net.edu

When I started blogging, I never anticipated that I'd learn stuff. I mean, I kind of expect to learn something every day, even if it's just how to say "shoes" in Spanish. But I kind of regarded the blog as just a way to blow off steam, so I think it's pretty neat when people tell me about a book I haven't read or a radio program that I haven't heard before.

I don't often sit and listen to the radio, except when I'm captive in a car. That sort of explains why I didn't listen to NPR for a long time. I used to work with this guy who got on my nerves. Sometimes we'd end up driving somewhere in his car and we'd be there for over an hour. And he always had on NPR. His car, his radio, right? And invariably the program was some interview or discussion about social justice or eco-farming or guerrilla recycling. All of which I think are terrific, as long as you don't get too crazy-weird about them. But trapped in his car, with a certain personal tension building (I don't think he was all that crazy about me, either) all I could think was that he was playing this crunchy-granola-liberal whiney stuff to drive me crazy.

Don't get me wrong. I grew up liberal. I consider myself a moderate these days because everybody else in my extended family is either more liberal or more conservative than me. But I suspect that I harbor some -- ahem -- "un-American" ideas. Vaguely socialistic. Having to do with consumerism.

Here's the tie-in to my net education idea: Amusing Ourselves to Death by Neil Postman. I only learned about this book yesterday, so I haven't read it yet. But I will. Even having not read it yet, I suspect that agree with his thesis. We're losing our ability to think critically because we're eating up all this baloney that mass-media and especially advertisers are serving us.

Why do we need half the stuff we own? I'm not advocating going Henry David Thoreau here, but if we didn't buy so much stuff, they wouldn't keep making more of it. And if we stopped believing that we have to have it, maybe our planet wouldn't be overflowing with the junk we've discarded to make room for more of it. I mean, why do you need a portable DVD player? Or a giant high-definition tv set? If every car has four wheels and an engine, why do we need one that gets 9 miles per gallon and weighs four tons? Because we bought that crap that the advertisers tried to sell us: "it makes a statement about us."

My husband and I sometimes fantasize about moving out of NYC to someplace where the cost of living is a little more realistic. So we peruse the listing of houses for sale. It's kind of a hobby. Anyway, the realtors always put the fancy stuff right there at the head of the listing: "In-ground pool! Jacuzzi tub! Home theatre! Family-room with wet-bar!" (I always think of the 70s when I see that one.) And I want to ask, "What would the house cost without all that?" I've already told my husband that when we do finally buy a house, there will be a tv room. In the basement. With sound-proofed walls. It will have a couch and a coffee table. But that's as close to "home-theatre!" as I will get.

The conclusion that I draw from these real estate listings is that we spend an awful lot of money on things that our parents didn't even consider owning. My dad used to call an in-ground pool an "attractive menace." Our wet-bar was the kichen. And hot running water in the bathtub was good enough for my folks.

Yeah, we own a computer (obviously), and a digital camera. We have a tv we don't use, so we don't pay for cable or satellite or Tivo. We have a DVD player. I think we've played three DVDs in it since we bought it. I'll admit I do think about what I'd put on an I-pod, if I had one. Living where we do, we don't own a car. Before our son was born I liked a little red Chrysler convertable I saw on the rental lot but I never seriously considered buying one. What fun is a convertable in rush-hour traffic? (And it's always rush-hour around here.) And of course you know what car thieves do to convertables. We don't work for a living in my family to throw our money away.

I know that our fine nation has prospered as a capitalist society. But I don't think that capitalism and consumerism need necessarily go hand in hand. Even though recently somebody tried to sell me that idea... I'm not buying.

we are weird

I have a confession to make. We do not watch television.

I got a call the other day from someone who asked for my husband's ex-wife. I knew right away that the caller was calling from one of a handful of organizations to which my husband and his ex-wife used to donate. (She worked on Wall Street and her salary was inflated accordingly. However, the story of my husband and his ex-wife is his story to tell, not mine. She is his EX-wife. Enuf said.) Anyway, I said, "She doesn't live here. She's actually never lived here; she's my husband's ex-wife."

This got the caller very flustered. She said, "Oh, I'm sorry, I'll correct that right away. Do you live at ....?" I said yes, and explained that when my husband forwarded his address from the apartment he shared with his ex to his interim apartment, the post office helpfully gave his forwarding address to a few of the organizations who sent mail to his ex-wife. They followed him when we got married and he moved here. It's no big deal, I just throw them away. So the caller said, "I'll fix it so they don't bother you anymore." Then, sheepishly,"This is Channel 13, by the way. Do you or your husband happen to watch Channel 13?"

This is where I had to say, "No, we don't watch television. It's just a lifestyle choice we've made. But if we did watch tv we probably would watch Channel 13..." (for what that's worth, which isn't much). So the caller hung up, and I guess we won't be getting begging-letters from Channel 13 anymore.

Channel 13, by the way, is the local PBS station, and I have no problem with my son watching "Sesame Street" or "Zoom" or "Between the Lions." At least, I didn't until that dumb Bush appointee to the Corporation for Public Broadcasting started messing with PBS and NPR. (I don't often listen to NPR because at times their commentary does come across as too liberal, even for me. But I haven't heard anything in the least bit partisan on "Car Talk" yet. And if you don't like the content of a program, you can turn it off -- what a concept.) HOWEVER, if Tom DeLay starts appearing with Big-Bird... well, it's all over. (My son doesn't show any interest in tv yet, anyway.)

I used to watch tv. I watched the national news back when I was in college, and "Miami Vice" on Friday nights. I moved to NYC and didn't have a television for several years, and didn't miss it much. I watched "The X Files" on Sunday nights until I met my husband. I rarely watched anything I'd worked on -- that's like re-reading your final exam. Eventually tv pretty much ceased to interest me all together. Once in a while I'll watch a baseball game. It costs less and is much easier than going to the ballpark with a toddler. My husband doesn't watch anymore either, and the majority of his clients are broadcast producers. He understands what they do, but he doesn't have to see what they've done, if you get my drift. It doesn't make him a better or worse architect.

So I suppose that makes us weird. Almost everything I know about what's on tv today comes from something I've read about it. Besides, there are too many things we want to do to spend time every night on our ever-broadening butts parked in front of the boob-tube. If I want to further broaden my butt I prefer to read a book. Speaking of which, I've got one that I haven't started yet. So have a good Memorial Day weekend, everybody. Bye.

chaos theory, or what I learned from andy!

Sounds really complicated. "Chaos theory." Like something you would have been required to study in physics. But if I understand it correctly, it's a lot more fun. Let me see if I've got this right:

Chaos theory is like the Red Sox winning the World Series, when everybody knows it's supposed to be the Yankees. It's when some horse called Giacomo (who?) wins the Kentucky Derby at odds of something like 50:1. It's when the heiress leaves her fortune to the pool guy. It's why groupies hang around stage doors. Right? Because Brad Pitt might just possibly choose you to help him get over Jennifer and --uh-- whatsername. Or -- I forgot one -- it's how George W. Bush wins election to the presidency of the United States in the first place!

I think they used to call these people "eternal optimists" or something mild like that. But I like "chaos-theory victim" -- it's a lot more descriptive. "I'm a victim of chaos theory." It excuses all kinds of wacked-out behavior. Because even if the odds are a couple of billion to one, it could still happen. Sounds like a good pitch for a reality show.

lonely mom gets lonelier

The cool-mommy exodus continues.

I learned this week that my friend Ann and her family are moving to San Francisco. Her husband took a new job with a company out there and she said offhandedly, "I decided to go with him." Well, that's exciting for them, but it leaves our decidedly small circle of friends that much smaller. Bummer. Why is it that all the families who think like we do are decamping to other cities? Could it be the rising cost of shrinking real estate in NYC? (Nah, couldn't have anything to do with it.)

So I find other ways to keep busy -- Tuesday evening benefit events two weeks in a row, a Wednesday evening presentation for a proposed theatre complex based on Shakespeare's Globe theatre to be built on Governer's Island, a Thursday night end-of-season choir party... Friday was a medical procedure, Saturday a wedding, Sunday the Trinity Sunday church barbeque plus a visit from some of those friends who already left the city (several years ago) for the west coast. Busy but not fulfilled, somehow. I miss our afternoon coffee and mommy-bull sessions.

Oh, here's a complete non sequitor -- twice this past week -- not one isolated incident, but TWICE -- a guy in a van (two different guys, two different vans) pulled over next to where I was walking on the sidewalk and said, "Hey, you look really pretty. What's your name? Do you want a ride?"

Ok, guys, no offense, but what planet are you from?! Do women just hop into your van at your invitation where you live? I mean, I don't know you. You could be a serial rapist or a Bush impersonator or Karl Rove or something. Thank you for the complement, but you're freaking me out. I might be lonely, but I'm not crazy!

shudder

I finished another of those books I picked up -- when was it, two weeks ago ? And boy, let me tell you, I don't know why I kept reading it... but I had to see what happened next. Even when what happened next was something I'd rather not think about.

The book was Haunted by Chuck Palahniuk. It's a collection of the ugliest, most despicable, depraved, gruesome stories I've ever read. There's not one hero in this book, no one that you want to identify with (and God help you if you do). Some of the characters are pawns, and some are villains, but all of them are irreparably damaged. It's a book about the kind of fascination that makes people rubberneck traffic accidents on the freeway. I suppose it's why people pay money to see slasher movies (I've never had any desire to do that, so I can only surmise). It's why "if it bleeds, it leads" in the news media. It's about our fascination with the gruesome.

The first story left me feeling disgusted. One halfway through the book made me want to howl in anguish (I put the book down for a while after that one). After a number of these it makes you numb. There were passages that were so graphic that I couldn't read every word, it made me so uncomfortable. Squeamish. Despairing. It's probably some kind of masterpiece. I'm just not qualified to say how.

There's a picture of the author on the back inside flap of the book jacket. He looks like a pretty nice guy -- sort of handsome, intelligent looking. And how he could conceive of the things he writes in this book almost escapes me... except I know that somewhere in the world somebody did something similar, otherwise these stories wouldn't have the power that they do.

It made me want to grab my little boy and pull the bed covers over both our heads and make a safe place -- that safe place where you used to retreat as a kid when things got overwhelming. It made me want to pray that none of that kind of horrible stuff will ever touch my family -- prayer being no guarantee but that doesn't stop you from praying anyway.

As a parent, what makes me very sad when I think about stuff like this is that we were all born pure, innocent and helpless. And you can either nurture that innocence and helplessness, or you can exploit it, corrupt it, destroy it. That creates other people who do despicable things. But once upon a time, they were as trusting and innocent as my son...

I don't have any answers. Neither does this book. Next time I go to the bookstore I guess I'll look for Eats, Shoots and Leaves...

this is for you, Tristan

My husband and son gave me a little gift for Mother's Day yesterday: they gave me the chance to finish "Kafka on the Shore." (You know, if I remember my English grammer correctly, the title of a book should be underlined, not in quotation marks. But this is the internet, right? All rules are off. Plus it doesn't give you an underline function.) At any rate, here's the book report. It like that term better than "critique." I did book reports in elementary school, and book reports were much kinder and gentler than the crits I had to endure in grad school!

This is an amazing book. Maybe not for the person who likes everything tied up all neat and tidy, because Murakami doesn't do that, exactly. But he has the incredible ability to make utterly impossible situations seem completely reasonable, so you have no trouble believing that a character could have a conversation with a cat, or that Johnnie Walker and Colonel Sanders could be living incarnations of "good" and "evil" who can influence events.

"Kafka on the Shore" explores ideas about identity and the subconscious, space/time continuum, paranormal events, irony and Oedipus Rex. There are more ideas at work in this book than in anything that I've read in a long time. But don't let that put you off -- even if you're not into Kafka and Hegel and Freud you can still read this book and enjoy it. The complete absurdity of some of the plot developments is entertaining, but nothing is mere embellishment.

The hero of the story is Kafka, a 15-year-old runaway who was abandoned by his mother when he was four years old. This event poisoned his relationship with his father and left him feeling "hollow" and arrested in time. He leaves home searching for a remedy to his disjointed life and finds a soul-mate at the edge of the world.

A parallel plot line involves Mr. Nakata who has been "not terribly bright" since an otherworldly incident 60 years ago left him unable to read or write. Mr. Nakata's and Kafka's fates are inextricably intertwined, although for a long time you can't figure out the connection. They go on a journey into and out of reality as we know it and their destination is ultimately ambiguous.

Haruki Murakami has populated this book with fascinating characters and lots and lots of information. Even his working class characters are pretty erudite -- they make the "Desperate Housewives" all look like Boopsies. And as I said earlier, nothing in this book is superfluous. I probably missed some of the tie-ins between ideas and events. But Murakami knows his dramaturgy. As one of his characters points out, "Anton Chekhov put it best when he said, 'If a pistol appears in a story, eventually it's got to be fired.'" Murakami doesn't leave his guns unfired.

Kafka on the Shore

I did it again.

I went into a bookstore. There was a book in the window with a cover that interested me, and I went in. I dropped $100 in that store this morning, and I hadn't intended to spend any money today. As a matter of fact, I've been trying to be conservative with the cashflow lately. But bookstores are my weakness.

Some women can't resist shoes. Or sales. Or highlights and manicures. I've pretty much given all that stuff up, but I can't give up the books. I've cut way back since my son was born, but I can't go cold turkey.

Anyway, this bookstore isn't like your mega-Barnes and Noble or Waldenbooks or whatever... it's a neighborhood store with clerks who like to read and talk about books. And the clerk today talked me into some books that I never would have brought home if it hadn't been for him. The one I started to read when I brought them home sounded from the clerk's description like it would be really surreal, but so far it's mesmerizing. It's called "Kafka on the Shore" by Haruki Murakami. I've never read anything he wrote before, but I will definitely read more when I finish this one. It's about a mysterious (X-file like) event that happened 60 years ago, a 15-year-old runaway, and an old retarded man who can talk to cats. The event and the man and the boy are all linked, but so far it's unclear how. I don't want to put it down, but my son is going to need some attention now.
I'll let you know what I think when I finish it.

2 cents worth

I thought I ought to let you know that I appreciate the fact that somebody does actually read my musings here, and I appreciate the occasional comments that you post. I may not respond to them directly (haven't yet, anyway) but I do read them and think about them. So please feel free to add your two cents worth (it might increase the value of the original idea ever so slightly).

hard to please

Ever had one of those days when absolutely nothing makes you happy? It seems to be going around.

My son refused to eat breakfast this morning. He didn't want yogurt, he didn't want his favorite cereal. I even made him toddler-sized pieces of french toast with maple syrup, and he didn't want that either. He's had a runny nose since Thursday, and if I had kept track of every cold he's had since the fall we'd probably be up to number 25. But the last time he had a cold and didn't want to eat he ended up in the hospital with bronchiolitis, so it puts me a little on edge.

I filled his lunch bag with his favorite foods and sent him out with Myriam, hoping he'll at least eat some lunch. Then I went to run errands: post office, drugstore, groceries. This is what I do with my time "off." The neighborhood looked nice in the sunshine this morning, but somebody had already trampled some of the impatiens we planted on Saturday. Every year I wonder why we bother; people crush our plants, let their dogs "go" on them, throw their garbage in our flower beds. I'm not altogether pleased about the recent influx of hipsters and yupsters to our part of Brooklyn, but today I have no patience with the derelicts who plant themselves in our doorways with their bottles of malt liquor and aluminum dishes of fried rice and chicken wings (although to be fair, they've been here a lot longer than many of us have). WIth all the new construction going up to accommodate the hipsters and the yupsters, they probably won't be here much longer. Pretty soon it'll look just like the Upper West Side around here.

I got back from the grocery store with things to fix for dinner and had just finished putting the food away when I got a call from my husband to tell me that he has to have dinner with a network executive tonight. He said, "I bet you just got back from the store with tonight's dinner." I told him he'd be right and why doesn't he put that clairvoyance to work on lottery numbers or the stock market (no, on second thought forget the stock market) so he doesn't have to have any more dinners with any more network execs. Then I put all the ingredients for tonight's meal in the fridge for tomorrow. It's looking like a Lean Cuisine evening.

I think I'll go take a walk before the rain sets in. As a character in "Platoon" put it, "it's gonna piss on us all night."