the virus diaries part 1

Seriously. If viruses earned awards in the germosphere, the one plaguing my immune system would get a gold star for dogged persistence. It is determined to survive, by whatever mutative means necessary.

Why is it that when we’re sick we are overcome with the insatiable desire to watch horribly bad tv? Or is that just me? Some people dig out old copies of childhood favorites — Fraggle Rock, The Goonies, The Princess Bride. Me? I go straight for Remington Steele. When I’m ill and stuck in bed, there is nothing more satisfying than that gem of fabulously awful ’80′s television.

DayQuil, a heap of Kleenex, eight cups of tea, and Remington Steele? Oh yeah.

The show is a detective procedural whose premise is that private female detective Laura Holt (Stephanie Zimbalist) opened a detective agency under her name – and she never received any clients. So she invented a boss with a “decidedly masculine”  name: Remington Steele. And viola! She suddenly had more cases than she knew what to do with. Things heat up when a mysterious con man (Pierce Brosnan) assumes the identity of Remington Steele on a case involving rare gems. While he doesn’t succeed in obtaining the diamonds, he happens to like masquerading as a fake, famous detective and decides to take on the persona permanently.

Sound bad? Oh, deliciously so. You’ve got a British, classy yet often clueless ex-con who’s obsessed with classic movies, and a hyper-feminist, stubborn control-freak — and they somehow are attracted to one another like a shark to chum. Remington Steele‘s entertainment lies in its shockingly corny dialogue, unrealistic plots, overly exaggerated acting, and outrageous fashion. Gah – the fashion! Laura Holt has a penchant for sling-back heels, ill-fitting pencil skirts, and (I kid you not) fedoras. Brill-i-ant.

I cannot help but love a program in which characters deliver these kind of lines: “Nothing titillates the senses more than a first rate sting.” It’s cheesy, absurd, tacky…and terrific fun.

I don’t know what it is about bad television, but it’s the perfect antidote for when I’m ill. Remington just makes me feel better as I cough up chunks of lung. It’s as simple as that.

And on that note, I’m gonna pour another glass of o.j., slather on the Vicks, and have a hot date with Remington Steele.

 

perfect happiness and other queries

Vanity Fair's collection of interviews: "Proust Questionnaire : 101 Luminaries Ponder Love, Death, Happiness, and the Meaning of Life," ed. Graydon Carter.

For those of you who have ever picked up a copy of Vanity Fair, you’ll know that each issue ends with a one-page interview of some notable individual, in the format and style of Proust’s Questionnaire. Proust himself did not invent the questionnaire, but he and his contemporaries popularized it during the late 1800s in France. Vanity Fair describes the questionnaire as a parlor game, intended to ‘reveal an individual’s true nature’ (VF Online). There are several, rotating questions included in the form that VF now uses in their interviews. Here are 20 of them.

Nobody’s full, true nature can be summarized in a questionnaire. The Proust Questionnaire borders on the hyper-confessional, yet people’s responses can be revealing (not to mention fascinating and, well, fun). I’ve shared a few of my inspirations and secrets. Share your answers at the end of this post…

1. What is your idea of perfect happiness?

Being with my closest friends, drinking local microbrews and discussing philosophy, art & theatre, and politics.

2. What is your greatest fear?

Living an ordinary life.

3. Which historical figure do you most identify with?

Probably Soren Kierkegaard.

4. Which living person do you most admire?

Rania al Abdullah, Queen of Jordan

5. What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?

Impatience.

6. What is the trait you most deplore in others?

Apathy. (Closely followed by ignorance.)

7. What is your greatest extravagance?

Diamant perfume by Fragonard. (I also spend discretionary income on books and travel, but those are necessities – not extravagances.)

8. On what occasion do you lie?

To protect someone.

9. What do you dislike most about your appearance?

My pale, vampire-like skin.

10. When and where were you happiest?

It is a three-way tie: the Memorial Day weekend spa getaway of ’09 with my mom and sister (we smuggled puppy Tatum into the resort); my three-week holiday in the south of France the summer before my final year of undergrad; and the summit of Arthur’s Seat in Edinburgh, January 2009.

11. If you could change one thing about yourself what would it be?

I wish I were more musical.

12. If you could change one thing about your family what would it be?

Not a single thing. They sustain me.

13. What do you consider your greatest achievement?

Empowering individuals in the South through community organizing, while working on the presidential campaign of Barack Obama.

14. If you died and came back as a person or thing what do you think it would be?

I’d like to come back as a dog (preferably a terrier) – they’re so happy and mischievous.

15. What is your most treasured possession?

The letters Joseph has sent me over the past three and a half years.

16. What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?

Watching someone suffer and not being able to help.

17. Who are your heroes in real life?

My best friend Darci, my loving partner Joseph, and my incredible sister Jennifer. They have all survived the darkest of experiences and still love selflessly. They are my inspiration.

18. What is it that you most dislike?

Social injustice.

19. How would you like to die?

Is it cliche to say ‘peacefully’?

20. What is your motto?

While I breathe, I hope.  (Literally the MacLennan clan’s motto: dum spiro spero.)

Your turn. What is your idea of perfect happiness? your greatest achievement? your lowest depth of misery?

To see ‘celebrity’ responses, check out The Proust Questionnaire Portraits.

 

To: All writers, From: Buechner

I came across the following passage during one of my morning meditations. As a writer, Frederick Buechner’s words resounded deeply. I wanted to share this passage with all the other writers out there—aspiring authors, published novelists, English 101 students, seasoned journalists and fresh-faced bloggers.

Here is to you: all who believe in the power of words. Those who choose to invest in the life of letters, wordplay, and storymaking. To those who agonize over the perfectly crafted sentence and the dogged pursuit of a truly worthy story. To the writers who seek out the ignored, overlooked, or silent voices, and the few who have the guts enough to provide society with a mirror when we need it the most.

Most of all, here is to the writers who bleed onto their typewriters and laptops. Never stop writing with passion. For, as Buechner says, it is passion that can make this world—and the people within it—a little more alive. More beautiful and understanding.

I wish that I had told my writing students to give some thought to what they wanted their books to make happen inside the people who read them, and I also wish that I had told them what Red Smith said about writing…What Red Smith said was more or less this: “Writing is really quite simple; all you have to do is sit down at your typewriter and open a vein”—another haematological image. From the writer’s vein into the reader’s vein: for the better or worse a transfusion…

Write about what you really care about is what he is saying. Write about what truly matters to you—not just things to catch the eye of the world but things to touch the quick of the world the way they have touched you to the quick, which is why you are writing about them. Write not just with wit and eloquence and style and relevance but with passion. Then the things that your books make happen will be things worth happening—things that make the people who read them a little more passionate themselves for their pains, by which I mean a little more alive, a little wiser, a little more beautiful, a little more open and understanding, in short a little more human. I believe that those are the best things that books can make happen to people.
From: Listening to Your Life, Frederick Buechner, 1992.

 

I’m not afraid to use the f-word: femininity

Awhile back I came across an article in the newspaper entitled “Summer of Dapper.” Apparently there is an elegant mod movement occurring this summer all over the country, harkening back to the days of slacks, button-up vests, and bowler hats. Guys decide to dress in their swankiest garb, complete with accessories, instead of distressed jeans and t-shirts. Bring in the ritz and the posh. The sass and the smart.

Summer of Dapper is a response to its feminine counterpart: the Summer of Dresses. From what I can gather, a young woman decided that she wanted to break her jeans and t-shirt habit and declared 2010 the “Summer of Dresses.” The challenge is to wear dresses twice a week. She even started a website in which other gals can post pictures of themselves in their newest, sunniest, quirkiest dress.

When I first heard about Summer of Dresses, I suppose I found the notion a bit surprising. Wearing dresses is not anything out of the ordinary for me. In fact, I love skirts and dresses. Depending on the cut, style and color, a dress can serve a variety of functions and moods. Chic. Playful. Powerful. Fun. Classic. Professional. Bohemian. Glamorous. Sexy. Bold.

You can pair a dress with vintage pumps, ballet flats, sandals, and boots. And they are, well, fun to try on. I usually cannot afford half the dresses I observe through a shop window. But I like to imagine. There is something unique about dresses (as well as tops/skirts) that jeans and shirts fail to capture. Perhaps it is the way I feel in a well-cut dress. My confidence soars beyond the stratosphere. I. Am.Woman.

Let me pause and declare that the same kind of confidence can be attained through a pair of skinny jeans and sweater. Or jeans and a snazzy blazer. My favorite article of clothing is actually my black skinnies, and there are long stretches of time (particularly in the Pacific Northwest winters) where I forego dresses and skirts of any kind. It’s too darn cold for that twill skirt and 1940’s blouse.

What I appreciate about this Summer of Dresses is that it promotes a culture of femininity. Now I do not mean cutesy clothes and demure ladylike expressions. I strongly advocate for the empowerment of women, yet I also encourage my fellow girls to engage those qualities and aspects of themselves that make them feel distinctly female. Because, well, you are female for one thing. And two, in this culture of post-feminism there seems to be a sort of backlash, in which women are looked down upon if she adores chocolate, concerns herself with fashion and style, desires motherhood, or any of the other stereotypical “female” attributes. Guess what? You can wear a smart pencil skirt and ruffled-neck blouse to the office and still be taken seriously. This is not an either/or choice. No more need for bra burnings. You can purchase the wildest, sexiest bra out there, wear it under a sheath dress at a work presentation, and blow everyone out of the water with your prowess, achievements, and intellect. Again, it comes back to confidence. Embracing your femininity is one way to feel better about yourself. Looking and feeling confident is attractive, magnetic. It’s about being comfortable in your body.

I say: stop looking to Hollywood and Vogue on how to dress and appear. Take your body back. Reclaim your beauty as your own, whether that be natural, glamorous, or homespun.

Now there is a difference between strutting your stuff with confidence and plain ‘ol tackiness. Ask your closest friends or a shop consultant on what styles work best for your body shape. From Queen Latifa to Carey Mulligan, a well-fit dress accentuates your uniquely ‘You’ features and makes you look good.

Men: how do you weigh in on this? Do you enjoy dressing in dapper clothing? What article of clothing gives you confidence? Are there aspects of masculinity that are fun to embrace? Aspects that you feel to be constricting or unfair? (Guys seem to be receiving the short end of the stick in popular media these days. Commercials profile the lazy, disconnected father or the ignorant jock. An increasing amount of pressure is being placed on guys to be waiflike and skinny, as evidenced in the rise of matchstick jeans. These generalized profiles are just as wrong as the dumb blonde, nagging mother, and obedient, robotic housewife.)

AND LASTLY, the moment you have been waiting for, I give you my Summer of Dresses Vote. I am looking to purchase a new dress for an upcoming special occasion. I cannot give too many details about the event. It will be indoors and during twilight/evening hours. Something versatile that could be worn at both the ballet and a cocktail party. Cast your vote and help me decide!

1. In Dove With You (ModCloth) - Sure, the title has a lot to be desired, but I simply love the color.

2. Sci-Fi Heroine - Sci fi + heroine = love it. The gathered sleeves and oversized collar are bonus points for me. And it's a tad funky. I'm all about that.

3. Velvet Underground. It's classy and understated. Imagine with black pumps and matching clutch.

4. English Seaside Dress - I love this dress. Before you say this is not fancy enough for an evening outing, first add a stylish black belt with matching pumps. Add a long string of black pearls or an antique locket.

5. One Shoulder Ruched Dress. I have been searching for a one-shoulder dress all year. Is this one a keeper?

6. Grecian Dress - Let's advance beyond the blacks, greys, and navys. I love this deep shade of green.

 

a purpose-driven blog

I’m refocusing (edge)wise. I need to give my blog a clearer purpose in its blogosphere existence. Why?

A good friend of mine—fellow writer and blogger—sent this charming link my way: http://michaelhyatt.com/2009/11/do-you-make-these-10-mistakes-when-you-blog.html. Michael Hyatt describes ten mistakes that bloggers frequently make, and one of them is posting “off-brand material.” Now, I am not into labels and boxes. I am anti-brand. The very essence and marrow of (edge)wise is to think outside the box. Heck, I like turning boxes into other items entirely.

Hyatt has a point however. I don’t want to simply post whatever is on my mind, whether that be gardening techniques, my opinion on high-tops, the new British Prime Minister, or peanut butter cookies. Such random madness can be disorienting. Nor do I want to deliver diary entries to you. As my readers, you deserve more than that. Not only are those blogs grossly self-indulgent, but nobody’s life is interesting enough to warrant a weekly journal update. Unless I am, say, trekking across Eastern Europe and sharing those weekly (or daily) experiences, I will spare you the “Dear Diary” moments.

Focus is good. A specific focus can be helpful. So I decided to step away and figure out what I am passionate about. The result? Film, books, traveling, recipes. All in all: Arts & Culture. And how those speak to (and about) our society. I will never be able to divide my passion of the arts from my engagement with news and politics. I would never want to.

So (edge)wise is the place to go if you want reviews—for films, books, plays, recipes—alongside social commentary. The end of LOST is approaching. I will definitely write about the finale, yet I will also include thoughts on fan culture and the show’s impact upon our culture.

I am excited to write more as a critic. Thinking about seeing a movie? Check out (edge)wise to see if I’ve got a review of it. Need a new book to read? I plan to start writing reviews of all the books I read, along with related recommendations. I will still include entries about places and personal reflection when I travel. The same goes for local food and cooking.

For those editorials about recent happenings in Washington D.C. or catastrophic oil spills in the Gulf…I’m not sure where to post those. Naturally I have a brain-full of opinions and analyses on current events. I listen to NPR after all. Perhaps I’ll include them on a special page of (edge)wise. Or just maybe, I’ll create a special blog specifically for my political messages. You are my readers. What do you think?

 

dog owners unite: just say no to excessive pampering

Tatum celebrated her first birthday last month. The precious mini-schnauzer/yorkie terrier is a member of the McLendon family. Tiaras are out of the question, so I created a little birthday tag and hosted a birthday party. It lasted all of six minutes.

A year ago I scoffed at people who celebrated their dog’s birthday. Dogs have no conception of birthdays or celebrations. The whole idea is absurd. And yet…just look at Tatum. She is the most adorable puppy I have ever seen. Including those in the Purina Puppy Chow commercials. It was fun to throw a little party for her—mainly for the fun photo op.

Friends have accused me of spoiling Tatum. And I will admit that, on occasion, I am guilty of that. But there are far worse things that pet owners do than buy a birthday present. In fact, the whole pet pampering business has exploded in recent years to ludicrous proportions. I vow, here and now, that I will never—repeat never—do any of the following:

• Purchase a Halloween costume and have Tatum dress up like a bumblebee.

• Celebrate Valentine’s Day with my pet.

• Nor St. Patrick’s Day, or New Year’s or…you get the picture.

• Call my answering machine to let my pet know that I won’t be home until later.

• Take Tatum to a pet psychologist…(honestly, it’s the owners who need therapy.)

• Buy refrigerated dog food. I wish I were kidding. (www.delifreshpet.com)

• Bring Tatum to a Doggie Day Care. Dogs know how to occupy themselves. Believe me. It’s called a chew toy.

• Ever step foot on the premises of a luxury boarding kennel. (www.pamperedpetsinn.com) It is tragic that such places are in business when nearly half the world’s population lives in poverty.

• Ditto with doggie spas. Yep, doggie spas. (www.pamperedpuppy.com/features/200601_nycspas.php) This article describes a masseur who “has developed a special massage combining elements of Reiki, myofascial release and acupressure. He loves his canine clients and says, ‘They respond well to therapy because they have no skeptism.’” Of course they don’t have skeptism. They are dogs. Overwhelmingly instinctual animals. They react instead of employing critical thinking skills. Did Pavlov teach us nothing? I want to know if these dogs even know what’s happening to them. Their senses are rather simple. A good, old-fashioned bath will appear the same as an exorbitant ‘Mandarin Green Tea Coconut Crème’ shampoo & massage treatment.

• Which brings us to pet massages. A professional massage is too much of a luxury for me. Why would I pay for my dog to receive such treatment? The poor dogs probably think they’re being tortured in a strange, human way. Anything for a dollar, right? Or $60/hr in some cases.

• Present Tatum with jewelry or jewel-studded collars.

• Commission an artist to paint my dog’s portrait.

• Send her on a Pet Airways flight. This has to be a joke, right? (www.petairways.com)

• Learn and perform yoga with my dog. Doga, as it’s called. This is really too much. (www.nytimes.com/2009/04/09/fashion/09fitness.html, http://www.dogadog.com)

See? my love of Tatum is not so extreme after all. A new collar for her birthday is astonishingly mellow compared to the gross excesses of pet pampering. In fact, I feel quite normal.

What is the craziest thing you’ve done for your pet?

examining her new collar

 

thoughts from vancouver (not b.c.)

Unless you have been lost at sea or tunneling underground with a teaspoon to India, you know that the Winter Olympic Games are taking place in Vancouver B.C.—a hop, skip and day’s drive away from my hometown. (The ‘other’ Vancouver.) I must admit that I do not like the Olympics. I believe them to be over-hyped and over-exaggerated, complete with inane announcers and not-so-subtle marketing ploys for NBC.

Despite this, I have been tuning in every so often for the pure sake of the sports. It was the snowboard cross that captured my attention. I mean, did you catch that madness? Or the half-pipe? Forget curling and ice dancing, I want to know when the next X Games take place. Yesterday I watched an hour of women’s aerials. These athletes skied up a sloped tower of ice that launched them into the air—four stories high—where they proceed to spin, twist, and flip in the 3.5 seconds before landing on the snowy hill below. Insane. I have to admire those athletes. They possess sheer skill that I cannot begin to imagine, not to mention the fervid dedication and discipline they need to reach that level of skill.

So in the spirit of the Olympic season, I have compiled an entirely unscientific list of my likes, dislikes, and ruminations.

1. My favorite sports to watch: snowboarding, hockey, aerials, ski cross, and anything else that sends your adrenaline rushing. I could never bring myself to strap on a snowboard and fly down a curvy, mountain track with jumps. At the risk of sounding like a fourteen-year old, it is just so cool.

2. As I watched the gold-medal performance of Evan Lysacek online, I realized something: figure skating is rather asinine. To me. In my opinion. I know there are folks out there who defend and love figure skating with a passion worthy of Braveheart. You know what? Good for you. Continue on with your ice skating love. I cannot watch it anymore, which is saying something. I used to be obsessed. (Seriously, I happen to own a Campbell’s “Souper Stars on Ice” bowl from 1998 with the autographs of that year’s U.S. Olympic women skaters: Nicole Bobek, Michelle Kwan and Tara Lipinski. Remember them?) And when I say obsessed, I mean that I watched every figure skating competition or special that occurred on television. I knew all the top names and the scoring system. I wanted to be Yuko Sato’s best friend.

But now I watch the event with impatience and bemusement. First of all, I do not understand the new scoring system. From what I have read, it seems that the skaters earn points by successfully completing a list of elements. To my untrained eye, this causes nearly all the routines to look the same. The costumes are either grossly ostentatious or so standard I find myself wishing that someone would skate onto the ice wearing a skin-tight lizard sheath. Something weird. Something to rock the boat. The same goes for the music. I can only listen to so many violin-heavy classical pieces before I start feeling drowsy. I was excited to see one of the male skaters wearing a black t-shirt, embellished with colored jewels in the shape of an electric guitar. Rock on. Too bad he fell at the beginning of his routine.

And lastly, while I do admire the balance, strength and grace needed to skate and jump across the ice, I find it boring. I remember skating when each performance told a story. Now I watch the skaters contort their faces into overly exaggerated, emotional expressions and wave their arms in the same fashion as the Sugar Plum Fairy in The Nutcracker. Fans can keep their ice version of dance. I’ll take my tickets to the ballet.

3. Jacket envy—I’m harboring a severe bout of envy for those navy-blue, puffy snow jackets that the NBC announcers wear. I am perpetually cold, and I have a feeling that jacket would solve all my cold weather woes. And they are super cute. Chic color, snazzy Vancouver 2010 patch. *Sigh*

4. I am not, however, jealous of the U.S. line of athletic apparel. Some—like the alpine skiers—are okay. But I cringed when I saw the snow pants and jacket for aerials. The jacket and pants match so it looks like a snowsuit onesie. The suit is dark blue with light blue stars scattered all over the fabric. It looks like Betty Ross threw up and forgot the red and white stripes.

5. Stephen Colbert needs to grace the Olympics with his presence more. He brings a much-needed sense of humor to the games. If you have not seen the interview with Bob Costas yet, check it out: http://www.nbcolympics.com/video/assetid=9d9ff0ef-ee6e-47f4-a6a8-0ce20fb539cb.html#stephen+colbert+with+bob+costas.

6. Hail to the Nordics. You do not see the utter predominance of orange from the Netherlands during the Summer Olympics. And neon tangerine at that. Makes sense since the Nordic-trifecta (Sweden, Norway and Finland) can experience snow-covered ground for six months out of the year.

7. How does the Olympic theme music still cause my heart to swell and make me feel like I can accomplish anything? I gave up sports back in high school but, damn, that anthem makes me want to pull out my soccer cleats and join the local women’s team.

8. I love love love the dude who starts all the speed skating events. You never see him; you only hear his voice: “Rhea-dee.” (As in, “Ready.”) He sounds so disinterested with the entire affair. And his accent is a delightful mix of French and Canadian. French-Canadian, perhaps? Whatever his nationality, he feels me with glee.

9. I am always amused at the fierce attempts by NBC to create “Olympic stories” in between the actual events. You cannot just introduce Bode Miller.  No, no. You play a specially-created, four-minute video set to inspirational music that paints a portrait of a true Olympian. A fighter. A man who has experienced setbacks and now returned to achieve his goal of GOLD. NBC should partner with Hallmark—they would make amazing movies. Like a sports version of the Lifetime Movie Network.

10. For a global event that is supposed to “bring the world together,” I have been increasingly annoyed with NBC’s coverage. They focus overwhelmingly on the American athletes. I can understand that American viewers want to see American athletes. But this is such an opportunity to showcase the world. In a time torn by conflict, war, and suspicion, it would be nice to hear of the stories from Armenia or Uzbekistan. Did you know that Pakistan is participating in these Olympics? So are Colombia, Ghana and Montenegro. Does the American majority even know where Montenegro is? The Olympics could provide an incredible education in geography and world culture. But it is the Americans in the coverage spotlight, even when other nations place higher in the qualification rounds and event rankings. (Unless, of course, it is the finals round. Those athletes will be covered, as will the stray American trailing behind in 19th place.)

11. While I am criticizing NBC, allow me one more frustration. The Games are covered in such a way that places tremendous pressure on the athletes. The word “redemption” is used to an absurd extreme. If an athlete wiped out four years ago, they have their chance at redemption in Vancouver. And if that athlete happens to wipe out this time around, they have LOST IT ALL. Maybe they are not destined for Olympic Gold. Really? These athletes train every day for years, but I would think that the athletes would say it is for the sake of their sport. And their love of that sport. As Aussie Torah Bright (half-pipe gold medalist) said, performing well is about bettering the sport. The Olympic podium is a goal, amongst many. So stop elevating the Olympic Games to the most important event in which these athletes will ever compete.

12. Does Bob Costas do anything apart from serving as the NBC frontman of the Olympic Games? He has been the main sportscaster for the Olympics since 1992 in Barcelona. That’s eighteen years. No wonder that cup of cocoa in the manufactured, fireside-studio lodge goes untouched. (The answer, if you were wondering, is yes. You can find Costas on the MLB network. Baby-faced Costas and baseball, the all-American pastime? Yeah, I can see that.)

My twelve-cents on the Olympics, for what it’s worth.

p.s. okay, I will not skewer NBC with more criticism on their pitiful coverage here. That would require an analytic essay on media, marketing, and the responsibilities of any network when given the monopoly on an event such as the Olympics. I might write such an essay at a future time. For now, here is an article on the vicious backlash from the network’s decision to cover ice dancing over the U.S.—Canada hockey game on Sunday:  http://www.thewrap.com/ind-column/usa-hockey-beats-canada-nbc-takes-bigger-hit-14466. The “border war” was discussed during the evening news, but not shown…Brilliant move, NBC.)

 

get Lost

the season that started it all

Tonight is the season finale of LOST. Two full hours of the crazy, time-twisting show that has mesmerized a cult-like following over the past five years. And I am excited. As opposed to the diehard fans who have faithfully journeyed with the characters since the Pilot, I first watched Lost last spring—and it was for an assignment.

For two solid years I had friends who doggedly tried to pull me into their Lost Club. They would gather together on whatever night the show aired, watch it together, and then discuss it afterwards. I found the entire affair absurd. It’s a television show, and a ridiculous one at that. How can you sustain a plot that deals with survivors on a remote island? I swore I would never—repeat never—watch Lost. Nevermind the seemingly dead-end island plot, but Lost was (and continues to be) a fad. I choose not to partake in fads. Call it an idiosyncrasy of mine, or a personal code of pop culture ethics. Once a show, song, film, book, fashion—you fill in the blank—reaches widespread popularity within mainstream culture, I have a bizarre resistance to it. To this day I have not watched a single episode of Survivor due to the frightening zeal the show sparked within viewers. (Now I would be curious to go back to those early days of Survivor and attempt to piece together what ignited that mania. It was one of the first reality television shows to become a 21st century global explosion, and we can all see how that genre has expanded.) That same curiosity was what prompted me to examine Lost and Heroes last spring for my Communication Theory course.

The assignment was simple enough: write a theoretical criticism essay on a subject where media and culture converge. I was intrigued with the idea of investigating the theories behind a popular television show, and a quick perusal of the websites of ABC and NBC cemented this desire. As I wrote in my essay: “Producers, writers, and critics alike are mystified with the strength of obsessive fervor the shows’ fans display. Lost and Heroes have become so popular that the characters and plot have spread from the television screen into other media, such as online magazines, online fan forums, graphic novels, and books.” Two years ago, Rolling Stone noted several fan forum Internet sites that were developed for the sole purpose of discussing various shows. In the case of Lost, there is a forum called Lostpedia, which has seven international versions and 10,000 volunteers who edit thousands of entries (Kushner, 2007, p. 34).

Unbelievable. And the thing is: people participate. In droves. Why? I wanted to gather everyone together and calmly tell them Lost was just a television show; it was not real and to find some other outlet to devote their fervid energies. And yet, something about the phenomenon pulled me in. I was fascinated with this obsession and so I decided to research further. I felt like a detective, equipped with my communication theorists (Barthes, McLuhan, Griffin, Stuart) and film/theater background, and sat down one seemingly innocuous Thursday evening to watch the first three episodes of Lost (and Heroes) to unravel my own mystery of why and how these shows had captivated a global audience.

I won’t bore you with my findings and theories (save for a small comment at the close). Suffice to say: I was hooked. Hardcore. Heroes can be thrown to the canines (sorry, Heroes fans), but Lost was spectacular. The Pilot itself is a goldmine of cinematographic genius, symbolism, and intriguing juxtaposition of frames. Not to mention a gripping, mysterious plot that all but had me holding my breath while scribbling furiously on my notepad. I vividly remember the ending of the second episode—where the screen abruptly cuts to the black background with ‘LOST’ in white lettering (the screen that fans have come to dread for it means yet another week must pass before the saga continues)—and I paused the DVD and just said, “What?” As in: what the hell just happened? what does this mean? and…how am I liking this show? Yeah, I was hooked. It took me a good two weeks before I could admit that to people—after all my vows of never watching, never following, never taking part in the Lost-craze, I now could not wait to finish the season and get caught up for the beginning of season 5. Shame, shame, shame.

Okay, yes, the show has its numerous faults, and I am a large critic even as I enjoy the unfolding plot. But the nature of its appeal continues to engage my curiosity. Popular culture and media, and how they interrelate. Those who know me will know of my desire to pursue this field in graduate study. In his analysis of media, McLuhan developed the tetrad for various mediums, calling attention to the effect a given technology has upon the environment. Shows such as Lost encourage the village community from the tribal age McLuhan describes. The ‘clubs’ that view and discuss episodes highlight the unique quality of sharing the visual experience of televised drama. Viewers can feed off one another’s reactions. In essence, the group is experiencing the same show together at the same time. They are in community with one another, united around a common interest, and they are no longer separated by distance (which the telegraph and telephone made possible). Those viewers who are separated by distance are not unreachable, as the online forums prove. The popularity of serialized drama and spread of television into other media have simultaneously extended the global village and reintroduced the notion of the tribal village. It will be exceedingly interesting to observe how the two villages interact, and how the electronic and digital ages affect one another over the next few years.

But for now, I’m readying myself for tonight. Two-hour finale. It’s gonna be wild.

check it out:
Kushner, D. (2007). Fanboy Forum. Rolling Stone, 1021.

 

a cynic’s spring of discontent

I am sitting in a coffee shop, listening to the grind of espresso and a young man hit upon the barista. Smooth words, polite demeanor. Bad pop ballads playing over the store speakers. Espresso shots tamped, pulled, dumped in lattes, mochas, frappuccinos, overpriced specialty organic flavored coffee drinks that now comprise a billions-dollar industry. I try to be economical – purchase a cafe au lait – but realize I can easily make this at my home. I purchase the temporary ‘away’ space, if nothing else.

The day is grey and dreary. Clouds smother the sky, sun attempting to shine through but miserably failing. Result: bright, grey glare and spattered raindrops every quarter hour. Traffic stalls on the road outside– late lunch rush. Exhaust fumes leak from cars and mix with the wispy moisture from sky above.

Northwest spring fosters discontent. A tease of skies and seasons to come. Such it is every year. Cycles, circles, synchronic time, all shifts and melts into one another as always, save for slight changes brought upon by global warming carbon dioxide greenhouse gases. Melted ice, shifting patterns, endangered species. I saw fashion lingerie at a department store that proclaimed “Stop Global Warming” and thought my $5.99 would be better spent on actually helping the environment, like a reusable water bottle. Less plastic, less waste. Better environment.

Rain mixed fuel exhaust polluting the glaring, smothering clouds. Auto makers in despair, in the red. Pontiac axed, which is next? Advertisement on the television speaks of new technology in sedan– computer that magically knows of traffic snarls and suggests alternate routes. Good idea but clean, renewable fuel even better. Traffic will always be a reality for cities, towns, villages, roundabouts in Biot, France and Detroit, Michigan. Fossil fuels will not. Wind solar electric biodiesel. Washington State discovered a potential way to use tree waste as fuel. Trees– renewable resources, renewable energy. Trees, which die and burn from deforestation, illegal logging, asphyxiated by greenhouse gases. Trees that exchange carbon dioxide for oxygen. Oxygen and hydrogen, H2O. Two parts hydrogen, one part oxygen. Chemistry. H2O = water.

Cafe au lait has lost flavor, gone cold. Water sounds more pleasing, easy access at nearest sink, tapwater fills glass, add ice. They say the next looming crisis will be about water. The two parts hydrogen and one part oxygen. Two gases that form quenching, life-sustaining liquid, more valuable than compressed carbon called diamonds for which people die while trying to find. Wells dry up; sometimes wells do not even exist. Yet we have showers that last ten fifteen twenty minutes. Twenty minutes of gloriously hot water, pounding daily troubles away, massaging tension from neck muscles, cleaning hair with sweet-smelling herbal essences.

Voices say we want to be better, more responsible, more innovative, more creative. Better stewards of the planet. Grey exhaust mist, bottled water, burned forests, needless food packaging, pollutants rise temperatures ozone layer thinning. Earth Day passed last week with barely a murmur. Tree plantings sanctioned by city governments and schools– good, benign. In 1970, a group of people poured oil outside the Interior Department in protest.

A woman is talking of Mexico. Pesos, vacations, canceled vacations. Swine flu, pandemic. No pandemic, mutant strain of flu. You’re more likely to die in a car accident on the exhaust-muddled streets than from swine flu. This is not the bubonic plague. Thousands die of hunger each day– there’s a pandemic problem. Pandemic: (adj) existing everywhere, as in a ‘pandemic fear of flu-like symptoms, nuclear war, economic crises.’ There is a hunger pandemic.

Grey mottled skies and cafe au laits. Another paper cup thrown in rubbish bin. I, too, contribute to the trashing of this planet, earth, environment. When will it end? Who is responsible? Collective pronoun– we. We are responsible. Washable coffee mug over fancy-cupped espresso. Bicycles over cars. Quick showers efficient lightbulbs compost bins local vegetables carpooling vegetarianism recycle community farms. What shall we do?

Now is the spring of our discontent.