Santa Sentiments

Last week someone called me up and asked me whether I was for Christmas. I said if it had Santa in it, then yes, if not, then no.

My 3 1/2 year old wants to know why he has to go through Santa to get toys when he can just pick out what he wants on store shelves. Me: "Look, Santa's elves make the toys and give them to those who make it on Santa's nice' list. The toy manufacturers came later and are just trying to muscle in on the territory, don't worry about them." Or, "I didn't invent the system, just work with it."

I also love this time of year because I can influence my kid's behaviour by telling him if he's not careful, he'll get on Santa's 'naughty' list...He asked what happens then? I told him he'll get 'girl toys' (not that there's anything wrong with that, he just happens not to like these....)

He picked up on this idea when we visited our local mall Santa. Santa heard what the kid wanted and then asked "what should we get daddy for Christmas, good health?" The kid answered "No, get him girl toys!" Then Santa said, "he got you dad..."

The Demise of Frank

I appear to be the only disconsolate one.

Canada's flagship satire magazine, Frank, has foundered, for the second time. (See: http://www.thestar.com/article/526011)

Yes, it hurts that they stiffed me for two subscription fees, but that's ok.

What's not ok is now Canada will be a little less funny.

Michael Bate, Frank's publisher and chief writer, sounded tired and dejected about it all. He talked about the magazine's no longer being part of the zeitgiest as a result of the internet.

Satire doesn't stop because of the internet ?!

Frank provided the most cutting,searing, stylized satire in this country. The fact that many don't know this, is more a function of poor marketing or poor business acumen. This is not uncommon in the writing community. This does not mean the magazine deserves this fate.

A Modest Proposal:

Now is the time for other satirists to come forward and help one of their own.
Come on Sean Cullen!
Come on 22 Minutes!
Come on Rick Mercer!
Come on Air Farce!

Now is the time to hold a telethon for Frank. Maybe this is ridiculous, but good satire is hard to come by and doesn't get enough respect for how difficult it is to achieve. Frank deserves some support. (I've e-mailed all of the above, including Russell Smith, but haven't heard back yet. Except for Russell Smith, who said he is not a fan...but then I forgot that Frank sent him up in a recent issue too...Damn him, can't he take a joke?!).

Frank, I miss you already.

Laughing at REMember

One of the funniest memories I have occurred in the late 90's when I happened across a MuchMusic video parody of REM by the comedic troupe Corky and the Juice Pigs (with Sean Cullen as singer).

You Tube has a different improv version that appeared on MadTv which is also funny and can be seen at: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EEKVJZa_gdE, but the MuchMusic one made me fall off the couch, roll around til I cried...

I've contacted MuchMusic and Sean Cullen (at http://www.seancullen.com/) and asked if either can get me that video.

For the record, the lyrics to it are below:

Hey!

Hey you know here I am

Im here now

Here I am, I'm standing

I'm right here
Here I am, on my legs

I'm standing, standing here

Under me there is a place

And I'm standing on it

Here I am

And I'll be here forever

Unless I move over here

Remember how we dreamed

Remember how we screamed

The vegetables were steamed

The people that we seemed to know there

There I was just a minute ago

But I'm not there now, no

I'm here, here again

But a different here

An eternal here, and eternal now

And Im walking, I'm moving I see you

My eyes are looking I know you're there

Because at the end of my look you're here

I have eyes in my head

And I love you

I look at you, you sometimes see me

If youre looking at me

And if you're not looking, then you dont

But I love you, I love you

Remember how we dreamed

Remember how we screamed

The vegetables were steamed

The people that we seemed to know there

I love you

I'm all alone

I'm here in my house alone

And I think of you

Lying in my bed

I look over out of the window

I see your face

And Im frightened cause I live on the eighth floor

You must be really, really tall

You scare me

Remember how we dreamed

Remember how we screamed

The vegetables were steamed

The people that we seemed to know there

Don't forget

I'll be here

You know where I am

Eyes in my head

Teeth in my mouth

Legs on my body

Hey.

What gives value to travel is fear...

I have three friends in their forties who strike me by their overall restlessness and need for travel. I recently came across this quote and thought of them.

“What gives value to travel is fear. It is the fact that, at a certain moment, when we are so far from our own country (a French newspaper acquires incalculable value. And those evenings when, in cafes, you try to get close to other men just to touch them with your elbow), we are seized by a vague fear, and an instinctive desire to go back to the protection of old habits. This is the most obvious benefit of travel. At that moment we are feverish but also porous, so that the slightest touch makes us quiver to the depths of our being. We come across a cascade of light, and there is eternity. This is why we should not say that we travel for pleasure. There is no pleasure in traveling, and I look upon it more as an occasion for spiritual testing. If we understand by culture the exercise of our most intimate sense – that of eternity – then we travel for culture. Pleasure takes us away from ourselves in the same way as distraction, in Pascal’s use of the word, takes us away from God. Travel, which is like a greater and a graver science, brings us back to ourselves.”

Albert Camus, Notebooks 1935-1951

Mugged by a Conceptual Artist

The CBC recently reported upon a French conceptual artist, Sophie Calle who currently has an exhibit in Montreal. (1) When I first read about her work, my first thought was "yikes", then, "hmmmmm."

Ms. Calle, you see, has found a way to not only turn her own personal relationships into art, she has also done this to others who did not agree to the undertaking.

An example of the former, is her current exhibit Take Care of Yourself (Prenez soin de vous), which is the last line in a break-up e-mail from a boyfriend. Ms. Calle then sent the letter to 107 women and asked them to assess it according to their different types of expertise (by proof-readers, etiquette specialists, archivists, rabbis, actresses who act it out, singers who sing it etc). A copy of the letter is available to guests at the gallery for their involvement too.

Examples of the latter include: (i) Hotel Suite where she got a job as a chamber maid so she could go through guests' luggage and document the contents; and (ii) Address Book, where after finding an address book in the street, she photocopied it before returning it to the owner. She then interviewed the addressees and published this in 28 daily installments in a french newspaper. The owner of the book was a Pierre Baudry, who was coincidentally a french documentary film maker who was outraged by the experience. He retaliated by insisting that the newspaper publish a nude photo of Calle, which they did (but cropped off the head); and (iii) Suite Venitienne, followed a man she met at a party in Paris to Venice, where she disguised herself and followed him around the city, photographing him and then publishes the photos with text.(2)

She has other works which are not invasive, such as asking blind people about their thoughts about beauty.

CBC's critic says that Calle achieves perspective and closure through other people and also some kind of redemption.

She has other works that fall in between these and mingle fact and fiction which also make you think. For more information, see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sophie_Calle

Artists must be sacrificed to their art. Like bees, they must put their lives into the sting they give.
Ralph Waldo Emerson


(1) http://www.cbc.ca/arts/artdesign/story/2008/09/23/f-sophie-calle-montreal.html
(2) Bois, Yve-Alain, "Character Study: Sophie Calle." Artforum, April, 2000, pp. 126–31.

Marriage under Western Skies

On doing some research on Sam Peckinpah's western films, I was reminded of some curious thoughts he expressed on marriage in his film "Ride the High Country" (1962) (1)

Peckinpah challenges his viewers to look beneath the surface in this movies most startling scene, a mining-town wedding of grotesque character.

The bride, played by Mariette Hartley has run-off with her betrothed, but has no idea that his four brothers mean to share her on the wedding night. The town's brothel serves as her wedding chapel, the heavily made-up madam as her bridesmaid, and four fatigued whores as flower girls.

Presiding over the ceremony is a not completely sober justice of the peace (Edgar Buchanan)in a soiled suit, who has to be helped to his feet to perform his duties.

The justice of the peace then exceeds everyone's expectations. He first says:

"Marriage is to entered into soberly."

Then: "A good marriage has a simple glory about it. It is like a rare animal: It's hard to find and almost impossible to keep."

Then, instead of offering encouragement, the Justice gives them this warning:

"People change, and that's important for you to know at the beginning - people change. The glory of a good marriage don't come at the beginning, it comes later on. And it's hard work."

Sam Peckinpah wrote this scene as well as directed it. He also had the unusual experience of being married five times, three to the same woman. If this is wisdom that he wanted to pass along, I'm willing to accept it...



(1) Ideas in this blog were identified in the New York Observer, January 29, 2006.

The Strange World of You Tube

Recently, I replaced my cell phone for one that offers unlimited access to You Tube.

I always thought You Tube was for people who got drunk and found the need to try something new that they hadn't done before and to express this in video (not unlike a text blog, but with live action).

What suprised me about You Tube is the amount of clips on there from the entertainment and academic worlds.

On the academic front, I've accessed lectures from Steven Pinker and hope to try Richard Dawkins or Christopher Hitchens (and others);

On the entertainment front, I've found stuff on:

The Smothers Brothers
Groucho Marx
Gilbert Gottfried
Norm MacDonald
Jack Paar (who seems much more interesting than Johnny Carson as a Tonight Show host)
Politically Incorrect
Letterman
Dick Cavette
Steve Allen
Jimmy Durante

Also, favourite musicians are there too (Bob Dylan, Scott Merritt etc).

Finding the old classic entertainment stuff was a surprise to me, I thought this stuff was copyrighted...

Anyone reading this blog probably knows all this and thinks I spend my time under a rock or the personification of Forest Gump or something, but not all of us appreciate the potential of social networks this way.

The Alibi Kid

Recently, my kid thought it would be fun to drag his sippy-cup along the living room wall.

His mother asked him to stop as the wall was newly painted.

The kid then responded: "I'm just a little kid, I don't understand bad things."

I then asked if having his fire truck, dump truck, combine harvestor taken away might help him understand "bad" things?

The kid answered in the affirmative.

Sometimes parenting just works like that. (Other times it involves threatening to stuff food up the toddler's nose -- but that's just a threat, not actually acted upon).

Postscript: The kid got the idea at daycare after a one-year old took away a toy, and it was explained to him that the other kid was too young and did not understand what he had done. My kid thought this alibi was pretty good, and appropriated it.

And so it goes.

It reminds me of W.H. Auden, who said "Children are warriors without a job."

Globalization Ghost Town (The Take 2005)

I recently took out the above film out of the library and was struck by the events portrayed.

I'm not particularly political person (though I lean left) but this documentary by Avi Lewis/Naomi Klein impressed me to pay more attention to how global economics plays out outside of the first world.

The documentary shows the effects of a right-wing government (Carlos Menem) and his attempt to make Argentina a "model" for IMF policies from 1989-1999. Argentina is significant as it had one of the largest middle-classes in Latin America before these policies were instituted.

The film shows how Menem's policies radically effected the economy so much that capital took flight such that hundreds of factorys closed. The factories were then taken over by the workers (who argued that they were funded by public money to a large extent too).

The workers set up cooperatives among the factories to help each other, and then the owners returned after a year and called the expropriation "theft."

The matter was taken to the courts, where the workers lost, but they eventually one in parliament, which considered the expropriation just.

The whole documentary raises interesting questions about politics and economics and the IMF's role in the third world. Who is the IMF acting for? What safe-guards are there in preventing similar globalized ghost-towns in future?

For more information, please see: http://www.thetake.org/

Coffee Angst

Recently, my wife recently intimated to me that she wanted a quality espresso/cappucino maker for her birthday.

Having no idea about what was involved, I visited a number of sites (www.coffeegeek.com,www.espressoplanet.com, www.wholelattelove.com etc.).

First I learned that there was a difference between semi-automatic and automatic machines. True afficionados have no tolerance for those who opt for automatics. Only the semis offer true control over the critical parts of the process.

Then, I discovered that the seminal semi-automatic machine was the Rancilio Silvia Espresso Machine.



This machine was reviewed by coffeegeek.com and the review went about 15 pages, 10 before they even got to the functioning of it! (http://www.coffeegeek.com/proreviews/firstlook/ranciliosilvia/details)

Then, the critics compare owning this machine to owning a Lamborghini, and what good is it if you don't know how to drive it?!

The coup de grace came when it was pointed out even if you get this machine, learn to drive it, er, use it, all is for nought if you do not buy an equally good conical burr grinder (sort of like a nuclear-powered Braun grinder).

I haven't even gotten into the question of what kind of espresso beans you should buy (robusta, Arabic, or "full city"). #$(*I@#O!!!

Then, one of the aims of a well-pulled espresso is to generate the vaunted "crema" (the dense, golden foam that forms on the top of a fresh shot of espresso).

Well, after taking all these things heart, and after visiting www.epinions.com, I ended up buying a mid-priced semi-automatic (Saeco Aroma Inox, with a burr grinder thrown in as part of the deal). We've used it for a couple weeks now, and I am in coffee heaven. Give me my espressos, my americanos, my cappuccinos! And if things are really rough, add the correcto!!

Hopefully, my words will help you not get caught up in the coffee angst

The Ghost in the Machine? Don’t look Behind the Curtain!

Traditionally, religious and non-religious thinkers promoted the idea that everyone had a “soul” or “ghost in the machine” that controlled the person’s higher functions. It is not unusual for most of us to feel that there is a single “I” in control, however, neuroscience has challenged this. It has put forward the idea that the self aside from being an illusion that the brain works hard to produce, is actually a network of brain systems.1

The first hints of this occurred after a 19th century fellow, Phineas Gage, suffered an injury by having a spike go through his cheek and through his brain. Phineas’s perception, memory, language and motor functions were intact, but “Gage was no longer Gage.” He had turned from a courteous, responsible and ambitious person to one who was rude, unreliable and shiftless. Gage’s damage was to his ventromedial prefrontal cortex (the brain region above the eyes now known to be involved in reasoning about other people. Together with other areas of the prefrontal lobes and the limbic system (the seat of the emotions), it anticipates the consequences of one’s actions and selects behaviour in line with one’s goals.

Neuroscientists have shown that the brain does not even have a part that does what the ghost is supposed to do – review all the facts and make a decision for the rest of the brain to carry out. While the brain does have supervisory systems in the prefrontal lobes and anterior cingulated cortex, which can push the buttons of behaviour and override habits and urges, these systems are more like quirky gadgets that are quite limited. They are not implementations of a rational free agent traditionally identified with the soul or self.

A demonstration of the illusion of the unified self

Michael Gazzaniga and Roger Sperry showed that when one cuts the corpus callosum (the bridge between both hemispheres), they literally cut the self in two.

{MRI by Dr. Ed Riley, San Diego University}

Each hemisphere can exercise free will without the other’s advice or consent.

Even more disconcertingly, the left hemisphere continuously weaves a coherent but false account of behaviour chosen by the right hemisphere (without the left’s knowledge).

For example, if an experimenter flashes the command “WALK” to the right hemisphere (by keeping it in the part of the visual field that only the right hemisphere can see), the person will comply with the request and begin to walk out of the room. But when the person (specifically, the person’s left hemisphere) is asked why he just got up, he will say in all sincerity, “To get a Coke” – rather than “I don’t really know” or “The urge just came over me” or “You’ve been testing me for years since I had the surgery, and sometimes you get me to do things but I don’t know exactly what you asked me to do.”

Similarly, if the patient’s left hemisphere is shown a chicken and his right hemisphere is shown a snowfall, and both hemispheres have to select a picture that goes with what they see (each using a different hand), the left hemisphere picks a claw (correctly) and the right picks a shovel (also correctly). But when the left is asked why the whole person made those choices, it blithely says, “Oh, that’s simple. The chicken claw goes with the chicken, and you need a shovel to clean out the chicken shed.”








Harvard psychologist, Steven Pinker, points out that the spooky part is that we have no reason to think that the baloney-generator in the patient’s left hemisphere is behaving any differently from ours as we make sense of the inclinations emanating from the rest of our brains. It appears that the conscious mid – the self or soul – is a spin doctor, not the commander in chief.

I have to admit, a lot of these ideas kind of freak me out, but its better to face it than not.

(1. All ideas found here come from Steven Pinker’s “The Blank Slate, the Noble Savage, and the Ghost in the Machine”, Viking Press, 2002)

The Disappearance of Play

My three year old likes to use stones to stand-in for people in different scenarios. His playing this way is taken very seriously by him.

A recent article in the Christian Science Monitor mentioned that the concept of "unstructured, self-initiated play" is vanishing from our culture. [http://www.csmonitor.com/2007/0718/p13s02-lign.html].

A professor of child development states: "Many young people today don't know how to play. Their time has been so programmed, so structured that they have had little time or opportunity to engage in self-­initiated activities."

He suggests that lack of play hurts one's success in higher-level math and science, as these ultimately require fantasy, curiousity and imagination.

Also, that when adults play with children, it allows children to see parents in a new way other then as power figures. "...when you are playing, you and the child are more equal," "This makes it easier to communicate," and both parent and child learn about each other.

And, while they may not verbalize it, children see parents giving up something to be with them. They see this as evidence that they are important and that the parent cares deeply about them.

The professor,sums up what parents can do in one word: Share. "Share your passions, share your experience, share your humor, share your decisionmaking and, most of all, share, your time," he says.



A brief list of play ideas:

All ages: Have daily chores; help someone else; read; play sports; joke; share stories about when you were a child; take walks or bike rides.

Preschoolers: Go to the playground.

Kindergarten to age 7: Make an art corner with paper, glue, ribbons, sparkles, fabric, boxes, string, and clay; make a fort; sleep out in a tent; play board games; play ball games, like catch; tell riddles and knock-knock jokes; cook and bake.

Ages 8 to 10: At this age, children are very much into playing with peers. Provide opportunities and materials (games, etc.) for such play, but don't intrude.

Ages 10 to 12: Again, preteens are very much into their friends, but they are happy to play catch or more sophisticated card games like poker or hearts with parents. Don't feel hurt if children prefer to play with friends.

Ages 13 and up: Now young people feel comfortable doing grown-up activities with parents: softball, golf, bowling, skiing, sailing, or hiking.

I want it to last and last...

Gunnar Madsen is an interesting kid's musician, likened to "Frank Zappa for the sippy set" (http://www.gunnarmadsen.com/) Before doing kid's music, he was in a group called The Bobs and in 1990 they wrote a song "Welcome to my Fog."

Some lyrics from this song have stayed with me:

when I go for a drive
I feel lucky to be alive
the air feels so good
coming off of the hood
and I don't go very fast
I want it to last
oh yea
strangely enough
it does

I think he's hit on something here, but I can't exactly put my finger on it. It's like some kid's proustean recollection of things past...where the goal is to remember experiences that transcend time. Whereas in our day to day lives, we often parcel out time throughout the day while events slowly grind us down. The poor blighters attached to Blackberries can't even turn time off without penalty.

I find the above lyrics simple but sensitive and sublime in what they are trying to capture.

I can't even remember my childhood or of things of importance from that time. It makes me want to ask others if they can remember theirs.

I wonder too how one holds onto these experiences without romanticizing childhood...?

I welcome any thoughts on any of this.

How do win the New Yorker cartoon caption contest

By Patrick HouseUpdated Monday, June 2, 2008, at 5:02 PM ET (Slate Magazine)

Today I can finally update my résumé to include "Writer, The New Yorker." Yes, I won The New Yorker Cartoon Caption Contest, and I'm going to tell you how I did it. These observations have been culled from months of research and are guaranteed to help you win, too. (Note from Slate's lawyers: Observations not guaranteed to help you win.)

Most people who look at the winners of the caption contest say, "I could've done better than that." You're right. You could have. But that doesn't mean you could've won the caption contest—it just means you could've done better. And if your goal is not to win the caption contest, why bother entering? There is one mantra to take from this article, worth its own line break:

You are not trying to submit the funniest caption; you are trying to win The New Yorker's caption contest.

Humor and victory are different matters entirely. To understand what makes the perfect caption, you must start with the readership. Paging through The New Yorker is a lonesome withdrawal, not a group activity. The reader is isolated and introspective, probably on the train commuting to work. He suffers from urban ennui. He does not make eye contact. Laughing out loud is, in this context, an unseemly act sure to draw unwanted attention. To avoid this, your caption should elicit, at best, a mild chuckle. The first filter for your caption should be: Is it too funny? Will it make anyone laugh out loud? If so, throw it out and work on a less funny one.

Next you need to know the selection process. The first line of defense at The New Yorker is the cartoon editor's assistant, a twentysomething from Texas named Farley Katz. The cartoon assistant reads every single caption—at least 6,000 per week—and passes his favorite 50 or so to the editors, who narrow the list down to three. If you don't make it past Farley, you will never get your name in print. Knowing how he thinks is crucial. The astute captioner will note that he used to be a rollercoaster operator at Six Flags and a telemarketer. He is an outsider who has never trod in the cemented garden he protects. He had to look up "urban ennui" when he arrived in New York—he didn't learn it riding the subway for 25 years. Exploit the fact that Farley is working off the same stereotypes of The New Yorker readership as you are.

Now that you know your gatekeeper, it's time for some advanced joke theory. Should you make a pun or, perhaps, create a visual gag about a cat surreptitiously reading its owner's e-mail? Neither. You must aim for what is called a "theory of mind" caption, which requires the reader to project intents or beliefs into the minds of the cartoon's characters. An exemplary New Yorker theory of mind caption (accompanying a cartoon of a police officer ticketing a caveman with a large wheel): "Yeah, yeah—and I invented the ticket." The humor here requires inference about the caveman's beliefs and intentions as he (presumably) explains to the cop that he invented the wheel. A non-theory-of-mind caption (accompanying a cartoon of a bird wearing a thong), however, requires no such projection: "It's a thongbird." Theory of mind captions make for higher-order jokes easily distinguished from the simian puns and visual gags that litter the likes of MAD Magazine. To date, 136 out of the 145 caption contest winners (94 percent) fall into the "theory of mind" category.

People read The New Yorker to stay on top of the cultural world if they happen to be smart or—if they're just faking it—in the hope of receiving some sort of osmotic transfer of IQ if they hold the magazine tight enough. Nobody wants to feel that The New Yorker is above them, and the last thing they need is to have a cartoon joke go over their heads, lest they write a whole Seinfeld episode about it. Everyone must get your joke. Use common, simple, monosyllabic words. Steer clear of proper nouns that could potentially alienate. If you must use proper nouns, make them universally recognizable to urban Americans. Excepting first names, only nine proper nouns have ever appeared in a winning caption: Batmobile, Comanche, Roswell, Hell, Surrealism, Tylenol, Bud Light, Frankenstein, Kansas Board of Education. You get the idea. Keep it lowercase, keep it simple.

If you heed these instructions, maybe one day you will get a call from Farley and find yourself a finalist. Now what do you do? First, I Googled my fellow finalists: a legislative director in New York and a public-affairs director in Seattle. Clearly 9-to-5 types, at a loss for time, who would be unable to take advantage of the fact that the contest is decided by an online vote. You can and must do better, preferably by launching a full-scale viral marketing campaign. E-mail everyone you know. Create a Facebook group. Call in longstanding debts. It helps if, like me, you have no shame. I had musicians pitching me at their shows, professors pitching me in their lecture halls, and old ladies at cafes pitching me to their grandnieces. Kiss babies, shake hands, and play to win.

It also helps, of course, if you have the best entry. And I did.

For cartoon: see http://www.slate.com/id/2192564/

My winning caption: "O.K. I'm at the window. To the right? Your right or my right?"

Mildly amusing at best? Check. Theory of mind? Check. Proper nouns? Nope. And what better archetype of urban ennui could there be than a man in a cardigan holding a drink, yapping on his cell phone while blissfully unaware of looming dangers? A very similar cartoon by Jack Kirby from 1962—similar enough to lead the New York Post to shout plagiarism—has the person inside the window frightened and cowering, sans drink, glasses, or phone. But that was 50 years ago, and drudge and complacency have settled on the urban landscape sometime between now and then. You must look for these themes in your cartoon and pounce.

I will stop analyzing now, in deference to Seinfeld's New Yorker gospel: "Cartoons are like gossamer, and one doesn't dissect gossamer." But what does Jerry know, really? He may have a hit show, millions of dollars, and a beautiful wife, but he has never won The New Yorker caption contest. But I have. I have dissected gossamer. And now you can, too. Good luck.

Coffee House

A place to meet for conversation, amusement, ideas and culture. Watch this space.