Essays I've Read That I Love

Mindy Kaling writes occasionally on a blog, the name of which I like: "Things I've Bought That I Love." Her prose is sharp and therefore worth reading even if I couldn't give two shits about the topic-of-the-post, as is often the case. But, again, I like the title, and will borrow its skeletal syntax to describe this post: "Essays I've Read That I Love."

Book reviews require significant thought and skill, so I write them only when they are assigned or paid for. (My last, I wrote on Blink, almost a year ago. Damn good, too.)

But article reviews are much easier, perhaps because they aren't really reviews. More like abstracts, but with a bit of force that says to the reader, "Turn off the fucking TV and read a bit; you'll be surprised and happy with my suggestions, I promise."

That being so, what follows: essays I've read (or am reading) that I love.

1. "Dangerous Minds: Criminal Profiling Made Easy," by Malcolm Gladwell. The New Yorker, 12 November 2007. - A wonderfully Gladwellian (of course) investigation of the FBI's seemingly crackerjack Behavioral Science Unit, which thanks to Hollywood and copious true-crime hardbacks has developed a reputation for producing near-hit criminal profiles almost every time. The key word here is "seemingly."

2. "Mad About the Boys," by Bryan Burrough. Vanity Fair, November 2007. - Fraud, obesity, boy bands, probable pedophilia, willingly unsuspecting investors, and blimps - this story has it all. Chronicling the rise and fall of Florida entrepreneur Lou Pearlman (the impresario behind the Backstreet Boys and 'NSync), Burrough discovers just how many willingly buy into the American Scheme while chasing their American Dream.

3. "Tonight on Dateline This Man Will Die," by Luke Dittrich. Esquire, September 2007. - Admit it: you love (or at least can't turn away from) Dateline's "To Catch a Predator." It's justice-filled schadenfreude, plus public-humiliation. That's a two-for-one, and it isn't even Tuesday. But take away the justice and replace it with an unnecessary and preventable suicide, and you're left with an uneasy guilt, reprimanding yourself for once again buying into the too-good-to-be-true network sales pitch. It is never as simple as forty-four minutes makes it seem, is it?

4. "A Death in the Family," by Christopher Hitchens. Vanity Fair, November 2007. - For my money, the best essay of 2007. I cannot begin to do it justice here, in this restricting space, save to say this: it won't give you answers, so don't search for them as you read. Just expect tears. Read it. Please.

Reentering the Fray

The ubiquitous internet-access has returned now that I am back from England. Posting, then, becomes all the more easier. Of course, I think that I must have something important to say before uploading, but I am giving up on that idea. Writing whatever makes me happy, and putting it out there seems efficacious if but for the mere reason that it proves that at that moment I was thinking. Post away, then, Brian.

* * *

I had a most lovley conversation with my friend, Zsuzsa this morning. Two points to note and remember from it:

Who, at this moment, would I consider my three heroes? I answered: Jesus, Shakespeare, and Lincoln. Tomorrow I may change my mind.

And, a great quote from Oscar Wilde: "If you want to tell people the truth, make them laugh, otherwise they’ll kill you." I'm not quite sure if this makes sense, but I like it nonetheless.

So take that, blogosphere.

Everybody Look At Your Hands!

You know, your friends don't dance and if they don't dance
Well they're no friends of mine...



I miss the '80s.

Urinal-ysis

All this talk of bathroom design has forced me away from my real work and demanded that I engage in internet research about urinal-design. Though it remains a goal for 2007, I still do not possess the proper technical vocabulary to be able to accurately describe the artistic, functional, and theoretical triumphs and failures of the following pieces. Thus, I will let the urine-soaked images speak for themselves, save for what I image to be their respective titles:

"Persian-American Relations"

"Just Another Chance to Laugh at Your Manhood"

"I Really, Really Hated Catholic School and My Therapist Said This Might Help"

"Serenity"
or
"God Wanted Men to Piss on Flowers"

"Paging Dr. Freud, paging Dr. Freud. Oral Fixation on Line 1."

"Gender Equality"
or
"Vag-U-Suck"
or
"I'd Rather Wait For a Booth than Stand at the Bar"

Trying to Stay Negative

I should try harder to be happier. Happiness is a choice? Ah, no more philosophy for now.

Instead, how about we introduce A New Banal Stories Feature?!?! Yes! Ladies and Gentlemen, put your hands together for: My Daily Annoyances: A Retrospective of All That Annoys.

Today's Daily Annoyances:

The Single-Sex Bathroom that Exists Without a Companion Bathroom.

When I stumble upon a Ladies' Room, I expect a Mens' Room to be within striking distance. But on occasion, the drunken architect wishes ill and the risk of bladder infection upon his patrons, and decides against putting the complimentary facility nearby. Instead, he dreams: Let us make it an adventure, a urine-filled scavenger hunt of sorts! Will he make it on time? Oh, I doubt it, for I have been crafty! You see, my dear reader, I trust the general (and foolish!) instinct of the would-be-peeer to waste precious time looking in those "obvious" spots, like across the hall or to the left or the right of the discovered bathroom. But, oh, that would be too easy, now wouldn't it?!? My bathrooms eschew symmetry and ordered design; in fact, they eschew all forms of modernistic efficiency and logistics. They remain separate, unique, independent of another for form, function, and identity. They are the precursors to postmodern gender politics! Ahahhahahahah - just try and find two as one! You will fail. Men, to the basement, where your precious urinal hides at the end of the hall near the Janitor's Closet. Women, to the second floor, where the door to your porcelain thrones appears awkwardly at the landing of a stairway foyer, just close enough for general patrons of the building to hear you flush. You will go where I say, or you will not go at all. Amen.

(Special thanks to the Carpenter Hall at Dartmouth College for the painful inspiration for this feature. My the gods of architecture damn you to the eleventh level of prefabricated Hell.)

The Indy 500

It is race weekend, and although I care nothing for the sport of racing, I love the Indianapolis 500, mostly because it is the most famous, has the fastest cars, draws the most fans, and because my uncle and aunt have been gracious enough to take me twice.

Essentially: extreme excess fascinates me, and Indy is as extreme as one can get - size, speed, attendance, cost, interest, importance, etc. Plus, I like the catch-phrase, "the greatest spectacle in racing." Wow, they couldn't have chosen a better descriptor: spectacle. Amen.

Where else can you see Lance Armstrong, the guys from American Chopper, Third Eye Blind, David Letterman, and Patrick Dempsey all in the same place on the same day?!?

Which reminds me: I was at Indy last year, and the "celebrities" were taking the slow laps around the track in convertible Chevys. I was walking down toward the infield, near the fence, not more than 25 feet from the slowly passing cars. I saw Patrick Dempsey and yelled out "Hey, Patrick, we both know ER is the better show." I'm proud to say I got a laugh from him.

A final image about the spectacle of just how big Indy is: the track's infield can fit Yankee Stadium, the Wimbledon Campus, the Roman Coliseum, the Rose Bowl, the Kentucky Derby, and all of Vatican City within its borders. See here for an image of comparison.

Oh, and I'm not from Indiana, but I understand the hair-on-the-back-of-your-neck-stands-up feeling of provincialism when Jim Nabors sings "Back Home Again in Indiana" before the start of every race. It is warm and beautiful and quintessentially American. Unfortunately, Nabors won't be there this year, but the fans (all 350,000) are slated to sing in unison in his place. What a spectacle that will be!

Avoiding Working on My Final Papers

Billy Bass was funny (read: freaky) for 10 seconds before it became tirelessly unhumourous. This little diddy of American Inventions fails to make it even that long. It isn't hard to see why the Terrorists hate us.

***

When I burp in a room by myself, why do I say excuse me? (Paging Mr. Pavlov...Mr. Pavlov, call for you on Line Crazy!)

***

LOST is (potentially) going in a whole new direction, and the Season Finale left me personally troubled and unsettled. I want to make two points: first, that the title may refer metaphorically to the characters lives before landing on the island, while on the island, and after being rescued from the island. Second, a theme of the first half of the show has been the "failed father figure." Drawing what we can from Jack's "flash-forward" in the last episode, it is possible to hypothesize that a theme from the second half of the show may be "repeating the sins of the father."

***

It is sunny and 81 in New England. I'm going outside...

Noah 2.0

In an attempt to raise awareness of "global warming," Greenpeace is reportedly building a new Noah's Ark on top of Mt. Ararat in modern Turkey.

I'm confused as to how building an ark raises awareness, and am wondering about the following:

1. How many trees did Greenpeace have to cut down to get enough wood to build an ark?

2. It seems like a lot of unnecessary CO2 will be emitted in the process, from plane trips to Turkey, to delivery truck loads of lumber hauled up Mt. Ararat, to deforestation. Could we just hold a press conference?

3. If sea level is only projected to rise 18cm over the next 50 years if nothing is done about "global warming," isn't an ark a bit superfluous? Shouldn't we be building small dikes or filling sandbags instead?

I look forward to Greenpeace's next project: the rebuilding of the Tower of Babel in Iraq as a protest against globalization.

Dare I wonder if they, next year, will celebrate the Passover with fervor anew after recognizing that the killing of the first born may be an answer to the dreadful and increasing problem of global overpopulation?

God help us when they finally get to Leviticus...

American Royalty

The London Daily Mail is reporting that Bush gaffed during a welcoming ceremony for Elizabeth Alexandra Mary at the White House yesterday.

In short, it seems that among other things, it is in bad taste to ;-) WINK ;-) at the "queen."



With a few exceptions, I find the rules of etiquette rather silly and passe, which, if I recall correctly, is the word the French use rather often to describe those things which have "gone by."

Like these aristocratic manners, so too has the "queen's" time passed. The very idea of having a monarchy, however limited or symbolic it is, troubles every democratic sensibility I have. (Related: I laugh a bit whenever the Queen speaks of freedom in the world. Her family/royal tradition has done little for individual sovereignty in the last five hundred years.)

Thus, allow me to make the central point of this post: Many critics, notably high-brow critics, will chide Bush for again failing to act in a manner that could be described as "dignifiedly formal."

But I'm proud of this wink. Perhaps inadvertently, it says: we do things different here in America. We are a little more laid back; we have a Bill of Rights and the right to free speech. If we want to decry the King or President, we can, and not worry about having our balls cut off and hung up as door knockers on the Tower of London. In Texas, we spit, swear, sweat, shoot, shit, and swanker. We do it because we can, because we fought for that freedom, and because such individual expression is the zenith of personal sovereignty in the history of human experience.

You may not like it - many don't; but don't come over to my house and tell me how to act. Margaret Thatcher once put on a cowboy hat and rode horses with Reagan. Why, then, are we putting on White Ties and Tails for a Monarchist who represents the very opposite of Americanism?!?

Time to roll on back to England, Queenie, to the mansion that you didn't build, to the fortune that you didn't earn, and the country that you have done nothing to earn the right to lead. Oh, and enjoy the fact that you don't have to pay any taxes, unlike, say, our President, and every other American who doesn't get to choose whether or not it is proper to be winked at...

I Be Likin' What You Be Saying, Part 2

A seemingly infinite amount of ink has been spilled over the fact that our president isn't the best with words. We now have seven-years worth of Bushisms - a convenient term that does a lot, signifying a lack of intelligence as demonstrated by a malapropism or grammatical blunder.

I use the word convenient because attacking Bush via his speech pattern is an easy (albeit an ad hominem fallacy) technique by which to allude to the overall ineffectiveness of him as a leader and to the untrustworthiness of the policies he supports.

But what if Bush were black? What if Bush were a black conservative who frequently employed Black English Vernacular, a "language" which is teeming with malapropisms, slang, simplifications, and grammatical inaccuracies? Would Bush be dumb then?

Are not those same academics who support the teaching and accreditation of BEV contradicting themselves when they laughingly mock Bush's admittedly non-prescriptive use of English?

Interestingly enough, I've heard from numerous blue-collar workers an appreciation of Bush's linguistic style, for, as these men have said, "He talks like I talk."

Judge all or judge none, but don't judge some and not others. That, again, is called hypocrisy.

I Be Likin' What You Be Saying, Part 1

Save for in a few African-American Studies departments still grasping for legitimacy, the debate over whether or not Ebonics should be taught in schools is over.

But is there a new debate on the horizon, and it depends solely on the issue of whether or not one views Black English Vernacular as a verifiable and legitimate foreign language: should political candidates engage in "Black Talk" when addressing black voters?

The following clip presents such a case:



If BEV is a foreign language, then such a strategy is sensical and in principle no different than when a politician records campaign commercials in espanol.

If BEV is NOT a foreign language, then such an act is blatantly racist.

---------------------------------------------------

That said, hypocrisy is in the air.

One cannot imagine Mitt Romney addressing a black crowd in BEV and not be called a racist by black leaders or the media, even though supporters of BEV-education, who would probably be the first to decry such an act, would be logically trapped by doing so. Of course, logic never seems to matter in cases of race these days.

Why, then, does Hillary earn a pass on this? It seems too simple: because she is a Democrat which somehow is synonymous with black issues, because she is a woman (read: fellow minority), and because she probably supports BEV-education.

"I'ma gonna be work'n real hard fo' y'all up der at dat whyte 'ouse."

It's pandering. It's racism. It's unconscionable. And it's unacceptable for Hilary, for Romney, for Barak, and for the rest.

Somebody - black or white - needs to stand up and put an end to this.

The Lovely Ms. Noonan

During my early twenties I had a love-affair with the prose of Peggy Noonan. I read every word she wrote, losing myself in the simplistic beauty of her words. That time has passed for reasons perhaps unconsidered.

Still, in times of tragedy and human suffering, I always, sometimes unknowingly, find myself searching for her observations, like a lonely lover finding the photograph of an old flame and believing that if he stares long enough, he can for a moment bring back the safety and passion that he once had with her.

In my middle twenties, Peggy often disappoints.

This morning, she did not.

Left, Right, Wrong...

I noted in my last post that certain lobbyist groups will inevitably attempt to appropriate the Virginia Tech shootings for their specific political goals. A quick Google News search for "Virginia Tech" + "Gun Control" (or) "Violence in Films" (or) "Immigration Policy" confirms this prediction.

I once had a professor who drew the political continuum (on which the Far Left and Far Right lie) as a near-complete circle instead of a straight line. In such a rendering, the Far Left and the Far Right were positioned incredibly close to each other at the bottom of the circle, thereby suggesting a similar ideology or modus operandi.

Such a manner of thinking strikes me as particularly apt vis-a-vis the present situation. In response to the VT shootings, the Far Left is crying out for more gun control, and the Far Right is hinting at immigration restrictions and the violent efficacy of Hollywood and the entertainment culture.

Both want more control; both want to identify the specific cause of the shootings; both want to establish their ideological positions (and potential policy) as the measure which preempts future shootings.

Both are wrong.

Both should learn from the position of those Centrists and Libertarians at the top of the circle, who right now are sitting back, mourning, and NOT tarnishing the memories of the dead by suggesting their death was in vain unless we respond politically.

The human potential for evil has been, is, and always will be great - it's intrinsic to our nature. We will continue to suffer from and inflict tragedy, despite efforts to control guns, immigration, and culture.

Tragedy Always Equals Opportunity For Some

I said it on Monday evening, when the reporting frenzy over the Virginia Tech case was at its height: the media, politicians, lobbyists, and ideologues are going to milk this for all its worth.

This case is fertile soil for issue-politics (gun-control, immigration policy, school safety measures) and identity-politics (isolation of minorities, Asian-American assimilation, social outcasts.)

Michael Daly over at the New York Daily News understands this: there is no time to mourn when minds are ripe to be changed. Mr. Daly had enough gall to run this column on Tuesday, the morning after the shooting.

It's lead paragraph read, "Still love those guns, Virginia?" and proceeded to make a "case" for stricter gun control.

What a disgrace.

A Journalist's Libel Loophole

I am reading an article about Mitt Romney that takes the former governor to task for his CEO-mentality, questioning whether or not the hard-nosed, let's-make-a-deal business-mindedness will work either on the campaign trail or in the White House. One paragraph strikes me as particlarly problematic:

But some colleagues found Romney to be manipulative. Romney had an "ability to identify people's insecurities and exploit them to his own benefit," says a source who worked with Romney bur refused to be quoted for "fear of retribution."

There is no way to confirm the validity of this quote. The journalist is unwilling to name the source so as to protect the identity of the source; and even if the writer did name the unnamed source, the person in question could easily deny that he made any such statement at all.

This is a serious problem, and we saw it in the Duke case. The accuser or source goes unnamed, and effectively seizes the power of anonymity to make claims for which there are no consequences.

I recognize, of course, that specific quote above is not incredibly damning. But what if it were? What if an unnamed source claimed that Romney was prone to make racial slurs during board meetings. Would the same journalist be willing to print this information if he could only cite an unnamed source? Probably not, as as case for personal defamation and libel would have a greater chance of succeeding in court than, say, one that merely claimed Romney was manipulative.

But the problem is the same in both cases: journalists get away with printing material that is difficult to defend. But the damage is done, the words are in print forever. The writers may eventually offer an apology or a retraction, but more people are likely to read the first article than some "correction" that is buried at the bottom of page 12 next to an article on this fall's latest runway fashion.

In my not-so-humble opinion, publishing "facts" or quotes about an event or individual without naming their source(s) is shotty journalism. Whenever I read "said one source who wished not to be identified," I disregard the purported statement or fact.

If the source isn't willing to publicly stand up for the truth, they aren't reliable in my book.

We are living in a world of sloppy journalism, where fact and truth have become whatever one works hard enough to make them.

This is What You Get for Making "Runaway Bride"

This might be the shortest post ever, but the opportunity to write the following sentence only comes along once in a lifetime:

They are burning effigies of Richard Gere in India.

Amen, my Indian brothers, Amen.

Duke Boys, Imus, Race, Political Correctness, and on and on and on...

I've been busy as of late, thus spoiling any chance I have had to sit down and drum on the old keyboard. Fortunately, the old mind hasn't been cluttered with any that necessarily had to be put down in writing. But I have read a lot over the last few days on the Imus debacle, the Duke Lacrosse Case, and the always volatile discussion of the climate of race relations in America. Nothing I have to say hasn't alread been said; thus, I offer links to a number of articles that best represent brilliant writing and thinking about the topics at hand.

1. In my admittedly hyper-critical opinion, this article says almost everything that can be (and needs to be) said about the Imus Incident. It is one of those pieces that I wish I had written - thoughtful, challenging, astute, and impressively comprehensive.

2. Cultural critic Dick Meyer steps back from the madness in this article, and considers the American (perhaps human?!?) problem of American schadenfreude.

3. And, finally, ladies and gentlemen, may I present the always entertaining Kinky Friedman, whose irreverent defense of Imus might not be spot-on, but nevertheless provides a great read. Is there anything better than spitfire Texan prose? Besides, the title alone makes it worth reading: "Coward's Kick Away Another Piece of America's Soul." I suspect Kinky titled his own piece, but if not, some headline writer at the Post deserves a raise.

Justice (Finally) Prevails

For over a year, justice, fairness, and the presumption of innocence have been dragged through mud in North Carolina. Finally, thanks to the resignation of Mike Nifong months ago, some real prosecutorial work has been done by the State's DA office, which has seemingly come to the non-political conclusion that no real crime was committed in erroneously-titled "Duke Rape Case."

ABC News is reporting that North Carolina Attorney General Roy Cooper will soon announce that he is dismissing all charges against three Duke Lacrosse players. The question remains, however: What took so long?

Nightline ran a segment last night recapping the key events of the case. It is well done, and credit must be given to ABC News for being one of the first and most vocal investigators of the real facts. It's fitting that it is the first mainstream news organization to break the news of the dismissal of charges:



KC Johnson appears in this video. His blog has been an invaluable resource for justice in this case, functioning both as an archive of the incredulous comments and actions of the prosecutors and lynch-mob mentality of the accusers, and as a shining example of the possibilities of effectual blogging.

Ahmadinejad's Artists

No thoughtful nation, person, or government of the world wants Iran to develop nuclear weapons. But beware of the formidable Iranian propaganda machine, for it makes some convincing, if not heart-wrenching arguments. And now they've cornered the market on nuclear graphic-design artists.



I don't know about you, but this picture just makes me want to say, "You know what, maybe it isn't a good idea theoretically, but doesn't President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad just look so damn cute in front of the flag? It's like a high-school science fair, and he gets high marks for showmanship! Somebody get this man a blue ribbon and some high-grade plutonium!"

The Imus Issue

I have no interest in commenting on Imus' "nappy-headed hoes" remark - enough has already been written on the wrongs and general melee of the incident as a whole.

But I will post the following video and pose the following questions:



1. Why are there innumerable photographers/videographers in the studio?

2. What does Sharpton hope to accomplish by having Imus on the show?

3. Was anything accomplished?

4. Is an identifiable punishment required for a racist/stupid comment, or is general public scorn sufficient enough?

5. As noted by others, if Imus' show really is a comedy show, and racist comments (both by blacks and whites) proliferate comedy clubs across America every night without comparable outcry, why is Imus held accountable and comedians are not? Is the medium of radio different from stand-up comedy in terms of appropriate material?

Doral Frost Was Right and I Was...

Spend five or ten awkward minutes in the Men's Magazine section at your local Barnes & Stables, and most likely you will discover that either the publishing industry or the consumer market has decided that American Masculinity in the early 21st Century concerns itself mainly with: boobs, ab-workout programs, near-naked chicks, motorcycles and hotrods, high-end material goods, and extreme sports. On the rarest occasion, some fearless feature writer will slip in a piece about literature.

But it is not often that spirituality weaves its way into Men's Magazines. Yes, I suppose one could make the argument that there is a subtle spirituality to all of this - a spiritualism or faith in masculinity itself. But the fact that we have to turn to an argument that draws on the wholly symbolic, figurative, or metaphorical demonstrates the overtness by which faith-based issues are left out of Men's Magazines.

Imagine my surprise, then, when I stumbled upon the following passage in the most recent edition of Men's Journal-Adventure Life:

So who is responsible for the evolution of Mark Wahlberg? Let's start with Jesus. Wahlberg has gone to church every Sunday for years, and he has a tattoo of a rosary and cross around his neck and chest. "I listen to the sermons on the radio on Sunday, and they all seem to be speaking direclty to me," he says. While filming the upcoming Shooter in rural British Columbia, he still sought out a place of worship. "Sometimes I'd be like, 'Mark, do you know even what kind of church they have?'" says director Antoine Fuqua. "He didn't care." Wahlberg's eyes lit up when I asked him if David O. Russell's Buddhist leanings had influenced him on the Huckabees set. "Not only did it not rub off on me," he said with glee, "but David Russell is now officially rolling with Jesus."

Admittedly, I almost missed this paragraph, as it was buried near the end of a rather engaging piece on America's Favorite 1990's Rapper-Turned-Movie Star (with apologies to Ice Cube). When I realized what I was reading, I stopped, and read the paragraph again. This is a remarkable section, I thought. And here's why:

1. Mark Wahlberg, arguably a solid archetype of a guy's guy, is openly and cooly talking about his spirituality and general commitment to Christianity.

2. The feature writer was so impressed by such religious dedication that he marked it first in terms of what transformed a troubled-youth with self-destructive behavioral patterns into a "Hollywood Power Player."

3. Neither Wahlberg nor the writer dwell on the point (or any other point for that matter) so as to make the piece solely about religion, thereby suggesting that masculinity, identity, and personality are multi-faceted indeed.

4. Doral Frost was right.

Of course the first three points speak for themselves, but the fourth requires explanation.

King Doral Frost, you must know if you have not heard, is an old friend of mine. Like many old friends in very good stories, he posses an identifiably unique characteristic: a certain penchant for the ridiculous, as demonstrated by such acts as training for a marathon in LUGZ boots, burning his college notes and textbooks a priori graduation, and baking a cake for a prospective mate with the hope that she holds a special (if not strange) place in her heart for the romanticism of Napoleon Dynamite. Naturally, I encourage these things in his life so as to feed my archive of interesting-cocktail-party-stories.

But perhaps above all else, Doral yearns to believe in the general goodness of men worldwide. A practicing Christian himself, the King looks for the slightest shred of evidence that may suggest that some public figure believes in the saving power of Jesus Christ. Consequently, many nights at the bar are filled with Doral's insistence that he heard from a friend whose cousin lives in LA and works at a night club where Sean William Scott sometimes comes in for a drink that Johnny Knoxville might be a Christian.

I will be the first to admit skepticism for these stories, and often deride their telling publicly, using phrases like, "That's the stupidest fucking story I have ever heard," or "Do you know what the mathematical probability of that story being even remotely true is?"

And to his credit, Doral usually either laughs and says, "Well, you're probably right, but here's to hoping that it is true," or he offers yet another even more ridiculous story about the reliability of the evidence of the first story based on a just-as-if-not-more impractical set of circumstances.

All of this becomes important when you add to the mix the fact that Doral's greatest celebrity hero is Marky-Mark Wahlberg. And while I cannot remember specifically the dates and times of the insistences, I am positive that King Doral has encouraged all of us to believe that Mr. Good Vibrations became Mr. Good News of Jesus on numerous occasions.

To which I am almost surely positive that I responded, "So you are telling me that Marky Mark, underwear model for Calvin Klein, porn-star in Boogie Nights, and all-around bad-ass and sex-God who carries himself in a way that seems to suggest that he doesn't give a shit about anybody but Wahlberg and his boys, is a Christian? That's the stupidest fucking story I have ever heard."

In writing and in speaking, there are many sentences I aim to avoid; one is "Doral Frost was right, and I was wrong."

But I'll be damned: Doral Frost was right, and I was wrong.

Here's to you, Doral.

And another one for your optimism.

Don't stop believin'...

The First Post

After I had the idea for this blog and before I settled on a topic for this first post, I attended a dinner discussion that set out to explore the relationship between intellectualism and faith. At said meeting, I proffered two positions: first, that the theoretical and practical mutual exclusivity of the two concepts is both artificial and intellectually dishonest; and second, that somehow the act of taking offense - either intellectually or emotionally - to a faith-based or intellectual position may have contributed to the aforementioned divide between the two abstractions.

A comrade of mine picked up on this latter point, affirmed it, and extended it by suggesting that those who take offense to a particular intellectual, moral, or even general perspective/expression demonstrate either a personal insecurity or a less-than-resolute ownership of an intellectual position, to which a fine young woman responded by crying and whimpering through the tears that it "hurts her feelings when someone disagrees with her," for she "really cares about what other people think [about her]."

Well break out the lollipops and songbooks and let's all dance around the rainbow of happiness, consensus, and downright communal agreement.

When did disagreement become taboo? When did free expression of thought, opinion, worldview, and criticism become an act to be avoided at all costs? When did impudence find itself unfairly linked to free speech?

I have neither the will nor the time to explore the history of political correctness and speech control and the effect of each on our present culture. But I offer this story as a starting point for the following blog; may this forum be a place for the open exchange of ideas, the confrontation of grim realities, the critical analysis of difficult but fascinating theories, and the reflection on our own convictions...

...and may it also be a repository of the generally fatuous, boorish, and downright hilarious that inevitably weaves its way into our daily lives.

So with a nod to both the ironic and prescriptive reading of this blog's title: Here's to the Banal Stories.

Cheers.