Reciprocity

This is one of oh, so many responses to this post, or, more accurately, the firestorm that’s swirled up around it.

“No,” means “no,” correct? Can we all agree on that? Can we also agree it would be boorish and insulting to think anything else?

OK. If so, then another statement must also be true, axiomatically:

“Yes,” means “yes.”

What I’m seeing is a whole lot of rationalization, and patronizing, and wishing away that “Yes,” might possibly, actually, really mean “yes.” I see cries of “privilege!” and “peer pressure!” and “objectification!”

The problem is, every single time someone chips away at YMY, they’re also chipping away at NMN. If a person can’t say “Yes,” and have that decision respected and believed as sincere, it becomes very difficult for a person to say “No,” and get equal treatment.

Which is, unfortunately, equally as boorish and insulting as not respecting “No,” means “no,” in the first place.

If people are independent moral actors whose desires are legitimate, and should be respected as long as they cause no harm, then that bet is, as the poker folks say, All in. Even when they say “Yes,” to things you would never do.

This is, as usual, in one’s own self interest. If you want your own moral choices respected, you have to respect the choices of others.

If not, then not. But be aware just how sharp that edge is.

“If Lucy Fell” — HANS!

If Lucy Fell (1996) would be a mostly forgettable movie, except for the way some of the performances are plainly early versions of characters the actors would take up later. Lucy Ackerman, played by Sarah Jessica Parker, is the template from which her portrayal of Carrie Bradshaw in Sex and the City was drawn. Bwick Elias, flower-child idiot artist, is the ur-goon of every idiot Ben Stiller has played thereafter (notably Zoolander).

But there’s also this great scene, at 0:56. Lucy and Bwick are on a date, at Bwick’s apartment:

*^*^*^*

{Bwick joins Lucy on a couch, facing a painting we’ve seen him working on previously.}

BWICK: It’s symbolic. {He gestures at the painting, which stays unseen.} Life equals love which actually equals death. Life equals death.

{We cut to see the painting}

LUCY: It’s symbolic?

BWICK: Yeah.

LUCY: Symbolic death?

BWICK: Symbols of life, and death, and love. Life equals death which is in the middle. The sub-set is love. Which is really what the symbol is. Love. Life equals love equals death. It’s symbolic.

LUCY: Wait. {She gets up off the couch, and walks over to the painting} You have a woman with “LIFE” painted on her, uh… area, and she’s stabbing to death a man with a knife that says “LOVE” on it. And then in big, bold letters it says, “LIFE=LOVE=DEATH.”
{beat}
I don’t know that it’s very symbolic, Bwick. It’s kind of spelled out.

BWICK: So… It sucks. HANS!

LUCY: No. It doesn’t suck. It’s just that it’s not really… You know, it’s… It’s a literal painting.

{As she says this, an assistant who looks like Fabio — long blonde hair, overalls, no shirt — splashes some sort of fluid onto the painting.}

LUCY: It’s not symbolic. Which is… Fine.

BWICK: Hm-hm.

LUCY: It’s literal.

BWICK: Right. It just… Literally sucks.

{We see that Hans is patiently standing next to the painting, now with a blowtorch in his hand.}

LUCY: No.

BWICK: No, you’re right. You’re right. It just symbolically sucks. HANS!

{Hans turns on the blowtorch, and sets the painting ablaze.}

BWICK: It certainly isn’t very literal any more, is it?

{Lucy turns to the painting, as it continues to burn.}

LUCY: No, it’s… It’s symbolic.

How to be an Eeyore

Paul Krugman today mentions Peak Oil in the New York Times. I think this may be the first time anyone in the national-level commentariat has given it serious consideration (but am ready to admit being wrong).

Meanwhile, does James Kunstler notice this at all, and play up the potential turning point in the discussion? Nope. He’s too busy tilting at railroads and the airlines. In Kunstler’s world view, there is no such thing as good news, only bad news we don’t know the punchline for yet (as any cursory glance at Kunstler’s books The Long Emergency and World Made by Hand will show). Keep an eye on this space — I intend to do a review of World Made by Hand eventually, and it’ll be, um… lengthy.

To use Randy Pausch‘s image, Kunstler is definitely an Eeyore, not a Tigger. Which may be why he’s been a bit voice-in-the-wilderness-y. Even when you agree with him, you hate to admit it.

Hey, pnh, if you’re reading this… This all reminds me that one of the things I’d like to use in that review is your observation about Boomers being so in love with apocalypse stories, and how they never intended to live this long. While I can quasi-quote it, did you ever have a pithy, quotable version of your own that you could point me to, please? I’m all about the credit where credit is due.

(Apologies for typos, which seem to be both of commission and omission. I think this is my first post start-to-finish using my new eeePC.)

I’m a patriot.

Having spent an inordinate amount of time searching for the original of this, I’m posting it to cast a vote with teh Googles:

“I’m a patriot. I love my decadent, cosmopolitan, self-indulgent, racially-mixed, godless, intellectually dilletante, drug-abusing, promiscuous, queer-loving country. And its flag is the Stars and Stripes.”

Patrick Nielsen Hayden Date: 15 Sep 2001 12:04:24 GMT
Local: Sat, Sep 15 2001 5:04 am

“I’m a patriot. I love my decadent…”

Tesla in “The Prestige”


tesla in prestige
Originally uploaded by halobrien

I was watching The Prestige tonight, when I started looking up more info on Nikola Tesla (as you do).

As I pulled up the Wikipedia page with the image on the right, the scene with the shot on the left played, with David Bowie in the role of Tesla.

Until now, I had no real appreciation just how closely they’d made Bowie look and dress like Tesla. But I think this side-by-side shows what a meticulous job they did.

Reverse graffiti — local, this time

Some may remember when I posted about Alexandre Orion and his reverse graffiti — selectively cleaning the soot in a bus tunnel in São Paulo, to create images of skulls.

Well, take a look at this:

Agitart on sidewalk

This is on Queen Anne Ave N, right by my work.

Not unlike Orion, the interesting thing here is the mix of what would normally be considered “defacement,” but probably isn’t because of the method — cleaning — and it’s temporary.

What’s your name again?

Occasional humorist David Brooks (occasionally he’s funny, occasionally it’s intentional) writes a piece in the New York Times that gives a fine example of “defining deviance down.”

Brooks, who’s had problems distinguishing between fantasy and reality for years (“He accused [the writer of the linked article] of being “too pedantic,” of “taking all of this too literally,” of “taking a joke and distorting it.” “That’s totally unethical,” he said.”), decides that he is the norm from whom all others deviate. Given that, and since he’s apparently been having memory problems of late, he decides to declare, “In the era of an aging population, memory is the new sex.”

I know, I know… he’s just not doing it right. (And if by chance he ever should stumble upon doing it right, he can’t even remember it.)

Trouble is, Brooks is in about the 5th percentile at this sort of thing. So 95% of us remember things better than he does. No problem — we’re “colossal Proustian memory bullies.”

Awwwwwwww. Woody-oodums. Poor overpaid Times columnists, they just get picked upon so often. It’s such a burden.

Cue Denis Leary: “Whining fucking maggot.”