hegemony rules

Philip Seymour Hoffman is one of my favorite actors.  As Scotty J. in Boogie Nights, Allen in Happiness, Lester Bangs in Almost Famous, and Truman Capote in Capote, Hoffman delivers some of the most honest and unflinchingly human portrayals in contemporary American cinema.  Apparently, the NYT agrees with me (or, I agree with them).  Their profile of PSH appears in today’s NYT magazine, and it’s clear that the man behind these characters is equally complex:

Caden Cotard [PSH's character in Synedoche] seems to echo many of Hoffman’s own internal debates and anxieties. “I took ‘Synecdoche’ on because I was turning 40, and I had two kids, and I was thinking about this stuff — death and loss — all the time,” Hoffman continued. “The workload was hard, but what made it really difficult was playing a character who is trying to incorporate the inevitable pull of death into his art. Somewhere, Philip Roth writes: ‘Old age isn’t a battle; old age is a massacre.’ And Charlie, like Roth, is quite aware of the fact that we’re all going to die.” Hoffman looked around the theater. The stage manager was arranging furniture; the actors were lolling on a sofa; Andrew Upton was chatting with an assistant. “In 80 years,” Hoffman went on, “no one I’m seeing now will be alive. Hopefully, the art will remain.”

I’ve been thinking a lot recently about the creative process.  There’s something about creativity that requires an intensity of focus – a drive to be sure – inspired by the intense realization that we are mortal and fallible and when we die we leave so little behind.  Art, then, is driven by this need to make our lives meaningful and important.  But I wonder if this same drive can become overwhelming.  If we’re constantly having this metadialogue about the relative permanence of what we’re creating, does this allow us the freedom to make mistakes?  To create “bad” art?  When I’m having difficulty writing, I think it’s because I’m spending too much time thinking like an editor rather than as a writer.  Words don’t hit the page because I’ve already decided they’re not quite right.  This means it’s harder for me to enter a flow state and actually get to the business of writing.

(All this musing is no doubt inspired by the fact that I’m supposed to be writing right now and am procrastinating a bit.  Oh, the irony!).

One of my new favorite quotes also comes from this article:

“Sometimes when I see a great movie or a great play I think, ‘Being human means you’re really alone…’”

Read the complete article.

So, I’m sitting in my empty apartment watching bad TV after a long day of moving most of my worldly belongings into a pod for my move to Chicago. The “bad TV” in this case is the movie Fatal Attraction, which was being sponsored by…

wait for it…

eHarmony.com.

I’m at a loss. A loss!

The second entry in an ongoing series.

Oh my eyes and/or ears and/or brain!

(via Slog)

Or, maybe I’m the only one who misread this headline:

<begin pity party>
This cartoon from gapingvoid totally summarizes my feelings about the “A-list” bloggers. No, I’m not an A-lister. No, I didn’t get invited to Foo camp (unlike her and her and her – glad to see the ladies representing!).

I want to be all cool and say, “It doesn’t matter, because I didn’t want to go anyway,” but every time I utter those words, I revert to being a sixth grader, mouth trembling, eyes watering, thinking about the time I wasn’t invited to the party that everyone else in my grade was. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I have some serious geek envy going on. (Apparently, I’m not the only one – there’s actually a group on 43Things dedicated to getting Foo camp invites.)

I guess this means that (a) I have to actually publish something related to my research that gets noticed by the 1% of people who care about what I do, and (b) I have to get noticed by the media, which means I need to both overcome my slightly introverted nature and be able to rock some pithy quotes on the fly.

What’s interesting about the whole A-list blogger scene is that it totally reminds me of high school. Only this time, the drama nerds and the goths and the geeks have come together to rule the school. It reminds me that regardless of how egalitarian we’d like to think intellectual life is (ha ha), it’s actually very hierarchical. Ok, so that’s not the most profound statement. Sigh – yet another reason why I’m not an A-lister.
</end pity party>

During my time in Asheville, I’ve noticed a couple of things about the residents who call this idyllic mountain town home. This is Hippy Town, USA (not to be confused with Hobby Town, USA). People here are very much into their bikes, dogs, hiking boots, anti-GWB stickers, and organic food. For the most part, I don’t mind. It reminds me of an even more granola version of Seattle.

But there’s one thing I just don’t get. While I don’t consider myself a fashion snob, I seriously loathe one particular accessory that seems to be all the rage here. These:

The plastic clogs with holes in them that come in at least 15 different colors, each more hideous than the last.

The company’s web site lists a bunch of reasons why you should wear these atrocities:

1.) Really soft, super comfortable, molds to your feet
2.) Barely there, weighing only 6 ounces
3.) Vented so air passes through, keeping feet cool
4.) Non-marking slip-resistant soles
5.) Bacteria and odor resistant
6.) Ultra-hip Italian styling
7.) Port holes allow water and sand to pass through
8.) Can be sterilized in water and bleach
9.) Easy maintenance, just wipe clean
10.) Orthotic molded foot bed for ultimate comfort and support

Um, “Port holes?” When did nautical acoutrements become de riguer in shoes? “Just wipe clean?” – um, I thought I was buying footwear, not a countertop. “Ultra-hip Italian styling?” – really? Where?

No offense if you personally wear Crocs. I just don’t get them. Enlighten me….

Warning: This post is extremely geeky and futher cements my place in the world as a geek grrl, not just a grrl who’s happened to date some geeky guys. So, if you’re uninterested in games, World of Warcraft (WOW), politics, or gnomes, you might want to skip this. (Of course, Dave Chappelle apparently likes WOW, so maybe it’s gained some hipster cred. Whatever.)

At night, after a long day of teaching, dissertating and/or reading tomes like this or this, I often log on to WOW and complete a few quests involving: 1) transporting item “a” to place “b;” 2) killing boss “c” for loot “d” so NPC “e” can make potion “f;” 3) hitting peons on the head with a bat so they’ll get back to work. Usually, I’ll end the evening by flying back to one of the cities and selling off all of the useless crap that animals in the game carry around despite having no pockets or opposable thumbs.

I enjoy these evenings of mindless stealthing (I play a rogue) and socializing (A usually plays with me). I’m not a big socialite in or out of the game, but I have been enjoying the intelligent and engaging conversation that takes place in the guild to which we belong (TerrorNova). Guild conversations often revolve around the ethical issues of gaming research (many of its members are academics who work in/with virtual worlds), and I have found my guildmates to be generous and supportive of newbies like me to a fault.

So, what’s the problem? Why am I posting at all if life in WOW is so hunky-dory?

I play on a PVP server. PVP, for the unintiated, stands for “player vs. player,” and it means that characters representing the other faction (the Alliance) – who are at war with the Horde for mysterious reasons that I suspect have more to do with the marketability of Warcraft than with differences outlined in the game’s sketchy mythology – can kill me and my Horde brethren.

Happier days on a non-PVP server – Skador and Arendt

Now, what’s so bad about this, you ask? Well, it just so happens that Blizzard’s poor implementation of the PVP system means that level 60 characters can: 1) kill a bunch of Horde characters having a funeral for a fellow friend who died in “real” life without penalty; and 2) hang out in areas where lower characters are questing and kill them repeatedly (which is called “ganking” or “griefing”), again without penalty. In WOW, there are things called “honorable” and “dishonorable” kills – the former is reserved for player characters who are at or above your skill level; the latter is for lower-level player kills. At the end of the day/week, players are ranked according to their honorable kills and win…absolutely nothing, except the right to run around and tell everyone that they’ve killed the most Alliance or Horde players.

I guess this system is set up so you’re supposed to feel bad if you’re a 60th level priest (which means, essentially, that you’re invincible to all but the biggest and baddest in Azeroth), and you kill a puny level 30 hunter with one hit.

I say supposed to, because as far as I can tell, the honorable/dishonorable kills thing means nothing. As far as I can tell, PVP attracts a certain level of, shall we say, immaturity, where high level characters have no problem camping some newbie’s corpse and killing her over and over again. Sometimes, they’ll even gang up with each other to prove that the other faction knows who’s boss, going on a killing spree that litters the countryside with dozens of skeletons.

You might be asking at this point, so what? I mean, who cares if people in this virtual world are killing each other – it’s just a game, right?

To which I respond, no, it’s not just a game. How many articles have to be written about the real world implications of online activities before players start realizing that there are PEOPLE attached to the characters you’re killing?* Llokye (my female troll rogue) and Skador (my male dwarf hunter) may not be “real,” but I’ve spent a lot of time in the game with them. I’m not really offended when they’re killed (or kill) some boar or an NPC in the game because I know that those characters are computer controlled and that they exist in 1s and 0s only. I am, however, very annoyed and frustrated and freaked out when I log on for five minutes in a zone to complete the last part of a quest and get ganked four times in a row. The worst part of it is that I can’t even communicate with my attacker, since the two factions don’t speak the same language. So, I am, effectively, mute. And helpless. And dead. That’s a bit too close for comfort for my tastes, given humanity’s seemingly endless love affair with genocide and torture.

So, why would I be on a PVP server at all? Well, because of the guild, and because I had no idea what I was getting into. I just assumed that individuals on a PVP server would try to “kill honorably” (this is an oxymoron, I know, but go with me here).

I guess I can see the value in PVP, just not how Blizzard has implemented it. I mean, first-person shooters have a large portion of the gaming market, and I know that this is a for-profit affair. If players on PVP servers really want to fight each other, they should at least make it fair; a substantially higher level character should be penalized in some real way for killing a substantially lower level character. Right now it feels like there are a bunch of bullys roaming Azeroth, randomly killing other helpless players who are effectively gagged. And, I have no way to vocalize that I’m *not* a threat and that I’m *not* interested in fighting. The best I can do is use an emote like /dance or /hi and hope that my fellow players take pity on me.

All of this is to say that I wish there were some way to change servers so I didn’t have to deal with this conflict. Seriously, I like Llokye, and I don’t want to start all over again with a new character, but she’s living in an imaginary world that is a bit too close to the “real” one – except there are no penalties for killing.

* Julian Dibbell’s classic tale, A Rape in Cyberspace, is probably the most famous and relevant one in this case.

A few highlights from the cross-country sojourn (Seattle to San Antonio) in no particular order:

• Most surreal sign seen in several states: “High winds may exist” (tres existential)

• City along the route in which I’d most like to live: Seattle (duh)
• Surprisingly pleasant town despite horrific white power graffiti (misspelled, of course): Idaho Falls, ID
• Grimmest stretch of highway: I-10 between El Paso and San Antonio
• Worst hotel along the way: A very sketchy Red Lion in Post Falls, ID (courtesy of Priceline)
• Best hotel along the way: The El Dorado in Santa Fe, NM (courtesy of Priceline)
• Worst waiter in a chain or hotel restaurant: Tied between the jerk at the Cracker Barrel outside SLC who kept interrupting while we were having a “serious conversation” and the server at the Holiday Inn restaurant in El Paso who managed to mess up my order, forget our Tabasco sauce, and keep us waiting 20+ minutes for a replacement for my breakfast without really apologizing
• Longest day: Idaho Falls, ID to Cortez, CO
• Shortest day: Cortez, CO to Santa Fe, NM
• City whose adherence to adobe-looking structures is very cute at first but quickly grows on one’s nerves: Santa Fe, NM
• Best food: The Shed in Santa Fe (OMG – the red sauce is amazing)
• Easiest way to distinguish between southern NM and western Texas: The preponderance of Texas state flags on cars, businesses, houses, etc.
• Most beautiful part of the country in which I’d prefer not to live: SE Utah
• Most surreal moment of the trip: Witnessing a margarita making class at the Holiday Inn Airport in El Paso, in which guests donned sombreros, danced around making their drinks, and then received certificates for their accomplishment

The road report will continue later. A and I are off to Vermont to teach a workshop, come back for a few days and then head out to Asheville, NC to visit my family.

“Dealing with” makes it sound like this move is something to be endured, rather than enjoyed. It’s true; right now I feel as though living in San Antonio is like living in an alien culture – alien, that is, if you’re used to Seattle. However, I suspect that most of the country is more like Texas than Seattle.

It’s hot here. Like 97 degrees hot. And the humidity…well, let’s just say that most outdoor activity that occurs between the hours of 9am and 7pm is pretty much akin to pulling on a suit made of plastic wrap, followed by a coat of the warmest wool, topped off by a balaclava. (The hat, not the dessert.) Amazingly enough, I’ve found myself obsessively reading Weather.com and wishing that I lived in Phoenix where it’s in the 100s, with only 20% (as opposed to 95%) humidity. Clearly, all my time growing up in Florida had been undermined by 7 years in Seattle.

This is car country. A and I are trying our hardest to combat it by walking to our local grocery store and restaurants, but it’s hard work. Sidewalks here are in short supply, whereas jackasses who yell out their car windows and whistle – presumably at me, for as attractive as A is there’s also a fair amount of homophobia here (perhaps unsurprisingly) – are not.

This is military country. There are something like 5 bases (of various permutations) in San Antonio. Many, many, many cars have yellow ribbons and/or George W. stickers here. I can only assume that the few cars that don’t are simply keeping their patriotism under wraps. However, I have seen a couple of newspaper stands tagged with the words “End this War,” and there’s a sense that even here, people are not happy that their kids, siblings, and lovers are being wounded and killed for no reason.

People like new things here. The newer the better. This is exurban central – leave the loop and you’re faced with huge houses, strip malls, and massive churches.

Despite the title of this posting, there are a lot of charming things here, like the amazing confluence of cultures (Latino, Texan, southern), the beautiful downtown, warm nights that encourage late night drinking at the local icehouses, breakfast tacos at Twin Sisters, and the awesome grocery store down the street that seriously challenges the wares at Larry’s or Metropolitan Market or the QFC on Broadway.

Sigh. I still miss Seattle. My friends. The scenery. The coffee. The political climate…. Anyway, more soon.

I just saw a truck with a window sticker that had a pink Calvin peeing on the word cancer. Even more disturbing is this eBay auction, in which the seller claims she’s creating custom versions of the Calvin sticker to support medical bills for her turtle, Lucky.

I’m all for people supporting cancer research and helping their pets and whatnot, but c’mon. Not only is Calvin peeing on anything totally lame and un-funny, it is so ‘99. (Ok, maybe there are a few rare exceptions that are completely funny and ironic – ones that a certain someone created but never distributed – but those are few and far between.)

More run-ins with annoying bumper stickers can be found at DailyKos.