Could it be?

Since I have a little but more time to sit around in front of a computer these days, I'm able to poke around looking for interesting things and post up links to make this blog more like it was in its Xanga incarnation. Now, I know it's against the rules to link to what is essentially another link, but still....

Andrew Sullivan has an interesting post up with a long quote from a speech by Hillary Rodham-Clinton having to do with the Geneva Convention issue. At this juncture, I'm not going to get into the whole appalling mess over torture that we've gotten ourselves into, but I would like to say someting about Hillary. Anybody who's talked to me about this over the past few years knows that I absolutely oppose her nomination for president by the Democrats because I think she is entirely unelectable. She is polarizing, hated by the right, and the Strange dynastic turn that the office of the President has undergone recently would not be helped by electing Bill's kind-of-wife.

However, Andrew makes a good point about her sounding like a president, and while that's essentially meaningless, it occurs to me to wonder if Hillary's polarizing nature might actually help. I'm not talking about partisanism here, because I think we can all agree that partisanism is one of the things that's wrong with our national discourse these days. Instead, I'm talking about the Democrats finally finding somebody who can present a real Opposition to the party in power. It's not enough to be against Bush; that didn't work in 2004, and I don't think it's going to work in 2006. What could work in 2008, though, is running on an actual platform of opposition to the neo-Con PFNAC policies that will surely guide whoever is chosen to replace The Prince.

Fixing Unbroken Things

If ever there was a bad idea, this is it. Let's go ahead and open the door to letting those Accountability fools mess with our college and university system. I know, I know: that's not what the article is really about, but if you've been paying attention to this story today, you know that one of the commission's other recommendations is to introduce testing for college students to make sure "parents are getting their money's worth." That's douche-bag for "No Frat Boy Left behind." The one part of our national education system that is working perfectly well and needs no federally-mandated reforms is higher education. That Spellings and those other fascists at the Department of Education would even think of getting their grubby, test-stained hands on colleges and universities is absolutely disgusting.

You can read a more in-depth view from behind enemy lines here.

Now look: I would be among the first to tell you -- particularly if I've been drinking or if you catch me on a Tuesday or Thursday night -- that the standard of education at some public universities I know is very low indeed, but inasmuch as testing has not succeeded in improving the K-12 system, it must necessarily fail at improving places like our illustrious local university. And besides, I think that G$, one of my good friends from elementary school, one of my former undergrad cousins, and my doctoral candidate cousin would say that the educations they received at this, this, this, and this public university was anything less than very fine. And I don't think I sound like too much of a ring-banger when I say that, while I have some bones to pick with the regents in general, there is no need to reform the high degree of educational excellence demanded, given, and produced by some moderately elite private colleges I know.

It's simple: the higher education system in the United States is, collectively, arguably the finest such system in the world. It is most certainly not broken. Why does anybody feel the need to fix it?

It's a man's world...

Last Sunday, The Madame and I sampled our new local movie theater down at the South Coast casino by way of The Illusionist. (I strongly recommend the film, although that's not really the point of this post.) Afterwards, I observed that great love stories -- particularly those that involve being fortuitously re-united with a lost love -- always take place in the past. Not always the distant past, but definitely in the past. The English Patient, for example, takes place between the Wars in north Africa; Gone With the Wind took place during the Civil War; and Romeo and Juliet takes place in medieval Italy, at least a century before Shakespeare decided to write it. I would also point out that when we have contemporary love stories, they don't generally function the same way these "great love" stories do: oftentimes they are funny or silly or even zany. The implication, of course, is that we don't love today the way we did a century ago. That romance is dead, and can only to found in stories from the past. Is this true? And why do we think this?

A few weeks ago, I finished reading a book called From Chivalry to Terrorism: War and the Changing Nature of Masculinity by Leo Braudy. It is a fascinating book, particularly if, like me, you're interested in what makes a man and what does it mean to be a man in contemporary society. One of Braudy's central assertions all through the book is that men -- especially men acting as a society's warriors and soldiers -- have always looked to the past as a golden age of manhood. Men consistently believe, according to Braudy, that whatever age they inhabit is in a crisis of masculinity, and that previous ages were fully populated with "real men." In our own time, think of films like Saving Private Ryan or The Memphis Belle. Both films are infused with the idea that men in these previous times were more loyal, more honorable, and in general better than men are today. Or, for a different vision of masculinity, consider films like L.A. Confidential or another excellent 1950s film in current release called Hollywoodland. These films don't represent the warrior mystique, but they do show us that in the fifties, men were men. Not like now. Damn.

Both of these themes -- that both great love and great manliness were essentially superior in the past -- are strong tides in art and literature, and in the coming months we'll see more of this thread: today, we'll see the fifties man again in The Black Dahlia; next week, we'll see honorable warriors from the past in Flyboys; and in November, we'll see great love from the past in The Fountain. Why do we want to believe that the past did things so much better than we can? It doesn't matter how much historical evidence we amass to the contrary: we want to believe that the past was better and that the present is dull.

This point of view fascinates me, especially since I can't help but buy into it, at least a little bit. I'm particularly interested in the making of a new golden age out of the recent past, one that I have no trouble believing was actually better. In his new book, Andrew Sullivan spends an entire chapter constructing the period from 1989-2000 as a recently-occurring golden age. It's an interesting trend, and I've been delighted to observe it. As with many historical trends, the distance between the present and these so-called golden ages continues to shrink. So the real question is this: will we live to see a time when a golden age of love and/or masculinity is the present?

I think not. The pull of the past is too strong. And besides, if we stopped believing that the past was better, Hollywood would go out of business.

First Friday

In an effort to promote the local art scene and bring people downtown in the evening to somewhere other than Fremont Street, the city hosts a little street festival on the first Friday of every month. Most of the downtown galleries have shows happening, and there's live music and hip organic food to eat, and it's altogether a very happening (albeit nascent) art scene. The Madame and I have been meaning to check it out since we moved here, and we finally got around to it last night.

There are several venues around the "Art District" that have First Friday functions, but we decided to check out the main event at a place called the Arts Factory. The Arts factory is a big converted warehouse with seven or eight galleries inside, and the place was packed. Many hipsters and scenesters were spotted sipping wine and appearing passionately disinterested. It was definitely happening.

We had come down to see about acquiring some new pieces for our collection to occupy some of our new blank wall space. While most of the stuff on offer was well out of our price range (being real art and not just posters of real art), we did manage to buy four pieces that fit well within our budget. All four of the pieces are giclee prints (don't worry; I didn't know what that meant until I found the Wikipedia either), and the first two are beautiful, vibrant works by an artist named DiCandilo. They are "Stairs of Greece III & IV," and you can check them out at his homepage.

The other two pieces are by a local comic book artist named Jerrell Conner. They are two portraits of characters from his graphic novels that he's done in the Art Nouveau style of Alfons Mucha. They are phenomenally unique and remarkably unusual; having them hang in my living room is going to be very cool.

And then finally, there was a documentary filmmaker who had been working very closely with Tupac Shakur shortly before his death. The gallery was filled with beautiful, large photographs of the poet, each with a brief description of what was happening around the time it was taken. If they weren't $800 each, we probably would have bought one and sent it to Nip-Nip, but since our art budget had already been handled by our previous acquisitions, it just had to roll by. But Nippers, if you're reading this: the pictures are outstanding and you should definitely consider buying one. They really are fantastic.

Now I know how an whore feels....

I spent two hours this morning -- pretty much until I couldn't stand it anymore -- on my knees sealing the grout on our palatial new kitchen and master bathroom floors. My knees are now shamefully bruised, and they actually hurt when I'm just standing around, but the water-bead-up test revealed to me that the kitchen, at least, needs another coat. Working on your knees is a cruel task indeed.

However, while I was waiting for the sealant to dry, I threw together my tenor and jammed solo-style. This is the first time I've been able to play in a place where I lived since high school, and it was pretty sweet. I spend some time practicing at the store between lessons, but you can't decently expect to work on altissimo in public; people will think you're a hack. Being able to practice at home is definitely something I'm looking forward to in terms of home ownership, and if this morning is any indication, I won't be disappointed.

By the way, that "w" word up there in the title of this post is meant to be pronounced "woor." And the article before is meant to be smashed together with it, sounding like "anwoor." Go ahead; say it out loud. It's funny. You won't be disappointed.