March Bookends

As with music, this month has been rather slow. To be honest, I'll blame it on picking up a copy of Civilization 4 and spending entirely too much time playing it. There's only so many hours in a day, and I took a little break from things after my daughter wrapped up her soccer season and Kiwanis performances earlier in the month.

Anyways, only two books this month, and nothing new to add. I should really be finished I Slept With Joey Ramone by now, and I hope to have it done in the next week. It's borne the brunt of my Civilization diversion. It's been a fascinating read and I'm really happy with it. The other book I started reading this month was something I picked up back in 2006 believe it or not, and have only managed to get around to now. It's The Chomsky-Foucault Debate On Human Nature, a collection of interviews between the two men. Apparently, they only ever sat down to talk to each other face-to-face once, in 1971 (that's the part I've just finished reading), and the reminder of the book is a couple of interviews each gave in the years that followed addressing some of the issues they spoke about. It's really interesting to see how the germs of their different positions were laid out at the time. I promise to say more when I'm done.

Books Read

None

Currently Reading

Mickey Leigh (with Legs McNeil), I Slept With Joey Ramone: A Family Memoir (2009)

Noam Chomsky and Michel Foucault, The Chomsky-Foucault Debate on Human Nature (2006)

Books Acquired

None

Are high schools still sites of conflict?

(cross-posted with Exploding Beakers)

A few friends of mine recently made a passing reference to the period of time starting in the post-grunge years (1994) to some unidentifiable terminal year that has only recently passed, as being a kind of “neo-Sixties.” Their evidence, and none of them made any kind of claim to academic accuracy, was the resurgence of pot use, focused demonstrations against global capitalism (notably the Battle In Seattle and anti-G8 protests), and other protests against the “unjust wars” in Afghanistan and Iraq post-9/11. While this might be superficially true, I’ve always thought that the general rebelliousness and questioning of institutions during the 1960s was much more far-reaching than we tend to remember it today. One of my favourite classes of stories was the surprisingly common one I call “The Day the Hippies Came and Took over My High School.” The number of incidences of “hippies,” whether they be actual bearded longhairs, or members of the SDS, SNCC, Weathermen, sympathetic Black Panther group, or other civil rights/anti-war group, storming the local high school to institute “teach-ins” is pretty high across the eastern US. The same cannot be said for the period 1994-present. Part of this might be the difference that the Internet has played in distributing information, but I wonder how much might also be the case that the K-12 system, and high school in particular, is no longer seen as the part of the general “system of coercion” that it appeared to radicals in the 1960s. Or maybe that idea is now just taken for granted, but attacking it is assumed to be futile. I’m not sure, but this extended 1971 quote from Michel Foucault seems to outline the thinking at the time pretty good:

“…in a general way, all teaching systems, which appear simply to disseminate knowledge, are made to maintain a certain social class in power; and to exclude the instruments of power of another social class. Institutions of knowledge, of foresight and care, such as medicine, also help support the political power. It’s also obvious, even to the point of scandal, in certain cases related to psychiatry.

It seems to me that the real political task in a society in such as ours is to criticize the workings of institutions, which appear to be both neutral and independent; to criticize and attach them in such a manner that the political violence which has always exercised itself obscurely through them will be unmasked, so that one can fight against them.

This critique and this fight seem essential to me for different reasons: first, because political power goes much deeper than one suspects; there are centers and invisible, little-known points of supports; its true resistance, its true solidity is perhaps where one doesn’t expect it. Probably it’s insufficient to say that behind the governments, behind the apparatus of the state, there is the dominant class; one must locate the point of activity, the places and forms in which its domination is exercised. And because this domination is not simply the expression in political terms of economic exploitation, it is its instrument and, to a large extent, the condition which makes it possible, the suppression of the one is achieved through the exhaustive discernment of the other. Well, if one fails to recognize these points of support of class power, one risks allowing them to continue to exist; and to see this class power reconstitute itself even after an apparent revolutionary process.”

- from The Chomsky-Foucault Debate on Human Nature

Strange Desires

After a few days of laying about the house, trying to feel better and deliberately not shaving, I went back to work today. All I really wanted to do today though was grow a thick woolly beard and spend the day writing, drinking, and smoking cigarettes - an odd desire since I don't smoke and haven't grown facial hair in almost a decade.

A Little Pampering Goes A Long Way

My daughter and I have been sick most of this week. Today we hit our limit of soup and soup-like meals so my wife decided to surprise us with home-cooking. First, since it was a surprisingly foggy day, accompanied by sudden ice crystals falling from the sky, she made us some roasted vegetables: carrots, potatoes, squash, zucchini, and chickpeas.

This was accompanied by grilled chicken with honey-glazed sauteed apples.

Delicious!

Music Update

In a way, it's been a quiet month for music, something of an ironic statement considering half the music world is gearing up for SXSW, but only in that I haven't really picked up too much music. A few new releases, such as the latest from Titus Andronicus, The Monitor, a phenomenal concept album that makes me fall in love with rock 'n' roll all over again.

Mostly I've been spending time with some old releases, notably last year's pop darlings, The Pains of Being Pure At Heart.

I'm really enjoying the rawness of the latest Gil Scott-Heron, but also spent a couple of mornings on youtube trying to find some other recordings, like H2O Gate Blues:

On the otherhand, Les Savy Fav's debut album 3/5 was a completely different kind of rawness, especially when compared to the more angular work of their more recent albums. Check out this medley of "Who Rocks The Party" from their second album, The Cat and the Cobra, and "New Teen Anthem" from 3/5.

Eluvium, in contrast, charts a far more introspective piano sound, on his latest, Similes:

Finally, Ben Harper's live concert album from the Montreal Jazz Festival was good, but kinda got lost in the shuffle.

Feel Good Movies: Pi v. The Wrestler

Last night I watched Darren Aronosfsky’s 2008 movie, The Wrestler, and afterwards I made a facetious Facebook comment about how uplifting his films are, sparking something of a debate as to which of his four films was the least depressing: The Wrestler, The Fountain, Requiem for a Dream, or Pi. There seemed to be some agreement around the idea that Pi was the most uplifting, if any. Both Pi and The Wrestler offer a bleak look at the nature of individual identity and fulfillment. In both films we see the main characters alone and enslaved to their passions. Clearly each has suffered as a result of their gifts, but Aronofsky seems to offer only two ways out from under the thumb of such passions: self-mutilation or self-destruction. Being true to oneself brings suffering, but then so does breaking free.

Welcome Spring!

Almost all the snow has melted from the city parks and fields, giving my hometown the illusion of springtime. A chinook earlier this week had everyone out in shorts and on patio decks as the temperature hit twenty degrees celsius. Children frolicked. Old people smiled. Lovers embraced. For a hours in the middle of the week it was as if I caught a glimpse of a happy future: Spring.

Aspects of my professional work are seasonal and March always signals the beginning of the home stretch and I can feel the stress start to melt away.

*For the record, I remember watching this video on a grainy pirate VHS tape in the backroom of some nightclub with dozens of other eager music fans. This was the closest we could get to the real thing. I made a lot of friends that night squished into that tiny room trying to make out the blurry on-screen images. Now YouTube makes it all available at the press of a button, but without the possibility of future friendships.

Song of the Day

Embarrassment and Excuses. My usual m.o.

More Holiday Thoughts On Hobsbawm

Here are some notes I found the other day while sorting through some of the papers I accumulated from Christmas Holidays. They come from my reading of Eric Hobsbawm's On The Edge of a New Century.

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Hobsbawm Talks about the history of the Left and how for all intents and purposes the Left had achieved the majority of it's historical (nineteenth century) aims by the late 1960s early 1970s, namely that of participatory democracy and economic redistribution in some form, whether through progressive taxation, welfare state benefits, or a combination of the two. This success effectively ended the Left as a force for progressive change. At the same time, the command economies of the communist countries ran into problems and were forced to make accommodations with the free market to some degree. These two instances robbed the Left of it's vision of a future independent of capitalism.

While I firmly believe that Marxist analysis can offer some insight into contemporary events, I think that Hobsbawm's comments reveal that Socialism, particularly as expressed in trade unionism, might have been nothing more than a sympathetic response to nineteenth century capitalism and now that the nineteenth century appears to be well and truly behind us, it seems doubtful to have any future left.

I found it interesting that, having said all this, he still talks disparagingly of the lack of political involvement of Western youth. Clearly the failure of any party to articulate a new "Vision" of the future is enabling youth to dismiss politics as futile. Either everything has already been achieved and hasn't quite lived up to the hype, or else has been turned back and dismantled, leaving youth in the awkward position of having to fight to inherit the footsteps of their parent.

The key to the future political engagement of youth then is to articulate a 360-vision of a political future that speaks to youth about environment, social issues, economics, global relations, personal liberty, and so forth, in a way that is not just meaningful, but that represents and speaks to their way of life. Given that the Millennial Generation is the largest demographic ascending into politics, and the Baby Boomers as the largest demographic currently in politics is one their way out, and future victories will go to whichever party, right or left, new or old, that can best capture the imagination of youth.

The Process

There are days when I can't stop writing. I fall alseep the night before dreaming about waking up to begin writing. I walk around all day, repeating lines to myself so that I don't forget them, haphazardly writing things down on slips of paper and stuffing them in my pockets, or if I'm out at the grocery store or some other place, I tap away making notes on my phone to be emailed later. These days are awesome and I feel like I've accomplished something. Even if no one else ever read any of the day's words, I'd still feel good.

Then there are days like today, where the ideas are all stillborn and nothing flows. Projects with deadlines rapidly approaching or disappearing behind me. On days like today, my laptop and notebooks sit halfway across the floor, leering at me. I can only stare at them. We dance in a twisted kind of deadlock and nothing gets resolved. When everything flows, tomorrow is a kind of promise of excitement, but here, the torture shows no sign of abatement. It's all a struggle. Nothing satisfies and I second-guess every word and every thought.

If I had a better system, maybe it'd be different.

All I know is that right now, I wish I could just wrestle these words in some kind of winner-takes-all cage match and be done with it.

On Dads, Daughters, and Dreams

The other day my wife and I happened to be talking about some pictures of we saw of NHL legend Bryan Trottier letting someone we knew via Twitter try on his Stanley Cup ring. It was at a bar, and Trottier didn't really know her, so for all intents and purposes, she might have been a complete stranger. Somehow my wife and I mentioned that he was probably ok with a strange woman trying on his ring, but we didn't think he'd be ok with a strange man asking to try it on (full disclosure, we don't know Trottier, maybe he would). At this, my daughter perked up her ears and asked why.

We puzzled a bit over a response. I told her that Stanley Cup rings have to be earned. The only way you get one is to win the Stanley Cup. However, since girls can't win the Stanley Cup, they can't earn a Stanley Cup ring, so it'd be ok for Trottier to let her wear one. If I had wanted to wear a Stanley Cup ring, I said, I should have learned to skate better a long time ago.

My daughter is a big Sidney Crosby fan and understands perfectly well what the Stanley Cup is, but it came as a bit of a shock to her that girls can't grow up to win the Stanley Cup. I felt bad having to break it to her. However, I also felt bad for another reason.

I suppose all parents live somewhat vicariously through their children. In some sense we want to share our own childhood dreams with them, if only to relive some of our youthful excitement as they (momentarily perhaps) take up these dreams. I realized at that it would be unfair to share my dreams of winning the Stanley Cup in this way with my daughter since this is not something she could share in fully. Sure, women's hockey has it's own cup, but it's not something that I grew up dreaming about, and yes, I could easily share my overall excitement about hockey with her (already done in fact), but if I wanted her to have a similar experience as I did, then I would need to expose her to women's hockey in the same way I grew up watching the NHL.

I don't think this fazed my daughter much though as today my wife and I talked about how Jerome Iginla let his own daughter bring his Olympic Gold Medal to her kindergarten class for show and tell. When my wife asked my daughter if she'd like her daddy to win a gold medal for her to bring to school, my daughter causally replied, "No. I'll win my own."

February Progress Reports

It's been a long time since I've given any kind of progress report on my creative writing, but rest assured, I've been quite busy. Despite the hectic running around the came with visiting Disneyworld with my family at Christmas/New Year's and then rushing off the to the Consumer Electronic Showcase in Las Vegas, there was an awful lot of hotel/airport downtime that it turns out I've been using quite productively. Couple this with the fact that I've stopped writing for Spectrum (since I found it increasingly hard to juggle everything with my day job and invariably the last thing I added was the first one to go), which means that I've had a bit more free time.

In addition to continuing to build on existing projects, I made a significant in-road on what was originally intended to be a corporate satire, but it now seems likely to head in a much better direction. I also started some reflections on my work in education - it's work-in-progress title is "Sisyphus In Hell," so I think you can guess where it's headed.

Short Stories:
"Of Light and Darkness" - in revision*
* this is part of my Twilight of the Idle short story series along with"Labellypock", "A Night on the Fronde" and "Out of Time (Ped Xing)"
"How My Uncle Faught The Spanish Civil War" - 1000 words
"Il Brute" - 700 words, a short story about living in Bridgeland

Novel Ideas (and working titles):
A Saturday Afternoon By The Slurpee Machine - 2105 words, growing up in NE Calgary, circa 1990
Games of Chance - 17047 words, quasi-related to the current economic downturn
The Last Days of the Daily Wenzel - 8154 words
Father Borsato di Sangi - notes only, about a priest in small town Alberta, circa 1910, - 127 words
Mt. Pilatus Calls My Name - notes only, a corporate satire - 3111 words

Sisyphus In Hell/I Was Misinformed - 2402 words

Good Ideas At The Time (Whole draft novels):
joculatores domini - in revision, a novel about parking attendants and the Calgary Stampede
The Liminal Trip - in revision, backpacking through Europe,

October's Total Word Count: 34646

The Olympics, Magic Socks and I Love You Sidney Crosby

The Olympics are over and in the final analysis Canada did good despite all my misgivings. It was two weeks of living vicarious through athletes who became a part of our families and communities. Own the Podium appears to have been worthwhile, but I think the real reason for our success are the two items pictured above. As part of her own Olympian efforts in her Ravelry knitting community, my wife completed 9.5 of 10 socks she had hoped to complete during the games (that final hockey was just too engrossing), including these magical red and gold socks that seemed to open the medal flood gates for Canada. Over the last five days of the Games, Canada's medal count went from a topic of national worry and debate to an unprecedented celebration of gold medals for a host nation. Certainly the hard work of the athletes is a part of the story, but the fact that my wife wore these lucky socks straight through those last five days is another one.

Not to be outdone, my daughter made her own Canadian rally flag, the energetic waving of which tended to coincide with favourable outcomes for Canada. Thus, headed into the overtime of the Men's Hockey Final, my house was a flurry of homemade flags, socks, shouting, and anguished floor slapping all culminating in a final "I Love You Sidney Crosby!" screamed by my daughter as the game-winning goal slid past the line.