I Don't Think It Means What You Think It Means

Only in Hollywood could someone so terribly miss the point.





Somehow, I don't think that F. Scott Fitzgerald intended for his title character to become a symbol for the "ultimate in eco-living" or any other sort of goal for which to strive.

The developer could have at least read the Cliff's Notes before naming his building after one of the English language's most influential novels.

Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Enter Here

This news confirms, for the millionth time since the advent of the medium, that network television is no place for attempts at higher-brow programming.

It's not that Kings was some amazing, can't-miss show whose passing the world should mourn. I only saw one episode, and it was at turns laughable, interesting, and weird as hell. But the show, for whatever its detriments, was trying something. Hell, it was trying to tell the story of the kings of Israel on network television, which is some kind of undertaking. Misguided, maybe, to think that the network suits and audiences would get behind something like that for long, but a laudable gamble.

And, for someone trying to break into the medium, it just goes to show that risk-taking on network is not the way to go. It reminds of something I heard a while ago -- OK, it was yesterday, on KCRW's show The Business. On it, some writer for the late (finally!) ER (you'll have to listen to it; I can't remember his name) was protesting a bit too much about the limits -- or, in his opinion, lack thereof -- of network TV. No one watches cable, he said. No one in the heartland cares about shows like Mad Men -- it's a coastal phenomenon, he claimed. ER had numbers rivaling All in the Family and M*A*S*H, and network TV is still the best place for drama and the best place for the public to go watch television.

I sincerely fucking doubt those claims. Or at least, I doubt the spirit and overall validity of those claims.

Let's face it -- network TV plays it safe. Got a hit like CSI or Law and Order? Why not make few spinoffs that are exactly the same? It's not that the aforementioned offerings suck, it's just that they're boring and more of the same. It appears, like it has so many times in the past, that the networks are simply not interested in putting out thought-provoking and interesting fare.

It's not the cable networks are infallible, either. It's just that they seem to have a slightly better handle on newer models of programming. You don't have to have a star who wants a million dollars an episode and huge budgets -- you just have to get some people who want to be a part of something good.

I don't know. It seems that the networks are giving up. I just hope the places that have been outlets for good TV over the past few years -- HBO, Showtime, AMC, FX, and so on -- don't give up as well. At least not until I get a show on there.

I Most Strenuously Concur

Thank you, Los Angeles Times.

Rachel Getting Married was one of the most pretentious movies I've ever come across. Nothing like a movie written by the daughter of Hollywood royalty to miss the mark so completely when it comes to showing "how families get along." Yeah, because everyone has a "small family, DIY wedding" with multiple, ethnically- and stylistically-varied musical acts on the sprawling grounds of a Connecticut mansion. It's not very often that, when watching a movie, I find something wrong, cringe-worthy, or too hipster for words in EVERY DAMN SCENE. I think the coup de grace would have to be the casting of the lead singer of TV On The Radio in major supporting role. Not that I dislike the band, but can a movie try any harder to say, "Come to me, my Ramones shirt-wearing children. Have some organic, vegan taboulleh before settling into your Joanna Newsom concert."

Gag. Still, I blame the filmmaker and writer, not the lovely Anne Hathaway. She can do wrong in my book. So pretty. And her appearance on Saturday Night Live was pretty damn funny.

Your Honor, I'd Like That Remark Stricken From The Record

In what could be called Part Two of my ongoing "Linguistics of Anger" series, I'd like to submit the following the proposal -- we need to remove certain terms from our collective vocabulary, lest these offending terms mutate, multiply, and moronify us all.

It's not exactly the writing of the Newspeak dictionary here. I'm not suggesting that we remove words associated with insults, off-color jokes, or stereotypes. In fact, I think those terms are sort the spice of our language.Instead, I'm talking about words that are so overused or ubiquitous that they've lost any punch or meaning or cleverness. Just consider me some sort of thesaurus-obsessed Hannah Arendt, railing against the banality of language.

Anyway, that's enough of an explanation. I'm sure these boring, tired descriptors, adjectives, adverbs, clauses and phrases will fairly jump out at you and you'll flood me with your letters of agreement.

1) "Rockstar" -- When a want-ad claims to be looking for a "rockstar of the accounting world," you know that the term's common usage had strayed a bit from its original meaning. Maybe my cultural memory is a little fuzzy, but I seem to recall the term entering our lexicon through the phrase "party like a rockstar." Right? Well, you're free to disagree with me, but at least in that phrasing, no adeptness or skill (other than at partying) is implied or suggested. So how does the term "rockstar" somehow come to mean "one who exceptionally skilled at something." Besides, any actual rockstar referred to as such isn't usually immediately associated with virtuosity. Bret Michaels -- rockstar. Neil Peart -- not so much.

2) "24/7" -- Yes, we all know that there are 24 hours in a day, and that seven of said days make up one week. Put them together, and that makes...wait, let's see...ALL THE TIME! I get it! But this way of describing "all the time" is getting pretty old. When the disembodied voice that intones "...and by a grant from the John D. and Catherine T. MacArthur Foundation" between pieces on All Things Considered also uses "24/7" to describe solutions or advice offered and available, it's pretty much lost its edge. And therefore, its usefulness to me. And hopefully to you.

3) "Sick" -- When used to mean "cool" or "neat" or "good," this term is not to be used by anyone over 16, or by anyone who doesn't have a surfboard under their arm. Also, these same people should not be wearing LA/NY baseball hats with stickers still on the bill. You know who are you. You know because you're wearing a basketball jersey with a white t-shirt under it, and you're 35.

4) "Cougar" -- As used to refer to "a sexually rapacious woman of a certain age." Hey, Real Housewives of Orange County, New York City, Atlanta, St. Louis, Portland, Riverside, and wherever the fuck else they're planning on taking this horrible show -- "cougar" isn't a compliment in my book.

Well, I've got many, many more words that make me mad -- in fact, there are probably more words I hate more than words I love, and I'm aware that this fact makes me sound like a giant, angry Poindexter -- but that's all the rage I can muster for right now. I've got quality Bravo programming to watch.

Mother, Do You Think We'll Drop the Bomb?

Another day, more frightening news from our good neighbor to the south.

Another day, more frightening news from Pakistan and India.

Mexico and Pakistan have both haunted my dreams of late. Both seem to be grappling with problems beyond their control, and both seem to be enlisting the help of the U.S. in order to get their territory back under control from their respective "insurgents."

In the case of Mexico, it's drug cartels that are better funded and armed than the national forces. Mexico is understandably turning to to the U.S. for help, since we consume the drugs they produce and sell and since we share a border with them. We've answered their pleas for help, not simply to prop up the Mexican government, but also t protect ourselves. I personally live a mere 135 miles from Tijuana, a place that once was the drunken swaying grounds of American servicemen and college students, but by all accounts is now like a bad day in Sarajevo.

Meanwhile, halfway around the world in Pakistan, a religious-based insurgence threatens not only Pakistani territory, but also territory the U.S. army currently patrols -- Afghanistan. So in a way, another border we have interests in is beset by groups that seem to have the upper hand. All we need now is for some Quebecois liberation movement to gain traction up north and we'll be getting it from all sides.

Moreover, Pakistan is a nuclear state and borders another nuclear state, with whom they also have ongoing and serious disputes.

In short, things are looking rough for some places in which we've become heavily invested.

I'm not offering any solutions here. Instead, all I'm trying to point out is how unstable two close neighbors -- one geographically, one geopolitically -- are in this time of unrest, and you can bet that things will get worse before they get better.

And it scares me. I've made known before my interest in the concept of "faultlines" -- places where cultures, ideologies, or religions collide geographically, making these places ripe for conflict. It used to seem like the U.S. was immune to such shifting plates. But now, with our global presence, economy, and outlook, it seems that we can't help getting involved.

Two Words Good, One Word Bad

I'm taking it upon myself to declare the age of the portmanteau officially over.

I realized that this needed to be done, however preemptively, when I came across the word "momshell" in the course of my daily reading.

After I finished gouging my eyes out and using a crude memory-eraser, I knew that drastic action had to be taken against this intellectually lazy and unsatisfying cultural trend. Thus the unilateral declaration has -- indeed, must -- come to an ignominious end.

Aside: I think that one of the reasons why I'm so tired of this trend is that I may have helped usher it in. The year was 2000, and I was getting ready to move to New York. I had no car, so I knew that I would be required to tote my belongings to and from work. I purchased a bag. I dubbed it "TheMurse." This was before that term existed. Debate that fact if you will, but you know you never heard it before then.

Sure, we all chuckled when the term "Bennifer" came to national attention. "It's cute," thought we as a nation, "because it takes the names of a couple and links them together, just as their decision to become a couple has linked them together. I get jokes!" But then, like every initially-pleasing cultural trend, it snowballed out of control. TomKat. Brangelina. Man-pris. Manny. Bromance.

Bromance, I think, is the one that finally snapped the camel's neck for me. OK, it was the name of that lame-ass MTV show with Brody Jenner. That was OK, though, since no one with an ounce of self-respect watches MTV anymore (except for The Hills, I guess, though I suspect me admitting that I watch The Hills pretty much shows I have no self-respect). But with the relentlessly unfunny marketing push for I Love You, Man, the term bromance, along with any lingering humor attached to the portmanteau, has officially been herewith banished from the realms of my mind.

Another aside -- I like Paul Rudd. I like Jason Segal. I like the whole Apatow crew. Have for years. But since when do guys need lessons on how to be friends? Thank you, Los Angeles Times, for pointing the correct path! Thank you, Judd Apatow, for getting all these lonely guys together! And thank you again, Los Angeles Times, for acting as an advertising mouthpiece for such a plucky underdog of a film!

Consider, if you will, a return to an intellectually vigorous usage system of the English Language. Now, I don't consider myself some sort of modern-day George Orwell, but I would have to agree strenuously with his opening assertion that, and I paraphrase, the English language is in a bad way. Split infinitives. Clunky mixed metaphors. Sentence fragments. Made up words, many of which ignore any convention for such words (see "bro-medy." Huh?).

Or just be clever, and stop beating terms that have the potential to be funny in the short run to death by over-usage. Bromance might have been funny the first hundred times, but after a three-week marketing push, only yokels without TVs are going to find that funny, and that only when they make their biannual trip to the city for chewing tobacco and chicken feed. And what are the chances that that trip will coincide with the opening weekend of I Love You, Man? Or the premiere of The Hottest Mom In America. Not too likely, I'm guessing.

Bloated, Evil Plutocrats Behave Exactly As Expected

Does anybody remember laughter?

I'm not sure I do, anyway. And the reason why I'm struggling so mightily to remember those lilting peals of joy is because I honestly cannot take any more absurd, terrible, and jaw-droppingly ridiculous news stemming from this financial downturn.

Raising credit card rates and slashing limits (sometimes to below the balance being carried) in order to make a quick profit before the rules change? Yep, that's our financial industry. Giving bonuses to the architects of the most massive loss in U.S. corporate history? Again, that's the industry that keeps this economic engine chugging along.

Here's a little rule of thumb that we maybe can all agree on -- when you, as a corporate entity, submit to the will of the federal government by taking taxpayer money to keep your operations going, you then cede any ability to move along in any "business as usual" capacity. There's no honoring of existing agreements that will tend to deplete the cash reserves given to you by the government (read: taxpayer). You say, "Sorry, this isn't really our money, and we can't give it to you, despite the fine job you've done driving this company into the ground."

Now, I'm not here to debate whether or not the bailouts have been a good idea, or whether they work, or whether or not we've handed the reins of this country over to the Reds, or whether Oreos are markedly better than Hydrox. That's been done ad nauseum, and one more jerk (me) talking about it isn't going to change things. But these bailouts? THEY'VE ALREADY HAPPENED! So if our rules as a free-market society are out the fucking window, then so too are your (AIG) fucking agreements to pay your idiot, greedy, corporate soul-sucking employees their ridiculous bonuses. And so too are your (credit card companies that are also part of banks receiving bailout money) ability to gouge the American consumer. The rules are changed once receive that money. Don't like being told what to do by the government? Don't take the money.

End of fucking story.

A Literary Insurgency

I was driving home tonight and listening to The Writer's Almanac. So I'm a closet Garrison Keillor fan. Don't mock -- my wife does that enough for all.

Anyway, he mentioned that today is not only Dave Eggers' birthday, but also Jack Kerouac's. I found that interesting not least because these two writers (with a couple of crucial stops in between) did so much to shape the way that not only their respective generations looked at literature and the written word, but also the way the generation that followed did the same.

I posit the following -- without Jack Kerouac, there would have been no Hunter S. Thompson.

Now, this might seem a somewhat revolutionary sentiment, and I certainly mean no disrespect to the late, great Dr. Gonzo's voice, style, or originality. But I really believe that Thompson looked at the way Kerouac wrote what he lived and emulated that in a (mostly) nonfiction milieu. And let's face it -- Kerouac's best work was thinly veiled nonfiction at best anyway.
Look at On the Road. Drugs, the road, depravity, enlightened and admired companionship, and a little dash of homoeroticism. That pretty much sums up Thompson's work as well, in my opinion, except Thompson did his work in a more journalistic way; i.e., he sought these qualities out in people he didn't know or noticed these characteristics in the subjects he wrote about.

Moreover, there's a link from Kerouac to Thompson to the so-called "transgressive" writers of the 1980s such as Bret Easton Ellis and Jay McInerney. The major difference that I can see between Kerouac and the literary Brat Pack is that Kerouac (and Thompson, for that matter) never seemed to think there was anything wrong with or anything to apologize for in either their work or their lives. In that sense, the main point of separation between these writers is their level of self-awareness and understanding.

Which brings me to Dave Eggers, a writer who much more recently changed the literary landscape for a generation. While I think that Eggers shares a basic interest in self-reference and understanding with writers like Ellis and McInerney, he departs enough that it's tempting to place him in an entirely different generation, even though he's a mere six years younger than Bret Easton Ellis.

From the get go, Eggers' writing was so steeped in irony and postmodern self-reference. Ellis' work, on the other hand, may have been based on his own life, but there was no indication that he wanted or needed the reader to understand that he had lived through the events depicted in Less Than Zero. If the reader assumed that, fine. If the reader thought it was a complete fiction, then that was fine too.

Not Eggers, though. Without him, and his audience's perception of him, A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius wouldn't have succeeded the way it did. Like Bret Eason Ellis' first three (but especially the first and third) novels, it so perfectly captured the tone of its time, it's hard to imagine the time existing without the book or vice-versa.

And maybe that's why I compare Eggers to Kerouac. For those of us who weren't there, On The Road sums up this super-cool little portion of the 1950s -- the counterpoint to the lame Squaresville depicted in by so many books and movies. Hunter S. Thompson's books look like we imagine the Sixties to be -- drug and meaning-soaked in equal portions. Ditto Ellis and McInerney's depiction of the 80s. Lose the meaning, up the drug quotient, and throw in some hints of postmodern self-recognition. Carry the last of those on through to Eggers, and we have the end of the 90s -- earnest and ironic all at the same time, all while winking at the audience and hoping they get the joke that the author is maybe too bored to finish telling.

Come to think of it, maybe all of the authors mentioned in this article were telling the same joke, just in different ways.

An (Im)Modest Proposal

What if Harvey Levin was the executive editor of The New York Times?
Picture that: on the front page of our newspaper of record, instead of headlines picking apart the nuances of the administration's budget proposal, we could see what Britney Spears ordered at Carl's Jr., where Suri Cruise scrambled over some playground equipment, and why when David Beckham leaves LA the paparazzi will cry.
I'd watch that shit. And I'd hate myself every second of every day for doing it.
OK, so maybe what I hate is that Harvey Levin is right when he claims to know better than Bill Keller what the American public want to watch and read about on a daily basis. He's right: I'm almost certain that more people log on to TMZ.com than to the New York Times web site. But that doesn't mean that the business models of the two should overlap.
Two things comes to mind: FoxNews and Deal or No Deal.
Think of these two things. FoxNews is news for those who feel like CNN is a little biased. And maybe a little dignified.
All right, stop throwing things. I like FoxNews too, but I like it in spite (or maybe because) of its shortcomings. FoxNews is loud. It's slanted. It's a little brash. But at least it's up front about those things -- I know, people (if anyone is reading this) are right now getting apoplectic. "Blue," they're saying. "FoxNews is anything BUT fair and balanced like it says it is! How do..what the...GAAAHD!"
I personally think FoxNews' slogan is a little tongue-in-cheek. There are some who would disagree with me. And those people are entitled to be wrong. But honestly, I think the joke there is that FoxNews is NOT fair and balanced, but that they, in their open dishonesty, are being more honest than a source like CNN that implies, with every arched eyebrow and plummy Ivy League honk, that OF COURSE, they're unbiased, fair, and balanced. How dare you, bringer of impudence, suggest otherwise?
Now, if FoxNews is to CNN what TMZ is to The New York Times, then surely Deal or No Deal provides the same role (or antidote) to the Six Feet Unders or Deadwoods of the world. It boils it down to its most pure essence, and it's no surprise that the public (or segments of it, anyway) lap that shit up. Come to think of it, isn't that pretty much what crack is?
Deal or No Deal is almost like watching a television show called "Man Fall Down." It provides the basic elements of entertainment -- suspense, taking sides, and titties -- without caring about any sort of nuance or backstory. It's terrible and brilliant all at once. Kind of like KandyKorn or Hawaiian Punch.
Deal or No Deal gives you the guy (or lady) to rot for, and the object to attain. Then, they give you someone to root against. Oh, man, do I hate that banker! And then they give you some ladies, and all of a sudden it's an hour later, your chest is covered in potato chip crumbs, and you have the vaguely dissatisfied feeling that you're wasting your life.
And the network execs laugh, polish their monocles, and count their money.
Anyway, it's sort of a rambling, discursive point, but what I'm getting at here is this: yes -- more people these days want to know about the inane crap that TMZ brings us than want to read Paul Krugman's latest analysis of the bailout plan.
Now I'm no snob, and I'm no elitist class warrior. I like trash. Sometimes, though, you have to admit that the trash is just that, and that you need a balanced breakfast of information and entertainment intake. And you have to admit that US Weekly is not a news source. That doesn't mean we don't need it, and that we can't enjoy it, but let's keep it in persepctive.
Some sources out there bring us something we need, and others bring us product we can mindlessly enjoy. And the thing that provides something important should not be swayed by the booming success of the garbage pit.

An Embarrassing Admission, A Startling Discovery

I'm in no way proud of this fact, but, from time to time, I watched the past season of The Bachelor.
Go ahead. Mock me. I deserve it, and I'll wait for the sharp cries of ridicule to die down.
Finished? Good.
Now, I could take the obvious tack here and blame my wife, saying something lame, like "Well, she was watching it, and it was on, and..." And while that might be the case, I'm not going to do that.
Instead, I'd like to direct your attention to the fact that I've discovered why the program is so popular. It's not the lavish sets, or the romantic dates, or the pretty people, or any of the reasons that you might guess.
It's the language they use.
Never before have I seen a show that traffics so heavily in cliche, both visual and verbal. It's really astounding to think this, but I don't think, in the (sadly, many) episodes I caught, that I ever heard an original sentiment or thought. Instead, it was all, "I have to follow my heart," and "You have to do what's right for you," and "We still make each other laugh," and "I wish her nothing but the best."
First of all, gag.
Now, I'm overlooking a lot that's wrong with the show in order to draw attention to this one facet. Like how the truncated timeline imposed by the show (fall in love in six weeks or less!) is probably creating unrealistic expectations for actual human, non-TV relationships. Or how the dependence on lavish dates, vacations to the South Seas, and helicopter rides is making women ignore the fucking awesomeness of a burger and a beer. I agree, these are major problems with the show.
But none of these so aptly showcases the vapidity of the contestants as does the over-reliance on Hallmark-esque quasi-sentiment. And mark my words, if you continue to watch this, and other, "reality" programs, that vapidity will soon come for you.
Just don't say I didn't warn you.

The (Semi-Unattainable) Fourteen Points

This is a fascinating series of articles from a fascinating blog I've just discovered. As you might guess, I'm fascinated. I'm a big fan of geography in general, and issue of ethnic minorities throughout the world is something I've been thinking a lot about lately.
I suppose it has something to do with the fact that if you tried to follow, address, and correct all the oppressions and injustices throughout the world, your only tangible accomplishment would be the epic racking-up of airline miles and various other travel awards.
There are places with suffering minorities where the world is on the case -- to a certain point. We care about and hope to seek an end to the problems in Darfur (and other parts of sub-Saharan Africa), Tibet, and Kosovo. But there are so many other places in the world where ethnic and cultural tectonic plates are colliding, and most of the rest of the world doesn't even know about it. In fact, these places "between the plates" have been in collision for centuries, and will continue to collide for many more. South Ossetia? Pakistan? India? Iran? Turkey? Almost anywhere in far Eastern Europe, the Middle East, or South Asia have enough simmering ethnic instability to make for a real geopolitical nightmare.
I just can't help thinking about World War One. Remember that one? Europe was on top of the world until a disgruntled pistol-toter with state-sponsorship took a shot at a head of state. Four years and change later, millions were dead and the empires that had ruled vast multinational populations were dead too. There was the promise that all these minority populations would be able to exercise glorious self-determination, but very few populations throughout the world could make it work. In ten years, the world was reeling from a global financial meltdown and a big part of the world was looking to strong-willed rulers who bemoaned the loss of territory and sought to get it back. Territory exchanged hands and deals were made, but a new, more devastating war came anyway.
This is not an unfamiliar pattern throughout history -- existing geopolitical instability plus worldwide financial instability equals beaucoup bad shit. Read Niall Ferguson if you really want to find a good reason to up that lorazepam prescription.

Dear The New Yorker:

I've held my tongue for a long time, but after this, I can remain silent no longer.
Please, for the love of music, fire Sasha Frere-Jones.
This man has no business being a so-called "rock critic," much less the only reviewer of popular music of any kind at a publication so vaunted and respected as yours.
I have believed this for many years, and I believe it no less firmly now.
Exhibit A: Please note his "Best of 2008" list. Now, I know this sort of compilation of the year's best is by it's very nature somewhat subjective, but come on! Where was the editor on this piece, and why wasn't he saying, "Uh, Sasha...yeah. This list looks like it was written by a 13 year-old girl." Why?
Permit me to clarify that. The list looks like it was written by a 13 year-old girl who knew that some people with more respectable tastes would be reading her list, so she did some quick research and threw on some Radiohead to be safe.
Now, I'm not a slave to hipsterdom by any means, and I haven't heard every album on every critic's top ten list, but when bands like TV On The Radio, Fleet Foxes, GirlTalk, and the like make it to EVERY OTHER CRITIC'S list, maybe you missed something, my man. Also, when you accuse an amazing, musically gifted artist of being racist for not liking hip hop, then it's probably not OK to put him on your list. Maybe you should just leave him alone, because you've already proven that you hate good music.
THIS is how you do a year-end list.
Exhibit B: This is a man, who works as a critic of rock/pop music, who has stated publicly (and I paraphrase) that he did not understand why Radiohead was so influential until 2006, when the band was working on their (admittedly good) "In Rainbows," and touring, when Mr. Frere-Jones "happened" to catch them live.
Excuse me?
Are we talking about the same Radiohead, whose journey from 1993's "Pablo Honey" and 1995's "The Bends," through on 2000's "Kid A" and 2001's "Amnesiac," with a little pit stop in 1997 that we cognesceti like to call 1997's "OK Computer," has been widley regarded as the most amazing, soul-baring, and wild ride since The Beatles?
THAT Radiohead? You never saw a reason to listen to them? Until 2006? That's like saying, "Yeah, I love the Rolling Stones. 'Steel Wheels' is a great album."
That ought to be enough to stop this man from getting work, but I have one more exhibit to draw your attention to.
Exhibit C: In this week's issue of The New Yorker, Mr. Frere-Jones profiles the beguilingly brash British chanteuse Lilly Allen, over whom he fawns for nearly five pages. He mainly draws the reader's attention to her lyrics, which he describes as "lyrics that sound like they could be the thoughts of any young woman anywhere in the world." Never mind the fact that, in the second paragraph of the article, he calls her song, "The Fear," "one of the few compelling songs about fame by a famous person." Never mind the fact that, despite Mr. Frere-Jones firm belief in the universality of Ms. Allen's experiences as evinced by her lyrics, she grew up the daughter of a major movie producer and a comedian and was friends with Joe Strummer and Damien Hirst.
When he breathlessly claims that "None of this [Allen's privileged upbringing] has much to do with how Allen became known," Mr. Frere-Jones pretty much proves that a) he needs to get out of New York once in a while, and b) that he has no understanding of the way the world works. Remember, he thinks that her thoughts could be those of any girl, anywhere (one presumes that he excludes, say, Somalia, Pakistan, and other "icky" parts of the world), and yet two pages later, he writes about her buying an $8,000 gold Rolex watch. Oh, and he compares her online to Karen O. of the The Yeah Yeah Yeahs. Now, either Mr. Frere-Jones is trying to write the deepest, most obliquely ironic profile/review ever, or he's a complete moron, completely out of touch with the world of music, and completely full of shit.

Now, editors of The New Yorker, I don't expect this request to terminate Mr. Frere-Jones' employment to be carried out immediately. His brand of arch-yet-naive, facile, and under-informed and over-analytical brand of criticism demeans your magazine's otherwise good name and ensures that no one will ever turn to it for well-reasoned, credible rock criticism.

Oh, and I loved your article on David Foster Wallace, by the way.

Yours,
Blue Derkin

It seems that I'm not the only one to equate the situations in Mexico and Pakistan to each other, and to a larger, furture picture of global unrest and regime and state collapse.
In a February 21 article, the Wall Street Journal noted that both countries seem to be teetering on the brink of collapse, mainly due to threats from within their borders. In the case of Mexico, it's from drug cartels, and in Pakistan, the militants that have long been tolerated are turning their ire towards their erstwhile sponsors in Islamabad.
I don't know about anyone else, but unrest in both places scares the hell out of me.
Let's tackle Mexico first. This country sits less than 200 miles from where I now write this, and it's already known that the drug violence currently tearing Mexico apart has bled across the border. Phoenix is now the kidnap-for-ransom capital of the U.S., and it's not like the kidnappings are for hundreds of thousands of dollars. No, it's more like the kidnappers are asking for a couple thousand dollars in ransom. That means literally anyone could be targeted, not just the scions of wealthy bankers or famous aviators. Scary stuff, and it's no major leap to think that places like San Diego and Los Angeles could see an uptick in violence or, at the very least, people feeling violence soon.
Now granted, Pakistan is a little farther from home, and it's a bit more of a stretch to consider how its impending implosion affects us, but when you think about it, the threat is just a dire in a more "apocalyptic, roving bands of outlaws" kind of way. Pakistan is one volatile, nuclear-armed country. They've tolerated Islamic militants for years, and for just as long have used them in proxy wars in countries along their borders. Now, apparently, the Islamists are no longer satisfied to carry out attacks in Afghanistan or Kashmir. They're turning inward to Pakistan, and that country's fledgling, foundering government is going to go down to an army coup soon, mark my words. There may soon be another war between Pakistan and India (another nuclear power, by the way), and who knows what comes next?
Like I said, this is scary stuff, and in my opinion, a lot of it has to do with the global financial downturn.

It's comforting when you can find a bright spot in troubled times. Like, say, when one of your favorite authors abruptly ends his life, but then his unfinished work justly finds the light of day. That's a good thing, even though the circumstances surrounding it are almost too horrible to consider.
I still miss you, David Foster Wallace.

As I often do, I was driving down PCH into Malibu to go to work on Sunday. I passed by Moonshadows, a local "hauterie" and watering hole on one of the world's most well-to-do Serengeti. Driving by, I noticed that, as usual, the parking lot was filled with high-end sports cars of various stripes -- your Lamborghinis, Ferraris, and Lotus...es (Loti?). This was not a notable occurrence.
What was notable was that these cars were not overturned and in flames.
We are in an economic downturn, folks. Unrest is spreading, trouble's a-brewin', there's a bad moon on the rise, and so forth. And yet, this country's wealthiest citizens glide about town in their gold-plated coaches, unafraid of the hoi-polloi that lurks behind every dumpster and at the door of every soup kitchen. What gives?
I satirize, of course. But given the fact that this downturn is clearly deeper and more pervasive than we first thought, I would certainly not be surprised if certain parts of the world were plunged into unrest. Places that are already troubled, like Pakistan, Mexico, Africa, the Balkans -- we might see those places either erupt in violence or embrace once-discredited ideologies to provide a sense of order and security. Hell, even the UK is starting to look a little like the one depicted in "A Clockwork Orange." It's at times like these that those sorts of things happen. I once had a history professor say something like (and I'm paraphrasing, of course -- can't seem to lay my hands on that ten year-old notebook at the moment), "What was fascinating about the Great Depression in this country was that there wasn't more class-on-class violence or a move towards the political extremes."
I find comfort in that. I like to think our system is strong enough that in hard times, we Americans band together as a people and plow through the worst of it. Of course, I also know that we are not our grandparents. We're not the same scrappy, plucky people that found it in ourselves to subsist on cabbage soup and trudge to the salt mines in cardboard-reinforced shoes. I don't really see that kind of resolve showing itself after lying dormant for so many years.
Still, I'm not sure I see us resorting to joining roving bands of torch-wielding looters, or electing a powerful strongman to wrest money from the rich so the rest of us can have a crust of bread.
That could never happen, right?