Letter from Norman Mailer

to the Editor of Playboy

December 21, 1962

Dear Sir,
I wish you hadn't billed the debate between William Buckley and myself as a meeting between a conservative and a liberal. I don't care if people call me a radical, a rebel, a red, a revolutionary, an outsider, an outlaw, a Bolshevik, an anarchist, a nihilist, or even a left conservative, but please don't ever call me a liberal.

Yours,
Norman Mailer

Earth from Above

The Earth from Above exhibit is going to be in NYC from May 1st to June 29th this year.

I may Fung Wah it down there to check it out.

The Up Series

This weekend, my roommates and I started watching the Up Series. It's a series of documentary films following a group of British children as they grow up. They were selected at the age of seven from schools all over England, attempting to get a representative sample from all social classes, and every seven years, the students are interviewed again. The original director believed that the social classes in England were so strict, that they would effectively determine the type of people each of the children would grow up to be.

I've seen "Seven Up!," "Seven Plus Seven," and "Twenty-One Up" so far, and I've found them all fascinating. The last installment of the series was in 2005 when the group turned 49, and a new installment is expected in 2011 or 2012.

The whole series is on Netflix, and many of them are available for instant viewing on your PC.

Cat Fight

Two fat 'n spoiled cats locked in an epic battle for the LazyBoy.

A Better Class of Gossip Rag?

In "H-Bloo on A-Rod,"The New Yorker tries to make sense of the Alex Rodriguez/Madonna Kabbalah brainwashing saga, and solicits commentary from several prominent Jewish scholars:

“The true Kabbalists, they fasted, and I think baseball players need their carbs,” he said, and added that Rodriguez’s bronzed complexion seemed incompatible with intense Aramaic study. “If you’re a Kabbalist, you really have no time for the sun.”

Trenchant social analysis or woefully amateurish celebrity reporting? I think the latter. I was impressed with the concept of "soul-mate poaching" but how can you write an A-Rod/Madonna article (even a semi-satirical one) without using the term "affair of the heart?"

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Today is the 40th anniversary of his death and this is his final speech.

Art for Death's Sake, or Death for Art's Sake?

http://www.ktvu.com/news/15778575/detail.html?taf=fran

This is an interesting story regarding Adel Abdessemed's "Don't Trust Me" exhibit at the San Francisco Art Institute that was recently shutdown "in the wake of violent threats."

Some questions that came to my mind as I read/watched the story:
Is the origin of an image relevant to its significance?
Is the repetition of the images meant to desensitize the viewer and ultimately bring the viewer "beyond good and evil"? If so, is it to propagate the phenomenon as necessary and natural, or is it to make the viewer question that phenomenon?
Where does art end and life begin?
Why do the people in the video (and the critics of the exhibit) tend to talk about art and its boundaries instead of life and its boundaries? Instead of art, why can't we talk about slaughterhouses, inhumane butchering, unjust wars, and bureaucracy-induced alienation?
Can death itself even be conceptualized, or is it in reality a simple lack thereof?
How are death and justice related?
Is there such a thing as a truly "untimely death"?

Abdessemed's exhibit strikes me as decadent, but in its decadence it, I hope, is struggling to create discussion regarding a general attitude and understanding about death and its many manifestations. People who eat meat do so (by and large) without noting and grasping that what they're eating is a murdered animal. People endorse a war that is clearly causing more death, but somehow that kind of death is acceptable. I don't wholeheartedly endorse Abdessemed's work, but this country (or perhaps just the people controlling the media) is severely confused, and I know censorship won't solve it.

Homeless People

One of the most interesting things I've noticed about living in a big city is the Homeless phenomenon, aka the "Bum" phenomenon. I don't mean people without homes, or people "in between" things; you can find these people just about anywhere. I mean the really, really, really odd, dirty, smelly, probably insane, possibly belligerent people that sleep between copies of The Onion and The New York Times outside of Dunkin' Donuts. Don't get me wrong; this is not Bumfights propaganda, nor is it a misanthropic rant. There are , in fact, many decent, dignified homeless people who humbly request that you help them out by quietly sitting beside a quaint cardboard sign (for all you who think this marriage of dignity and overt solicitation is a contradiction, lay off the late-period Nietzsche). That aside, the stinky, loud, nothing-to-lose crazies are the ones that fascinate me.
Just the other night, Jess and I were heading home from Greenwhich Village after a pleasant evening full of art and Indian food when we slowly became aware that one of "them" was on the train we were on. Having lived in the city for some time now, I've learned the art of avoiding "that" train car. As the train comes to a stop, you casually watch as the cars pass, noting the passenger density, gaging if you'll be able to get a seat or not. Then, you see a car that is half-empty. This train has a bum on it, so you avoid it. Sometimes, however, the trains are so busy you just can't tell, and you don't notice you're on a train with one of "them" until the doors are closed and you've opened your book. Anyway, this particular person, a man claiming to be a veteran, was walking up and down the car, shouting both coherent things, like "Easter Sunday!" and "It is better to give than to receive!", and incoherent things, like "Muthafuher" and "Take a plane!!!" He started on one side of the car and I was on the other. Eventually he made his way to my side and stationed himself diagonally across from me. I buried my nose deeper in Mann. He let loose a pair of thick loogies which made an ungodly sound on the soiled subway floor. He then resumed shouting and while he was jingling his panhandle, some coins bounced out. He marched forward to pick them up, bellowing to a kid in a pair of New Balances to "Move, Punk!" Once he had collected his lost coins, he left that side of the train feeling sufficiently guilty and marched to the other side, whereupon he threatened some female passengers thus: "I'm-a cut you up!" Not clear on the sincerity or really the direction of this threat, Jess and I switched cars at the next stop.
Another time Jess and I were walking down 5th Ave in Park Slope and we were passing a bank. A terribly loud, bulging, shabby, oldish woman with stringy brown hair and beady black eyes was hollering at people not to help her, but simply to give her money. As I walked passed, on cue, she yelled, "Give me some money." Slightly shaken by her hoarse, dire voice, Jess and I continued walking only to hear her yell, "88, feed me!" I was assuming she was talking to the guy in the Michael Irvin jersey, so I kept walking. To my surprise, I found myself terribly angry that this woman had the nerve to do what she was doing - that is, making people painfully aware of their advantages in life. Not only that, but of what they are wearing or how they look (she called me "Handsome"). Jess asked rhetorically why this woman wasn't outside a bank in the Upper West Side of Manhatten or some other area where there's a lot more wealth. I say rhetorical because the answer is readily obvious; someone would complain and she would be promptly removed. Then she would be dumped in Brooklyn, where she can solicit freely because a.) no one has enough free mental space to care enough that someone is yelling at them and b.) the police have far more important things to do - like gangbusting and prostitute-ring-ousting - than to remove an obnoxious beggar. How is it that this person exists? Is she just crazy? Or is it a symptom of a much larger problem?
Between these two encounters, I've come to a loose, metaphoric conclusion. You know how when you make sugar cookies, you roll out the dough, and then you use various shapes to cut out your cookies? Well, people like me or you or the businessman on 6th or the hooligan on Franklin are all defined shapes. The "others" or, for the lack of a more accurate term, bums, are the extra dough that isn't quite a shape. It has potential to be made back into a shape, but there's always a shapeless remainder. Insofar as this makes any sense, these people become foils, or mirrors. They show us what is wrong with the whole baking process, and I don't blame them for hating me for not giving them money.
Perhaps I've been too hard on these people. Perhaps they have severe mental problems and are really just tragically out of touch with reality and I should be sad that no one has been able to or chosen to help them in the necessary ways. I believe this could be the case. But then I think of this other homeless man I've seen several times all over the city who pushes around a shopping cart full of his effects. Dressed like an urban monk of some kind, he curls up on two-seaters beside car-to-car passageways with his cart parked by his side. Swilling an unlabeled two-liter bottle, he doesn't say anything, and doesn't smell. He settles in and closes his eyes. As far as I'm concerned, either this man is nuts, or he knows something I've yet to learn.

After a year and a half of being a Bostonian, these are my favorite things in Boston

Food:
1. Anna’s Tacqueria – This place absolutely never disappoints. You can get a fantastic bean and rice burrito for under $5. The service is fast, the ingredients are fresh, and the servers don’t speak English. I do not have enough good things to say about this place. You can find Anna’s at Coolidge Corner, Winchester St/Summit Ave., the MIT student center, and Davis Square. There may be more, but I haven’t found them yet.
2. Union Bar and Grille – I ate an appetizer here that I will never forget: Salad of mixed tender lettuces with shaved fennel with radicchio, cucumber, and sheep’s milk cheese. It may have been the best thing I’ve ever eaten in my life. This place is in the swanky South End.
3. Asmara – I had never had Ethiopian food before, and I ended up enjoying it. You sit around a big wicker table thing and eat with your fingers by picking up food with little pieces of soft, flat bread. My friends say the bread has the consistency of human skin; I guess I go that feeling, but it didn’t detract from my enjoyment. A fairly inexpensive place in Central Square.

Close calls: Fajitas ‘n’ ‘Ritas near Park Street, Mike’s in Davis Square, RedBones in Davis Square

Bars:
1. The Publick House – This is a bar right down the street from my house in Washington Square. There is a three-page beer menu and they have imports from all over the world and have a great selection of microbrews from all over the country. You can get sampler paddles with four half pints and cheese boards that feature a wedge of imported cheese, homemade mustard, bread, and mini pickles.
2. People’s Republic – This is a Soviet-themed bar between Harvard and Central Squares. Darts in the corner, hammer and sickles all over the place, and a slightly unsettling lack of windows really brings the place together.
3. The Burren – An Irish bar in Davis Square. On any given night you can hear local musicians and Irish immigrants playing authentic music in the corner in one of the booths. I also saw a homeless guy play the guitar and sing in a (more) drunk-sounded Tom Waits style. It was pretty awesome.

Close calls: Grendel’s Den in Harvard Square, Shay’s Pub and Wine Bar in Harvard Square

Outdoor Spots:
1. The Public Gardens – It’s just a nice place to walk around. The swans and the swan boats make me smile.
2. The bank of the Charles by the Esplanade– I sit here and watch the boats on warm days. One windy day I saw three people fall in the water and one boat capsize.
3. The Harbor Walk – Every time I walk out here on a warm day there is an extravagant wedding going on. More than half the time, the groom is a sailor. I always want to sing “Brandy (You’re a Fine Girl).”

Close calls: Boston Common, Beacon Hill

Tourist Spots:
1. The Top of the Hub – There’s nothing like seeing the city from fifty stories up! It really helps show how messed up the city layout of Boston is. There is also a bar up there that makes very strong gin and tonics.
2. The Boston Aquarium – One word: Penguins
3. The cemeteries downtown – I don’t know why, but I’ve always loved old cemeteries, and the ones in Boston are some of the oldest in the country. John Hancock’s grave is phallic – very, very phallic.

Close calls: MFA, The Freedom Trail

Thinkers:
1. Noam Chomsky – Kinda the be-all-end-all of Boston thinkers. My cognitive science group got him to come talk to us (www.bsocs.org). He’s a very meek and timid man when you meet him, but when he gets up to speak, he is totally willing to call you stupid in front of two hundred people – one of my friends got it bad from him. He wears his jeans hiked up very, very high.
2. Steven Pinker – He’s another big guy in language from Boston. He just wrote a book called “The Stuff of Thought” which deals with profanity, sexual language, and innuendo. He gave a talk at the Brattle Theatre in Harvard Square and said every dirty word I had ever heard in my life, and then some.
P.S., Tabernacle is the worst swear word you can say in Quebec according to Pinker. Can anyone verify this?
3. Dan Dennett – A philosopher at Tufts who looks like Santa Claus. I’m not a hundred percent in love with his particular views, but he seems like a guy who you could go have a beer with. I shook his hand at a conference – he has a firm shake for an old guy, much firmer than Chomsky’s.

Close calls: Ray Jackendoff at Tufts, Daniel Wegner at Harvard

Pearls Before Breakfast:

I was cleaning out some old bookmarks and found this article I had saved from about a year ago. Even if you've already heard of this experiment I think the article is worth another read.