my friends by chance. I described it as a “happy accident,” which Gabriel would make fun of for a while. That night, I also met Topher, her on and off boyfriend of the past few years who would become central to the drama of her life in the next year.

Before Topher was back in her life, she dated a nerdy guy from the Essay Composition department. I don’t remember if I’ve met him on any outings, but I do remember hanging out with him for a bit at the Halloween party at her boyfriend’s house. Liza wore a small, tight black dress, a cowboy hat and boots, transforming the outfit with spiderwebs and Arachne on her skin, done with eyeliner. My skirt was longer, of course. I had a Chinaman’s cheongsam and I wore that. Some other people, such as Brandon dressed up as an Australian outbacker and Gabriel in a priest’s outfit, were present. There was one guy, Hosea, whose form-fitting skeleton costume highlighted the shape of his ass, which I kept looking at throughout the entire party. For a while afterwards, I would refer to him having a nice ass if I couldn’t or didn’t want to remember his name. Liza and her boyfriend retreated at one point from the party to his room, where they had loud sex that could be heard by everyone in the living room. They would date for a short while more, though the Halloween party is the last time I can concretely remember them being together.

Since Brandon and I were quick friends and we were in the “Teaching Composition” course together, we would often talk about our mutual crush on Liza Radley. Mine was the gay man’s type, which doesn’t go anywhere and is often expressed in an admiration and friendship, while Brandon’s was very strong. Of course, I had an attraction to Brandon, making this a “bizarre love triange” of sorts.

After the Christmas break, with Liza Radley, Brandon, and Alexandra back in town, there was a small get-together. I met up with Liza, Alexandra, and Gabriel at a Japanese restaurant for dinner and the party later moved to Liza’s apartment with card playing, conversation, and copious amounts of red wine. Brandon crashed the party, drank wine out of a Pyrex measuring cup, and took his shirt off and gave me a lapdance while I commented on how sexy he was. When the party was over, Alexandra went home and I got a ride with Gabriel. However, Brandon remained, and then it would be a story of he said/she said.

to be continued…

*Liza Minelli’s portrayal of Sally Bowles in Cabaret.

science fiction / television — No Comments
27
Feb 07

Battlestar Galactica "Dirty Hands" – further thoughts

It is interesting that Baltar, who became president through an electoral process, is held culpable for the Cylon occupation of New Caprica and even the destruction of the Colonies, while Roslin, an un-elected President tries to maintain everything that democracy stands for (though not consistently). Of course, since many on the Fleet voted for Baltar and some were even complicit with the Cylons during the occupation of New Caprica, everyone is guilty of the mess Baltar got them into.

In real life, are we guilty of the mess our president and administration have gotten us into? While some may claim that the presidential elections of 2000 and 2004 were rigged, people did vote for George Bush. And what of the millions of eligible voters who did not vote at all? Some of these people may have even expressed dissatisfaction with the current political line up (especially the executive office), but their lack of a vote was essentially a vote for Bush and then the mess.

Is Baltar comparable to Bush? Not completely, as Roslin seems to share more parallels with the current president. As a captured leader, Baltar has an affinity with Saddam Hussein, which is suggested by his disheveled appearance. While Saddam Hussein did some very legitimate things for the benefit of Iraq, these things were overshadowed by charges against him leading to his execution. Was there any benefit to Baltar’s administration? He did get most of the population on dry land with a sky over their heads for a while, but the disastrous consequences of his decision (the Cylons finding them and him becoming their puppet) overshadows any good he did.

My Triumphs, My Mistakes evokes Mein Kampf through the title, though the way characters discuss the text suggests a more Marxist thesis. While Baltar may not have cared about these ideas while he was president, it is easier for him to see the hypocrisy of his captors from the jail cell. Under his administration, everyone equally suffered in a city of army tents, endured bitter cold, and faced delays in getting a livable urban infrastructure set up before the Cylons arrived. After leaving New Caprica, the ships and crews that service the needs of the fleet suffer from overwork, paralleling the exploitive situations of worlds such as Gemenon, Picon, and Arelon, which serviced wealthier worlds such as Caprica and Virgon before the Colonies were annihilated.

science fiction / television — No Comments
26
Feb 07

Battlestar Galactica, Season 3: Dirty Hands

Baltar does Mein Kampf. Actually, the subverseive manifesto seems to be a combination of Mein Kampf and The Communist Manifesto. Baltar’s status as Cylon collaborator and current political prisoner aboard Galactica provides basis for the former, while his observations on the developing class distinctions in the Fleet invites comparison to the latter. Here, we learn that Baltar is not Caprican, but from the rude world of Arelon. He even speaks in the accent (which sounds like an impersonation of Colonel Tigh). At this point, it is unclear why he’s distributing the manuscript or even if his claims of being from a farm on Arelon is true. However, class warfare seems to be a good red herring tactic since Baltar is to be tried for several serious crimes against humanity.

This is the first look at industry in the series, though it has been mentioned quite a few times. A few ships have been shown up close: Colonial One, Cloud Nine (a now defunct luxury liner), The Astral Queen (prison ship), and a passenger ship’s cargo hold. However, the workers and their situations haven’t been shown, although the “war” and the Fleet’s need to be on tactical alert regarding the Cylons has taxed industry to a dangerous point. Here, the viewer gets to see the harsh conditions that makes the ship’s flight possible as tylium (their main fuel source), goes from something that looks like sand to gasoline-like fluid. The grittiness of the conveyor belt is convincing, but the powder becoming a fluid is a stretch, like dead people becoming Soylent Green chips in that film’s factory scene.

Tyrol, the lead union man back on New Caprica, calls a strike. Fortunately, no Cylons come arrive and take advantage of this opportunity. However, workers who feel they are exploited and their labor has no end is highlighted here. This discontent is also present in the ranks of the enlisted, such as Cally, who reads Baltar’s observations about the class and the priveledge of certain colonies (such as Caprica) and it fuels her discontent. Others reading the manifesto suffered at the hands of Baltar’s puppet regime back on Caprica, but, like Cally, they seem quick to forget. It brings up the question of if they are better off in this regime after being liberated from benevolent occupation of the Cylons, which Baltar is associated with, on New Caprica.

film — No Comments
24
Feb 07

Edie the Factory Girl

Following an article on plagiarism and appropriation is a review of a film somewhat about someone who masterfully applied these things to his art. In Factory Girl, Warhol is one hell of a show stealer, but the protagonist here is Edie Sedgewick and this is her tragedy.

Warhol steals soup cans, Coke bottles, Brillo boxes, Jackie Kennedy’s pillbox hat, and Edie’s soul as well, all for his art. However, he does not steal it; she gives it quite freely. With Warhol, she becomes New York’s “It” girl, the superstar at his side, a girlfriend without any serious investments (sex definitely is not a sought after return for Warhol). However, Andy has quite a few of these: Ultra Violet and Viva (not shown in the film); Brigid Polk, his phone confidant and later his administrative assistant; Nico; and Valerie Solanis (not shown in the film), notorious for shooting Andy Warhol. The last example shares the most in common with Edie in her relationship to Warhol, despite her different social background. Warhol gets what he wants from Edie, notoriety.

While Edie was known for her association with Warhol and being a party girl, little is known about her as an artist. The film brings this to the viewer’s knowledge, first by showing Edie in art school, and later when she tells a psychiatrist she is having a small art show in Santa Barbara. Unfortunately, there isn’t any examples of her work shown in the film, as she became art for Warhol at great personal cost.

The film’s graininess, along with costumes and Andy’s wig, attempts to capture the feeling of old film, to lend authenticity to Factory Girl as a period piece. The texture also evokes that of one of Warhol’s films. Visually, Guy Pierce is the most convincing of the actors to play Andy Warhol with his angular face and the effective make-up job that captures his blotchy complexion. However, he is constantly hidden behind sunglasses, which is a missed opportunity to capture Warhol’s eyes. Even though Pierce characterizes Warhol well through his mannerisms, David Bowie was a more effective Warhol. Christian Haydensen’s portrayal of a musician implied to be Bob Dylan is very interesting.

Ultra Violet mentions in her memoirs about Andy Warhol that Bob Dylan adored Edie Sedgewick and that when she died, he used one of Warhol’s paintings as a dart board. On some level as a viewer, I felt cheated. As a long time admirer of Warhol, I have never been blind to his faults. He did f*#K people over. When Edie was used up, he moved on to Nico and hanging out with celebrities. Edie spends her trust fund and credit treating Warhol and the Factory to Max’s Kansas City and gets nothing in return, all the while sinking deeper and deeper into addiction. Valerie Solanis, the other famous example, hung out with Warhol hoping he would promote the SCUM Manifesto, instead he did nothing. And another famous Warhol biopic chronicles the horrific consequences.

If you’re familiar with Warhol, there’s definitely some holes in the story, especially with the Factory. However, is there time to keep track of everyone who hung out at the Factory at the time? And the film is subject to nitpicking by those who have seen the other Warhol biopics and read the Diaries and memoirs by those who knew him. However, Factory Girl introduces Warhol to a younger generation. Hopefully, it will kindle interest in Edie Sedgewick the artist.

literature / reading / writing — No Comments
23
Feb 07

"The Ecstasy of Influence: A Plagiarism" by Jonathan Lethem

Ah, Harper’s. Definitely one of my favorite magazines and one I haven’t read in a long time. I picked up this month’s issue from the bookstore last night and found an article by Jonathan Lethem, a very prolific author whose first novel, Gun With Occasional Music, was marketed as science fiction, but appropriated elements from other genres. The detective mystery novel with its pulp tones were his most obvious source, though Lethem also plundered genetic dystopias as well. While Gun With Occasional Music was obviously a derivative work, the way Lethem put together his influences was original and quirkily his own. In his essay for Harper’s, he seamlessly cobbles together various sources to form an article on plagiarism and appropriation, putting forth very legitimate arguments for how art and literature constantly take from other works and that some aspects of copyright laws are ludicrous. At the end, he reveals his sources and how they factor into his collage.

“The Ecstasy of Influence” reveals the our cultural hypocrisy in insisting on originality of content, yet plundering abounds. The highest profile culprit Lethem indicts is Disney, who appropriates fairy tales, legends, and literary works, yet strongly asserts its own hold on its icons, such as Mickey Mouse. His example of Dennis Oppenheim being sued for making sculptures of Disney Characters and Disney’s prevention of Holly Crawford from using images for her book on the art of Mickey Mose are baffling. Both point to Disney’s influence on the consciousness of contemporary culture. Also, it seems that Disney has more of chance of benefitting from these works than being injured. Though Disney may not profit directly from these works, they receive an acknowledgement of their impact in the ongoing discussion in culture, which appropriation is.

In academia, plagiarism is anathema, especially in policy. Students are regularly punished for stealing work without crediting another, and scholars stand to lose everything (especially their credibility) if they were caught pilfering another source. Then industries sprout up to protect the integrity of the ivory tower, such as Turnitin. Plagiarism is treated as a crime, but another form of appropriation is not. What about the research paper full of quotes, paraprhases, and a long list of works cited? While more legitimate in academic eyes, this type of document also appropriates other sources and creates a collage of sorts that should, of course, include the author’s insightful analysis. This then brings up the question of what’s the difference between appropriation and cheating? Could borrowing from another source be considered cheating? Perhaps.

Sampling in its various forms was controversial in the 1980′s and 1990′s, though it has gained acceptance in recent years (provided the source is properly compensated). Could sampling be considered a form of musical cheating? Maybe, but taking a melody, a bass line, or a chorus out of its context and rearranging it takes a very good ear and imagination. There are myriads of bad songs that are “original.” Shouldn’t a creative take on a song or its parts be applauded?

Appropriation is sometimes the only way a source becomes known. This is clearly the case with Tom Tom Club’s “Genius of Love,” which only became a cult hit after it was sampled. In literature, TS Eliot’s The Waste Land brings attention to Edmund Spenser’s “Prothalamion,” and W.H. Mallock’s The Human Document would be forever obscure if were not for Tom Phillips taking the text, plundering it, and rendering upon it artistic treatments.

My creative project for my MFA was one of appropriation. Like a lot of young writers, I sought to incorporate the influences in popular culture I was exposed to in my work. My protagonist’s sole obsession was the Gold Lady, an iconic figure whose image was borrowed from an abstract mannequin in a Nordstrom’s window display, and whose attributes were an amalgamation of various famous women. The prose occasionally had lines taken from pop songs (one of which was Tom Tom Club’s “Genius of Love”), and even a line borrowed from Walt Whitman (the same one used by Ray Bradbury in one of his titles). The work itself was not innocent of other influences. Blake was a big influence in presenting image and text, and Adolf Wölfli’s work also served to inform the insanity of my own.

That authors, artists, and musicians are informed by the works of others is Lethem’s point. How many literary titles reference a work of William Shakespeare’s, for example? Brave New World and The Sound and the Fury are some famous examples. These titles serve as epigrams, but then there are are also the quotes authors choose to introduce their works with, the one line quote that says it all. These acknowledged, but appropriated thoughts used to show what influenced this writer. In order for a writer to effectively write, reading is necessary. Writing, like speech, is a language that comes through use. The writer speaks (by writing), but she also hears and listens (by reading). By taking in books, journals, magazines, newspapers, and Internet text, the writer is informing her own work. In essence, no work exists in a vacuum and all works are part of the ongoing discussion in our culture.

religion — No Comments
22
Feb 07

Mr Deity and the Tour de Hell

I’ve recently done a review of this podcast I’m addicted to. Episode 7, “Mr Deity and the Tour de Hell” is now available. Here, Mr. Deity and his ex Lucy discuss how she’s done up Hell. Although they simply stand in front of a red curtain, the real fun is in the discussion, especially Lucy’s descriptions and Mr. Deity barely saving himself from putting his foot in his mouth. And leave it to Larry to botch things up.

television — No Comments
22
Feb 07

Top Design: One Man’s Trash

Why do I watch this show, especially since I’ve been down on the judges? It must be a guilty pleasure, somewhat like watching American Idol. However, I do find myself liking some of the hopeful designers’ work. However, I find the judges and their comments far reaching at times.

Thou shalt not blaspheme the tools of the trade. This is what Ryan does when he tells his modus operandi to the judges, saying he doesn’t like to use the colorchips. Jonathan Adler and Margaret Russell can’t believe their what they’re hearing. “Do you want to be a designer?” How dare this unqualified young man shoot down one of their sacred cows?

I liked his room and what he did with the items purchased from the garage sale. The room seperator, though chaotic, had its strange beauty. I could see how his client, a design student, felt like she was in jail when she saw it, but this was wild and out there, just like he promised. The double function table and the wall art that transformed into chairs was innovative. Unfortunately, the judges weren’t too impressed and he found himself a candidate for elimination. He was saved by a designer with a penchant for crochet blankets — she went home instead.

He showed he wants to approach interior design as fine art. Getting back to Margaret Russell’s offensive question, “Do you want to be a designer?” Duh. He’s doing the work. The question’s more relevant if all he talked about was design without having anything to show for it.

Uncategorized — No Comments
20
Feb 07

Dealing With Clutter

I’m a life-long clutterer. I don’t really want to live in clutter, but I am dealing with thirty plus years of bad habits. When I lived at home, I felt if I closed the door, then it shouldn’t bother anyone. However, I was sharing a living space with my family and it does affect them. A reason why I live alone is that if I make a mess, it’s my own and I have to deal with it. Plus, I can’t handle having a messy roommate. Being by myself, I have to deal with the clothes, magazines, and books, and shopping bags, among many things, that may obstruct my path in my apartment. I may not like it, but I can always promise myself I can clean up the mess.

One person who stayed with me a for a period of time was a clutterer. I had just moved into my apartment and I tried to use it as an opportunity to overcome my messiness. My place was set up, everything was in place, and I tried to keep everything orderly. I managed to do so for a few months until he came over and brought his possessions. His items were crammed against mine in the closet, he would have papers here and there, and some items were on the bookshelf, blocking access to my books. Somewhere during this person’s stint in my place I relaxed my new found tidiness and let things become messy. There were days where I tried to get things cleaned up. I tried to block out days to get rid of trash, organize things, and wipe things down and vacuum. I often little or no success in enlisting his help. Whenever I had to clean, his lack of support had some consequences. He commandeered my desk and left his notes and documents everywhere. In cleaning my apartment, I would take all his stuff off my desk and place it on a tray for him to access. Disrespectful? Perhaps. He then complained that he couldn’t find anything and that he was able to locate things in the mess.

I’ve never been able to find things in a mess. Sometimes it takes 5 to 30 minutes to find something. Over the years, I have lost hours because I didn’t place my keys where I normally keep them. Sometimes the keys were in plain sight, other times, I had to look under a pair of pants, magazines, or papers in order to find my them so I could leave my place and go to wherever I needed to go. Unorganized documents are another key problem of mine. For example, if I needed to to do my tax return and my W2 forms are scattered all over my apartment, then I have to take the time to located them, which often means unearthing them from other papers (or items). This may add 15 minutes to an hour to filing my taxes when I could have had that tax return done and mailed out in 15 to 30 minutes. Leaving clothing strewn all over the place can make a crucial garment difficult to find. If I had a pair of slacks hidden underneath a pile of clothes and I needed to wear them to a job interview, then I lose some time trying to find it and wear it. 5 to 15 minutes at best may be lost in trying to locate them and then an additional 5 to 10 minutes is lost in steaming or ironing the pants to make them wearable. The same could be said for neckties, cuff links, and jackets. In any case, being able to find things in clutter because you know where they are is bogus.

While clutter’s familiarity may be comforting, it can also be maddening. Sometimes my schedule is extremely loaded, other times it is very light. When I’m busy, I hardly live at my place and only go there to sleep. I then bemoan the fact that I have very little time to do things and that the apartment is suffering because of it. My excuses in a situation like this include that I work too much, I have family commitments, and my friends take what’s left. Since many jobs take up a great deal of our time, this is a fair excuse. Of course, there are the Martha Stewart’s and Bree Van de Camps who manage to have pristine homes despite a hectic work schedule. But, I’m not either of them and I just want to relax after work. Blaming family and friends, however, is just unfair. Whenever I have been busy, the clutter would drive me nuts to look at it, and I would stay further away from home just to avoid it. At the same time, I keep thinking I would clean my place up on Saturday, but never happens. Whenever I’ve had more time in my schedule, I can ideally keep my place clean. Does this happen? Not often. The procrastinator in me kicks in, even if I can look at it and get it done. I let myself get distracted in the Internet, a book, or a magazine. I may have even promised myself some cleaning time. However, I avoid it all costs, get cabin fever, and then need to leave my place. If there are things I need to take care of at home, such as reading, writing, or necessary paperwork, they are casualties of the mess.

Occasionally, the casualty of clutter has been friendships. I’m not friends with the person who stayed with me briefly in my apartment. While there were other, perhaps bigger, issues involved, that I had little support from him in helping me keep my place tidy during his stay was a major source of resentment. A more recent fallout occurred last summer when a friend of mine from graduate school was visiting San Diego. I had originally offered to let her stay at my place, but she found somewhere else to stay. This host did not work out at all, so she asked if she could take me up on my original offer. I turned her away because my place was a disaster. I was embarrassed about letting her come by, even if she said it wasn’t an issue. She found another friend to stay with; however, she felt I let her down and let me know in an e-mail. It didn’t help that I threw the issue back at her in my reply. I apologized afterwards, but it was too late. Hopefully, I’ll be able to talk to her again.

Clutter is a major source of delay, if not the delay itself. I have already mentioned how it has made me lose time trying to locate things. As a former college student, I have participated in the time honored tradition of procrastination, whether it was cramming for exams or waiting until the last minute to write my papers. Clutter is the ultimate form of procrastination. When it only takes a few seconds to hang my jacket in the closet, I leave it on the chair or the floor. Then a few more garments pile up, and then a few more, and then it takes more time to hang and organize my clothes. The time it took to dump my pants near the bed could have been used to put them away or throw them in the hamper. The cleaning day(s) I block out can be used more constructively for other things. Clutter is the ultimate obstacle for productivity because it delays me from doing the things I need to do.

The solution is often easier said than done. I should simply be organized. Put things away. Make maintaining the tidiness of my place a daily habit. I have often made mental notes of this suggestions countless times. While I may not ever get to having a completely pristine living space, I can work to make it more livable. Constantly stepping over things just to walk around my place gets old. By maintaining my place and getting rid of the items I don’t need, I can then focus on accomplishing those things that are important to me. I’ve been surprised how much I’ve gotten rid of and how much I still need to lose. Do I need those many of those things? No. Do items need to be on the floor? Definitely not. But this issue has been acknowledged and I can work towards overcoming it.

Uncategorized — No Comments
20
Feb 07

Helium Dot Com

Today, I signed up on Helium.com, a grand blog website where people can post articles on any given topic. I wrote two articles today. Here is my profile. Check it out.

Update: Helium.Com is totally bogus. I only wrote 15 articles, and I could not get any of them removed. Plus, Helium promises payment to writers and never delivers.

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