Per agent Janet Reid, who called her post “Stop what you’re doing and watch this” (a title which is hard to improve on, and I didn’t even try):
As Janet says, for some context you can read this blog post.
A Little Learning, a Little Yearning
[Image above shows the Parthenon, and its reflection in the facade of the New Acropolis Museum. Click image for more information and the original photo.]
From whiskey river:
Just Thinking
Got up on a cool morning. Leaned out a window.
No cloud, no wind. Air that flowers held
for awhile. Some dove somewhere.Been on probation most of my life. And
the rest of my life been condemned. So these moments
count for a lot — peace, you know.Let the bucket of memory down into the well,
bring it up. Cool, cool minutes. No one
stirring, no plans. Just being there.This is what the whole thing is about.
(William Stafford [source])
…and:
There is a bitter aftertaste when one swallows the truth, sometimes. It may be years before it becomes apparent, so long that you’ve forgotten that first taste, but it does come. It comes when, having thought you swallowed truth whole, what you got was only a morsel. Further, the spreading bitterness derives from understanding that what you thought was true was, actually, true, but not in the way you thought or wanted it to be.
(Terrance Keenan [source (p. 169)])
Review: How Sex Works, by Dr. Sharon Moalem
My review of this book is now online, over at The Book Book.
Short version:
- Non-fiction, written by a neurogeneticist and evolutionary biologist.
- Based on fairly current research. Informative. (Especially on the question of what makes you turn your head at someone, or not — at least if they’re within sniffing range.)
- Not as provocative as you might imagine, not as clever as the chapter titles might suggest…
- …but not bad. Okay.
One issue has already come up, related to my review rather than to the book itself. I wouldn’t mind hearing from others about it. Which is: Did I go too far in using asterisks to hide certain keywords (including the title’s most important word) from the hungry, Google-fed appetites of spammers, link farmers, and so on?
I really don’t know. Thought about it for weeks, in fact — and finally decided to err on the side of caution, mostly since I’m not the unlucky soul who’d be responsible for scrubbing away all the comment spam, and/or turning comment moderation on.
Opinions?
Inherent Vice
Thomas Pynchon’s newest hit the bookstores a week ago. Penguin Press’s description:
Part noir, part psychedelic romp, all Thomas Pynchon — private eye Doc Sportello comes, occasionally, out of a marijuana haze to watch the end of an era as free love slips away and paranoia creeps in with the L.A. fog
It’s been awhile since Doc Sportello has seen his ex-girlfriend. Suddenly out of nowhere she shows up with a story about a plot to kidnap a billionaire land developer whom she just happens to be in love with. Easy for her to say. It’s the tail end of the psychedelic sixties in L.A., and Doc knows that “love” is another of those words going around at the moment, like “trip” or “groovy,” except that this one usually leads to trouble. Despite which he soon finds himself drawn into a bizarre tangle of motives and passions whose cast of characters includes surfers, hustlers, dopers and rockers, a murderous loan shark, a tenor sax player working undercover, an ex-con with a swastika tattoo and a fondness for Ethel Merman, and a mysterious entity known as the Golden Fang, which may only be a tax dodge set up by some dentists.
In this lively yarn, Thomas Pynchon, working in an unaccustomed genre, provides a classic illustration of the principle that if you can remember the sixties, you weren’t there… or… if you were there, then you… or, wait, is it…
Here’s the trailer — narrated by Pynchon himself (but don’t expect to see him!):
(“Twenty-seven ninety-fi— Twenty-seven ninety-five? That used to be, like, three weeks of groceries, man. What year is this again?” Ha!)
There’s even a Wiki set up — and active! — for the new book already.
At Amazon, they’ve got a listing (“Exclusive!”) of the soundtrack Pynchon himself supposedly chose for the book, including:
- “Bang Bang” by The Bonzo Dog Band
- “Can’t Buy Me Love” by The Beatles
- “Desafinado” by Stan Getz & Astrud Gilberto, with Charlie Byrd
- Elusive Butterfly by Bob Lind
- “Fly Me to the Moon” by Frank Sinatra
- “God Only Knows” by The Beach Boys
- The Greatest Hits of Tommy James and The Shondells
- “Happy Trails to You” by Roy Rogers
- “Help Me, Rhonda” by The Beach Boys
- “Interstellar Overdrive” by Pink Floyd
- “It Never Entered My Mind” by Andrea Marcovicci
- “Motion by the Ocean” by The Boards
- “People Are Strange (When You’re a Stranger)” by The Doors
- “Quentin’s Theme” (Theme Song from “Dark Shadows”) performed by Charles Randolph Grean Sounde
- “Something Happened to Me Yesterday” by The Rolling Stones
- “Sugar Sugar” by The Archies
- “Surfin’ Bird” by The Trashmen
- “Telstar” by The Tornados
- “Tequila” by The Champs
- “There’s No Business Like Show Business” by Ethel Merman
- “Volare” by Domenico Modugno
- “Wabash Cannonball” by Roy Acuff & His Crazy Tennesseans
“Wipeout” by The Surfaris - “Wouldn’t It Be Nice” by The Beach Boys
- “Yummy Yummy Yummy” performed by Ohio Express
Amazon provides links from most of these songs to MP3 previews/downloads and/or pages of information about the artists or songs. But there are also a number of unlinked ringers in the list — tunes which I would be very surprised to find on any real playlist. Tunes like:
- “Just the Lasagna (Semi-Bossa Nova)” by Carmine & the Cal-Zones
- “Skyful of Hearts” performed by Larry “Doc” Sportello
- “Soul Gidget” by Meatball Flag
Pynchon’s in his 70s now; I wonder how long he can keep this up? In any case –for its length, fewer than 400 pages (versus hundreds more for nearly all his other titles) if for no other reason — if you’ve postponed reading anything by the guy, this might be the one to start you off. It’s not likely to be dull.
Update: A couple more items (for now; wouldn’t be surprised to find more later)…
First, Wired has put up an interactive Google Map of Los Angeles-area sites which figure in Pynchon’s work — Inherent Vice and others. And by “interactive” I don’t mean just the usual zoom-and-slide Google Maps controls: you can actually make additions yourself, if you’re suitably well-informed and/or obsessive. (Wired‘s capsule summary of the book, by the way: “The Big Lebowski meets The Big Sleep.”)
Second, the Wall Street Journal‘s “Speakeasy” blog has confirmed that it is indeed Pynchon himself doing the voiceover. They hired a voice-recognition expert, and armed with his affirmative response managed to wrench a confession out of the Penguin Press PR folks. Ah, but is it possible their “expert” is maybe a wishful-thinking Pynchon fan? Nah:
We should point out [voice-recognition guy] Primeau is an unbiased witness, having never read Pynchon (“I don’t know this guy but it looks like he has some history as an author,” he said). Nevertheless, if he hasn’t been taken by the man’s work, Primeau is intrigued by his voice, which he describes as “a tobacco-driven soft rasp.”
What’s in a Song: Begin the Beguine (2)
[This is another in an occasional series on popular songs with long histories. Part 1 — which focused on the song’s composition and lyrics — appeared on Wednesday.]
How many times and by which performers has “Begin the Beguine” been covered? It is to laugh.
The most comprehensive list I’ve seen was on the page of information at the WICN radio station’s site which I mentioned in Part (1) of this post. That list includes around 118 names “and many others” (I can’t swear to the count — I counted it once but am damned if I’ll put myself through that again :). Among those names — and aside from the dozens of Big Bands who jumped on the song following Artie Shaw’s success with it — were artists as varied as Chet Atkins, Liberace, Frankie Lyman & The Teenagers, Julio Iglesias, Django Reinhardt, Coleman Hawkins, Lalo Schifrin, Mario Lanza…
One thing you notice from many of these covers is how heavily their pacing and rhythm have been influenced by the Shaw swing-band version. But how close was that version to Cole Porter’s intentions?
Let’s refer again to Porter himself, who once wrote of the dance called the beguine (emphasis added): “I was very much taken by the rhythm of the dance, the rhythm was practically that of the already popular rumba but much faster.” Compare this with the writeup by the anonymous WICN writer (emphasis added): “It is similar to a rumba, but slower, with dance moves performed smoothly and deliberately. Like many Latin dances, the beguine emphasizes the ability to roll the hips to evoke sensuality while performing the steps.”
(Yeah — no wonder so many artists have covered “Beguine”: apparently there’s enough leeway for them to do whatever the heck they want with it.)
Surprises in Store
From whiskey river:
For My Young Friends Who Are Afraid
There is a country to cross you will
find in the corner of your eye, in
the quick slip of your foot — air far
down, a snap that might have caught.
And maybe for you, for me, a high, passing
voice that finds its way by being
afraid. That country is there, for us,
carried as it is crossed. What you fear
will not go away: it will take you into
yourself and bless you and keep you.
That’s the world, and we all live there.
(William Stafford [source])
…and:
So strange, life is. Why people do not go around in a continual state of surprise is beyond me.
(William Maxwell)
…and:
Life is mostly froth and bubble,
Two things stand like stone,
KINDNESS in another’s trouble,
COURAGE in your own.
What’s in a Song: Begin the Beguine (1)
[Cole Porter at the piano, sometime in the 1930s. For me, it’s easy to see in him,
from this photo, the song “Begin the Beguine” — but not the beguine itself.]
[This is another in an occasional series on popular songs with appeal across the generations. This post will be broken into two parts; Part 2 appears in a few days here.]
So let’s start with the obvious question for a word geek, that word: beguine.
As far as I can tell, every Google result for the word “beguine” (pronounced something like b’GEEN) refers to the song — with these exceptions:
- dictionary pages (some of them!) for the word itself;
- pages about a 13th- to 14th-century religious order, whose female adherents were called Beguines; and
- pages on which only the lyrics appear.*
And what does beguine refer to, in the context of the song? Wikipedia:
The beguine is a dance, similar to a slow rumba, that was very modestly popular in the 1930s, coming from the islands of Guadeloupe and Martinique, where the Martinique beguine is a slow close dance with a roll of hips.
(Indeed, a whole style or genre of music exists, known as biguine — not at all unrelated to the beguine dance.)
Cole Porter had two stories for where he encountered the dance before enshrining its name in the song. In one, he saw it performed on an island in the South Pacific; in the other, later version, he saw Martinique immigrants perform it on a Paris dance-hall stage. Charles Schwartz’s Cole Porter: A Biography offers a letter from Porter to a fan as an explanation which joins both of those stories into one:
I was living in Paris at the time and somebody suggested that I go to see the Black Martiniquois, many of whom lived in Paris, do their native dance called The Beguine. This I did quickly and I was very much taken by the rhythm of the dance, the rhythm was practically that of the already popular rumba but much faster. The moment I saw it I thought of BEGIN THE BEGUINE as a good title for a song and put it away in a notebook, adding a memorandum as to its rhythm and tempo.
About ten years later [on an island to the west of New Guinea, in what is now Indonesia, a] native dance was stated [?] for us, the melody of the first four bars of which was to become my song.
In these terms, then, the music of “Begin the Beguine” sprang from a Caribbean rhythm and a South Pacific melody. (Note, though: Porter was a notorious kidder and practical joker, and very aware of his popular image. Various other explanations have been offered — by Porter and others — for the song’s origin. Basically, all we truly know about the song is what anyone has known since it was published.)
Costs of Creation
From whiskey river:
The Midnight Club
The gifted have told us for years that they want to be loved
For what they are, that they, in whatever fullness is theirs,
Are perishable in twilight, just like us. So they work all night
In rooms that are cold and webbed with the moon’s light;
Sometimes, during the day, they lean on their cars,
And stare into the blistering valley, glassy and golden,
But mainly they sit, hunched in the dark, feet on the floor,
Hands on the table, shirts with a bloodstain over the heart.
(Mark Strand, The Continuous Life [source])
…and:
The important thing about despair is never to give up, never wrap up and put away a sterile life, but somehow keep it open. Because you never can know what’s coming; never. That’s the great thing about life, the crucial thing to remember. You may beat your fists on a stone wall for years and years, and every consideration of common sense will say it’s hopeless, forget it, spare yourself; and then one day your bleeding hand will go through as if the wall were theatrical gauze; you’ll be in another realm where birds are singing and love is possible, and you’d have missed it if you’d given up, because it might be only that one day the wall was not stone.
(Allen Wheelis, from The Illusionless Man [source])
Yeah, You and James Brown
It won’t come as news to anybody that blogs — all the “citizen journalist” talk notwithstanding — aren’t where you typically find news. They’re where you find feelings: reactions to news, sure, but also just general reactions to family and work situations, reactions to human behavior, reactions of self-approval and -disillusion, and so on.
Somebody finally decided it was time to weigh all that emotion. (Which, among other things, allows bloggers to record how that information makes them feel.)
Warning: We’re entering time-sink territory here.
Here’s how the folks at We Feel Fine summarize their mission:
Since August 2005, We Feel Fine has been harvesting human feelings from a large number of weblogs. Every few minutes, the system searches the world’s newly posted blog entries for occurrences of the phrases “I feel” and “I am feeling”. When it finds such a phrase, it records the full sentence, up to the period, and identifies the “feeling” expressed in that sentence (e.g. sad, happy, depressed, etc.). Because blogs are structured in largely standard ways, the age, gender, and geographical location of the author can often be extracted and saved along with the sentence, as can the local weather conditions at the time the sentence was written. All of this information is saved.
The result is a database of several million human feelings, increasing by 15,000 – 20,000 new feelings per day.
You may find this Orwellian. You may find it absurd. You may wonder what this says about the state of the world, the Internet, human nature…
All of which, of course, you should feel free to blog about.
The image at the top of this post shows a partial screen capture from one of WFF‘s “movements.” (Each movement is a different way of representing the underlying data.) Here, the site apparently takes forms of the phrase “I feel” and captures the word which follows. As you can see, as of the time the database was most recently updated, 3,950 bloggers felt strange, and “strange” was the 77th most common feeling. (This is probably a huge undercount; 100% of bloggers seem to feel strange close to 100% of the time, they just tire of writing about it.) At the moment, the project is taking the emotional pulse of over two million blogs.
Incidentally, I learned of WFF from the excellent ResearchBuzz newsletter. (Anyone interested in doing online research will probably faint dead away to learn of its existence.) Specifically, I picked up this item from the @researchbuzz Twitter feed; I don’t see anything about WFF on the ResearchBuzz Web site at the moment. That tweet led me to an article on Newswise, which (among other things) also introduced me to “the optimistic Irish economist Francis Edgeworth[, who] imagined a strange device called a ‘hedonimeter.'”
Which, um, makes me feel pretty good.
Things You Don’t Want to Hear
(or Make) Someone Say
Back from a three-day beach weekend with spotty Interwebs access…
On Saturday — scattered amongst dog-walking, sightseeing, storm-dodging, and various other activities — The TV Network Whose Name I Cannot Type offered some sort of monsters-of-the-deep marathon: maybe six or eight films about giant sharks, reptiles, squid, etc., threatening the lives and livelihoods of people living in waterfront communities. Only a couple of these movies had been made for theatrical release; the quality, therefore, was a little uneven.
I had no notebook at hand, so I can’t swear that the following snippets of dialogue are verbatim. But in each, the central phrase remains intact.
- If you’re familiar with this genre, you know there’s often on hand a seen-it-all, weatherbeaten old veteran of combat with exactly the sort of beast now threatening everyone. (The template for this role: Robert Shaw’s character Quint, in Jaws.) In one of Saturday’s films — it might have been Super Gator, or perhaps Croc — this character gives the others an example of the monster’s extraordinary toughness. A disbelieving bystander says, approximately, “Can these creatures really do that?” The grizzled old guy replies:
[I didn’t notice what the thing meant to do after its nightmare steeplechase; my attention kept returning to the first part of the sentence.]Yep. Why, I seen one o’these things run five miles across a rough road just to—
- In another film, off the coast of California, severe underwater tremors have caused two very unpleasant events:
- They have disturbed a school, or pack, of prehistoric sharks, called goblin sharks (there really are such things), bringing them to feed near the surface instead of at their usual great depths; and
- they have launched a tsunami.
With no operational radios, cell phones, or land lines, two groups of survivors of the tsunami must deal with the sharks on their own. At one point, some of these survivors are wading around the lower floor of a building under construction, and they meet up with the rest of their party, whom they’d feared lost. They compare notes on their experiences, and Guy A from one group asks Guy B from the other if they can escape by going out the way they came in. Says Guy B:
No. There’s a shark in the parking lot.
Were I a screenwriter, I’d live for the experience of building a script around a line like “There’s a shark in the parking lot.” Just once, though.
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