The Rebirth of the Cool, Popularity (A Brief Post)

The rebirth of the cool:  The Solipsist likes President Obama.  That was probably clear from earlier posts, but here's an example of why.  According to today's Times, during a meeting with congressional leaders to discuss the economy and plans to revive it, the President got into a minor argument with Representative Eric Cantor (R-VA).  Mr. Cantor was expressing a standard Republican line on tax policy, and Mr. Obama basically responded thus: "You have some good points, and I respect your position.  We just have some basic philosophical differences.  And (oh, by the way) I'm the President."  Just awesome.

Popularity: For the second straight day, the article topping the Times' list of "most e-mailed" articles was the one featuring a report on vulgar place-names in England (see "The Solipsist" of January 23).  This all goes to support a theory that this commentator has been investigating for some time now: All Americans are 5 years old.

An Embarrassment of Riches

Sometimes the newspaper just gives you so much grist for the mill.

(Digression: What is grist and why are we milling it?  "Grist: Grain to be ground."  Well, that answers the questions, but not why we in our decidedly post-millerian lives continue to think about it.  The Solipsist apologizes to all those diligent millers toiling on their flosses.)

("Floss: A small stream of water."  End of digression.)

In today's Times, the Solipsist found the following comment-worthy items:

"Thain Resigns Amid Losses at Bank of America," about the resignation of John Thain from Merrill Lynch, contained this item:

"But despite the mounting losses, Merrill Lynch rushed to pay annual bonuses to its employees before its deal with Bank of America closed on Jan. 1. Those payments are now under investigation by the attorney general of New York, a person briefed on the investigation said Thursday."

One commonly accepted definition of "chutzpah" is murdering your own parents and then asking the jury for mercy on account of the fact that you're an orphan.  There would seem to be many dead parents lying around the offices of Merrill Lynch/B of A.  Annual bonuses?  Yes, it's become a cliche to attack the greed, arrogance, and public-relations tone-deafness of the titans of finance over the last several months, but come on!  Who thinks this is a good idea?!?  Well, OK, we know WHO but HOW could this be thought prudent?  Apparently Thain himself was in line for (and considered himself deserving of) a bonus in the 30-40 million dollar range, which was then reduced to 10 million, which was then reduced to nothing.  Would have been fun to be a fly on the wall for that conversation.  "30 million's too much?  Really?  I mean nobody pays attention to these things, right?  Guys?  [Stony silence.]  OK, OK. . . .I can live with ten. . . .Fellas? . . . .Yeah, all right all right. . . .[mumbling] Stupid economy rassa frassa mrgl mrgl. . . ."

From the ridiculous, to the sublime.  The front page continues with the story of the beautiful, haunting, inspiring "Air and Simple Gifts"--the classical piece by John Williams played by an all-star ensemble of top-flight musicians: Itzhak Perlman on violin, Yo Yo Ma on Cello, some dude on clarinet, a chick on piano, and on drums, all the way from the Great White North, Rush's own Neil Peart!  (OK, that last one was a joke, but wouldn't it have been cool?)  Anyway, this commentator's heart was warmed that these titans of classical music would brave the frigid Washington air to celebrate the historic ascension of an African-American to our nation's highest office.  That their dedication to their craft was such that they would suffer such physical discomfort to bring beauty to the masses.  Indeed, that they COULD, in fact, manage to produce such breath-takingly beautiful sounds in air that by rights should have frozen their fingers to their bows and ivories.  This music, drawn perfectly from their otherwise lifeless instruments that--  Huh?  What's that?

Pre-recorded?

Yes, folks, in the spirit of those other great African-American trailblazers Milli and Vanilli, it seems that Mssrs. Perlman, Ma, et al., were actually string-synching to a pre-recorded version of this work.  Now, overall, this was a minor cover-up, but after eight years of Bush and his secret agendas, it was a bit jarring to begin the Obama years on these questionable notes (pun most definitely intended).

And, finally, from the ridiculous to the pseudo-sublime to the SO ridiculous that it qualifies for its own sort of sublimity after all: an article about lewd sounding place names in England.  The Solipsist is unsure why this qualifies as news, but he's certainly not complaining:

Penistone, Crapstone, North Piddle, East Breast, Wetwang, Spanker Lane, Crotch Crescent, Slutshole Lane, Titty Ho, Pratts Bottom, Ugley (Essex), Gaswork Road, Quare Street, Typple Avenue, Hoare Road, Tumbledown Dick Road, Butt Hole Road, Horrabridge.  ("I've been everywhere, Man!  I've been everywhere. . . .")

Any additional comment would be superfluous.  Happy trails!

Reverse Shibboleths

Word of the day: alexithymia.

Those with an etymological bent may be able to parse this one.  For the rest, it means "inability to express one's feelings in words,"  a condition also known as "maleness."  But seriously, folks, apparently this is a recognized condition in the therapeutic field.  It manifests itself as a sort of general muddle-headedness when faced with the task of describing how one is actually feeling--or, perhaps, WHY one is feeling the way one is feeling.  You know what I mean: Those days when you feel neither particularly bad nor particularly good, when you find yourself in a psychic existential gray space.  What am I doing?  Why am I here?  What is this thing I call "me"?  (Apparently, this condition is also recognized in the psychological field as, "Meh?")

The wonderful thing about modern psychology, though, is that it gives us words for these feelings.  What a relief to know that there is a word for not having words.  And if there IS a word for it, then it must be something other people have felt.  What validation!  Go back to the discussion of "shibboleths" (1/10/09).  Some words are better left unsaid for fear of conjuring the referent.  So maybe this is a "reverse shibboleth": A previously unknown word that describes something that already exists.  When Adam was let loose in the Garden of Eden, it fell to him to name everything (how he came up with "wombat" remains a mystery).  And this was a manifestation of his (man's/humankind's) "dominion" over the earth.  In other words, to name is to dominate.  And that which can be dominated can be dealt with.

So the next time you're feeling down, crack open the ol' DSM-IV.  Whatever ails you might just be neatly summarized in its pages.  And maybe, once you have this label, you can paste it on a drawer of your mental file cabinet.  And then you can stash all the associated swirling thoughts and feelings and worries and fears in this drawer and, like old tax returns and college term papers, they may just be forgotten once and for all.

"I Am Barack Obama"

Scenes from the inauguration: According to the Times (and you gotta love the transcription), when President Bush appeared onstage at the inauguration, some people in the crowd began chanting, "Na na na na, hey hey hey, goodbye." At least no shoes were thrown. God bless America!

Anyway.

Yesterday, Ron Dellums, a former Congressman and the current mayor of Oakland, CA, talked a bit about how proud and excited he was about the inauguration. He also made some points about how he could see in Obama's ascension the fulfillment of an ideal forged in the Bay Area. He talked about how in the early 70's he, a young African-American man, was first elected to Congress by a then-overwhelmingly white district. The point was that--Newsflash!--the Bay Area has always been a bit more progressive than the country as a whole, and that he, Dellums, was pleased to think that this "Northern California attitude" was spreading throughout the country.

All well and good, but there was an off-putting self-congratulatory subtext, almost as though Dellums was taking credit for Obama. It put one in mind of Nike's "I am Tiger Woods" campaign, this identification with a racially transcendent superstar. But, you know what? You're NOT Tiger Woods. No one is! (Well, OK, maybe Tiger Woods.) And Ron Dellums is NOT Barack Obama. Does one need to identify oneself with a figure of greatness in order to appreciate his greatness? How insecure is that? Besides, doing this only perpetuates the elevation--reduction?--of Obama the man to Obama the symbol. The symbolism is there, people, undoubtedly, but we need to move past this. The President has work to do--he knows it. It's enough of a burden to be the President without carrying any more symbolic weight than is unavoidable.

And be careful what you identify with: With all the difficulties the President faces, do you really want to walk around saying you ARE he?

Grace Period

So the big question is, How long until Obama is just "the president"?  Sure, he will ALWAYS be "the first," but will he always be "the One"?  The Solipsist is giving him six months until he becomes just another object of public ridicule or adoration, just like any other politician.  As hard as it may be to remember now, there were people eight years ago with tears in their eyes for Bush.  (Many people STILL have tears in their eyes for Bush, but the quality is different.)  Maybe Obama's grace period will last longer.  After all, if he does nothing but sit in a corner for the next four years, he'll be an improvement on what we've become used to.

Still, it was refreshing to see a president who not only speaks in complete sentences but actually gives the impression he understands them.  Quite a bit of nice parallel structure in the speech, too.  One almost got the feeling he was showing off for the soon-to-be-ex sitting behind him: "See this is called rhetoric--look into it, maybe."

But for the Solipsist, the true spirit of the day could be seen on the face of a colleague, a seventy-something Jewish woman who lived through the civil rights era, marched on the powers that were, and who has, in fact, dedicated much of her later life to a deeper understanding of the African-American experience.  While Obama made his way to the podium, she literally bounced in her chair, and when he took the oath of office, she high-fived anyone she could find.  She didn't cry--not this time--but she was close.  She said herself that she never really believed she would live to see this day, and one can only wonder how many of the thousands at the Capitol, the hundreds of thousands on the Mall, the millions watching around the country, and the hundreds of millions around the world would have said the same thing not even two years ago.

So good luck, President Obama.  Our thoughts are with you.

Happy Birthday, Dr. King

This isn't really about Martin Luther King.  Instead, with no malice toward the late Rev. Dr. King, the Solipsist would like to kvetch a bit about days off.  Now, if any American figure is entitled to a holiday in his honor, certainly Dr. King is.  And the Solipsist likes to sleep in as much as the next guy.

(Digression: Who is this "Next Guy" to whom everyone compares him/herself?  How do we all know so much about him?  Are we ever the Next Guy?  End of Digression.)

The problem is that days off, even more than weekends, throw off one's mental equilibrium.  One searches for inspiration, but without the regular chance encounters of a regular day, inspiration is hard to find.  One checks the newspapers, but, by the time this one has overcome inertia and sat down to write, it's already 4:30--somehow, a comment on today's news feels already dated.

One could note the fact that 'kvetch' receives the red-underline of a potential misspelling and comment on the inherent anti-semitism of the Google Empire.  That should be good for a couple of sentences.

The Solipsist could blame his readers for his lack of inspiration.  After all, if he were getting more comments, maybe he would have more to respond to.  You lazy curs!

No, no, he doesn't mean it.  He loves you guys.  All three of you.  Really.  Please don't leave.

What do you suppose it takes to get included in Blogger's "Blogs of Note"?  Is there someone we could bribe?  Do we have to agitate?  Can one place one's own name into consideration?  Has this post hit 500 words yet?

Stephen King has said that in order to become a good writer, the most important thing to do is write.  He has compared writing to bodybuilding: If you lift a dumbbell 50 times a day, your arm WILL get stronger; similarly, if you write 500 words a day, you WILL become a better writer.  Another FOS--a poet--put himself on a "poem-a-day" regime: He would write a poem a day (duh!)--good, bad, indifferent, or just plain awful.  It didn't matter.  The point was just to do the daily work.

So, the point of this entry is to demonstrate to any would-be writers out there that the only way to become a writer is to force yourself to do it.  Chain yourself to your desk and bang out those words--good, bad, indifferent, or awful--before you declare yourself, in the words of (and with apologies to) today's honoree, "Free at last, free at last, thank God almighty, I'm free at last!"

(500 words?  Close enough.)

Marketing for Dummies

. . . . Or, "Does This Beer Make Me look Fat, Part II"

Historically, certain items are marketed in certain ways: Fooodstuffs are marketed on taste or healthiness; retail chains market themselves on value; automobiles on reliability, etc.  Lately, however, the Solipsist has noted some odd marketing choices.  We have already discussed the marketing of beer as the drink of choice for the calorie-conscious alcoholic (1/5/09).  The other day, the Solipsist heard a radio advertisement for "bargain haircuts."  And a local emporium proudly boasts that it sells "Keys for Less."

Now, anything that can help the Solipsist trim his key budget (currently at least $400 month) is welcome.  But, really, are the vast majority of people struggling to pay for keys?  And how does a keymaker actually go about undercutting the competition?  Does he make his keys out of yams?

The point is, certain things should be marketed in certain ways; the corollary, certain marketing strategies just don't work for certain products.  Herewith, a guide for appropriate and inappropriate marketing strategies.  Please feel free to add your own:

MARKETING STRATEGY: Bargain-hunting

APPROPRIATE PRODUCTS: Retail outlets

INAPPROPRIATE PRODUCTS: Keys, Haircuts, Hookers

STRATEGY: The health-conscious consumer

APPROPRIATE: Foodstuffs, Restaurants, Gyms and Exercise Equipment

INAPPROPRIATE: Beer, Candy. . . . Well, hookers, too, come to think of it

STRATEGY: Entertainment value

APPROPRIATE: Films, TV shows, Toys

INAPPROPRIATE: Shoes, Carpet Cleaner, Butter

STRATEGY: Reliability

APPROPRIATE: Cars, The Service Industry, Batteries

INAPPROPRIATE: Peanut Butter, Cotton Swabs, Llamas

The Solipsist is available to serve as a consultant for any product/industry that would like to better position itself to compete in this harsh economic climate.