apparently, i do not see my cousins with sufficient frequency

Saying goodbye to my five-year old cousin

Me: See you later, Bajianna
Baj: Hey you! So when your daughter goes back to school, like on Wednesday, maybe she will have a great day.
Me: ... well, thank you. Uh....I'll see that she does.

Articles of Note - December

How to become a shopping mall Santa

Famous monkeys in science

Worst movie titles ever

The death of email

The decline of reading in recent generations

Wimpy Disney Princesses

Home for Christmas

wish list

The Reality:
I can never think of what I want for Christmas.

The Irony:
I feel like I should.

kitsch-retrieval

I read a great article today, a review from New York magazine of 33 1/3-treatment of Celine Dion's "Let's Talk About Love." So basically, this is a review of a review of a review. Truthfully, I'm ambivalent about Dion, but the ethical twist on the piece grabbed me by the turtleneck and shook hard.



The reviewer, Sam Anderson, expects the erudite audiophile series to paint Dion as laughable, or else "it could degenerate into one of those irritating hipster projects of strategic kitsch-retrieval, an ironic exercise in taste as anti-taste in which an uncool phenomenon is hoisted onto a pedestal of cool simply as a display of contrarian muscle power."

I remember in high school buying this brown stripey sweater that everyone else thought was hideous. I did, too. And that is exactly why I bought it -- as a "display of contrarian muscle power." Presumably, this also played a roll in the time Shannon and I stood in line at midnight in a Grand Rapids Meijers to buy the second Britney Spears CD immediately upon release. We knew it was uncool, and thus we were consciously performing "an ironic exercise in taste as anti-taste."

I feel so exposed. You've got me, Mr. Anderson. I'm completely into kitsch-retrieval.

The interesting thing about the article is that after setting up this critique of self-styling masked as taste, Anderson actually applauds the treatment of Dion as being genuinely thoughtful. It asks, in essence:

What motivates aesthetic judgment? Is our love or hatred of “My Heart Will Go On” the result of a universal, disinterested instinct for beauty-assessment, as Kant would argue? Or is it something less exalted? Wilson [author of the 33 1/3 piece] tends to side with the French sociologist Pierre Bourdieu, who argues that taste is never disinterested: It’s a form of social currency, or "cultural capital," that we use to stockpile prestige.

This motivates me to ask questions about my own elitism and cynicism and authenticity. To what degree to I like what I like because, well, I like it? Conversely, to what degree do I like what I like because of social power? And is there any authentic self separate from "cultural capital"? I would like to think that my tastes are authentic, but perhaps I ought to be more tolerant.

I feel empathy for foreigners, for unfamiliarity with language and customs, because I know this feeling. I understand that my reality is fundamentally different, not superior to, their reality. Perhaps similarly, if our tastes are not so much authentic extensions of ourselves but social currency, perhaps I ought to be more tolerant of people who prefer country music to indie rock and Adam Sandler movies to independent films.

Expressed alternately, this article inspires me to think of pop culture judgements in taxonomical terms. Here is my simplistic understanding of Wilson/Anderson's observations, in convenient chart form. (Click on the image to make it larger.) What do you think?


Later, it occurred to to me, though I'm not certain, that a Christian ethic might dictate that one need be at either level one (because of pleasure, not ubiquity), or level four. I'm definitely between levels two and three, but I have a nagging feeling that neither level is defensible.

Then again, perhaps my little taxonomy is hopelessly flawed, with levels that are neither discrete nor comprehensive. Perhaps there are other levels, or none, and perhaps defining a Christian ethic relative to pop culture icons depends on a clear definition of art and its function.

I think my brain is stuck inside a big (albeit interesting) can of worms. Anyone want to join me?

one for my hope chest

The one we’re supposed to ignore

Peter Pan tried to cut off his shadow
and it seems to me that all the old selves cling in this suffocating fashion
all the cruel notes and rough-hewn beliefs and mornings of waking from dreams of strong arms to
find only a cold pulsing alarm beside the twin bed

shadows are funny things, more explicit and fierce in the plain light
when you know for sure
(or for ninety-nine percent anyway)
where the old parts stop and the authentic begins

because in the full light of noon false dichotomies make sense

later, in the luscious purple moments before the last glowing embers fall below the horizon,
a shadow may grow strong, swallowing up a sidewalk, a field, a friend
it can pull long and thin like taffy until you wonder if it even ends at all
or if it circles round the whole earth

an interminable orbit of fading gray selves

when the evening rises, though, and all the world chooses to be nondescript or neon, the shadows of the former,
(those sly old dogs)
flit about and nestle down into the carpet yarn in the corners
creep and dance and leap like nymphs

Peter Pan had it right, I think
to tread light and traceless, shadow-free
Unfettered to the former
to the one we’re supposed to ignore

But mine won’t tear free like thin black tulle

100 things that make me happy: #1-10

1. having a fireplace
2. Sufjan Steven’s Songs for Christmas
3. leftover pizza
4. NPR
5. Japanese socks that make my feet look like they’re wearing mittens
6. getting something you actually want from your Secret Santa
7. the actor who plays Dill in To Kill a Mockingbird (pictured)
8. palpable pre-holiday anticipation
9. eggnog
10. being in a profession that allows for snow delays

See more progress on: identify 100 things that make me happy (besides money)

Articles of Note

on intellectual capital

on smoking bans hurting the progress of Brit Lit

on the coffeehouse as a source of bourgeoisie power

abolish the SAT

on heightism

an article on why charity is selfish

Why do adults keep trashing teens?

Ray Bradbury on Fahrenheit 451