Why a Duck?

Found Art.  I call this one, "Speak no evil, see no evil, duck."  Seems to me as good a dodge as not listening.

ABC's Secrets of Your Mind Remain Secret

Here at the end of the summer of 2010, "ABC News" began a new "summer series" called "Secrets of Your Mind: Why We Do What We Do."  The promo that attracted me and several of my friends said, "Love is Like Cocaine!"  The show promised to unlock the mystery about "why some people choose lust over love," and what aspects of our brain function can cause confusion between the two. 

Tonight on ABC: Cynthia McFadden explores the brain in love. What does love look like in the brain? Can you be addicted to love?

That's not what it was about.

But I believed the promos, and so I watched, this distinction being so potentially fascinating to ascertain. 

Maybe they will unlock the mystery in their telling of the newlyweds who ride a motorcycle (man driving/ woman in side-car) on a 20,000 mile trip from Alaska to Tierra del Fuego, in efforts to create a working metaphor for fifty years of committment.  No. The ride was about the couple's ability to endure difficult circumstances and not break up.  Okay, maybe the show will unlock the mystery after we see brain scans of the couple pre- and post-trip to find out whether they're really in love. They're truly terrified when the second of three scans suggests the thrill is gone, and thrilled when the third confirms their enduring love.

Perhaps now, in the second segment, they will unlock the mystery!  No.  The next piece is about a man with so much repressed disdain for his wife he falls asleep if she so much as looks at him.  But nobody looks at the psychology of his malady or how tragically sad it is that she believes his ploy - I was editorializing in that last sentence.  The story simply reviews instances of the man dozing off in the face of kindness.  Poor fellow can't even go on a stroll through the rose garden at the park with his wife without having to sit down and contemplate his navel for ten minutes.  Imagine, a grown man not wanting to spend his day off taking a gentle stroll through a rose garden!  We don't get any analysis of his condition, but we see him fall asleep in lots of places.  Here he conks out on the couch.  Here he nods off during his dinner.  Here he makes it all the way up the stairs and into bed. 

And speaking of bed, the man can have sexual relations of purely carnal nature, but if any intimacy enters the room, he's out for the count.  The wife shows McFadden their new dog.  She can't pet her husband without him slipping into a paralytic mini-coma, so they got a dog so she can express her love.  Although when he does nod off within arm's reach of her, she reaches over and gives his beard a little caress and scratch as he goes under.  I'm not minimizing her suffering. It is bad.  It is sad:  but I'm watching the show to find out about why some people choose lust and others choose love.

We're departing segment two and heading into the commercial break before the third story.  Here's the promo again! The mystery is about to be unlocked!  This time it's real!  The neurologist leans in toward McFadden.  She says the chemical pull of lust - and love - is poweful!  McFadden says, "So Love is like cocaine?"  The neuroligist echoes, "Only it lasts longer!"  

Twenty minutes left in the show. I'd hoped they'd go into enough detail on the subject to fill an hour, but twenty minutes is better than nothing.  Now the mystery will be unlocked! 

Not quite. Now McFadden tells the story of a man who survives an absolutely horrific car accident and loses his memory.  At first she says the man can't remember anything about his life before the accident, including his wife. He struggles to recover the life she (and friends and family) confirm existed before the crash because he doesn't remember her, but he knows he trusts her.  Now there's something to explore, McFadden.  Ah but here is the man telling us he has no ability to remember.  Over pictures of his life before the crash, McFadden's voice over declares, "He can't remember anything!" [Why is McFadden using that whiney emphatic Diane Sawyer tone?]

Here he is relearning his life.  Here he is responding to his wife. Here he is playing catch with his children.  These are the children that were created in the years after the accident.  McFadden does not address the fact that he didn't forget how to toss a ball back and forth.

Now it's 10:54 and they're going to commercial again.  Maybe the answer to the mystery is so precise  McFadden only needs a minute to clarify why some people choose lust and others choose love. 

Back from break it's 10:58.  Show's over.

The stories took cursory looks at a few qualities: enduring committment, fear of failure, the desire to test the ties that bind, persistence of heart, and the tenacity of emotion.  All of these may or may not be components of love, but they are not what's at the heart of love.

This is what I think happened:  ABC bought this story because it had had a sexy pitch, "We'll look at the brain in love and lust!  We'll interview a neurologist and use brain scans!" The producer liked the title and the promise and sealed the deal before the research was even started.  Had McFadden dug into the question and showed the satisfaction of true love and the unhappiness of an unravelling lust, that would have been fascinating, truly a show to love.

That dang show made me stay up too late!  It teased my hopes that the mystery at the heart of romantic struggle would be unlocked, explored and made understandable!  That show did not deliver what it promised.

Odd, that's just what lust does. 

Well at least lust is exciting. 

This thing wasn't even interesting.

Curses.  Foiled again.

George Harrison's Website

Yesterday I quietly thought about George Harrison. Today someone sends me this:

http://www.georgeharrison.com/

I remember once in an interview he explained the concept of time as a pizza instead of a line.  That is far more sensible to me.

I read in Eric Idle's book that he read the script for "Life of Brian" and financed it because he "wanted to see it."

He was a good friend to all of us when we were kids, teens, and now - even though we never met.

The End.

What's a Moment?

We have guest blogger today, Will Hoffman. This is "Moments", a project for RadioLab.

Thank you to Ze Frank for finding and sharing.

Here's what I have to say about it:

We gather them, we spend them, they define us as we make them; we have them and they have us:

The Hairstylist and the Lady Who Went to Rome

A woman tells her hairstylist about her upcoming trip to Rome and meets with less than enthusiasm. Yet another classic piece of anonymous literature is immortalized on video. Yes, I made this one, too. The joke's origin is unknown (though I got it from Barbara H. Thanks Barbara!)

Romeo and Juliet: Balcony Scene (abridged)

In my latest animation made using xtranormal.com, I decided to test the master playwright against the robots. It's a close call, but the playwright won!

Or is it because I've seen so much bad Shakespeare, and so read it to get past the bad acting, that my ears would hear the poetry anyway? A major point for the robots, they don't fall into the rhymey sing song that humans are prone to. But the gesturing, well, I guess it's universal!

Dweamy

Today we have a guest video by that famed artiste, Johnooo:
The Lunch Hour

The Importance of Being Present

The Captain must communicate an urgent message to her chief minion, Rarthon - but he receives a text!

The Dog Nose

A new video created on xtranormal.com. Turns out if you use the default characters you can make animated videos for free; while if you choose from the menu of "talent" you need "points" to make animations (points cost money).   Here we have another literary classic made into a mini-play for your entertainment and education.

Ghost Town Tumble Weed Papers

A piece of philosophy for future writers: your friends won't read your stories.  If you give your stories to your friends, you'll always wonder, if they say nothing, whether they read your stories and didn't have the heart to tell you they didn't like them, or if they just never got around to reading them. Chances are, since you're their friend and they hear your voice enough day to day, your stories will wait, but won't be read.

So either way, it's a pinch for you.  So, send your stories to strangers if you want them read. In the old days, we submitted to magazines and got form letters back.  Now adays, we can blog, which is nice, 'cause friends might read a blog and can comment anonymously, and yet you will never know if they ever even looked so you'll be free to stew about your characters instead of your friends. 

And that is the end of this story, my friends.

It Calls for Understanding II

"Simple Complexities" says the phrase, "It is what it is" equals, "I don't want to talk about what matters to you right now."  I agree!  Saying "It is what it is," is not an acknowledgement that is meant to comfort or calm, it's a power move, and a rather aggressive one at that, meant to put a stop to what is perceived as a complaint, to halt to a nagging concern. Not only is it rude, but it does nothing to resolve the issue at hand. 

How about this: "That's a fact!"  Well, there it is. 

"I sure am upset about the oil catastrophe in the gulf."

"Well, it is what it is."

"I feel so hopeless now!"

"That's a fact!"

The Past is Prologue (Again)

Here is a brilliantly presented historical view that needed to be said and needs saying again about the insidious history of the “good ol’ boy” mentality – and the actions it generates!

"Rachel Maddow explains that the Sherrod scandal-spun-out-of-thin-air is political strategy to stoke fear and racial resentment among white voters."

Seek and Go Find

My latest cinematic marvel, created on www.xtranormal.com/ "If you can type, you can make movies". Fun! At this point you can't really preview before publishing (unless you have lots of time on your hands) so pardon any questionable gesturing.

My, What a Lovely Brain You Have, My Dear...

Some people are just impossible, aren't they?  Inherited brain traits are not necessarily bound up by fate.  But to understand complicated personalities, it helps to understand how how the brain functions.

Who Turned Out the Lights?!

Prince says the internet's over.  I tend to agree, but think he's about ten years ahead of his time (as usual).  At the end of the brief article he mentions the uselessness of the quick information and numbers our techo toys fill our heads with.  He's got a significant point there - the constant jumping around the virtual world is depleting our attention spans.

Follow the train down the track a little: as attention spans decrease, the ability to explore anything in depth decreases, and boredom sets in.  So we have all these toys and flashing lights and we're bored because we're really not studying anything.  And what do bored people want? Entertainment!  And what did Julius Caesar say about that? I'll paraphrase, but he said if you can keep the masses entertained you can put pretty much anything over on them.

(Hey, where'd the Gulf of Mexico disappear to?  And what the hell happened to the economy?  What do you mean affordable higher education in California is falling into the sea?  What Texas sized plastic garbage patch in the Pacific ocean? I don't see it on Google Earth...)

I love the internet, it's fun and useful, I'm just calling for balance, and if Prince says it's over let me weigh in to suggest it's just not the be all and end all we've made it out to be.

I saw a promo for a TV show where people were actually racing to pull kleenexes out of boxes.  How long can ya watch something like that before you need something new?  Now: how about humanity spending its free time learning about each other, maybe even considering ways to address the needs of societies and nature?  How about solving problems instead of turning away to lucious little fixes?

Oh the notion is complex, it might induce meaningful conversations leading to increased compassion and passion for life!  Why, we might go outside at night, away from the glowing screens, ponder the stars again and consider our place in the universe.  Somebody could fall truly in love!  The moon would glow a little brighter!  Interactions beyond the 134-character limits might just take hold and soulfulness would ensue! 

I might laugh!  I might write a poem or paint a picture beautiful enough to make me cry! 

And here I am all out of kleenex.

Good Practice

People like to say that if it weren't for the bad times, we wouldn't appreciate the good. I wholeheartedly disagree! I guarantee you I would LOVE all good, all the time, even with no contrasting agents to spell it out for me.

Of course the cynic might suggest the absence of bad would neutralize good.  Then a conversation could go on for hours engaging the concepts of good vs. bad, or holy vs. evil.  But even an argument wouldn't need to exist if all good was pervasive.

But what about people's different definitions of good?  Ah yes, thinking from here in 3D that is a problem. Some people find others' bads good and others' goods bad.  Maybe that's why the concept of Heaven was invented.   What would happen if everyone on this earth, regardless of their dogmas, just said, and meant, and acted upon the following for a complete year: "Today I will work to see how heavenly I can make this earth."?  I bet we'd find more agreement about the nature of good than we would discover through academic argument.

...but maybe some people wouldn't want to do this because they feared it wouldn't be good, or their minds were the literal kind that would presume this meant a remodeling of the earth to mimic their envisioned heaven.  I don't think we could make enough dry-ice fast enough.  And here we have the not-good on the first day of all-good.  Great.

Don't Call it a Spill, Call it a Blowout

"Words matter,"  See http://thisisnotaspill.org/what-is-spill/

"This is not a spill. A spill is what happens when your toddler knocks over a tumbler of milk. A spill is what happens when you turn over that bucket of soapy water while washing your car. It’s not what happens when you leave the water hose running for days. Or weeks. Or months. A spill is what happens when a fixed quantity of fluid accidentally escapes its container. Connotatively, spills are small."

-thisisnotaspill.org

Yes, technically a "spill" could be huge and out of control, but thisisnotaspill gets it right - we think small when we think "spill".  "Don't cry over spilled milk!"  "Spill the beans [and tell your secrets]."  "Spill your guts! [and make your confession]."  We need to start using language that conveys the enormity of this global hemmorage, no that still says it too small: this gaping bleeding wound, no that's not it, this disasterous massive... come to think of it "blowout" is too humble a term, too.  BUT, it's a start.

Thank you Kathy Gill, for reframing the story more appropriately (and for the photo above captioned: "Thick oil in the waters and marshlands along Louisiana’s coast, near Pass a Loutre (19 May 2010). Via Gov. Bobby Jindal's Office").  Thank you also to Spyra for drawing attention to the thisisnotaspill.
And hang on a minute: how did we make ourselves vulnerable to this kind of money-first global management strategy?

Also see the Rolling Stone article: "The Spill, The Scandal and the President: The inside story of how Obama failed to crack down on the corruption of the Bush years – and let the world's most dangerous oil company get away with murder."

And in another some-odd few years, when people start chanting about "government regulations threatening our freedom!" you can mention the catastrophe above (or go back a year and a half to Wall Street, which we're still paying for.  Note to self: pay credit card at 26% interest by the 20th to avoid $30 late fee), or you can simply agree with them.  Say, "Yeah!  And let's start by getting rid of all those damn government run traffic signals!"

We Are Just Too Much

"It's nonending for a while."

Sludge oil slick lands on Pensacola beaches.

Music and Mourning

In wondering where a particular common quote came from, I found this:

The Mourning Bride

Musick has Charms to sooth a savage Breast,
To soften Rocks, or bend a knotted Oak.
I've read, that things inanimate have mov'd,
And, as with living Souls, have been inform'd,
By Magick Numbers and persuasive Sound.
What then am I? Am I more senseless grown
Than Trees, or Flint? O force of constant Woe!
'Tis not in Harmony to calm my Griefs.

Anselmo sleeps, and is at Peace; last Night
The silent Tomb receiv'd the good Old King;
He and his Sorrows now are safely lodg'd
Within its cold, but hospitable Bosom.
Why am not I at Peace?

William Congreve, 1697

Oil Over Again: Greed Kills

I conjecture BP never had any intention of cleaning up the spill or stopping the flow because their objective - since even before the explosion on the rig - has been to get that oil and use it as product at any cost (hence ignoring the rig workers' safety complaints and firing those who spoke up too often and slowed production).  BP's concern is that the well blew up and now they're losing money.

So, resources haven't been poured into stopping the spew, they've been dedicated to salvaging the well's production. Attempts to cap off the gusher with domes and boxes, covering it up with mud, were ruses. That trick where they sawed off the pipe ahead of the kink causing a tremendous increase of the flow? That wasn't a prelude to putting a lid on the force of oil, it was readying the pipe surfaces for a fitting so they could siphon oil off to a tanker. Mere prep work. As I've said here before, any six year old who's played with a garden hose could tell you those methods wouldn't work.

Public outcry surprised them with its insistence, first as a buzz of a mosquito they thought they could wave away and now like a buzz of maybe half a dozen mosquitoes, they eighth-heartedly wave their little hands toward solving problem by making grandiose "attempts to cap the well!" So far they have seemed simply stupid: but you don't get that rich being stupid, unless you're stupid like a mega-macro corporation! The smart people are the ones tasked with finding a way to salvage product (and the boss' people pleasers are the ones making up the dog and pony show as we go along).

Even though BP has such extensive wealth that if they were to put massive effort into a 100% clean up of this mess they'd still be solvent, that's not where the money is: Their response, lack of contrition and inability to admit full financial responsibility urgently and above all demonstrates they do not perceive the issue at hand to be the ocean, sea creatures, beaches, wetlands, tourism, or the fishing industry (when they get their lives back, they can have steak instead of seafood).  As for the lives and generations of fisherfolk who rely on small boats in one considerable geographic patch of sea? Piffle!). 

There is no concern for the overall health of the planet let alone the immediate health of those affected by the toxic mess.  BP blamed the sickening of the first of the clean up workers on food poisoning.  Stopping the loss of potential profit is the only problem they're intent on solving.

Watch the story unfold: they will capture most of the oil.  They will get the leak down to about 20% and return to business as usual, if we let them.  And it's likely we will come to accept the sludge slick that slathers its way around the planet for the next generations, just as we have accepted the Texas-sized Great Pacific Garbage Patch.

Witness our friends and family trip to El Capitan beach in California a couple of years ago.  As the sun set, an oil slick that had been hovering off the coast (from the derricks off the coast of Santa Barbara) came to shore.  We couldn't get back to our campsite without walking through it.  We all complained as we wiped the crude off our feet and sandals with nice greasy lotions, but we accepted it as normal, though frustrating, because Santa Barbara beaches have *always been like that.

I am not quick to take a cynical view, but this one's just too obvious.

*First trip to Santa Barbara beaches circa 1968.  We swam and ran and played and laughed.  I got freckled and blonder from the sun and my dad taught us how to get crude oil off our feet using margarine and paper towels.