Hollywood, California, is my spiritual hometown. I actually grew up in three other communities in California, but it hardly seems to matter which three. How could my heart take root anywhere under the tyranny of American public schooling?
I don’t have to work for a living. After my father died in December 1997, my family and I won a legal settlement.
The Blog About
Nothing: Sudheer of Hyderabad, India, is a big fan of Playboy and an
even bigger fan of Seinfeld. In this blog, he composes humorous
dialogues for the show’s characters.
Hit & Run: the official
blog of my other favorite magazine, Reason: Free Minds and Free
Markets; winner
of the 2005 Weblog Award for Best Group Blog; “the best
libertarian blog” according to the October 2005 issue of
Playboy.
Scoobie Davis Online: a self-described “filmmaker, surfer, and party crasher” in southern California. He’s also a Playboy fan, a left-leaning political gadfly, and a connoisseur of Jack T. Chick religious tracts.
The Search for
Health in Decadence: poetry and philosophical writings of Will, who has
engaged me in lengthy, good-natured debate through comments on my
blog.
The Blank Slate: The Modern Denial of Human Nature by Steven
Pinker. With stylistic flair, a Harvard cognitive scientist
refutes myths about human nature underlying a multitude of political
beliefs—including many of those that would either favor or
oppose the sexual revolution.
God in Popular Culture by Andrew M. Greeley. A liberal Catholic
priest sees quasi-Christian messages of grace abounding in the
allegedly soulless realm of commercial pop culture. For all I know,
Greeley is not necessarily a Playboy fan. But his
interpretation of Madonna’s song “Like a Virgin” has
influenced my impression of Playboy. (In case anyone wonders, my religious heritage is Lutheran on my father’s side and secularist on my mother’s.)
Much have I traveled in the realms of gold, And many goodly states and kingdoms seen; Round many western islands have I been Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. Oft of one wide expanse had I been told That deep-browed Homer ruled as his demesne; Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken; Or like stout Cortez [sic] when with eagle eyes He stared at the Pacific—and all his men Looked at each other with a wild surmise— Silent, upon a peak in Darien.
But Cantor’s wisely blurred distinctions do not invalidate all standards of taste as such. Perhaps a good working definition of kitsch is any piece of art, craft, or entertainment too stylized, affected, or bland to be recognizably human. By that standard, John Williams has rescued the “lounge” sensibility of today’s music nostalgia from the kitsch ghetto with the musical passage above.
Until that opening theme music, I was annoyed by lounge’s hooker-and-john rituals of pretending to dislike what one likes by finding elaborate ways to say, “It’s so bad that it’s good. Don’t confuse me with a dork because I enjoy this.” Lounge has always had some true, sincere artists working in it, but the irony has usually been too rich for my blood. Williams rounds the sensibility out by adding a natural, believable sense of menace to it. The result is something timelessly hip.
If science is essentially disciplined curiosity, art and art criticism are disciplined hedonism. Don’t snicker. One thing I mean by discipline is integrity about one’s aesthetic pleasures. A sense of irony is a virtue—in moderation.
kyle left this comment at March 4, 2008 5:54 AM
i've done a variation of on first looking into chapman's homer
on first looking into chomsky's understanding power
much have i traveled in libraries of wonder, and many ideas of immenso-jazz encountered, within many countries had i visited and there met the angels of surprise, and there discoursed with the lions of wisdom, oft had i read our culture's history, and considered myself its master, accounted myself astute, robust, up to date on all the latest thought, abreast of movements, traffic, conspiracy, yet never did i feel closer to the truth till i heard chomsky speak loud and bold. when i first read understanding power my whole being convulsed! the san andreas fault of my soul shook! my imprisoned mind electro-warped! how delectolicious was it then to realize that all my life the monster of fallacy myself attacked and barred! that my whole existence was deeply married to the razor-error and the ignored tragedy! what shimmeradise to have the veil removed! the wool from one's eyes extracted! one's corpus from plato's cave exiled! to realize that things are radically different from what one has been told again and again! to see the whole panorama of history painted not as delacroix would have it, but as picasso's morbid fascino would!
when i first read understanding power i quickly understood that a ravenous bezerkum pervaded, lecherized and prowled! i rapidly grasped that halo-souls were needed a dread-scarred status quo to heal! that it was incumbent on activists to rouse themselves from the oil-fen of apathy, the sewer-sloth of indifference, energize, and labor ceaselessly suffering to lessen!
ante chomsky i had been rummaging through arcane poems, esoteric elucidation, researching proust, joyce's mind-twist, the nearly impossible syntax of ancient greek, my heart in fang by the lorelei lacerated, but post chomsky i joyously confronted challenge in all its shimmerating halluco! i wildly encountered dilemma equipped with its paratroopers of blade! i cheerfully took on the mantle of purpose, i eagerly affixed my eyes on the mangle of corruption and resolved its junk-jaws to curtail! ante chomsky i was much like that mythical hobbit, forever contenting himself in his home, continually smoking his pipe, purposeless, but post chomsky the gandalf of wisdom violently invaded my home, roused myself from complacency's antarticum, and urged me to come join him in his quest the smaug of corruption to combat, the plutocratic warlocks' cabal to unveil, the self-absorbed hydras of finance to waylay.
and now two years thence a disturbing question remains: if one veil from my mind has been removed, what other veils presently my intellect hinder? what other illusions dictate my routes and excursions? if i have been brought out of one of plato's caves how am i to know that there are not more caves that remain.
Brian Sorgatz left this comment at March 5, 2008 7:37 PM and now two years thence a disturbing question remains: if one veil from my mind has been removed, what other veils presently my intellect hinder?
I know the question is rhetorical. I’ll answer it anyway. Free yourself of the guilt trips of both the political right and the left by reading Reason magazine. Extra credit: The Blank Slate by Steven Pinker, The Nurture Assumption by Judith Rich Harris.
kyle left this comment at March 6, 2008 6:00 AM
as far as guilt trip goes: aren't you on a guilt trip? wouldn't you feel guilty for murdering someone, theft?
re reason - i'm skeptical of people who throw that word around as if they own it. one, what objective criterion can men refer to establish a statement's reasonableness? none, to my knowledge. second, human reason is seriously limited, it's just a tool for gathering information and our human tool are seriously lacking in terms of assessing data.
kyle left this comment at March 4, 2008 5:54 AM
