Archive for May, 2009

Initially I was going to rant about how impulsive, desperate, career-clinging decisions both destroyed the world economy and squashed the Guantanamo vote, but hopefully this message, delivered by more learned sources than I, is sinking in. My short word on the subject: Get a backbone, everybody! This herd instinct sociopolitical theory in practice is getting way outta hand!
Instead I’d like to share my experimental website with you. It’s a global, streaming, viral imagebase called visionstream. If you don’t know what that admittedly crappy site description means, it’s ok, you can still visit the site.
I launched visionstream last year with the intent of imagining Jean Baudrillard’s The Ecstasy of Communication in visual form. It’s a non-commercial, non-curated flow of imagery that anyone can add to. So far, I’ve only gotten about a dozen submissions, so I’m desperate for more.
Please, submit to the stream! If the trickle increases to a flow I promise to spend more time tweaking the site to make it uber slick and sultry. Dig up all your visual experiments and click here!

And no, it’s not about his dog. 

People here are getting geared up for President Obama’s speech at the ASU Commencement. Granted, it pretty exciting, but the most interesting thing for me isn’t the “historical moment” but the fact there are some people who will find a way to take a big ol’ shit on anything.

Case in point:  a couple of months before the official announcement of the President’s visit, I received an email on the official ASU listserv that asked me to take a brief survey about Obama’s visit.  The focus of said “survey” was to find out how the ASU community felt about the possibility of  awarding an honorary degree to the sitting President. In his usual johnny-come-lately fashion, ASU Il Duce Michael Crow stated in a press release that while it was always the intention of the university to recognize and honor the President’s achievements, they had “not yet determined the best or most appropriate way to do so.”  In the end, ASU opted to establish a scholarship in his name — which I think is probably the what they intended to do from the beginning, since scholarship programs don’t just appear like a bad David Blane illusion.

What was telling, though, was the fact that somebody thought this question ought to have been raised in the first place.  I hate to throw words around without provocation (ok… that’s a lie) — words like bigot, racist, inbred dumb ass — and I don’t want to speculate about people’s intentions. I WOULD like to point out, however, that when President George Dubya “I’m the decider” Bush gave the Commencement Speech at Notre Dame in 2001, no one batted an eye when that paragon of academic mediocrity received an honorary degree.

Hmmmm.  I have to tell ya… it makes me leery to drink the water around here. Me thinks stupidity is more of pandemic than the swine flu.

Tags: Arizona, ASU, Commencement Speech, Historic event, Michael Crow, obama, scholarships and other cool stuff, stupid stupid stupid

I love a good documentary. In order to be good it has to be heartfelt propaganda or utterly objective, and since most are some mish mash between those two criteria, I’m usually disappointed and end up watching reality TV.
Reality TV doesn’t have to be good. At its best it’s like a documentary before the edit and overdubbed narration: raw footage of someone’s ordinary or extraordinary life. So, some thoughts:
How the hell did Annie Duke lose to that crazy biatch Joan Rivers?
I want to poke Coach’s eyeballs out with two sharp sticks.
According to the tabloids Jon of Jon & Kate Plus 8 is having an affair. If it’s true he’ll end up regretting it just because of the ensuing press harassment, but at the same time I understand. Kate’s just a wee bit too critical, dontcha think? And actually, the press harassment will go unchecked whether Jon did anything unusual or not.
The Kardashians don’t amount to much and they know it.
To all the guys out there I advise you to NOT date Kelly, the divorcee from The Real Housewives of New York City. You’ll regret it.
My current faves are The Girls Next Door on E and the MTV skateboarding samaritan that lets a tiny horse live in his LA condo.
So, you ask, what does this have to do with the image I posted? It’s part of the package that housed my cat Poofer’s stocking stuffer, the A-DOOR-able catnip toy. I hang it on the door and she goes bat, bat, bat. A-DOOR-able, huh?
The cat on that package is just like the reality TV celebs. It’s nothing like my real cat Poofer or the loud-talking, know-it-all next door neighbor. I have to deal with them, and as such they elicit a series of complex emotions from me.
The A-DOOR-able toy package and Reality TV are the same: pure Baudrillard-esque seduction, utter fascination, a flat one-way transmission, disposable.
Rest in peace Anna Nicole.

Tags: Baudrillard, documentary film, Reality TV, satire

I’m taking a break from my morning writing routine to post my first blog on semantikon.  A break wasn’t so much warranted as it was necessary; even for a chunky fella like myself, it’s good to get up out of the chair. Even if it’s only to walk upstairs and sit down in another chair, at another key board. I’ll get out later.. maybe take a walk to the park that’s right down the road and try to scare the ducks. 

I’m at home writing because my job has come to end. When I’m not writing or trying to scare water fowl, I teach college writing… which, for many writers, is as antithetical to writing as a Mensa membership would be for George W. Bush.  But that’s how I earn bread and beer money most of the time. Since I wasn’t offered any summer classes, I am spending my time writing, looking for a job, and occupying a stool at the sports bar down the street.  Yes, it’s a little further walk than the park, but the pay off is significantly better. I mean, I like nature and all, but after all, it’s technically NOT nature when it’s a man made park… right? When I think of nature, I think of those parts of the world that we haven’t managed to screw up yet.  This makes the area that actually IS nature fairly limited. But that’s the nature of langauge I guess… trying to be as specific as possible only to find that the word isn’t quite correct.

It’s true. I’m almost always dissatisifed with my writing. The language doesn’t always communicate what I want it to communicate; the words don’t always do what I hope they will do. I suppose that’s part of the inclination to keep writing… and part of me hopes (in that respect) that I never find the right words. Otherwise, how else would I spend my days? At least writing serves one very important function: it allows me to justify my lack of worldy career ambitions.

Even when I’m teaching, I’m not keeping an eye on upward mobility. I’ve worked with people who do… I call them administrative weasels… and these people, while not freaks of nature, are, I think, a product of nature run amok. I have trouble even calling them people, and weasel, while a pleasant metaphor, still falls short. I don’t want to call them aliens, either… just in case those little green men cutting geometric designs in corn fields are actually friendly.  

I suspect that part of the reason I’m not upwardly mobile is because I would end up being a the kind of critter (neither person nor animal… think cockroach.. something you can squish and not have to worry if it’ll mess up your tires) I despise. At least, that’s what I tell myself. That and the fact that a more affluent job would suck energy I need for writing. And so, I’m back to those words that are never quite specific enough.

You’d think with over 500,000 words (not including names and other random proper nouns) I could find something. But then I have to consider that the average adult only uses about 10,000 words. (Sometimes I think this estimate is on the generous side.) That leaves 490,000 words that most people don’t know, don’t care to know, and wouldn’t look up simply because it takes time to dig out a dictionary… or at the very least visit dictionary.com.  Besides, as much as I like to think I have a respectable vocabulary, it’s nowhere near the six digit range. And I hate to have to spend the time to stop writing and look up a word in the dicitonary. Come to think of it, I don’t think I even own a dictionary anymore. Or a Thesarus. I think I have a book of crossword puzzles somewhere….

The only other thing I’ve done since school ended was get a hair cut. I get around to it once every 4 or 5 months or until my wife mistakes me for a sheepdog. The good news — if you can call it that — is that because my hairline is gradually receeding as my brain gets bigger, it takes a little longer for her to confuse me with the afore mentioned canine. When I get it cut, I have it cut short… mostly so I won’t have to mess with it. I may get it cut again before the next school year begins. Or I may not. There’s an outside chance I won’t be teaching next year, so anything’s possible.

On the other hand, wearing my hair shorter is also more of a comfort consideration — those of you not familiar with Phoenix in the summer time, turn your oven on and stick your head in. No suicides, now. Just enough to get that rush of unrelenting and humid free heat.  I also really like the woman who cuts my hair… mostly because she used to be my bartender.  Which reminds me: I may not have all the words to say what I mean, but this rule is pretty clear. Never, ever piss off the people who pour drinks or who know how to mangle your head with a sharp object.  That’s up there with Don’t Feed the Bears and Give a Hoot. Don’t Pollute.  And, no, I haven’t been the victim of a vindictive barkeep or a disturbed Edward Scissorhands imitator… but I don’t feed bears either, and I try not to pollute.

I like my hair cut. It makes the summer more comfortable.  It just feels good. And accept for the wonder of my incredible shrinking funds, I like that I spend my morning writing, only to take a break and write some more. It doesn’t pay… but damn, it feels good.

But, for some reason, it does make it more difficult to scare the ducks.

Tags: blah blah blah, guest editor, hair cut, mick parsons, nature, summer, words, writing