The Scene and Herd

While watching Tropic Thunder the other night, I started thinking about how the Vietnam War was funny. More specifically, I thought about how Vietnam War vets were funny. Mostly, of course, I was thinking about Walter from the The Big Lebowski and how much I treasure the invention of that character. Like any good thing that results from a painful situation (especially if it’s not your painful situation), the thought crosses my mind that Walter makes the Vietnam War worthwhile. I’m immediately struck by the inappropriateness of the thought, but it occurs so swiftly, I haven’t the time or nature to curb it. For my generation, this kind of thinking is the most natural thing in the world.

On the same night that I watched Tropic Thunder, I had people over to my house for a potluck. Before the food had even been served, we were cracking jokes about the epidemic, deciding that one of my friends was missing from the festivities because he’d been afflicted. That was before I knew that swine flu was affecting healthy, young adults. I read in the paper the next day that my demographic was certainly at risk and had a brief moment of panic (which involved a lot of sudden flu-like symptoms, I’m sure you can imagine) but I quickly lost interest in my own vulnerabilities the second I read that the EU wanted to call it the novel flu. Is it not enough that Israel and some Muslims want to name it after the Mexicans? This is funny – this and the Vietnam War.

The thing is, we’re not laughing as a defense mechanism. My own panic was brief and I’m convinced that everything is going to be okay. We’re laughing at the novel flu because we don’t believe what we hear. There’s not really going to be an epidemic.

I blame my disbelief on the economy (which is bad but not that bad), SARS and terrorism. I blame Y2K! I especially blame the swine flu outbreaks of 1976 and 1988 respectively, in this case. I blame everything that’s happened in the past 20 that was supposed to be really awful, but turned out to be inconvenient. I blame the media for framing everything as an epidemic (literally and metaphorically). As a people, we’re desensitized, sure. But we’re not desensitized because we hear about bad things like AIDS, poverty and war every day. We’re desensitized because everything we hear about every day is told with a panic that should be reserved for discussing the war in Vietnam etc. People don’t read about Darfur and think, “I’m tired of this and I don’t care.” They read about Darfur and think, “Yeah right. This from the people that told me to keep out of Chinatown in the summer of 2003.”

I blame the media and SARS and the economy. But I also credit these…groups for enabling the creation of Walter and other comical war vet characters. Without all these false alarms, we might still be sensitive about bad things.

I’ve been getting old recently. I know I have because I watched Toronto Stories last night and I really enjoyed it, even though it wasn’t good. During the opening credits I actually breathed a sigh of relief. “Canadian Cinema is so refreshing,” I said out loud.

 Now, I don’t remember ever saying or thinking anything of this sort before. Let it be known that there is a safe and permanent place in my heart for Canadian Cinema, but “refreshing” is a not the way I would generally describe it.

When I was in San Diego last week, I heard a song in a frozen yogurt place and really liked it. Johnnie’s little sister told me it was MGMT, a group I vaguely recalled hearing about before. I went home and watched all their videos on youtube, wondering how they’d flown under my radar for so long.

I don’t “get” Miley Cyrus or The Jonas Brothers, and sometimes I don’t understand facebook lingo. But that’s fine because these are boring cultural phenomenon. I’m comfortable being disconnected from pop culture so long as it’s stupid. What struck me about Johnnie’s fifteen-year-old sister having to tell me about MGMT, was that the song was pretty good.

For a while now, there has existed a culturally forceful demographic that is at least ten years behind me. Up until now, that demographic has been made up of children: half-people with no taste. Now that I’m 26, the group I don’t “get” is made up of sixteen year-olds, kids that are starting to form half-decent opinions. They’re making good music popular without my permission. It’s terrifying.

I think I’m suddenly finding Canadian Cinema so refreshing because I feel in on it. I’m almost offended by how much I enjoyed Toronto Stories, but I recognized the place and I recognized a lot of the people. I rarely feel this way about popular music anymore, even if it’s good. I like electric feel, but the video is just a bunch of kids messing around doing who knows what.

It’s not as fun to pay attention to music anymore, because the realm of pop culture is shifting further and further away from me. Today, sixteen years-olds are ten years younger than me. But there will come a day when I am separated from mainstream culture by thirty years. I don’t wish to completely detach myself from pop culture, so hopefully by then someone will be making movies about Toronto that are actually good.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UtUI5MC9tVM]

Like everyone else in the world with a heart (and an ear to pop culture) I love Susan Boyle. I was uncomfortable watching her on stage before she began to sing, and I did have a very strong reaction to her voice. But none of this had anything to do with her appearance.

The story has certainly been spun as a lesson about prejudice. Simon rolls his eyes when Boyle tells him she’s 47, and half way through the performance, as it’s becoming apparent that she’s talented, Ant and Dec confront the viewer. “You didn’t expect that, did you? Did you!” one of them says, shaking his finger.

But I didn’t expect her to have a bad voice. I’ve never harbored the odd misconception that only young and beautiful people have nice voices, and I doubt very few people have.

The judges themselves all made some cracks about being surprised, and Amanda Holden tells Susan that the audience was being very cynical. “I know everyone was against you,” she says.

Now wait a minute, hold up. I wasn’t being cynical and I was never against pre-song Susan Boyle. I was simply uncomfortable with her situation, as I should have been because it was a bad one. Before she began to sing, the state of affairs up on stage was rather unfortunate. If things had turned out differently, if Boyle had been a bad singer or even a mediocre one, that would have been mighty depressing indeed. 

Pre-song Susan Boyle lives alone with her cat, Pebbles. She is 47 and unemployed. She mentions, unprovoked, that she has never been kissed and then makes a sort of sad face about it. Pre-song Susan Boyle is depressing.

But the actual Susan Boyle, the one who can sing, is fantastic! As soon as she began to perform, it didn’t matter that she lives alone with her cat because she’s singing a song about loneliness. It doesn’t matter that she’s “never been kissed” because she’s singing a song about love and regret. Excellent – the redeeming power of music.

I was not shocked to hear a lovely voice coming from a dowdy and unfashionable lady. That voice would have been equally “surprising” coming from anybody. But I was relieved to hear a lovely voice coming from a lonely and unsuccessful lady. 

Susan Boyle is a moving character, not because her voice, body and background are incongruous, but because she has the talent and life experiences to render a beautiful rendition of I dreamed a dream. The judges, hosts and media frenzy have it all wrong. They’re putting words in all our mouths.

The Susan Boyle affair has not alerted me to my own prejudice. It has simply reminded me of the redemptive power of music in one’s life. Ant and Dec can get their finger wagging out of my face and everyone else’s. 

This might come as a surprise to you, but the FOX news channel aired something totally unclassy last week. On the same day that Canada lost four soldiers in Afghanistan, a bunch of losers on a stupid show called Red Eye went on a four person rant about how useless our military is. I was really indignant at watching it, horrified even. Like any decent person, I was saddened by the idea that families of the dead solders might come across it. I also really love Canada, and while usually I couldn’t care less what Americans think of us, those guys on Red Eye were being over-the-top obnoxious about a country they obviously know nothing about.

But when the dust of my rage settled, I realized most of my indignation wasn’t about the dead soldiers, or the way my country’s reputation was soiled on American TV. Mostly I was upset that I had been exposed to the unintelligent and trashy views of the Red Eye panel. And now the clip is everywhere because they talked about Canada… I had never even heard of the show, but now those knuckleheads are permanently on my radar. They are a blemish on my view of life.

Westboro Baptist Church did something equally obnoxious last week by threatening to picket Natasha Richardson’s funeral. Like Red Eye, this incident plagues my head with a crass noisiness. I have a fascination for Westboro, along with a sick sense of responsibility because I attended a Baptist church in my youth and my parents still go there. Obviously, Westboro is not really a Baptist church so much as they’re a cultish hate group. But I’m still tied to them nominally and this irks me. On behalf of gay people and every other group they target, I am offended by Westboro. But I am also offended on behalf of myself … as a religious person.

 The collision of Red Eye with Westboro last week made me realize that when someone says something politically incorrect, I’m less concerned about the offended group than I am about my own sense of propriety. Each time Westboro goes off the deep end, I wish to God (seriously, as in I pray to God) that the religious lunatics would leave some room for the faith community to behave in public with some decorum.

And the Red Eye rant didn’t offend me as a Canadian; it offended me as a classy individual.

Racism, sexism, homophobia and random comments made about the Special Olympics can be dangerous and awful. But mostly they’re just tasteless and make for tawdry after dinner programming.  And that’s something we can all get angry about, in solidarity. 

There is a travel magazine in my bathroom with an ad on the back for some kind of overseas youth employment/volunteer program. “What if you only had one year to live?” it asks. “How would you spend it?” For a week or so this magazine has been sticking out of the magazine basket, just far enough to expose this question which assaults me every time I’m in there. It makes me feel bad. It makes me feel sad. It makes me feel guilty and it does not make me want to volunteer abroad.

 I just leave the magazine there though. I should turn it over or shove it behind other magazines.

Years ago while in Scotland, Laura and I watched the 24 hour interactive big brother UK station a few times. Jade Goody was on the show then, just getting her start as a weirdo reality TV show star. She was… distinct, kind of crazy and terrible looking, very memorable. Back in Canada, I didn’t hear much about her aside from some racism fiasco. And then, earlier this year, she started publicizing her struggle with cancer. 

I know that most Canadians don’t know who she is, but she’s gigantic in the UK and she’s dying of cancer and everyone is watching it happen. Cameras have been everywhere, all the time. She got married a couple of weeks ago and sold the photos of the wedding so she could leave tons of money to her kids. And I just read that OK magazine is selling an “official” Jade Goody memorial issue right now, though she’s not dead yet.

 I want to feel bad and sad (and mad) for Jade Goody but her story is never placed in a redeemable context. Pictures of her bald and crying are stuck up right beside Kate Moss’ nip slip on celebrity gossip websites. Oh, and last week one of the Oasis brothers said he’s “got fuck all against Jade Goody but there’s a recession going on.”

I keep thinking about my professor of Literature 1832-1900, talking about babies laying dead in gutters every morning, exemplifying that culture’s relationship with death, exemplifying how we’re so soft to it now.

But Oasis wants to talk about the recession. And I never get that travel magazine ad rhetoric out of my face.

I can’t get excited about Jon Stewart’s high road last week. Sources keep reporting that he “won” but I saw the interview and… he won? Won what? It wasn’t a debate. It was Cramer appearing on Jon Stewart’s show and Jon Stewart was in control… much like when Stewart was on Crossfire a while back and they tore him apart but Stewart got points for being civil. 

When Stewart was on Crossfire, the Bow Tie Guy told him The Daily Show was a waste. Bow Tie said Stewart was irresponsible because he had the ear of big leaders but missed the hard hitting questions. However valid that charge, Stewart chose to defend himself by reminding Bow Tie that The Daily Show was comedy and aired after puppets making prank phone calls. And this resonated with me, because I agreed. Your audience matters and your intentions matter. Your responsibility shifts depending on your influence. So Stewart has his comedy show and can do whatever he wants. Great. I love the guy.

But now that I think about it, the parts of the Cramar interview that stood out to me were when Cramer said he thinks about ratings like everybody else, and when he said that he’s trying to present economics to the masses and make it exciting. And Jon Stewart told him “this is not a fucking game.”

But Stewart makes a game out of everything. And it’s funny. And when people who are not in the game are brought into the game, it’s funny. When the interviewee thinks they are giving a real interview but it’s really just nonsense, we laugh at them. I knew one of those interviewees. Her name was Marla. She used to tip me 20 bucks at Dufflet pastries. Marla didn’t know that the interview was fake and Samantha Bee made a monkey out of her.

So The Daily Show is funny to people that know what’s going on, to people that understand the genre and Jon Stewart’s intentions. And if Crossfire had told Stewart that “this is not a fucking game,” Stewart probably would have told them that they don’t get it. 

And Jim Cramer was running his own game over on CNBC and people didn’t get it and people got hurt. So Jim Cramer has no integrity and Stewart can destroy him and we can celebrate.

I’m troubled by this ill-defined line. When does someone become responsible? When they get on CNBC? When they’re hurting the economy instead of my friend Marla? Jim Cramer is probably a douche, but I think his “I’m trying to make economics exciting” is as valid as Jon Stewart on Crossfire saying he’s just comedy. 

And points to Jim Cramer for being civil….

The Wire’s got a hold on me. We finished the entire series on Sunday and I’ve been depressed since. I feel like I just broke up with someone… luckily, ironically, I don’t have to go through this alone…

But I see the face of The Wire everywhere I look.

1. My friend Nyron’s facebook has a picture of him in new glasses, to which his friend refers to as “The brother Mouzone” shot.

2. An article about the Michelle Obama homeless man cellphone debacle (in which right-wingers get upset that a guy with a cell phone goes to a soup kitchen…rich people that have obviously had ZERO contact with ANY poor people) refers to the disposable cell phone trend that we should all be aware of via The Wire.

3. A Macleans article that talks about gang violence in Canada and how Stephen Harper did an oddly humane and decent thing by holding a closed meeting with regional police chiefs and family members of gang murder victims and saying, “You’ve all got five minutes to tell me how to help.”

And Johnnie says “That’s what Carcetti should have done.”

This end is painful but I really learned a lot. My life and soul have been enriched and I am most certainly different.

I’m reminded of a Chuck Klosterman article in which he writes that when the Harry Potter demographic grows up they will dominate pop culture and constantly reference Harry Potter and he won’t even know it. And he won’t even know that he won’t know it.

In two decades, I will not be alienated or confused by passing references to Harry Potter; very often, I will be unaware that any reference has even been made. I will not know what I am missing. I’ll just feel bored, and I won’t know why.

Based on all the references to The Wire I’ve experienced in one short week, I was almost certainly bored before this wicked awesome series came into my life.

So some adjustment are at hand, but I’ve only well wishes. Go with God. I’m glad I knew ya.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=20G17K_0ghU]

The suburbs drives you to all sorts of weird things; like bulk barn and town centres. Like video clips of This Hour Has 22 Minutes, a show you never thought was that funny aside from their Quebecois accent bit. But we were up until 1 am watching it, and this morning lo and behold! Iggy’s all over it. Hahaha. 

Oh, Iggy, I love.

And I love the suburbs and cars and town centres.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rk041FoyipM]

K’naan is so wildly optimistic and joyful that it’s almost confusing.

Last year at Romero House I found one of his songs on a mix cd in the communal van and I was like ,”What in the hell is this? It’s so hopeful.”

Anyways, ’bout two weeks into my yearlong stint at RH, the cd player in the communal van jammed with K’naan stuck inside. And that was that.

K is kind of like the US election live on CNN and the comedy network, personified. Because watching Obama win was a pure joy, and I wanted to let all pessimism and criticism seep out of me. But the… hope (if you will) of that moment was greeted with just enough suspicion in the room to really take things down a notch. We were happy! But not too happy.

Optimism really makes my demographic tense. We discuss Obama in calm voices. I listen to K’naan in secret.

But I pulled this off the blogto site this morning because it improved my mood (tensely). Give it a watch and good lord, hopefully you’re from a different demographic than I am. 

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VMwpVF58c2c]

I’m kind of jealous of Richard Dawkins. He was born at the right time, just as the atheists were getting all antsy and vocal. You know, the harvest is ripe kind of thing. He’s kind of like their messiah. 

I was referred to a recent article of his from Arts & Letters Daily. It was a (favourable) review of the book Why Evolution is True by Jerry Coyne found in The Times Literary Supplement. 

Now, I couldn’t be happier about this article. I’m relieved to finally see some sense knocked into the fanatic-creationist-whack jobs that frequent Arts & Letters Daily and The Times Literary Supplement. 

But then I read this:

Theories about the moon god devouring the sun god may be poetic, and they may cohere with other aspects of a tribe’s world view, but they won’t predict the date, time and place of an eclipse. 

I don’t know anyone who believes in sun and/or moon god involvement in eclipses. So I can’t be sure that those people frequent the same website that I do. Tell me where they are so I can enlighten them in person. You know, “to the ends of the earth” kind of thing, evangelism styles.