Dave | unobtrusive lucidity

Downgrade

Karen and I decided long ago that we always want to live in a college town. There’s a different sort of electricity in college towns…the kind of energy that comes with the pursuit of knowledge and inquiring minds. There’s a willingness to explore, an opportunity to be heard. There’s a plethora of fascinating people from a wide variety of backgrounds, all come together in one city to chase after their futures.

Also, there’s more coffee shops in college towns. But that’s not the primary contributing factor. Really. I promise.

Among the various private institutions located in and around the area in which we currently live, there’s also a community college. Karen is an adjunct faculty member there, teaching at various campuses. She also teaches dual enrollment…high school students that are taking college courses early. I lament sometimes that she has the perfect job. I also have several friends that are students at the community college. I saw one of them “check in” at one of the campuses on Foursquare today, and something about it brought back all sorts of memories.

The school at which I completed my undergrad also had community college and technical college divisions. As it was a huge commuter campus, almost all of us drove and competed for parking spaces. There was such a great mix of students in any given building at any given time: students training to be electricians sharing the hallways with theatre and visual art students. Architecture students and engineering students mingling with English majors. I loved it. Boundaries were broken down, and everyone accepted everyone for who they were. We were all there exploring. Not just our academic areas of inquiry, but we were exploring life, too. I learned about cars and communication theory, girls and technical theatre, literature and personal finances…all in the same four years. I went through my share of garbage, and I certainly made my share of mistakes…and I don’t just mean academic ones. But, as someone once said, most of the lessons you learn in college you don’t learn in the classroom. I learned time management the hard way. I became exposed to coffee. I became exposed to life, and I loved the adventure.

Life is still an adventure, don’t get me wrong. I just found myself missing those undergrad days today. Grad school was great, but not the same. It’s more…professional. You know, like we’re all supposed to be now that we’ve finished college. Professional. Sanitized. Confined to a 9-to-5. Chasing a dream doesn’t look the same now. There are responsibilities other than learning great new things. We’ve traded inquiring minds for the lives of responsible adults.

In order to have money.

I suppose that was part of what we after all along. Now that we’ve gotten there, I’m not convinced that it’s such a great destination, after all, because on days like today, I really, really wish I could experience the journey again.

A Review of “House and Philosophy: Everybody Lies”

House and Philosophy: Everybody Lies by William Irwin
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Recently, I was asked by a friend to list fifteen of the most influential fictional characters in my life…characters that would always stick with me. Since the list didn’t specify between literary and television/film characters, I had difficulty, at least in retrospect, leaving Gregory House off of that list. House is a character that has always resonated with me. On my, how should I say, less than optimistic days, I’ve been told that I have everything in common with him except walking with a cane. There’s something about being so good at what you do that you can get by with saying whatever you think that is alluring to me…though perhaps it shouldn’t be. That, though, is exactly the appeal.

This book was loaned to me by a friend. I haven’t explored philosophy in popular culture titles much as of yet, but have been interested in doing so, and this was as good a place as any to begin. The book is a collection of essays from philosophy professors at various American universities, and the content varies from literary analysis to arguments presenting which philosophical perspectives the character of House espouses. With respect to the individual scholars, the quality of the content of these essays varies dramatically from the thought provoking to the unbelievable. One essay discusses in depth the inspiration of the character of House by the character of Sherlock Holmes, and points out fascinating correlations between House’s television program and the literary world of Doyle. One essay discusses House’s presentation of Sarte’s philosophy (“Hell is other people”), and an entire section of the book discusses the ethics of the physicians in the show as they correspond to accepted medical ethics in the “real world.” Other essays leave you flipping pages quickly to reach the end of the them because they lack all credibility from their premise forward (House as Zen Bhuddist rhetorician? Really?).

What fascinates me most about the book, however, is that it speaks to the quality of the character of Gregory House as he has been conceived by the screenwriters and brought to life by Hugh Laurie. There is something about this character, as much as he alternately repulses and attracts us, that makes us unable to look away, almost as though we’ve driven by a car accident. Whether it is disgust or admiration that motivates the viewer, almost everyone I know that watches this show has something constructive and insightful to say about House. The character is simply that powerful.

The academic ventures of recent years to discuss the rhetoric, philosophy, and theology of popular culture is an important pursuit to our society, and this book is evidence of that. The philosophy isn’t presented at a deep academic level, but rather in a well-balanced style that meets both the philosophical novice and the student who has studied philosophy at some depth in the middle. The language is accessible, and overall the book goes by very quickly once you begin. All in all, If you’re a fan of the show, this is a worthwhile read, if for no other reason than the fact that you will be able to discuss the next episode with much more insight and depth.

View all my reviews

Out of Sight…

I was listening to a podcast today. Nothing really enormously newsworthy in that, I guess, but I want to make the point that was listening to the podcast. I listen to a lot of podcasts during the week. I used to watch several podcasts, as well, but I really don’t do anything with video podcasts lately. I think the main issue is time. Audio podcasts, or audiobooks, afford me some level of multi-tasking, even if it’s only listening while I’m driving. It’s like free new stories every week. I have certain days “assigned” to certain podcasts. I really like podcasts. But I don’t like making time to watch them.

During the podcast to which I was listening today, the interviewers used a video clip of some breaking news coverage. Now, there are two versions of this particular podcast, and, of course, I could have watched the video had I chosen the video version. In this case, I only had the audio of the interview. My brain filled in the blanks, however. I could imagine the scene very well, see the interview taking place in my head. It happened automatically, really, in a similar way to which my imagination fills in the blanks when I’m reading. I can see the version of what I think it looks like as clearly as if I were watching the actual video.

Sometimes, after listening to a certain correspondent for some time, I’ll have an image in my head of what they look like, and I’m surprised when I actually see a picture, because they look nothing like what I imagined.

I like imaging these sorts of things, because I think it’s sort of like a muscle that needs to receive periodic exercise. I’m listening to an audiobook this week, in which, at the end of Part I, a homicide is committed (it’s a mystery novel). The author wrote just enough detail that I imagined the scene perfectly. I’m sort of scared to see the movie, because I think they’ll mess that up.

Something I’ve always admired about British television and film is that they tend to be much closer to stage productions. In theatre, we design sets and stage action so that there’s just enough seen on the stage to permit the audience to fill in what’s missing with their imaginations. If the scene I had just finished in the audiobook were staged in a play, for example, the gunshots might happen offstage. The actor might rush to a door, the other side of which is invisible to the audience, gasp, and stumble backward. The point is, the audience didn’t need to see the violence, and they don’t need to see the bloody scene that follows (which the author of the novel describes in great detail). They can imagine what it looks like, and staging the action that way encourages them to do so.

In British television and films, there is frequently a similar staging with violence and sexual activity, for example. We see enough to know what’s happening, without being explicitly shown every detail. American film and television bothers me because it wants to show, in as graphic a detail as possible, everything, from the facial expressions of the actors (a good thing) to all of the violent and sexual details of the story (not a good thing). More than gratuitous shock value, I think what bothers me the most is that it leaves nothing to the imagination.

I wonder if this contributes to the horribly unimaginative state of our society. It’s as though we must have everything shown to us. We can’t imagine anything for ourselves. Certainly, this must be a contributing factor to the illiterate nature of our culture. Many people, youth and adults alike, have lost the mental energy to read a story and imagine it visually in their heads, choosing instead to see it the way a different person envisioned the scene. Why choose to imagine events in war-torn nations when news media will show us all of the bloody details we can handle? Why imgaine sex when anyone can see other people engaging in the activity with a few mouse clicks to the “red light” district of the Internet?

We’re overloaded with images. Even setting the extreme examples I’ve just mentioned aside, we’re so addicted to seeing things through the eyes of others, that we forget that we have the ability to see those things on our own volition, as well. I’m not arguing that film-making is somehow less valid as a form of artistic expression, not at all. I just wonder what the effect would be if all visual media found creative ways to do what a stage production does: show us just enough that we can imagine the rest for ourselves?

I think we would find the muscles of our imaginations receiving a great workout. And I think that would be a good thing.

Photo Attribution: wmbreedveld

Out With The Old…Sometimes…

I like toys.

I know, I know, that’s not really a huge surprise. I’m an early adopter of new technologies (sometimes to my chagrin), and I am in a perpetual difference of opinion with my wife over the most effective tools with which to make life more productive and fun. These differences of opinion happen when I recommend the latest app or device that I’ve found, or occasionally set her up with a free account for a great new service, only to discover that she still uses a paper-and-pen planner to schedule her week and to make her to-do lists. She integrates them into iCal as an afterthought, and essentially only so that I will have a copy of her schedule in electronic form.

Both she and my friend and fellow-blogger, Katherine, scoffed and shook their heads disdainfully at me over dinner one night when discussing my preference for ebooks to paperbacks. Yet, my wife still bought an e-reader for me for last year’s birthday.

As high-tech as I am, however, I discover myself preferring amazingly low-tech methods in certain aspects of life. Years ago, I eschewed electric razors in favor of a Gillette Mach 3 that I received as a Christmas gift. The reason for the choice was simple: I get a better shave with the latter. I still use the same razor that I received years ago, in fact. It’s become sort of sentimental.

More recently, I let go of the programmable coffee pot that had coffee hot and waiting for me each morning in favor of a French press. The reason was because I’m a complete snob about having perfect coffee, and this is the best taste I’ve been able to achieve. The choice required an alteration to my lifestyle: I have less time in the morning because I boil the water and grind the coffee fresh as soon as I wake up. It’s a low-tech sacrifice with great results.

Of course, the waking up occurs after the alert from an alarm clock that sets itself and remembers that the times I wake on weekends are different than weekdays, as well as understanding Daylight Savings Time changes. High-tech to low-tech.

Some family members prefer tea to coffee when they wake up. They have a nifty little device that boils the water for them in the mornings. I boil mine in a tea pot. I’m not sure why. Something about it just feels right. Yet, as right as it feels to work on something around the house with a traditional screwdriver, I’ll break out the battery-powered screw gun to sink a screw whenever and wherever I have the option. Working smarter, not harder, and all that. My wrist thanks me.

We have various high-tech appliances in the kitchen to assist in Karen’s creations of culinary masterpieces, as well as my fumbling through basic assemblies of meals when it’s my turn to cook. Yet we favor the low-tech in surprising ways (cast iron skillets flavor your breakfast sausage so much better that something with a non-stick coating!).

I even lament the decline of physical books on my shelves occasionally.

As much as I like my toys, there are times when the latest advancements in technology, while making life easier and more convenient for scheduling purposes, simply do not achieve the same level of quality as the low-tech, dare I say traditional, tools. I think that the thing to look for is functionality, not trends. And, I think, the thresh-hold of what we’re willing to experiment with is different for each of us in different circumstances. Even beyond that, sometimes the low-tech options have more character. Having choices is great…except when it’s not.

But I’ll take the battery-powered screw gun to a traditional screwdriver any day. Insert Tim Allen noise here.

Photo Attribution: Living in Monrovia

Shades of Red and Blue

Virginia is equipped state-wide with a warning light system at most major intersections. Essentially, when a fire or EMS vehicle is nearing the intersection, a flood light begins pulsing to warn traffic that the emergency vehicle is approaching, and the light turns red in the direction opposite of that of the approaching first responder. Karen and I were driving somewhere a few days ago…I can’t remember where…and I saw the pulsing floodlight. Quite handy, because it causes you to begin scanning forward and backward to see whether or not you need to move to the right and stop to permit the passage of the lights and sirens.

Over the weekend, it happened again…Karen didn’t hear the siren, and asked why I was stopping and moving to the side of the street. During a recent road trip, we had just pulled back onto the highway from getting a snack, and I had to move over and stop to permit a police cruiser to shoot past me. In fact, the afternoon that I write this, I was cut off in traffic by a suddenly illuminating police cruiser executing a traffic stop on an SUV.

It seems that, wherever Karen and I have lived since we’ve been married, it’s always close to a major source of lights and sirens. Major fire precincts have been within earshot of both of the apartments in which we’ve lived together, and most recently we’re just off of a major artery of traffic, as well. Thus, emergency vehicles of all sorts go blowing by on a regular basis, their lights briefly visible from our sun room window.

I’m not sure if I should read something into this fact, or not. It seems to me I would be over-spiritualizing to do so. A little over a year ago, the building across the street in our apartment complex was evacuated due to a kitchen fire. The parking lots were instantly filled with ladder trucks, rescue trucks, fire engines, ambulances, and a battalion chief. They descended in a matter of minutes. I was comforted by this, that they could respond that quickly should the need arise. It’s certainly not the only time I’ve seen fire vehicles in our parking lot; apparently the building next door has a tenant that experiences frequent medical crises, because an ambulance frequently arrives late at night, red and white strobes piercing through our bedroom window.

It causes me to wonder at times. Have Karen and I just coincidentally lived in apartments nearby emergency responders? Does this sort of stuff gravitate toward me? Does my guilty fascination with police reality television make me hyper-aware of a normal amount of activity? Or is there really that much trouble occurring around us, that many lives in trouble, that many conflicts? Do that many people have to cry for help so frequently?

The tiny apartment that I lived in during grad school…what would be my last “bachelor pad”…was situated in a quiet neighborhood which saw almost no trouble. One night, though, soon after I moved in, about five police cruisers sailed by at blinding speed, lights flaring and sirens wailing. A few months later, a police cruiser was quietly parked on the corner as I filled out a complaint because someone had vandalized my car. I’ve had to stop and call for help after witnessing numerous accidents while driving here or there in my life. Perhaps it really does follow me. Or perhaps I just notice it a great deal.

We all really cry out for help that much, don’t we? And we all feel more comfortable with the thought that there are those who are willing to come to our aid when we do. The allure of super-hero mythologies is that we all want a hero, and we all desire to be one at some point.

All of us. Every one.

Second Photo Attribution: khawkins04