Nothing's There

The film "I'm Not There" reminded me of everything I hate about the sixties: faux-zen emptiness spouted as deep wisdom, self-absorption as folk religion, the fetishization of black people as markers of authenticity, the humourless preaching of a small-town church with even less prospect of redemption. Allegedly a film about Bob Dylan, he is portrayed at various stages in his life by superficial archetypes ranging from a black child to a white woman, each doppelganger more grating and hackneyed than the last. Cate Blanchett in particular is unwatchably successful in revealing the petulant twelve-year old girl in Dylan's psyche, whining for her cake while slovenly eating it too. Each characterization shows Dylan in various stages of a search for a model of authenticity to imitate, from Woody Guthrie to Arthur Rimbaud to James Dean to Billy the Kid to Jesus Christ to an earlier version of himself, increasingly contemptuous that no one calls him on his bluff. If this was an intentional attempt at character assassination, I applaud the filmmaker's sublimely subversive way of going about it under the cover of idol-worship; if not, perhaps this inadvertent defamation is all the more revealing of the dismal qualities we assign and expect of our cultural heroes. Their narcissism writ-large inspires awe in our culture of narcissism writ-small.

In case you didn't know, this film makes assuringly clear that: Dylan wears masks, takes on different identities, is enigmatic and open to interpretation. Besides this hammering of the nail of the obvious, there is no pathos to be found here, no insight to be attained into the reasons behind the masks or how they interacted with the flesh-and-blood person grafted beneath; he/she/it's greatest trouble seems to be dealing with the apparent soul-rendering difficulties of being almost universally adored. This is a common Hollywood trope, a recurrent sign of its self-mythologizing: that there is something noble and sad about being paid attention to the world over. That having scribes present to record your every vapid uttering, being photographed as if the most banal moments of your life had meaning and attending parties full of people eager to physically or socially give you fellatio is an endless horror-show. Unlike non-musical actors, Dylan actually had the talent to justify some of the attention. Yet this film, accurately or not I cannot say, shows him to be the prototypical celebrity narcissist: his legacy not the fulfillment of a rural American tradition of folksy crypto-meaning, but the unsettling disappointment of a charlatan who gets exactly what he wants.

Mad Albanian Airborne

I sat next to a crazy person on a plane. The man appeared to be from the Albania end of Europe, alternately raving, mumbling, arguing, lecturing and singing foreign melodies to himself. His hands fidgeted, fumbled with a cigarette carton, played with the latch on the fold-out tray and otherwise went through the motions preceding a full nervous breakdown. One of the few garbled words emerging from his heavily accented incoherence (I call it Schizoslavian) was "terrorists," a bad sign. Sitting next to a crazy person without inadvertently contributing to his craziness takes a careful balance. On the one hand, making eye contact or exchanging pleasantries with him is liable to encourage his mania. On the other, acting visibly perturbed or affected by his presence could offend him, and an offended crazy person is a crazy person liable to take crazy measures to challenge your notion of him being crazy.

So studiously ignoring him in a nonchalant manner seemed the best approach. Still, I was annoyed. A quote from Albert Camus came to mind: "Nobody realizes that some people expend a tremendous amount of energy merely to be normal." I expend that energy. I have an internal dialog with myself, I feel the urge to sing to myself, I feel like fidgeting wildly a times: but I restrain myself. I engage in calming thoughts to loosen my nerves. I catch myself when my hands are doing weird things. I promise myself I won't blow my top: I make that sacrifice for the sake of civil society. So why can't he? I realize there's a difference between being eccentric and schizophrenic, and we likely fall on different sides of that divide: but still, that's what I thought to myself. It's not that I felt better than him because he was crazy and I'm not; I felt better than him because his craziness was undisciplined while I could at least restrain mine on an airplane.

I don't know this potential-Albanian's life story. Maybe his entire village was raped and pillaged in front of him, earning him a refugee status in Canada that gave him material comfort but none for his mind. Maybe he was a boy-genius headed toward a career in neurosurgery in Bratislava until he began experiencing signs of schizophrenia at age 16, causing his parents to send him away to be raised by nuns. Maybe these nuns had just sent him away for the first time on an airplane, to find a new life in a distant province. All I can say for sure is that he had no people or even bags with him, and no one waiting for him at the airport. He took a cab and disappeared into the city.

The Will To Blood & Madness

The second and fourth words in the title of "There Will Be Blood" encompass the arc of the film for me. It is a story of sheer will, the mania of forward motion without end, and how this must inevitably lead to rupture. The plot doesn't matter so much as the characters, an oil prospector and a would-be prophet. The disheveled, mustachioed look of Daniel Day Lewis's character by the end of the film reminded me of Saddam Hussein, and with the important exception of context this could be his story too. It is the story of a personality type, one destined for a greatness and a madness that are inextricably linked. Mania, properly channeled, is charisma. Someone who's mastered their mania can achieve fantastic ends. But it is the nature of mania that its mastery is almost impossible. It is difficult to "switch off" mania, which is also its power. It bleeds authenticity. We take maniacs seriously because they take themselves seriously. It's not an affectation, it's in their blood. And we are interested in maniacs because, to some degree, it's in our blood too.

There is one scene in the film that reminded me of someone I once knew. In this scene, the oilman, Daniel Plainview, confronts a rival businessman at another table in a restaurant. He is driven to achieve social mastery, humiliating the other man by getting him to call himself a fool and drinking his drink. The power and weakness of the Plainview character are the same: he has no regard for social convention, only his own will to domination. The other man backs down because to him projecting an image of domination is not worth a potentially violent showdown. He is thoroughly civilized while to Plainview civilization is only a thin veneer. Yet this small act of barbarity is an example of why Plainview has achieved success. He gets the power he wants because, when it comes down to the core, most people prefer other things to power. They prefer comfort, stability, family. Plainview is offered a million dollars for his property, but rejects the offer, making explicit his reasoning: he would have nothing to do if he retired, he would be a man without purpose. Plainview is not ruthless to achieve an end, a life of money and leisure; he is ruthless because ruthlessness is in his blood.

The second major character in the film, a young evangelical preacher named Eli, reinforces the link between will and madness. As in business, the key to being a charismatic religious leader is never to be the one to blink. If you blink, if you hesitate, if you make clear you question yourself, other people will question you too. The mass of people want to listen to someone who believes, because they themselves are so full of doubt. If they are not capable of complete and total belief, they will gladly submit to one who does for the promise of meaning that is offered. That desperation for meaning is a matter of life and death, as incidents such as the Jonestown massacre make clear. Eli does not have the economic or political power that Plainview has, but he has power over people's souls. This power, in a pivotal scene in the movie, allows him to put Plainview in a position of submission and humiliation. Plainview and Eli speak the same language in different contexts, believing in the same power of self-fulfilling illusions that is at the basis of religion. In a church or at a business meeting, the principle is the same: will your illusions into authenticity.

Such sheer, unbridled will ends in madness and bloodshed when it is not anchored in some stability of the soul. It can succeed in the short term but it can never be happy with success. I mentioned before how I knew someone a bit like Daniel Plainview. This person wasn't talented enough to achieve anywhere close to the same measure of success, but in social situations his similarly intertwined strength and fatal weakness became obvious. His strength was that he brushed aside civilized trappings to really engage people, grab their attention and achieve social power, but this was also his weakness. At a certain point, having engaged people, one must disengage from this level of intensity for reasons of both personal sanity and social belonging. Yet he was incapable of disengaging. He made people uncomfortable. His aggressive intimacy was a prelude to alienation, his will to master everyone ending in his own deserved isolation. The urge to dominate can get someone to the top of the mountain, but just as surely it will pull them back down to the bottom: to finish, in history's most extreme example, by suicide in a bunker. Will is in the blood, and both are only made visible when they are spilled.

The Many Richard Nixons

Richard Nixon is my favourite modern President to study because he was human. Inconsistent, paranoid, troubled, and he loved his mother. Okay, there's Watergate, but who would you rather have helming the United States in a crisis, Bush or Nixon? People forget China and his war on cancer. As Joni Mitchell intoned, You don't know what you got till it's gone.

Manic Street Preachers - The Love of Richard Nixon:

The world on your shoulders
The love of your mother
The fear of the future
The best years behind you
The world is getting older
The times they fall behind you
The need it still grows stronger
The best years never found you

The love of Richard Nixon, death without assassination
The love of Richard Nixon, yeah they all betrayed you
The love of Richard Nixon, death without assassination
Yeah they all betrayed you
Yeah and your country too

Love build around the sandy beaches
Love rains down like Vietnam's leeches
Richard the third in the White House
Cowering behind divided curtains

The world is getting older
The times they fall behind you
The need it still grows stronger
The best years never found you

Ah, the love of Richard Nixon, death without assassination
The love of Richard Nixon, yeah they all betrayed you
The love of Richard Nixon, death without assassination
Yeah they all betrayed you
Yeah and your country too

The love of Richard Nixon, death without assassination
The love of Richard Nixon, yeah they all betrayed you
People forget China and your war on cancer
Yeah they all betrayed you
Yeah and your country too

In all the decisions I have made in my public life,
I have always tried to do what was best for the nation.
I have never been a quitter

The Man In His Own Words:

"Only if you have been in the deepest valley, can you ever know how magnificent it is to be on the highest mountain."
- Nixon, the Phenomenologist

"You can't depend on the man who made the mess to clean it up."
- Nixon, the Cleaning Lady

"The Bohemian Grove, which I attend from time to time — it is the most faggy goddamned thing you could ever imagine, with that San Francisco crowd. I can't shake hands with anybody from San Francisco."
- Nixon, the Glad-hander

"Decorators. They got to do something. But we don't have to glorify it. You know one of the reasons fashions have made women look so terrible is because the goddamned designers hate women. Designers taking it out on the women. Now they're trying to get some more sexy things coming on again."
- Nixon, the Fashion-plate

"This is the greatest week in the history of the world since the Creation."
- Nixon, the Hyperbolizer

"Don't get the impression that you arouse my anger. You see, one can only be angry with those he respects."
- Nixon, the Cool Cucumber

"North Vietnam cannot humiliate and defeat America — only Americans can do that."
- Nixon, the America-Firster

"If you want to make beautiful music, you must play the black and the white notes together."
- Nixon, the Sop

"If you can't convince them, confuse them."
- Nixon, the Strategist

"I would have made a good pope."
- Nixon, the Papist

"I also believe that academic freedom should protect the right of a professor or student to advocate Marxism, socialism, communism, or any other minority viewpoint — no matter how distasteful to the majority."
- Nixon, the Free Speech Advocate

"You know what happened to the Romans? The last six Roman emperors were fags. Neither in a public way. You know what happened to the popes? They were layin' the nuns; that's been goin' on for years, centuries. But the Catholic Church went to hell three or four centuries ago. It was homosexual, and it had to be cleaned out. That's what's happened to Britain. It happened earlier to France. Let's look at the strong societies. The Russians. Goddamn, they root 'em out. They don't let 'em around at all. I don't know what they do with them. Look at this country. You think the Russians allow dope? Homosexuality, dope, immorality, are the enemies of strong societies. That's why the Communists and left-wingers are clinging to one another. They're trying to destroy us. I know Moynihan will disagree with this, [Attorney General John] Mitchell will, and Garment will. But, goddamn, we have to stand up to this."
- Nixon, the Historian

"I have the greatest affection for them but I know they're not going to make it for 500 years. They aren't. You know it, too. The Mexicans are a different cup of tea. They have a heritage. At the present time they steal, they're dishonest, but they do have some concept of family life. They don't live like a bunch of dogs, which the Negroes do live like."
- Nixon, the Negrophile

"People react to fear, not love — they don't teach that in Sunday School, but it's true."
- Nixon, the Sunday School Teacher

"The power was nice, but frankly I could've used more power."
- Nixon, the Underpowered

"What starts the process, really, are laughs and slights and snubs when you are a kid. If your anger is deep enough and strong enough, you learn that you can change those attitudes by excellence, personal gut performance."
- Nixon, the Indomitable

"Many Jews in the Communist conspiracy. ... Chambers and Hiss were the only non-Jews. ... Many thought that Hiss was. He could have been a half. ... Every other one was a Jew — and it raised hell for us. But in this case, I hope to God he's not a Jew."
- Nixon, the Philosemite

"In the television age, the key distinction is between the candidate who can speak poetry and the one who can only speak prose."
- Nixon, the Media Critic

"The jawbone of an ass is just as dangerous a weapon today as in Sampson's time."
- Nixon, the Weapons Analyst

"What are our schools for if not indoctrination against Communism?"
- Nixon, the Educator

"So few of those who engage in espionage — are Negroes. ... In fact, very few of them become Communists. If they do, they like, they get into Angela Davis — they're more the capitalist type. And they throw bombs and this and that. But the Negroes. — have you ever noticed? ... Any Negro spies?"
- Nixon, the Racial Sociologist

"The Chinese use two brush strokes to write the word 'crisis.' One brush stroke stands for danger; the other for opportunity. In a crisis, be aware of the danger - but recognize the opportunity."
- Nixon, the Sinophile

"Nowadays, If a news report does not tie up loose ends as neatly as 'The A Team', it is considered a flop."
- Nixon, the Media Critic #2

"You know, it's a funny thing, every one of the bastards that are out for legalizing marijuana is Jewish. What the Christ is the matter with the Jews, Bob? What is the matter with them? I suppose it is because most of them are psychiatrists."
- Nixon, the Philosemite #2

"Americans admire a people who can scratch a desert and produce a garden. The Israelis have shown qualities that Americans identify with: guts, patriotism, idealism, a passion for freedom. I have seen it. I know. I believe that."
- Nixon, the Zionist

"Any nation that decides the only way to achieve peace is through peaceful means is a nation that will soon be a piece of another nation."
- Nixon, the Realist

"Certainly in the next 50 years we shall see a woman president, perhaps sooner than you think. A woman can and should be able to do any political job that a man can do.
- Nixon, the Feminist

"I don't think a woman should be in any government job whatever. I mean, I really don't. The reason why I do is mainly because they are erratic. And emotional."
- Nixon, the Anti-Feminist

"I don't mind the homosexuality. I understand it. Nevertheless, goddamn, I don't think you glorify it on public television, homosexuality, even more than you glorify whores. We all know we have weaknesses. But, goddammit, what do you think that does to kids? You know what happened to the Greeks! Homosexuality destroyed them. Sure, Aristotle was a homo. We all know that. So was Socrates."
- Nixon, the Gay Rights Activist

"Always remember others may hate you but those who hate you don't win unless you hate them. And then you destroy yourself."
- Nixon, the Psychologist

"Short of changing human nature, therefore, the only way to achieve a practical, livable peace in a world of competing nations is to take the profit out of war."
- Nixon, the Pragmatist

"I am not a crook."
- Nixon, the Denier

Zombie Revolutionary

Che instructed his Revolutionary Tribunals: "We don't need proof to execute a man. We only need proof that it's necessary to execute him. A revolutionary must become a cold killing machine motivated by pure hate."

Shortly afterwards, Che's father in Buenos Aires received a letter from his prodigal son. "I'd like to confess, papa, at that moment I discovered that I really like killing."

"If the nuclear missiles had remained, we would have used them against the very heart of America, including New York City," Che Guevara confided to the London Daily Worker in November 1962. "We will march the path of victory even if it costs millions of atomic victims. ... We must keep our hatred alive and fan it to paroxysm."

In the halcyon post-revolution days, Che was made Governor of the National Bank, his face appearing on the two peso note. Magnum photographer Rene Burri - he took another defining photograph of Che, eyes blazing, cigar clamped in the side of his mouth - tells this story about the haphazard creation of Castro's first cabinet. 'One of Castro's aides asked, "Is there an economist in the room?", and, to everyone's surprise, Che stuck up his hand. Because they were all in awe of him, they voted him governor of the bank. It turns out Che had misheard the question. He thought the guy had asked, "Is there a Communist in the room?"'

'There is a sense, seldom articulated, that Che, for all his heroism and romance, was a wild card, and that even Castro realised this relatively early on,' says Lawrence Osborne. 'He had this Jack London-style attitude to revolution as one great big unending adventure, but none of the political maturity to deal with the practical realities of making the country work. He had this Castilian Spanish upper-class guilt about the working class and peasants that he never quite overcame. For all the noble impulses that drove him, and I think there were many, Che's whole life could be read as a foredoomed attempt to leave his own class.'

In his "Bolivian Diary," Guevara laments not recruiting a single peasant to his army. Some peasants thought that Guevara and his men — whose months in the jungle had left them with unkempt beards and tattered clothes — were wizards.

“If in doubt, kill him” were Che’s instructions.

Unfortunately, Cuba had no raw materials for heavy industry, and, as a consequence of the revolutionary redistribution, it had no hard currency with which to buy them—or even basic goods. By 1961, Guevara was having to give embarrassing explanations to the workers at the office: “Our technical comrades at the companies have made a toothpaste ... which is as good as the previous one; it cleans just the same, though after a while it turns to stone.” By 1963, all hopes of industrializing Cuba were abandoned, and the revolution accepted its role as a colonial provider of sugar to the Soviet bloc in exchange for oil to cover its needs and to re-sell to other countries.

In 1965 Ginsberg was deported from Cuba for publicly protesting against Cuba's anti-marijuana stance and its penchant for throwing homosexuals in jail, but also for an alleged remark referring to revolutionary Ernesto "Che" Guevara as "cute."

The Observer: Just a pretty face?
Che Guevara: 39 Years of Hype
The Killing Machine: Che Guevara, from Communist Firebrand to Capitalist Brand
Following in Che's Footsteps
Unofficial Biography

The Many Mussolinis

"I? I am not a statesman. I am more like a mad poet."
- Mussolini, The Mad Poet

"The Socialists ask us for our program? Our program is to smash the heads of the Socialists."
- Mussolini, The Anti-Socialist

"The mass, whether it be a crowd or an army, is vile."
- Mussolini, The Man Above Yet of the People

"If I go forward, follow me! If I go back, kill me! If I die, avenge me!"
- Mussolini, The Eternal Champion

"The bullets pass, Mussolini remains."
- Mussolini, The Self-Mythologizer

"Every anarchist is a baffled dictator."
- Mussolini, The Anarchist Fulfilled

"Lenin is an artist who has worked men, as other artists have worked marble or metals. But men are harder than stone and less malleable than iron. There is no masterpiece. The artist has failed. The task was superior to his capacities."
- Mussolini, The Anti-Lenin

"Blood alone moves the wheels of history."
- Mussolini, The Blood-Driver of History

"War alone brings up to its highest tension all human energy and puts the stamp of nobility upon the peoples who have the courage to meet it."
- Mussolini, The Warrior God

"The history of saints is mainly the history of insane people."
- Mussolini, The Fascist Saint

"I intend absolutely to stop periodic attempts against my life. I say this not on account of myself, because I truly love to live in danger, but on account of the Italian people."
- Mussolini, The People's Egoist

"War is to man what maternity is to a woman."
- Mussolini, The Alpha Male

"Ruling the Italians is not difficult; it's pointless."
- Mussolini, The Governor of the Ungovernable

"The best blood will at some time get into a fool or a mosquito."
- Mussolini, The Wit

"To live is not to calculate, it is to act."
- Mussolini, The Master Actor

"All within the state, nothing outside the state, nothing against the state."
- Mussolini, The Totalitarian

"This is the epitaph I want on my tomb: 'Here lies one of the most intelligent animals who ever appeared on the face of the earth.'"
- Mussolini, The Intelligent Animal

"For my part I prefer fifty thousand rifles to fifty thousand votes."
- Mussolini, The Democratic Pragmatist

"I have never made mistakes when I have followed my instincts, but often when I have obeyed my reason."
- Mussolini, The Man of Instinct

"Let us have a dagger between our teeth, a bomb in our hands, and an infinite scorn in our hearts."
- Mussolini, The Romantic

"Women are like sardines, best kept in tins."
- Mussolini, The Ladies Man

"I am not a collector of deserts!"
- Mussolini, The Collector of Deserts

"Youth is beautiful. I love the young even when they bear arms against me."
- Mussolini, The Lover of Youth

"Youth is a malady of which one becomes cured a little every day."
- Mussolini, The Lover of Age

"Race! It is a feeling, not a reality; ninety-five per cent, at least, is a feeling. Nothing will ever make me believe that biologically pure races can be shown to exist today. Amusingly enough, not one of those who have proclaimed the nobility of the Teutonic race was himself a Teuton. . . National pride has no need of the delirium of race."
- Mussolini, The Anti-Racist

"Kindness can never be excessive."
- Mussolini, The Gentleman

"The Jews have lived in Rome since the days of Kings [and] shall remain undisturbed."
- Mussolini, The Protector of the Jews

"Thirty centuries of history allow us to look with supreme pity on certain doctrines which are preached beyond the Alps by the descendants of those who were illiterate when Rome had Caesar, Virgil and Augustus."
- Mussolini, The Anti-Nazi

"Seven years ago I was an interesting person. Now I am a corpse."
- Mussolini, The Living Corpse

"Yes, madam, I am finished. My star has fallen. I work and I try, yet know that all is but a farce. . . I await the end of the tragedy and--strangely detached from everything--I do not feel anymore an actor. I feel I am the last of spectators."
- Mussolini, The Last of the Spectators

"Every one dies the death which befits his character."
- Mussolini, The Self-Prophet

"Shoot me in the chest."
- Mussolini, The Chest Wound Victim

Further Ruminations On A Human Nothing

"Well he never bleeds and he never fucks and he never leaves 'cause he's got bad luck. Well he never reads and he never draws and he never sleeps 'cause he's got bad blood yeah. I'm a stain, I'm a stain, I'm a stain, I'm a stain."
- Nirvana, "Stain"

If I had to sum him up in one word it would be this: furtive. I've lived with him for seven months and today he asked me where I was from. I don't even think he means to speak and behave with such quiet irritation and understated contempt; it just comes naturally. I was going to write that he seems misanthropic, but misanthropy is too cool a word for it. Nietzsche was misanthropic, and this guy is no Nietzsche. A better term would be homophobia, but in the sense of fearing not just homos, but all homo sapiens.

I come downstairs to get a drink and he's watching TV. So as I reach into the fridge he turns it off and leaves. I walk upstairs and his door is open. As soon as I'm in my room it shuts. Are these intended as signs of disrespect, or simply unconscious manifestations of his wider hostility toward the human race? Being a polite and moderately gregarious person, I'm inclined to engage in small talk, at least of the hello and goodbye variety. I've given up saying even those things to him due to consistent lack of reply.

At this point you might be thinking that this guy is cooler or smarter than me; that he has a legitimate reason to feel superior. I say, as a generally humble person, that this is not the case. Cooler? He has by all indications precisely zero friends. Smarter? If so, he does a swell job of hiding it. I don't view him with hatred because to be hated requires a personality strong enough to be worthy of such a strong emotion. I don't view him with pity because he seems more than content with his lifeless existence. I suppose I would classify my feelings toward him as mildly amused amazement (that such a person exists), mixed with casual contempt.

Pity & The Parasite

"You've changed the locks three times, he still comes reeling through the door..."
-- Radiohead, Just

"Let me assure you I have the mind of God." Pity is the only thing still holding me to this guy, and it's dwindling fast. He comes over unannounced, despite repeated and no longer even subtle hints that he's unwanted. I've come extremely close to the edge, but I've never bluntly told him to fuck off. Whenever I'm about to he comes up with some ridiculous shit, like telling me I'm definitely going to heaven or that everybody likes me. I know it's over-the-top, sycophantic babble but somehow it makes me hesitate when I'm getting ready to kick him out.

I engage in the slightest token of greeting and he doesn't even have to be told, just assumes, that I don't want him there--"You're doing work, right?" Maybe the fact that I'm physically blocking the doorway to my room makes it obvious. He spots a bottle of Jack Daniels--"Aha, a chemical"--and lays down exactly $2.75 for a swig. I tell him that I don't want his money, but he taps into my draining reservoir of pity. I let him have some and proceed to not quite subtly hint he should go. There follows one last pathetic attempt to win me over--he offers condoms because I'm going to have sex "at least two, three times this week"--before he leaves. Finally.

But no. I hear his loud and hysteric voice from downstairs. He's on the phone with his mom; arguing, laying his heart out, eventually crying. "I remember when I was sick and you would run a hot bath for me," he weeps. Shut the fuck up! He confesses that he's going to come home drunk and on drugs, that it's not his fault, that she's the fucking Virgin Mary. Needless to say, he also mentions something about his psychiatrist. "Shut the fuck up and leave" I keep repeating to myself, not wanting to go downstairs and be caught in his desperate web again; which is what he undoubtedly wants.

I hear him tearfully say goodbye. There's silence. Is he gone? Apparently not. I hear weird rattling noises, footsteps, then the sound of something smashing. I finally walk downstairs, fearing the worst, but nothing's broken and he's really gone this time. Or is he? I hear a muffled voice and put my ear up to the front door. Sure enough he's talking loudly outside, either on the phone or to himself. Probably to himself. Hopefully not to me. Then his voice fades off and he's gone. And I curse my goddamn pity.

Portrait Of A Human Nothing

He doesn't drink. He doesn't do anything illicit. He doesn't go out. The only people who call or see him are, on occasion, his immediate family. He listens to hackneyed nu-metal bands but never at any volume--which sort of defeats the purpose. He also plays the guitar but, again, never loudly or with any discernible passion. His hobbies include doing dishes while giving people accusatory looks, making grilled-cheese sandwiches, sitting in his room for days on end and roller-blading alone.

In appearance he is resolutely non-descript, though with a vague but hard-to-miss troglodyte streak, as if his ancestors had lived in underground caves throughout most of human history. He is a physical coward and would never openly engage in a fight, but isn't afraid to give looks of disgust and superiority to anyone engaged in any activity he doesn't understand. Such activites include socializing, drinking, raising one's voice above a dry monotone and being a man.

His moods vary between sulky, dour and offended. He closes his door whenever a voice or note of music can be heard, and isn't afraid to tell people to quiet down on a Saturday night. He neither accepts nor gives apologies. He rarely replies when people say hello or goodbye to him, and is only comfortable engaging with people when they make small talk about hockey. He has never displayed or indicated the slightest bit of interest or contact with the opposite sex, but seems decidedly more asexual than homosexual. His name is Brian, and he is a human nothing.

50 Cent: Terrible Human Being

50 Cent, in his existential inaninity, is a perfect example of an unfortunate model of human behaviour. He is a living embodiment of stylized emptiness, an imposing shell with nothing inside. He has achieved widespread fame, power and influence, and uses them for no greater purpose than self-promotion. The fact that he was able to portray himself as a hero in his film Get Rich or Die Tryin' is a sad reflection of the depths our common culture has sunk to. There have always been "artists" who made music solely to get rich, but they would at least try to create the illusion of depth. Life may or may not be "a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing," but if it is, 50 Cent's music is the perfect soundtrack.

What 50 Cent represents, to borrow a controversial phrase, is the triumph of the will. He has risen from the depths of squalor to a position of authority, which is no mean feat, but he is a failed human being because he contains (or at least portrays) nothing but will. Machiavelli is infamous for his guidebook on unscrupulously gaining and maintaining power, but it is usually overlooked that he wrote The Prince to lay out a formula for a leader who could unite Italy and rescue it from foreign invaders. Even Hitler had a vision to match his will, as obscene and irrational as it was.

But 50 Cent is a man of no vision. If he were a world leader, he'd be a tinpot dictator of a third world country without even the pretense of an ideology or of working for the good of the nation. He would reward his crypto-blackshirt G-Unit cronies with cushy ministerial positions while seeking to squeeze the populace dry. CDs, movies, books, video games: anything to keep the money flowing and the cult of personality alive. But how to keep the people content, how to stop them from seeking a fresher disposable idol when you have nothing new to say or do?

As befits a man with no original ideas, he looks to the gangster rap models of the past. Feuds of course! Just like Orwell's constant conflict between Eurasia and Oceania, 50 Cent's feud with The Game is a meaningless farce beneficial to both sides. They can have no substantive differences because neither one has substance. They both draw their material from the same dried up well of gangster cliches, minus any of the intricacies that made, say, Italian gangsters compelling characters. No codes of honour, no ties to the home country, no sense of family: just the shiny objects and oversized clothes of an overgrown toddler who doesn't want to share his playpen.

If 50 himself deigns to read this, I have some serious words of advice. You have proven yourself capable of gaining power, riches, fame, influence. You have taken an ugly face and limited intelligence and built yourself an empire. You got rich and you didn't die. But now what? There's a larger world out there. There's a larger world inside yourself. Long ago the purpose of art, yes, including hip hop, was to express, to subvert, to teach, to enlighten, to inspire. Ask yourself questions, read books, learn the value of self-deprecation, befriend people outside your narrow scope of existence, challenge your fans, experiment with your style, and realize that maybe, just maybe, there are greater accomplishments in life than getting shot nine times.

Eddie Vedder: Not A Better Man

Here's what I hate about the song "Better Man" by Pearl Jam: it's supposed to be a heartbreaking, gut-wrenching, emotional rollercoaster of a song. It's got Eddie Vedder's trademark plaintive wail, which he's used to pantomime the pain of others so well before: from the abused daughter in "Daughter" to the abused driver in "Rearviewmirror" to the abused Jeremy in "Jeremy" to... well, pretty much every Pearl Jam song ever written.

It's a tiresome formula, but my distaste for "Better Man" isn't because of the creative retreading--it's because it exposes the hollow core of Eddie Vedder's victim fetish. Before "Better Man," the protagonists of Pearl Jam songs were at least abused, denied the identity of their father, rejected by peers, etc. But the only complaint of the protagonist in "Better Man" is that she can't find a better man. That's her problem, that's her great tragedy: in this age of chatrooms, bars, dating services and unprecedented social networking, she can't find a better man.

I'm reminded of Jerry Seinfeld's bit about women complaining they can't find men. "We're everywhere!" is his reply. Can't find a better man? Lower your standards! If you want a nice guy, there are plenty of ugly men out there who will treat you like a queen. If, as I suspect is supposed to be the case, the protagonist of this song is dating an asshole: tough luck! You're the one who tolerated his frat-boy antics because he's the captain of the football team or whatever. You're the one who dug the shallow pit you've fallen into.

If it were a woman singing the song, there could at least be some measure of experience behind it to make the lyrics ring true. At least when Eddie Vedder sang "Don't call me daughter" there seemed to be some pathos behind the snicker-worthy chorus. But in "Better Man," Vedder is simply pandering. The worst part is, I don't even think he's consciously pandering: he just has such a messiah complex that he really believes he feels the pain of women with less than perfect partners.

I've read the lyrics to this song. There is no mention of abuse, not even verbal. The protagonist of this song is not a victim, just a kvetcher, and a cowardly one at that. This isn't Saudi Arabia: if your man gained some weight since you married him, or he's too busy trying to provide for the family to nurture you all-day long, or he won't go down on you in bed, just leave him! Don't complain, don't watch the clock, don't "dream in colour" or "dream in red" or whatever other meaningless sub-poetic dreck Eddie Vedder spews out. Just go!

You know what angers me the most about this song? Eddie Vedder thinks he's the "Better Man." He feels the pain of menopausal women undergoing midlife crises, he's sensitive, he's compassionate, he probably thinks porn should be illegal and penetration is rape. That's the underlying message of this song: to make women in normal, stable relationships go "Gee, I wish my man was more like Eddie Vedder. He really knows how I feel! He'd never go out on a Friday night to the bar with his friends. He'd stay home and cuddle with me."

Guess what, Eddie. I'm not buying it. You're not a better man. You can try to feel the pain of every rote victim in the world, but you'll never be the sufferer you think you are. You're a rock star. You're a millionaire. You're married to a model. You're real name is Edward Louis Seversen III for Christ's sake! Dream in red all you want, but don't try and pretend it means anything.

The Stupid Web Site Backlash!

I've gotten a lot of replies to my Stupid Web Site case study. While most people appreciated it for what it was, the author of the site stumbled on to it as well and made some objections. So I'll address them here, to be fair, and also for amusement's sake, as this kind of spectacle should not be kept confined to a simple Comments box.

Stephanie Writes:

Dear Ann,

So hey.geez nice to know YOU have nothing better to do with ur time but write about me? hmm thanks im flattered lol especially since what u like to focus on is my insecurities? lol.ok ima put this straight i didnt make a fan art section FOR people to make Fan Art i was sent pictures made for me and i labeled it fanart! I DIDNT PUT IT THERE TELLING PEOPLE TO make me shit! oh woops back to the insecurities dont tell me im insecure cause u dont know me, but u go ahead and think what u want about me it doesnt bother me.my site is shit?thats nice thats ur opinion its there to post pictures WHO FUCKING CARES IF SOME pages are up and running and some arent!!

My Reply:

Writing is a hobby of mine, as is humour, and when I stumbled on your web page, it screamed opportunity. I guess I was writing about you, technically, but the purpose was: A) To make people laugh, and B) To point out some unfortunate trends as far as the Internet, girls, and the human race in general goes. You can take it as an ego stroke if you'd like, but you and your web site were simply incidental examples of a larger trend I was poking fun at: the trend of egomaniacal, poorly done, body-whoring web sites by webcam-loving girls. As for the fan art thing, maybe people did send you fan art, but none of it was posted, leading me to the hilarious conclusion that you were desperately whoring for fans that didn't exist.

Stephanie Writes:

Dear Ann,

I do have better things to do with my time thank you then fully run a site that I really dont care to much about if u went to it as much as u act like u would know that by looking at dates.. and my weight?how does that makes me insecure or a bad person!? you dont know me so stop actin like u do. mai god get a life stop tryin to put people down if u thik that makes u a good person then by all means keep doing what ur doing.porn star my ass.
Oh i have followers?look at all urs.
xoxo
stephanie
how ghetto i have to post my comment in 2 boxes.. ut oh u better work on that

My Reply:

You have better things to do with your time than run your web site, fine. But if anyone puts anything on the Internet, it is open for ridicule. That's just the nature of the game. As far as your weight goes, I didn't actually bring it up, other people did. I was trying to be tactful. Some might say that people of a certain weight aren't doing themselves any favours by dressing a certain way. But not me. I didn't say anything. I don't know what the follower thing you mentioned is about, but the comments thing is ghetto, you're right. Thanks for the heads up.

Stephanie Writes:

Dear Ann,

Oh one more thing.. How does being on any rating site make me insecure?? Im on them for something to do when im bored and home.. but lol ok.. im waitin for my next comment from u in my guestbook.. u and that slut shannon entertain me.. come on IM WAITIN

My Reply:

The wait is over!

Being on one rating site doesn't necessarily make you insecure. Maybe you're doing it just for fun, fine. But when you're on about seven or eight, something's wrong there. If you were completely happy with how you looked, you wouldn't be so desperate to be rated. In fact, if it makes you feel any better, consider this a rating site, but not just for looks. I'll give you a 5/10. You get marks for not just saying "F*ck you hater!!!" over and over again, which is what I would've expected. So props for that, if nothing else.

Stupid People's Stupid Web Sites: A Case Study

I've sometimes wondered to myself: What does the most terrible personal web site in the world look like? And which kind of moron's is it? I'm not being rhetorical when I ask which kind of moron. I really want to know: Is it an old moron? A young moron? A male moron? A female moron? Well, I've found the answer. Visit http://monarchchild.cjb.net with me, and follow along.

Exhibit A: The Greeting Page
Cheesy pink font. An animated cursor. A picture of a makeup-splattered girl in a trucker's hat, her face making a pouty, I'm-a-barbie-AND-a-porn star pose. But the best part: In the menu, along with Bios, Photos, and so on, is listed Fan Art. Try clicking it. You'll find it doesn't work. Now click everything else. You'll find that every other link does work.

My conclusion? The only thing worse than creating a web site so internet stalkers can make art of you, is creating a web site so internet stalkers can make art of you, and having none of them show.



Exhibit B: Bio
Enjoys partying? Check! Enjoys dancing? Check! Uses the term *woop woop*? Check! Likes both boys and girls? Check! Likes Christina Aguilera? Check! Slut? Signs point to yes! But she reminds us, "LOOKS arent everything! please learn to realize that." Now let's move on to her page full of revealing web cam pictures.

Exhibit C: Pictures
Three pages of pouty poses, slutty poses, chest shots, lower body shots, bling shots, ass shots with the words "MonarchChild's Big Booty" across them, and a picture of her holding an "I'm not easy, but we can discuss it" sign.



But my absolute, all time favourite:



The asterisks are a nice touch.

Exhibit D: Art

The "art" is pictures of her looking sullen, with some photoshop effects sprinkled in, and words of wisdom like "You can't draw Perfection" overlaid. The poetry is about a depressing heartbreak. Fair enough. Except you'd think, at least for her poetry, she'd start using apostrophes. But no, not even for her poetry. Let's end this segment with some of her art, shall we?



Exhibit E: Contact Info

Her email address begins "Monkey_bunny_spanker1718" and she is a member of EIGHT sites with names like http://www.ratemybody.com, http://www.bodylikewoah.com, and http://www.bangme.net. I never thought I'd be forced to use the phrase "Insecure much?" but...

Exhibit F: Links

Included on her list of links: Her own page.

And with that, I'm done. Was I needlessly cruel? Was this exercise just as banal as the banality it was supposed to be making fun of? Am I an asshole? In response, I can only say:



Good night and God bless.