When I posted about my failed 2011 New Year's Resolution the other day (in Tea, or Coffee?), various people asked me about the progress of my great diet experiment. It's a trifle excruciating—seems arrogant, even—to presume anyone is interested in such a quotidian personal issue, but people are asking, so here's the update anyway.
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Open Mike
Sunday, 18 December 2011
Sunday, 27 November 2011
Open Mike: Treasures of iTunes
In the Great Digitization, it's become commonplace for great treasures from the vinyl age to suddenly appear naked and vulnerable to purchase by the blithest neophyte. Scratching the surface, here are just a few little-acknowledged masterpieces that once were the venerated objects of search crusades by those deep in the know but can now be downloaded for a mere few bucks by anybody.
Feel free to add to the list if you have your own candidates.
The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band: Will the Circle Be Unbroken. A seminal masterpiece of country rock, the real thing compared to the bands that merely used country to inflect their pop-rock, "May The Circle Be Unbroken" is the document of a legitimate summit—an attempt at reconciliation between younger bluegrass and country musicians soaked in the revolutionary hippie ethos and older, more traditional musicians who were conservative by nature and deeply suspecious of anyone with long hair. Originally a triple album on vinyl, the record documents a week-long meeting to make music, and most of the tracks were recorded on the first or second take on two-track, with no overdubs or splices. The two "sides" never really get over their mistrust, but they make great music together. Featuring Merle Travis, Vassar Clements, Roy Acuff, Jimmy Martin, Brother Oswald, Doc Watson, and Mother Maybelle Carter. The mountain inflections are real, and the music has an authenticity that "country" music (which now mainly means "whites-only pop") now sorely lacks. At a time when the deepest rifts in America were generational, it was the first real country music that many younger rock fans had ever heard. Just as the once-popular vinyl was becoming really rare, the album made its way on to CD in 2002. You can find it here
Track to sample: "Dark as a Dungeon" (Merle Travis).
Can, Tago Mago. Holger Czukay's experimental German avant-garde band Can was never easy to find "on this side of the pond" as they say. My friend Kim, a legendary late-night dj on D.C.'s once-underground WHFS, introduced to me to this as he has introduced me to so much else. "Tago Mago" is Can's third album and one of its most accessible. Uncomfortably pigeonholed as part of the "krautrock" genre exemplified by early electronica bands such as Kraftwerk and Amon Düül II, Can never really fit the slot: their music is improvisatory, hallucinatory, atmospheric, constructed, always adventurous and probing. "Tago Mago" was influential on a wide variety of bands from The Sex Pistols to Radiohead, and yet might be more listenable now than it was back when it was hard to find. Note that the 40th Anniversary Edition of the CD
Track to sample: "Bring Me Coffee or Tea."
Sonny Stitt with Barry Harris, Tune Up! + Constellation (okay, this one's not actually on iTunes—I just thought it was—but it's on CD, and can be purchased here. I have the Gambit / Fresh Sounds Records reissue
Track to sample: "A Ghost of a Chance."
Sviatoslav Richter in the 1950s, volume 1. The great Richter has always had an elusive, legendary numen, despite being a protean recording artist, probably because he made such an impression when his recordings first emerged into the West from behind the Iron Curtain in the 1950s—and because he disliked to travel. At his death perhaps no pianist had more artistic authority associated to his name. I can't speak for real classical collectors here, but before the rare Parnassus set came out in the 1990s, it was difficult for civilians to find an early recording of Richter playing the Seventh Sonata of Sergei Prokofiev, which Prokofiev wrote for Richter. Now? Anybody can click on it in iTunes. It's not even expensive, which seems just...wrong, somehow. The CD
Track to sample: the first (the Quarrel from Cinderella).
Neil Young, On the Beach. Neil Young is nothing if not quirky. For reasons that as far as I know have never been explained, for many, many years he refused to release "On the Beach"—one of the greatest albums of his early, depressive period and possibly the best single album of his career (the album is the middle of the so-called "Ditch Trilogy")—on CD. Some people have forgotten (and younger people may not know) how conventional it was in the early days of digital music, when CDs were still scarce, for people to say they wouldn't switch to CDs because "most of the music I listen to will never be available on CD." The opposite has generally been closer to the truth—CD, and now downloads, have rescued from the fathomless depths of record company vaults tens of thousands of recordings that would have gone in and out of print on vinyl only to become rare and sought after and fought over for years by the indefatigable collector. In this one case, however, the early vinylist was right. For twenty years, collectors hoped in vain to get this in digital form, and furtively traded bootlegs recorded from vinyl and encoded on homemade CD-Rs. Now? Available at a click on iTunes for eight dollars. Not even full price. You can get the CD
Track to sample: "On the Beach."
Tortoise, A Lazarus Taxon. Sometimes tiny, gem-hard kernals of criticism can be so true that you can never forget them again. Aforementioned friend Kim once said in passing that a band was essentially done by the time the first "greatest hits" album came out. I've never been able to forget that whenever I see a greatest hits package. Well, "A Lazarus Taxon" is Tortoise-speak for "greatest hits"—except it all hangs together surprisingly well; nobody does jazz-inflected experimental soundscape instrumentals more gorgeously than the Chicago-based Tortoise. So why does it belong on this list? Because it contains the entire "Rhythms, Resolutions & Clusters," the band's out-of-print and hard-to-find 1995 release. The CD box
But you can still find the music on iTunes. Sort of takes the fun out of the hunt, dunnit?
Mike
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Featured Comment by Martin Sharman: "Not only are these once rare albums available for purchase on CD or download—all except Tortoise and some of the Richter are available for immediate stream on Spotify U.K.
"Despite a CD collection bordering on four figures, and less numerous but physically larger racks of vinyl, as soon as I took out a Spotify subscription, my listening and purchasing habits were changed forever. I haven’t bought a CD since. I really would never have believed it, but the whole concept of buying music to keep is starting to appear very old fashioned.
"The utter delight of being able to read a superbly-written article recommending great music (such as this one, or any quality printed music magazine), and be able to instantly stream it into my consciousness, even as I read, is unquantifiable. My listening has become far broader and my musical knowledge has never been increasing at such a rate.
"Given that one has access to a reasonably comprehensive streaming library, why would I wait a few days for my CD order from Amazon to ship when I can listen immediately? And paying for permanent downloads makes even less sense, given the inherently time-limited nature of digital formats and storage media.
"(The only format still worth bothering with is vinyl, especially now all switched-on labels offer free digital downloads with each vinyl purchase. A carefully-manufactured vinyl record can deliver a genuinely valuable ownership experience, and can increase in value in a way digital never will. It has to be admitted that the fact that entry into the vinyl-owning and -playing world is relatively inconvenient and expensive only increases its cachet as the format of choice for the serious collector.)
"However, I do sometimes worry about the transience of digital and its effect on my music consumption.
"Never again will I experience that thrill of Saturday afternoon record shopping; of having awaited a release from a favourite band and queueing to purchase; of having a shortlist of potential buying material in mind and browsing the racks, examining the cover, reading the liner notes, sometimes even asking for a sneak preview on the shop CD player before deciding, there and then in the shop, which to buy. How less romantic it seems to be able instantly to play each album in the comfort of one’s home; and when the decision has been made which of the shortlisted albums is the best—what then? No purchase necessary, just press play again.
"There is something about investing in a band with one’s own money that gives a psychological link; a virtual piece of ownership that a streaming service will never provide. And I do have qualms that my money isn’t being fairly distributed to the artists I listen to: the royalties per play are simply too small. But I won’t give it up. How else could I have drifted off to sleep last night with the dulcet tone of Stitt washing over me?"
Sunday, 13 November 2011
Open Mike: Peanut Butter and Jelly
By Mike Johnston
I quit eating sugar last April. Aside from a modest slip on Halloween, I haven't had any "overt" sugar since then. It's been an interesting experience.
Ctein, Sugar and Cream, Ben and Jerry's, Vermont, 2010
In an increasingly industrialized food supply, sugar is the perfect industrial food. It's moderately addictive or habit-forming, in that heavy consumption triggers cravings; it has a high perceived value despite being easy and cheap to produce (astonishingly, more than half of the huge corn crop in the U.S. now goes to the manufacture of high-fructose corn sweetener); it can be used to "enhance" a wide variety of foods as an additive; it's easy to transport and store because it doesn't spoil; and most people are genetically predisposed to find it appealing, even when they're not aware that they're eating it.
The reason I quit eating it is that I have a horrible sweet tooth, and was eating way, way too much of it. Large amounts of sweets were a regular part of my diet. I was so bad that I started realizing that many of the "foods" I ate were essentially "sugar delivery vehicles"—they either had sugar in them or needed sugar put on them. I suffered excessively from the "insulin spiking" syndrome that is now well-known in nutritional circles and well documented in recent diet books: eating so much sugar made me feel bad.
If you eat a lot of sugar, not eating it stimulates mild withdrawal symptoms—principally cravings. Sugar cravings are weird in that they can make you crave non-sugared foods as well as sugary ones. Sugar cravings can make you anxious to eat more even when you're painfully full. The good news is that sugar is not really technically addictive, and the cravings subside quickly. The first three days are hard, but by the time two weeks have gone past, you won't crave it much at all any more. Especially if you're consciously aware of how bad it makes you feel when you do consume it.
In most diets, there are, in practical terms, two kinds of sugar, known as "overt" (obvious) and "covert" (hidden). Overt sugar is, well, sugar and sugary things—candy, desserts, pastries, cakes, puddings, doughnuts, milkshakes, sodas—anything deliberately made to be sugary and sweet.
Covert sugar—now largely in the form of high-fructose corn syrup, fructose being the worst kind of sugar for you to eat in anything but fruit—is a good deal more insidious. Say you want to prepare and eat a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich. Americans, at least, don't consider a PB&J sandwich to be a sweet or a dessert—it's food. It might be considered part of a normal meal—usually lunch. Especially for kids. Yet chances are good that unless you take deliberate steps to avoid it, all three ingredients in your sandwich are heavily laden with sugar.
Jelly's the most obvious source. Most jelly or jam that comes in jars starts with fruit that contains sugar naturally, but sugar is an essential added ingredient in traditional jelly-making, and some commerical jellies are spiked with even more. What many people don't realize is that most commercial peanut butters are also loaded with sugar. It's possible to buy "natural" peanut butters in many stores now (some of which still add sugar), but the worst peanut butters are virtually sugar paste.
And then there's bread. At our Farmer's Market a couple of years ago, I bought a loaf of homemade bread from two Mennonite girls at their family's stand. The girls looked unhappy to be there, as if the riverside market in our pleasant little town were the very heart of Babylon. Neither of them responded at all my my attempts at banter. Their bread turned out to be similarly stern and severe. I had been expecting an orgy of wholesome goodness, but the bread was bland and tasteless. The reason? No sugar. There were only four ingredients listed: flour, water, yeast, and salt.
If you buy bread in packages, chances are very good it contains sugar. The worst ones have the equivalent of more than a quarter of a teaspoon of sugar in every slice. And just try buying bread with no sugar in it. You might live in a "progressive" community with more options than we have here in the hidebound Midwest, but in most ordinary supermarkets, good luck. My supermarket has a whole wall full of breads, dozens of different brands and literally more than a hundred varieties. And not a single one with no sugar.
Most commercial breads, it seems, are "part cake." The Mennonite girls disapprove.
Thanks to covert sugars, that ordinary peanut butter and jelly sandwich is really halfway between a food and a dessert. It can have as much as two tablespoons of sugar in it. Our ancestors before the era of industrial food would have considered that dizzyingly sweet.
Many foods are deliberately marketed to try to make you feel better about them, even though they're bad for you. Yogurt, for example, is widely believed to be a health food. Not so if you're avoiding sugars. Those little containers of yogurt you buy at the supermarket are loaded with huge amounts of sugar. Eating one is really very much like eating a similar-sized container of pudding. Even for people who are not trying to avoid sugar, a yogurt should be considered a dessert.
Many heavily sugared foods get away with it because in their pure forms they don't have any sugar. Brewed black coffee contains no sugar, but many of the concoctions you buy at Starbucks—even before you dump yet more sugar into them—are more heavily loaded with sugar than ice cream. I'm not joking—that's true.
Sugar, it turns out, is everywhere. The challenge in the supermarket is not in finding it hiding in unexpected places, but in finding anything without it. If peanut butter is a sugar paste, then ketchup is a sugar sauce: the typical ingredients in ketchup are tomato paste, vinegar, and sugar. (Vinegar and sugar go into sushi rice, too). Barbeque sauce is not quite like slathering your chicken in chocolate syrup, but it's not that far off, either. TV dinners (in fact, most food that comes in boxes and has a name), canned soups—all are garnished with a little (or a lot) of sugar before you even open them. The general exception seems to be foods that are either plain ingredients, or else mainly fat, such as cheese and mayonnaise.
Of course, small amounts of sugar occur naturally in many foods. Even Smucker's Organic Peanut Butter, with one listed ingredient—peanuts—contains a gram of sugar per serving. I just checked a can of no-salt-added green beans—7 grams of sugar! That's more than half a tablespoon. Natural occurrences aside, as a generality, the Western food supply is now hopelessly adulterated with sugar, with no end in sight. Sugar is everywhere, in everything. We eat huge amounts of it—even when we don't eat "sweets," but especially when we do.
I make an effort to avoid not only candy and anything overtly sweet, but covert sugars as well. I buy sugar-free jelly, sugar-free ketchup, sugar-free seafood sauce. But it's impossible to escape entirely. When I get cravings for sugar now, I recognize it as a signal that a covert sugar has crept into my diet from somewhere—it's only eating sugar that makes me crave it. So I go ferret out where the sugar is coming from and stop eating the source of it. Otherwise, I'm fine.
And I feel a lot better now.
Except on Halloween.
Mike
Open Mike is a series of off-topic posts by Yr. Hmbl. Host that appear only, but not always, on Sunday.
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Featured Comment by Paris: "So you're saying that fructose is OK if you eat it in fruit, but 'the worst' if you eat it in anything else? How could that be? Are you sure? Absolutely agree with the premise of your essay, but that phrase set off my skeptic alarm."
Mike replies: Paris, That's according to the book Sweet Poison: Why Sugar is Making Us Fat
Without getting into the science at all, Gillespie's thesis is that the body metabolizes fructose very differently than other sugars. In what evolutionary psychology calls "the ancestral environment," meaning the way humans lived 10,000 to 100,000 years ago, eating and nutrition was very much a feast-and-famine cycle. When the trees bore fruit, fruit was plentiful, but only for a short time—and you needed to eat as much as humanly possible while you could, to store up as much nutrition as possible for the lean times to come.
Evolution eventually selected for this property, because the individuals who pigged out on fruit when they could—and whose bodies converted the excess to fat storage most efficiently—had a survival advantage. The result is that fructose literally acts as a trigger for us to eat more—it's saying (chemically) to our bodies, "the getting is good right now—so get it while you can!"
The problem is that we've detached fructose consumption both from actual fruit and from the short period of a naturally-occurring fruit harvest—we can eat it all year long now, and there's fructose aplenty in everything from a Papa John's pizza to a can of root beer. But it still says to our bodies, "now's the time to eat to excess. Have at it." It's literally a biological trigger for overeating. According to Gillespie, anyway.
Hope that's not too simplified—naturally it's a bit difficult to sum up an entire book-length thesis in a few words.
Featured Comment by Sean Paul: "This video alone made me drastically change my eating habits in the same way. It's a lecture video from the University of California San Francisco where the professor indicates that the body's chemical reaction to sugar is akin to reacting to poison. It's a fairly well known segment as it went viral on a lot of social blog sites earlier this year. I've cut sugars out as much as possible (no candy, soft drinks, and even orange juice) now for a year and notice significant improvements in my health. And believe me—I loved sugary foods before this but the information in the lecture caused a complete shift in how I thought about sweet foods.
"And bravo for wading into this topic—it can be very divisive."
Featured Comment by Matthew Miller: "In our defense, Mennonites can—and do—also produce very delicious and healthy bread."
Mike replies: Matthew, I think my mistake was in buying the white bread. I should have gone with the real thing.
Featured Comment by John: "The whole fructose thing came home to me in the past couple of years. At the age of two, my daughter started having extended episodes of what seemed like diarrhea, but without any other significant side effects. She was eating fine, drinking fine, and gaining weight at a nice, healthy pace. But the weekly routine was four or five days of diarrhea, and if we were lucky, a couple of days without.
"Her doctor wasn't concerned: 'It's just a phase that some toddlers go through.' But we tried various allergy tests and elimination diets, to no avail. Through extended trial and error, we kind of had an idea of what to avoid, but we had no common link.
"Finally I happened upon the wikipedia page for fructose intolerance, and voila! There was the very list that we had been arduously compiling. Magic! Keep her away from fruits like red grapes, mango, cantaloupe, certain types of apples. Look for corn syrup… OH MY GOD IT'S IN EVERYTHING! ITS IN THE @#$! BREAD!
"Certain kinds of things set her off right away: bread with corn syrup (whether it's labeled HFCS or not), 'apple' juice, raisins. And yet still the doctor doesn't believe us, which is remarkably frustrating. I can show her a direct causal link, with a food/poop diary, and she just kind of shrugs. Just another couple of hysterical hippy parents, eh?
"Meanwhile, my wife has also eliminated wheat and is after several years finally able to spend a whole day without clutching at her gut. I've even started baking bread for her.
"Lucky me, though, born with a cast iron stomach."
Featured Comment by Shawn Barnett: "When you have diabetes, the massive quantities of sugar in our diet seems more like an assault. I now dread going to every kind of social function, because the primary snacks served are carbs and sodas, no protein at all. I went to lunch with my son last week at his school, and though they had a diverse menu for them, it was almost entirely carbs. My 'salad' included a sugary yogurt, a cookie, four slices of cucumber (thank goodness), a roll, and a cheese stick. No salad in sight, so that was misleading as well.
"I'm most particularly angry about HFCS. I remember feeling good about buying Hansen's 'Natural' soda back in the 1980s because it used High Fructose Corn Syrup instead of sugar. 'That's supposed to be good for you,' we thought. 'It's from fruit!' As one who carries around a blood glucose meter, I can tell you that my blood sugar goes up by ~100 points more if I've had HFCS in a meal; whether bread, crackers, or other snack, my reaction is double what it would be with even refined sugar.
"Good for you for becoming more aware of how we wealthy are killing ourselves in the name of convenience. Eat source foods, avoid things in boxes, cans, and bags as much as possible. While you're at it, read about AGEs, advanced glycation endproducts: the byproduct of cell metabolism and toasting or overheating just about anything. The Wikipedia article is probably good enough to get a grasp on the concept. It's the heat-caused chemical combination of sugars with protein. It's why toast raises a diabetic's blood sugar more than a slice of bread, and why instant coffee (thrice cooked) is implicated in diabetic foot ulcers.
"And of course, don't overdo underdoing sugar in your diet. Let the knowledge guide your choices, and the occasional indulgence will be soaked up by your healthy liver and kidneys."
Sunday, 06 November 2011
Open Mike: Your Mother Wears Army Boots
Workmen repairing army boots on the British Western Front in France, WWI. Photo courtesy Scottish National Library.
I write a lot, so naturally I'm interested in "writerly problems"—issues that come up that pertain to written communication. And one cropped up just the other day that I thought was interesting. Semioticians probably know all about this, and there's probably a formal term for it, but I don't know about any of that.
Here's the problem, in a nutshell:
First man: Your mother wears army boots.
Second man: Hey, screw you! Say that again and I'll punch you!
First man: No, no, I mean she literally likes to wear combat boots from the Army Surplus Store—here she is now, and look what she's wearing.
Second man: Oh. You're right. Yup, she's wearing army boots.
The expression "your mother wears army boots" dates, as far as I can tell, from the First World War. Impoverished or displaced civilians would strip clothing—including, yes, military-issue boots—from corpses on the battlefield, and it was commonplace for "camp followers"—prostitutes serving the soldiers at encampments—to wear such clothing. So "your mother wears army boots" was an insult; it was the same thing, essentially, as saying, "Thou son of a cheap whore."
So then what do you do if someone's mother is actually wearing combat boots? How do you say that, stripped of the usual connotations? The question could also be asked as, what do you do when something that appears to be allegorical, or a metaphor, or an implication, is in fact simply literally true?
I offended a number of readers yesterday when I wrote the following: "...Several of the few [prints of "Color Picture"] that have sold have gone to some of TOP's most illustrious readers—people 'in the know' in one way or another—well-known photographers, people in the photo museum community, collectors."
A few people assumed from this that I was making an implication about those who didn't buy the print. One reader wrote, "The people 'in the know'...those with with 'discrimination and good judgment and taste' are buying it. So you say. The riff raff don't. I also know why I did not order your picture. You know, it's a riff raff thing." His assumption was that I was talking about him, and that my statement was a backhanded way of implying that because he didn't buy the print he wasn't "in the know," that he was somehow inferior. That my intent was to imply that he was "riff raff."
Actually, I wasn't saying that at all. I was just making a statement of fact: in fact, half the people who bought the print in the first 24 hours were literally "well-known photographers, people in the photo museum community, collectors."
Here's part of a note I got from one buyer:
I have a pretty good collection of prints which yours will be joining, and it will hold up with the others. (I have "Moonrise," "Running White Deer," Harry Callahan's "Chicago Fall," Cartier-Bresson's shot of the girl running up the stairs between the white buildings, an Alvarez-Bravo nude, Bernice Abbott's "Exchange Street," Andre Kertesz's "Chez Modrian" and "Satyric Dancer," a very nice Mapplethorpe flower, etc.) And I wouldn't have ordered yours if I didn't think it would hold up.
So you see, I really wasn't saying anything by implication. I wasn't trying to imply anything bad about anybody who wasn't buying the print. It wasn't a dig: it was just true.
I didn't publish the "riff raff" comment—well, until now—because I like to think I'm a fair and respectful person. I don't look down on anybody who reads this site. I do know more about certain aspects of photography than many of my readers do, but then, the expertise of most of my readers in their own fields or within their own subjects of enthusiasm far exceeds mine, and I don't think I ever forget that. I don't ever feel "superior," and I don't believe I act like I do.
Here are just a few examples of our far-flung audience who I know about or have heard from: a fisherman in the Bering Sea; a petroleum geologist in western Australia (although I think he's stationed in Sydney now); a partner in a huge law firm in D.C.; several novelists; a former Senate Majority Leader; Bill Rogers; a Battalion Commander in Iraq; a violin maker; an expert on gardening from Canada; an airline pilot; a mother of three in Georgia; an animator at Pixar. And on and on. I should feel superior to any of those people? Not on your life.
Heck, I don't even know as much about photography as a lot of our readers do. I have a lot of respect for people who are able to run their own wedding photography businesses; I've photographed exactly two weddings in my life, enough to know I would fail at that. There are photojurnalists and sports photographers who deal with problems every day that I couldn't handle. People who avidly follow Strobist and do all the lighting exercises David assigns know more about lighting than I do. Again, no superiority complex here.
Just the facts, ma'am
So I was not saying to the riff-raff guy, "your mother wears army boots." I was just saying that in this particular specific case, his maternal progenitor happened to be wearing army footwear. Get the distinction?
(Hmm...that last paragraph is really not going to help, is it...?)
Innocently yours,
Mike
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Featured Comment by Stan B.: "Are you implying I'm too freakin' dumb to understand what you originally meant?!"
Featured Comment by Russell Guzewicz: "Mike I'd like to buy your print but I really need new boots."
Featured Comment by Marcus Smith: "As a linguist, let me assure you that sentences can almost always be read to imply something that you didn't intend. It is a basic fact about language...all languages, not just English. You can't escape it. I'd say you should just go about saying what you want to say, knowing that occasionally someone will misunderstand you. That isn't your fault, and there's nothing you can do about it, but clarify after the fact. Trying to be clear before the fact will just deaden your prose."
Sunday, 16 October 2011
Open Mike: Why Creationism May Be Ungodly
As an unregenerate, dyed-in-the-wool Doubter I have fairly radical views about religion. Not according to me, of course, but probably the religious would see it that way. But one thing that's always perplexed me is what I understand to be a central tenet of fundamentalism: that everything in the Bible must be literally true.
I've learned to my surprise over the years that many people who have argued religion with me haven't actually read the Bible, which I find curious. One friend told me that she knows what's in it because she hears about it from her priest, and that's enough for her.
Well and good, but still, I'd recommend reading the Bible as well as at least a few lay commentaries on it. I'll set aside atheistic favorites like Doubt: A History
If you appreciate blasphemy rendered with a sharp stick and lemon juice, though, you'd enjoy the d'Holbach, the world's first modern biography of Jesus of Nazareth. Pity it can hardly be found. The edition I have is the 1977 Gordon Press reproduction of the first American translation of 1827; the book originally appeared pseudonymously in 1770—in Amsterdam, I believe—as Histoire critique de Jésus-Christ. Its author put himself in considerable peril by writing it. Its English translator, one George Houston, c. 1799, whose words were the basis for the "rev. and corr." American First, was tossed in jail for two years and fined just for translating it. [UPDATE: It's actually on the web, in its entirety. The web version is apparently the British translation, with footnotes that the first American edition lacks. Amazing! Thanks to Matteo for this. —MJ]
But I digress. As I was saying, I'd recommend reading, preferably simultaneously, at least two translations of at least the New Testament (although the Old is astounding and hence, really not to be missed). For those who prefer to read English, I'd recommend a reader's edition of the famous King James Bible, rendered at the end of the Elizabethan era and a masterpiece of translation in its own right (I have a thing for Elizabethan translations, including the KJV). Augment that with something such as J. B. Phillips' New Testament in Modern English
In any event it seems basic to me for both believers and non-believers to discover first what we are talking about.
If one actually reads the Bible, it becomes obvious pretty quickly that the literary methods employed are things such as allegory and extended metaphor, tales with morals, mythos, parables, symbolism, and poetic justice. In other words, you can't read it "literally"—or you miss many of the points entirely!
"No, no, you must take Aesop literally. This one's not about human beings preparing for the future, it's only about one actual ant, and one actual grasshoppper, who plays the fiddle. No, 'fiddle' is not a euphemism for the way grasshoppers make noise by rubbing their legs together! This grasshopper played an actual fiddle, made of wood with catgut strings and a horsehair bow. The point of the story? Just that an ant is more likely to make it through a winter than a grasshopper is. Why would you even ask? It has no meaning beyond that, and there is no lesson or moral or significance in the story for people; am I an ant? No. Are you a grasshopper?! No. Don't be stupid...."
Some Sunday thoughts
But here's the point about Creationism. If you believe in God, and God (who created us) gave us our brains, and the brains God gave us are capable of understanding the mechanism of how He made the world and everything in it, how could anyone plausibly refuse such a gift? Evolution is simply God in action; our ability to understand it also has to be a privilege granted by God, does it not? Why did God both create DNA and also let us detect and decode it, if He didn't want us to understand the mechanisms of His creation? Since you really can't understand much of anything about the world without understanding evolution, averting one's eyes—deliberately choosing to remain in ignorance—is to refuse one of God's greatest gifts...if all gifts come from God.
I've simply never seen the religion and evolution as being incompatible, is all. Unless you insist on reading the Good Book's creation allegory literally, which seems on its face like a fool's errand to this infidel. But then, I'm just imaging or postulating the position of the believer, not being one myself. Maybe I don't get it. It simply seems to me that if I were a religious person in the time of Darwin, my reaction would merely have been, "Ahh! So that's how He did it."
I'm just sayin'.
Mike
"Open Mike" is a series of off-topic essays by Yr. Hmbl. Blogger that appear only, but not always, on Sundays.
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Sunday, 25 September 2011
Open Mike: Wacky Waukesha
"Open Mike" is a series of off-topic posts to remind readers—as well as himself—that Yr. Hmbl. Author occasionally thinks about things having little to do with photography. These posts appear on TOP on Sundays.
Past topics have included a "Jazz Starter Kit," "The All-Time Best Looking Roadsters," an appreciation of dentists—and a brief article about albatross bars.
Kicking off tomorrow, when we get back to photography, just for fun: a countdown of "The Most Desirable Cameras on the Planet."
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The medium-sized Wisconsin town I live in, Waukesha (pronounced WOK-uh-shaw—by most of us, anyway), is famous for getting people lost.
If you look at the map of Wisconsin, pretty much everyplace looks more or less normal—until you come to the peculiar little tangle that is Waukesha.
It probably doesn't look so bad from above, but add the complication of steep hills scattered about, one-way streets, factories (and a quarry) that take up many blocks and serve as impediments to navigation, the river that meanders diagonally through town, streets that change names when they go straight and keep the same name even though they turn, and such innovations as two-way streets that abruptly turn in to one-way streets, and it becomes obvious that Waukesha did not attract the traffic planners who graduated at the top of their class.
I know there are probably European cities that are worse, but those were laid out along goat paths and sized for medieval carts. The first white settler in Waukesha only arrived 177 years ago. That was before the automobile, but that's our sole excuse.
The old joke here is that the only reason people live in Waukesha at all is that they drove in and couldn't find their way back out.
It might not be entirely a joke. See the little five-way intersection in the middle of this satellite picture? (That's a street coming in from due south, even though you can't see it because of the trees.) There used to be a gazebo in the middle of it, until they moved it across the river (you can see the relocated gazebo in this screenshot at the very upper left). Rumor has it that when they were moving the gazebo and re-routing the traffic patterns, there was a period of three days or so when all five streets were one-way inbound. That is, there were five legal ways to get to the intersection and no legal way to get out.
That might be apocryphal, but I choose to believe it. There is such a thing as patterns. This story fits in. Even if it's not true, it could be.
It's now a five-way stop, which is a little dicey because there are stop signs from which, when you are stopped, you cannot see every other stop sign—where other people might or might not be stopped. People sort of guess who goes next. You shouldn't live on that corner if you don't like the sound of honking. And I don't refer to our biannual visitors, the Canada geese.
This one's right near me—I go through it almost every day. It was designed to help promote civil strife and divisiveness; you see, 50% of the population believes this is two intersections, and the other 50% are of the opinion it's one. This means that no matter what you do, half of your fellow citizens think you're being either ignorant or a jerk.
It's actually one intersection, at least according to the big "DO NOT BLOCK INTERSECTION" signs next to the white-striped no-man's area. Unfortunately, I'm the only person who lives in town who has noticed those. Some of my neighbors think I am running a red light when I obey the signs and decline to stop and linger in the white stripey area.
A few years ago, they rebuilt this entire intersection—carefully preserving all of its layout deficiencies.
And whose bright idea was this? Track this with me now...you're proceeding westbound on the street at the bottom of the screen grab. You opt not to turn right at the intersection at the lower left, but instead keep proceeding straight...and end up going in exactly the same direction as if you'd turned right.
Traffic planners solved this dilemma by making the spur that doubles back (on the left) one-way southwest. As you come around that bend, though, you'd better watch out for the people who still don't get that it's one-way even after having lived here for thirty years. (Or maybe they don't get it because they have lived here for thirty years, and remember when it was two-way.) They'll be coming right at you. It's happened to me.
I'm actually kind of shocked at how clean and sensible this next Waukesha intersection looks from the air. At ground level, from behind the wheel of a vehicle, say, things are not nearly so tidy. I'd say this is where new drivers go to die, except that wouldn't be funny. This intersection—or perhaps we should call it an "intersection-type area"—achieves quite an impressive degree of confusingness.
First of all, that's a road heading due north from the striped area, not a parking lot. This is another of our town's five-way intersections.
Coming from the west (left), there are two left-hand turn lanes, except that in this case you're expected to know that bearing left is considered to be "turning" left—you're not supposed to make a hard left-hand turn on to the aformentioned street that goes due north...that's illegal. If you're coming from the east-northeast (the right), bearing left is considered a left turn, and there's an arrow...except there's no space for more than about two cars to sit there and wait for it (there are two cars sitting there in the picture. The next one will be partially blocking the left lane; the next one after that is supposed to stop behind the striped area). If you're coming from the southwest, bearing right is considered to be going straight, and there is a place to wait for the left-hand turn arrow...except that to turn left you have to thread your way through a particular two of the three concrete islands, and you never know if the traffic from your right is oncoming or not, because they're supposed to stop behind the white striped area when there's a red light, and that's another thing people seem to be permanently confused about.
Add to all this the fact that everyone has to wait for the light that allows people from the little road on the lower right to enter the intersection, even though that's a sleepy little residential street and no one is ever coming from there. The light there is so long that I suspect residents avoid coming and leaving via that route. The rest of us do a lot of sitting and waiting at this intersection. And finally, there's a gas station on the corner...that's so that no one ever knows what other peoples' turn signals mean. Are they bearing left or right, or turning into the gas station? No way to know.
Finally—you can see it clearly in the picture—at the left is a railroad crossing that frequently backs people up right into the intersection and beyond (in fact, it sometimes backs people up all the way into the next intersection to the west, and that one's three times as far away). All in all, the fact that more accidents don't happen here is a testament to the resourcefulness as well as the ingrained timidity of the Waukesha driver, who, after all, learned to drive while never quite knowing where she was going or how she was going to get there.
The above litany does not exhaust the confusions of this particular delightful little corner, but the writer is aware that the descriptions are getting tiresome, and that you are growing restless. Suffice it to say that wherever traffic planners go to get educated, this should be a final exam question. "Improve this intersection, without using explosives. 1 hour."
I'll stop, although I could go on. Before I do, though, have a quick omniscient peek from dear God's perspective at this little stretch of pure Waukesha. You do have to look at it quite closely to understand it. But imagine that you're driving from the southeast, proceeding northwest, along the diagonal road that goes from the bottom right to the top left of the picture—and for some reason you want to keep driving along it. If you look carefully, you'll note that before you have gone very far, you will have to bear left and then turn right. Not once, but...twice. Just to keep going straight in the same direction on the road you're on. It's even more confusing from the opposite direction.
You're evidently just not supposed to want to stay on that road, that's all. And sure enough, you won't, unless you are blessed with a robust sense of direction and possess that admirable personal quality, persistence.
Permalost
I was a photographer in Washington D.C. for seven years, and I knew my way around that city better than I knew my own backyard. I practically knew the names of the motorcycle cops who took down the barriers when the inbound roads changed to outbound. I could get from Georgetown to National Airport faster than most cabbies. I could get around traffic jams at rush hour taking alleys block after block.
But I've lived in Waukesha for ten years and I still hardly know my way around.
I'd say come visit some time, but it's no use. You'd just get lost.
Mike
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Featured Comment by Tom Burke: "Have a look at this one from a town in southern England."
Featured Comment by Lars Clausen: "One word: Roundabout. One of the new ones with sensible precedence rules. Not the Magic Roundabout."
Mike replies: Oh my lord. The Magic Roundabout in Swindon...officially wins. That looks for all the world like it was designed specifically to be bad. I can only shake my head and marvel.
Featured Comment by DC Wells: "I'm not a traffic engineer, but I think they should have left the gazebo where it was as the center of a roundabout. We often think of roundabouts as un-American—everyone goes in the same direction, no one is required to make a turning choice right away, and they are all over France—but they work, with a little practice. Even Georgia and South Carolina, always vigilant against things un-American, are adding roundabouts these days."
Mike replies: Washington D.C. has many "circles," a.k.a. roundabouts, and I liked them a lot. The one right near where we lived, at Mass Ave and Western Avenue on the Maryland-D.C. border, worked very well.
Featured Comment by erlik: "There's a five-way intersection in Zagreb. Four of the streets are two-way. One of them turns into an inbound one-way after...30 metres and then you have to take a sharp left or right turn. The right turn will, after 20 metres, take you back to the one of the two-ways of the intersection.
"Combine it with the aggravating habit of Zagreb drivers to cram into any intersection so as not to wait for the next green light and you've got a huge irritation during rush hour. It's just that habit of 'me, me, me' that makes driving in Zagreb such an ulcer-inducing experience."
Featured Comment by Karl: "Looks like a very quiet kind of paradise to me. Here's how the local five-way looks on a Sunday afternoon."
Mike replies: That's true. Waukesha is a pleasant place to live. It's the seventh-largest city in Wisconsin, but it's quiet, friendly, and low-key. There's no tradition locally of aggressive driving, and people tend to be polite and orderly in their cars. They almost seem to go out of their way to wait their turn or be considerate to others. Very little to complain about, really, despite my lampooning of the street layout.
Featured Comment by Nicholas Condon: "I just couldn't stop laughing about this. As hideously awful as it is to navigate the D.C. area (esp. Arlington), this makes it look simple by comparison. The last image, in particular, reduced me to uncontrollable giggling.
"As you mention, the only saving grace, here, must be the Wisconsin drivers. My experiences from my time in Madison taught me that the most common failure mode of the local drivers was excessive politeness, not aggressiveness."
Featured Comment by Robert Roaldi: "They've started to implement roundabouts here in Ottawa and the city developed this animation to instruct people how to use them. It's entertaining in its own right."
Featured Comment by Adam Lanigan: "As a transportation engineer/planner myself, I read this with equal measures of interest, stupefaction, comedy, and terror. I pity the poor sod who will eventually tackle untangling these knots, though he may someday be carried on shoulders as the conquering hero. Or at least given a quiet attaboy before returning to the breach. Soldier on, brother."
Sunday, 18 September 2011
Open Mike: Fun Facts
Think there's no obesity epidemic? Colorado, currently the skinniest State in America, would have been the fattest had they reported this year's figures just 20 years ago. Heard that one on the evening news.
Awesome infographics: Look, ye mighty, and tremble—at how, when it comes to the size of their photo assets, Flickr dwarfs the Library of Congress—and Facebook dwarfs Flickr. (Check "The World's Largest Photo Libraries.")
What country springs to mind when you think about child exploitation? Probably not Canada—but British Columbia has the most permissive child labor laws in the world, says Joel Bakan in The Globe and Mail. Children as young as 12 can work any job except in a mine or a bar, at any time except during school hours. That's worse than Afganistan or Haiti, says Bakan. Most at risk: children of recent immigrants.
Super Canon rumor: We're only three days from Nikon Day (big announcement expected on Wednesday) but the Canon 1Ds Mark 4 (question: will it or won't it be "IV"?) might be announced in October—with (or so the rumors have it) a full-frame 56 million pixel sensor. Also coming, the 5D Mark III, and possibly a cheaper full-frame DSLR with a lower pixel count than the new 5D3.
It ain't the '90s anymore: The once-hip Raiders have lost their mojo, along with the status of their swag as pop fashion, but the major U.S. sports team losing fans the fastest, according to 24/7 Wall Street, is the Cleveland Indians baseball team, which has lost 56% of its fans since 2000 (measured by attendance). But even that pales next to the once-popular beer people no longer drink: Michelob, sales of which are down 72% just since 2006.
Who'd a' Thunk? Two things you'd never guess are good to buy from Amazon: diapers
The fastest car you can buy is a...Nissan: Yup. In case you've been wondering, the 2012 Nissan GT-R Black Edition is the fastest production car you can buy new in the U.S.*, faster than any Ferrari, Porsche, or Lamborghini: zero to sixty in 3.1 seconds. A 2012 model, it's been available for most of 2011—for a mere $91,000, far below the cost of many "name" supercars. Got this from Yahoo!, if I recall.
Blink and miss it: Leica Camera can't keep the M9-P in stock. B&H got a small shipment in on Wednesday, and they were gone by Saturday.
You know what they say: Oh well.
Mike
(Thanks to Adam, Vlatko, and The Week.
Photo from an Ebay auction.)
*There has been dispute over this in the comments, as I knew there would be. I don't buy it. It's too much of a stretch to call either the SSC or the Veyron "production cars." The SSC is hand-built in the dozens and at full throttle sucks down a gallon of fuel every fifteen seconds. And according to Wikipedia, the total output of Veyrons was 300, which you just might be able to call "production" volume...except that was over six years. Total sales in 2011? Nine. And according to Jeff they cost 2.7 million dollars each.
Not production cars, sez me. There are always going to be one-offs, race cars, engineering daydreams, the toys of the überrich. The list I read included only real cars that mortal people actually buy to use as cars.
But you can have the asterisk if you want it, s'okay with me...(but before you go away, have a look at this—thanks to Tee for the link. Note that that wasn't even the Black Edition.)
"Open Mike" is a series of (mostly) off-topic posts by Yr. Hmbl. Ed. that appears now and again on Sunday.
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Sunday, 04 September 2011
Sunday, 24 July 2011
Open Mike: Classical Music Edition
For all those who say all my off-topic posts are about cars and horse racing, take this.
Today's subject: classical music. A subject I know nothing about. I went through a "classical period" that lasted well over ten years, but I mainly experienced the music rather than learning much about it. That period began in the '80s, preceding, just slightly, the introduction of the CD.
First item of business, the world's best music book title
Following the advice of wise friends, I am saving both Alaska and opera for my old age. (In case you're just skimming casually, that's another way of saying I've never been to Alaska and don't listen to opera.)
Control and perfection
Anybody have a favorite quartet? ("Quartet" as in the group, I mean.) Like I said, I don't have any knowledge of, or training in, classical music or stringed instruments, so I don't know where I get off pretending I can tell the difference. But I've always had favorites anyway. My latest infatuation is for the Verdi Quartet (Susanne Rabenschlag and Peter Stein, violins; Karin Wolf, viola; and Didier Poskin, 'cello). Apparently they've been around for a good long while, not that I knew. They have a light hand, a singing tone, and a gentle way in Schubert. Try their Quintet in C
(As an aside, anyone who loves Schubert will get a kick out of Too Beautiful for You
Of course the big problem with bowed stringed instruments is that they never sound quite as good in recordings as they do in real life. It's the opposite of what they lately call "classic rock," where the recording is typically articulate and communicative and the live performances thrashy and dinny and too loud to hear. Hearing a live string quartet is an experience worth seeking out.
Hungarian violinist Vilmos Tátrai, of the eponymous quartet
Papa Haydn
Of course you can't listen live to the ones that are gone. By far my favorite quartet of all time is the Tatrai, from Hungary. I love the Haydn string quartets above all others, and have ever since I started listening to classical in 1982 or so. I've got two complete sets, neither of which I've listened to completely. The versions I've listened to most intently (and repeatedly) are by the Tatrai. But I've never bought more than the odd disk here and there of the Tatrai's traversal, because it was always too expensive—these recordings have never not been expensive, virtually since they came out on vinyl. The personnel changed with the music, but as far as I know the Haydn band typically included Vilmos Tátrai and István Várkonyi, violins; György Konrád, viola; and Ede Banda on 'cello.
The quartets are available on iTunes now, for what seem like the most reasonable prices I've ever seen—generally $19.99 for six quartets. Try the "Erdody" Quartets Opus 76 if you want a place to start. I've been immersed in the Op. 54/55, amazed all over again at the brilliance and beauty of this nearly ideal matching of music and musicians. And don't make the mistake of hitting the go button and letting it run; I'd recommend listening to one quartet by itself several times before moving on to the next one. It's not actually background music.
Music of the thunderstorm And lastly, a plug for what I think is one of the greatest classical music pieces ever: Bach's BWV 1052
So much to enjoy.
Mike
"Open Mike" is a series of off-topic posts that appear on Sundays.
UPDATE: Pak Wan sent along this link to a video of the Alban Berg. Terrific. Gives a fine sense of what seeing a live quartet can be like.
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Featured [partial] Comment by patrick: "Very Funny—I just spent a month in Alaska while my wife sang with the opera company there...."
Featured Comment by Erlik: "The best summation of opera ever:
'"Well, basically there are two sorts of opera,' said Nanny, who also had the true witch's ability to be confidently expert on the basis of no experience whatsoever. 'There's your heavy opera, where basically people sing foreign and it goes like "Oh oh oh, I am dyin', oh, I am dyin', oh, oh, oh, that's what I'm doin," and there's your light opera, where they sing in foreign and it basically goes "Beer! Beer! Beer! Beer! I like to drink lots of beer!," although sometimes they drink champagne instead. That's basically all of opera, reely.' (Terry Pratchett, Maskerade
Featured [partial] Comment by Hugh Crawford: "You don't listen to the opera , you go to the opera. It's like the difference between sushi and fishsticks. Attending the opera is transcendent, listening to recordings of opera is kind of annoying. A soprano friend of my wife had to take martial arts training for one of her roles where she literally got thrown across the stage while singing, and last year at the Met the chorus was performing a cavalry battle while rappelling down a stage filling video screen showing the battle field from overhead. A couple years before that I saw Placido Domingo in "Girl of the Golden West" staged with real horses one of which he was riding while singing.
"Opera is a lot closer to say Iggy Pop than you might imagine."
Sunday, 17 July 2011
Open Mike: Educate the Editor
I often say that TOP isn't a forum, and I seldom just throw out plain unadorned discussion-leading questions for the sake of eliciting answers. But no one knows everything about anything, of course, and right now I have a question that I think readers in the know could educate me about more quickly than I could do the research myself.
Twenty-five years ago, I taught at a girls' high school, had fallen in love with a model*, had recently assisted for a studio advertising photographer, and was soon to be a partner in a studio myself. I even had a student who had paid for her own college education (completely, and yes, really) by modeling in Japan every summer during her high school years**.
So I knew a lot about (not all about, but a lot) the modeling scene and modeling as a career. When one of my students came to me wanting a headshot or a comp sheet or with questions about a modeling career, I could at least talk intelligently about it.***
No longer—my knowledge is out of date.
So my question: if a young woman came to you asking what she needs to try modeling, what's today's answer? What body type (height/weight) is the standard for what they're looking for these days? What kind of work is available? Where is it? What are the going rates for part-time character models, catalog, fashion, runway? What does a standard headshot look like these days, and does a model need one? What's the current equivalent of the composite sheet—do they still use those, or is there some more up-to-the-minute version, on the web or something? Assuming the prospective model has no tearsheets, are single-photographer comp sheets useful, or does it have to be a mix? What are the better agencies? (I'm mainly interested in the Midwest, if that's not a non sequiteur.) What's the path of least resistance to breaking in?
A side note: It's always a bit obnoxious for a person asking a question to specify who he wants to hear answers from, so I apologize in advance for that, but I'm really looking to hear from people with firsthand recent experience—people who are models or who work with them. I don't need to hear about something somebody read in a magazine or saw in a movie, and out-of-date info isn't going to help (as I say, I already have a lot of that myself).
If you can help educate me, or rather re-educate me, I'd appreciate the help.
And, as they say on the forums, "thanks in advance."
Mike the Ed.
"Open Mike" is a series of open-topic posts by yer 'umble 'ost that appears on certain Sundays. Recently we have had a hard time staying off-topic, but we'll work on that.
*She was a hair model—they'd fly her to New York, some haute couture hairdresser o' the moment would work his magic arranging her coiffure, she'd be photographed, and she'd return to school on Monday morning with a check in her purse which to her art school friends seemed astronomically large. A few weeks later she'd show me the latest issue of Elle or Glamour or Vogue sporting a stunning picture of her looking ravishing and ready to slay men's dreams with a single dusky glance.
G. the hair model. A digisnap from a fading 16x20 print made from a 4x5 neg.
**I have a very interesting picture of her around here that would make a wonderful web tutorial if I could ever find the "before" print. And if I had a working scanner. Oh, never mind.
***Mostly, I just talked them out of it.
Sunday, 10 July 2011
Open Mike: The Streets of New York
The "look" of New York City is about to change.
Thanks to my parents, I visited Paris many times in my youth, and loved the city. But I'm sure many of the things that made an impression on me then are gone now. An indivisible part of my memories of Paris are the Citroëns that were ubiquitous at the time: the 2CV, DS, and SM—along with some other characteristic French cars such as the Peugeot 504. I imagine Paris has changed in many ways since I saw it last, but I'm sure when I visit again next year (I've just committed to be a part of Peter Turnley's Spring Paris Workshop in May of 2012), the absence of those particular Citroëns will be one thing I'll notice.
The cars on any street are part of the photographic "look" of any era. I'm sure many people remember the era of the classic Austin LX4 black cab hackney carriage in London, or the era of the yellow or green-and-cream Checker Marathons
For many decades now black Lincoln Town Cars have dominated the livery business (a.k.a. the "black car industry") in New York City. But, as reported in a recent article by Preston Lerner in Automobile magazine called "Last Call for the Lincoln Town Car," times change, and it's gotten to the point where the livery car industry is about the only market left for Lincoln Town Cars. They're extremely reliable, cheap to keep in service, made to stretch, can go more than a quarter of a million miles...and they're outdated in just about every way. Almost no one buys them any more except fleet operators. Sales, which peaked at 150,ooo in 1990, are projected to be well under 10,000 for 2011, the model's last year. Ford hopes that a special version of the Lincoln MKT crossover modified for livery customers, called the Lincoln MKT Town Car, will replace the City's current 25,000-strong black-car fleet.
Last of the line: the 2011 Lincoln Town Car (photo courtesy Lincoln)
Of course, Lincoln Town Cars will be seen on the streets of New York for years to come (Preston Lerner even notes that the livery companies that can afford to are stocking up on the 2011 model). But it won't be long now: the currently very common sight of a black stretch Town Car will soome become as rare on the streets of Manhattan as a Citroën DS is on the streets of Paris today.
Sounds like it would make a nice excuse for a photo project, doesn't it?
Mike
"Open Mike" is a series of open-topic posts that appears on TOP on Sundays.
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Sunday, 26 June 2011
Open Mike: Wild, Wild West
Photo credit: AP
Sold, yesterday, for $2,300,000, the most famous authentic portrait of one William Henry McCarty, alias William Bonney, a.k.a. Billy the Kid, at Brian Lebel's 22nd Annual Old West Show and Auction in the Denver Merchandise Mart in Denver, Colorado.
Long one of the most celebrated outlaws of the American frontier, McCarty was chiefly famous because he managed a spectacular and bloody escape (killing one of his guards with the guard's own shotgun) after being captured and sentenced to hang. As with most Wild West archetypes, his story has been told and re-told again and again with varying levels of historical fidelity (and, it must be said, varying levels of attempts at historical fidelity) in popular media from pulps to movies. (The movie I recommend—from the era of my youth, like most peoples' favorite movies—would be Sam Peckinpah's Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid
The picture that sold yesterday is a tintype, a misnomer because "tintypes" were usually printed on enameled iron sheet. It's tiny—the image above, on your monitor, might be somewhat larger than life size. Tintypes—somewhat ironically, given the price reached at yesterday's auction—were originally a cheap, downmarket image medium popular with people who couldn't afford Daguerreotypes. You can still make them today, if you have a 4x5.
For a long time, Billy the Kid was believed to be left-handed because of this picture, but that's because people seeing the picture didn't realize that tintype is a direct-positive medium and the image is laterally reversed, as in a mirror—in the picture above, he's actually holding the carbine in his left hand and has his (barely visible) pistol at his right side.
Tintypes are dearly beloved of Western theme attractions all over the West. Somewhere, I have a tintype of myself, aged 13, dressed in a frock coat, flat-crowned hat, and holding a six-gun, taken at Virginia City, Montana.
The wildest and most warlike
In other Western news...just out in paperback is S.C. Gwynne's wonderful book Empire of the Summer Moon
In the eighteenth century, 20,000 Comanche controlled an area the size of France. The Apache were terrified of them, and were at one point virtually enslaved by the more powerful tribe.
Empire of the Summer Moon covers the known history of the Comanche from Indian military tactics to frontier weapons technology (the six-gun wasn't important because of street duels, but because it was the first firearm for Indian fighters on horseback that was superior to the bow and arrow) to the reason why the Texas Rangers were founded (it was a paramilitary organization which would trap and slaughter small bands of Comanche in retribution for attacks on white settlers). Gwynne's gripping account of the incredible and tragic story of Cynthia Ann Parker, a white girl kidnapped by the Comanche at age nine, is alone worth the price of the book.
It's the best book about the West I've ever read, at least*. It's also probably the most entertaining book I've read in the past year. If you have any predilection at all for reading history or for stories about the Wild West, this will be the best nine dollars
Mike
*Whoops, sorry, misspoke. Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee
Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee is not a book from my youth, despite the fact that it was published in 1970; I first read it in 1998 after I'd turned 40. I'm sure my personal reaction to it was informed in part by a bad loss I had recently suffered when I read it—it's an epic story of tragedy, loss, betrayal, disinheritance, and genocide, and for me it tied into personal emotions which amplified my reactions. Still and all, for whatever reason, it's the single most emotional experience I've ever had reading a book.
For the record, I find the standard criticisms of it nonsensical. Dee Brown set out to write the history of the American West from the perspective of the Native Americans...and his book gets criticized (by white American critics, mostly) for being too sympathetic to Indians, too critical of European-Americans, and not balanced enough. Well, it's not intended to be balanced—it's intended to be counterbalancing. It doesn't make sense to me to criticize an author for succeeding at what he deliberately set out to do.
"Open Mike," which appears on TOP on Sundays, is having a hard time staying off-topic these days. Sorry about that.
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Featured Comment by Chad Thompson: "Rather apropos. I just returned from a wet plate workshop hosted by Will Dunniway. Today's news was quite the topic of discussion. So in the spirit of the day we spent it creating tintypes. Well, these were on aluminum but hey—japanning iron plates is still beyond me for the moment. Since Will knows my dad has a thing for flintlocks he suggested I brandish one and gift the photo to him. Here's the result (half frame by the way). For the record I am left handed. But it's a right-handed gun."
Paso del Rio Trail, Palo Duro Canyon, Texas. This was a favorite home of the Comanches led by Quanah Parker. Photo by DC Wells
Featured Comment by DC Wells: "Empire of the Summer Moon inspired my cousin and me to make a camping trip to Palo Duro Canyon in the panhandle of Texas earlier this summer. The Canyon was a stronghold of the Comanches until Quanah struck his deal for peace. Stumbling into the Palo Duro must have been a great surprise for those traveling across the Staked Plain without a map to tip them off. Its cool stream (Prairie Dog Town Fork of the Red River) and shade trees would have offered relief and sanctuary from the unrelenting plain. Of course, the Comanches might have offered yet a bigger surprise to European travelers.
Lighthouse Rock, Palo Duro Canyon, Texas. Photo by DC Wells
"In a book of remarkable stories, one of the most remarkable is the transition Quanah Parker made from Commanche leader to business leader and social advisor."
Sunday, 22 May 2011
Open Mike: Quotes
The Preakness: Good horse race yesterday. Shackleford [picture and info], who came in fourth at the Derby and is a grandson of 1990 Kentucky Derby winner Unbridled, was right on the rabbit's neck at the outset, then took the lead at the top of the stretch and never gave it up.
I was rooting for him, because of all the prancing and dancing and sweating he was doing on the way into the gate—he looked like he had energy to burn and you just knew he would come out fast. And did they ever, he and Flashpoint, the sprinter—the opening quarter was one of the fastest ever. Of course I had no idea if Shackleford would or could go the distance.
If you didn't see the race, well, I know better than to link to a YouTube video, but I can't tell you not to go to YouTube and search.
Derby winner Animal Kingdom got way back in the field—I mean he was practically off in a different zip code at one point—and charged all the way to second, but didn't have the speed in the final furlongs to catch and pass Shackleford. (All the pundits were saying he would have if he'd had more room, but I don't think so. He wasn't gaining any more in the last few strides.) Fun run to watch anyway.
Kimmyville had the number on this one, way back in April. Favorite quote, under the header "Why I like this horse": "He's a big chestnut colt. Yeah, I bet on horses for reasons like that...and as every expert knows, the folks who wager on colors and names are the same who cash the most tickets...." My favorite horse was a big chestnut too.
The race brings up the now-nearly-eternal question: will there ever be another Triple Crown winner? I wish I knew the significance of what I was living through in the era of Secretariat, Seattle Slew, and Affirmed. It was more special than I realized at the time.
After the race, I got to catch the last 40 minutes or so of Ctein's ReTouch Pro live webinar, and even the portion I saw was fascinating. I like the format. Did anybody see the whole thing? Any comments?
From its porcine weight to its bloated motor and even down to its oversized wheels, the BMW X6 M perfectly embodies all that is worst about current automotive fashions. Photo by Brian Vance.
World's Fattest Car: In the comments to my "Fat Mustang" post last week, I noted that high gas prices do not necessarily lead to more efficient cars, because it makes conspicuous consumption of gasoline (a.k.a. petrol) into a status symbol. As the need for efficient cars ratchets up globally, the rich are buying cars that are fatter, more musclebound, and less efficient that ever. But I still got lots of chuckles from this passage in Motor Trend, in an article called "Three Loko: We Sample a Trio of the World's Weirdest Cars," by Jonny Lieberman:
If the four-door Porker [the Porsche Panamera —Ed.] is the fall of Rome, the BMW X6 M is Incitatus, the horse Caligula appointed senator. This beast makes no sense. Consider that the X6 M weighs nearly 5200 pounds, yet comes with a 555-horsepower twin-turbo V-8. That's 55 horses more than the Porsche. All that grunt combined with such a chiseled and aggressive exterior makes the most controversial M badge ever a true highway menace. It's a real middle finger of a monster blowing up your rearview mirror....
But you have to wonder, did BMW go far enough? The X6 M weighs 2.5 tons and seats only four while returning very poor fuel economy (14.6 mpg on our watch). If that's not anti-social, I don't know what is. But why stop there? If you're going to be the bane of the environmental movement, if everyone who sees you driving your own personal attack truck is instantly, automatically going to hate your guts, best to keep your right foot down, right? Why not make the X6 M a single seater? Better yet, why not a single seater with center steering? And instead of doors, how about a roof hatch? There's way too much useable storage space (25.6 cubic feet, almost 10 cubic feet more than in the spacious Panamera). BMW ought to—I think—fill the rear of this gnarly puppy with lead. Seriously, why not?
I think the appropriate infantile internet initialism is "roflmao." The BMW X6 M gets the laurel wreath as the world's fattest bastard of a car, putting the more modest Mustang to shame in that regard.
Riddle: By the bye, the answer to yesterday's moral dilemma is no, you can't. Although I appreciate the lively discussion. Two of our readers who are arguably closest to the art world had their thumbs on the pulse of this one. JSL said:
Easy answer: no.
Even leaving aside the ethical issues, it's too risky. These things always get out, especially since any collector untrustworthy enough to propose such a thing is too untrustworthy to keep it a secret. Moreover, it would be easy to date the latter picture (for one thing, the colors won't have faded yet...). If you get caught doing something like that, your reputation will take a considerable hit—and when you're an artist working in a medium as contingent as photography, in a market based entirely on perception, your reputation is really all you have to sell.
And Ken Tanaka wrote:
'The dilemma: would you do it?' Absolutely not. Aside from the glaring ethical issues the top of the art world is actually a very small worldwide community and collectors tend to be social and loose-lipped. News of your cheat would certainly reach your gallery very soon, at which time you'd be certainly tossed onto the street and probably also sued, depending on your contractual agreement with your reps...whose reputations would now also be at stake. Getting another rep at the top end would probably be very tough, too. You'd become a pariah.
The buyer would be a dope, too. Increasingly, the provenance of highly-prized photographic prints is becoming a big factor in resales. (I have been involved in just such provenance work myself recently.) You can bet that the other ten prints are accounted for.
You can do as I recommend and not limit your editions in the first place, but if you do you have to abide by your decision. (It's still a true dilemma for me, but I think the moral of the post is, don't put yourself in that position.) My problem with it, as I've explained before, is that limiting hardly ever benefits the artist, and it seriously disadvantages the artist only in the statistically unlikely event that you get really lucky and do really well with some of your work. Not worth it, in my view. My position also derives from the fact that limits on editions with photography are not integral to the medium, but that's an aesthetic position, not an ethical one.
Lee Friedlander's my hero on this issue. (Friedlander refuses to limit his prints because he feels it's undemocratic.)
In any event, I appreciate many readers' sentiments when they advocate giving the various PTB in the art world the middle finger, but the time to give the art world the raised middle finger is when someone's hectoring you to limit your editions, not when your own bad decision comes home to kick you in the wallet years later. That's my take.
...Although, I am in the process of hatching a Big Scheme, capital B capital S, and it does involve limiting editions, so there's a good chance I'm going to go directly against my own advice. I'll fill you in in due course, of course.
Have a nice day! Hope it's as beautiful where you are as it is here.
Mike
"Open Mike" is a series of not-necessarily-on-topic posts that appears, if it appears at all, on Sundays.
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Featured Comment by John Camp: "I have a modest collection of photographs that includes a number of famous names, and some not-so-famous, and three things I would not do are:
- Buy a photo on which I would have to remit part of a later sales price to the artist. It's not that I'm cheap, it's just that I refuse to get myself tangled up in some kind of contractual deal that could go on for decades and in the end, screw up my estate and my heirs—what happens when both the original owner and the photographer are dead? The two estates sue each other?
- Buy any kind of artwork that has a copyright notice on the front of it. They do nothing but defile the artwork. If the photographer wants to put a copyright notice on the back of the photo, that's fine with me. I nearly returned a famous photo by Cartier-Bresson because he signed his name too large. By the time I got around to buying one of the uneditioned prints, apparently having his name big was part of the deal. I wound up keeping the photo, but the signature still messes it up.
- Pay a lot extra for vintage or editioned prints. I'm interested in the image, and having the image made by the original artist, but I don't care how many he's made or whether he made them later.
"I think if I really desperately wanted an image (a feeling I haven't yet experienced, as opposed to liking an image very much) and if I were forced to pay extra because it was editioned, I'd be very very unhappy with the gallery if I found out additional prints were made. I wouldn't like the image less, but I'd be unhappy with the fact that to get it, I was forced to pay for what amounts to a 'guarantee' of scarcity. Like any other guarantee, I'd want to have it observed, and if enough money was involved, I'd try to recover the money if the guarantee wasn't observed. I think other people would too, and would suggest that this might have a dire effect on the photographer's overall ability to sell prints."
An Additional Comment by John Camp: "On further reflection: The critical mistake we're making in this discussion is to assume that a rational human being would pay $3 million for a photograph.
"In fact, that is not what is being done at all. No image is worth that much, to anyone. In fact, many images, including famous ones, are essentially as well-seen in good books as in original prints. Is that $3 million 'original vintage print' worth approximately 20 times the cost of that gorgeous Panamera Turbo, possibly the best production car in the world, mentioned in the same blog article? Well, the print is, for now, but not the image—a critical distinction.
"What actually is being sold for $3 million is a physical object, which is also a reliable store of value, an investment vehicle. This vehicle makes it possible to transfer a sum of money downstream in time, to be cashed at a later date, when needed. The key, as it is with gold, is scarcity; an investor in a Cindy Sherman print is relying on the guarantee of scarcity to provide a hedge against inflation, business reversals, or market conflicts. As long as the print is valued and remains scarce, the investment may safely be transferred down through the years; and if the art vehicle is carefully chosen, may increase in value, even after inflation. In this way, it behaves more or less like gold.
"There is some risk involved, as there is with gold: if more standard investments become to be perceived as safer, or more lucrative, the value of Shermans could tumble, as the value of gold did after 1980.
"There is another risk, however. If Cindy Sherman were to make more prints of the same image, the prints would stop behaving like gold, and would start behaving like fiat currency (paper money).
"As investors began to catch on that the scarcity guarantee was weakening, they would find that the Sherman investment value was declining—they'd be suffering from an onset of Sherman inflation. That is, against a set store of value—say, Porsche Panamera Turbos—they might only get ten cars for a print. As the guarantee weakened further, with Sherman running the old wet line as fast as she could, soon you'd reach Porsche / photo parity, and then, go off the edge. People would be demanding 10, 100, 1,000, 100,000 Shermans for a Porsche. You'd have hyper-inflation, and we'd all be standing on the street corners selling apples.
"So, that's why you can't violate limited edition pledge: you could bring down the economy.
"What's needed is a Central Photo Bank, which would guarantee the scarcity of certain printed images, and would have the legal right to move against counterfeiters, or people who would break the editioning pledge. You could even issue secondary investment vehicles based on the store of guaranteed images (we could call them 'bonds').
"Finally, I would like to say—with all due modesty, I believe—that I would make a pretty damn good Ben Bernanke."
Sunday, 15 May 2011
Is The Ford Mustang...Fat? (Open Mike)
Ford Mustang. I believe this is a 2012.
I got to drive a 2011 Ford Mustang GT a few days ago. It's distinguished by a superb all-new 412-hp V8 engine, and it's an experience. A flatbelly in a FWD riceburner tried to jump us at a stoplight and the V8 let out a big BLAP-BLAP-BLAP-BLAP-BLAP roar and slapped him down—as if to say, "I eat Evo for breakfast, sucker." (We needed the soundtrack from Ferris Bueller's Day Off intoning, "Oh, Yeah.") I suspect half the attraction of a V8 like the GT's is the awesome noise it makes.
I've never owned a V8 car. I don't know for sure, but as I cast through my mental filing cabinet I don't think I've ever driven a V8 car before, except for one—my father's beige Buick Electra 225, the "Big Beige," which, near as I can figure, would have been either a 1972, '73, or '74 [picture]. Known as "land yachts," the deuce-and-a-quarters (which, fittingly, more or less coincided with peak oil production in the U.S.) were fully as big as the most ridiculous SUVs, just shaped differently—longer, wider, flatter.
My idea of a great car at the time was a BMW 2002Tii [picture] of sainted memory—my dad and I test-drove it, and that brief experience probably made more of an impression on me than any car has before or since. Dad had owned a dark blue Mustang fastback [picture] in 1965, but he got rid of it, mainly because he got it stuck (or perhaps I should say "it got him stuck") in the woods when he was trying to leave a salt lick out for the deer in the ravine opposite our house, and because he hated bucket seats (also one of the reasons he didn't like the little BMW).
As of 2011, the Mustangs are a different breed of horse*. Both the V8 and the V6 engines are all-new, and both new engines are superlative for their cost—the V6 especially. The V6 is the first engine in the world to put out 300+ horsepower and score a highway mileage rating of more than 30 mpg in the car it comes in. Like the original Taurus SHO, it makes the current V6 Mustang a car you'd buy just for its engine.
Of course, I approach the whole world aesthetically...and I just can't help thinking that the car I drove is just...well...a little...fat. Its bulging snout contributes to its aggressive look, for sure, but there's also just a whole lot of car in that car. Amusingly, and suspiciously, Ford doesn't specify curb weight in the car specs on its website, but other sites peg it at a portly 3,605 lbs. That's only half a ton less than my father's early '70s land yacht—and half a ton more than his '65 Mustang Fastback. (The '72 2002Tii scales in at a mere 2,262 lbs.)
Coach McCarthy
Of course, maybe the Mustang is right in step. We Americans seem to be getting more portly, too. Take our Coach for instance. We love Mike McCarthy here in 'Sconsin. He's a fine guy, smart and unpretentious, down to earth but obviously very successful. And I'm the last person to criticize anyone for the way they happen to look. But let's be honest: he's not...er...dainty, is he? Coach is the fireplug type. So let's just put it this way, before I stray too far into political incorrectness: if the 2011 Mustang GT were a person, it would be a Mike McCarthy. Doncha think? I'm just sayin'.
It's probably impossible for the Mustang to go back in time entirely to the original's 2400–2800 curb-weight range. But my impression is that the ol' Bullet could sure stand to lose a few. Like most of the guys who drive 'em, probably. Can't exclude myself from that club, unfortunately.
But to get back to the kind of car I like best—a present-day, more extreme counterpart of the early '70s 2002—take a look at this video, especially the marvelous little snippet at about 2:18 (start it a few seconds earlier if you're only going to watch the snip)—if you're a car pilot, seeing that is guaranteed to make you feel better. I've watched it about eighteen times. Yowza.
Mike
*Did you know that the only difference between a "pony" and a "horse" is size? That's all. You might say the Pony Car has become a Horse Car.
(P.S. The usual apologies if anyone can't see the video. It's called "Caterham R500 vs Ducati by autocar.co.uk" if you'd like to search for it elsewhere.)
"Open Mike" is a series of off-topic posts that appears only, but not always, on Sundays.
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Featured Comment by Leslie Ashe:
"Your comments about the BMW 2002tii reminded me of my days photographing rally cars in Ireland and U.K. Above is a picture of what was probably the ultimate in this machine—a fully lightened 2002tii on the Donegal International Rally 1975 driven by German Rally ace Achim Warmbold. It was a right-hand corner and the tail is just drifting out. An impressive sight and sound. Pentax Spotmatic 1000 (200mm lens) on Tri-X rated at 800 ISO. No auto metering or focusing in those days!"
Featured Comment by Christian: "It's seemed to me that every generation of Mustang gets chubbier aesthetically."
Mike replies: Yes, an endemic, pan-manufacturer problem with car models. The Honda Civic is now bigger than the early Accords, for instance.
Featured Comment by Joe: "In the mid-'60s, my father was president of the local chapter of the Jaycees, and the group decided to raffle a car to raise money. Through the local Ford dealer, somehow, they got a hold of one of the very first Mustangs, just before they were officially released to the public—so this must have been spring or summer 1964, just as I was about to enter fifth grade. And one weekend afternoon just before the car was given to the raffle winner, my father took me for a spin in the thing, top down, through the mountain roads around our town. I'm not really a car guy, and I have only a few vivid memories of that drive, but I can tell you I've never stopped finding those early Mustangs beautiful and wonderful machines."
Sunday, 08 May 2011
Open Mike: Worry
I'm going to be a bit off my game this week. Truth to tell, I was a bit off last week, too.
Many of you probably know how attached we can get to our furry friends—or feathered friends, or whatever. I mean the pets we love.
My favorite snap of Lu-fers is the first picture of her I ever took
Mine is a foundling mutt called Lulu. My friend Gabi is a triathlete who trains in a park in Chicago, and about five years ago she noticed, day after day, a feral puppy in the park—limping, with its ribs showing, being shooed away from picknickers and scrounging for edible garbage.
Day after day she tried to entice the puppy to come to her, without success, until she enlisted the help of a man whose dog the puppy seemed attracted to. Gabi says she felt as sense of elation when she got the puppy into the back seat of her car...and then she thought, "now what?"
I won't tell the whole story of how she tried to track down the owner. Suffice to say we suspect him of being a breeder of fighting dogs. Lulu, who had a prodigious ability to jump, escaped from his yard by jumping over the fence. He didn't want her back; all he wanted was money. Once Gabi demanded that he reimburse her for the vet bills—the first thing she did was take the puppy to the vet—she never heard from him again.
Unfortunately, Gabi already had three pets—all cats, the youngest of which was 15 years old. One of them, Spider, was dying of cancer, and not in any mood to have a puppy in the house. (Amazingly, one of the three is still alive, just about to turn twenty.) Three months into the project Gabi made the decision to send out a mass email to her friends asking if anyone would like a good-natured but very intense young mixed-breed terrier.
Meanwhile, I had been telling my son for about three years at that point that yes, someday we would get a puppy.
Sunday, 01 May 2011
Open Mike: Mike's Theory of Cars
Lake Drive in Whitefish Bay (click on image to enlarge)
My friend Gabi put it best: "You like go-carty cars," she once told me. (That's this post in a nutshell, so now you don't have to read any further unless you want to.)
My "philosophy" (I use the word in its vulgar sense) of cars was formed when I was very young, still a new driver. I got to drive a Maserati Bora and a Lotus Seven within a relatively short span of time.
Well, I didn't drive the Maserati; I drove in it—it was being driven by its owner, a friend's parent's friend. I was a passenger. The 1971–78 Bora, a supercar of the day, was a mid-engined coupe with a V8.
I grew up in Milwaukee. On the north side there's a road that runs by Lake Michigan called Lake Drive (not to be confused with Lake Shore Drive in Chicago). In the Village of Whitefish Bay, Lake Drive takes a nice series of tight curves one after the other. I can't speak for what it's like now, but when I was in high school, you could drive these curves as fast as you wanted to as long as it was three or four in the morning—nobody was out except for the occasional motorized law enforcement official. So I was very familiar with these curves.
Maserati Bora
In the Maserati, we navigated this series of curves at nearly twice the speed limit, which at that time was 35 mph. The number was impressive, but the Maserati was loafing at that speed—it went around the curves like it was on rails, with a minimum of drama. Apart from the feeling of centrifugal force, it didn't impart much excitement.
The 1957–70 Lotus Seven, by contrast, was essentially a big go-cart. Sitting with my butt planted on the seat I could lean out and put my palm flat on the ground (being careful of the hot exhaust pipe, which was right there). The Seven was the most exciting car at 35mph I ever drove—the rear-view mirror vibrated so badly you almost couldn't see anything in it, and the ground was so close it rushed past in a blur like you were doing 100. Ordinary corners were a thrill without even breaking the speed limit.
That was my epiphany. The Lotus Seven was a lot more exciting to drive than the mid-engined Maserati—at half the speed. It wasn't as fast, of course, but it felt faster. Speed, of course, is important if you're racing, or if you're being timed. But if you're not racing or being timed, speed is no longer an absolute—it's a sensation.
And of course the sensation is better in a car like the Bora if (another if) you can push it hard. I don't doubt that Jeremy Clarkson has fun with his Lambos—but then, he has a private airfield with a track set up by Lotus engineers and a dragstrip where it's both safe and legal to drive 200 mph.
I don't. Too bad.
All I get to drive on are public roads, and I'm constrained to something within shouting distance of the posted speed limits, or at least the "customary" speeds (there are roads in my town where I doubt the posted speed limits have budged since 1935, and 99% of drivers use "customary" speeds rather than the posted limits, the occasional dotard or thoroughly baked teen being the only exceptions. Even the cops use the customary speeds). To this day, I don't get all the fuss in the car rags about the endless parade of supercars. Who wants them? Not me. Maybe if you have autobahnen in your country.
My idea of the ideal car: a four-cylinder engine (but a good one), one-ton curb weight or as close as you can get to it, a five speed stick shift, and rear-wheel drive. Of course, within those limits, the sportier the better. Small cars are fun on real roads—and manage to provide their entertainment without requiring that you risk your license on a regular basis or endanger small living things, human or furred.
A glove box that accommodates the camera (and locks) is a nice feature too.
The chief downside of my kind of car? They have a tendency to be known as chick cars. ("Tart cars" in English.)
I'm happy for people who like Ferraris. I'm not even really interested—at least until such time as I move to Germany or am able to afford my own private airfield. My idea of a supercar extends to a Golf R or a Boxster S, and not much further. If someone gave me a Veyron or a Gallardo, I wouldn't know what to do with it—apart from sell it, and spend the money on nine to twenty-two of the kind of cars that I actually like.
Your mileage, as they say, may vary. Hope you have a fine Sunday—
Mike
Open Mike is a series of off-topic posts that appears usually, but not always, on Sundays.
UPDATE: Full circle: I did know, as several commenters have mentioned, that the old Lotus Seven is still being manufactured, in kit and turnkey form, in England, by an independent maker called Caterham. What I did not know is that that Caterham was recently purchased by none other than Team Lotus Enterprises...the announcement is dated just days ago, April 27th.
Closing the circle further, I also did not know that Team Lotus's colors seem to be remarkably suited to Wisconsin....
Hmm. I'm going to have to work harder!
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Featured Comment by Julian: "As anyone who has tried go-karting will tell you, your post is absolutely on the money.
"One other thing. Having driven extensively on German 'Autobahnen' I can tell you that, with a few limited exceptions (like the four-lane stretch between Darmstadt and Frankfurt-am-Main) they aren't what they're cracked up to be. Most have just two lanes in each direction and are very crowded—mostly with trucks.
"Even if you do find a relatively clear stretch and manage to wind the car up to crazy speeds, one (or both) of two things will inevitably occur. 1) A slower driver will pull out of the inside lane and you have to brake sharply to avoid a collision or 2) a Porsche, BMW or Mercedes (usually—possibly an Audi, too) will zoom up and attach itself, limpet-like, to your tailpipe—no matter how fast you are traveling. Being tailgated at legal speeds is bad enough but having another car barely a couple of feet behind you at 200kph+ is deeply unnerving.
"Trust me, Autobahnen are not as much fun as you might think."
Featured Comment by CK Dexter Haven: "My personal interest in cars of the supercar ilk is not in the speed they can possibly attain. It's more about the beauty of the design and engineering. A Ferrari is just a gorgeous thing. Aston Martin, same. I don't really care if they could only go as fast as a Lumina. It's sorta like when I had a Nikon F6. The only lens I had for it was a 50mm 1.8 Series E. Manual focus. I have no idea how fast the motor advance is, as I only shoot in 'single' mode. But, the camera was a joy to have, look at, hold, and use.
"The fastest i ever drove was during a vacation in Italy, when I rented a Fiat Punto. I think I averaged about 130 from Rome to Vicenza and the only car that passed me was a Ferrari F40. That was 15+ years ago. I don't need to do that again. Once was enough. Even though I could do that speed in the Punto, I'd rather have been doing 65 in the Ferrari. For that matter, I'd rather be parked in the Ferrari."
Featured Comment by John Brewton: "Well, Mike, I raced enduro karts for twelve years in the '60s and '70s. I have also owned numerous Ferraris and Maseratis. I published the Lamborghini-Maserati Newsletter from 1984–1990. I even raced a Ferrari Testa Rossa in vintage racing once (it was worth way too much to continue doing so with panache). Anyway I was once a gearhead, but I did all my own maintenance (!) and was an Alfa mechanic for a while.
"But today I drive a Prius. 'Nuf said."
Featured Comment by Geoff Wittig: "Spot-on post. There was a great article in one of the mainstream auto mags a few years back articulating the same point. The author agreed that high-end supercars produced great numbers, while generating surprisingly little excitement. He waxed lyrical about the joys of driving something like the original tiny Honda Civic, ideally with bald tires. Sure, its 0 to 60 time and its braking distance were nothing special. But the manual transmission required expert clutchwork and impeccably timed shifts to get the most out of the tiny 4-banger. The mediocre brakes and limited grip made tight curves thrilling even at modest speeds. The overall harmony of its limitations was the key: it took real skill to drive it at 9/10ths—and you were still close to the speed limit, if not below it!
"The most fun I've ever had controlling a wheeled vehicle was riding a mid-range motorcycle 'real fast' on a twisting country road. Mind-blowing thrills, until you come to viscerally comprehend what can happen to you. I sold my motorcycle while attending medical school, after the first few experiences treating badly injured "donorcycle" victims in the ER. (Represses shudder)."
Featured [partial] Comment by Mike Plews: "I wish I had said the but have to be content to quote it: 'It's more fun to drive a slow car fast than a fast car slow.'" [See the rest of Mike's comment in the Comment section. —Ed.]
Featured Comment by Chuck Albertson: "The bus stop nearest to my darkroom is located outside the local Ferrari dealer. If people ask me what I was doing Saturday afternoon, I tell them I was looking at Ferraris."
Featured Comment by Jim McDermott: "On a topical note, wasn't Osama bin Laden reported to be living in a Maserati Bora for a few months early in 2002? Or did I misread?"
Featured Comment by Jim Hayes: "Nobody into Alfas? I owned about 30 of them from the early '60s to 2002, most pre-1967, never more than three at a time, raced four of them. Nothing beats a Giulietta Spider!
"Also had two Miatas and two new Minis—both more fun than the C4 Corvette or M3. Little, good-handling cars are more satisfying than Ferraris (My brother was a dealer for them in the '60s. How about 310 km/hr in a 275LM on the street?)—'More fun to drive a slow car fast than a fast car slow!'"
Mike replies: I had the merest taste of an Alfa once—what was the one with the gearshift seemingly sticking out of the dash? I liked it very much, but I recall the owner (who was not mechanically inclined) had continual headaches with maintenance.
P.S. The Giulietta Spider is to the manner born....
Sunday, 03 April 2011
Sunday, 27 March 2011
Open Mike: Penguin Great Ideas
Well, I started out today by biting off more than I can chew. So what else is new?
I was going to concoct a recommended reading list. I get sort of frustrated that I can't find a list of the sort that I'd like, so I thought maybe I'd write one. At least then, other people would have from me what I want from someone else. But that's going to be a much bigger undertaking than I imagined at first... certainly more than the work of a single day.
So, as a sort of weak-coffee impromptu substitute, I thought I'd throw up another little plug for the pleasing and wonderful "Penguin Great Ideas
The key to the project is that they are authors and books we might not—no, that we probably would not—otherwise read. I mean, it's all well and good to be able to make references to Thorsten Veblen, Nietzsche, and Schopenhauer, but what non-specialist, post-University, actually reads books by them? It's common to assume that every educated person is more or less conversant with the identities and ideas of thinkers such as Adam Smith, Rousseau, and Marx, but, again, who actually delves firsthand? (Even most economists have never read Smith in the formidable original. I haven't either, even though I own the magnificent Folio Society three-volume set. I have it scheduled for my sixties). Finally, there are those authors who, unless they were assigned to you in school (and maybe not even then, if we're honest), you will just never read if you live to be a hundred and ten, like Thomas Hobbes or Gibbon or David Hume—and of course nobody reads classics these days, so Seneca, Plutarch, and Lucretius are pleasant to encounter en passant. (I have read Plutarch, in North's translation, but that's because I have a side interest in Elizabethan translations.)
So this is where the Penguin pamphlets come in. They're good for those of us willing to admit that no, we're not ever going to read the whole Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire or Hannah Arendt. Because, if you don't actually read Thoreau (now that idea actually fills me with consternation—Walden is my favorite book, #1 all time, the best ever, the top of the heap, the one book I would take to the apocryphal desert island), you should certainly at least read a little.
I have a longstanding fetishistic fondness for books, I admit—books as objects, books as art—and the "Great Ideas" pamphlets are lovely little fillips in that regard too. Most of the covers are entirely or mostly typographical, and all of the pamphlets I've seen have been especially well designed. Clearly, Penguin employs some talented designers, and clearly, they've been given the green light to do their thing. They've created many modest masterpieces.
Into every such series a clinker must fall, of course, and I regret that I cannot recommend the Penguin Great Ideas Tao te Ching. It is the world's second most-translated book (after the Holy Bible), but the translation they've chosen isn't very good. (I've made a bit of a study-on-the-side of the Tao, too—I now own some 18 translations and counting.)
Although this series has proliferated—I remember when the first ones came out, and there are many more now, some of them already out of print—it's probably not a series you'd want to collect comprehensively. There's no real reason to do so. Just as the series itself dips its toe into many waters, so it would be best to pick and choose what appeals to you personally from within the many offerings
Really, though, shouldn't everyone read at least a little Montaigne and just a little Emerson? The whole works might not fit a busy modern life, but an acquaintance with the actual words of many of these great authors goes a long way toward enriching it.
Mike
"Open Mike" is a series of off-topic posts that appears on TOP on Sundays.
P.S. This is one of those posts that cost me a lot of money to write. :-)
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Question from Mark Roberts: "OK, which translation of the Tao te Ching would you recommend? :)"
Mike replies: I was afraid someone would ask me that. I can't really answer. I don't speak or read Chinese, so I'm not in a position to expound directly on the accuracy of the translations, and (obviously, since I don't speak Chinese), I'm not an expert on ancient Chinese literature and its cultural context. Plus, I can only comment on translations into English.
One problem is that various translators' beliefs about the interpretations of the meanings of the chapters will color their choices when rendering the texts in English. A further difficulty is that (I'm told) the shadings of meanings, connotations, and references implicit in Chinese word choices cannot be conveyed into English without great pendulous explanations, which leads to...excessive specification, you might call it. Finally, translators' goals have differed: some are trying to accurately convey philosophical meaning, some are trying to hew to the best textural sources, some want the literal meanings of the characters to convey, and some are trying to reproduce the poetry and simplicity of the original. All this can lead to widely varying results.
That said, Arthur Waley has long been considered the most accurate English translation, although his is literarily ponderous. Prof. Chichung Huang's is reputedly the most literal from a linguistic and scholarly perspective. My vote for the "best" would be the one by Robert G. Henricks (Ballantine Books, 1989), for its balance of scholarly scrupulousness and the rather easy, colloquial, effortless quality of the prose he uses in his translations, and his, let's call it, nonpartisan approach to the various controversies and allegiances.
That said, my very favorite is the most demotic (in America at least)—the longstanding bestseller ostensibly translated by Gia-Fu Feng
It is actually not a true translation. The book was evidently conceived to show off the photographs of Jane English, and Gia-Fu Feng did not have a very comprehensive command of English when he did the translation. His editor at Knopf/Vintage, however, was the most excellent Toinette Lippe, then at the beginning of her distinguished career, who saw promise in the project. So she worked with Feng to extensively re-write the English text. The result might be considered a "fantasia" on the Tao te Ching, rather than strictly a "translation." And yet, it...well, it's music, and it swings. It's been a perennial bestseller, and deserves that status in my opinion. It's vivid, communicative, poetically simple, and implies the text's profundities without forcing them to earth with a thud.
My position is that Eastern classics, like Eastern religions, take on a new life when they come to new lands, and slavish devotion to the historical and cultural contexts and original meanings is not necessarily superior to the life it finds in new soil; and in that respect, the Feng/Lippe book has an important place in the American cultivar of philosophical Taoism. It is still the version I recommend first, and love best.
Featured Comment by Otto Pietinen: "My answer to Mark Roberts as a student of classical Chinese philosophy is: None are satisfactory, at least from the point of view of philosophical content. The language used in the texts of the Hundred Schools era (6th to 3rd centuries BCE) is grammatically very open to different interpretations because of its lack of redundancy. Any communication of information requires a certain amount of noise in addition to the actual content in order to be legible, but the written Chinese of the period minimizes this. It doesn't mark definite/indefinite, plural/singular or gender distinctions, and has no cases or verbal inflection. In addition, parts of sentences are often omitted, and distinctions between parts of speech is only indicated by syntax, meaning you can't distinguish to win, victory, victoriously and victorious except by the context of the other things contained in the sentence, to which the same of course applies. And they didn't use punctuation either, so deciding what to actually include in a sentence can be a bit tricky at times.
"Now when you add the facts that the earliest dictionary of Chinese is from early 2nd century CE, at least 350 years after the writing of the Daodejing [Daodejing = Tao to Ching...just different ways of transliterating —Ed.], and the earliest commentary on the text was written some 100 years after that in an intellectual climate transformed by the introduction of buddhist philosphy to China, it is quite apparent that the explicit meaning of the text is very difficult or impossible to decipher, which is the reason translators differ so wildly in their interpretations. This doesn't mean that you shouldn't read or enjoy them, and unless you're going to learn classical Chinese, you should read many. One theory, not my own though I can't remember the source, for the popularity of the Daodejing is that it actually contains very little theoretical content, but rather evocative, poetry-like language that requires the reader to fill in the blanks with their own thoughts, thus making it accessible to anyone who enjoys thinking. This would mean that the individual translations are more like separate works inspired by the original book, but by reading several and comparing, you'd get a more and more complete view of the Daodejing by considering the viewpoints of the translators.
"For those interested in the philosophy of the period, I would recommend Chad Hansen's book A Daoist Theory of Chinese Thought. For maximum enjoyment you should first read a more conventional introduction, such as Feng Youlan's (also romanized Fung Yu-lang) A History of Chinese Philosophy or for a slightly modernized view, Angus C. Graham's Disputers of the Dao, as the Hansen book is a very polemical attack against what he calls 'the traditional interpretation.'"
Featured Comment by Toinette Lippe: "'Fantasia' is a strong word, Mike. There are many good collaborative translations that have stood the test of time and this, I believe, is one of them (it has sold over a million copies in North America).
"Gia-fu Feng grew up in China and studied with a classical Chinese scholar. He owned both ancient and modern Chinese versions of the Tao Te Ching and, to begin with, he translated both versions character by character and compared the two. He then shared one chapter each day with the students of the Stillpoint community he had founded. Each morning the group studied the text as a spiritual exercise, exploring its ideas and refining the language. I don't read Chinese and so I could not compare any of the English translations with the original. So I chose a dozen translations ranging from Arthur Waley’s historically accurate version to Witter Bynner’s lyrical poem, which seemed to take liberties with the text while perfectly expressing its spirit. I would study how each of the twelve translators had rendered a particular sentence and then return to Gia-fu’s translation to see what he thought it meant. I would then find a way to express his understanding in a simple natural way and in words that had not been used by other translators. It was the opposite of plagiarism. Finally, I would read each page aloud to a young Mexican friend and if it did not read well or if she looked puzzled, I would adjust the words or the cadence until the meaning was clearly delivered. After which I sent batches of the new text to Gia-fu who would approve (or occasionally disapprove) of what I had done.
"Over time all languages shift and some words and phrases become less immediate than they were a generation or so earlier. This October, Vintage will be releasing a new version of the book in three formats—the illustrated edition, the text-only edition, and an ebook for the first time. The new version remains faithful to the original text while using contemporary language that rings true for our time. And, in the illustrated edition, Jane English has replaced over a hundred of the photographs with others that she has made in the ensuing years."
Toinette Lippe is the former Rights Director at Alfred A. Knopf and the Founding Editor (emeritus) of Bell Tower, an imprint of Crown/Harmony. She is the author of two books, Nothing Left Over
Sunday, 13 March 2011
Sunday, 06 March 2011
Open Mike: Writers Needed Everywhere
I have a sardonic little mantra I like to repeat that goes "editors needed everywhere." It's a response to encountering "howlers" in the wild—a "howler" being an error so egregious that it makes you howl (whether in amusement or in pain remains unspecified). I even have a friend (hi there, Paul) with whom I share particularly woeful or wonderful typos and examples of ungrammatical English.
Here's a recent example (I think I found this one)—
This is an attempt to compare the performance of the PhaseOne digital back with the one obtained by scanning a low-sensibility film picture from 6x9 format.
Paul and I agreed that we can sympathize, because both of us have taken plenty of low-sensibility pictures over the years.
Anyway, as you might know, recently I've been watching some movies again. This follows a period of more than ten years when I hardly watched any at all—I virtually only saw movies that friends took me to see as part of a social occasion.
A recent article about the cynicism of Hollywood noted that Hollywood now "targets" movies at specific demographic segments—young males, young females, older females, or older males. The point was made that if you can appeal to more than one of those demographic groups, it's generally a good thing, but if you target only older males, you're sunk, because older males don't go to movies.
Once I read that, I figured my behavior might simply be typical for my demographic.
I think it's more complicated than that, however. I think I reached a point a number of years back where Hollywood had simply let me down.
The reason is, I hate getting jerked around.
And "jerking people around" is virtually a mission statement for the movie industry. That's what they're trying for. Striving mightily to overdo everything. Everything has to be over the top, turned up to 11, overcooked, on steroids, enhanced—and that includes shamelessly and blatantly manipulating the emotions of the audience.
I just don't like being treated that way.
The most recent two movies I've watched brought that point home again. The first was "Blood Simple," the Coen brothers' first movie. It's a neo-noir thriller, and expertly plotted—I loved the basic plotting device, which is that every character misinterprets what's actually happening and acts perfectly logically according to what they believe is going on—all the way down to the delightful ending, which I won't give away. (Where she says, "I'm not scared of you [blank]....")
It has a superb score, too, by Carter Burwell, one of the best I've ever encountered in any movie. It's both extremely subtle and extremely distinctive, which is like hitting two home runs with one swing.
But of course it's a "thriller," which implies a standard packet of audience manipulations: most especially, characters must spend a lot of time standing around stupidly doing nothing when danger is imminent or something bad is about to happen to them. People in thrillers act slowly so audiences have plenty of time to squirm. Apparently people like that.
I don't.
I want people to act naturalistically, i.e., like real people would act.
But "Blood Simple" is a good movie and well worth seeing. Its disappointments are nothing compared to the 2003 "House of Sand and Fog," adapted from the novel by Andre Dubus III, who is responsible for the plot.
First of all, "spoiler alert," although if I spoil this movie for you I will have done you a favor.
My first reaction was that this was a horrible movie, really one of the worst I've ever seen. I literally took the DVD out of the machine, put it back in its case, and threw it in the trash. Sorry I watched it, wish I hadn't. (This amused me: Andrew O'Hehir, writing in Salon, said "After the New York screening I attended, a middle-aged couple coming out the door ahead of me were complaining bitterly about all the things they could have been doing instead of watching 'House of Sand and Fog.' Their list included watching 'Law & Order' reruns on TNT or shopping for their kids at Toys 'R Us; it's safe to say these folks were unhappy campers.")
I might be a little out of step, too: many reviewers apparently thought the director was trying to make the American characters sympathetic, whereas I thought the movie was deliberately trying to make Americans look bad. If that woman and that cop are sympathetic, I'd sure hate to see what passes for unsympathic.
It wasn't until the day after I watched the DVD that I realized what's special about it: it's a movie that fails utterly, but only because of its story line. Bad writing sinks the whole enterprise.
Well, and its score, which is also awful. It was driving me crazy by the end. But mostly the story line.
Everything else about the movie, though, was oustanding. Usually, great movies succeed on many levels, but they tend to hit on all cylinders. That is, all the different contributors' elements—acting, directing, casting, writing, cinematography, etc.—all work together, in concert. Bad movies usually fail in more than one area—everything's vaguely off, or bad, or weak, or doesn't gel. Sometimes, passable movies have flaws they can't overcome, but mostly, the flaws are multivalent.
Jennifer Connelly in "House of Sand and Fog."
But it's unusual, I think, to find a movie that succeeds in essentially every way except for its writing. "House of Sand and Fog" is very well crafted in many ways, from its inventive premise (Dubus also gets credit for this) to its casting. I bought it because Roger Deakins did the cinematography, and the cinematography is excellent. I could quibble with the casting of Jennifer Connelly—I thought she was too pretty for her role—but she gives a fine performance. The acting is excellent overall; the film even delivers one standout acting performance, from Ben Kingsley, and a very strong supporting performance by the ex-patriate Persian (Iranian) actress Shohreh Aghdashloo.
But the writing at the end. Ach.
One of the problems novelists have is that they're almost fatally tempted to act as puppetmasters. They own their characters, and they can make their characters do anything, anything at all, and frequently they're just unable to resist that temptation (read virtually any John Irving novel to see this flaw taken to an extreme—that guy really makes the puppets dance).
Two-thirds of the way into this story, the writer is in full-on puppeteer mode. We depart completely from rational, naturalistic human behavior and devolve completely into Hollywood mannerism. The last third of the movie, by which time a subtle and inventive premise has imploded utterly into a standard bad-TV-style hostage-and-gunpoint melodrama, complete with not one but two suicide attempts in less than ten minutes, the story line has become 100% certified fake-serious. And how does Hollywood fake seriousness? Like you need me to tell you that. Blood, gore, and premature death, obviously. (It made me laugh a few years ago when I first saw the title "There Will Be Blood." What was that, a scribbled instruction from a producer? A chapter from How to Write a Modern Screenplay? Too funny.)
Guns, blood, death, gore, and more death is the default mode of signifying depth in American art.
Although a rogue cop acting like a complete unhinged idiot never hurts*.
This one goes for Hamlet-level everybody-kill-yourself. The writer must have thought, I'm going to make this real estate squabble really, really serious, boy. You watch, everybody's going to die or have their lives ruined.
Rub hands together. Cue actors.
Gee whiz. Guess this must be Serious Dramar, then.
Piffle. I've gotten a lot of pleasure over the years from many of my encounters with art, but some of them you just wish you could take back.
Anyway, the hopelessly bathetic "House of Sand and Fog" is a fine example of the reason I stopped watching movies. It was not because I was enacting my demographic: it was because...well: writers needed everywhere.
Mike
"Open Mike" is a series of off-topic posts that usually appear on TOP on Sundays. Disclaimer: the writer is not a professional movie reviewer, knows no Hollywood writers except Gordon Lewis, virtually never watches pop schlock, and has seen far fewer movies than the average American. Season accordingly with grain of salt.
*I might have to cut this movie and TV stereotype a little more slack in the future, however. In 2007 a sheriff's deputy here in Wisconsin shot six people, including his ex-girlfriend, at a party. So it does happen. Is it still fair to say that most officers of the law would not attempt to compel real estate transactions at gunpoint?
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Featured Comment by David: "As it happens, I am both a regular TOP reader and a Hollywood screenwriter.
"One of the many pitfalls of my profession is that when people love a movie, they praise the acting, the cinematography, and—most of all—the director. When people hate a movie, they blame the screenwriter.
"The contempt that is leveled at screenwriters is reflective of two attitudes: the belief that writing is easy, and a complete lack of understanding about how the creative process works in Hollywood.
"The screenplay is the battleground of moviemaking. A writer creates a screenplay that is strong enough to pull together the 'elements'—the director, actors, and financing. Then it becomes the object of endless negotiations, power plays, wrangling and tweaking by executives and producers which frequently serve to dilute or destroy any fragile shred of coherence in the final product. After a few rounds of this, the script is usually a mess. Then the 'damage control' begins as the start date approaches, torturing the poor thing further. When it's all over, the executives get to pat themselves on the back for 'saving' the movie, or, if it's a failure, they get to blame the writer. As a general rule, when you watch a Hollywood movie, it's usually much, much worse than the first draft that begat it.
"I imagine it's hard for you to relate because you are in a business where you work alone and enjoy complete control over your product. That's feasible when that product costs close to nothing. When the artwork in question costs $80 million and involves major multinational corporations with many layers of bureaucracy, it's a very different process. Even editing a photo magazine as you once did really gives you no frame of reference for what goes on in this ecosystem. Photography is fairly simple. That's why I like it.
"If you were a writer in Hollywood and had any understanding of what goes into making movies—and believe it or not, most writers in Hollywood are very much like you—you would reserve your contempt for people other than your writing brethren."
Mike replies: Thanks for the great comment—always best to hear things like this firsthand—but I think you've misread me a bit. I'm aware of the realities, at least at a couple of removes—I've read things like John Gregory Dunne's Monster and I used to have a passing acquaintance with Larry McMurtry back when he was making a good bit of his living writing treatments. And I recall that vivid image in "Adaptation" where one of the great artists in Hollywood, Charlie Kaufman (or rather the "serious Charlie" character he wrote), is reduced to lurking in the shadows of a movie set, just to be at hand in case the director might need him. Outrageous. Like Shakespeare serving at the pleasure of Shylock.
It's not really "the writer" I'm excoriating here but "the writing"—not the original script but the story of the movie as it was made. As a critic, I have to deal with the work of art that's in front of me—I can't deal with phantoms of what should have been or might have been.
I wish I could find for you an impassioned essay I once write in defense of screenwriters, condemning the system that can literally rob them of their stories, and in more ways than one. Lost, unfortunately. Suffice it to say that I think the "mess" you mention ("After a few rounds of this, the script is usually a mess") is discernible to at least some degree in virtually all of Hollywood's product—to its detriment. At the very least, I'll just mention that the contrast between plays and films could hardly be more instructive. Just imagine a staging of a Eugene O'Neill or Arthur Miller or Tennessee Williams play where the producers called in three additional writers, changed a majority of the dialogue, changed the story line, recast the entire ending, and relegated the original playwright to uncredited status. ("I want a rewrite on Murder In the Cathedral and I want it by Tuesday!" "Dear Mr. Simon, we like Lost in Yonkers, but does it have to be Yonkers? It makes us think of honkers.") Inconceivable. Hollywood's refusal to respect its best writers and accord them some of the same status that playwrights receive is its #1 failing, in my opinion—bar none.
In fact, my feeling is that the only way screenwriters can get adequate respect these days is when the screenwriter is also the director—one and the same—as is the case with the Coens. (I was astonished recently when I read something about Joel Coen objecting when his leading actor changed one word in one of his movies—he insisted on having it exactly the way it was written. What other screenwriter would get that kind of respect from any director?) But I don't really have enough knowledge to make that claim. I'd love to hear your take on that.
Response from David: "Thanks for your reply, and sorry if I might have sounded a bit prickly. The answer to your question is: you're right.
"Directing is one way of staying in control of your product, but it's hardly a guarantee. On big studio 'tentpoles,' as they're called, the director is often as much at the mercy of the system as the writer, though they are more careful to maintain the illusion that they're in control.
"Even directors need someone who can insulate and protect them. A good producer—and they are very rare—can shepherd a project through the system while protecting what makes it unique. You'll notice that the Coens work almost exclusively with Scott Rudin, who keeps the outside forces at bay so that they can do their thing.
"These days, the best vehicle for writers has been television, where the creator or 'showrunner' enjoys a level of control that is unparalleled in movies. A writer like Matt Weiner of 'Mad Men' controls every camera angle, every line reading, the placement of every prop. He has the leverage of being the only guy who can put the show on the air every week, so he can do anything he wants.
"The truth is that it's very difficult to gain the kind of control the Coens have, and even harder to keep it. They get it because they're so good at what they do, and because they literally refuse to show up unless they get it. It's not just that they don't compromise, but that they don't even understand compromise. They resemble autistics in that they are so narrowly focused on their vision that nothing else even enters their consciousness. But their style of filmmaking is the exception, not the rule. Most studios would not be interested in dealing with them at all.
"Those of us who do this for a living are never surprised when we see bad movies. We watch bad movies and see the endless procession of meetings and memos that led to their creation.
"What's surprising—almost miraculous—is that every year one or two good movies manage to get through the system and make it into theaters, and those movies are what keep us going."
Featured Comment by Paul Byrnes: "Try watching movies for a living, Mike. Lots of people think it's a breeze but after spending most of my adult life doing it, I share some of your pain. Being jerked around is my daily duty. Recent peak: standing in the drizzle outside a movie funpark in southern Queensland on a Sunday morning waiting for my chance to see Yogi Bear in 3D, a character most of the kids present had never heard of (I asked a bunch of them).
"That said, I'm glad you didn't give up—then the bad guys win. There are still lots of great movies being made, even some in Hollywood—or just north of there, especially at Pixar. And you might like to delve into the hard-to-find works of Yasujiro Ozu, one of the greatest Japanese directors, from the 1930s to the 1960s. He eschewed plot—'plot uses people.' The smallest human interactions produced the most beautiful human dramas in his films—and he shot everything from one position three feet above the ground, the height of the head when one sits on a tatami mat. No camera movement either, the tripod was locked off. Try 'Tokyo Story.' A great antidote to modern unsteadicam techniques.
"Looking forward to your post about movies about photographers. I'm compiling a list of the cameras they used, for my own amusement—like the Argus C3 that Ruth Hussey uses in 'The Philadelphia Story,' or the Nikon F's that Clint used in 'Bridges of Madison County.'"
Mike replies: I grew up watching Yogi Bear in black-and-white. I still distinctly remember seeing Yogi in color for the first time—I was very critical, because I was convinced they got some of the colors wrong. I was six.
Featured Comment by Edie Howe: "It's been years since I've made the effort to go to a movie of my own volition. Like you, I too dislike the emotional roller-coaster of scripted movies. With all due respect to sibling TOP reader David, there is little to engage me. (Side note: Google "Bechdel test" for further explanation.)
"That said, might I suggest non-verbal, non-narrative films? As a photographer, I find myself fascinated with this form of film-making. I have this urgent feeling that cinematography has an important role in a photographers education, and since meeting Tom Lowe (Timescapes.org), I've been exploring the genre with deep interest.
"Check out Baraka from Netflix, or peruse this incredible teaser/trailer by Tom Lowe for stunning examples.
"Now for my own disclaimer: I know Tom and consider him a friend, and have acted as ad hoc location scout for him here in Yosemite."
Featured Comment by Paul W. Luscher: "Actually, there is one more way of 'signifying depth in American art': kinky sex. I.e., 'Black Swan.'"
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