Cause, Symptom, or Cure?

Our writing class is once again working its way through Affluenza: The All-Consuming Epidemic by John de Graaf, David Wann, and Thomas H. Naylor. As we've mentioned in a previous post, the book discusses the harm wrought upon society by over-consumption.

(DIGRESSION: No, the irony of attaching a link for you to buy the book is not lost on the Solipsist. EOD)

Today, we discussed chapter eight, which talks about the toll taken on communities by excessive consumption. The central point is that social capital has all-but-disappeared in this era when everyone wants not only to keep up with but to surpass "the Joneses"; the social Darwinism at the heart of the free-market system encourages a never-ending competition with friends and neighbors and largely neutralizes any sense of community-minded altruism.

Our discussion today got us thinking about virtual communities. We couldn't help but ponder their relationship to the "all-consuming epidemic." Are they a cause? A symptom? A potential cure? All of the above?

We suppose that social networks can't fairly be called a cause of affluenza; after all, this disease has been spreading since at least the advent of television and was pandemic before Facebook was even a gleam in Mark Zuckerberg's eye. Symptom, then? Somewhat. Or at least a vector. Facebook has caught flak whenever it has attempted to capitalize on its user's information; the idea that the social network can transmute its members into data points for advertisers proves that marketing is omnipresent, and that an escape into a virtual world will not remove you from the affluenza hot-zone.

Still, the virtual community--being, after all, a community--may hold out hope for a remedy. Of course, Facebook and its ilk have commoditized the very concept of friendship ("You only have 238 friends? I have 497!"). At the same time, isn't it kind of neat that we are no longer bound by geography when seeking like-minded souls? Most of our "friends" are actually people we know in meatspace, but those who aren't are folks who share common interests--especially interest in "The Solipsist"!

Any virtual community that facilitates the growth of Solipsist Nation bodes well for the future of mankind and its ability to ward off the worst symptoms of affluenza. And now another word from our sponsor.

Stuff We Like (A Brief Post)

If you have a Coldstone Creamery near you, we suggest you run out immediately and get your hands and taste buds on a batch of their Oreo creme flavored ice cream. It tastes like. . . . Well, OK, we imagine you can guess what it tastes like. For the full experience, have them mix oreo cookies into the ice cream.

You can thank us later.

Will You Still Need Us?

It finally happened. We knew this day would come, we just didn't know when. Now, we know.

Every semester, we assign our class a textbook exercise on topic sentences. Never mind the details, but one of the sample topic sentences in the book states, "The Beatles went through many musical stages." A few years back, when we got to this point in the exercise, we threw out what we thought was a pretty easy challenge: "One point extra credit right now to the first person who can name three Beatles' songs."

We were mildly surprised to see how many students were unable even to venture a guess, but, still, a handful of students could do it with no problem. Since then, we've kept the challenge going, and have noticed a steadily decreasing number of students able to answer. We wondered when the number would fall to zero. The answer was, today.

Yes, today, when we asked the question, absolutely no one could answer. Not even the older students.

OLDER STUDENT: Oh, Mr. Solipsist, you're talking old school, here.

SOLIPSIST: Well, Older Student, can you give me three songs?

OS: Sorry. . . .

SOLIPSIST: Really? No one? No one can name three Beatles' songs?. . . . [crickets chirping]

SOL: Can anyone name three Beatles? [Prolonged silence]

STUDENT: Wasn't Paul McCartney. . . ?

SOL: Yes, Paul McCartney. . . .

ANOTHER STUDENT: What about the guy that was with Yoko Ono?

SOL: Well, yes. . .

[WAIT A MINUTE?!? YOU KNOW YOKO ONO AND YOU DON'T KNOW JOHN LENNON?!? WHAT THE HOLY HELL?!?]

And that was it. We shook our head sadly, continued with our lesson, went back to our office, and wept for the future.

(Image from Indiana Public Media)

Don't Ask, Don't Tell. . .and Try Not to 'Do' Either

An interesting article today discussed the travails faced by gay and lesbian cadets at West Point. What with the continuing farce that is "Don't Ask, Don't Tell," all cadets must sign a pledge "acknowledging that revealing one's homosexuality can lead to discharge [snort!], as can 'demonstrating a propensity to engage in homosexual acts.'"

We're glad they clarified that last point. Otherwise, cadets could always adopt the Roy Cohn defense: "I'm not gay! I just like to fuck around with guys" (see Angels in America; no, really, see it).

Campaign Promise (A Brief Post)

At Christmas, the President of the United States hangs candy canes on the White House Christmas tree. At Easter, children hunt for Easter eggs on the White House lawn. At Thanksgiving--and even at Iftar--a lavish feast is served in the White House dining room.

Our question, then, is this: Why don't you ever see the President wearing a costume on Halloween? He's too big for a little trick-or-treating?

If elected, we promise to dress up either as a banana or a cylon for our first White House Halloween. Thank you for your support.

Kingdom Come Back

This weekend, we had one of our more enjoyable and frustrating television experiences. First, a bit of background.

Several years ago, before we had a DVR or even a DVD player, we were flipping through our cable TV guide. We saw a listing on some movie channel for something called "The Kingdom,"a movie about a haunted hospital. We were intrigued, but then we noted that the movie was four hours long. And in Danish. We passed.

Still, another night we were up late, and we saw the movie listed again. We thought, "What the heck, let's give it a shot."

We were hooked.

"The Kingdom" (or, "Riget") was the brainchild of a famous--well, OK, the famous--Danish filmmaker Lars von Trier ("Breaking the Waves," 1996; "Dancer in the Dark," 2000). It originally appeared on Danish television as a four-part miniseries in 1994 (and we were as surprised as anyone to find out there was such a thing as Danish television), and tells of the strange and supernatural goings on at Kingdom Hospital; imagine "ER" set in Hell.

What makes the show impressive, more than its plot, is its depth. There are no undeveloped characters. The ensemble includes Dr. Stig Helmer (Ernst-Hugo Jaregard), a Denmark-hating Swedish expatriate, who has come to the Kingdom to escape one scandal and who has quickly found himself enmeshed in another one; Frau Drusse (Kirsten Rollfes), a hypochondriacal spiritualist determined to discover the hospital's secrets; Dr. Einar Moesgaard (Holger Juul Hansen), a well-meaning, somewhat bumbling administrator who just wants everyone to get along; and several other patients, orderlies, and staffers, each with their own quirks and intriguing storylines.

Anyway, we watched. And watched. And watched. Long into the night we watched. We wanted to sleep, but we also wanted to see how it all turned out. As the clock ticked closer to the movie's endtime, we forced ourselves to stay awake. Just a few minutes more. . . . Ah, here it is! The ending. . . .

AND IT DIDN'T END!!!

Because, you see, what we had been watching was actually "The Kingdom" SERIES ONE! In other words, there was a whole 'nother SEASON of the show, but THAT was not shown on this channel. Nor could we find it anywhere else. And it wasn't like the show ended on some mildly disturbing "The End. . . .or is it?" kind of note. We're talking full-on cliffhanger. We were not happy.

Anyway, some ten years on, we had pretty much forgotten about "The Kingdom" (and we had ignored the American Stephen King adaptation, "Kingdom Hospital," 2004). This weekend, however, WOS unwittingly put "The Kingdom" on our Netflix instant-watch queue. We saw her starting to watch it, and we warned her about our experience. "You'll be disappointed," we said. "The show just ends and leaves you hanging."

"Well," she said, showing me the queue, "couldn't we just watch the second series?"

?!?

Yes! There it was, "The Kingdom, Series Two"! Woo-hoo!

So we re-watched Series One. (WOS loved it.) We sat down to watch Series Two. It picked up right where Series One left off. The stories of Helmer and Drusse and Moesgaard and all the other wacky denizens continued unfolding before our rapt gaze. Who cared that it was another four-plus hour commitment? We would have resolution!

The only problem was. . . THE STORY DOESN'T END AT THE END OF SERIES TWO EITHER!!!!!!

Obviously, von Trier had some intentons of doing a "Series Three" (again, the ending was far too inconclusive to be anything other than a cliffhanger), but, for whatever reason, it has never appeared.

In closing, then, we highly recommend "The Kingdom." It is a captivating story. Prepare yourself, though, for some frustration at the end.

This Is a Job for W

We have this fantasy we'd like to share. Not the one involving Uma Thurman and a tub of butterscotch pudding. A different one.

We have this fantasy that former President and country-wrecker George W. Bush will step back into the spotlight he so thankfully left a couple of years ago and actually do something useful for this nation. In moments of despair, after reading the daily dispatches about the "Ground Zero" Mosque, we imagine Bush coming forward and reiterating his message from the days after 9/11: that Islam is a peaceful religion; that Muslims are not the enemy; that Americans must embrace the principles of religious tolerance that are the foundation of our culture. Because, frankly, Bush is about the ONLY major public figure with a chance of getting through to the Beck-Limbaugh-Palin Morlock Brigade and stop them from dragging this country even further down its dark rabbit hole.

That is our fantasy, but we're not holding our breath. We think we'll go mix up a batch of butterscotch pudding instead.