Not to continue to complain about a topic that I chose to write about for my film theory final, but I have to exorcise something:


I chose to write about post-colonial and feminist theory because I think the two have a few obvious similarities, are generally noble in intention, and were essentially the lesser evils for me during the semester. Unfortunately part of the reading that goes along with these topics is this Homi Bhabha gentleman. According to Wikipedia:

Bhabha has been criticized for using indecipherable jargon and dense prose. In 1998 the journal Philosophy and Literature awarded Bhabha second prize in its "Bad Writing Competition,"[5] which "celebrates bad writing from the most stylistically lamentable passages found in scholarly books and articles." Bhabha was awarded the prize for a sentence in his The Location of Culture (Routledge, 1994), which reads:

If, for a while, the ruse of desire is calculable for the uses of discipline soon the repetition of guilt, justification, pseudo-scientific theories, superstition, spurious authorities, and classifications can be seen as the desperate effort to “normalize” formally the disturbance of a discourse of splitting that violates the rational, enlightened claims of its enunciatory modality.[6]

Emeritus professor of English at Stanford University, Marjorie Perloff, said that her reaction to Bhabha's appointment at Harvard was one of "dismay," telling the New York Times "He doesn't have anything to say." While Mark Crispin Miller, a professor of media studies at New York University, commented on the meaning of Bhabha's writing: "One could finally argue that there is no there there, beyond the neologisms and Latinate buzzwords. Most of the time I don't know what he's talking about."

I wonder if Marj and Homi (holy shit, The Simpsons!) ever cross paths at academic conferences and have hot scholarly hate sex? Likely, I'd say. And during this attempt to justify my own confusion with post-structuralism by taking comfort in snippy Wikipedia articles, I came across this amusing tidbit on the Jacques Derrida entry:

Foucault who is often considered as Derrida's contemporary, also revealed his dissatisfaction of Derrida's style of writing in a conversation with Searle. According to Foucault, Derrida practises the method of obscurantisme terroriste (terrorism of obscurantism) [24]. Searle quotes Foucault's explanation of the term as the following:

He writes so obscurely you can't tell what he's saying, that's the obscurantism part, and then when you criticize him, he can always say, "You didn't understand me; you're an idiot." That's the terrorism part.

Well said, Foucault. Not that I've ever read Derrida, but he came up the other day in class and if he influenced Bhabha then I say he wasn't worth the trouble.

On the other end of the spectrum we have dear, concise Laura Mulvey, who can write the shit out of an essay. I think "Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema" might be the most tidily written and easily accessible bits of scholarship I've ever read. And not that I condone overused internet memes, but yes, this does come up on the first page of her Google image search:

(From the LJ community LOLTHEORISTS)

With most everyone out of town for Thanksgiving this past weekend I was left to my own devices, which inevitably led me to a director's commentary track (I am one of those annoying people who like to point out behind-the-scenes facts during movies). I don't know what I was expecting from an Almodóvar commentary; having read plenty of articles about and interviews with him, I knew going in that he was a somehow lovable pompous ass, and yet I was still almost surprised at his tone in the commentary for La mala educación. Every other sequence was "elegante" and he felt the need to patronizingly explain every minute narrative detail just in case you were too stupid to realize what was going on.

And yet...it was almost sweet in a way, kind of like he'd never heard of the concept of modesty and was just genuinely really proud of what he'd done with the film. As he should be. I always look for reasons to second-guess my love of Almodóvar, but every time I watch one of his films my appreciation for his skill only intensifies. And even if you're not so keen on Pedro himself or his movies, La mala educación is worth a look if only for Javier Cámara's hilarious performance as the sidekick tranny.

You know how sometimes rednecks get a little drunk during a flash flood and decide that their Ford F-150s can totally make it through that flooded intersection like no problem? But they don't realize that the water is in fact much deeper than it appears? And two thirds of the way through the intersection their trucks start floating and they realize they've misjudged the situation and oh shit? Yeah, that's about where I'm at with my Film Theory term paper.

Please enjoy Kate Winslet on Extras:




Cultural note: "fanny" means hoo-ha in England. I forget where I learned that, but it was only just recently and I was rather taken aback.

I've started a Tumblr logging Yahoo features headlines. Because I hate them so, so much.

I don't really have time to be doing this, but what the hey.

I was riding down Bedford on the way home tonight and I heard a woman say "I've been blogging out of control lately." This statement unsettled me on several levels. For one, nobody should be blogging to an excessive degree in general. It's bad for your mental health. Secondly, what exactly does the phrase "out of control" mean in this sentence? Is it simply a statement of excess? Or does it imply some sort of wrecklessness, and if so, specifically what?

***
Before that incident I was dining "in town" (my roommate always laughs when I say that I'm going "into town" (meaning Manhattan), but it's a leftover habit from my time in the 'burbs, when one necessarily had to head "into town" to amuse onesself) with some friends from the NYU Madrid program who are notoriously fond of disparaging Germans. Rarely does a night between us pass without an utterance of the phrase "Fuckin' Germans!" It's really nothing personal, and hardly more than an extremely silly inside joke, but after I had parted ways with them tonight and was walking down the street I passed a group of people and one of them said, "Stupid weird German people!" And then I recalled a discussion I'd recently had with someone about how you can always spot Germans because of their downright queerness (and I use queer in the old, traditional sense of the word because I'm trying to start a renaissance of that usage).

It has dawned on me that we as a nation love to shit on Germans. In like a kind of half-joking, non-harmful way (though I assume Germans themselves would disagree with that assessment), but still, we find them an easy target for some reason. For instance, the night before Halloween I was at a party at a hostel and I wound up talking for a while to a German guy dressed as a pimp, and while he was a perfectly pleasant guy, he was just so bizarre and so very German. Later when my friend asked about him all I had to say was "Oh, he's German."

And again, I say this with no malice, hate, or judgment. I am very directly descended from German immigrants myself, and I have no problem with the country, its culture, or its people. I'm simply amused by the interaction of Americans with the overall concept of "German Weirdness."

***
A few things that I like:

This

Also, I'm very proud of my friend Ernesto (whose real name is Ernest, but I've never once called him that), who I met the first day of classes freshman year at NYU in the intensive intermediate Spanish class.

Ernesto came through Madrid last Spring

Two years later he's studying/living in Buenos Aires and writing for a sharp-looking online zine. If you read Spanish, definitely check out the link. It's Ernesto's reflection on his personal connection with Ernest Hemingway and it's quite lovely. And even if you don't read Spanish, there are a few intriguing Polaroids for your viewing pleasure.

Occasionally being forced to research new music is not so bad. I had to cover the mtvU Woodies on Wednesday, so in the interest of vague preparedness I googled all the performers and found that I quite like Santogold. Probably music bloggy types have so totally known about her since early February, but I never claimed to be relevant. Here are some youtubes:


There's something about this song that I just can't quite put my finger on. It's got a kind of elusive appeal about it--sort of a light touch. On the surface it's a little boring, but it's nicely textured. Am I using enough adjectives for you here? For some reason it very indirectly reminds me of the Pretenders' "Back on the Chain Gang." They both have a nice, breezy bass-and-guitar-riff combo.


(Adena, if you're reading this, the second half of this video is pretty badass.)

I swear this drawing is only just barely an exaggeration of a dude I saw on the Williamsburg Bridge this morning on my way to class. It was just as I was approaching the middle of the bridge (at which point an arduous incline becomes a perilous decline), and he was coming towards me, so we were both going uphill at the moment I saw him. I of course was huffing and panting through the last few seconds of the Manhattan-bound incline, hunched, white knuckles gripping the handlebars, while he was merrily talking on the phone and smoking a cigarette while riding uphill on a fixed-gear bike, giving him the unique distinction of most coordinated asshole in the world. He wasn't really drinking coffee, but I see people do that all the time and it absolutely blows my mind.

A classic of the feline hijinks genre. What a fat fuckin' cat!

(Stolen from the Fart Party blog.)

One last thing about politics: this will be the hottest administration ever (well, since A. Jackson, obviously). I saw Rahm Emanuel on the Daily Show a few years ago and I have loved him ever since. Not for his politics, not for anything other than purely shallow factors. He's sheisty, but for some reason I find him so incredibly attractive.

Yesterday I switched to a show called Swamp Cats on Animal Planet hoping it was about cats who live in swamps. It was actually about lions hunting alligators and I was disappointed.

Election night '08 will go down as one of the most exuberant in my life, I believe. While I typically like to maintain a healthy perspective on political realities--such as the restrictiveness of a two-party system, and the annoying fact that candidates have to veer towards the very middle to get elected, and that politics serves mainly as a breeding ground for corruption and power-grabbing, and countless other failings--I'll be damned if I didn't just let myself believe for one glorious night that Barack Obama is this country's political messiah, and it was awesome. Don't get me wrong--I remain skeptical of the power structure (even under a Democrat), but, to quote a drunken mass text I sent out late Tuesday night: "HOLY SHIT."

The same country that fostered for decades the environment of profoundly deep, simmering racism and racial inequality that created Hurricane Katrina New Orleans elected by a considerable margin a man of color. I'm almost ashamed to say that I underestimated America. Even with all the projections of an Obama win I was nervous. Racism goes deep and I was afraid that in the eleventh hour we'd fall victim to old habits.

Anyway, election night. I went to a party in Williamsburg with my cousin, where I proceeded to consume a cup of regular cheap beer, then three Colt 45 malt liquor tall boys in short succession. My famous last words were: "I'm gonna pee while nothing is happening." Yes, I was in the bathroom when CNN announced that Barack Obama would be the next president of the United States. I promptly hitched up my stockings and hurried to join in the absolute pandemonium that had swept the bar. Yelling, jumping, weeping, hugging of strangers, inability to control vocalizations. I have never seen such unbridled excitement in my life. Shortly after the announcement the DJ cut in with T.I.'s "What You Know," which absolutely put the cherry on the whole moment.



We danced, we formed a cancan line for the Beatles' "All You Need Is Love," we hooted at the screen during Obama's speech as if we were actually with him in Grant Park, we danced some more.

At around 1 a.m. I was heading home, and when I got to the Bedford L stop I encountered a full-on impromptu street parade. People were so excited that they had taken to the streets with percussive instruments and American flags. I joined in for a while, exchanging hugs and high-fives with complete strangers who would on any normal day just be fellow participants in the steely ritual of mutual unrecognition that New Yorkers have perfected. That night it didn't matter that Obama was just another politician bound to disappoint us all in some way over the next four (hopefully eight) years. For a precious few hours people were truly moved by the prospect of change in this country. There was a sense that after eight years of shuddering at the mention of our national politics we could finally brag about our intelligent, articulate, thoughtful, dare I say progressive president. After eight years of slack-jawed shenanigans we finally have a president who can speak, think, and hopefully act in a manner becoming of a nation so complex, confusing, and occasionally amazing as America.

Bedford Avenue

I think that in light of this shift in the national spirit it's time we revisit and mockingly misappropriate Lee Greenwood's epic steaming pile of shit song "God Bless the USA." It's a symbol of the kind of Americanness we're mercifully retreating from, but I think it deserves a good healthy run through the sarcasm cycle before we exorcise it completely from our national consciousness. So in that spirit, here it is:



These days I actually am proud to be an American because I think for the first time in a long, long while we're starting to see a country where, for instance, funky black power communist bands are a part of the moral majority:

"Show Yo Ass" the Coup*

"They don't read me my rights, they induct a curse, so you're cordially invited to go buck berserk."

The Bush administration pushed this country to the edge, and we did indeed go buck berserk. Luckily it was the sanest thing we could have possibly done.

*I'm not sure what Boots Riley (of The Coup) actually thinks of this election. As a fairly radical figure he may be in the hardline "mainstream politicians are corrupt puppets" camp. But I'm a pragmatist so I resign myself to the prevailing system of government and champion the most progressive realistic candidate. Hopefully I'm not offending the spirit of his song too much.

Pretty good New Yorker article about teen pregnancy among evangelical Christians. This is the kind of topic that deeply fascinates me. There is such a profound chasm between what evangelicals say and what they actually do; it's astounding and it never fails to amaze me. And I don't really say that in a hateful, "evangelicals suck" kind of way (even though they do, let's be honest)--but more of just like a puzzled observation. I grew up around a lot of evangelical Christians and they've always been an alternately maddening, hilarious, and tragic spectacle in my life.

I think that article--while a bit too detached (would it have killed them to go out and interview some actual evangelicals?)--does a nice job of bundling up the basic sociological dynamics that have developed in the past twenty years: middle-class liberals who get married at thirty and raise their children in an open-minded home not overly preoccupied with religion come out on top, while evangelical Christians who get married young either because they got pregnant or because they're desperate to have sex (but won't before marriage) get divorced and raise their children with an emotional and economic disadvantage. As always there are exceptions, etc. etc., but more or less that's the measure of things from what I've seen growing up.

So anyway, moral of the story is: teach contraception. And if I may misappropriate one of my favorite Bob Marley lyrics that comes to mind every time I think about religion: "Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery." Let's go to the video...



More Bob...




Bob is so cute in this one.



DON'T FORGET TO VOTE ON TUESDAY! aka Don't forget to vote for Obama.