reality (rain)check

This morning I saw Snooki at Tim Hortons.

Okay, I didn't actually -- but I saw an aspiring Snooki. And to know that conscious, free-willed humans aspire to Snookihood...I can't even think of an end to that sentence.  That's what that knowledge does to me.

"In 1992, The Real World...was theoretically created as a seamless extension of reality. But somewhere that relationship became reversed...During that first RW summer, I saw kids on MTV who reminded me of people I knew in real life. By 1997, the opposite was starting to happen; I kept meeting new people who were like old Real World characters," (p.29)

(oh yeah, that's right -- return to Book Blog -- where I update semi-outdated pop culture perspectives a la Sex, Drugs, and Coco Puffs -- because nerdifying already nerdy observations is fun for everyone!)

Now, I was 8 when Chuck was watching this sapling form of reality television take root, so I technically represent the bookend generation I guess -- the last segment of humanity who knew a time before every "brainwave" and bodily function of fellow non-celebrities was documented and marketed to the masses.  How many of us would have assumed, watching that guy on Survivor traipse around nude and blurred out, that that would only be the tip of the blurry iceberg...

Sometimes I find myself wondering if the kids of the next generation even cringe at or question the soused out crotch-flashing melodrama of the Tang Gang (<-- this is my new nickname for the orange Jersey Shore cast. Not that I'll get much use out of it, because thankfully few of my daily discussions centre on them... alas! A wasted rhyme is a tragic thing.)  

Here is something else I wonder :
(sidenote: I had a great 9th grade Social Studies teacher who gave us loads of diorama-worthy projects, and to this day one of them in particular comes to mind on an abnormally regular basis -- we were given the scenario that our class had gone on a trip and while we were away, in the woods, a nuclear blast levelled everything & everyone; we survived & had to rebuild society. WHAT was our gameplan. ...enter Lincoln Logs fortress, Barbie swimming pool/ocean, and toy sharks swarming sunken school bus)(man, I miss class projects)

SO -- say this nuclear blast/small segment of survivors thing actually happened -- imagine yourself stranded in this scenario with a group of today's young people, or your peers. Who would you hope was with you? Who would you be horrified to realize you have on Team Left Standing? Would you yourself have anything to offer or would you pretty much just be dead weight?   Does this hypothetical make you feel like you're in a conversation with Dwight Shrute?  

"...it became clear that the producers of The Real World weren't sampling the youth of America--they were unintentionally creating it," (p.28)

As the perennial Junior High Group Project MVP (aka: the person who did the work while most of the other group members sat around chatting in lazy ditz drawls about smalltown goings-on), I can confidently theorize that given the "skill sets" of many of my peers and the up-and-coming generation (and when I say "skill set" I refer to the ability to use a cell phone and tip the scales of consumption vs production like a precarious Cirque du Soleil performer), come Day 2 when batteries are dead and the realization that credit cards have been rendered moot has set in...the roles of an unfortunate populous of the "group" would be reduced to Bait.  As in, the goat from Jurassic Park -- for when we needed to lure meat to replenish the strength of the Useful People.   Ooooh hahah juuust kidding  . . .

There are 2 entire pages I would quote from S,D, and CP if I could (pp. 30-31) -- but that would be a lot and probably somewhat illegal.  So instead, here's a summary/segue.  Chuck goes on to say that he can talk about specific "characters" from The Real World, and you don't have to ever have watched the show to know who he's talking about.  And not in a Snooki kind of way, but in the way where the "personality template" of the referenced individual has become so much a part of our culture that you've likely seen countless movies or shows starring "that guy" (or you're waiting for him to show up whenever you watch one -- like how when a new season of The Amazing Race starts, I know there's going to be a busty blonde duo, a gay couple, a parent-child team, an obnoxious set of siblings, and an ageing couple).  OR you probably know 9 of "that person" personally.  And how is it that you could know "these people??" 

"When I say 'you know these people,' it's because the personalities on The Real World have become the only available personalities for everyone who's (a) alive and (b) under the age of twenty-nine,"(p.30)

I just had a conversation the other day about Project Runway in which Mister "Make it Work," Tim Gunn was referenced as having become a charicature of himself.  In keeping with the "you don't have to know who I'm talking about to know who I'm talking about" theme -- for those who have no idea who Tim Gunn is -- what I'm referring to is a person who is known for being a certain "character" with personalized tag-lines, predictable execution, or expected expressions.  Ellen: vest & sneakers, Zach Effron haircut, clever quips.  Lady Gaga: shoes, strained sincerity.  Indie Musician Boy: plaid shirt, lazy headgear, beard, whiskey reference.   You know -- any form of approaching life in a way that seems like you open your closet each morning in the fashion a cartoon character might and put on your personality.  Ready for another day of Being You for the audience of Us.  1-D is the new 3-D.

"...one of the keys to Alfred Hitchcock's success as a filmmaker was that he didn't draw characters as much as he drew character types; this is how he normalized the cinematic experience. It's the same way with The Real World. The show succeeds because it edits malleable personalities into flat, twenty-something archetypes. What interests me is the way those archetypes so quickly became the normal way for people of my generation to behave," (p.31)

For real though, next time you're out with your friends, play a game with yourself and compose an Opening Credits reel based on what "character" each of them is attempting to portray (not that they're necessarily consciously doing it -- but trust me -- almost everyone is subconsciously participating on some level).  Not that you should expect the reel to feature the likes of Snooki (I hope) ... if we had all devolved to the level she & her kin have, we would all be dead already.  I always think it's a fun moment when I suddenly realize what part someone I'm with is autitioning for.   I knew one guy in college who was on an endless quest to succeed Zach Braff as Zach Braff, and I was cast as Rachel Bilson or Natalie Portman or whoever in multiple impromptu scenes I didn't realize I was in until they were unfolding around me.  Such fun.  And by fun I mean awkwardly navigated golf cart rides back across the lot to Reality, sometimes with, sometimes without him.

"Perhaps more than anything else, this is the ultimate accomplishment of The Real World: It has validated the merits of having a one-dimensional personality. In fact, it has made that kind of persona desirable, because other one-dimensional personalities can more easily understand you," (p.34)

"You need to be able to deduce who a given Real Worlder represents socially before the second commercial break of the very first episode, which gives you about eighteen minutes of personality," (p.34)

"Everyone was adopting a singularity to their self-awareness. When I had first arrived at college in 1990, one of the things I loved was the discovery of people who seemed impossible to categorize; I'd meet a guy watching a Vikings-Packers game in the TV room, only to later discover that he was obsessed with Fugazi, only to eventually learn that he was a gay born-again Christian...But somehow The Real World leaked out of those TV sets...People started becoming personality templates, devoid of complication and obsessed with melodrama," (p.39)

"I fear that The Real World's unipersonal approach will become so central to American life that I'll need a singular persona just to make conversation with whatever media-saturated robot I end up marrying. Being interesting has been replaced by being identifiable," (p.40)  

I recently spoke at a youth retreat, on the subject of "being a part of a bigger story."  The aim was to open kids' eyes to the "story" of society, of humanity, of them as viable, living characters who've got parts to play in it.  Which I think is not just something for kids to consider, but for all of us to ponder -- daily -- and which is something that obviously makes this line of thought relevant to me.  Everyone wants to be someone, to be a part of the story.  Kids (well, and grown-ups) dress up like Harry Potter characters and go to the theme park because they want to be part of that story... teenage girls swaddle themselves in Twilight parapharnalia and squeelingly see the movies multiple times because they want to be part of that story... loads of adults these days model their lives on the standard lives of their peers (materially mostly) or of sitcom inhabitants...  but are these glaringly 1-D applications really the path to becoming the compelling characters we want to be?  Sounds like little more than Extra work to me.  You can be relatable, initially likable (or at least blend in), and simple enough to be included in the story if you keep it vague, layerless, and present yourself as a human one sheet... but how great of a story is it really going to be once Day 2 rolls around and there's no story or script, just a bunch of people standing around adding each other on Facebook?  Worst group project ever.

I doubt there's any coming back from the hyper narcissism reality television has exponentially compounded in us -- it's interesting to look back over the past 20 years and see where it's led us -- and I'm sure it will be interesting to watch an entire generation born into it wield the future of mankind.  I just hope I don't ever have to rebuild society with a bus full of people whose list of daily accomplishments contain less than 5 vowels.

the mother's day incident of '92

I'm not actually sure what year "the incident" occurred, but my best guess would be around the age of 8. Regardless, it falls neatly in a timeline of Historical Family Events that more often than not features cataclysmic punctuations of Infamy on my part. If there is a holiday to be had, there is tale of "shainanigans" to reminisce or regale...

This particular communal memory is not so fond a one as "The Christmas Lip Gloss" (featuring pre-literate me slathering roll-on perfume all over my mouth, convinced, despite my mother's insistance that its label read 'perfume,' that it was the same so-cool roll-on lip gloss my friend Lea had) -- a family favourite that footage somewhere confirms -- but it is one that earns a similar sentiment at least from my brother, who enjoys reminding me (and everyone) what a villain I was. In true villainous form, I can never remember the particulars of "The Mother's Day Incident," aside from a general recollection of a mother-daughter feud erupting and culminating in my dad chasing me around the house to avenge my mom in the application of punishment.

I realized something today, as I "reminisced" of Mother's Days gone by, and as I finished Pride and Prejudice, which I'd been reading this week, and it made me laugh. I think most girls read that book (or watch the movies) and relate very strongly to one of the girls, deciding they are a Jane or an Elizabeth Bennet... and while a great deal of me was decidedly an Elizabeth (which I'm sure surprises none of us who're familiar with her), my heart in the end recognized that I was perhaps moreso none other than a real Mr Darcy! I won't be too proud to admit I'm maybe the proudest person I know -- to a fault even. Of which I'm very keen. Headstrong and hardly forgiving, with standards and expectations I know no one might endeavor or dare to grapple for. But I won't say sorry for it just now.

If you're not familiar with the story (which you should be, it's really a witty piece of literature), the most of it revolves around the Bennet family, which features a real ninny of a Mrs Bennet and a resigned Mr Bennet, who form a portrait of parenthood I'm quite glad to've not had to endure (mainly on Mrs. Bennet's side, at least Mr B had humour and cleverness on his). I read a bit today that made me ponder all these subjects at once:

"Had Elizabeth's opinion been all drawn from her own family, she could not have formed a very pleasing picture of conjugal felicity or domestic comfort. Her father captivated by youth and beauty, and that appearance of good humour, which youth and beauty generally give, had married a woman whose weak understanding and illiberal mind, had very early in their marriage put an end to all real affection for her. Respect, esteem, and confidence, had vanished for ever; and all his views of domestic happiness were overthrown. But Mr Bennet was not of a disposition to seek comfort for the disappointment which his own imprudence had brought on, in any of those pleasures which too often console the unfortunate for their folly or their vice. He was fond of the country and of books; and from these tastes had arisen his principal enjoyments. To his wife he was very little otherwise indebted, than as her ignorance and folly had contributed to his amusement... Elizabeth, however, had never been blind to the impropriety of her father's behaviour as a husband. She has always seen it with pain; but respecting his abilities, and grateful for his affectionate treatment of herself, she endeavoured to forget what she could not overlook, and to banish from her thoughts that continual breach of conjugal obligation and decorum which, in exposing his wife to the contempt of her own children, was so highly reprehensible."

These "light" observations of her parents on Elizabeth's end were much compounded on Mr Darcy's end in his consideration of her atrocious connections -- and in all cases struck me, their reader, as being delightfully and impertinently just. Fortunately for me, I am spared the grievous task of assigning fatal flaws and their fallout to my parents (who are both just as smart and savvy as me, I can *proudly* say, aha-hah) ... but unfortunately there are throngs of peers and elders about society who haven't a hope of escaping such observation...

After an extensive period (months I might even say) of my having adopted a more gracious and forgiving (or at least less audibly distraught) temperment, this past week we can thank Elizabeth and Mr Darcy, along with Taylor (not in the book, but a returned coworker and conversationalist) for the revival of my haughty social commentary.

So I thought I would reintroduce myself before launching back into "the book blog" -- because sometimes it's hard to hear the voice behind the words here in the Internet -- and I want anyone reading this to know that I am self-admittedly delighted to condescend with tongue in cheek, as a sort of Elizabeth/Darcy hybrid, and am entirely interested in plaguing a culture prone to assigning and assuming roles that produce nonsensically simple "this is me" excuses for remaining uninformed, or mediocre, or stagnant. And in much the same way 8 year-old Me would hideously remind my mother of an inescapable aspect of "the true meaning of Mother's Day" (that being the consequence of having to wrest and wrangle a heartless hateful child should you choose to bear one), Present Me will not resist the urge to horrifyingly remind you of an inescapable aspect of "just what is afoot here" (that being a whole lot of interestingly ridiculous nonsense.)

I rail not merely with a perfectionist aim of noting failure, or putting down, or laughing at (okay a little bit for laughing at) -- but to challenge our human failure, mediocrity, laziness, and foolishness -- to encourage growth and to spur conversation -- to acknowledge imperfection and to remind my friends (and myself) to take whatever strides may be made toward a less imperfect state. Constant improvement. This is the lens through which I read into all things, and would encourage everyone who hears me to do the same.

But still, all this to make no apology for putting forth the ideas and sentiments I do -- I am and shall remain entirely comfortable entrusting the interpretations of my perhaps "haughty" expressions to their hearers -- in hopes the reception will be of an entertained dare or challenge... (or at least a charmed eye roll)

( sooo not impressed ... )

my old friend

and when i look at you
you're mostly black but blue
is pushing its way through
because
it wants to whisper its name
through the treetops
green and grown
over the black that's not its home.

Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things which those who dream only by night may miss.


-- Edgar Allen Poe