Now what?

Things have been a bit of a blur for me lately, and I feel a bit self-conscious about slacking off... especially here on Serendipity. As many long-time readers of this blog know (and I honestly don't expect that there are many of you left), not too long ago I posted every single day. That's why I have arrived at my thousandth entry after a mere three years. Alas, such productivity couldn't continue forever. Of course I've been posting poetry and the occasional local events update. But I wonder who I'm serving at this point, and I'm not certain the answer is not "nobody". I do know that I exhausted the essay format I was using for much of the past few years. Perhaps I'll be inspired to return to that someday. I can't make any promises.

I had grand plans of doings something special for this occasion. I thought maybe that I'd go out and celebrate or (god forbid) write something extraordinary. Obviously the plans have changed, and you are getting this instead. I'm taking stock here, folks. A lot has changed in my life over the last three months and I'm still rearranging things. Perhaps I simply haven't felt emboldened enough to lay it all out here on the net. But I'm trying not to beat myself up over all of that. I do feel I've earned a break.

There have been a lot of benefits to doing this project, but very few of them match my original expectations. I've written book reviews that have resulted in personal and direct contact with the authors of some of those books. I've also generated some fairly robust hatred, and if you sift through the comments here (or at least those of several months ago), you'll get an eyeful. I've even lost friends over what I've decided to publish on the net. On the other hand, there are a few things that I feel proud of. A highlight for me was being hyperlinked in a column by a Huffington Post author (after the Ashley Todd incident). That little boon resulted in a nice sustained hike in traffic, which I've since pissed away. Also, I'll take this moment to brag that I predicted Barack Obama's ascension to the presidency in August of 2006.

Ultimately the most rewarding thing about writing Serendipity has been the experience of discipline and focus resulting from the arbitrary commitment I impulsively made to post every day. Whether or not the decision was made to boost my own self-esteem is probably beside the point. I feel like I learned something from the process. I hope it has been periodically edifying to its small audience as well.

This post isn't necessarily a "goodbye", but I do view it as a kind of release. I'd say that there's been a bit of a low fizzle here recently, and I'm sick of feeling like I've let myself down. So this is official notice that I may discontinue this public exposure at any time. I haven't quit writing entirely. In fact, I've written nearly a hundred poems over the last nine weeks. I've just stopped making it all immediately available to an unspecified and indeterminate readership. Maybe I'll take the time to be more deliberate in what I share. Or alternatively, I may simply sustain my current habit of stumbling along haphazardly. Anyway, if you are still reading this, then you have my appreciation and gratitude. Stop by now and again and you may find yourself surprised. Who knows?

Know Thy Enemy (and Know Thyself).

You know, I never thought I'd be the kind of guy that pines after the old ways of doing things. I guess I've always fancied myself a bit of a renegade when it came to social conventions. Certainly there have been others more extreme in that position than me. I was fortunate enough to have the good sense to skip the "anarchy" phase of youth, at least in any organized sense. I'm not going to insist that I never broke the rules just for the sheer fun of it, but I didn't form a general philosophy to justify doing so. I've been the kind of person that needs to learn for himself. If you had, in the spirit of generosity, tried to advise me about the best way of doing something, I was likely to deliberately try something different first. Maybe you'd say I was "obstinate".

Nowadays I don't have the energy to seek firsthand knowledge of everything I consider doing. I've gotten a lot better at sussing out qualified sources, and trusting their own experience with the matter at hand. I'm by no means a micromanager. I realize that others are in a better position to achieve certain objectives that I have a stake in. If someone is willing to assume the responsibility, than I am more than happy to relinquish it. I try to look for quid pro quo whenever possible. Our society has grown so complex that we shouldn't expect ourselves to be able to do everything that needs to be done. That's why we have specialization. We're past the hunter-and-gatherer stage.

Anyway, I now have a healthy respect for earned authority. I may not necessarily regard the office itself as sufficient validation, but I've gotten fairly adept at recognizing expertise. Apparently though, there are plenty among us that find themselves incapable of trusting anyone to do anything with competence and skill. Specifically I'm finding a lot of people that simply think that they are experts on any topic, regardless of life experience, education, or other qualifications. And they are not too shy to let you know exactly what you are doing wrong, and/or how you might do it differently (in order to meet their particularly self-interested expectations). And they feel completely entitled to be taken seriously.

The other habit that a lot of these same folks have adopted is to immediately seek out the "person-in-charge". Once they have a problem, they decide that their plight takes precedence over anything else that is happening in the entire world. Then they commit to grabbing the ear of "the boss". The difficulty is that "the boss" rarely has direct experience of the situation that the demanding individual is inquiring about. Therefore "the boss" has to figure out who has immediate responsibility for the outcomes of the situation in question, and engage in a from of indirect communication. This can be frustrating for all involved. Obviously "the boss" has a lot on his plate, and is liable to express impatience- yet that won't always be directed at its source.

Meanwhile, the presumptuous tool who has skipped several levels in the chain of command has compounded whatever problems originally existed. He/she has failed to acknowledge that there is a proper protocol to observe when issuing a complaint. In fact, he/she has unintentionally subverted the entire system, which has been made to function efficiently only whenever people act appropriately within its structure. Because of such actions, others who have invested themselves within this system will be distracted from their roles. Things have developed as they are for a reason, and I wish people would make every effort to take this reality into account. Unfortunately too many will always feel that they know better.

Self-Imposed Blackout for McCain/Palin.

It's remarkable just how fast information can become obsolete during this campaign season. I wrote yesterday's post on Wednesday, shortly before I heard about McCain's intention to pull out of Friday's debate. That fact didn't change a single thing that I wrote about, yet it still gave my analysis a sheen of dust. Because it turns out that even presidential debates, despite being programmed months in advance, can be sabotaged or even cancelled solely on the basis of one candidate's whim. It doesn't matter how much preparation, time, money, and energy the organizers have invested in the event; apparently if it's not viewed as convenient for one of the major players, he can just call the whole thing off. However, I can't find any record of it ever happening before.


Perhaps John McCain will reconsider his impetuous decision and rejoin the presidential race*. Maybe by the time you read this post, everything will have once again changed. Still I'd like to get my thoughts out regarding this latest controversy. Like many other Americans, I have been eagerly anticipating this showdown. I'm getting sick of the superficial posturing, the political maneuvering, and the dishonest ads. It's time to let these candidates face each other and the voting public. This is simply not the time for more backroom strategizing. There is plenty of that going on in the Legislature among those who are already on the appropriate committees to be dealing with this latest financial crisis.

Like many other observers, I suspect that McCain's decision was alomst completely about political expediency. Wednesday saw the release of a Washington Post/ABC poll that had Obama leading McCain 52-43%. The was the biggest differential in favor of Obama for months. In fact, the last time a candidate lost after this large a lead in September was in 1948, when Thomas Dewey lost to Harry S. Truman. Personally I distrust polls. But it seems that McCain's handlers watch them quite closely. Another factor** that dealt a huge blow to the GOP ticket was Wednesday's "revelation" within the mainstream media that McCain's campaign manager Rick Davis was an influential lobbyist for Fannie Mae during key years in the housing crisis.

For the past couple weeks John McCain has systematically squandered the boost he got from his previous "Hail Mary"-style gimmick- the selection of his running mate Sarah Palin. His proclamation that "the fundamentals of the economy are strong", his tradition of being a staunch deregulator, a general impression that he is "out-of-touch", an almost daily flip-flopping on his position regarding the bailout of Wall Street, and the claim that he would fire the SEC Chairman if he were president left the majority of Americans doubting his ability to act responsibly when it comes to the economy. Meanwhile Sarah Palin was increasingly displaying the fundamental lack of capabilty that keeps many wondering whether she should be anywhere near the presidency.

Given the situation McCain and his handlers found themselves in, it's no wonder that they sought a game-changing move that would distract the American Public from their campaign's steady collapse. So despite the fact that he hasn't cast a vote in the Senate since April 8th, and the general assumption that his economic credentials are dubious, he decided that he would "suspend his campaign" and go back to Wahington. Never mind that the negotiations regarding the bail-out have been underway for more than a week. This move is entirely in line with his self-imposed removal from the media. This past Tuesday he had his first press conference in 40 days. And the McCain campaign has not let Palin have one since her selection. Was anyone truly surprised that John McCain wanted to get out of the nationwide debates?


*Ok... well the truth is that he never did actually "suspend" his campaign. It was more than an empty gesture, however. Apparently John McCain went to DC to throw a wrench into a budding agreement between moderate Republican senators, the Democrats in Congress, and Bush.

** ... along with another terrible press appearance by Sarah Palin (with Katie Couric).

Chris Bradley and Kyle LaBrache "Pittsburgh" (2006).

Not many smaller cities get a film titled after them. It's mostly for that reason that I picked up Pittsburgh, starring Jeff Goldblum. Actually I needed a fourth DVD to qualify for the special, and I had mild interest in the film. I thought it would be a good opportunity to see an informed yet distant perspective of the 'Burgh. Ultimately it turned out to be about the lot of a professional actor who has "outgrown" his hometown, and decides on a lark to come back and make a summer stock production of The Music Man. While Goldblum had been casting about for an interesting project that would merge the documentary approach with fictional elements, the directorial voices (Bradley and LaBrache) are just as significant in the film's production.

For those not familiar with Goldblum's ties to Pittsburgh, it should be pointed out that he was born (1952) in West Homestead. His parents were Orthodox Jews who had an interest in show business. When Jeff turned 17 he split town and never really came back. He studied acting with Sanford Meisner at the Neighborhood Playhouse in NYC. His first roles were bit parts in movies as diverse as Death Wish, Nashville, The Sentinel, and Annie Hall. He seemed to peak creatively in David Cronenberg's 1986 re-make of The Fly. After that he attained financial success in inane blockbusters like Independence Day and Jurassic Park. Presumably his interests have recently returned to smaller idiosyncratic projects.

Pittsburgh gets going with Goldblum's decision, against the strident opposition of his agent, to play the starring role in the Pittsburgh CLO's production of The Music Man. It's fairly clear that his infatuation with a 23-year old Canadian dancer named Catherine Wreford is the impetus for this unconventional career move. Apparently she is having problems retaining her visa, and needs to either get married to Goldblum or find a job in-country. So they present themselves as a package deal to the CLO. What's particularly amusing is that the The Music Man's Pittsburgh producers seem to smell a rat almost immediately. They fear that Goldblum will flake out after committing to the project, and get distracted into some big budget film.

So Goldblum and Wreford actually have to audition for the gig. While Goldblum does indeed have musical talent and has some distant experience in musical theater, it turns out that he has to strenuously prepare for the job. It also seems he must bribe his way on board with the inclusion of his friends Ed Begley, Jr and Illeana Douglas. What originally started as a lark transforms itself into a bit of an ordeal. The play's director accuses Goldblum of being smarmy and over-acting, and even says he thought about shooting the actor to avert an impending failure. The biggest surprise is that all of this is really happening, and what is marketed as a "mockumentary" is really an lot more real than the joke it was intended to be.

Basically everyone in the film plays themselves. There are a couple entirely-contrived subplots including Begley's scheme to involve Goldblum in the marketing of portable solar generators, and a completely fictional (but hilarious) romance between Douglas and rock star Moby. But by and large the narrative traces Goldblum's realization that Pittsburgh musical theater is no joke. While the city itself takes a back seat to the main plot thread, there is a smattering of scenes featuring the Golden Triangle and the end credits depict a visit to Kennywood. However, in the end Pittsburgh is more concerned with portraying Goldblum's self-identity as a "serious actor". It has very little to do with the culture or character of this city.


Extra Special Trivia: The directors state on the commentary that Goldblum originally wanted to title this film Two Pickets to Tits-burgh, which is apparently the punchline to some joke.

Song of Myself.

What is a birthday? An arbitrary observation of the day when you were born, which recedes in twelve month segments. Now that I am approaching the "middle age" phase of my life, this birthday phenomenon is becoming more complex. How should it be recognized? Is it to be celebrated, as if there were nothing so special as your arrival on Earth? Is that not merely a recognition of one's own vanity? Or is it a simple reminder that you are aging, and that you have expended yet another of your all-too-limited years of life. Naturally when you are younger, you tend to see things according to the former view. But eventually you are almost bound to start thinking about passing time, and your birthdays will tend toward the melancholy.

Of course I do recall the birthdays of my youth, when I waited until late summer to mark another milestone toward adulthood. My family was by no means wealthy, but I could always look forward to receiving gifts. I'll admit that getting that booty was my main focus. I came to expect it as my proper due. I guess it's just a bit ironic that I don't remember any specific presents I ever got on those long ago days. I know the stuff was nice, and that my parents always made sure I was satisfied... yet I still have difficulty dredging up any of the particulars. I know that we did get to choose what kind of cake we wanted. And I know that it was a time to spend with my extended family.

The most memorable birthday I had was when I turned 16, and went to Action Park in Vernon, NJ. That was truly the big-boy destination of my adolescence. There were a lot of attractions at this oddly perilous amusement park that required a driver's permit. It's true that I had fun, but I also got more than I bargained for (as a lot of other fun-seekers did at that place). Still it made for an interesting day in the sun. Other birthdays were spent at the neighborhood pool that we belonged to. We always got to hold parties at this members-only hot spot. The best thing about those events was that they were held at night. There is something special about being able to splash around in the dark. It also didn't hurt that those evening frolics were lightly chaperoned.

Nowadays I usually don't make a big deal about my birthday. It's a bit embarrassing for me to be the focus of attention on a day that I had very little to do with in the first place. I certainly don't remember choosing to emerge into the external world on that particular date. But M. likes to make a big deal of these occasions, and always asks me what kinds of treats I would like on my "special day". This year she brought up the idea of having a party at the house. Because my actual birthday falls on a weekday, she suggested that we have people over on the Saturday before. While it seemed a bit indulgent to invite folks over to celebrate my existence, I decided that it would probably be a lot of fun.

Hey, what the hell, right? Any excuse to have my buddies over for some concentrated relaxation. I guess I don't really care if it comes off as self-importance. This will be the first party we have had here since Baby E. was born. When he's ready for sleep we're planning to move the shindig to 31st Street Pub, where my buddy Slim Cessna is opening up for my other buddies, Local Honey. If you are reading this and feel that you missed your invitation, I'd advise you to pick up your phone when I call. Because I tried not to forget you, and that only means that we got our wires crossed. If you do happen to read this and have some free time this evening, stop on by and we'll do a shot.

More Self-Referential Blogging Bullshit.

When I first started this blog over two years ago, I resolved to avoid becoming self-referential. There's something about a writer that takes as his/her subject "writing" that suggests an overwhelming self-absorption. How many authors have you read who have written novels about their lives as college professors? There are certainly a lot of them in your local library. While it may be justified as authentic, since the academic life is a home for many scribes, this type of theme has the tendency to become fairly mundane. Granted there are certain folks who have completed memorable fictional accounts of this milieu (a notable example is Richard Russo's Straight Man), and others have built successful careers on it (see David Lodge).

Obviously blogging itself has a narrower tradition, simply because people have only been doing it for about fifteen years. Yet as of December of 2007, the blog search engine Technorati was tracking more than 112 million blogs (a fact which frankly makes me feel a bit better about my ranking on that site). A common complaint I have run into while talking to people about blogs is the perception that the vast majority of them simply constitute opportunities for self-absorption and navel-gazing for the bloggers themselves. That's unfortunate because the range and variety of subject matter to be found within the blog spectrum is enormous. Still I don't want to perpetuate that impression, so I'll try to keep my own inclinations contained.

But the reality is that I've been doing a lot of thinking lately about this phenomenon, and what it means in my personal life. I made that clear with yesterday's post, yet I think I have more to communicate on this subject. Blogging has become a daily activity as much as an abstracted pursuit. It has changed the way people interact with me. For one thing, it provides fodder for conversation for those who read Serendipity regularly. I find that it often cuts through a lot of the small talk that I would normally encounter with these readers. They don't have to ask general questions, such as "So what have you been up to lately?" I've had quite a few discussions that start with a pinpoint observation about something I've written about recently.

It's also interesting how things happen on the periphery... things I'm not even aware of. I often proceed with the assumption that no one I am writing about will read my blog. This has turned out to be naïve. Not long ago I mentioned the title of a local art show, and later discovered that the artist who came up with it read my opinion and took mild offense. Even though I stuck behind my convictions on the matter I couldn't help feeling a bit bad about being critical. I was taken aback by the experience because of my veneer of anonymity, and the realization of just how thin it actually is (especially on a local level). It makes it tough to avoid being a simple cheerleader for the local scene. I don't enjoy hurting people's feelings.

On the other hand, I have been pleasantly surprised by comments and e-mails from those I don't know who have stumbled upon my site. Just this past week I received a gracious note from an author who had read my review about his nationally distributed book. It made me wonder how many other individuals I have mentioned have found my blog via internet searches. At one point last year I was getting regular correspondence of a vaguely threatening nature from the lawyer of someone I had vilified in a post. They weren't talking about legal action, but rather invoking spiritual and more immediate worldly damnation. Believe me that makes continuing this project extremely interesting.

Steve Almond, "(Not that You Asked)", (2007).

For some reason, we are seeing a rash of authors that blur the line between gossip, memoir, and essay during this first decade of the Twentiy-First Century. I suppose it has something to do with the success of David Sedaris. His funny autobiographical/exaggerated tales captivated a new generation of readers, and I suppose we shouldn't complain about that. After all, not many people are reading novels anymore. Still there is something slight about this new wave of young authors. They seem particularly beholden to a transient wave of postmodern irony. I wonder how many folks really expect that these books will still be read fifty years from now. I don't see a lot of candidates for core American Lit curricula.

A few of these writers are consistently entertaining (Sedaris is a blatant example). Others are uneven and cloying. Steve Almond is an illustrative case. The young secular Jew from California claims to write both fiction and non-fiction. But he is best known for Candyfreak : A Journey through the Chocolate Underbelly of America. It documented his quest for candy bars made by small companies. While dealing with a rather insignificant topic, it drew some critical attention and popular success. Candyfreak allowed the author to garner attention from the mainstream media, and resulted in invitations to appear on television. Almond has actually written about his participation in a proposed segment of a VH1 reality show that never aired.

There's a certain narcissism involved in deconstructing one's own relationship with fame. But it's an honest approach given the nature of our society. Our worship of celebrity seems to have no bounds. We've even expanded our definition of the concept to include anyone willing to present a fabricated version of themselves for the edification of the dull masses. This is the new lens through which we view ourselves, and now it's being applied in literary form. You can't really blame Almond for capitalizing on an obvious trend. However you can implicate him for a certain level of bitchiness and a penchant for offering superficial insights on a series of clichéd themes. He seems to actually invite the criticism.

(Not that You Asked) , Almond's 2007 collection of essays, was originally supposed to be entirely focused on the author's admiration for Kurt Vonegut. That's the proposal his publishers bought. We can only speculate on why they decided that they wanted a series of rants instead. Perhaps that's just what the market demands. But I'm hard-pressed to understand why any editor would allow the inclusion of a 12-page, hate-filled screed, directed against the lit blogger Mark Sarvas, and accompanied by a simpleminded dismissal of blogging in general. The only theory I have is that Random House is planning a major release of a Sarvas title in the near future. Regardless, Almond's obsession with his own personal cyber-critic comes off as especially whiny. It also reveals a strange sexual subtext that manages to be troublesome and creepy.

Yet despite the weak points of (Not that You Asked), I feel obligated to present at least a modicum of balance in opinion. I will admit to sharing Almond's basic political perspective. I too find the Bush Administration abhorrent, and Dick Cheney especially scary. I share his enmity for right-wing hacks like Condoleeza Rice, Sean Hannity, and Ann Coulter. I can also relate to his experiences with his new child. I've felt just as helpless in the face of fatherhood as he describes himself. Perhaps the emotional depth and maturity that customarily attends child-rearing will have a beneficial effect on Almond's writing. Maybe (as he suggests) he'll find a character to love as much as he loves himself.

Who was Mark Kostabi?

Given that I live in Andy Warhol's home town, I am privy to much discussion about his value as an artist. Before I ever visited his museum I was convinced that he was a complete charlatan. After all, the guy got famous from painting soup cans and making large silkscreens of Mao Tse-Tung. However my opinions about modern art were unqualified. I wasn't accustomed to looking behind the image itself for the conceptual framework of art. While some iconoclasts will insist that none of that matters, I have since learned to appreciate it as an essential part of the work. Otherwise it's all just "pretty pictures". What makes art serious is its contribution to a discourse that has been progressing throughout the centuries. Sure, you could have painted Campbell's Tomato Soup- but you didn't, and that's an important distinction.

When I read more about Warhol, I could understand why even knowledgeable critics sometimes slagged him. Perhaps the biggest knock against him as a fine artist is that he let others do much of his work for him. Yet this process itself is an integral part of what made Warhol such an innovative artist. His "Factory" reflected an essential component of our society. In and of itself, it was a trenchant commentary about modern life, a la Capitalist consumerism. And he was far from a one-trick pony. Not only did he forever redefine what was "fair game" as subject matter, but he also changed the contemporary approach to advertising, entertainment and public relations. He was one of the first artists to die filthy rich, and he changed the cultural dialog forever. How's that for making an impact?

The downside of Warhol's legacy is that he left us with imitators that have proven themselves to be singularly annoying. An illustrative example would be Mark Kostabi. Until I read Andy Behrman's Electroboy this past week, I had never even heard of Kostabi. Behrman once worked for the "artist" as a public relations manager and salesman. Later he was accused and convicted of selling forged Kostabi works in Japan and Germany. The problem with his conviction was that it was very difficult to tell what an "authentic" Kostabi would look like. Certainly one could say that his paintings were shallow ripoffs of early surrealist painter Giorgio de Chirico. The colors, background and (most glaringly) faceless subjects directly copied the Greek-Italian master. But beyond that, Kostabi's skills as an artist were impossible to evaluate.

Kostabi World (as the large studio the artist inhabited was called) employed shifts of painters who toiled for minimum wage. These anonymous artisans came up with the ideas, applied the colors to the canvas, and waited for their employer to sign each piece in turn. With this assembly line approach to creativity, 100's of works were completed and turned out every year. They shared a cold, derivative and generic quality that seemed to appropriately match the social-climbing aspirations of mid-80's Manhattan. Yet they weren't confined to the gallery. In order to meet the company goals ("a Kostabi on every house"), the product was placed in malls throughout the country. The "artist" himself would make a series of national tours in order to promote the work.

To his credit, Kostabi once billed himself as the ultimate "con artist". Although expressing a certain amount of hubris, this statement at least honestly portrayed Kostabi's relationship with his collectors. However, he might have driven the knife a bit too deep when he publicly proclaimed that only "suckers" bought his work. Certainly there were a lot of them caught up in the 80's arts scene, and they made Kostabi a very rich man. Perhaps that's why he never came up with a "second act". Whatever amount of cleverness he had once harbored was quickly exhausted. Somehow he successfully ascended the New York art world with a series of publicity stunts and a butt-load of mediocre (yet controversial) work. He insulated himself from immense amounts of negative critical attention by insisting that all that mattered was his wealth. Kostabi was a pale and rehashed Warhol without the conceptual context or artistic ability.