Trapped In Time, And I Don't Know What To Do*

My philosophical and metaphysical inquiries over the past few years have led me down a path that, at the moment, appears to be at best a dead end and at worst a bottomless pit.

I'm pretty sure I understand the undivided wholeness that is the universe and all matter within it.

I'm pretty sure that over the millennia the sages of the East have achieved a rigorous and peer-reviewable body of knowledge that can guide one to this understanding.

I'm pretty sure I understand that the apparent reality we see, in all its shapes, sizes, kinds and types is part of that undivided One despite a fractured appearance.

I'm pretty sure I understand that logic, the most powerful tool in man's toolbox, inherited from the ancient Greeks and perfected over the millennia, has sliced our apparent reality into ever-thinner slices to be labeled, compared, measured and fit within grander and grander theories...every single one of which turns out, over time, to be incomplete.

I know for damn sure sure that our modern world sees this tool as the expression of the very meaning of the universe. "If we can just slam these subatomic particles together at even greater speed, I just know we'll find the new subatomic particle that will prove the theory of everything!" Science uber alles!

I know that logic requires that something, anything, so labeled A cannot also be B. A does not equal B. Nothing can be two things at the same time. That's illogical. Ours is a binary world of 1's and 0's, ons and offs, Republicans and Democrats, rights and wrongs, wins and losses. I know those things merely reflect our apparent reality, though they are NOT reality itself.

Though above I mocked quantum mechanics, I know it revealed to us, via logic and science, that sometimes A does equal B. An electron is in two places at once. Light is both a particle and a wave. Something understood by mystics long before atoms were split, long before Aristotle invented logic.

The conclusion I've drawn is that the human race largely operates well below its capacity. But I'm no utopian (though I sympathize with that impulse). I know that base desires and instincts are hardwired into us. But I know that humans have dragged themselves up from the mud despite such hardwiring.

Seen from the perspective of a few centuries, or maybe a few millennia, in the future, I believe that we are on the cusp of a leap in understanding. I believe that many of the tensions and battlegrounds we face, whether social, economic or geopolitical, are outgrowths of mankind pushing to smash through this barrier.

Smashing through this barrier requires that a new understanding spread far and wide. Computers that count not just in 1's and 0's but also in 1/0's. People that understand we are all made of the same stuff, and that there is only Stuff, and that we are One.

Make no mistake; though unseen, there is a barrier. A barrier just like the edge of a flat earth sailors feared. It wasn't real, but it represented a very real limitation in human understanding. And beyond it was a very real New World.



*What does the title of this post mean?

Well, I only feel trapped to the extent I haven't figured out my very own metaphysical Capt. Kirk Kobayashi Maru moment.

Also, Phish played Mike's Song this past weekend, so that lyric was in my head.
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I Strongly Recommend Benji Hughes' "A Love Extreme"

There used to be a time when you couldn't shut me up about recommending music. Then I realized most people don't give a shit what other people think about stuff, except when they shouldn't give a shit but do.

Which brings me to my new rule: I'll only recommend an album if I've listened to it non-stop for a month. Yes, that's gonna be a short list, and yes, Mr. Hughes' A Love Extreme has passed this test. Hell, it created this test.

I just thought of another rule: I actually bought this album. In a day and age when I download for free--without compunction--any and all media, if I do purchase something, then I feel compelled to recommend it.

I know, I know.  A beefy, bearded, longhaired songsmith with idiosyncratic lyrics, simple-yet-funky dance beats, and soothing ballads--obviously the icecreammang can dig it. But to the svelte, the non-hirsute, the tonsorially challenged--don't worry, you can dig it, too.

Additional info: He co-wrote a song on the Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story soundtrack (that movie is underrated, but you didn't hear it from me). Although A Love Extreme is his debut, it's a 25-song double album.

So, if you already happen to be digging it, then kudos to you.  If you listened to it once and dismissed it, then fuck you.

Normally, this is the spot where I'd put up a couple songs via Grooveshark. Not this time. I'm going to test your mettle, see what you're made of. Go buy it. Now.
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And While I'm At It...

It's high time someone murdered a CEO or board member at Goldman Sachs, JPMorgan Chase, AIG, et al. Make no mistake: I am advocating violence to the point of murder. I believe--no, I know--nothing short of it will alter Wall Street's stranglehold on our economy and--much more important--its stranglehold on our elected officials.

If I weren't married and I didn't have any living family, I'd be holed up in a cabin, off the grid, working out the finer points of my plan and honing my skills.

Instead, I stuff my brain with the highs and lows of popular culture and the highs and lows of recreational drug use so as not to think about this stuff too much.

(Note to any G-men reading this: I DO have a wife and I DO have living family members; just so we're clear there is 0% chance I would do such a thing. But I would cheer it on and hail such a person as a hero and patriot.)

(Second note: I don't include politicians as potential targets. Citizens can vote them out so I see such violence as unnecessary...for now)
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A Ringing Endorsement (Low-Grade Computer-Geek Content)

Last week I downloaded and installed Windows 7. Though it officially drops tomorrow, it has been available in beta form for several months. My version came late in the beta game and has been declared stable by hardcore people who know way more than I. (Important note: I've got 3GB's of memory; Microsoft claims you can run it with less but you're not gonna get the most out of it.)

Installation was quick and painless--about 30 minutes, give or take. The new "Aero" appearance is smooth and unobtrusive, and apes Apple's Leopard-style just a little bit. More important, it's quick as hell--programs open quickly and navigation through folders like Control Panel and Programs is quick as well--actions that for me have dragged in the past. Quicker than Vista, and noticeably. I've seen comparisons that show W7 is only milliseconds quicker than Vista or Snow Leopard, yet these same reviews praise it's quickness. So it may not be quicker but somehow it seems quicker.

Everything's not Just Exactly Perfect, however, though this isn't completely W7's fault per se. Some non-Microsoft programs aren't yet ready to work smoothly with it. Yeah, this was understandable a few months ago; now it's a slight pain in the ass.

I'd have expected software makers to have made adjustments. I have an Intel sound card that allowed me to run HDMI from my laptop to my tv, which was sweet. Now I only get picture but no sound, and my research shows that Intel and Microsoft are currently passing the buck on fixing it (some people have had luck with Intel's updated drivers, some have not). Nevertheless, a resolution will be along shortly one way or another so I won't sweat it.

The other hitch is my recent conversion to Google's browser, Chrome. I liked Firefox and have nothing bad to say about it, but boy do I love Chrome. It isn't loaded down with features. It's light and clean and loads quickly. However, it doesn't like working with Windows 7--but unlike my sound card, Google doesn't claim it's ready to work with W7 yet. And, considering Google's working on its own OS, maybe they don't care so much about making sure that it will.

All you really need to know is that I haven't posted in nearly 2 months but I felt compelled to sing Windows 7's praises. Make of that what you will.
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In Anticipation of The Fantastic Mr. Fox

Much like my history with Quentin Tarantino's movies, my history with Wes Anderson's dates back to the mid-1990s.



One day in 1996 (perhaps 1997) Bart Rachmil, my roommate at the time and the only other person who appreciates Anderson as much as I do, came home with a borrowed VHS of Anderson's debut, Bottle Rocket. We watched it, and were more or less in awe. To this day, when I watch it I feel good, as if my possibilities are endless (much like they were when I was saw it at age 22. Of course I was in my first semester of law school, and, though I didn't know it yet, it was both the last place I wanted to be and the first of many decisions that would actually limit my possibilities).

In 1998 we eagerly anticipated his follow-up, Rushmore. An anticipation that probably has gone unmatched in the decade-plus since. As for living up to an expectation--it will NEVER be matched. I saw it in the theater twice, something I rarely do. Bill Murray's role as Mr. Bloom sparked his career's resurgence; no Rushmore, no Lost In Translation. Rushmore is probably my favorite movie. I say "probably" because I'm a pussy. It is my favorite movie. The key to Rushmore was the co-stars: a detailed, personal, living fairy tale-type universe (hinted at in Bottle Rocket) and a prep-school Don Quixote.

The Royal Tenenbaums followed in 2001 and, in my estimation, didn't quite live up to Rushmore--though in saying so I mean to take nothing away from it. I have the impression that many people prefer The Royal Tenenbaums to Rushmore. I presume they hold that preference because they saw The Royal Tenenbaums first; I can understand that one's exposure to one before the other could give the edge to the first exposure to an Anderson-created universe. Still, I feel Rushmore's superior but making that point is not my goal today. The key to Tenenbaums was Anderson's ability to get so much out of a larger cast filled with higher-profile actors.

Three years later Anderson brought The Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou. Bill Murray was back, but Owen Wilson didn't share the writing credit--Noah Baumbach of The Squid and The Whale fame did. The interregnum seemed longer than that between Rushmore and The Royal Tenenbaums, such was my jones for a new Anderson flick. In all sorts of ways this was a more ambitious production than the previous two movies, and in all sorts of ways it managed to disappoint people. The budget was higher, parts were shot on location in Italy and in large, expensive sets. It had Jeff Goldblum and Willem Dafoe--like I said, ambitious. Many think he tried and failed to achieve an emotional depth with the relationship between Wilson and Murray's characters. But these same people were going to be disappointed no matter what. I've spoken to them, I've read their reviews. They're to be dismissed, trust me.

More often than not, these people will only see the movie once.  Like all his movies, repeated viewings help unfold the richness of the whole production--the acting, the production design, the wardrobe, the dialogue. He is a filmmaker. He's not cranking out movies so he can rake in the bucks and show the moneymen they can count on him to bring in the 14 year olds. He's making movies that will stand the test of time and get better with age. Just like the movies he reveres. A craftsman, if you will, in a land full of cheap stucco McMansions.  So I say to those who render judgment on his movies after one viewing: he's making them for us, not you.

Ok, wait a sec--I'm no smoke-blowing lackey--take a look at my review of Tarantino's latest.

Thanks. I think you meant that.

First, The Life Aquatic requires multiple viewings to appreciate the dense panoply of pleasures that Anderson provides. Like Jackie Brown, The Life Aquatic is a lion-in-winter story. Those aren't the easiest to love--it's not sprawling tale of an idiosyncratic family or the coming-of-age story of an awkward by with an explosive imagination.  It's about a dude with a giant ego who's been living a little boy's dream for several decades, making shitty personal decisions along the way.  He gets his chance to do it right this one last time and, like Robert Forster's Max Cherry in Jackie Brown, he does it.



The key to the Life Aquatic is Anderson's deft combination of the detailed, personal, living fairy tale-type universe, a large cast of higher-profile actors, and an aquatic Don Quixote.

Another three years, another Anderson movie: The Darjeeling Limited.  The emotional resonance that people looked for in The Life Aquatic--the proof of maturation that would have allowed them to crown him "Generation's Best Filmmaker", well, it showed up one film too late to satisfy those people. I happen to think this worked out for the best because it knocked him off a path that would bring exponentially increasing expectations.

Emboldened by turning the difficult, ambitious Life Aquatic shoot into a success, Anderson took his traveling circus to India (I've watched enough Amazing Race to know that making anything happen in India is no joke).

Anderson reaches deeper into his characters this time by having only three main characters: the brothers Whitman: Francis (Owen Wilson), Peter (Adrian Brody) and Jack (Jason Schwartzman).

Estranged since their father's funeral a year ago, they're forced to reconcile on a train trip across India orchestrated by Francis for the undisclosed purpose of tracking down their mother who's up in the mountains Christianizing locals. The boys spend the film numbing their pain with the best over-the-counter Indian opiates they can get their hands on.

I suspect that because I, my brother, and my mother have never been the same since my dad died--and I've also done my share of pain-numbing--this movie hit home more than most. The Whitmans' mother, played by Anjelica Houston, delivers a line that pretty well sums up how to deal with the unexpected death of a loved one:  "He's gone and we'll never get over it. And that's ok."

Maybe you haven't had to deal with this. But it's true. People want to tell you that the pain subsides with time, and that's true, but it fails to mention a painful truth: relative to other bad stuff that has happened or will happen in your life, the unexpected, premature death of a loved one will never hurt any less. Nor should it. And that's ok. How much you loved that person, and how much of your life that person will miss will never change. So why should you have to get over it? All you have to do is get on with it.

Sigh.

I'm aware his hasn't been the most objective summary of Wes Anderson's films. From me, it never could be. I love him too much.

And that's ok.
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