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Nietzsche and the Nudist I'm not a regular reader of the Sun-Times, but flipping through a discarded copy today I came across this column by Richard Roeper. It's an amusing little piece on why activists, protestors, and such should always do their work naked -"A naked protest is a safe protest." His reasoning being that most protestors aren't going to be shaking their little tushes on the catwalk anytime soon. What set my mind scurrying was a sense of deja vu sparked by his justification for this last.
" [. . . ]Good looking people have a built-in aversion to almost all forms of activism, [. . .] They're not angry, they're not bitter, they're not spoiling for a fight. They walk around thinking, "What's everyone so pissed off about?"
Or, in a nutshell, they are without what Nietzsche would call rancor or ressentiment.
"-the rancor of beings who, deprived of the direct outlet of action, compensate by an imaginary vengeance. All truly noble morality grows out of triumphant self-affirmation. Slave ethics, on the other hand, begins by saying no to an "outside," an "other," a non-self, and that no is its creative act. This reversal of direction of the evaluating look, this invariable looking outward instead of inward, is a fundamental feature of rancor [. . .] it requires an outside stimulus in order to act at all; all its action is reaction."
Obviously, Nietzsche was referring to more than just beauty, but still, it seems to widen the angle a bit on the slathers of different protestors we have here in the States.
Fanatics and Rock-n-Roll 09/30/02 1:09 PM Sometimes atheists can be as fanatical and annoying as those [insert religion here] evangelist. Now for a screeching U-turn- Sometimes when I play guitar for an extended sessions, the strings literally shred the tips of my fingers. Strips and chunks of skin slough off onto the strings and then a particularly violent chord launches the phalange pieces into the air. Wiping down the strings afterward always yields a nice grease-dirt-skin mixture on the cloth. Oh yeah, guitar playing is sooo sexy.
Another Review 09/29/02 3:39 PM I've posted a review of Mark Danielewski's House of Leaves over at Blogcritics.
He's a hypochondriac, hy-po-chooon-driac on the floor, and he's sick like he's never been sick before . . . . I've been fighting a cold and/or the flu for about two weeks now. I'm sure you care, but stay with me for a second. It started with a sore throat, stuffy head, and a fever bad enough that I would wake up in the middle of the night and need to change my sweat soaked shirt. The fever and sore throat went away in a couple of days, but the nausea, tense neck muscles, headache, and aching muscles in my legs are still lingering.
And the people of the Blogsmos spake in unison, "And we should care because . . . ?"
Today in the mail, I received a pamphlet entitled What's the What with Meningitis? from some campus deptartment or other. I flip through it waiting for the elevator.
"Symptoms [. . .] include a high fever, severe headache that will not go away, a stiff neck, rashes, nausea and vomiting, an overall feeling of lethargy and sleepiness, and in some cases, various degrees of mental confusion."
I freaked, just a little. How very hypochondriac of me, I know, but with the exception of the rashes and the mental confusion (Note: mental confusion is excepted due to the fact that it started roughly 29 years before the other symptoms) everything else fits. I particularly find it strange that I received the pamphlet today. Any health professionals out there that know about the ol' Meanie Meni, leave a comment and tell me I'm being absurd.
09/27/02 7:02 PM The Hoover Maneuver
Another endangered species.
Are you Bowlingual?
Ooh! Ooh! 09/27/02 2:04 PM Da Goddess has the coolest neighbor. I NEED one of these kits. With a length of over 5' and nearly a 4' wingspan, it might cause some trouble here in Chicago . . . but damn it would be fun to build and fly.
Cagey - Pt. IV The questions burned through my mind like anhydrous through a meth-lab, producing about the same result. Thoughts echoed on and on without decay. It seemed like study hall was the only time I stopped thinking. It didn't matter what senseless question Brett had put in my head that morning, or what test I had just failed - as soon as Sarah walked up and said, "Hey, Baby!" in her amazingly bad imitation of Butthead, all previous thoughts were forgotten. Left in some archive room in my mind. Lights out, door closed. Gone. It was a feeling that lingered even after she had sauntered off to her Journalism class, and I was sitting smack dab in the middle of formaldehyde and frog guts. Always drifting away in wisps, and I invariably struggled to hold on. Like trying to continue a dream even after you feel yourself waking up. The problem was that I didn't just come down to whatever state could be considered normal for a teenager. As my elation and her perfume floated away, depression tumbled in with the questions to fill the increasing void. That last 40 minutes or so of school were brutal. Everything became highly unimpressive. Everything felt pointless. School, Brett, my feelings for Sarah, life . . . everything.
Make up my mind already 09/25/02 10:29 PM "It is the little things in life that count." "Don't sweat the small stuff."
Well . . . which is it?
I'm not worthy! 09/25/02 9:53 PM Many humble (and belated) thanks to Sin Qua Non Pundit for the linkage. If you haven't already, go there. Now. The Scourge of Richard Cohen alone is worth more than the price of a lifetime subscription to the Washington Post.
Again with that damn horn 09/25/02 12:21 PM My first review (Robert Plant's Dreamland) should now be up at Blogcritics.
And I say unto you, "What has been the effect of coercion? To make one half the world fools, and the other half hypocrites."
Fluff and Stuff Consider this feedback I received on an in-class essay exam:
"The facts are well positioned, described, and interpreted, but not enough narrative - add some fluff."
Fluff. This seems to be a reoccurring sentiment from professors on my writing, although this is the first time such a technical term as "fluff" has been used. Which brings me to another oddity in my (late) college career. Papers that I dash off the night before in a flurry of repetitive, space filling words get better grades than papers in which I build and present a hard case without the use of filler. There is something very wrong somewhere. Maybe it is with my writing, or perhaps the problem lies with the professors. I can only wonder
You should serve Pepto with that 09/23/02 8:44 PM No. Thank you, but no. Seriously, I couldn't. I'm stuffed. No, really. I can't eat anymore shitburgers this semester. Yes, I know I'm paying you some crazy cash, but somehow I thought this was going to be more of a buffet style - you know, a little liberal, a little conservative, a little libertarian. I certainly didn't realize it was going to be multiple servings of the same post-modern entree.
Hey, who's horn is that? Somebody liked Ode to Spyder.
I've been pondering renovating the ol' Hotel for some time, and learning that the load time falls somewhere just under a year for some people, means I need to get busy.
Whatcha got there? Analog Roam has some live bootlegs of new Radiohead material. Download them here. via Blogcritics
Propaganda, Refined
Any advice on how to survive a M
When a professor states that, "Thomas Jefferson was a Classical Liberal racist as well as a Classical Liberal sexist."
What does that imply? I'm not going to argue whether he was or was not a sexist and racist. I have neither the energy or the desire. What gives me a seriously annoying brain-wedgie though, is the fact that in one sentence he has associated the Classical Liberal with both racism and sexism. Behold, the art of subtlety.
Woo Hoo! 09/22/02 3:47 PM
Earth from Above This is what I saw tonight.
Some seriously cool, seriously luminous, and seriously color saturated photos of dear old mom.
Reality Check! (or, Why My TV Sits in the Closet) Ananova recently reported that producer RJ Cutler, among others, is working towards a "reality" based show to elect the next U.S. President. Cutler was quoted as stating, "We will be making available to every American who is qualified, by virtue of the Constitution, the opportunity to run for president."
Firstly, "by virtue of the Constitution" this opportunity already exists for those who meet the requirements. If you want to argue that the show will provide promotional and monetary backing for the winner, fine, but the opportunity is already there. Secondly, does the American public (myself included), who continually decry the joke that we call political campaigns, harbor the desire to contribute to the mockery? And speaking of the American public, is there anyone out there that actually believes any of these shows have even the tip of their rhinestone covered toes in reality?
Good Cellkeeping (or Martha in the Big House) 09/19/02 8:19 PM Go check out Gigglechick's latest offering.
Cagey - Pt. III 1/2
The biggest
problem with Brett wasn’t his uncertain questions, it was what they led to.
Like those damn pyramids. I
mean, it didn’t take long for me realize that if you could see all the sides
of a pyramid at the same time, it wouldn’t look much like a pyramid anymore,
but I always had this unsettling feeling that I was missing something.
There was something about seeing that polygon covered page that created
an uncertain void in my mind. A
blank expanse where all possibilities seemed equal.
I felt like I was in a rowboat on the ocean with no land in site. Where do I go from here?
My mind drifted to other things. I
thought about Sarah. Did she like
me? Was I just another jester in
her court? There were no answers, just more questions. How
do other people see me? Maybe
Burk was right. Maybe I just needed
some perspective, but how do you get perspective on yourself?
Can you possibly see yourself in all the ways that others see you?
The Genius of Pup (or Spin This!) 09/18/02 9:19 PM I think Pup has a pretty good idea over there on the Tag Board. If you're a regular, or even if you just took a wrong turn on your way to the porn show, take a second to scrawl what you're currently using to abuse your speakers.
Holy Schmoly 09/18/02 11:28 PM The Hotel Illness has been banned in China. I didn't realize I was so controversial. What a strange, strange world we live in . . . Click here to check yours
Cagey Pt. III Study hall was held in the lunch room. Assigned tables of course - two to a table. By alphabetical fate I was granted a table with Sarah Finlay. A senior of the prettiest persuasion. What could have been 50 minutes of high school hell turned into the best period of my day, although I often wondered if it wasn’t torture for Sara. For days, I just sat there sweating through the arduous task of acting normal. Sara didn’t do homework, not in study hall anyway. She always picked up a Cosmogirl or some such magazine from the library. Sometimes, she just wrote in her notebook. The intrigue of that notebook consumed my adolescent mind. Somehow, those hallowed pages were the key to everything. Weeks went by, routines developed, and I realized that no, I most likely didn’t have a booger hanging out of my nose and even more likely, she wouldn’t have noticed if I had. I still couldn’t get up the nerve to say anything beyond a whispered ‘hi’, but I did managed to actually study or read or doodle without feeling like the flustered freak I was. And that is what I was doing when she spoke. Doodling, I mean, not being a flustered freak. Drawing pyramids. The page nearly covered with what amounted to a 4 year-old’s rendering of the pyramids. “So, what’s your sign?”
I glanced up to see who she was talking to.
There was no one there. She
was looking right at me. She
spoke to me. She spoke to me!
Say something. Now’s your chance say something witty so she’ll see how
cool you are and not just a freak now’s your chance what are you waiting for
SAY SOMETHING!
“Huh?” Ohhh . . . real cool.
dumbass dumbass dum- “What’s your sign?” Something happened. My nerves shut down. I stopped thinking. Maybe it was all the shit with Brett, or maybe it was weeks and weeks of hyper self-consciousness around her. All I know is that I giggled. “I’m a Pisces, but never mind that. What about you, baby? Come here often?” She looked at me, her face blank. I was still giggling, and I didn’t even care. I was delirious. And then. She giggled. Giggling turned into laughter. Mr. Macrory’s stare threatened us both with detentions, and still we laughed. Waterworks and the whole bit. He handed us pink-slips. We giggled our apologies, and finally managed to quiet down. She read, “If there was any question, you should know the answer. The 12th will bring an emotional release, as a realization of how good things really are enlightens. Luck showers you on the 18th, but be extra cautious on the 27th.”
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Illness
