I’ve recently decided that I desperately need to alter my relaxation to stress ratio in favor of the more positive of the two aspects. Decisions like “I really need find more ways to relax” tend to change the way you look at things, activities, the cost and complication of acquiring things and of participating in activities. It also can change the places that you LOOK for relaxation and methods for achieving the effect in general.
I personally feel that starting with the easiest, most readily available method of relaxation is the best way to free up thought-space to better enable the “creative” conjuring of relaxing ideas. For me, that means reading or in extreme cases of distress, not even something that mentally involved. There are occasions where if I even have the energy to be conscious (read: anything beyond constant sleeping), I have only enough consciousness at my disposal as to make watching television as challenging of a task as I can handle outside of necessary function. At that point, I can’t even watch movies unless I didn’t have to make the choice of which one to watch in the first place. This is a VERY bad place to find one’s self.
UNLESS…the boob-tube proves to actually be informative for a change. We know that’s rare but even more rare that a commercial — that capitalist trap of eye-candy — is for a product that can legitimately make me drop my jaw in awe, envy and excitement. When suddenly you see the very PRODUCT which could virtually CURE you of all of your stress and tension and woes with just a mere purchase…it’s a day to chock up as an “amazing TV” day.
Enter, THE VIBRACOUSTIC (by Kohler). The currently most BAD ASS bathtub I have ever seen.
After seeing the commercial that made my palms sweat with wondrous anticipation, I immediately thought two things: #1, I bet you have to use JUST the crap they pre-program the thing with like those stupid “white noise”/”spa” sound machines and #2, I bet that thing costs as much as a small car.
Well….as it turns out, it’s a good thing I don’t waste my time in casinos or playing Lotto because I was wrong AND right… The sound system on this awesome tub does come with specific, pre-loaded tracks which are designed to utilize acoustics in a fashion that morphs music into hydro-massage-therapy. Additionally, you CAN load your own music into the system for a customized experience. SCORE!
On the down side, the part I WAS right about sucks pretty badly. According to KOHLER’S pricing on their website, these tubs range from $5, 670.00 to $7,770.00. OUCH.
Can’t they have a heart?!? The common folk are in DIRE need of this sort of relaxation due to added job stress (layoffs: fear of being laid off and/or the added burden of picking up the work that was left behind when OTHERS were laid off), economic stress (even IF someone still has a job these days, almost no one is getting a raise any time soon and that’s given that they didn’t already LOSE money under the guises of “saving jobs” by cutting a percentage of all employees’ salaries). We working folk desperately need some way to avoid the cardiologist!!
Not that this wondrous woman really NEEDS more positive press but I respect and envy people — especially women of this caliber.
Tara McPhereson. She’s an artist, a woman obviously, a beauty at that, clearly intelligent, has fascinating taste and from a 2nd-hand account (as well as the impression I’ve received from her interviews) a fabulously down-to-earth, just cool as HELL chick. I love her art, even if it’s sometimes a little relentlessly common to its sibling works. She has a very stark, strick style that is at once fun, dark, simple and yet still exquisitely elaborate.
As if her art wasn’t fun enough on its own, this hot artist (in so many ways) has awesome taste in clientele. She has gained a great deal of exposure for her individual works but an even more expansive viewing crowd by being a hot commodity in addition to her hotness… Bands, baby. This chick has done some MEAN band-poster work. I’m lucky enough to have one from 2006 that was gifted to me by way of a close friend of the band Mastodon. She’s done a couple of posters for them (one poster in 2 designs from last year that I specifically want like MAD but have yet to get my hands on). This same individual who gifted me with her 2006 poster recently had a chance to sit down and talk to her and reinforced my initial impression that she was indeed a cool individual and a lovely lady to boot. I have to admit I am still a bit envious of the opportunity. I’m human after all.
As it turns out, Ms. McPherson doesn’t do JUST posters but sculpture, toys (too cute not to check out), fine art and other interesting things as well. A couple of those that she lists in her bio are references to her work that I REALLY should have just remembered off the top of my head because I have both references (unfortunately not the ORIGINAL works)… She was a contributor to Fables: 1001 Nights of Snowfall along with another of my favorite artists, James Jean (*tangent alert* Mr. Jean’s work was also showcased in the recent, film adaptation of the “unmakeable graphic-novel movie,” Watchmen). McPherson’s part in Fables is the illustrated, 14-page sub-story, “Diaspora.” Here is a quick write up on the Fables piece. Her other (likely more recognizable) works can be seen hanging on the bedroom walls of Juno in the film by the same name.
This woman has a very distinct style and in a way that is all her own, she brings fun and sophistication with her art. Not until later do you realize you’re looking at a High On Fireposter or staring at a punch-out of a girl’s candy-cane ribcaged chest — including breasts. She is an artist in the truest sense, being capable of once again making something sinster, cute and sweet. As I’ve said before here, I’m incredibly fond of that effect and by golly, darn it if I’m incredibly fond of Tara McPherson as a result!
As I closed my post here about the World Erotic Art Museum with a hurray for tasteful eroticism, I only touched on an argument that I’ve maintained for about as long as I can recall.
Although neither of the titles mentioned in this NYTimes article strike me as impressive enough to seek out, they and the article, revolve around a specific element of my very same argument: whatever you repress will grow and the more taboo, the faster and with the most force.
I find it fascinating that I never really thought too much or too hard about the historic presence of sex and its accompanying industries specifically in relation to New York City. I’ve thought about sex in the South (again, repression galore) a great deal. Although not necessarily a fabulously written book, here is a source on this specific topic too if you’re interested: Sex in the South: Unbuckling the Bible Belt by Suzi Parker (which contains a whole chapter dedicated to Memphis’ notoriety for raunch and its strip clubs). I’ve even thought about and checked out for myself the sexual scenery of San Francisco; home to an annual Exotic Erotic Ball and such anomalies as The Power Exchange which is one of the only clubs you will find in the U.S. where public sex is okay (in any orientation) as long as it’s done safely. Both of these topics/websites I’m afraid you will have to look up on your own if you’re interested in learning more, however. I’m not going to link to them here. New Orleans, THE Sin City is another I have checked the sexual pulse of in my lifetime and another home of an EEB.
For whatever reason though, I haven’t really contemplated very deeply one of America’s oldest, most fascinating and diverse cities in that regard. It seems quite negligent of me to have not done so up until now. NYC has also played host to an EEB, was partially the inspiration of the show ‘Sex and the City’ and of course it is also an art and fashion mecca, complete with museums as well. Although this Museum of Sex was not as tasteful as the WEAM in Miami, it was still quite interesting.
Really, NYC has been around so damned long and is the city that never sleeps so what exactly do you think everyone is DOING when they’re not sleeping?? Why wouldn’t I have ever put some serious thought into its sexual historic value?? It seems ripe with potentially fascinating tidbits. Even if the books reviewed by the NYTimes weren’t winners, at least they have done their job of piquing interest! Let’s hear it for unstoppable curiosity!
Keep in mind, I hate tourist industries. I hate tourist traps. I freaking hate TOURISTS (enough so that when I travel, I try DESPERATELY HARD to not behave like one). I was born and spent the first several years of my life in a state whose economy was and still is centered around tourism. Although Florida wasn’t the founding foothold for the Disney empire, it was the space where old Walt put his left foot down after planting the right firmly in California… I have gotten a HEARTY dose of theme/amusement park exposure as a result.
Thanks to my youthful trips to good old Disney WORLD (LAND is in CA folks, for the record), I’ve had plenty of time to think about the fantastic elements of the whole thing, the mechanics of the machine that is the Disney brand and seen plenty of the pretty and the dirty media pats and stabs at the expense of that industry. Some of it nauseates me because of the aggressive nature of the marketing and all that jazz. The whole IDEAL of it though, I’ve always kind of had a fondness for (even if the characters make me want to retch most of the time because they’re just SOOO damned SWEET).
You have to wonder though…what on EARTH could have motivated a mind to conjure such a MASSIVE world of surrealism for people to visit year round??? Well, much as this NYTimes article discusses and reminded me, Walt Disney was a man before he was an industry. As we all know, if he was a man, he was also a child.
I am clearly a fan of magical realism, fiction, etc. I also love well written work. Just be patient though. If you’ve been reading my blog since I recently started it, you should know I have a method and it’s about the journey and the interesting bits you learn along the way to the destination.
This brings me to my connection between California and Chicago as odd as that may seem. With the article about then new Walt Disney Family Museum going up in one of my favorite American cities (San Francisco), I recalled what I inadvertently learned about Mr. Disney in reading a book call The Devil in the White City: Murder, Magic, and Madness at the Fair that Changed America by Erik Larson (one of THE best MOSTLY non-fiction books I’ve read in my LIFE) about The 1893 Wold’s Fair and the serial killer, H.H. Holmes. In this book, Larson manages to work in EXPANSIVE amounts of amazingly random and yet coincidental facts regarding some of America’s most face-changing inventions, facts and inspiration in such a graceful, arresting way…you won’t even know you’re learning anything from reading it.
One of the fascinating facts that I learned reading this book was also one that was like a light bulb of ‘duh’ for me. As it turns out, one of the carpenters and furniture-makers who made the wonder that was the Chicago World’s Fair happen was one Elias Disney — Walt Disney’s father. After seeing the few photos of what that fair looked like, it is evident that the nickname it acquired was apt: The White City. It was a spectacle like nothing I’ve ever seen with my own two eyes. It is the single one thing that has ever made me earnestly wish that I could have been alive during that time — that I feel cheated for not having gotten to experience the splendor and wonder and surrealism for myself.
If Walt Disney saw THAT as a child…is it any WONDER that he felt compelled to create something inspired by the degree of magnificence that was on display in Chicago that year. Who gives a shit if he made an industry off of it, really? The concept and vision were and still are pretty outstanding and my point is…I won’t deny that fact. The man is definitely worthy of some solid credit for his vision and considering the argument that his daughter makes in the NYTimes article about the family’s museum, family influence, creativity and resulting exposure was the inspiration for the empire anyway. Pretty awesome by my standards, even if every family has its flaws.
Also, if you haven’t already read The Devil in the White City… READ IT!
NOTE:
Devil in the White City: Disney references — Page 153 and 373.
Although I am selective, I do love my classic literature. Even greater than my love for the classics is my love for new twists on them or works inspired by them. A couple of examples of this would be Grendel by John Gardner which is the story of the infamous monster of Beowulf from Grendel’s point of view. A rival favorite of this sort for me is the novel, Wide Sargasso Sea by Jean Rhys which is the prequel to Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre, written nearly 120 years after the classic’s creation and is the story of the “madwoman in the attic” from Jane Eyre leading up to her isolation and madness.
Although perhaps not even remotely as serious as my two previous examples of classics-inspired work, I now have a new book to put my hands on and hope to not be disappointed. Considering I will be approaching this read with expectations one SHOULD have when reading something titled, Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, I am looking forward to something of an ironically-gory tale offered up in classically elevated language. I expect something dryly comedic. Right up my alley. This novel is by Seth Grahame-Smith, piggy-backing on Jane Austen’s original Pride and Prejudice text.
If this sounds like something that might spark your interest as well, go check out NPR’s bit about it (complete with a LOVELY excerpt from the novel), here. I know I am certainly excited to read about 19th Century, English zombies (and maybe even a ninja or two)!
If the rest of these books are news to you, I highly suggest you check them out if they strike your fancy. Do read the classics first if you decide to get froggy and give them a go; it makes for a much better effect. Enjoy!
I recently learned an interesting fact. Abercrombie & Fitch was once an outdoor-sporting and excursion retail outfitter. Now, there’s this element to consider about the nature of sporting goods stores; they frequently also sell firearms (or used to at least, as gun laws make that a greater challenge these days). Of course, none of this is really very interesting or exciting but what I do find ironic is that as it so happens, the beloved A&F was also an establishment once frequented by one Ernest Hemingway in its day of more interesting retail merchandising.
What does this have to do with anything really??? Unless you already know that Hemingway shot himself, that it happened to be with a shotgun and that as the story goes, a Boss & Co. purchased at his little corner A&F…it has a lot to do with irony. It may still have a lot to do with irony even if you DO already know the story…
Even more ironic though is that just as the nature of the business, Abercrombie & Fitch has mutated into something more akin to a poisonous, societal toxin than an establishment for buying oars, fishing rods and shotguns. I find it ironic that this same toxic, brain-cell-killing brand just so happens to be the one who sold the gun that literally killed one of our great American writers. Do not mistake my notation of irony for a shout for harsher gun control, however. Hemingway was already deemed suicidal (despite the claim of his death to be “accidental”) and someone who is suicidal will take care of his business however he can — he could have very well bought a measure of rope intended for use in SPELUNKING from our old, trusted A&F retailer. He could have then decided on that fateful day to hang himself instead of shooting himself.
It’s that time where I make a statement about myself and the world around me. The world of consumerism, in this case. I hate department stores. All of them. I hate trendy mall-rat magnets and “preppy” kid clothiers even more so I’m not JUST picking on A&F for their unfortunate marketing decision. Seeing 1,000 16-year olds in the mall (on one of the accursed occasions I need to venture into one) all dressed in some variation of the same attire makes me want to vomit. This bile-flavored reaction is provoked not only by the hegemonic effect of the look, but also the fact that these poor, idiotically impressionistic adolescents are being capitalized on (or their parents), brainwashed and stripped of their individuality at the mercy of the marketing machine. It would have been better for Abercrombie & Fitch to stay bankrupted into memory but of course, some other brand would be standing in line stepping on ole A&F’s heels trying to get to the front.
These kids (yes, I’m old enough to refer to them as kids) are being convinced that to be “cool,” you wear ___ brand of the latest fad and if you don’t, you’re a loser, a misfit, an eccentric or even worse things that I know I or people I know have been labeled over the years (even as adults). What horrifies me now is that teenagers seem to have an even more exaggerated panic-driven need to fit in than I think was ever the case when I was growing up. Now it is out of desperation that kids will resort to all sorts of things to get what they need in order to feel accepted. When the standard is Hollister or Abercrombie & Fitch, for example they can’t always afford it either and resort to stealing. Sure, there have always been various fads and trends but I NEVER recall there being SUCH a maddening need for a pair of Reebok Pumps or some Guess-wear that we (or anyone I knew) would resort to stealing.
It really is depressing to me to look around and see the trend of decay in America. Kids aiming to look as boring as possible, it seems. Kids brain-rotting from too little decent education. The economy turning to crap and if Americans spending more to “stimulate the economy” was the answer, we should all already be golden thanks to where good ole A&F took the company business.
Hey Ernie…you got any shells left for that shotgun??
So I’m slow at getting through my to-do lists because there are so many and they are all so very long but I have finally gotten around to scratching off a couple of items here and there. Two of those coincide to a degree. Books and movies; in this case I speak specifically of Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel García Márquez.
I tend to experience things on several planes… Keep that in mind because I feel inclined to expound on as much of my experience with this story in its two forms as much as I can stand to dump out of my head at this time.
Now, although this book is technically labeled as “magical realism,” I find it less than magical by my own favored understanding of the definition of that genre of fiction. I apparently share the same understanding of “magical realism” as the Mexican critic, Luis Leal who explains the usage of it like this: “Writers like García Márquez, who use magical realism, don’t create new worlds, but suggest the magical in our world.” (This quote can be found under “Definition in literature,” here: Magical Realism According to Wikipedia.) My my favorite examples of this sort of magical realism are a trilogy of books by Louis de Bernières (The War of Don Emmanuel’s Nether Parts, SeñorVivo and the Coca Lord, and The Troublesome Offspring of Cardinal Guzman) and a book by Kathryn Davis called The Thin Place. A more expansive definition of magical realism than what these books fit into includes something more akin to surrealism in perception of the world — something more of a HYPER sensitivity to the world around one’s self. This latter understanding is really more of where Love in the Time of Cholera fits for me which although not my favorite strand of the genre, is still quite wonderful. Here is another definition which suggests why this genre began with Latin American literature due to the greater prominence of Catholicism and superstition in Latin culture:
“The marvelous begins to be unmistakably marvelous when it arises from an unexpected alteration of reality (the miracle), from a privileged revelation of reality an unaccustomed insight that is singularly favored by the unexpected richness of reality or an amplification of the scale and categories of reality perceived with particular intensity by virtue of an exaltation of the spirit that leads it to a kind of extreme state. To begin with, the phenomenon of the marvelous presupposes faith.”
I can at least see how the BOOK squeezes its way into this classification with its vaguely exaggerated Latin landscapes and people. It definitely comes through more eloquently in its original book form than the movie tries for where instead, the impression of exaggeration ultimately comes off as tacky and silly when transported to the screen. Granted, badly done aging effects in some of the cases do not do this film any favors in keeping you with a straight face, I still have to give props to the aged, sagging breasts of the older Fermina in stark comparison to her pert, younger counterparts from earlier in the film. I was pleasantly surprised at how well they pulled that off without softening the embarrassing blow of falling from graceful beauty with age (even if Javier Bardem and Benjamin Bratt were spared the unsightly humiliation of being visually aged beyond their still quite handsome faces). Then again, they possibly could have saved a little bit of face had they scratched John Leguizamo from the cast list. Even if I do like him somewhat, he is far too goofy to be playing the part of such a ruthless ruffian as Don Lorenzo Daza. He brought the wrong kind of “magical realism” to this story unfortunately.
I have to say though, if the essence of even Carpentier’s magical realism from the book is all but brutalized in general on the screen, I still feel like Florentino was executed expertly. That very well may be more to the credit of Bardem’s outstanding acting than screenwriting or directing. Florentino’s nearly laughable obsession with his love for Fermina and the equally laughable way of killing the “pain” of his love for her is probably the best characterized example of the magical realism conveyed across both book and film.
Love is a bitter pill, no matter what the era or geography. Love in the Time of Cholera is a wonderful reminder of that. Human emotion is a complicated, fascinating and often infuriating element of what attaches us to this world. It is the essence of the adjective really. It pulls together the intangible into something we can identify — that we can love, hate and everything in between. That is precisely why LOVE is what makes this novel still magically real I think and why Florentino is the backbone of the fantastic characteristic of this book — not the scenery, not the shenanigans that occur, not the mules that Lorenzo owns; it is Florentino’s practically ridiculous love.
Florentino’s obsessive love for Fermina really is ridiculous. It is outrageous to everyone he meets in his life and to consider someone realistically building his entire life around the belief that he was put on this Earth with the sole purpose to love one specific girl that he met as a teenager is asinine at best. This story would have been just as absurd 100 years ago as it is today if carried over into reality. But for the care of García Márquez in his utilization of reality’s rules and content by going to the trouble to MAKE the impossible seem quite possible indeed, this story would still be equally absurd even as fiction. Amazingly, he manages to create believeability as the story unfurls, manufacturing the magically real. This is why he is so heavily referenced as a master of this craft called Magical Realism and all of its delicate intracies.
