Friday, March 8, 2013

This is Your Universe, Too

Just Look At It.

© David Morrow: Milky Way Galaxy From Mt. Rainer, 2012; a submission to the
Smithsonian magazine's 10th annual photo contest (Smithsonian.com --
click on image to see a larger version - easy and fun!)
 
This is where we live -- in the Milky Way Galaxy, as seen from near Mt. Rainer in Washington State, United States of America.

This is where we live -- not as Muscovites, or Berliners or San Franciscans, Beijingians or Mumbaians, Sydneyites or Brazilianzers. Not as members of a political party, or Volvo owners, or speakers of any specific language. Not as graduates of name-brand universities versus carrying a GED certificate.  Not as members of any specific racial or cultural group; not as Americans or EU citizens, Chinese or Urdu, Spanish or Quebecois; Gay or Straight, Vegan or Carnivore. We live in a larger room than that.

I'm the last Dog who needs to be reminded of the immense problems we face as individuals, as a species; and most of them self-created.

I believe that with a different perspective on who and what, and where, we are -- something fundamental could begin to change for us. That continues to be my hope.

But, I'm only a Dog, and no one listens to me. I can still look up, though, and see.

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Friday, March 1, 2013

Repeint Heaven: Debt Ceiling Russian Roulette


(June Of 2011: The Rethugs hold us hostage, again, to their hairy-chested, tiny-penis vision of the world, where the wealthy are given treats and everyone else will receive the fabled Pie In The Sky, after we are dead.)

(Make Social Security into a New Casino! Make the HCA into a Giant Privatization of Medicare! Austerity for everyone! but especially the poor.)

________________________________________________________________

Fear Hunter

Something about the game of 'Debt Chicken' being played out between the Rethugs, and the Democrats (Aber Ganz Ohne Rücken), reminded me of Michael Cimino's 1978 film The Deer Hunter -- which included a long sequence where Robert DiNiro and Christopher Walken, taken captive by the VC/NVA, are forced to play Russian roulette (see the whole clip here at UTub).

The idea of someone being forced to play a game that involves putting a gun to the country's head, just for hysterically stupid political posturing, was an image I couldn't get rid of...

Mehr: This post is based on one, small part of an earlier creation by Max Udargo, which you should definitely see here. Max is the creator of Burton & Jefferson, and Peterbuilt Nixon, and is a much funnier dog than I am.





Friday News: Bush Fails To Save Brother

Man Falls Into Sinkhole
(As seen on CNN)

 (Cibble News Network) -- "The ground just swallowed him up."

A Florida man fell into an 'economic black hole' that opened suddenly beneath the bedroom of his suburban home, calling out to his brother for help as he fell, a fire department spokeswoman said Friday.

"I heard a loud crash, like the economy failing after almost a decade of deregulation and a lack of enforcement," the man's brother, Jeremy Jeb Bush, told CNN affiliate WFTS. "I heard my brother screaming and I ran back there and thought it was Osama bin Laden, or our mom's Beautiful Mind, or something. My old lady turned the light on and all I seen was this big hole, a real big hole, and all I saw was his mattress."

Bush frantically tried to rescue his brother Bush, standing in the hole and digging at the rubble with a "Chang, The 3,000-Year-Old Warrior" lunch box, until police arrived and pulled him out, saying the floor was still collapsing.

"I thought I heard him holler that he'd been lied to by his friend Dick, and that I should help him by runnin' for President in 2016," Bush tearfully told  reporters.

But rescuers can't go into the hole to check -- it's too dangerous. Authorities say they worry the hole is still spreading and the economy house could collapse at any time.

________________________________________________________________________

Thursday, February 28, 2013

Reprint Heaven: The Best Benign Neglect Money Can Buy

How Icons Treat Icons

[This, From 2010.]

__________________________________________________________________________



You Don't Know Whether To Laugh at The Folly Of The Rich,
Or Weep At Level Of Neglect. Or Both.
(Screencapture: NYT Online, 2/13/10; Photo: Tony Cenicola)

Peter Max was one hip guy, once upon a time. I actually thought he was dead, but, as it turns out, he's not.


Peter Max At An Exhibition Of New Work, 2008

A charmed player in the Lottery of life in some ways, though: Born Max Finkelstein in Berlin, he and his family were able to escape in 1938 (if they hadn't -- well, let's say Yellow Submarine would have had a greatly different appearance). They fled to Shanghai, China, and in 1948, to Israel. Eventually his family moved to the United States, and young Max started a career as a graphic artist -- a very, very successful career.



Max's work produced classic Pop-Art images -- vibrant, primary colors; mirror-image split scenes; graceful gradients of complimentary tones as background to high-contrast shillouettes.



Max's art helped to visually define the Sixties (more than any of Warhol's copy-and-paint-over repetitious imagery), and even people born long after recognize what historical period Max's work represents -- like Klimt's paintings help define fin de siècle Vienna and European culture before World War One; or the work of Monet defining Impressionism; or Grant Wood's American Gothic image creating an icon for a quintessential America.


Two Vic Moscoso Versions Of Left Coast Psychedelic Pop: 1966-67

His art for the animated film Yellow Submarine became synonymous with the Beatles, with sitar music, the Revolver, Magical Mystery Tour and Sgt. Pepper albums; Twiggy; Carnaby street fashions; Peter and Gordon and The Who; John Steed and Emma Peel (!) in The Avengers; Patrick McGoohan shouting, "I am not a number; I am a free man!"; The Rolling Stones, and the rest of the British invasion.

Max's work was trans-Atlantic, New York art world Psychedelica -- it was new, but echoed roots in Art Noveau and packaging design. It was sophisticated but commercial -- as opposed to the grittier and more experimental Left-Coast, Haight-Ashbury, Acid Test, Avalon and Fillmore posters; Buffalo Springfield, Jefferson Airplane and The Grateful Dead; Sproul Plaza sit-in, Whiskey-A-Go-Go, and Rolling Stone sort of psychedelic culture.



Needless to say, when you produce nearly archetypal, iconic modern images, and you're halfway intelligent about the business side of art, you can do well: Peter's loaded. And he knew that he wasn't only creating art, but a Brand: None of his reproduced work from the 60's and 70's appears without his Peter Max© logo.


As a Creative Guy™, I support that: You Go, Peter.

(Max's work inspired other graphic artists, font creators, clothing designers; I've always believed Moebius (aka Jean Giraud), one of the finest illustrators to come out of the Sixties and Seventies, was heavily influenced by Max's art.)


Temps - Jean Giraud ('Moebius')

However, being a Creative Guy™ doesn't exempt Max from acting like a common, garden-variety rich guy. The New York Times recently carried a story about a collection of thirty-six Corvettes -- many of them classic rarities -- which Max had purchased in a block from another wealthy collector in 1990.

Max had intended to paint the cars and, probably, sell them -- a classic 1964 'Vette (worth a good bit all by itself) would have had its value, uh, enhanced by an original Peter Max-designed paint job. And for Max, it would probably be a hoot 'n a half to apply his design concepts to the shapes of a vehicle -- something he had already done with his Rolls-Royce Silver Cloud in the 1970's.


Max's Painted Rolls, Parked In Front Of An L.A. Gallery, 2007

The Corvette was the creation of Harvey Earl, a design engineer for the Chevrolet division of General Motors, and named for a fast, maneuverable naval warship. It debuted in 1953, and (depending upon whom you talk to) either is still produced today, or lost its classic status to overproduction and design changes in the late 60's.



I'm not a car guy (though I've had a Guy's standard fantasy of buying a junked unusual or neglected brand or model, and restoring it). But like Max's art, for me the Corvette is also part of what defined the Sixties -- Route 66; the Beach Boys; the West Coast, Sandra Dee - Endless Summer; days at El Capitan, or Refugio Beach; El Cajon or Venice. Santa Barbara, and State Street on a Summer night, or the Sunset Strip in L.A., cruising with the top down while the push-button radio plays I got sunshine / On a cloudy day...


George Maharis And Martin Milner In Route 66:
And They Walked Off / To Look For America

Max's Corvettes went into a storage garage in Brooklyn; Max moved on to other things, and the Corvettes sat... for twenty years -- apparently without cleaning, or being set up on blocks, or having their engines and drive trains protected from atmospheric effects. Convertibles were left open; cats apparently nested in some (you can see fresh paw-prints, and older ones under layers of dirt, in the photos) and the upholstery suffered. The paint jobs of each car, some of them original to the vehicles, slowly oxidized and bonded with layers of grime. Tires deflated, and the cars settled to rest on their rims.


The Rarest: A 1953 Corvette, It's First Year Of Production,
And One Of Only 300 Manufactured... Nice Goin', Peter.
(Photo: Tony Cenicola, New York Times Online)

Seeing the photographs of these cars in such obvious state of neglect was... well, saddening. For Max, they were like paper or canvas; something to stretch a vision upon. But they're also a kind of art on their own. For me, and others, they're iconic in other ways -- among other things, a symbol of time passing, that people in my crowd (and me, personally) are aging, now; and one way or another how much the past is present in our memories.


(Photo: Tony Cenicola, New York Times Online)

Recently, the Times reported, Max moved the cars from the Brooklyn garage to a secured parking area in upper Manhattan, as he "considers a new idea to clean them up and repaint them". I think they belong with others who may have the attention span of a larger mammal, and financial wherewithal to restore and properly garage these automobiles.


(Screencapture: NYT Online, 2/13/10; Photo: Jenna Stern)

It may be foolish to think of caring for these cars as a way of respecting our collective national past, and our own personal connections to memory -- but, I'm only a dog, and no one listens to me.


Monday, February 25, 2013

Reprint Heaven: The Thing That Would Not Die, Episode XXXXVIII.2

Silvio!! On The Comeback Trail

Little Silvio Berlusconi -- Oligarch; lover of women Horndog; corrupt politician (who last week described bribes as just a cost of doing business; what's the big deal?) -- is attempting to push his Italian Pene del Europa Party (or whatever it's called) back into power in Italian elections held this past weekend.

You need to understand:  Berlusconi's return into Italian politics after being indicted on charges of bribery and misuse of office is the functional equivalent of squeezing Elliot Spitzer, Robin Williams and Richard Nixon together in one pint-sized package.

Load him up with hormone treatments, hair plugs and plastic surgery, and you have Silvio Berlusconi. Put Silvio!! in office as the Prime Minister of Italy and you get an EU Clown Show, coupled with the highest official in the nation treating Italy as an extension of his personal business empire.

At the moment, the election returns reported give Italy's Center-Left parties a five- or six-per-cent edge over Berlusconi's Rightist party -- so the Return Of The European Horndog may be postponed until his political allies in the Italian Parliament can provoke a new election cycle.

Here are a couple of items from the past to provide some context for the Freakshow we may have to witness:

__________________________________________________________________________

Berlusconi Attacked By Cathedral 

(December 13, 2009)


No; It's Not Simon Pegg In Star Trek (A Bit Old, For Simon)
-- It's The Capo d'Buffoono Capo! (UK Mirror, 11/13/09)

Earlier today (tonight, in Italy), Silvio Berlusconi, 73-year-old Prime Minister of the Republic of Italy and Chief Clown of the European Union, appeared at a political rally in Milan when he was struck by the Duomo Cathedral which borders the square where the rally took place.


Milan's Duomo Cathedral Of The Maria Bambina, Which Is Being
Held For Questioning By Italian Police After The Surprise Assault

Berlusconi, whose reign as Primo Penis L'Italia has been threatened by a series of sex scandals, alleged mafia connections and criminal charges of bribery and money laundering, had appeared at the rally in a local hotel, but was continually heckled by onlookers. Even though he was the only person in the room who happened to have a microphone and a really large public-address system, Silvio! had to spend some time shouting them down.

While exiting the building, Berlusconi had been slowed, walking through a crowd of people, shaking hands (for any other head of state, taking that kind of risk is unheard of), when he was attacked. Obviously bleeding, he was whisked to a local hospital, reportedly having suffered broken teeth, a fractured nose, and various contusions and cuts, but was otherwise still able to have sex (after a fashion) with women forty-five years younger than himself.



(Screencaptures: BBC Video Footage, December 13, 2009)

The 623-year-old Cathedral which struck the Prime Minister was thrown by Massimo Tartaglia, who had gotten close enough to the Capo de Tutti Frutti in the crowd as he left the rally. That Tartaglia (who reportedly "has a history of mental problems") was able to get so close to a major European political figure to carry out the assault is troubling to Italian authorities.

But, even more astounding is how Tartaglia was able to reduce a gigantic, Gothic-style building to the size of a paperweight, and throw it, striking Berlusconi in the snout (probably had been between the thighs of some-a young girl not long before, eh?).

How the huge stone building was then returned to its normal size and position without being seen by anyone is unknown, as Tartagliga was immediately seized -- which raises the spectre of a wide conspiracy.


Italian Authorities Consider A Connection Between The Cathedral,
And Another Architectural Feature With Time-Travel Capabilities

"We have not ruled out aliens from space, or time travelers, using futuristic technology to injure our beloved Silvio," an anonymous source in Berlusconi's security detail told the BBC.

It is also not known whether Massimo is related to the Tattaglias in the Godfather saga ("Sonny hit Bruno Tattaglia at three o'clock this morning"), and what this may mean for Diane Keaton, James Caan and Al Pacino.


Bruno Tattaglia: "Scotch? Pre-War -- Or, A Little Strangling?"

The Duomo was ordered by Italian police to remain in place in Milan and not to attempt to leave the city. In an exclusive interview with the BBC, the Duomo claimed it had never met Tartaglia before and that it had been quietly hosting an evening Mass when it was picked up and swung at the Prime Minister.

"I am innocent", the Cathedral told the BBC. "It's true -- I don't like the immoral and disgusting acts by which the Prime Minister has besmirched his office. But I have never, ever caused harm to anyone, except witches, and Protestants, and a whole bunch of Jews." The Duomo has asked for Papal lawyers from Rome to be present during further questioning.


Silvio's Own Television Network In Italy, Providing Unbiased
Coverage Of The Prime Minister's Glorious Reign Over What's Now
The Theater Capital Of Europe (Photo: UK Guardian 11/09)

[Okay; if you haven't figured it out, or don't follow the links I handed to you: Tartaglia allegedly struck Berlusconi in the face with a souvenir model of the Duomo cathedral. The symbolism is obvious and even amusing -- and no, I'm not going to explain it to you.]

While his popularity ratings remain above 50 per cent, Berlusconi's hold over his office may slip as the result of poor life choices and too much bouncy-bouncy. Dogged by rumors of connections with the mafia as a Billionaire oligarch; publicly romping with women (which led to a messy, continuing public divorce from his second wife); and after a law granting him immunity from prosecution as Prime Minister was overturned earlier this year, Silvio! may be the first leader of Italy in several generations to be convicted of criminal acts while in office.

Silvio's own television network and newspapers continue to broadcast a campaign of positive reports about him (he is reported to like dogs and enjoy life), but many Italians dismiss them as obvious propaganda. Basta!

Then, there is Berlusconi's former pay-for-play mistress, Patrizia D'Addario, who recently published a tell-all autobiography about the Buffoono's inner circle, and their sex life, entitled "What You Require, Mr. Prime Minister".


The Oligarch Minister and a Simple Italian Prostitute Girl

It seems that she saw her chance for opportunities, attention, money, and more money in her relationship with Silvio!; but even if some of her alleged details are incorrect, he is still the married head of the Italian government and was still committing adultery with (at least) D'Addario in a relatively public fashion -- not to mention whispers about the 18-year-old Silvio was seen hanging with after D'Addario smeared him in the press, which seemed one way to thumb his nose at the world (I don't give a rat's ass what you think!) -- ho ho ho; that Silvio!!.

Even his own handlers are stumped by what to say about the public backlash towards their Capo's antics. Asked about the assault, Berlusconi spokesman Paolo Buonaiuti told CNN, "There has been such a buildup of hatred toward the premier, and this is not good... This campaign of hatred has been building quite rapidly recently, and I am not surprised that what happened tonight took place."

Doctors at the hospital in Milan have indicated that CAT scans of Berlusconi's head show no abnormalities, but want to perform additional tests to be certain.


Silvio's! Physicians: Shocked by the assault -- except Dottore Tano
Carridi (At Right), CAT scan director, who wanted extra Pet Treats.

The physicians also agreed that he has Un Poco Pene, then showed scans to reporters and cleaning women on the night staff before blowing off the remainder of their shift to eat Pasta Pesto, or play with catnip bags in the shape of the Pope.

__________________________________________________________________________

See Naples And Divorce 

(May 9, 2009)

73-year-old Silvio Berlusconi ( Silvio!! ) is a flamboyant, corrupt mover and shaker who has been able to control most of Italy's major media, its largest banking and insurance group, and a major soccer team, and to operate an investment company whose funding sources are impossible to trace; there have been allegations of drug-money laundering and Mafia connections.



And Silvio has become the country's Prime Minister. Three times. He's worth some $9 Billion US, and has his own Center-Right political party, "The People Of Freedom". Berlusconi pushed his way into Italy's political scene and was successful only because he's been able to create a Center-Right (mostly Right-wing) coalition to run the country. Italy is a Parliamentary system, with Silvio forming a majority coalition to run the nation from the fractious jumble of its political parties.

The country has had over 50 governments since 1945. It's hard for a Parliament to accomplish anything for The People when the central government goes into the food processor every six months or a year -- and anyone who can form a relatively stable governing coalition can be a very powerful figure. Silvio knows it. And, like any egotistical greedhead global businessperson, he's going to take advantage of his position, and of the country's potential for instability, to increase his personal, uh, 'leverage'. Hey; it's a dog-eat-dog world, right? (As a dog, I take real exception to that, but we'll let it go.)

Italy is also a nation which has included Mussolini's daughter and several Porn starlets as members of its Parliament (most famously, La Ciccolina, former wife of [con] artist Jeff Koons), and which has theme restaruants and unrepentant speakers trumpeting the good old days of fascism. But for Berlusconi, beyond government, Italy apparently exists to provide him with many personal financial opportunities, fine living, and babes. Oh, that Silvio!

Silvio's second wife, 43-year-old former actress Veronica Lario, has had enough and wants a divorce. They've been married 19 years, since Silvio divorced his first wife to marry Veronica after seeing her (then a 24-year-old performing on stage) for an hour one night.

"It was love at first sight," Silvio said. "[Veronica] has been a perfect wife. She's never embarrassed me."


La Fascisti Silvio! and Lil' Boots toast La Dolce Vita

Pity the reverse isn't true, but so what; who cares? He's Silvio! The past ten years have seen a number of pathetically typical scenes, where Berlusconi publicly parades and spends private bouncy-bouncy time with leggy supermodels. He even installed two of them as Cabinet ministers in his government. Ah, that Silvio!

After the last of these, Veronica demanded Berlusconi publicly apologize. He did -- and it was a stage-managed publicity event spun by the media he owns. Not bad, eh? Humiliate your wife, and turn it all to a political advantage! Ha ha ha -- Silvio!!!

What put Veronica over the top was Silvio's recent attendance at a girl's 18th birthday party in Naples -- the daughter of a friend; his attentions -- not altogether neutral or paternal -- gave some the impression that Mt. Vesuvius wasn't the only thing smoldering.

Italians shrug and wave a hand; it's what happens. Aah, so what? It's such good theatre; it's got everything -- operatic passions, greed, envy, the wealthy lusting after barely legal teenagers. Not like he can't afford to buy a few Indulgences, eh? The Pope is a bastard Tedeski, it's true, but those Germans are practical, and Silvio can charm fish from the ocean, that one.

But, let's not be so hard; he's Silvio!!. A buffoon with cash; one of the super-wealthy who happen to be the head of state -- and see nothing wrong with boffing a few young women, bending his country's laws (easier to do when you run the country) so he can wet his beak a little, eh? And a few bribes, some threats; hey, you can't make an empire without spilling a little red wine. Life's a banquet, and Silvio is right there, cutting in line and elbowing others out of the way to get a little more.

Berlusconi is what happens when people, cynical and disgusted with the antics of their politicians, lose any real interest in government. They're all corrupt; they're all inefficent; you can't fight Tammany Hall. Ultimately, someone like a Berlusconi appears -- flamboyant, voluble; tough-minded, who enjoys the pursuits of a man. Huey Long meets the Emperor Augustus.



The Leader both plays off the People's cynicism, and feeds it. They claim to be a fresh wind of change who speak for The Little People; at the same time they treat the country as a private feeding trough, which only reinforces the idea that Government is unreliable. Ideals? Just advertising slogans. They dye their hair in what (for a 73-year-old) is an impossibly dark shade and parade with women a quarter of their age to prove to anyone they are potent and powerful.

This formula of crony patronage and power is older than recorded history, a country kept in constant political turmoil while its assets are acquired, traded, sold or leased. And as the one at the top of that small crowd of oligarchs who benefit, the Leader, Capo tutti del Capo, enjoys his relatively brief time at the top of the pyramid. Because those persons almost exclusively focused on the acquisition of power and material possession are, of course, the highest expression of the human species.

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Silvio !! Chapter MCMXXXXXXLVII: The State Is ME! 

(October 14, 2011)

Government By Commedia del Arte

Silvio! Salutes -- Himself, Of Course

To me -- and I don't think I'm alone -- one hallmark of These Days™ we're living through is the slow, steady erosion of things based on illusion, and lies.

The financial Bubble was spun out of caviar wishes and champagne dreams; it was a manipulation of each stage of the process from real estate sales to loan origination to the packaging of CDOs and pushing them on investors, by rentiers -- persons who
play no productive role in the economy themselves but who monopolize the access to physical assets, financial assets and technologies. They make money not from producing anything new themselves, but purely from [possession] of property (which provides a claim to a revenue stream)... (Wikipedia).

For the past three years, for some, this has become clearer. To other people, that same dawning clarity is threatening on a visceral level, an aberration.

This has been a global game, and in Europe, the results are the same -- political, corporate and financial illusions are beginning to come apart like the legendary cheap suit. And nowhere has the Illusory State been more pronounced than Italy, where a working Center-Right coalition in its Parliament has given the country its longest-lasting, most stable government in fifty years.

However, "stable" is a relative term. Silvio !'s government has been marred by accusations of corruption (expected in Italy, which has been a Kleptocracy on some level for centuries) and mismanagement, which Berlusconi's coalition was supposed to change.

Unfortunately, that coalition was brokered by a narcissistic Oligarch, pompous and vainglorious -- the Latin version of Sad Vlad The Putin: Silvio!

And unfortunately for Little Silvio, after besting his detractors and enemies and remaining the Prime Minister of that near-failed state, now the world's financial crisis is coming home -- to live with his people.

Not Silvio -- he's a bunga-bunga billionaire; personally, he'll be very comfortable. The Italian people? Not so much. And that could spell the end for Little Silvio's reign as the Clown Prince Of the European Union.

From today's New York Times:
In his narrowest escape yet, Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi barely survived a confidence vote on Friday, saving his government from collapse but leaving it all but incapable of legislating effectively.

With 316 votes for and 301 votes against, Mr. Berlusconi’s center-right coalition won the vote. But it failed to secure a solid majority, making it increasingly difficult for him to pass legislation aimed at protecting Italy from Europe’s sovereign debt crisis. Had he lost, Mr. Berlusconi would have had to resign, marking the end of an 18-year political era in which the billionaire businessman shaped Italian politics in his own image, entwining the country’s fate with his own.

...the Berlusconi government was now hanging by a thread and could fall at the next bump in the road — when enough disgruntled lawmakers from within Mr. Berlusconi’s coalition calculate that they would be safer jumping off a sinking ship rather than staying aboard and risking drowning...

Since 2009, the European debt crisis has felled governments in Ireland, Portugal and Slovakia, led to early elections in Spain and a cabinet reshuffle in Greece. So far, Mr. Berlusconi has proven to be a tough outlier — not least because the European Central Bank in August agreed to buy Italian debt. But the bank did this in exchange for promised structural changes that the government has not yet carried out, a mix of tax increases and changes to the pension system...

This week, opposition leaders — and the president of Italy, in an unusually strong statement — told Mr. Berlusconi that surviving a confidence vote was not the same as governing... the center-left opposition has repeatedly called on Mr. Berlusconi to step down.. [and] repeatedly accused Mr. Berlusconi of buying the votes of would-be dissidents within his own center-right coalition.

On Friday, Mr. Berlusconi was saved by loyalists who prefer to have the government limp along rather than fall and potentially be replaced by a group of nonpolitical technocrats with a mandate to carry out the structural changes including tax increases, changes to the pension system and a growth stimulus bill now deadlocked in Parliament.

Foreign investors and many of Italy’s business leaders hope for such a technical government, but lawmakers have resisted out of fears of losing power.

Thursday, February 21, 2013

Reprint Heaven: You Want Cheap, You Buy Cheap

[Originally From January, 2010.  Not to be so harsh and nasty to Elizabeth -- she's only traveling a well-beaten path to "fame" and "more money"... but -- as if to prove the point -- aside from her immediate family and friends, who remembers her today?]

 

 Elizabeth Gilbert is a publishing sensation. That's all, really; she isn't an amazingly insightful writer or even a particularly good one. But, all kinds of advertising from her publisher, and piles of her publisher's offering just inside the entrances of mega-chain book sellers, said her first book was
"sensuous and audacious... [a] spiritual odyssey as deeply pleasurable as it is enlightening" (Booklist) ... "[A] deeply personal story, fun and inspiring... You will laugh, cry and love with a more open heart" (Rocky Mountain News) ... "An irresistible, candid, and eloquent account of [Gilbert's] pursuit of worldly pleasure, spiritual devotion" (Powell's Books) ... "a magnificent tale" ... "easily one of the best books of the decade" ... "powerful" ... "archetypal".
 

Commercium et Praestigiae: Not Everyone Buys That Gilbert's Book Is The Most Important And Seminal Trailblazing Literary Work Since Danielle Steele Or The Thornbirds In brief, Gilbert was in a marriage that wasn't doing well. In fact, it imploded. In divorcing the Husband, she effectively gave up claims upon her half of all community property, an unusual step in an dissolution action; Gilbert declines any details. But, no matter -- she was once again single, devastated, and wondering what the next move would be.

Gilbert asks us to believe that she was lying on the floor of her bathroom, her emotional world coming apart, when she had a conversation with god (Gilbert gushed, "...I wanted to say...'I've always liked your work'..."), and then set off on a world tour to find what she wanted in life. The book, Eat, Pray, Love, was Gilbert's ruminations on these three topics as she moved through her emotional roller-coaster, post-marriage life. There is food (which everyone likes), religion (which will satisfy the Xtian Believers); and romance! And a happy ending (Which Hollywood likes)!

   
So far as I know, there was lots of god, but no Dog, in Gilbert's book.
Not even a furry, happy puppy. Don't buy it. Woof Woof. 

Gilbert has gone on the seminar circuit, in the same manner as Dwayne Dyer and Suzie Ormond, talking about the spiritual awakening she had in India and pushing a message of meditation and spiritual healing in order to be of more use to others and yourself. It's been very popular with crowds of women who've come out to hear Gilbert speak and buy her book; she is supported and promoted by Oprah Winfrey, who compared the frisson she felt having Gilbert on her program to meeting Bono of U2 (For her part, Gilbert said to ABC News, "I won't hear a bad thing said against Oprah. She's certainly supported me"). 

I'm sure Gilbert's journey was important to her, personally. And I support on a fundamental level the idea that each of us should engage in a search for connection with the sacred and unknowable -- what Jung and Einstein referred to as the "Sense Of The Mysterious". For me, it's answers to the Big Questions: What is the nature of Reality? Where did the Universe come from? Where did we come from; where are we going?

And, I appreciate the idea that by broadcasting her experience to a wider audience, Gilbert may encourage her readers and listeners to make their own connection with that Mystery. But there's a darker, commercial aspect to Gilbert's presenting her story -- and because the publishing world presenting it could care less about spirituality.

And, call me cynical, but I believe that Gilbert's book is less relevant to, say, a single mother living in Gaza City, or a subsistence farmer in a refugee camp in Darfur; or, a member of a crew-serviced weapon at a firebase in middle-of-nowhere Afghanistan, than members of Oprah's book club. But that's the beauty of the free market, you might say; if you don't want or need to buy Gilbert's book, then don't. I wish it was that simple.

 

There May Be Other Things Going On More Important Than The Most Recent "Important" Book Which Everyone Should Buy Gilbert's books are the result of what the few mega-publishing companies which dominate the market believe in: A personal if second-rate confessional tale, which adds nothing new to Western culture (or Eastern, come to that) can, with enough advertising, be touted as an "important" book which everyone should spend money to buy. It's the phenomenon of almost anything based in predictably, lowest-common-denominator values being declared as "important".

   
Courting Power: Lizzie Hearts Oprah, Who Hearts Liz, Which Sells

I have a continual sense of amazement that any creativity is pursued by people simply for the substance and value they can obtain from it, personally. There are books being written of staggering, heartbreaking power; and small films, posters, imaginative animation and whimsical comedic plays are being produced -- and none of them are promoted or known outside their relatively small circles of friends and admired.  

No matter what you think of Burning Man, the annual desert Solstice-Get-Your-Freak-On celebration, the amount of creativity behind it (the logistics, art; architecture; costuming; music) is massive. More, certainly, than in the days when Larry Harvey and members of the Suicide Club took the first wooden Men down to Ocean Beach and set them on fire.

But, none of that kind of creative effort receives much attention or promotion. Certainly not by the NewsCorp-, Wal-Mart-, Borders-, or Oprah-style promotion and sales industries (which are ultimately about about mass production of whatever shiny object of the moment can be sold to the most people). Quality and value can be found in things, and in thoughts -- but you have to have to have the intellectual ability and critical discrimination to find them in the first place.

   
An Ex-Girlfriend Once Said, Looking Good 
Isn't The Most Important Thing -- It's The Only Thing.

Some time ago, I posted a comment at Salon in response to an article about the H&M clothing lines; they were the fast food of couture, I said, and not manufactured to last more than a few years before falling apart. H&M's business model is simple: Sell a large quantity of goods at medium prices to the largest number, and don't even pretend they're more than throwaway items.

That the clothing isn't made to last is part of H&M's cachet, a postmodern statement that emphasizes the ephemeral, image- and profit-driven aspects of commerce over real quality -- which was once the hallmark of manufacturing nearly anything.
 
 

Through at least half of the 20th Century, companies touted themselves as selling products that were meant to last -- manufacturers said proudly that the reason to purchase their product was its quality, and longevity. My own idea is that almost anything was produced by a culture originally rooted in a sense of certainty and permanence, the sense of an Afterlife, and that the Earth abideth Forever. This was shaken badly by the bloody shock of the First World War, Revolutions, the Great Depression, and the end of the 'Old World'. 

The Second World War, nazism and the Holocaust, the Bomb; all contributed to a who-cares, we're-all-gonna-die-in-a-nuclear-war cynicism and existential angst which finally rejected that sense of permanence in earlier generations ... but, that's another story.

I don't know about anyone else, but the kind of mass culture represented by H&M, McDonalds, or commercial teevee; pop music, or even Viking / Penguin (which publishes Gilbert's writings; once an American company, now owned by Pearson PLC, a conglomerate based in Great Britain)... on one level, I feel like a veal calf, except in place of a tiny pen, I'm locked in a cycle which consists of work --> earn --> spend money on crap. That insults me.

   
Airline Safety For You And Me: What You Get For Your Fare

And it's not only insulting. As a business model, it's anti-democratic. It promotes a class structure in commerce, saying flatly that most people are Rubes; a pack of herd animals, incapable of real judgment or an understanding of quality -- and so deserve to be treated like children by advertisers, and sold clothing which falls apart, homes which sprout toxic mold and chemical fumes; furniture made out of particle board; toys covered in lead paint, and meat with e.coli .

This business model says we're here only to fork over our money; nothing more. But this state of affairs also means that there is a class of "better" products (and lifestyles), somewhere above us. That you can live in a home that isn't a McMansion full of formaldehyde fumes, or buy a coat good for a lifetime of wear, or drive a car that doesn't break down or flip over. You just have to be able to afford it.

But, we can't. So we buy crap to wear, to use, eat, and read -- and the people who want to sell it to us claim that what we're getting is the best, top-of-the-line; exclusive, limited... or, "easily one of the best books of the decade". Worse, it's a joke everyone is in on. People understand they're being conned and treated like sheep. We complain, but we go along; Whadya gonna do? Can't fight City Hall.

 
I Got A Business To Run; I Got Bills To Pay.
What's The Big Deal? 

God knows, the Banking and Finance sectors (not to mention the Insurance and New-home Construction industries) treated us that way in the eight years between repeal of the Glass-Stegall Act (1999) and The Crash (2008)... and how'd that work out for America?

Even if she's decided to write like one, Elizabeth Gilbert isn't a talentless hack. She had penned some fiction years before which showed promise, but faced the second-most-common roadblock for any struggling writer -- Gilbert had an agent (getting one being the first most-common issue), but couldn't get a publisher interested enough to promote her. In part, that was because her early writing was art -- fiction -- and publishers don't really give two fucks about art. It isn't that important to them.

What gets agents' and editors' attention is the "commercial viability" of a manuscript, which they frankly call a "property". It's a commodity, and they're in it for the money, honey. And -- hey! If there's some art in there, well; ahhhh, that's real nice. Whatever. Yeah.

 
Getting In Touch With Her Inner Tube: Gilbert Meditating In Bali

This is what publishing is about, in These Days. It's emphatically not about a finding and publishing the next Flannery O'Connor, or the next Thomas Wolfe, Ralph Ellison, Amy Tan, Ken Kesey, John Steinbeck, Joan Didion, or William Kennedy. It isn't about adding to the roll of authors whose voices have helped to describe and define the experience of being American. Publishing is more about marketing, and about money, than art -- and while that's always been to some degree true, it's the dominant paradigm now.

Knowing this, Gilbert made a decision to write about her divorce, and the 'Upper-Middle-Class White Girl's Search For Herself' that followed. Her agent sold Viking / Penguin on the idea of a book, and negotiated a hefty advance. Viking put Gilbert together with an editor to create a book that would sell. Add some smart marketing to create a buzz in an already-established genre: Gilbert would be the new, hot 'confessional' writer (because that's how her spiritual search would be packaged), and -- for a while -- everyone would profit.

Gilbert needed an outlet for the emotions around the destruction of her marriage; she wasn't going to return to College and become a Neurosurgeon. Writing was what came more naturally for her -- but, she made a choice to forget being an artist and followed the money, rather than labor at her craft even if it never made a dime -- because on one level, the cash (and showing your ex that you're hot and they're a steaming pile of poop) is what she needed.

   
(Photo: 'Your Book Is Remaindered', UK Guardian)

And so, Gilbert became an instant sensation -- feted, relatively more wealthy; and a celebrity. Everyone wants to wet their beaks in her success and make something out of it for themselves: Oprah adds EPL to her Book Club; there are tours and talks and speaking engagements and seminars; Julia Roberts (!!!) will play Gilbert in a film adaptation of her first book.

Most people would see this as a rags-to-riches, American Dream come true. It benefits Pearson LLC, and Oprah, and MegaChain Books Inc., and the guys who operate the AV equipment for Gilbert's speaking tours; and Julia Roberts, and Hollywoodland -- and, of course, Gilbert herself. But for the rest of us, her books and DVDs and all the rest are just more overhyped items, like a $17.99 Leopard-Skin-Print-Whatever from H&M, purchased and then dropped in a drawer.

Eventually, Gilbert will fade from view and memory, having had her 15 minutes, taken her cut and bowed off the stage. For all that frantic public attention, she will leave nothing of value behind except copies of her books in 'Remaindered' bins -- becoming (as Julia Roberts said in Notting Hill) "a ... middle-aged woman who looks like someone who was famous for a while."

   
Gilbert And Julia Roberts: If You Squint, There's A Resemblance

As a boy-tourist in the 50's, I accompanied my parents on an evening walk around Cannery Row in Monterey when it was still 'Cannery Row': Blocks of well-used warehouses and light industrial buildings on piers over the water; narrow waterfront roads with low-wattage streetlights attached to telephone poles; the tideline smell of salt and decaying seaweed.

In one open warehouse, a man sat on a chair surrounded by open wooden shipping boxes (reinforced with tin strips and spilling out piles of excelsior packing), within which were all kinds of items -- sets of dishes and silverware, carved figurines and bolts of printed silk -- imported from Asia. In the center of the room was a huge, gold-and red Buddha, surrounded by burning sticks of incense.

   
Quaeque ere Praestigiae, Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha.

Out of curiosity, I asked the man, pinched-faced and blonde-haired in his thirties, how much the Buddha cost. I was stunned when he said, "Two Thousand Dollars". To a child, that's an astronomical sum; it might as well have been a Billion (and, this was in the 1950's, when $1.00 had the purchasing power of $7.38 today). I blurted out, That thing? Why is it that much? 

The man -- eye-to-eye with me, since he sat in a chair -- shrugged. "Kid," he said, "You want good, you pay good. You want cheap; you buy cheap."