El ingenioso hidalgo don quijote de la mancha

well i'm almost done reading El Quijote for the second time this year and i think it is a super duper book. the fact that its two parts were written in 1605/1615 respectively was never the most exciting aspect of the book when i approached it years ago for my first attempt at reading it. this time around i've had much more fun, many more laughs and have seen much deeper into what don Quijote represents as a literary figure for me.

just to set the stage a little: don Quijote sets out at the age of 50ish to change the world by restoring the lost practice of chivalric knighthood, along with his reluctant squire Sancho Panza. (rough trans.) "to go throughout the world with his arms and horse to find adventures y to behave in such a way as to imitate all that he had read that the former errant knights did, righting every class of injustice, and putting himself in occasions of danger so that he would earn eternal fame." whoa, DQ, take it easy!

so for most of the book he's a comedic character. he thinks windmills are giants and so he attacks them, unsuccessfully. he thinks an innkeeper is the lord of a castle and thus he has found a worthy man to bestow him with the office of knighthood, which the innkeeper happily and laughingly does. he challenges a charging herd of sheep to a duel only to find that they were not the great army that he had seen approaching. as he lay trampled and toothless, he reminds his squire: "you must know, dear sancho, that it is a very easy thing for these enchanters that pursue me to make anything appear to be anything else. this evil enchanter who pursues me, envious of the glory that he saw to be within my grasp in this battle, has turned the enemy legions into flocks of sheep!" lol, DQ!

the thing that really gets me about DQ is not his comedy of errors, although there is constant fodder for laughter here -- just after the herd tramples him, sancho asks, unsure:

"how many molars do you normally have in this part of your mouth?"

"four!," responded don Quijote, "except the wisdom tooth, all are whole and healthy."

"look carefully what you say, my lord," responded sancho.

"i say four, if not then five," responded don Quijote, "because not in my whole life have they taken a tooth or molar out of my mouth, nor have any fallen out from infection or lack of care."

"but in this part below," sancho said, "your mercy has not more than two molars and a half; and in the part above, not even a half, not even one, it is all as flat as the palm of my hand."

"what awful luck!" cried don Quijote, hearing the sad news that his squire gave him, "i would have rather they tear off my arm, as long as it would not be my sword-weilding arm."

lol, Qui-hotes!

anyway, the thing that really gets me is not DQ's comedy of errors, it's who he represents. and who he represents for me is a man with ideals, beliefs and hope who ultimately fails to see any of them realized. don Quijote is a tragic figure who for me represents the tragic figure in all of us who, though we cling as tightly as we must to our personal idealism and the things we believe to be true/just/right/holy, may find that those things are ultimately never realized completely. he is a personification of the tragic human condition of limited vision. yet, beyond that tragedy, there may be a rejoicing in our ability to believe passionately and with assurance something that we are as yet unassured of. through the character of don Quijote, i see that faith is at once one among the strongest and weakest of man's instruments to relate to the world around him. with it we may gird up our convictions and motivation for living (as el hidalgo DQ does), but by it we are ultimately left flailing our sword against a deep, dark madness.

its a tragic, beautiful madness, though, if you ask me.

califone

i like a lot of bands, it's true. there aren't a lot of constants over the years in my 10 favorite albums lists. i guess that's because a lot of bands come and go. many make a great album and then fall off of my radar (see ...Trail of Dead, Clap Your Hands..., and others). but there are bands that transcend their musical production and actually manage to influence my life in some way. among these bands i can only count The Flaming Lips and their world-embracing appeal. that's pretty much the only one that really moves me beyond the music and words. Wayne Coyne is the perfect weirdo whose genuine humanity is so apparent (and who seems most transparent) that it becomes difficult if not impossible to fall in love with the guy and his band.

but i'll add Califone to that list now. since 2004's Heron King Blues, i was pretty attracted to Califone's kitchen-sink brand of folk rock. so dusty, so dirty, so mangled and yet, when the heavy fog of noises dissipated, there were moments of music so affecting in their mood and sound alone, that i didn't mind the 15 minute jams of garbage can percussion and reserved noodling on any number of what seem to be rusty string-ed guitars.

nothing could have prepared me for 2006's Roots and Crowns, though, which placed number 7 in my 2006 year-end list (which, in hindsight, is way way too low). since then, the album has become a staple in my rotation, and i am certain it will land on my decade's favorites list coming at the end of this year. there's something that draws me into their world of imperfectly-tuned instruments, matched with varied and always erratic percussion, all united under tim rutili's rusty, world-worn crooning that keeps me listening. i have a hard time not listening actively to Califone anytime i play them.

if i were to put my finger on it, i would say that when i listen to Califone i feel like i'm hearing a band that expresses what for me is "soul music". i don't mean that in the sense of the genre "soul", rather in that i sense that a lot of soul has gone into the music - and that this music connects with my soul as a consequence. lyrics like "in the morning after the night i fall in love with the light" from "The Orchids" (even though it was not written by Califone) contrast with the a-typically more cryptic "the carnival fighters are sharing a bed tonight bruised in the hay" on "Spider's House". but both of these lyrics are sung with Rutili's downcast sincerity and both acquire the same amount of significance.

now, with 2009's "All My Friends Are Funeral Singers", Califone have added another very strong album to their catalogue. they don't sound different and that's just fine with me. they practice the same restraint as always, tucking away some of their more precious melodic gems into 20 or 30 seconds of 5-minute songs (see the piano's entrance toward the later half of "Giving Away the Bride"). it's this restraint that i think keeps me most interested as a listener, as i am regularly bowled over by melodic passages that creep into songs in ways that are totally unforeseeable. to use a completely random but applicable analogy, Califone makes order (melody) out of chaos (their own chaotic musical structures) in the same way that Brian Phillips (of http://www.runofplay.com) talked about Barcelona making order (beautiful fúbol) out of chaos (22 men running around a field chasing a ball). Califone's disruptive and often odd musical styles make their moments of clarity, melody and beauty that much more clear, melodic and beautiful.

it's good to know that some music isn't just music that sounds good to me: some of it reaches deeper.

http://www.lala.com/#artist/Califone

summah tahm!

list of action words whose meanings i have fulfilled this summer:

run.
jump.
hike.
climb.
smile.
cry.
love.
eat.
read.
drink.
sleep.
kiss.
drive.
fly.
laugh.
rock (out).
bike.
learn.
miss (dearly).
dream.
race.
change.
bump (set, spike).
think.
cheer (on).
hope.
cook.
notdieinacarcrash.
thank.
pray.
enjoy.
grow.
notblog (sorry).
travel.
swim.

it's been the best ever, as you can see.

imaginaaaaation

I was just reading this book by Elaine Scarry, called "Dreaming by the Book," and this particular quote stood out to me:

Aristotle said that what distinguishes human beings from other creatures is our capacity to love something without wanting to ingest it [LOL].  All animals, including human beings, he writes, have the power to smell in order to eat; humans alone have a second reason to smell; namely, to smell flowers, with no interest at all in eating them.  Our smelling of food, says Aristotle, is discontinuous and contingent -- whether something smells good depends on whether we are hungry -- whereas our smelling of flowers is noncontingent and ongoing.  Of course, smelling the flowers, seeing the flowers, touching the flowers, imagining the flowers is also a way of ingesting or at least interiorizing them, since we carry them in as objects of perception and imagining.  Ludwig Wittgenstein suggests that when one sees something beautiful -- an eyelid, a cathedral -- the hand wants to draw it.  Like smelling, like imagining, this too is an act of interiorization, the yearning to incorporate, to make a residual image.

what I like most about this book -- and, in general, about most books dealing with literary theory -- is its ability to perfectly describe certain automatic processes that I do every day.  this is also true of other books in their own ways, but Elaine Scarry's book has specifically been a joy to read for me because of it.  this chapter on imagining flowers has been extremely interesting, in the sense that, as she says, flowers are just about the most prominent objects used in poetry and other ultra-descriptive prose.  for whatever reason it is much easier to perform "perceptual mimesis" (fancy words for imagining) with flowers than with many other objects.  this is due, in part, to the fact that flowers are smaller, more colorful and thinner than many other objects.  mostly what I get out of this is that our brains are pretty sweet.

thought this was funny

Hi. Hi there. Can I have some?

Is that OK if I just have some? Just a sip. I’m just a little thirsty. I know I just had some water, but all I want is one sip. Can I? OK?

Thanks. That’s all I wanted. Just a little sip like that one. I saw it sitting there and I thought maybe you would be nice. You let me have a sip. You are nice. I thought so. It’s nice to be with you. You are real nice for that. I like you.

Hey. So, let me ask…can I have another sip? Please? I mean, you’re not drinking it right now. Maybe I could just sip it for you. You don’t have to pick it up. I can reach it just fine. Yeah, I can just sip it while you aren’t. OK? What do you think? The first sip kinda made me thirsty. Funny how that works. Funny, huh? How it works like that. Did you think about it? Hm? Just a sip while you are busy. You are so nice.

Oh, thank you. Thanks a lot. It tasted good. Yeah, I liked it. That’s a real good drink you got there. A good drink for a nice person like you. I’m so glad.

You know, I think I might take another sip. Just a little one this time. Yeah? I can’t help it. I’m sorry. Sorry. Ok, I’m sorry. Too far. I just wanted another sip, but I’m sorry. Sorry.

Are you still mad?

I hope you aren’t mad. I like you. Hey, that’s your drink, huh? It’s big. Big drink you got there. Yep, it’s a big one. Big.

So can I have some? Some of your drink? Yeah, that’s right. Just a little. You seem to not be drinking it, and I just thought I could maybe help you. You know, help you out. It looks like you could use some help. Just trying to be helpful. OK. That’s all right. Maybe later you will let me help you.

So, hey. You gonna drink it all? I could help maybe. I’m good at helping. Yeah, sure am.

the problem with "brothers"

let's be honest, not very many people like this bar.  while i've never graced its interior, i can say with confidence that hardly anyone i know has any part of them that enjoys this place.  its name says it all: "brothers."  "hey brah!  what FRAT ARE YOU IN!?"  "TIGHT DAWG.  let's see if we can get that chick to do some BAHDEE SHOTZ with us!," they seem to be saying to each other when i walk by.  with popped collars, designer jeans and fake (or real) gold watches, these ex-high school super-stars keep on living it up at brothers.  that's the reputation it has, anyway.  i never really had any problem with this bar other than the fact that it's a the only chain bar in the 14th and O area that i know of - and that it's geared toward frat dudes.  (RAWK!)  that doesn't seem like a really great foundation for truly loathing an establishment like many people i know do, but then something happened to me that changed my vague dislike into full-scale contempt...

it was only last spring sometime when i was denied entrance to this bar just because i had on a white t-shirt.  that's their dress code policy: "no white t-shirts".  "seriously, read it on the window.  brah," the man said to me as i proceeded to walk through his arm thinking he was joking.  and so i waited outside on a bench for my friend who went in to look for someone.  "that's kind of a weird policy," i thought (and continued), "i wonder why they think they are above people that wear white t-shirts."  this thought seemed to resurface in my (sub)conscious over the next few weeks as i pondered what their problem with us white t-shirt wearers could be.  then it hit me: actually nothing hit me.  i couldn't understand it for the life of me except that it was an attempt to keep up the "stature" of the bar.  yep, gotta have that collar, gotta have that non-white t-shirt.  gotta keep up the image of our clientele.

be that as it may, and there may be a legitimate reason for this dress code rule, i found myself strolling in front of brothers a couple months later with a couple of my "bros," when the doorman thought we should be informed about their wing special for the evening.  "wha'sup BRAH!" he said strolling up to us, " hey you dudes know we got a wing special tonight?  ten cent wings, dawgs.  that's ten wings for a buck, man!"  little did the two doormen know that i had on a white t-shirt under my jacket.  so naturally (and sarcastically), i turned and said, "oh geez, brah!  i'd LOVE to eat some of your wings but i have a white t-shirt on.  what an obstacle between me and your sweet wing special!"  he challenged me to display said t-shirt.  i did so while saying, "yeah you won't let me in will you.  nice dress code policy!"

now, at this point i am not trying to hide my disdain for his establishment, so it's pretty clear that i'm being a snide jerk about it.  but then... before he returns to his doorman stool he whips out a classic: "well... then stop dressing like a DOUCHE!"  yes he did.  sooooo did.  to which i obviously replied, "oh yeah....ooooooh, look how douche-y i am in my white shirt!  ugggghhh so douche-y!  can't even go inside brothers..."

it wasn't until i got home that i realized:  "i just got CALLED A NAME by someone.  how ridiculous!  he called me a 'douche' just for wearing a white t-shirt.  that's so outrageous!"  the idea was spawned shortly after this night to one-up their ridiculousness with some of our own.  as it was nearing the colder months, we only had two opportunities to do so, but we have begun "white t-shirt protest night."  as many as are able meet downtown and walk up to brothers' enormous glass windows in white t-shirts, staring ever so zombie-like at those inside to stand in protest.  we stand in solidarity for the voiceless white t-shirt wearers of lincoln and the world against childish name-calling and questionable dress codes (mostly the name-calling).  we will likely resume protesting in may on fridays (or whenever).  there is a facebook group if anyone feels compelled to join.  that is all.  unite!

"which is the real one?"

i read this...thing a couple years ago and it still sticks with me as one of the most affecting little pieces of literature i've ever read. this is a translation from french.

"Which is the real one?" Charles Baudelaire

I once knew a certain Bénédicta who filled earth and air with the ideal, and whose eyes scattered the seeds of longing for greatness, beauty and glory, for everything that makes a man believe in immortality.

But this miraculous girl was too beautiful to live long; and so it was that, only a few days after I had come to know her, she died, and I buried her with my own hands one day when Spring was swaying its censer over the graveyards. I buried her with my own hands and shut her into a coffin of scented and incorruptible wood like the coffers of India.

And while my eyes still gazes on the spot where my treasure lay buried, all at once I saw a little creature who looked singularly like the deceased, stamping up and down on the fresh earth in a strange hysterical frenzy, and who said as she shrieked with laughter: "Look at me! I am the real Bénédicta! A perfect hussy! And to punish you for your blindness and your folly, you shall love me as I am."

But I was furious and cried: "No! no! no!" And to emphasize my refusal I stamped so violently on the earth that my leg sank into the new dug grave up to my knee; and now, like a wolf caught in a trap, I am held fast, perhaps forever, to the grave of the ideal.