Wrong about Lamb Testicles

If you’re anything like me, everyday is a sort of information gauntlet. An audio book on the drive to work. At the desk a cup of coffee while checking morning headlines. Do morning work. More audio book at lunch. News breaks and more in-depth article reading interspersed throughout the afternoon. Do afternoon work. Audio book on drive home. Eat dinner. Spend time with family. After everyone goes to sleep I stay up and read. Sometimes fiction, sometimes non-fiction. Just finished Animal Farm.

Maybe this is atypical. I’m a culture freak.

But lately. Hm. How to say it?

Nothing can replace direct experience. It’s easy to forget that. Culture sometimes does such a good job at making us feel informed. But have you ever had the experience of seeing behind the curtain? Even just for a moment. Maybe you met a celebrity in person or emailed a longtime hero of yours. You can get a whiff sometimes, if you put your nose to the wind, of this manufactured quality. Smells like money. Tastes like shareholder interests.

I don’t know.

There’s this one story Mike Rowe told a while ago in his TedTalk about being on the show Dirty Jobs and working one day in particular at a farm castrating lambs. Rowe had checked with the Humane Society and the SPCA and PETA beforehand about the proper and approved technique, which is to tie a rubber band around the testicles until blood flow ceases and the testicles fall off. But the farmers Rowe was on the job with didn’t use the rubber band. Instead, Rowe watched warily as the farmer took out a long sharp knife, quickly sliced the scrotum, and bit off the testicles (yes, with his teeth).

Mike Rowe had to do something he’d never done before on Dirty Jobs. He stopped the cameras. He said, Stop. We need to do this the right way. We need to do this with the rubber bands.

Like the Humane Society? the farmer said.

Yes! Rowe said. Let’s do it so the lambs don’t squeal and bleed. We’re on Discovery Channel in like five continents, dude.

Okay, the farmer says.

They begin filming again.

The farmer takes out a box of rubber bands and puts one on the next lamb’s scrotum. The lamb walks, takes two steps, and falls to the ground. The lamb gets up again and walks to the corner, lays on the ground and begins quivering, in obvious distress.

How long will the lamb be like this? Rowe says to the farmer.

A day, the farmer says.

How long until the scrotum falls off? Rowe says.

A week, the farmer says.

Meanwhile Rowe looks over and sees the first lamb, the one the farmer did his original procedure on, prancing around and eating grass. The bleeding had already stopped.

Rowe says in his TedTalk: “I was just so blown away at how completely wrong I was, and reminded how wrong I am so much of the time.”

This anecdote has stuck with me for a while. I love it because it shows what you can learn from being wrong. Very few people talk about how great it is to be wrong. But those experiences, the ones that teach you a lesson—failure, trial and error, being confronted with your own limitations—are yours because you have to earn them. Nobody can take those away from you. You pay a real price for them. Being wrong earns you truths you cannot get by reading an article or book, someone else’s hogwash.

Which begs the question.

I often wonder how many lamb testicles I have rubber bands on, when I should be biting them off.

 

Advertisements

How Reading George Saunders Can Make You a Better Writer

 

The problem with George Saunders is that he makes writing fiction look easy. After reading, you might be tempted, because of how intuitive his stories are, to think, I can do that! Well, sorry to be the one to to tell you this, but… you can’t. I don’t care where you went to school or got your MFA. You really can’t write a George Saunders story. It looks easy. But that’s a trick. It’s not easy.

Probably the only way to prove this to you is to look at a specific story and try and unpack it’s glorious difficulty.

But which one?

“My Chivalric Fiasco” is a good example of a seemingly simple story with a complex underbelly. Published in his most recent collection, The Tenth of December, it contains many classic Saundersian elements which we will analyze in due course.

Pull up your chairs boys and girls.

The story begins one evening in a medieval theme park—

Once again it was TorchLightNight.

Around nine I went out to pee. Back in the woods was the big tank that sourced our fake river, plus a pile of old armor.

Don Murray flew past me, looking frazzled. Then I heard a sob. On her back near the armor pile I found Martha from Scullery, peasant skirt up around her waist.

Martha: That is my boss. Oh my God oh my God.

I knew Don Murray was her boss because Don Murray was also my boss.

All of the sudden she recognized me.

Ted, don’t tell, she said. Please. It’s no big deal. Nate can’t know. It would kill him.

Then hightailed it out to Parking, eyes black underneath from crying.

Cooking had laid out a big spread on a crude table over by CastleTowerIV: authentic pig heads and whole chickens and blood pudding.

Don Murray stood there moodily picking at some coleslaw. And gave me the friendliest head shake he’d ever given me. Women, he said.

Fake river. Pile of armor. Scullery. Peasant skirt. CastleTowerIV. Authentic pig heads—

Images and settings meant to evoke a kind of theme park of the mind. This is a mode so associated with Saunders it’s easy to forget most of his stories don’t take place in a dystopian theme park. But when they do, almost always, the technology & setting of the parks is of the future—i.e. science fiction—while their theme evokes the past. Take for example one of Saunders’ first ever published stories “CivilWarLand in Bad Decline,” which is the name of a theme park set in the near future, with elements of tech that seem familiar and yet slightly further advanced than our time, that is both literally and figuratively haunted by ghosts of the Civil War. Another example is “Pastoralia,” which goes back even further to the time of the Caveman.

One way to read this tendency in Saunders is to say that he’s predicting theme parks will continue play a part in modern life. Another is that the theme park is meant to be a symbol for escapism or consumer entertainment, and their exaggeration is meant to be a critique of our own culture. But, to me, this common thread that runs through CivilWarLand, Pastoralia, and especially through My Chivalric Fiasco is a clue to look even deeper. The juxtaposition of future and past in the parks, I think, isn’t coincidental; it’s the deep third layer which allows Saunders’ stories to have emotional teeth, a layer that will become more important as we move into the 2nd and 3rd acts.

See me, said a note on my locker next morning.

In Don Murray’s office was Martha.

So Ted, Don Murray said. Last night you witnessed something that, if not viewed in the right light, might seem wrongish. Martha and I find that funny. Don’t we, Mar? I just now gave Martha a thousand dollars. In case there was some kind of misunderstanding. Martha now feels we had a fling. Which, both being married, we so much regret. What with the drinking, plus the romance of TorchLightNight, what happened, Martha?

Martha: We got carried away. Had a fling.

Don: Voluntary fling.

Martha: Voluntary fling.

Don: And not only that, Ted. Martha here is moving up. From Scullery. To Floater Thespian. But let’s underscore: you are not moving up, Martha, because of our voluntary fling. It’s coincidental. Why are you moving up?

Martha: Coincidental.

Don: Coincidental, plus always had a killer worth ethic. Ted, you’re also moving up. Out of Janitorial. To Pacing Guard.

Which was amazing. I’d been in Janitorial six years. A man of my caliber. That was a joke MQ and I sometimes shared.

Erin would call down and go: MQ, someone threw up in the Grove of Sorrow.

And MQ would be like: A man of my caliber?

Or Erin would go: Ted, some lady dropped her necklace down in the pigpen and is pitching a shit fit.

And I would go: A man of my caliber?

Erin would be like: Get going. It’s not funny. She’s right up in my grill.

Our pigs were fake and our slop was fake and our poop was fake but still it was no fun to have to don waders and drag the SifterBoyDeLux into the pigpen to, for example, find that lady’s necklace. For best results with the SifterBoyDeLux, you had to first lug the fake pigs off to one side. Being on auto the pigs would continue grunting as you lugged them. Which might look funny if you happened to be holding that particular pig wrong.

Some random guy might go: Look, dude’s breast-feeding that pig.

And everyone might laugh.

Therefore a promotion to Pacing Guard was very much welcomed by me.

I was currently the only working person in our family. Mom being sick, Beth being shy, Dad having sadly cracked his spine recently when a car he was fixing fell on him. We also had some windows that needed replacing. All winter Beth would go around shyly vacuuming up snow. If you came in while she was vacuuming, she would prove too shy to continue.

That night at home Dad calculated we would soon buy Mom a tilting bed.

Dad: If you keep moving up the ladder, maybe in time we can get me a back brace.

Me: Absolutely. I am going to make that happen.

After dinner, driving into town to fill Mom’s prescription for pain and Beth’s prescription for shyness and Dad’s prescription for pain, I passed Martha and Nate’s.

I honked, did a lean-and-wave, pulled over, got out.

Hey Ted, said Nate.

What’s up? I said.

Well, our place sucks, Nate said. Look at this place. Sucks, right? I just can’t seem to keep my energy up.

True, their place was pretty bad. The roof was patched with blue sheeting, their kids were doing timid leaps off a wheelbarrow into a mud puddle, a skinny pony was under the swing set licking itself raw like it wanted to be clean when it finally made its break for a nicer living situation.

I mean where are the grown-ups around here? Nate said.

Then he picked a Snotz wrapper off the ground and looked for somewhere to put it. Then dropped it again and it landed on his shoe.

Perfect, he said. Story of my life.

Jeez, Martha said, and plucked it off.

Don’t you go south on me too, Nate said. You’re all I got, babe.

No I am not, Martha said. You got the kids.

One more thing goes wrong, I’m shooting myself, Nate said.

I kind of doubted he had the get-up-and-go for that. Although you never know.

So what’s going on at your guys’ work? Nate said. This one here’s been super-moody. Even though she just got herself promoted.

I could feel Martha looking at me, like: Ted, I’m in your hands here.

I figured it was her call. Based on my experience of life, which I have not exactly hit out of the park, I tend to agree with that thing about, If it’s not broke, don’t fix it. And would go even further, to: Even if it is broke, leave it alone, you’ll probably make it worse.

So said something about, well, promotions can be hard, they cause a lot of stress.

The gratitude was just beaming off Martha. She walked me back to the car, gave me three tomatoes they’d grown, which, tell the truth, looked kind of geriatric: tiny, timid, wrinkled.

Thank you, she whispered. You saved my life.

The situation of both characters, Ted and Martha, is becoming more explicit. This is a textbook lesson in how to write the middle section of a story. Raise the stakes. We know explicitly what each character has to lose.

The victimization of Martha is drawn out with great detail and nuance. It seems so simple, but think of Martha’s position. Low on the totem pole. “Peasant skirt.” Taken advantage of in just the way certain medieval female peasants were by members of the male aristocracy. But the modern touch feels as relevant as you could possibly get. #MeToo? Anyone? Don can’t simply crush the peasantry underneath him into submission. Like a good modern day oppressor, he’s bound by the conceit of offering hush money.

Aha! So we see the action of the story is highly modern while the thematic undertones connect with the past. With the characters’ relative positions in the park, and what they represent as characters, it’s as if Saunders is saying: Things have always been this way. The aristocracy lord their power over the peasantry. The only difference in our time is things have been slightly nerfed. Rather than being raped and then, as a result, stoned to death or beheaded, Martha is raped and allowed to live, bearing the indignity of her position with a few extra bucks every month and a pat on the head.

And Ted is dutifully keeping quiet.

For now.

Next morning in my locker were my Pacing Guard uniform and a Dixie cup with a yellow pill in it.

Hooray, I thought, finally a Medicated Role.

In came Mrs. Bridges from Health & Safety, with an MSDS on the pill.

Mrs. Bridges: So, this is just going to be a hundred million grams of KnightLyfe®. To help with the Improv. The thing with KnightLyfe® is, you’re going to want to stay hydrated.

I took the pill, went to the Throne Room. I was supposed to Pace in front of a door behind which a King was supposedly thinking. There really was a King in there: Ed Philips. They put a King in there because one of our Scripted Tropes was: Messenger arrives, charges past Pacing Guard a lack-wit, Messenger winces, closes door, has brief exchange with Pacing Guard.

Soon Guests had nearly filled our Fun Spot. The Messenger (a.k.a Kyle Sperling) barged past me, threw open the door. Ed called Kyle reckless, called me a lackwit. Kyle winced, closed door.

Kyle: I apologize if I have violated protocol.

I blanked on my line, which as: Your rashness bespeaks a manly passion.

Instead I was like: Uh, no problem.

Kyle, a real pro, did not miss a beat.

Kyle (handing me envelope): Please see that he gets this. It is of the utmost urgency.

Me: His Majesty is weighed down with thought.

Kyle: With many burdens of thought?

Me: Right. Many burdens of thought.

Just then the KnightLyfe® kicked in. My mouth went dry. I felt it was nice of Kyle not to give me shit about my mess-up. It occurred to me that I really liked Kyle. Loved him even. Like a brother. A comrade. Noble comrade. I felt we had weathered many storms together. It seemed, for example, that we had, at some point, in some far-distant land, huddled together at the base of a castle wall, hot tar roiling down, and there shared a rueful laugh, as if to say: It is all but brief, so let us life. And then: What ho! Had charged. Up crude ladders, with manly Imprecations, although I could not recall the exact Imprecations, nor the outcome of said Charge. 

Kyle departed anon. I did happily entertain our Guests, through use of Wit and various Jibes, glad that I had, after my many Travails, arrived at a station in Life from whence I could impart such Merriment to All & Sundry.

Soon, the Pleasantness of that Day, already Considerable, was much improved by the Arrival of my Benefactor, Don Murray.

Quoth Don Murray, with a gladsome Wink: Ted, you know what you and me should do sometime? Go on a trip or something together. Like a fishing trip? Camping, whatever.

My heart swelled at this Notion. To fish, to hunt, to make Camp with this noble Gentlemen! To wander wide Fields & verdant Woods! To rest, at Day’s End, in some quiet Bower, beside a coursing Stream, and there, amidst the muted Whinnying of our Steeds, speak softly of many Things—of Honor; of Love; of Danger; of Duty well-executed!

But then there Occurr’d a fateful Event.

To wit, the Arrival of the aforementioned Martha, in the guise of a Spirit—Spirit Three, to be precise—along with two other Damsels in White (these being Megan and Tiffany). This Trio of Maids did affect a Jolly Ruse: they were Ghosts, who didst Haunt this Castle, with much Shaking of Chain and Sad Laments, as our Guests, in that Fun Spot, confined by the Red Ropes, did Gape & Yaw & Shriek at the Spectacle provided therein.

Glimpsing Martha’s Visage—which, though Merry, bore withal a Trace of some Dismal Memory (and I knew well what it was)—I grew, in spite of my good fortune, somewhat Melancholy.

Noting this Change in my Disposition, Martha didst speak to me softly, in an Aside.

Martha: It’s cool, Ted. I’m over it. Seriously. I mean it. Drop it.

O, that a woman of such Enviable Virtue, who had Suffered so, would deign to speak to me in a Manner so Frank & Direct, consenting by her Words to keep her Disgrace in such bleak Confinement!

Martha: Ted. You okay?

To which I made Reply: Verily, I have not been Well, but Distracted & Remiss; but presently am Restored unto Myself, and hereby do make Copious Apology for my earlier Neglect with respect to thee, dear Lady.

Martha: Easy there, Ted. 

At this time, Don Murray himself didst step Forward and, extending his Hand, placed it upon my Breast, as if to Restrain me.

Ted, I swear to God, quoth he. Put a sock in it or I will flush you down the shitter so fast.

And verily, part of my Mind now didst give me sound Counsel: I must endeavor to dampen these Feelings, lest I commit some Rash Act, converting my Good Fortune into Woe.

Yet the Heart of Man is an Organ that doth not offer Itself up to facile Prediction, and shall not be easy Tam’d.

We’ll stop here just a few pages before the end—

Perhaps now it’s clear. The theme park is a necessary backdrop for Ted’s transformation. In other words, the surface of Saunders’ text is in full interaction with the heart of the story and with the plot. The zaniness isn’t mere style. KnightLyfe® shapes Ted’s language which in turn shapes the way he thinks about his own moral agency. Of course Saunders is being funny too. The riffs on old English serve as a catalyst for jokes, but we are beginning to take Ted’s transformation seriously when we fear he may let out Martha’s secret. Saunders is putting KnightLyfe® into the mind of the reader as well.

“My Chivalric Fiasco” is a great example of short story writing for many reasons. It’s entertaining and funny, never letting the reader down with spurious detail, in sentences tight and economical, weaving effortlessly in and out of character dilemmas that are original but not over-literary or over-cerebral. This tendency in Saunders is often mistaken for simplicity or goofiness. But if we look closer we see a many-layered conundrum, and, like all of Saunders’ stories, it’s a tale both dark and comic, playful and emotionally resonant.

What to finish “My Chivalric Fiasco” and find out whether or not Ted spills the beans? Check out Tenth of December on Amazon:

From Quora: “Is it bad if I never open up about my feelings?”

It depends on what you mean by ‘bad,’ and ‘never.’ If by bad you mean bad for those around you—family, friends, etc.—probably it’s not great if you never express your feelings. How else will they be able to know where you’re at? And what about you? If you really never express your feelings, how do you know where you’re at?

You will hear a lot of cliches in regards to the expression of feeling/emotions. Self-helpy stuff will say you only have great things to gain from opening up. It’s true that there is much to gain from being vulnerable, but like anything of value it also comes with a cost.

Many people hide their emotions because they’re afraid to face what they really mean. Maybe you feel something and don’t know how to handle it so you bury it, you may be afraid of what somebody might think or feel about what you think or feel, or maybe the words just aren’t there to express what you mean. It can sometimes seem easier to simplify everything and just ignore what you think and feel and instead socially coast on what seems acceptable or safe or hide behind some other affectation.

I honestly believe many people live their entire lives like this.

But consider what could happen if you really confronted what was going on in your head. There would be much to gain and much to lose. Once you confront what you are and let that be known, you will lose everything false that went before it. Every mask you hid behind. Every pretense. Every lie. Gone. Truth is like fire. It will burn the dead wood off. You have to be ready for that.

But oh the rewards!

You can be who you really are for once.

I would recommend taking small steps. Pay attention to your thoughts for a few days. Take notes, mental notes, whatever. After going that for a little bit go out of your way to express one small thing to someone, maybe a loved one, or a trusted person. It doesn’t have to be anything grandiose. It could be about anything. What you thought/felt about a movie or a conversation. See how it goes. Pay attention to what you’re thinking and feeling while you’re sharing. You might feel a little nervous. That’s okay.

Keep doing this in small ways until you’re comfortable maybe trying it on bigger things. Eventually, if you get acclimated to this, you may eventually say something/do something that pisses someone off or hurts them. Another cost. It will happen. Own up to who you are without being a jerk. Have an idea of the best version of yourself to keep pushing for. Try to love others well, etc. Once you pay attention to what’s going on in you, you can pay attention to what’s going on in others and help them too. You may lose friends but you will certainly gain them too.

Here’s a C.S. Lewis quote, for kicks:

To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.

Good luck, friend.

Dan

_______________________________________________________

Like good books & want to support the site? Check out The Four Loves by C.S. Lewis

 

Rejected Story Ideas, Part 4

Men of History

Ms Bingham had a reputation for being fun but also firm. The two main ingredients in her classroom philosophy were love and a well-constructed system of rules. That’s how to create the ideal learning environment. You had to take control, but lovingly. Not like her own 4th grade teacher, Mrs. Bardsky. No. There was an example of a women who was all firmness and zero fun.

On Ms Bingham’s desk was a new piece of curriculum, one that she’d helped design as part of her graduate thesis. The piece of curriculum was wrapped in shiny black plastic wrap. She opened the packet. Inside there were no papers or directions or outlines but a tightly folded inflatable doll which began to auto-inflate—a life-size replica of Adolf Hitler.

Carefully Ms. Bingham placed the doll on her desk so that it would be one of the first things the students saw when they came into the classroom. She was nervous about the potential effectiveness of the curriculum, probably it was going a little overboard, but, on the other hand, is there really such a thing as too much of a good thing? This was a fun opportunity! No boring lectures for her students! She was going to be a part of something new and exciting.

Her heart began to flutter as her first students walked in. Finally she was a real teacher. Innocently they eyed the doll standing on the desk with some trepidation. She smiled and greeted each one.

“My name is Ms Bingham. What’s yours, sweetie?”

“Rachel.”

“I love your dress.”

“What’s that on your desk?”

“We’re going to learn about World War II today.”

“Oh.”

The rest of the class came in and sat down. The bell rang and the principal’s voice came on the intercom, instructing the school to stand for the pledge of allegiance. The students stood and Ms. Bingham tried to model what an impassioned pledge looked like: straight posture, hand over heart, and an extra enunciated voice emphasizing the right beats. But most of the students in the class couldn’t concentrate on the flag or Ms. Bingham because there was an inflatable Hitler standing on their teacher’s desk.

“Okay, class. My name is Ms Bingham, your teacher for the 4th grade. I’m very excited to have you all in class. We’re going to take attendance but first many of you may be wondering what’s on my desk. I’m very excited to annouce that we are a part of a very special group. Central Public has been selected to try a new way of learning. Does anybody know who this man is?” Ms Bingham said.

“Hitler,” one boy in the back row said.

“Rule number one in my class: we raise our hands to be called on. What’s your name?” Ms Bingham said.

“Chuck,” the boy said.

“I don’t see any Chuck on my attendance sheet,” Ms Bingham said. “Would you be Charles Ackerman?”

“Yes,” Chuck said.

“Then let’s try again. Please raise your hand for me to call on you,” Ms Bingham said. Chuck rolled his eyes. “Is there a problem?”

“No,” Chuck said.

“Then raise your hand.”

Chuck raised his hand.

“Yes, Charles,” Ms Bingham said. “Do you know who this man is?”

“Adolf Hitler,” Chuck said.

“Very good,” Ms. Bingham said. “Today we’re going to be learning about World War II, but first please make a single file line in front of my desk.” Ms Bingham placed the inflatable Hitler on the ground, and the students made a line in front of it.“Now I will call on each of you one at a time and I want you to come up towards the front of the room and name something that makes you angry. It could be anything. Has a friend ever been mean to you? That’s something you could name. Or have you ever been in trouble for something you didn’t do? That’s another good example.”

The kids looked at each other in disbelief.

“Jenny Aarons,” Ms Bingham said. Jenny walked up front. “Tell us something that makes you mad.”

Jenny stood for a moment and thought. “My dog has bad breath,” she said and the class laughed.

“Ha, ha, that’s a cute one! Go ahead and give Hitler a whack,” Ms. Bingham said. “And think about how nasty your dog’s breath is while you do it.”

Jenny closed her eyes and punched inflatable Hitler. It bounced all the way to the ground and then back up.

“Can I do it again?” Jenny said.

“Everyone gets a turn, dear,” Ms Bingham said.

The students punched Hitler while calling out what made them mad. Down the alphabet the popular themes that began to emerge were: bullies, parents, spelling tests, the war in Afghanistan, and drinking orange juice right after brushing your teeth.

Then it was Ms Bingham’s turn. She punched Hitler and called out, “Mrs Bardsky!”

The kids clapped.

When she was finished Ms Bingham smoothed out the front of her blouse and skirt with her hands, letting out a sigh.

“Now who’s ready to learn about the Vietnam War?” Ms Bingham said.

“Oh—me, me!” The students all raised their hands at the same time.

Ms Bingham took out another package wrapped in black plastic, and, once opened, it also began to auto-inflate. The figure was an old pudgy man in a suit with a long pointed nose.

“Does anyone know who this is?” Ms Bingham said.

“Lyndon Baines Johnson,” Chuck said without raising his hand.

Ms Bingham stopped. The class was silent.

“No,” Ms Bingham said. “This is little boys,” and on the note boys Ms Bingham wailed inflatable LBJ in the face, “who do not raise their hands to be called on!” Ms Bingham said.

LBJ smacked the ground and shot back up again.

“No, I’m pretty sure that’s Lyndon Baines Johnson,” Chuck said.

__________________________________________________________

Want to support the site? Check out Philip Roth’s The Plot Against America on Amazon:

This Woman’s Monologue was SO Outrageous that I Threw Up!

On Saturday April 28, 2018 comedian Michelle Wolf delievered the annual stand-up comedy routine for the White House Correspondents’ Dinner.

For those of you lucky enough to be unaware of the tradition, the White House Correspondents’ Dinner is an annual event designed to raise funds for scholarships in journalism, put on by the WHCA (White House Correspondent’s Association).

The central event of the night is the comedy roast.

It’s what you would expect it to be. A dinner with journalists, celebrities, and politicians—an unholy trinity of sorts—where apparently important things are supposed to be expressed, “truth spoken to power,” and all that, from people with a little less power, or just a different kind of power, than those they are supposedly “roasting.”

And just as every other non-event in 2018, Michelle Wolf’s recent comedy roast has drawn much attention and comment from just about everyone. Even the WHCA, who issued this statement:

4-30-2018 3-07-46 PM

Here you go. Watch and make up your own mind.

Now this is an important moment to stop and take stock, because what is about to unfold is a very proto-typical moment in current day pseudo-controversy.

Here are the typical steps:

  1. Somebody famous says something (celebrity, journalist, politician) usually with a note of exaggeration or of an inflammatory character, to promote something they are selling or a piece of entertainment that has recently been released, or a piece of journalism, or a piece of legislation. Controversy is key. Without it, nobody will watch.
  2. The media react to the inflammatory thing—usually on some supposed moral grounds, although they never clearly state exactly what moral grounds these are beyond very vague political positions. The key here is two camps are defined. Either for or against.
  3. A bunch of articles come out with some words in them and randomly pasted tweets from celebrities and journalists.

4-30-2018 3-09-17 PM

4-30-2018 3-10-18 PM.png

4. Now that you know what the famous & rich people think, I, the supposed journalist doing some very deep digging into a very important issue, will give you my two cents about who is right and who is tanking Western civilization as we speak. I have to choose either for or against

a. If I am a super smart snooty journalist I will create one or two issues of sub-points in which I still take a side but with subtlety and many confusing statistics with the help of Nate Silver, and a brief history of the Roman Empire.

5. But first there must be a very juicy and headline-worthy title. I cannot simply release this very content-rich article without click bait, so:

a. Michelle Wolf, Female Comedian, Eviscerates Elites at WHCD & Donates All Revenues Attributed to Increased Viewership of Upcoming Netflix Special to Starved Orphans in North Korea.

b. Supposedly Feminist Comedian Mocks WHPS’s Eye shadow!

c. A Very Woke & Lovely Comedian Single-Handedly Tears Down White Male Patriarchy & Conservative Media Hegemony, at the Same Time!

d. This Woman’s Monologue was SO Outrageous that I Threw Up!

e. Media Elites’ Heads are so Far up Own Asses, Trump sure to Win Second Term

f. If You Didn’t Like Michelle Wolf’s Monologue, You Suck.

g. If You Did Like Michelle Wolf’s Monologue, You Suck

6. Also before article posts, ads must be placed in and around the article so that a certain percentage of people click the ad and buy the product advertised (baby wipes, beer, Pop Tarts, etc). The money from these people goes to the company that makes baby wipes, beer, etc. whose shareholders decide what % of that money should go back to these same media companies in the form of advertising dollars so the media companies can pay writers like me to write even more articles for you to look at with very important information that is very pertinent to your life alongside very subtle ads for these same products, and so on and so on. (This includes mentions within the article itself to entertainers with development deals with Disney or any other big media company that also owns one or multiple news stations).

7. Article posts. Hopefully millions upon millions click it. Doesn’t matter what their opinion is, only that a certain % click on that ad or subscribe to the publication (ha!)

8. Now begins the counter-article phase whereby articles about the original articles, normally called think pieces, or spicy hot takes, react to the reaction, in hopes of getting some bottom feeder secondary clicks. (Also known as leeches). Many sources are cited in these style articles and usually there is a narrative or a very artsy form mean to inculcate a certain intellectualism and cultured flair.

9. Rinse and repeat. Depending on how controversial a given event is, steps 1-8 could happen up to 7 times.

10. Eventually interest is lost and focuses on another burning issue.

It’s important to highlight this 10 step backdrop it’s the subtext for every instance of reportage in the modern world. Without understanding this dynamic you might make the unfortunate mistake that a) any of these people actually care about you and/or your opinion or b) that these events are reported in an earnest search for truth.

Here’s the real kicker: people are promoted within these organizations if you, reader, viewer, etc. look at what they produce. All you have to do is change the channel or click their article, and bear witness to advertisements. It doesn’t matter what you think or feel. It’s not a new model, but one that has become so totalizing and omnipresent that it would be a mistake to pretend that Michelle Wolf, or anybody else, is just some regular funny person walking in off the street. Their checks come from Viacom, Bertelsmann, Comcast, 21st Century Fox, etc. The people who give us the news (the supposed “watchdog” of American politics) are the same people that entertain us, and this co-mingling of frivolity and fact should be unsettling since the terminus of this obscene logic has led to Donald Trump. No wonder the media react in a more or less unanimous fashion to the Trump phenomenon. Trump did not come from some wheat field in the Midwest. He came from Manhattan where all these people milk their own udders.

Michelle Wolf herself says it better than I ever could, at the very end of her set:

I think what no one in this room wants to admit is that Trump has helped all of you. He couldn’t sell steaks, or Vodka, or water, or college, or ties, or Eric [pause for laughs]… But he has helped you. He’s helped you sell your papers and your books and your TV. You helped create this monster and now you’re profiting off of him…

If you want to see the most lightweight cream puffy White House Correspondent’s Dinner comedy routines, watch all eight under President Obama. Jeez. Then there were even more celebrities in attendance. Clooney, Spielberg, and even Trump himself. You’ve probably already forgotten about them—as they are articles of a bygone era, part of the wasteland we leave behind of opinions once dearly held, and then lost as new opinions are manufactured and shoved down our throats like Twinkies, for which it seems we have a hearty appetite.

Rejected Story Ideas, Part 3

Unfinished story:

Moon Town

‘Places, everyone!’ the Mayor of Moon Town said to the people in the crowded deli.

‘Rolling,’ Cameraman 1 said.

The Mayor leaned one elbow on the counter and made an inviting gesture to Camera 1.

‘On quiet evenings here in Moon Town it’s customary to head on down to the delicatessen for some Moon Town fine dining. Say there, Arnie. What’s on the menu tonight?’

‘Freeze dried protein paste,’ Arnie said.

‘Gee whiz, sounds good. Can I have a taste?’

‘Sure, Mayor.’

Arnie reached under the counter and brought out a prepared dish with tiny cubes of the paste and a garnish on the side. Normally the paste was eaten from a packet.

The Mayor ate a cube.

‘Mmm. This is really good, Arnie.’

‘Perfect,’ Cameraman 2 said. ‘Let’s cut straight to boy and Mayor casually sitting at counter.’

‘Come here, Tim,’ the Mayor said. A wide-eyed kid came forward through the crowd of extras. The Mayor helped him up onto the stool beside him at the counter. ‘Just like we practiced.’

‘Okay,’ Tim said.

‘Rolling.’

‘Moon Town is exciting. Don’t you think, Tim?’

Tim sat up straight.

‘Yes, Mayor.’

‘I don’t know about you, Tim, but I like taking long walks and watching the earthrise. What’s your favorite thing about Moon Town?’

‘I like moon rocks.’

‘Good man! I’m glad you mentioned moon rocks because I think our viewers would like to know that the moon rocks we harvest here in Moon Town are available at a major retailer near them.’ The camera panned and zoomed onto the Mayor’s face, who then puffed on a cigar. ‘And now a word from our sponsors.’

‘…And cut! Really great, guys,’ Cameraman 1 said. ‘We’ve got what we need for this scene.’

‘Delightful,’ the Mayor said. ‘Now get back to work everyone.’

 

 

Mickey Mouse: Building Character

Once upon a time Mickey Mouse’s name wasn’t Mickey, and he wasn’t a mouse.

In 1927 Walt Disney, then employed by Universal Pictures, created Oswald the Lucky Rabbit who looked like this:

1929oswald.jpg

Oswald was an immediate hit.

Then in 1928 Disney walked into a contract negotiation with Charles Lint, then president of Universal, thinking that he had all the leverage he needed to negotiate another installment in his favor, but instead Lint informed Disney that he had already hired most of his [Disney’s] employees, retained the rights to Oswald, and was offering to re-hire Disney only if he took a salary cut.

But Lint hadn’t been able to entice one key employee of Disney’s, a man named Ub Iwerks, the sole animator of Oswald the Lucky Rabbit. And it was Iwerks’s loyalty to Disney that made possible another version of the cartoon, this time conceived during late night meetings between Disney and Iwerks. The cartoon was called Mortimer Mouse, but then changed after much deliberation to Mickey Mouse.

The first two animated shorts featuring Mickey weren’t very impressive to distributors, but the third entitled Steamboat Willie was optioned and premiered in New York on November 18, 1928, and was a success with audiences, in part because of its use of sound which was synchronized with the visual action of the cartoon, using a click track (not an entirely new technique at the time but still a rarity for animation).

Disney was an early adopter of Dr. Herbert Kalmus’s Process 4 technicolor or “three strip” process, producing technicolor shorts such as Silly Symphonies and Flowers and Trees, both of which became hits in the early 1930s. Disney had an exclusive contract with Kalmus extending until September 1935, barring all other animators from using the color technique. On February 23, 1935, seven months before other animators were given access to the technology, Disney produced The Band Concert, the first technicolor short featuring Mickey (and also Donald Duck), debuting to massive success, and is still considered a breakthrough in the history of animation.

Mickey’s look had changed and evolved slightly, going from black & white to color, among other small adjustments, but it was the work of animator Fred Moore throughout the late 1930s that transformed Mickey into his more current and recognizable form—giving the mouse pupils, a tail, white gloves, and his signature red pants.

And it was in this recognizable form that Mickey made his first feature length appearance in 1940 with Fantasia.

It’s with particular interest now that we turn to Fantasia which has puzzled viewers for years, but the meaning of this experimental film becomes clear in light of Mickey’s evolution as a character and his contribution to Disney’s growing empire.

Fantasia was only Disney’s third feature film after Snow White and the Seven Dwarves (a huge success) and Pinocchio (not a success), and because of the onset of World Ward II, it [Fantasia] was unable to generate a profit even though the critical response was positive. The story, as explained by Deems Taylor at the beginning of the film, is of the sorcerer’s apprentice, played by Mickey himself:

“It’s a very old story, one that goes back almost 2,000 years—a legend about a sorcerer who had an apprentice. He was a bright young lad, very anxious to learn the business. As a matter of fact, he was a little bit too bright because he started practicing some of the boss’s best magic tricks before learning how to control them. One day, for instance, when he’d been told by his master to carry water to fill a cauldron, he had the brilliant idea of bringing a broomstick to like to carry the water for him. Well, this worked very well at first. Unfortunately, however, having forgotten the magic formula that would make the broomstick stop carrying the water, he found he’d started something he couldn’t finish.”

Here is just about the entirety of Mickey’s brief appearance in Fantasia:

There is no dialogue in Fantasia, only pieces of orchestral music set to the accompanying action of a fairy-tale-like fever dream akin to an acid trip–complete with fawns, fairies, and unicorns–with a barely coherent narrative roughly spanning the mythological and scientific creation of the universe. And the creation of the universe begins once Mickey lets loose this magic of the broomstick that he cannot turn off.

Why am I spending so much time on Fantasia of all Mickey movies?

In Fantasia, for the first time, Mickey Mouse was a clear stand-in for Walt Disney himself. Mickey’s eager seizing of the wizard’s magic tricks is a perfect metaphor for Disney’s use of technology in his films (Steamboat Willie and The Band Concert); the magic broom carries the water to the cauldron as a piece of technology would assist its creator; but when Mickey realizes he cannot turn the broom off his attempts to thwart the broom creates only more brooms, and the cauldron begins overflowing with water, and it’s out of this overflow that the rest of the movie begins to make sense as a creation myth. The overflow creates the universe. Mickey’s foibles reveal the spirit of Disney’s Universe because the spirit of every Universe is equal to its downfall, and in Fantasia Mickey’s flaw is seizing upon magic he doesn’t yet understand so he can dream. And Disney said many times, “There’s a lot of the Mouse in me.”

Mickey Mouse was the first piece of lightning Disney ever caught, financing the early years of animated shorts by treading new ground in sound and color technology, always with Mickey as the tip of the spear, until the 1940s & 50s when Disney began pioneering still a new era of animated feature films and caught many new bolts of lightning (Dumbo, Bambi, Cinderella, Lady and the Tramp, etc.). Mickey then was only a very small part of Disney’s animation, and by the late 1950s & early 60s was all but retired as a character, appearing mostly in cameos or straight-to-video animated shorts. Other than the company’s logo and forever spokesmouse, the once centerpiece of the dynasty fell into the background.

Five years after the release of Fantasia, a 1945 article in the Irish Times wrote of Disney,

“Disney has been called everything from a genius to a philosopher—and denied that he is any of them. As a matter of fact when the English novelist, Aldous Huxley, praised the philosophy of Mickey Mouse cartoons and asked Disney how he arrived at their underlying subtleties, the answer he is reputed to have received was: “Oh, we make pictures for entertainment, and after they are made the professors come along and tell us what they mean!”

_____________________________________________

Interested in Disney history and want to support the site?

Check out Mickey Mouse: Emblem of the American Spirit on Amazon: