May 16, 2012
planetmoney:

Of each dollar the federal government spends, how much goes to defense? How much goes to Social Security? How much goes to interest on the debt? And how has this sort of thing changed over time?
This graphic answers these questions. It shows the major components of federal spending 50 years ago, 25 years ago, and last year. 
Read more here.

planetmoney:

Of each dollar the federal government spends, how much goes to defense? How much goes to Social Security? How much goes to interest on the debt? And how has this sort of thing changed over time?

This graphic answers these questions. It shows the major components of federal spending 50 years ago, 25 years ago, and last year. 

Read more here.

May 16, 2012
"Write the story, take out all the good lines, and see if it still works."

— Cool Hemingway quote

May 14, 2012
The Sense of an Ending

This was a real good (and quick) read.  I’d attempt to review it but my memory of the book, just finished, is already shifting, elusive - am I constructing a narrative that I want to remember or the true one that is in the text?

(that’s a lame joke)

Good reviews:

NY Times

The Guardian

May 11, 2012
I JUST SAW ALIEN (1979)

For the first time.  Really good, too.  Who cares, right?

I WILL SAY that I’m on speaking terms with Ray Evans, THE FILM’S GAFFER.  In fact, he asked me for a bite of the Kit Kat I was eating and I SHARED IT WITH HIM.

Minor note:

I think one of the really fun things about this movie is the banality the characters approach their world with.  Nobody’s excited or enchanted with working on a space ship, they just want to do their job, get paid, and get home.  There’s really cool really details that make the undoubtedly plastic set evolve into something practical and technical - some stuff, like computers, are obviously dated, but a lot of it was still really cool.

End minor note.  (e flat)

9:35am  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZD6rZxLHP0qU
Filed under: Alien Film Ridley Scott 
May 10, 2012
Etienne Leroux (Pretty cool beard.)

Etienne Leroux (Pretty cool beard.)

May 10, 2012
Seven Days at the Silbersteins by Etienne Leroux

Story: Found this during my first few weeks in London at the wonderful book stalls opened under the bridge next to the BFI (not sure which bridge that is).  I think the title caught me, suggesting a book about lost religion or innocence (which, unfortunately, probably says a lot about me).

LITTLE DID I KNOW that for the price of one I was getting not one, NOT TWO, but THREE books, none of them having much to do with lost religion.  Maybe innocence.  It sat on my shelf looking pretty for six months until I finally picked it up last week on the basis of 1) guilt and 2) the South African-ness of its writer and the fact that I haven’t really read a book about South Africa before (I don’t think.  Does King Solomon’s Mines count?).  Oh, and 3) a Graham Greene quote on the inside:

Mr. Leroux will not find an instant audience; his novels are too original for that.  They tease, they trouble, they elude.  His audience will be the audience that only a good writer can merit, an audience which assembles slowly from far away in ones and twos; while the big book club motor-coaches hurtle down the highway toward oblivion, the rumour spreads that her an addition will be found to the literature of our time.

Unfortunately in the time it has taken the phrase “motor cars” to become obsolete Mr. Leroux still has people gathering in only ones and twos (as far as I can tell from a quick internet search).

But that’s by the by.  Book one, Seven Days at the Silbersteins, is a CRAZY read.  It definitely teases, troubles, and eludes.  I can’t pretend to understand much of it, but I enjoyed it, like a strange, funny dream.  Henry Van Eeden is a young man without a personality to be married to the oldest daughter of a large family of wine-rs (PUN, but I really don’t know the appropriate word), which also means he will one day inherit their massive estate, Welgevonden.  He’s never met his bride, Salome, and he’s spends the next seven days trying to figure out who she is - the joke being that he’s supposedly met her the first day, but all the daughters of Welgevonden look the same and whenever he tries to find out who she is - “I don’t know Salome” he tells Jock Silberstein, her father, who replies, “We all feel that way sometimes.”  Jock is the philosophising master and cuckold of Welgevonden, he’s got a telescope on a silo for peering into his wife’s bedroom and likes to expostulate to Henry the many theories of good and evil.  

Each day is the same: Jock shows Henry around his future “kingdom” by day, and by night there is a massive party celebrating the wedding.  Welgevonden is a strange circus of machinery, people, and events.  Jock explains proudly in the beginning that the house is powered by several generators, one especially for draining the pool and another for re-filling (by the end of chapter one this methodical ritual kicks in and the pool begins to drain itself while people are swimming in it.)  Another joke is that Henry is never properly dressed for these shindigs, the first night arriving to a formal gathering in shorts and a shirt.  The third night, when he wears a tux, he finds everyone half-naked and wearing animal masks.  These parties are the same too - because Henry listens to Jock during the day, Jock tells two party-guests, a judge and a doctor, that Henry is very interested in good and evil.  So Henry is again forced to take part in a conversation he doesn’t care about, while people flirt, cheat, and debauch around him, and he stands - never really saying anything - in the middle.

The book ends in a similar daze, addressing the reader in a fanciful way - right as we’re about to meet Salome, Leroux switches to the second person: imagine you’re meeting your bride, all eyes on you - that eludes, dammit, I don’t know what to make of this thing!  I guess I need to keep reading the next two books.  BUT, if you have the time, the money, and the postage, I suggest you mail yourself a copy because there’s some good stuff in here.  And then you can explain it all to me.

May 9, 2012
"Manhattan’s streets I saunter’d pondering,
On Time, Space, Reality—on such as these, and abreast with them Prudence.
The last explanation always remains to be made about prudence,
Little and large alike drop quietly aside from the prudence that
suits immortality.
The soul is of itself,
All verges to it, all has reference to what ensues,
All that a person does, says, thinks, is of consequence,
Not a move can a man or woman make, that affects him or her in a day,
month, any part of the direct lifetime, or the hour of death,
But the same affects him or her onward afterward through the
indirect lifetime.
The indirect is just as much as the direct,
The spirit receives from the body just as much as it gives to the
body, if not more.
Not one word or deed, not venereal sore, discoloration, privacy of
the onanist,
Putridity of gluttons or rum-drinkers, peculation, cunning,
betrayal, murder, seduction, prostitution,
But has results beyond death as really as before death.
Charity and personal force are the only investments worth any thing.
No specification is necessary, all that a male or female does, that
is vigorous, benevolent, clean, is so much profit to him or her,
In the unshakable order of the universe and through the whole scope
of it forever.
Who has been wise receives interest,
Savage, felon, President, judge, farmer, sailor, mechanic, literat,
young, old, it is the same,
The interest will come round—all will come round.
Singly, wholly, to affect now, affected their time, will forever affect,
all of the past and all of the present and all of the future,
All the brave actions of war and peace,
All help given to relatives, strangers, the poor, old, sorrowful,
young children, widows, the sick, and to shunn’d persons,
All self-denial that stood steady and aloof on wrecks, and saw
others fill the seats of the boats,
All offering of substance or life for the good old cause, or for a
friend’s sake, or opinion’s sake,
All pains of enthusiasts scoff’d at by their neighbors,
All the limitless sweet love and precious suffering of mothers,
All honest men baffled in strifes recorded or unrecorded,
All the grandeur and good of ancient nations whose fragments we inherit,
All the good of the dozens of ancient nations unknown to us by name,
date, location,
All that was ever manfully begun, whether it succeeded or no,
All suggestions of the divine mind of man or the divinity of his
mouth, or the shaping of his great hands,
All that is well thought or said this day on any part of the globe,
or on any of the wandering stars, or on any of the fix’d stars,
by those there as we are here,
All that is henceforth to be thought or done by you whoever you are,
or by any one,
These inure, have inured, shall inure, to the identities from which
they sprang, or shall spring.
Did you guess any thing lived only its moment?
The world does not so exist, no parts palpable or impalpable so exist,
No consummation exists without being from some long previous
consummation, and that from some other,
Without the farthest conceivable one coming a bit nearer the
beginning than any.
Whatever satisfies souls is true;
Prudence entirely satisfies the craving and glut of souls,
Itself only finally satisfies the soul,
The soul has that measureless pride which revolts from every lesson
but its own.
Now I breathe the word of the prudence that walks abreast with time,
space, reality,
That answers the pride which refuses every lesson but its own.
What is prudence is indivisible,
Declines to separate one part of life from every part,
Divides not the righteous from the unrighteous or the living from the
dead,
Matches every thought or act by its correlative,
Knows no possible forgiveness or deputed atonement,
Knows that the young man who composedly peril’d his life and lost it
has done exceedingly well for himself without doubt,
That he who never peril’d his life, but retains it to old age in
riches and ease, has probably achiev’d nothing for himself worth
mentioning,
Knows that only that person has really learn’d who has learn’d to
prefer results,
Who favors body and soul the same,
Who perceives the indirect assuredly following the direct,
Who in his spirit in any emergency whatever neither hurries nor
avoids death."

“Song of Prudence” by Walt Whitman

I like the image of Walt Whitman wandering the streets of 19th-century Manhattan thinking grand thoughts.

May 9, 2012
"

What am I after all but a child, pleas’d with the sound of
my own name? repeating it over and over;
I stand apart to hear - it never tires me.

To you your name also;
Did you think there was nothing but two or three
pronunciations in the sound of your name?

"

— Walt Whitman

May 9, 2012
"Others may praise what they like;
But I, from the banks of the running MIssouri, praise
nothing in art or aught else,
Till it has well inhaled the atmosphere of this river, also the
western prairie-scent,
And exudes it all again."

— Walt Whitman

May 7, 2012
The Matrix 2&3 (I’m not sure how to feel)

“Everything that has a beginning has an end.” 

Meaningless statements and their ilk are an important part of the script of The Matrix Revolutions, which shows signs of strains early when we find Neo stuck in a train station with a surprisingly friendly Indian man with A Few Things To Say That Don’t Mean Much.  This shit is, unfortunately, what Revolutions is remembered for, the series devolving into an incoherent mess, and perhaps nothing says botched intentions better than a magical rainbow ending for a film trilogy that cashed in on techno-cool, kung fu, and leather chic.

But at the same time, I’ve got a special place for the second two films, maybe because of the adrenaline rush they gave my little teenage heart.  Perhaps the frustration most people feel is a switch in underlying values - the bad-assery of Part One giving way to a Love Triumphs All climax in Reloaded that tastes more of a Superman film than the dark and brooding world the Wachowski brothers had created.  But maybe, again, it is the disappointment of realising that however new an idea is, there are still only so many stories to tell - Part One, however fresh and exciting, borrows a few ideas from the Christ story for its ending.  Why should we be surprised if the Wachowski brothers have to turn to romance for Part Two?  Or back to Christ for Part Three?

If we know the shapes of most stories, then, the art is in the telling, and, while there’s much that goes wrong in Two and Three - particularly that idiot kid who gets the chance to realize his full potential in battle (and a chance to say, “Neo, I believe”) - there’s still several story elements that sound of something elemental that I want to give the brothers credit for.  The best part of fairy tales or ancient stories is the detail that seems arbitrary - could be anything - but informs the story and embeds it in your memory - Rumpelstilstkin putting his foot through the floor, the apple in Snow White.  Plot married to image.  So I like the direction the brothers took with Neo, his symbolic blinding and journey to the machine city.  I like the corruption of the Matrix by Smith and the creation of a third enemy (although I don’t think the showdown is handled very well - we can only see Neo and Smith fly and smash into each other so many times before it gets redundant and boring).  As much as I hate the naive kid character, I love the way the 99% CG battle in the dock is rendered a little more real by his little story in having to deliver bullets.

Perhaps the disappointment then, is in the philosophy, or missed potential.  The interesting philosophies and battle of wills in Part One are reduced to idiotic platitudes like “Some things never change, but some things do,” characters say to each other like an inside joke.  The focus on the City Council and politics, particularly in Three - like we really care about any of it.  We want to see our bad asses doing bad ass things.  The Architect - great idea - and the Oracle - better idea - reduced to silly representatives of the entire Matrix, who we last see exchanging petty words against a massive CGI sunrise.  Uggh.

At least the car chase in Two is still pretty sweet.

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