"No man is so foolish but he may sometimes give another good counsel, and no man is so wise that he may not easily err if he takes no other counsel than his own.  He that is taught only by himself has a fool for a master."  -Hunter S. Thompson

SELF TAUGHT HELICOPTER PILOT CRASH  *******I'm still shaking my head at this one.  Really?!  This guy lost his mind as well as his money.  Don't be a Bob!!!  LOL  Seriously, pride has been the downfall of many.  I didn't really realize how much my pride was holding me back until I started reading The Law of Success by Napoleon Hill http://www.amazon.com/Success-Sixteen-Napoleon-Complete-Unabridged/dp/9562915921/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1223671170&sr=1-1.  This book shows how the richest men gained their wealth by creating a "mastermind".  In order to achieve success, one must form an alliance with a person of like mind.  This does not mean you have to be in business together, but you must be on the same wavelength when discussing your plans and ideas for your business.  You can't do it alone.  It doesn't matter who you are or what talents you've been blessed with.  Don't believe me?  Name one person that has achieved greatness without the help of another.  Remember--you are taught by influence also.*******

WORD OF THE DAY

SUBVERSIVE

THE SUBVERSIVE LANGUAGE OF THE TIN FOIL HAT LADY- #2 OF 5  *******Ha ha.  The tin foil hat lady made me smile.  A tin foil hat might not be such a bad idea...;)*******

SONG OF THE DAY

NATASHA BEDINGFIELD-ANGEL-LIVE @ TODAY  *******Wow...I absolutely love this song!  It may very well be my new favorite song.*******

The Slate Culture Gabfest, the culturally-motivated podcast from the good people at Slate, this week had a segment on the Nobel Prize and its place amongst awards including the Oscars and Grammy's, where the winner is often chosen through political, economic and diplomatic motivations rather than the quality of the work. They highlighted an excellent website, Great Books Guide, in which Ted Gioia lists all the Nobel Prize winners since the inception of the prize and an alternative list of all the possible winners snubbed over the years.

The lack of parity between the two lists - very few concur across both actual and deserving winner - is pretty shocking and also enlightening given the quality of the choices made by Gioia. He constantly picks works that are far more deserving of a grand and visible literary prize. Often the award seems to be given to writers well past their peak (Pinter) and, particularly in modern times, anywhere but to the US. The past two winners were Doris Lessing and this year, Jean-Marie Gustav Le Clezio. The latter I don't know at all but Lessing is certainly something of a deserving winner although, as previously suggested, well past her best.

As you go down the list, specifically in the past twenty-five years, the number of fantastic authors to have been snubbed becomes startling. The most notable, as called out on the Gabfest, is Philip Roth. An incredible, provocative force of literature, Roth is still working at some pace and with some quality. His finest work, American Pastoral, came over two decades from his debut and his books from the last couple of years maintain the level of quality and brutal, comic skill that characterise his finest pieces. Continue back and you find Don DeLillo, John Updike, Haruki Murakami, Tom Stoppard, Bob Dylan and Hunter S Thompson, all thoroughly deserving of the prize and all with the ability to create great work even in their latter years. 

It seems the Nobel has finally been inducted into this pantheon of awards that no longer have any power or meaning. Winning an Oscar means nothing as much as it used to while winning a Grammy means only another doorstop for west wing extension. The Pulitzer still works but can only give out anything to books from that year and can't quite provide the sense of tradition and history that the Nobel Prize does. The question is why the prize is needed outside of finance. Is there anything that these great writers get from being told by the Nobel committee that they are great in their eyes. They're already great. Perhaps its the certificate on the wall. Maybe it is just the money. Whatever it is, the prestige has fallen away.

Why do I tell you this?  Basically because of the fact that a more recent song has followed this trend for me.  And these days, I cannot go without listening to it on repeat (with a few breaks for "Rebellion," of course) whenever I am back in my dorm. 

No, I do not speak of the new Nickelback song.  I do hope that no one expecting that of me; I'd be disappointed if you did.

I am talking about The Killers' newest single, "Human." 

"Human" was released to the digital world on the 30th of September.  Being a dedicated checker of iTunes' Music Store every day, I can count myself among those that listened to it that same day.  And my feelings, I must say, were mixed.  I just wasn't sure about it.

Five days later, I was hooked. 

And then there was the brilliant SNL performance. 

The thing that surprises me, I suppose, is the fact that I did/do not consider myself a huge Killers fan.  Yet, if their new album (Day & Age, November 25th) sounds anything like the lead single, I might have to change that. 

I guess that what appeals to me most is the new sound they seem to be exhibiting.  It's slightly reminiscent of an earlier song of theirs, 2006's "Read My Mind," which was the only Killers song on my iPod prior to "Human."  It's the electronica-influence that sells it for me.  To me, The Killers are becoming a modern day New Order.  Don't know New Order?  Here's one of their more popular songs, one many will likely know.

I am not saying that The Killers' new sound is EXACTLY like New Order, of course.  It is merely what I take from it... considering, mainly, the electronic-rock sound.  And as I consider myself a big fan of New Order, you can be sure that I'm loving this.

Of course, there are some nonsensical lyrics that no one's really been able to officially figure out yet ("Are we human?  Or are we dancer?").  Precision Language has taught me that THIS IS WRONG.  And no one else can seem to figure it out either: some wonder if there's an invisible 's' at the end (a likely  story... or not...) that denotes plurality, while others attribute it to an old Hunter S. Thompson quotation lamenting that "America (was) raising a generation of dancers."  I like the Thompson explanation better, don't you?

Whatever the meaning, the fact still remains that "Human" is one of the better songs that The Killers have released.  I recommend that each and every one of you listen to it... you might like it and you might not; I cannot account for another's taste.

November 25th seems so far away...

GONZO - The Life And Work Of Dr. Hunter S. Thompson. (Trailer)

Salute to the Doc.

but don’t let it frighten you!!

- Hunter S Thompson

-

I wrote this just really embarrassingly long post about how Hunter Thompsonadded a figurative cigarette butt to the dry American landscape of the late 60s that would become the "culture war" forest fire we've been enveloped in ever since, but I'll spare you (and mostly me) the pain and summarize by saying Thompson was too bitter and self-obsessed to be great cultural critic and, let's be fair, far too loony to be a real journalist of any description (I don't plan on backing up these claims since that's what got me into the mess to begin with). What he was was a great humorist, the kind of comedian who creates a character for himself and then puts this self-character into hilarious situations where he says hilarious things and everyone is square except for him and damn if it isn't good old fun; Ferris Beuller the Freak.

I touched on this in the DF Wallace post, but it's really damn hard to look at a writer when he has a real public persona, to seperate our preconceptions from the individual quality of the work. With Thompson this is particularly difficult, since the draw of his work is this public image of Thompson the Character, who is unquestionably more famous for the anecdotes about his exploits than the way he put words on paper (now seems like a good point to confess I haven't actually read either Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas or Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail in their entirety). The phenomenon of percieved authorial persona shaping the judgment of fiction has had varied effects on writers, ranging from career making to life destorying. In Thompson's case it was integral to his success, since everyone wanted to see what that kooky gonzo would do next.

On the other hand, Thompson by now may have been destroyed by association. You can just picture the same kid who reads Chuck Palahniuk and Chuck Klosterman (why is everyone who sucks named Chuck?) holding a copy of the Rum Diaries on a train headed to Williamsburg.

Judge for yourself:

The Kentucky Derby is Decadent and Depraved- Wherein our hero attends the Kentucky Derby, first meets friend-and-cover-artist to be Ralph Steadman, consumes a lot of alcohol, and makes funny yet unfortunately regionist remarks about Southerners; The read that inspired the post.

Jesus Hated Bald Pussy (actual title)- A not quite there essay on GWBush that kind of highlights what I was saying about him being a lacking cultural critic but rather funny dude.

The token interview I throw in- Just to remind you that we loved this guy not for what he said but for the way he said it.

Today, speaking on CBS' "Early Show" Biden said, “You know, the idea here that somehow these guys are, once again, injecting fear and loathing into this campaign I think is mildly dangerous,” Biden added. “I mean, here you have out there these kinds of, you know, incitements out there — a guy introducing Barack using his middle name as if it's some epitaph or something. This is over the top.”

I hope Hunter smiled at that one...

Withnail and I director Bruse Robinson is selling his 1962 Aston Martin (which apparantly appeared briefly in the movie) for 250,000 to 300,000.

Any fans out there looking for a bit of memorabillia?

Apparantly, "all the things I used to love about driving are all illegal nowadays. It's a fucking nightmare really," he complained. 

Link

From another article by Richard Fleury:

"This ambition was fired by the man whose name Robinson took for his most famous creation. An alcoholic upper-class scoundrel, Johnny Withnall (Robinson added the 'I') was a friend of Robinson's father. Obliterated on booze, he took the young Bruce out for a spin in his Aston, stopping occasionally to fling open his door and spew. Bruce was thrilled.

"I must have been eight or 10,' he recalls. 'I can't remember if it was a DB4 or a DB2 but he used to drive in state of complete Messerschmitt pilot danger. Completely pissed. And I really fancied all of that when I was a kid."

So what's he been up to?  Well apparantly looking adapting Hunter S Thompson's Rum Diary for za big screen. Again sourced from Richards article:

"I don't think anybody can drink like that and stay alive,' he says. 'I met him in the Chateau Marmont, that big hotel on Sunset (Boulevard) and he had 200 Dunhills, an industrial coke grinder you could mince trees with, huge pile of coke, huge bag of grass, two bottles of Chivas, and he was presiding over that with a towel over his head, sitting at the table. And in an hour and a half of being there, ostensibly to talk to him, I didn't say a word to him. Not a single word. He was just so blown. When he went to the bathroom inside his suite it was like a pinball, bouncing off the walls. Christ, that's a sad sight."

Link

Estic fins el collons de bocatas. No puc començar d'una altra manera aquest post, o article, o com se li digui que d'aquesta forma, tenint en compte que porto cinc dies alimentant-me de pa, embotit i un altre cop pa. Patètic. Però és que això no s'atura, i jo vaig tant de cul que ja no sé ni qui coi sóc. De fet, ahir escrivint sobre el biopic del Thompson em va semblar al.lucinar de manera considerable i em penso que d'alguna manera això s'hi veurà reflectit en el comentari; ara falta veure quan coi l'acabo i el publico.

Disculpeu la vulgaritat, però és que avui m'he adonat que no tinc temps ni de rendir comptes amb la meva pròpia natura. I m'he adonat de la pitjor de les formes: només arribar a casa de la feina he notat que l'estòmac reclamava el seu propi espai per tenir una conversa seriosa amb la tassa, la seva amiga i confident de sempre; i m'he adonat que feia uns quants dies que aquesta conversa, sempre interessant i constructiva, feia temps que no es desenvolupava de forma regular. Això m'ha fet posar-me alerta i he decidit que calia parar un segon i respirar. I un cop havent respirat profundament, preparat un bon cafetó (el que em faltava, diria més d'un que em coneix) i relaxat m'he dirigit cap a Sitges un cop més. Ciop de cotxe, de volant, i música del Damien Rice clavant-me ósties. Pel mirall només el mar, i sempre fugint de tot allò que sempre provo de deixar enrere... 

Arribo. I estic de mala lluna, ho reconec. Avui és dilluns i la màgia que tots aquests dies envoltava la meva existència s'ha convertit en qualsevol cosa excepte això. La tornada a la rutina és com la bufetada de realitat que marca el final del somni i el principi de la realitat, encara que de vegades aquesta realitat sigui interessant i constructiva. El cas és que essent comés avui dilluns, m'és força difícil determinar què té d'interessant qualsevol cosa que tingui a veure amb responsabilitats i compromisos. Suposo que demà veuré les coses d'una altra manera. O això, o inauguraré una nova forma de depressió, no tant postvacacional -no estic pas de vacances quan vaig al Festival- com postil.lusòria.

Com sempre el primer que veig són les cares dels friquis de sempre -els mateixos que deuen pensar el mateix de mi- i m'adono que últimament la meva vida sembla encerclada en una repetició de l'estil del dia de la marmota a la pel.lícula del Harold Ramis: cinema, cua, jalància, cinema, cua, jalància.. i així fins a quatre vegades en un sol dia... Enteneu-me: no em queixo pas, m'ho passo molt bé, tant sols penso en com un cosa tant absurda em pot arribar a fer tan sumament feliç... ja ho pensen, alguns dels meus alumnes, que estic com una cabra. No m'estranya. Jo ho pensaria.

El dia comença amb La possibilité d'una ile de l'escriptor i ara també realitzador Michelle Houellebecq. I vinga, serem sincers: dels 90 minuts i escaig que ha durat la projecció una part considerable me la he passada clapant com una marmota. No sona massa elegant, ja ho sé, però tampoc és elegant mentir, i preferixo ser sincer amb volsaltres. I el fet és que la part més interessant de la cinta la vaig viure en despertar, quan la cosa va de capa caiguda... una pel.lícula força pesada i prou espessa com perquè la gent xiulés al final de la projecció, un fet que aquest any encara no havia observat malgrat més d'una de les produccions vistes fins aleshores s'ho mereixés...

I quan tot semblava perdut, patapam! Arriba la salvació. Jo ja m'estava plantejant fotre el camp, degut al cansament que m'estava envaïnt. I em temia el pitjor amb The good, the bad and the weird, l'última de les pel.lícules que veuria aquesta nit. Però finalment decideixo quedar-me i sort que ho vaig fer! Primer perquè quan accedeixo a la sala topo amb un paio que prèviament havia vist al bar col.locant-se de cerveseta una darrera de l'altre. I com el paio estav envoltat de càmeres, doncs la suposició que és algú conegut és ara una evidència... I a més es que em sona, però no el situo...

Un cop dins l'Auditori m'assec i les càmeres el tornen a perseguir. És obvi que li faran un homenatge, i que és algú clarament relacionat amb el món de la direcció... Qui coi és? I de cop i volta, quan ja sóc a la meva butaca, em ve al cap: és el Ferrara??? Doncs sí. Li donen la famosa Màquina del temps com a reconeixement a la seva obra i el tio que s'apropa a l'escenari i la rep, borratxo com una cuba. I si no el reconeixiaera perquè el tio s'ha engreixat  i està com un bacó!

I comença i no para: que si ell es deu al Buñuel, que si el premi és fantàstic (encara que pregunti què coi és, que no ho sap reconèixer...) i evidentment, jo demà penco. I tinc pressa! M'impaciento i espero que el paio calli d'una vegada perquè sé que la peli coreana dura 130 minuts... I quan finalment calla, comença.

I el que comença és la cinta més divertida que fins ara he vist al Festival. Sense ser una meravella, en gaudeixo moltíssim, dels personatges i de l'animalada que ens proposa aquesta mena d'spaghetti western a la coreana, i es converteix així en el millor que he vist fins ara a la secció oficial. Trist, però és el que hi ha.

Faig a més conversa amb els del costat i ens ho passem com criatures veient-la. Quan acaba estic desvetllat i això em salva la vida: i és que en tornar per les meves estimades costes aquest fet fa que no em mati quan gairebé topo amb unes inoportunes obres que fan aturar el vehicles gairebé sense avisar. La mare que us va parir.... Mentre espero fixo els ulls a la llum vermella del semàfor que té a la ma un dels operaris i penso que demà veuré la que diuen és la cinta més polèmica del Festival: Martyrs. Ja em té fascinat - i acollonit- d'entrada, per tot el que s'ha dit. Estarà a l'alçada?

Quan torno a engegar el motor torno a batre el meu récord de temps per travessar les 101. I el somni esdevé carn trepitjant l'asfalt de la carretera que més m'estimo.

(Demà Martyrs i Blindness)

lá pelo meio do documentário pensei se não era o caso de se bagunçar aquela sessão, porque no dia que assisti a erva do rato e fiquei de pé no fundo da sala, me perguntei como é que as pessoas não se chateiam ou não reclamam de não poderem, por exemplo, ficar de pé ou sentar no braço da cadeira enquanto assistem a um filme? e ali a gente tava falando de todas as trangressões de hunter thompson, que lá pelo final do documentário afirma aquilo que a gente já sabia: que qualquer coisa que se possa escrever sobre ele não supera e nem traduz a experiência de ter  estado lá, seja na vivência com os hell's angels, em las vegas com dr. gonzo ou na candidatura em aspen.

enfim, ele joga na cara mesmo sabe como é? e eu pensei de novo: mas como é que esse pessoal ouve o cara falando e não pensa no mínimo em tacar o copo de refrigerante na parede, porra? então só me restava o chocolate que tava na bolsa, quem sabe uma iluminação, sei lá, pequena mas engraçada, dessas que meu amigo delinquente curte à beça porque diverte mesmo. e aí olhei em volta e já tinha juntado uma galerinha ali no chão do cinema, então botei uma rodada de chocolate pra gente, né?

e o filme foi passando e a gente gargalhando com muitas imagens de arquivo do cara, e o engraçado é que ele tinha uma entonação na voz que lembrava imediatamente o johnny depp no fear and loathing in las vegas, mas isso não afeta a dissociação e eles permanecem postos cada um em seu lugar, enquanto  o próprio johnny depp participa do documentário lendo trechos dos livros de hunter.

no final você entende, o cara era um romântico cansado que resolveu sair antes de ser expulso, e ainda dizem que ele foi embora num dia bonito. pra que mais?

aí o filme acabou e eu também não joguei nada na parede. mas um dos caras que dividiu o chocolate comigo me puxou pelo braço e me abraçou, dizendo 'olha, obrigado'. e bicho, na hora eu só pensei em mandar um abraço pra ti, raoul! exatamente esse abraço que eu e o 'estranho' nos demos, e que - claro - era pra ti, né?

I have an aunt and uncle who divorced after 28 years. It can happen, I suppose.

Hunter S Thompson was right. Fuck "fair and balanced." Tell us your biases. Transparency rules.

As the crisis I’m documenting here unfolds, I find myself turning more and more to the past, savoring good memories, tormenting myself with the bad, and generally wallowing in nostalgia. Let’s face it, the past, my past - good and bad - was at the heart of the solo show. And just why did I think anyone else would care that much about it? But since I make my living writing about the past, maybe it’s not too surprising I’ve taken this tack in my personal life.

This urge to record events for posterity has deep roots. As kids, my sister and I loved documenting our inane outbursts on a cassette recorder. I think the first one was fairly large and green and cheap, an early model produced just a few years after “compact cassettes” became widely available in the mid 60s.

Then, as a teen, I splurged on what was then a top-of-the line Pioneer deck with three heads, so I could one day record and overdub live music. High aspirations, as always. I did use it to tape my friends’ first band, with bass, drums, and guitar wailing away in my parents’ living room. The repertoire included “Honey Don’t,” a Doors-influenced raga jam, and “Tenement Funster.” Nothing if not eclectic. We only had one mic, and that was for the singer, so I had to use my Koss headphones as a microphone. True high fidelity.

I actually found one of the tapes of those early recordings a few years ago and played it for the guitarist. Was that a chuckle! Unfortunately, I can’t find that tape now, or some of the other gems of recorded history I once had. Consider this:

November 1977 – Hunter S. Thompson speaks at NYU. I’m still in high school but two friends have graduated early and are at college in the city. I drive down with a few other friends and sneak in a tape recorder only barely smaller than the green machine of my youth. HST is snide, profound, wasted - in other words, in top form. He also takes bets on that night’s Monday Night Football game. Just a few minutes into the evening, we’re stunned to see John Belushi walk on stage. He does his Joe Cocker, then remains with the good doctor for the rest of the evening. I don’t remember exactly what everyone said, but that’s ok, because I have it all on tape!

Only, now, I can’t find it.

I have ripped apart my collection of aging cassettes over and over, desperate to recover that moment from my past. Could I have loaned it to someone? Could I have - shudder - taped over it? Did the tape malfunction - snap, melt in the sun, simply fade away - and I can’t recall? Don’t know. I only know it’s gone.

So is the tape I made in 1983 of Jaco Pastorius. We were at a nightclub in Copenhagen, my friend Wax and me, and ended up with two attractive Danish girls for the evening. Jaco was in amazing, as was Mike Stern, and I got it all on the Sony recorder, a Walkman prototype, that I had bought before the trip. But unlike the Walkmans, it had external stereo mics, so the sound was actually pretty good. We listened to the tape for the rest of the trip, a more-enduring memento from our time in Denmark than the experience with the girls, which led to naught. And I listened it to it for years afterward. But now - gone.

I do have proof of my last memorable recording. In August 1999, I went to Kutshers in the Catskills to get information on the annual charity basketball game held there in honor of Maurice Stokes. I was hoping to write a book about him and his teammate Jack Twyman, who had helped Stokes after he suffered a debilitating accident. What made the story special was that Stokes was black and Twyman was white, and it unfolded just a few years after basketball’s color line was broken. At Kutshers the owner told me he wanted me to meet someone. He took me out back, and sitting on the cement stoop was Wilt Chamberlain. I was tongued-tied! Wilt had been one of my heroes during his days with the Lakers. He graciously gave me 40 minutes of his time. Then, within three months, he was dead. I think this might be the last interview he ever did. It might not have great historical significance, but it means a lot to me. (But dummy that I am, I did not have a camera! And I didn’t get an autograph! Why? Why? Why?…)

I bemoan the loss of the other tapes, I think, because I know memory is so mercurial. Some things seem so present still in our heads, but at times we get a flicker of doubt: Did it really happen that way? Did someone just tell me about it and I internalized it? Did I dream it, or make it up, because that’s how I want to think my life unfolded? And my god, what about all the things we lived through and have forgotten. I hate it when someone says, “Remember when…” and they describe something I know I witnessed or said or did. But I don’t remember when.

I know the blog is another way to record history. To help me remember what I did and felt at a particular time. I also know this documentation will not last forever. Technology will change, or I’ll give up on it and the words will dissolve, in whatever way digital words do. It will be another lost tape. And no one will miss it the way I miss hearing “Tenement Funster” recorded through Koss headphones.

Two weeks ago I received an email from Marty Beckerman telling me about (or shamelessly whoring) his new book (which came in the mail this morning) "Dumbocracy Adventures with the Loony Left, the Rabid Right, and Other American Idiots." It was released sometime in early September. Beckerman interviewed Hunter in 2003 while he was promoting "Kingdom of Fear," the full interview can be found here.  http://www.getunderground.com/underground/features/article.cfm?Article_ID=1073  This article was my first encounter with Marty's work, and his name stuck in my mind because of Hunter's comment to him that he was "a morbid little bastard." (By the way, I'm happy to shamelessley pimp out this blog, but remember two wrongs don't make a right.)

At only 25 Marty has made a name for himself in the world of Journalism. He has been featured by the New York Times, New York Post, the Guardian, Fox News, MSNBC and others. His other books include "Death to all Cheerleaders" and Generation S.L.U.T.  If you want to know more go to http://www.martybeckerman.com/mb.php because I'm too lazy to type it here.

Here is what it's about in his own words.

"Dumbocracy: Adventures with the Loony Left, the Rabid Right and Other American Idiots, follows my escapades with extremists on both sides of the spectrum, and shows how they're equally dangerous to the freedoms that most Americans cherish."

"Whether it's banning free speech to protect people's feelings or to enforce theocratic morality, these radicals have no use for our civil liberties. But I expose their tactics -- and their never-ending hypocrisies -- with comical, over-the-top glee, which will entertain any fan of South Park and the Daily Show."

I hope to read the book in the next few days, when I do I will post a small bit about it here. Meanwhile "Dumbocracy" is available at Amazon and most book stores in the US. Marty tells me he hopes it will be available here in Ireland late October early November. Here are some of the reviews..

"Dumbocracy is a thoughtful book with great shock value geared to awaken, entertain and enlighten Marty's generation about the freedoms embedded in  our Bill of Rights. Beyond the spoofing, it is passionate, scholarly, and delivers the message that young people need to hear." —Former U.S. Senator and presidential candidate Mike Gravel

"Beckerman uses the deft and subtle touch of a sledgehammer. If you can read this entire book without being offended, then there is a good chance that you are illiterate. If you can read this entire book and not enjoy it, then there's a good chance you take yourself too seriously." —Christian Lander, bestselling author of Stuff White People Like

"Marty Beckerman is one of the great young journalists of our time."—Mancow Muller, syndicated radio host and author of Dad, Dames, Demons, and a Dwarf

"[H]ilarious yet powerful... many of his rants are on point. ... And if he makes young readers pay attention to politics, more power to him." —Rachel Kramer Bussel, Penthouse

Marty kindly agreed to answer a few questions for hstbooks, so when I string them together, fire them off to him and get them back I'll be posting them here.

A les 15 hores he estrenat l'anomenada sala Tramuntana. No mata, l'espai, i no el recomenaria per anar a veure qualsevol pel.lícula: hi entra massa llum i tot plegat recorda una mica a un cinema de barri, que seria vàlid per al visionat de certes produccions però no pas de totes. Afortunadament el que allà he vist no necessitava massa de les virtuds tecnològiques de les modernes sales de cinema, només requeria les ganes de saber-ne més del creador de l'anomenat periodisme Gonzo, el grandiós Hunter S. Thompson, un dels ídols de la meva adolescència. Només adelantar-vos que el biopic val molt la pena i que fa un repàs al.lucinant -i al.lucinat- no només de la vida d'aquest animal salvatge del periodisme, sinó també de la història més recent dels USA, i no precisament per fer-ne una propaganda del tot positiva. Ha estat magnífic començar així el dia, però no tant continuar-lo ni acabar-lo.

La següent producció que m'he empassat a vui s'anomena The Sky Crawlers, i la veritat és que m'ha resultat una vertadera empanada mental. Mireu, no m'importa gens que les pel.lícules siguin lentes o molt lentes quan la història ho reclama, però no entenc que això sigui així en aquest cas, i només ho comprenc assumint que han volgut transcendir no només amb el que a la cinta s'hi explicava, sinó també resultant pedants i tediosos amb les seves explicacions. El creador de Ghost in the Shell tenia ganes d'explicar-nos una història que des del meu punt de vista ja s'ha explicat força vegades amb un embolcall magnífic, això sí, el d'un manga preciós i d'estética impecable. Més enllà d'això no he sabut veure gaire més, encara que potser és que tenia un mal dia... I si a aquest fet li afegeixes que al meu davant hi tenia el capgros més impresentable i arrissat de tot el cinema, doncs la cosa encara es posa pitjor... Sisplau, quan aneu a veure una pel.líucla a una sala procureu no molestar massa al de darrera movent-vos i fent l'imbècil: jo ho faig i si no ets un autèntic retardat no costa massa. 

Però la veritable decepció ha estat Vinyan, la nova produció del Fabrice Du Welz, el responsable fa uns anys de Calvaire. Envoltada d'una mena d'aura de misteri s'ha presentat aquesta producció que compta amb dos bons actors (el Sewell i la Béart, magnífics) i que no ha pogut escapar de resultar avorrida i fins i tot pedant quan tot feia preveure una bona estona de mal rotllo ben filmada i millor interpretada. Tot, però, es perd en la mateixa espiral que la pròpia cinta crea i no sap cap a on navega per acabar ofegant literalment a l'espectador, que no sap ben bé què està contemplant ni per on navega la història . Llàstima, perquè l'inici i certs moments de la peli són francament bons, però...

En fi, no ha estat un bon dia. I demà a currar i a iniciar una setmana on hauré de passejar-me amunt i avall tirant de cotxe i de costes per gaudir diàriament de la sensació de felicitat que em proporciona aquest Festival, per molt que de vegades la qualitat de les pel.líucles que hi projecta provin de prendre-me-la. De fet, les pel.lícules que veig al festival i que no m'agraden són menys dolentes per a mi, perquè tenen un plus: sempre les recordaré dins el marc que més em fa somiar.

Fins demà!

(demà La possibilité d'una Ile i The good, the Bad and ten Weird)

I've always loved reading Matt Taibbi.  If there's a political writer who carries the Gonzo sensibility - the freak flag that Hunter Thompson savagely threaded into his sentences and imagery, it's Taibbi.  He hits fast, hard and repeatedly, but for all the ugliness he cannot ignore, the ugliest bit about it is that it's just fucking true.  And that's what makes it some of the best political journalism in a game played by hard addicts, recidivist bastards and desperate scoundrels.

Taibbi writes in Rolling Stone:

Sarah Palin is a symbol of everything that is wrong with the modern United States. As a representative of our political system, she's a new low in reptilian villainy, the ultimate cynical masterwork of puppeteers like Karl Rove. But more than that, she is a horrifying symbol of how little we ask for in return for the total surrender of our political power. Not only is Sarah Palin a fraud, she's the tawdriest, most half-assed fraud imaginable, 20 floors below the lowest common denominator, a character too dumb even for daytime TV — and this country is going to eat her up, cheering her every step of the way. All because most Americans no longer have the energy to do anything but lie back and allow ourselves to be jacked off by the calculating thieves who run this grasping consumer paradise we call a nation.

You don't get that sort of reportage from Wolf Uhhh Blitzer.  This is not about equal time or fair play or providing balance to a cocked up sham of a story by making sure the other side - a bunch of lying fuckwits no matter how you dress them - gets their shot at offering a different perspective.  Taibbi is concerned with one thing:  Cramming the bitter fucking truth so far down the electorate's throat they have to regurgitate it before they can chew it into pieces small enough to spit out.  And the way he writes, the taste never completely goes away.  As Thompson would say, "CAZART!"

On Palin's speech at the RNC:

She appeared to be completely without shame and utterly full of shit, awing a room full of hardened reporters with her sickly-sweet line about the high-school-flame-turned-hubby who, "five children later," is "still my guy." It was like watching Gidget address the Reichstag.

Indeed.

Here's what Sarah Palin represents: being a fat fucking pig who pins "Country First" buttons on his man titties and chants "U-S-A! U-S-A!" at the top of his lungs while his kids live off credit cards and Saudis buy up all the mortgages in Kansas.

Fuckin' eh!  Where's the Brown Buffalo when you need a cross burned on the withering lawn of America?
Just to shake the fuckers up - make them see that the world is on fire and they're goddamn well in it.
Taibbi brought the gas can.  Who's got a fucking match?

Un dia interessant, malgrat el que he dit més amunt. Per començar el meu puto refredat pràcticament m’ha abandonat i per continuar tres de les quatre vistes han estat, com a mínim, interessants, i en un crescendo francament d’agraïr després de tanta pel.lícula. De tot plegat n’extrec algunes conclusions. Una, que per aguantar aquest ritme de visionat cal ser espavilat i comprar pel.lícules amb horaris que et permetin certs moments de descans. I avui, malgrat no he sopat (i ara són les 3:30 de la matinada, no crec ja que ho faci) sí he pogut dinar amb tranquil.litat i després fins i tot fer una volteta pel Brigadoon. La segona, que potser valdria la pena passar de la secció oficial fantàstica i anar directe a allò que es projecta fora de concurs, perquè fins ara és aquí on m’he topat amb les produccions més interessants. En concret dues que m’han entusiasmat i de les què espero poder -quan tingui una mica de temps- fer-ne esment al blog. Parlo de la torbadora i magnètica Deadgirl, dirigida per dos ninyatos amb el que he pogut xerrar un parell de minuts ara que encara no són coneguts i es passegen per Sitges sense ser reconeguts, i la terriblement perversa Home Movie, que ha aconseguit posar-nos dels nervis a mi i a tot el Prado. Cap de les dues exempte de polèmiques, puc dir amb força garanties de no equivocar-me que seran dues de les grans d’aquest any, encara que essent, com són, cintes petites. Bones notícies sempre des de la veu del cinema més independent i conseqüentment, més arriscat.

La decepció d’avui ha estat Your Name Here que malgrat ens ha deixat una bona interpretació d’un Bill Pullman que avui repetia (no us ha semblat un doble del Michael Douglas?) no ha fet res més que confondre a un públic que sembla que en part ha assistit gratuitament -gentilesa del Festival- probablement perquè la sala semblés més plena. Una sort per a ells, una feinada pels que ens havíem deixat els quartos per veure aquest absolut despropòsit. Llàstima perquè prometia. Com gairebé sempre tot el que fa fallida.

Per contra, la visió poètica del dia l’ha protagonitzat una noia amb un vestit lila a la platja de Sant Sebastià. Jo baixava de l’Auditori amb el cap a la cinta de la Jennifer Lynch i repassant mentalment el possible comentari que acabaré fent sobre el que m’ha semblat. Mentre observava el tall de l’horitzó, mig ennuvolat i tacant la perspectiva d’un fosc cendrós adient amb el que acabava de veure, he vist una noia que ballava enmig de la sorra, aliena a tot i a tothom. La fresca de la tarda no semblava afectar-li massa, i tampoc el fet que desenes de caminants i curiosos s’haguessin posat a mirar-se-la encuriosits. Primer rient; després, com jo, gaudint de la imatge d’algú que es deixava anar per allò que li demanava el cos. El ball m’ha seduit fins el punt d’aturar-me i seguir amb atenció la seva estranya dansa, mentre pensava amb allò que es deien capcots el Kyle MacLachlan i la Laura Dern a Blue Velvet i que subratllà tan bé el mestre Badalamenti amb la seva banda sonora original: “que n’és, d’estrany, aquest món”. Afegiria que durant el mes d’octubre, a aquesta localitat costanera anomenada Sitges, i en el meu cas des de ja fa 17 anys, també és un món meravellós i del que val la pena gaudir-ne. I no paro d’agrair que això continuï essent així.

(demà Gonzo, The Life and Work Of Dr. Hunter S. Thompson, The Sky Crawlers i Vinyan)

Today I've compiled a list of books. Now I'll recommend these books throughout the paragraphs below. My sister said she's been reading some good books, and asked me what I thought she should/could read. I've had a brief thinking session about this, and have come up with a few that I regard as stunners. Also I've just - right now - decided that this should be a regular occurrence. I had thought to have a whole bunch (like 15 of them) inititially, and that it would be a one-time affair, but now I think I'll do say.. 3 at a time. These aren't going to be massive, but hopefully an indication towards what's worthy about the books. Note that the names of the authors in the headings, are links to info about them. And feel free to comment and discuss! Always keen on your opinion :D

Ham on Rye by Charles Bukowski

This is one of my favourite books ever. There's something about Bukowski's turn of phrase, it's very clear and it's very very bleak.

Ham on Rye is an autobiographical novel. Bukowski writes about himself, but changes the name of the protagonist from his own, to Henry (or Hank) Chinaski. The book describes Hank's entire upbringing. A childhood and adolescence fraught with bad times; a family he hated, some medically hardcore acne, and picking fights whenever feasible... oh and discovering alcohol.. Theres more but you can read it. :P

I don't know why I enjoy Bukowski's books so much, the content matter is *almost* boring, and I can understand how people might see it as just that. Like I said though, I really enjoy his turn of phrase in particular. It's simple, consise writing, and he uses it to narrate some pretty funny experiences that you might have, but only if you were as obnoxious as Henry Chinaski.

This book is bleak as.. And strikes me as being very real. Bukowski is a pretty straight shooter when it comes to saying what's on his mind. No punches pulled. Ever.

Bukowski used to have his books published by the botique publishers Black Sparrow Press

The Black Sparrow copies of his work are pretty rare (at the very least they must be sought-after), and are awesomely bound. There is some sweet art on the books too, here is a list of them with amazon links - cheers whoever owns that page. Publishing company Ecco is now selling new copies with identical cover art and a similar binding style, so if youre going to purchase any, get the Ecco ones

Props to my Zucchini Bros alumni comtemporary Kent, for exposing me to a well loved Black Sparrow copy of this book a while back. Good man, I've read it at least 6 or 7 times and it's always epic. Cheers

The Vintner's Luck by Elizabeth Knox

Elizabeth Knox is a New Zealand author. This is the first book of hers I read, and I thought it very good. It's quite unusual for a New Zealand author, in that the story isn't set in New Zealand. This novel is set in Burgundy, France. The prime focus of The Vintner's Luck is the relationship between vintner Sobran, and a fallen angel who visits him anually. (I know you're thinking about respelling that last word if you've read the book haha)

I'm not going to fool you, it's pretty a pretty strange story. It teeters on homoerotic at times, but the way I think about it is: it's not about 2 men per se, rather about a human and an angel.. Which is pretty out-of-it aye. The human struggles to deal with the emotions he feels towards the angel Xas, and the angel likewise.

The angel tells Sobran everything he wants to know about heaven and hell, once a year when they each stay up through the night together. The angel is similarly enlightened on human culture, and the intricacies of being human.

Knox writes very well, again it's probably why I enjoyed The Vintner's Luck so much. I'm a sucker for good writing, also she was the main speaker at my graduation from Victoria University of Wellington a couple of years ago, that was sweet!

I have noticed that there is a film of this book being made right now, which should be interesting. Starring some guys, and Keisha Castle-Hughes. It's reported to be in post-production at the moment.. Hopefully I haven't just been reccomending the next Brokeback Mountain.. ha ha jeez..

Next:

Hell's Angels - The Strange and Terrible Saga of the Outlaw Motorcycle Gangs by Hunter S Thompson

This book was one of Thompson's first. It arose from an article he was commissioned to write in 1965 for The Nation, about the fresh and already notorious motorcycle gang, The Hell's Angels.

Hell's Angels was instrumental in Thompson's inadvertent creation of gonzo journalism. Gonzo journalism is an immersive style of reporting, Thompson hung out with the gang for about a year. This is what he writes about in the book.

Some of the stories are pure madness, there are situations such as when the Angels are at Thompson's house for a party, this is in a unit in a block of apartments (If I remember correctly). It ends up with gangsters firing shotguns out of Thompson's toilet window, after getting considerably juiced up. Hunter S is evicted swiftly thereafter.

This book, along with the other 2 I have written about today, is a fine example of writing. Thompson is another of my favourite writers, and it's probably the combination of brashness, and a very conversational turn of phrase that draw me into it. It's very immersive, and I like it.

Hunter S also sticks to the golden rule of balanced reporting. He makes sure he tells the reader all about how cool, tough, and fun-gluttonish the angels are, but he also exposes the disgusting pack-raping, passed out, and socially pathetic men that form the Hell's Angels. He tells both sides of the story, like any journalist should.

Definitely cop this and give it a read. It's bloody good: It's entertaining, it's shocking, it's real, and its fucking funny..

Ends.  :P

Its easy to fall into the pit...

the pit of despair the media outlets would like you to think exists, the economy is in the crapper, McCain did this or Obama did that, Palin governs more trees than people, Obama's voting record as a senator consists of present 129 different times (I guess thats a form of maybe...) a greater and more severe depression is destined to knock us out of our chairs, Liberals and Conservatives are in a fierce and bloody battle for political domination, Mccain blaming Obama for rising gas prices, crime rates are up, pit bulls are on the loose, and starbucks doesnt support the troops... blah blah blah

Hunter S Thompson said it best, "If I'd written the truth I knew for the past ten years, about 600 people—including me—would be rotting in prison cells from Rio to Seattle today. Absolute truth is a very rare and dangerous commodity in the context of professional journalism."

Im tired of the half assed reporting, which to me has less reporting and more opinion... I dont want your opinion i want a factual account of what happened, I'll make up my own mind on the issue.  You read these news articles, or watch a segment on the local news, or cnn, fox, msnbc, etc... and you feel like your in a ball pit feverishly chucking shit out of the way to find your missing sock.  Obviously the story is based on some form of truth, or as Mitch Hedburg said once it was "inspired" by a true story, they just dont tell you their inspiration for writing a pointed article on Palin's kid came from watching Juno or something just equally as ludicrous.

Im also annoyed at college professors who make it their mission to fervently advocate one candidate over the other or voice their political beliefs in such a way that any difference in opinion is met more often than not with hostility. At least present both sides, dont be intentionally misleading.

Above all Im annoyed that the media perceives the general population to be so gullible, Id like to believe that the average human being doesnt just believe what they are told, but puts some thought and research into their own conclusion. Persuasion seems to rule all, the media and the political arena thrive on this, fear tactics seems to be the current favorite, but I have faith that most of us just call bullshit 90% of the time.

I know for me I still have yet to decide who Im voting for, ive gone over where they stand on issues multiple times (which constantly seems to change), what they propose to do while in office (pure fluff most likely), and generally how persuasive or manipulative they are, hell they will say anything to get a vote which is the root of my frustration, what is it they truly believe in...

well i guess thats a topic for a further blog, and some much needed research on my part. Damn my indecisiveness!

For some reason, when I'm in my most creative, vulnerable state, I feel the most poignant--with my face deliberately showing a blank state.  What may appear as a lack of emotion on the outside is balanced by the neurons of emotion firing inside my head fueling an ambitious drive.  I can sit with a empty expression staring at my screen, but type up an essay that is dynamic, full of life, feeling and free thought.  It's an absolute imbalance that occurs, which I've noticed and observed with many of the creative people I know.

Have you ever watched an artist paint, or an engineer work on a design?  Of course they are focused.  Of course they are paying attention.  That's not why they don't talk to you while they work.  There is a powerful and necessary imbalance going on.  It's a shift of thought and emotion that allows the mind and body to excrete free thought.

The more controlled this process becomes, the more powerful it can be.  I'm still dealing with it, and probably not in the most civil or mature ways.  I'm often selfish or distant to people that care about me purely by means of empathy.

I take a look at my iTunes and see Bob Dylan.  A total genius, but often impersonal and cold.

I take another look at my book shelf and the most creative author that represented this theory most bluntly was Hunter S. Thompson.

Thompson was a gift to the literary world, who would commonly go into aggressive rages during writing sprees.  How did he deal with it?  Motorcycle rides.  Shooting guns.  Mostly drugs.  Thompson's creative force was incredible, not only on himself, but the people around him.  There was just so much going on up there.  With waves of creative juices flowing inside, he was permanently imbalanced.  Fortunately, he left us his incredible writing to enjoy.  Unfortunately, the juices were too much for him to handle, and he took his own life.

What I'm trying to manage is my creativity.  Finding it.  Controlling it.  Using it.  When it's there, it's great.  Unfortunately, it it often affects how I treat other people.

Then again, balance is important, even if it's not in the middle.

Etenkin nuorten miesten koetaan voivan todella huonosti, ja niinhän se taitaa tilastojenkin mukaan mennä. Miksi nuoret suomalaismiehet sitten voivat niin pahoin? Missä mättää? Mitä pitäisi tehdä? Kenen johtopäätökset ovat oikeita, ketä tulee kuunnella? Kuka on syyllinen ja kenen on vastuu? Voimmeko ehkäistä väkivaltaa? Mitä tulisi priorisoida, kun kaikkialla tuntuu olevan resurssipula?

MIKSI NÄITÄ ASIOITA TAPAHTUU?

Tähän kysymykseen laadin tämän viikon aikana muodollisesti pätevän vastauslistan. Käytin blogini teeman mukaisesti hyödykseni populaarikulttuuria - tällä erää etenkin tämän vuoden kirjasyksyyn painottuen. Lista on koottu tarkoituksellisen osoittelevasti ja kärjistävästi. Kirjat tarjoavat niin ymmärryksen mahdollisuutta, raakaa tutkimustuloskattausta, konkreettisia ratkaisuja kuin myös syvempää pohdiskelua monista eri asioista. Romaanit ovat listalla, koska niiden avulla omia tunteitaan on suhteellisen hyvä purkaa, jos sellaiseen kykenee. Sanoudun irti kaikista kirjojen syyttämisestä, ja jos joku minun niin luulee tekevän, on ohittanut pointin kirkkaammin kuin [syötä tähän ontuva vertaus].

Linkit vievät kustantajien laatimiin tarkempiin tietoihin listalta löytyvistä kirjoista.

YHTEISKUNTA?
- Oksanen, Atte: Haavautuva minuus - Väkivallan barokki kontrolliyhteiskunnassa
- Eriksen, Thomas Hylland: Hetken tyrannia
- Krohn, Leena: Unelmakuolema (romaani)
- Blackburn, Simon: Platonin Valtio
- Wheen, Francis: Marxin Pääoma
- Norberg, Johan: Globaalin kapitalismin puolustus
- Lahdenmäki, Ari & Rantala, Riku: Isänmaan asialla - matkaopas syrjäytettyjen Suomeen

HALLITUS?
- Pernaa, Ville & Pitkänen, Ville: Poliitikot taistelivat, media kertoo - Suomalaisen politiikan mediapelejä 1981-2006

HISTORIA?
- Pernaa, Ville & Niemi, Mari K. (toim.): Entäs jos... Vaihtoehtoinen Suomen historia
- Jokisipilä, Markku & Niemi, Mari K. (toim.): Entäs jos... Lisää vaihtoehtoista Suomen historiaa

NYKYAIKA?
- Gadd, Carl-Johan & Colting, Fredrik: Ultramoderni historia
- Kotro, Arno & Krohn, Minerva: Suoraa ja koukkua - kirjeitä kaikesta
- Wheen, Francis: Kuinka humpuuki valloitti maailman - Harhaluulojen lyhyt historia

SUKUPOLVIEN VÄLINEN KUILU?
- Colting, Fredrik & Gadd, Carl-Johan & Davidson, Karin: Elä, kuolet kumminkin – Mummojen ja pappojen viisauksia
- Hildén, Riitta & Iivari, Ulpu: Suuret ikäluokat luokkakuvassa - mitä meistä tuli?
- Pajamäki, Osku: Ahne sukupolvi - Suurten ikäluokkien perintö
- Uhlgren, Sauli: Urho

KOULU(JÄRJESTELMÄ)?
- Lampela, Anja: Älä koske ope (romaani)
- Kontula, Aino: Rexi on homo ja opettajat hullui! Opettajan päiväkirja (romaani)
- Kontula, Aino: Ei eläinkokeita - käyttäkää mopoja - Oppilaan päiväkirja (romaani)

LUONNOSTA ERKAANTUMINEN?
- Moilanen, Olavi: Elämä puhuu

LÄHIÖELÄMÄ?
- Denezhkina, Irina: Anna mulle! (novellikokoelma)

PAHUUS, JULMUUS?
- Fletcher, Susan: Meriharakat (romaani)
- Kunnas, Tarmo: Paha - Mitä kirjallisuus ja taide paljastavat pahuuden olemuksesta
- Klemettilä, Hannele: Keskiajan julmuus
- Shriver, Lionel: Poikani Kevin (romaani). Katso myös aiempi blogipostaukseni tähän kirjaan liittyen.
- Kant, Immanuel (toim. Hirvonen, Ari & Kotkas, Toomas): Radikaali paha. Paha eurooppalaisessa perinteessä

TYHJYYDEN TUNTEET?
- Pasanen, Kimmo: Tyhjyys itämaisessa ajattelussa ja taiteessa
- Haatanen, Kalle: Pitkäveteisyyden filosofiaa

PINNALLISUUS?
- von Ziegesar, Cecily: Gossip Girl -sarja (romaani)

YLTÄKYLLÄISYYS?
- Hirvonen, Tatu & Mangeloja, Esa: Miksi kolmas hampurilainen ei tee onnelliseksi?
- Gürtler, Detlef: Kroisokset - Rikkaiden historia faaraoista Bill Gatesiin
- Lowe, Steven & McArthur, Alan: Onko minussa jotakin vikaa vai onko kaikki paskaa?

SIVISTYMÄTTÖMYYS?
- Schwanitz, Dietrich: Sivistyksen käsikirja
- Asserate, Asfa-Wossen: Sivistynyt käytös
- Baggini, Julian: Possu, joka halusi tulla syödyksi - ja 99 muuta ajatusleikkiä
- van Boxsel, Matthijs: Tyhmyyden ensyklopedia

INFORMAATIOÄHKY, TURHAUTTAVAN SUURI TIETOISUUS ITSESTÄ JA YMPÄRÖIVÄSTÄ MAAILMASTA?
- Ankowitsch, Christian: Täydellisen tiedon käsikirja
- Stein, Hannes: Vihdoinkin eroon ajattelusta! Käsikirja ylirasittuneille älyköille
- Cioran, E. M.: Katkeruuden syllogismeja

VAISTOT JA ALITAJUISET TUNTEET?
- Gladwell, Malcolm: Välähdys - alitajuisen ajattelemisen voima
- Turunen, Kari E.: Tunne-elämä
- Virkki, Tuija: Vihan voima - Toimijuus ja muutos vihakertomuksissa

IHMISYYS?
- Høystad, Ole M.: Sydämen historiaa
- Buzzell, Colby: Minun sotani. Amerikkalaissotilas Irakissa
- Regan, Geoffrey: Päin mäntyä
- Clover, Jonathan: Ihmisyys - 1900-luvun moraalihistoria

IHMISSUHTEET?
- Kast, Bas: Rakkauden selitys

EPÄVARMUUS, PAIKKANSA HAKEMINEN, ULKOPUOLISUUS, YKSINÄISYYS?
- Konstig, Joonas: Ahneet ja viattomat (romaani)
- Harford, Tim: Elämän logiikka - Järjellinen selitys järjettömälle maailmalle
- Silfverberg, Anu: Kung Po (romaani)
- Peura, Maria: Vedenaliset (romaani)
- Hornby, Nick: Poika (romaani)
- Jämsén, Turkka: Mahla virtaa (novellikokoelma)

MASENNUS JA/TAI MUUT MIELENTERVEYSONGELMAT?
- Martin, Philip: Zen - Tie depression läpi
- Airaksinen, Timo: Hulluuden houkutus
- Lehtosaari, Arja & Välipakka, Tuija: Sata tapaa tappaa sielu - Narsismin uhrit kertovat
- Lahti, Pirkko: Hyvän mielen mahdollisuudet
- Marttila, Hanna Marjut: Tulikirja (romaani)

PSYKOPAATIN TAI SOSIOPAATIN PERSOONALLISUUS?
- Müller, Thomas: Ihmispeto

TERVEYSONGELMAT?
- Mazzarella, Merete: Hyvä kosketus - ihmisen kehosta, terveydestä, hoitamisesta ja kirjallisuudesta

LÄHIOMAISEN TERVEYSONGELMAT?
Courtemanche, Gil: Kaunis kuolema (romaani)

MEDIKALISOINTI, ASIOIDEN SAIRAALLISTAMINEN?
- Hamilo, Marko (toim.): Älkää säätäkö päätänne - häiriö on todellisuudessa. Suomalaisen psykokulttuurin kritiikki
- Tammisalo, Osmo: Tavataan ensi viikolla - psykoanalyysin ja sen hoitovaikutusten kriittinen tarkastelu

STRESSI?
- Leahy, Robert L.: Älä huoli - Seitsemän askeleen ohjelma sinulle, jolle monet asiat aiheuttavat huolta
- Keltikangas-Järvinen, Liisa: Temperamentti, stressi ja elämänhallinta
- Ehdin, Sanna: Sisäinen menestys
- Germain, Adriana: Paranna Keho. Itsehoito-opas stressin hallintaan ja elinvoiman lisäämiseen
- Gray, John: Mars ja Venus törmäyskurssilla. Kuinka miehet ja naiset selviytyvät eri tavalla stressistä
- Metropoliitta Johannes: Hiljaisuus

TRAAGISET JA TRAUMAATTISET ELÄMÄNKOKEMUKSET, EPÄTOIVO?
- Hauhio, Elisa & Paakkala, Satu & Sadinmäki, Jari: Suru
- Käcko, Marianne: Tapa minut, äiti!
- Huovi, Hannele: Pesula (romaani)

HUUMEET?
- Ejersbo, Jakob: Pohjolan voima (romaani)
- Frey, James: Miljoonia sirpaleita (romaani)

MUUT RIIPPUVUUDET?
- Poutiainen, Anneli: Rulettipäiväkirja - Kuinka jouduin pelihimon valtaan
- Graham, James: Juoppohullut vallankahvassa - Alkoholismin salattu historia

MENETYKSET?
- Lardot, Raisa: Matkamies maan (romaani)
- Lundán, Tina: Ensimmäinen kesä (romaani)
- Creech, Sharon: Kulje kaksi kuuta (romaani)

ULKONÄKÖPAINEET?
- Beigbeder, Frédéric: Apua, anteeksi (romaani)

KOPIOINTI?
- Gladwell, Malcolm: Leimahduspiste

PERHEONGELMAT?
- Pulkkinen, J.P.: Kaikki onnelliset perheet (romaani)
- Juslin, Emma: Frida ja Frida (romaani)
- Hanhisuanto, Kari: Isä meidän (romaani)
- Uhlgren, Sauli: Kulissit (romaani)

KASVATUKSELLISET SEIKAT?
- Matilainen, Tuulia: Lapsi elää rutiineista - Helppo ja hyvä arki
- Sinkkonen, Jari: Mitä lapsi tarvitsee hyvään kasvuun
- Blythe, Daniel: Vaippavapaalla - vaihtoehtoinen opas uusille isille
- Wahlsten, Juhani & Tamminen, Juhani: Peli - mitä harrastus ja peli voi opettaa lapselle?

VANHEMPIEN IDEOLOGISET TAI ELÄMÄNKATSOMUKSELLISET SEIKAT?
- Antola, Päivikki: Papinlapset

SUOMALAISEN MIEHEN MALLI?
- Hyrkäs, Seppo & Tabermann, Tommy: Tosimiehen testamentti
- Jouhki, Hannu & Holappa, Pentti: Mies miehelle - tarina ystävyydestä
- Toiviainen, Petri: Eiku

KOULUKIUSAAMINEN, NUORTEN ERIARVOISUUS?
- Reuter, Martina & Holm, Ruurik: Koulu ja valta
- Holmberg-Kalenius, Tina: Koulukiusaamisen jälkeen

ENEMMISTÖSTÄ POIKKEAVA OLEMUS, KÄYTÖS JA AJATTELU?
- Ackroyd, Peter: Edgar Allan Poe - Lyhyt elämä
- Keskisarja, Teemu: Suomen ainoa sarjamurhaaja - Juhani Adaminpojan rikos ja rangaistus
- Hautala, Marko: Itsevalaisevat (romaani)
- Friman, Rainer: Miehen tie

TASAPÄISTÄMINEN?
- Virtanen, Kirsi: Lupa olla nainen

YHTEISÖLLISYYDEN PUUTE?
- Lähteenoksa, Meri: Viisas arki - Opas yhteisöllisyyteen
- Mazzucco, Melania G.: Täydellinen päivä
- Tamminen, Juhani: Teamwork - Menestyksen askeleet ryhmätyössä
- Blanchot, Maurice: Tunnustamaton yhteisö
- Surowiecki, James: Joukkojen viisaus

LINTUKOTO-AJATTELU?
- Taleb, Nassim Nicholas: Musta Joutsen - erittäin epätodennäköisen vaikutus

JENGIYTYMINEN / YHTEISÖLLISYYS EPÄSOPIVINA PIDETTYJEN ASIOIDEN YMPÄRILLÄ?
- Sikes, Gini: 8 ball chicks - Vuosi tyttöjengien väkivaltaisessa maailmassa

KAPINOINTI?
- Hoikkala, Tommi & Laine, Sofia & Laine, Jyrki (toim.): Mitä on tehtävä? Nuorison kapinan teoriaa ja käytäntöä

NIHILISMI, PERINTEISTEN ARVOJEN HYLKÄÄMINEN, INDIVIDUALISMI?
- Martikainen, Jarkko: Yhdeksän teesiä
- Haatanen, Kalle: Ei voisi vähempää kiinnostaa - Esseitä nihilismistä
- Hughes, Josh Amatore: Punkshui - kodinsisustusta anarkisteille
- Blythe, Daniel: Vihaan joulua - Manifesti jouluhömpötystä vastaan

HEDONISMI, NAUTINNONHAKUISUUS?
- Niemi, Mari K. (toim.): Kiitos ei! Kieltäytymisen kulttuurihistoriaa

DEKADENSSI, RAPPIOROMANTIIKKA?
- Thompson, Hunter S.: Pelkoa ja inhoa Las Vegasissa - julma matka amerikkalaisen unelman keskipisteeseen (romaani)

NAISET?
- Blackledge, Catherine: Vaginan tarina

POLIITTISTEN / FILOSOFISTEN TOISINAJATTELIJOIDEN IHANNOINTI?
- Vadén, Tere (toim.): Linkolan ajamana - Mistä linkolalaisuudessa on kysymys?
- Laari, Jukka (toim.): Nietzschen hämärä - Pieni kirja Nietszchestä ja filosofiasta
- Lehto, Katriina: Ulrike Meinhof - Lähemmäs totuutta, ei todellisuutta
- de Madariaga, Isabel: Iivana Julma
- Thompson, Mel & Rodgers, Nigel: Huonosti käyttäytyvät filosofit
- Shaw, Karl: Hullut diktaattorit
- Maser, Werner: Adolf Hitlerin Taisteluni

"OMA" POLIITTINEN TAI FILOSOFINEN AGENDA?
- Montefiore, Simon Sebag: Suuret puheet, jotka muuttivat maailmaa

MARKKINAVOIMAT?
- Ojajärvi, Jussi & Steinby, Liisa (toim.): Minä ja markkinavoimat - Yksilö, kulttuuri ja yhteiskunta uusliberalismin valtakaudella
- Aitio, Tommi: Lajinsa paras - 200 tapaa viettää ylettömän hienoa elämää

MEDIA?
- Schmidt, Johan: Reality show (romaani)
- Saari, Heikki: Isku tajuntaan! - Suomen iltapäivälehdistön lyhyt historia
- Kuutti, Heikki: Tutkittu juttu - johdatus tutkivaan journalismiin

HUOMIONKIPEYS?
- Blåfield, Ville & Sharma, Leena: Ken leikkiin ryhtyy... Julkisuuden himo ja hinta

USKONNOLLISUUS?
- Jacobs, A.J.: Raamatullinen vuosi - Yhden miehen nöyrä yritys noudattaa Raamatun ohjeita kirjaimellisesti yhden vuoden ajan
- Isä Mitron ajatuksia elämästä, työstä, uskosta
- Gardell, Jonas: Jumalasta
- Virtanen, Lasse: Lähimmäiset - Metropoliitta Johannes
- Armstrong, Karen: Jumalan historia - 4000 vuotta juutalaisuutta, kristinuskoa ja islamia

USKONNOTTOMUUS?
- Enqvist, Kari: Monimutkaisuus, elävän olemassaolomme perusta
- Coupland, Douglas: Jumalan jälkeen
- Swain, Harriet (toim.): Suuret kysymykset
- Ganten, Detlev & Deichman, Thomas & Spahl, Thilo: Luonto, tiede ja elämä - Kaikki mitä tulee tietää
- Dawkins, Richard: Jumalharha

MIELIKUVITUS?
- Topsell, John & Nigg, Joseph: Lohikäärme - hoito ja kasvatus

POPULAARIKULTTUURI?
- Johnson, Steven: Kaikki huono on hyväksi - Miten nykyinen populaarikulttuuri tekeekin meistä älykkäämpiä
- Lindfors, Jukka: Pakko vatkaa - Kirjoituksia popmusiikista
- Rowlands, Mark: Opin kaiken tietämäni televisiosta - filosofiaa sohvaperunoille
- Talvio, Otto: Biff! Bang! Pow! Seikkailuja populaarikulttuurissa

ALAKULTTUURIT?
- Chang, Jeff: Can't stop, won't stop - hiphopsukupolven historia
- Moynihan, Michael & Søderling, Didrik: Kaaoksen ruhtinaat - Mustan metallin messu
- McNeil, Legs & McCain, Gillian: Please Kill Me - punkin sensuroimaton esihistoria

ROCK-LYRIIKKA?
- Lahtinen, Toni & Lehtimäki, Markku (toim.): Ääniä äänien takaa - tulkintoja rock-lyriikasta

MUSTA HUUMORI?
- Simon, Rich: Kusiaistarha ja muita epätoivoisia tilanteita
- Kuula, Taija & Hyyppä, Aki & Toppari, Elina: Seppojormairmeli - etunimen selitys

Kaiken kaikkiaan pointti lienee loppujen lopulta se, että jokainen ongelmatapaus on yksilöllinen, sillä jokaisen ihmisen historia, luonne ja ominaisuudet ovat erilaiset, ja vaikka toimimmekin usein suhteellisen ennalta-arvattavasti, emme voi tuudittautua siihen, että jokainen toista aseella osoittava ihminen on esimerkiksi menettänyt isovanhempansa 4-vuotiaana, omistanut kaksi koiraa, pitänyt silkkipuseroita, laulanut mielellään juomalauluja, ottanut tatuoinnin tai juuri muutakaan näin spesifiä. Yksittäisten tekijöiden sijaan kannattaisikin keskittyä pohtimaan, miten ylipäänsä on päädytty tilanteeseen, jossa joudumme pohtimaan syitä siihen, miksi ihmiset ylipäänsä voivat niin pahoin. Milloin ongelmat ovat kasautuneet niin pahasti, että joudumme silmät ymmyrkäisinä kaivelemaan ongelmavyyhtejä ja etsimään sieltä pohjalta THE SEIKAN, joka on kaiken alku ja juuri?

Mielestäni mennään metsään, jos aletaan syyttää videopelejä, musiikkityylejä tai muita seikkoja, jotka eivät missään nimessä voi olla vastuussa häiriintyneistä ihmisyksilöistä ja heidän valinnoistaan. Onko oikeasti niin vaikeaa ymmärtää, että ihminen voi olla yhtäaikaisesti tasapainoinen ja silti kiinnostunut monista hurjina pidetyistä asioista? On myös muistettava, että monilla on ongelmia, monet käyttävät internetiä ja monet kuuntelevat hurjaa mörkömusiikkia - ja silti vain harvat päätyvät äärimmäisiin tekoihin.

Lisäys 2.10.: lukijan kirjalisäys (kohtaan Ihmisyys?) sekä romaanimaininnat.

Nixon, at least, was blessed with a mixture of arrogance and stupidity that caused him to blow the boilers almost immediately after taking command. By bringing in hundreds of thugs, fixers and fascists to run the Government, he was able to crank almost every problem he touched into a mindbending crisis. -- The Great Shark Hunt, p. 20

Finding similarities between complex objects (like government administrations) is not difficult, and the less detail given, the easier it is. One might, for example, point out that the Nazis, like the Aztecs and the Togugawa shoguns, were an interesting bunch. A closer look at the details is likely to uncover more differences than similarities, even if they each continue to be, in their different ways, an interesting bunch.

What struck me about Thompson's comments on the Nixon administration was how one could simply replace "Nixon" with "Bush" and the details, rather than distinguish, tend to confirm the similarity.

"The only real difference between the Sane and the Insane, in this world, is the Sane have the power to have the Insane locked up. That is the bottom line. CLANG! Go immediately to prison. You crazy bastard, you should have been looked up a long time ago. You are a dangerous freak. I am rich and I want you castrated"

"We live in dangeous times. Our armies are powerful, and we spend millions of dollars a year on new prisons, yet our lives are still ruled by Fear. We are like pygmies lost in a maze. We are not at War, we are having a nervous breakdown"

"There is no such thing as Paranoia", he [su padre] told me once. "Even your worst fears will come true if you chase them long enough. Beware, son. There is trouble lurking out there in that darkness, sure as hell. Wild beasts and cruel people, and some of them will pounce your neck and try to tear your head off, if you´re not carefull"

"Although I don´t fell that it´s at all necessary to tell you how I fell about the principle of individuality, I know that I´m going to have to spend the rest of my life expressing one way or another, and I think that I´ll acomplish more by expressing it on the keys of a typewriter than by letting it express itself in sudden outburst  of frustrated violence. I don´t mean to say that I´m about to state my credo here on this page, but merely to affirm, sincerelly for the first time in my life, my belief in man as an individual and independent entity. Certainly not independece in the everyday sense of the word, but pertainig to a freedom and mobility of thought that few people are able -or even have the courage- to achieve"

Carta a Joe Bell
Base Aérea de Eglin, Florida
24 de octubre de 1957

Seguro que, a medida que siga leyendo Kingdom of Fear: Loathsome Secrets of a Star-Crossed Child in the Final Days of the American Century, encuentro más reflexiones interesantes. Estoy disfrutando como un enano de esta autobiografía.

A propósito. Después de un año, mañana dejo Alemania. Tutto a posto. Nos vemos en los bares.

Geschichte ist in den USA entweder ausgeschlachtet und kommerzialisiert oder gut versteckt und schwer zugänglich. In La Honda, dem kleinen Ort in den Bergen südlich von San Francisco, wo Ken Kesey und seine Merry Pranksters in den 60er-Jahren die Psychedelische Ära zelebrierten, steht keine Tafel am Straßenrand, kein Erinnerungsschild, keine Statue. Nichts. Der Autor von „Manchmal ein großes Verlangen“ und „Einer flog über das Kuckucknest“, der sich selbst in einem Interview einmal als „zu jung für einen Beatnik und zu alt für einen Hippie“ bezeichnete, hat hier kein Monument. Aber als Held zahlreicher Texte von Allen Ginsberg, Tom Wolfe bis Hunter S. Thompson lebt er weiter. Und in der Erinnerung der Menschen von La Honda.

„Er war ein netter Kerl“, erzählt Pat, den ich auf der Veranda des Apple Jack’s Inn treffe, „hat in einem Spital gearbeitet, wo er das Acid für seinen Gäste besorgt hat. Die meisten haben damals das Zeug genommen, um zu schauen, was mit ihnen passiert. Kesey hat es anderen gegeben, um zu schauen, was mit denen passiert“. Es müssen wilde Feste gewesen sein unter den Bäumen von La Honda. Kesey befestigte Lautsprecher in den Wipfeln und lud Bands wie The Grateful Dead zu Privatkonzerten. Immer wieder kamen auch die Hell’s Angels, bis es der Polizei zu blöd wurde. Pat – in seiner grauen Mähne hat er einen kleinen Zopf – erinnert sich gern an die verrückte Zeit. „Die Farmer dachten, der Teufel sei in ihre Nachbarschaft gezogen. Sie haben ihn mit allen Mitteln bekämpft“. Kurz nachdem Kesey Ende der 1960er-Jahre seinen Grund in La Honda verließ, wurde das Haus in einem Unwetter zerstört.

„Schreib auf“, weist mich Pat an: „Bush ist ein Arschloch. Die Republikaner sind Arschlöcher.“ Fotografiert will er nicht werden, weil er – wie er sagt – ein paar Probleme mit der US-Regierung hat. „Das letzte Mal als ich wählen ging, habe ich für John F. Kennedy gestimmt. Der hat mich zum Dank ein Jahr länger in Vietnam dienen lassen.“