Dispatch from suburban Los Angeles

Here I am in Lang Ranch Elementary, Thousand Oaks, California. This is where my sister teaches second grade and my mother serves as school librarian (Instructional Media Technician, actually). I just helped out with the second grade holiday party-- everyone's bouncing off the walls because it’s the day before holiday-break and they’re all hopped-up on sugar. It was quite an experience-- the kids really are like a wild pack of animals (but I confess that I really groove on being out of my element, so to speak, and wow am I NOT one of these people who are naturally inclined to hang out with little people). Needless to say, I’m 100% impressed by the work my sister does. Today she’s got a bunch of moms in to help out with the festivities-- the school is in an upper-middle class suburban community so they’re all these real-bourgie-types (and the classroom is a sea of Old Navy labels). It just reeks of white middle class paranoia.

If I recall correctly, the last time I dreamt of my own death it was directly preceding a visit with my parents. In a dream the night before last I slit my throat in a very precise manner that would allow for a drawn-out bleeding to death (and I neatly cut out a large piece of my neck, to keep in my front pocket). I met up with P and some of his friends, who informed me that it would take exactly 10 hours for this to happen- then I would be dead. I changed my mind though, and went to the ER to reverse the slit (I still had an intact piece of my neck, after all) . . . So this afternoon I leave for LA to see my family.

For Jack --

Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself. Leo Tolstoy

RIP StreakerWatch!

And just when I had a contribution: Over the weekend in Reno I made a point to play a penny slot machine called "Streakerama." It's one of those new "interactive" slot machines, in which the player is taken to a cartoon-video-game-screen for bonus points when they pull a particular combination of icons. In the streaker game the icons include harmless looking cartoon men wearing trench-coats, an orange, a palm tree (set in Florida?), and some other things. Unfortunately the machine took my whole dollar before I was able to get to the bonus video-game section, so I don't know what sort of streaker story is told to the players (and frankly these machines can't hold my interest longer than a novelty spin, so I was back to the blackjack table). What a strange theme, though-- most of the other machines revolve around more salient aspects of pop culture (Elvis or Austin Powers or striptease, eg)- maybe Bob's right to suggest that streaking culture never really went away- with a whole group of people that can relate to this slot machine, even. Wonder why the advertisers haven't exploited this demographic.

Rolling with Grandma and Grandpa Meade-- Reno, Nevada

It's all about eating and gambling (they especially like the penny poker slots). My grandparents keep me laughing, and I swear my grandmother does NOT stop talking. It's amazing to me, really, and absolutely delightful.

Oh, I'm being summonsed. To be continued...

Today I breathe a sigh of relief that the fall forum is over. By most accounts it was a roaring success- at least 150 people showed up for an event planned for 40-50. No one expected this-- based on past attendance to these fora, the timing (end of the term madness), and the blustering weather outside. The whole thing was busting at the seams, with a terrific, buzzing energy. For me, however, this meant I had to deal with the mess-- finding a larger room on campus and moving everyone and everything over there. This was no easy task with that many people, a case of wine, catering platters, three flights of stairs on either end, and a crazy storm outside. And after the program, as I was thanking the participants and performing host, I was required to engage with people on a cheerful scholarly (rather than surly manic, which is what I was experiencing) level. My saving grace turned out to be my pal, April, who has this calming quality about her (potential source of frustration in other contexts, but perfect in this one); she plodded along, reassuring me and helping with the details. Amazing and impressive, truly.

Malcolm Gladwell (forget Christopher Hitchens for a minute, this is the one to watch), reviewing several new books for a recent New Yorker, writes about innovation emerging from groups. He says forget about the lone-genius trope; brilliant innovators have needed social reinforcement just like the rest of us. Pulling from books on disparate subject matters (television’s early SNL, art, politics, and philosophy), he ties together the thread that argues: anyone who’s mattered has been part of a movement.

[He draws, for example, from Randall Collins, who, in The Sociology of Philosophies, argues that only three major thinkers have appeared solo-- Wang Ch’ung (1st Cent. Taoist metaphysician), Bassui Tokusho (14th Cent. Zen mystic), and Ibn Khaldun (14th Cent. Arabic philosopher).]

Sweeping through major figures in Neo-Confucianism, Freudian psychoanalysis, Impressionism, German Idealism, Darwinian science, and more, I am, in fact, hard-pressed to locate a soloist in the act of innovation or genius.

Rather than focusing on the lone-genius trope (one of the most irritating narrative devices in both cinema and literature-- anyone seen Shine?), Gladwell instead reminds us of our under-conceptualized notions of groups:

“Uglow’s book [The Lunar Men] reveals how simplistic our view of groups really is. We divide them into cults and clubs, and dismiss the former for their insularity and the latter for their banality. The cult is the place where, cut off from your peers, you become crazy. The club is the place where, surrounded by your peers, you become boring. Yet it you can combine the best of those two states- the right kind of insularity with the right kind of homogeneity- you create an environment both safe enough and stimulating enough to make great thoughts possible." (emphasis mine)

So it turns out that we need CAPGAS more than we thought. A Genius Lesson, of sorts.

Phew. Last weekend, with Anna and Bob in town + Meade convergence was grand, but this week I've had to pay. It's nearing the end of the term (meaning deadline central) and I'm set to travel nearly every weekend in December. I'm finally beginning to come to terms with the fact that living at a fairly frantic pace is my regular M.O. I always seem to be running around, thinking I'm in an unusual phase of busyness; I trick myself into thinking that I just need to "get my life back," or return my life to its regular pace. And what life is that, exactly? But now that I think about it, MSG's been a good influence on that front: I've calmed down a bit, I watch some TV, and I generally waste much more time. Domestic Bliss at its finest, indeed.

One project that's keeping me busy is the first forum I'm putting together for UW's my job- that (barely) pays the bills.