Friday, July 11, 2008

Yet Another Post Which Mentions Laugh Tracks


Here is a partial list of things which I don't like because they tell me how to think about and react to any number of various experiences, events, or feelings.

  • Travel books.
  • Reading movie reviews before seeing the movie. (They're really fun to read afterwards, to compare your tastes to those of the columnist. I picked this up from Chuck Klosterman, but I don't remember where he wrote it.)
  • Going to Poland to see concentration camps.
  • Scoreboards at basketball/baseball games that tell the fans to make noise.
  • Yeshivot.
  • Laugh tracks.
  • That certain type of rabbi who devotes his life to telling young adults how to think about and react to any number of various experiences, events, or feelings.
  • Advertisements.
On second thought, I don't dislike advertisements. I think they're interesting/amusing. Interesting/amusing so long as you realize what they're out to accomplish. I suppose the same could be applied to the rabbi category also.

Update: Vonnegut knows it's all about respecting the reader.

Thursday, July 10, 2008

Laugh Tracks, Lazy Writing, and Respecting the Audience


My 17 day excursion to Europe was marked by the usual lacks. Clean clothing. Internet. Kosher food. To that list I wish to add: quality reading. I was limited to one issue of New York Magazine purchased in Newark Airport (I was curious what it's got that so tempted Leitch), a copy of The Elements of Style, and, as part of a homework assignment for publishing school, a manuscript of a book by some dude named Jonathan Green, titled K Blows Top, detailing Khrushchev's various visits to the US. These pickings seemed especially slim because Ryanair's luggage-weight restrictions convinced me to leave DFW's Infinite Jest at home, even though I was 276 pages in (only 705 to go! Not including endnotes.) upon departure.

Back in the States, I've been carrying IJ with me pretty much everywhere. A friend asked me--probably upon some unsolicited singing of the book's praise on my part--why I liked this book so much, and I repeated something that Dave Eggers mentioned in the foreword to the tenth anniversary edition, that the book is over 1,000 pages long, and there is not one lazy sentence. Then some nine-year old came over and started crying about something, so I didn't get a chance to elaborate on why I would like a book just because there are no lazy sentences. And, thinking about it now, it's not so much that each sentence says what it wants to say in an interesting/non-cliche/unlazy way, but that the book is tight. In the 276 pages that I've read so far, there aren't wasted sentences. Each chapter and paragraph and sentence adds something. IJ is--if such a thing is possible in a phonebook sized novel--concise. It's free of redundancies. This is accomplished, I believe, because DFW respects the reader. Not everything is immediately obvious, but the reader who pays attention will make connections, notice trends, and, eventually, figure out what the hell is meant by all those obscure and invented acronyms. The experimentation that is pulled off here just wouldn't be possible if the author felt compelled to perform the literary equivalent of ruining a joke by explaining how and why it's funny.

It's for this reason that I stopped watching TV which doesn't respect me enough to allow me to decide if something is funny. It's not just that the laugh track on shows is insulting/distracting; it's also that these shows are written for the laugh track, instead of for the audience. I'll let this guy explain, in a post helpfully titled "Laugh Tracks Suck":
Writers avoid surprising or challenging the live audience, because if they're not following along, then the laugh track suffers. So they stick to tired, conventional setups and interchangeable jokes along the same lines (setup/punch line, pratfall, sight gag) we've seen a million times.
I think this problem extends beyond TV, though. There's writing which feels like it's written with a laugh track. The joke is made so obvious that it seems like the author thinks that letting the reader know that that last line was supposed to be funny becomes more important that actually just writing something creatively funny: Oh, that was a joke: I better laugh now. Rick Reilly here comes to mind.

On the other hand, I never get the sense that David Foster Wallace writes with a laugh track.

This is the part of the post where I start wondering about the effect of the author's audience. I don't think it's a coincidence that Leitch, one of the writers who most consistently respects his readers, has repeatedly made clear how he writes for himself and those people who choose to read his work. He's not trying to please everyone, because he knows that's not possible, and--even if it was--it wouldn't be any fun. But maybe even more importantly, the format he uses allows for immediate feedback and criticism. If he writes a post that's meandering and repetitive and boring, he's going to hear about it from a demanding set of readers and commenters. The writing isn't lazy because it can't afford to be. Leitch needs to respect his readers because they'll give him hell if he doesn't.

These last few paragraphs may have been a little bit vague, so let me give you an example of what I'm talking about. (If I realize that the last few paragraphs aren't the clearest they could possibly be, is it laziness that causes me to acknowledge vagueness without, you know, revising and rewriting? Perhaps. But this is just a blog that no one reads. It's probably supposed to be a little lazy.) Last week I saw Will Smith's new movie, Hancock. There are two aspects of this movie which immediately struck me as lazy. The first half of the movie is this repetitive stream of one joke: Hancock is a superhero, but he's mean to people. The director thought it necessary to devote about eight different scenes to hammering home this one point. Hey look, Hancock is being mean to that kid. Ooh, now he's damaging public property. And now he's mean to this other kid. Once this basic premise is established (which happens within like the first eight minutes of the film) the rest of the first half of the movie doesn't add anything. It detracts. These scenes are nothing more than filler in a movie which, even with these scenes included, clocks in at only 92 minutes. This, to me, represents a lack of respect for the audience. Director Peter Berg apparently never considered the possibility that the audience would either notice or care that the first half of the movie is just one gag, played over again without innovation or development.

Once the director (finally) tires of this prank, the film shifts gears and begins focusing on Hancock and his search for his own identity. This is all well and good, but the film never bothers to answer any of the questions it raises. The brief explanations of this superhero's background are beyond vague: he is a god or an angel. That's it. No elaboration is provided, because, for some reason, Berg couldn't imagine that his audience would be interested in learning about this character that maybe he, the director, would have good reason for the audience to care about . More important to him is the climatic fight scene. The film just flat out ignores any story which it could possibly tell. Which is misguided, because the best part about superhero movies is the creation of the hero's universe. I want to know origin stories, history, and secret weaknesses. I don't need a superhero movie that's only one long string of action sequences. We already have Rambo for that.

That's not to say that no information can be withheld. DFW does that all over the place in IJ (for example, with the nature of the book's eponymous film). But he always does it to arrange suspense and an eventual revelation. Hancock somehow ends without filling in any of the obvious lacunae. Are they waiting for a sequel to explain the first movie? I, for one, will pass on the inevitable sequel. You, Mr. Berg, already had a chance to explain yourself, your movie, and your title character, and you decided that I wouldn't be interested.

Wednesday, May 14, 2008

Eight Crazy Days Until Graduation


Sometimes I have faith in YU as an institution. Most of those times follow directly from speaking with/listening to/reading things written by Paula Geyh. (She even knows about parkour! How cool?)

But other times, I receive memos like the one which was surreptitiously slid beneath my door this afternoon by some faceless University Housing lackey.

Here goes with the entire text:
Memo

To: Students of IHP

From: Yeshiva University--Wilf Campus
Office of University Housing and Residence Life

The University has been working on upgrading and beautifying out campus and your cooperation is greatly appreciated.

There have been reports of students throwing trash out of their windows. For your safety and the safety of others throwing trash out of a window is not allowed in any of the Residence Halls or IHP Apartments.
Seriously?

I'm surprised that the author of this memo appeals only to concerns of safety, and not, you know, concerns of quality of life.

Also, is there really a danger to the thrower? I guess it could cause death or really bad music.

Tuesday, April 29, 2008

Baseball is Exhausting

Like all good bloggers, I spent my vacation reading through the 600 page, 2008 edition of Baseball Prospectus. I still don't know how to calculate MLVr or VORP, but I understand basically what those numbers represent, and, crucially, that having high ones of those means that you are a good baseball player.

Leitch reported these feelings from his nerdy escapades:
the cumulative effect was to convince us that everyone in baseball over the age of 28 is doomed. Nothing makes us feel older than Baseball Prospectus; everyone freaking peaks at 28 in that book. How depressing.
While Leitch took the perspective of the ballplayers, leading to depression, I identified more with the decision-makers responsible for determining which of those ballplayers are good, leading to exhaustion.

Since I love talking about the Rockies on these here interwebs (and might just get the chance to see them in Coors during my Denver-vention), let's take a look at two of their middle of the order hitters from last season, Garret Atkins (3B) and Brad Hawpe (RF). Atkins is entering his age 28 season, coming off a year in which he was worth about 35 more runs to his team than that offered by a replacement level standard. Hawpe, entering his age 29 season, bested Atkins with a VORP of 37.4. These numbers aren't the best in the league, but they're solid. And according to BP, both these guys are expendable. Not that they're killing the Rockies this year, but that these guys are finished products, not liable to improve, which means they're going to start getting expensive in arbitration/contract negotiations.

My thought is this: O'Dowd just put together the team that won the National League, led the organization to believe that it was a good idea to trademark Rocktober, and still, it's time to part ways with two of the guys responsible for getting him that far.

It seems much easier to just resign these guys, instead of breaking in some cheap replacements. No wonder Washington is paying Dmitri Young $5,000,000 this year.

Monday, December 10, 2007

A Tribute

This kinda happened by accident, but I noticed that that in two out of three papers for my 19th C. European Intellectual History class I have managed to incorporate some variation of the locution which doubles as the title of the greatest television program this side of 1998 : Arrested Development.

(Those crazy German Romantics really like writing about the development of man and also things which arrest that development. See, it's easy!)

Here are the two examples:

  • Each believes that a deeper societal concern at once dehumanizes man and arrests his development.
  • Novalis may concede that the reliance on clergymen arrests the mental development of the ordinary man, but that seems to be a concession readily granted...
I think this is a fitting tribute to a fantastic TV show. If we all work together--all three people who have read this blog more than once--and make sure that we utilize some variation of the phrase "Arrested Development" in every paper, blog post, email, google-chat, etc. we can simultaneously confuse our professors/email recipients but also, and more importantly, memorialize a show which deserves our respect.




You Can't Always Get What You Want

Background: The holy sabbath begins at 4:15 PM, which means that even after the large three-course meal (the Jew's weekly Thanksgiving), dinner is over by 6:30 PM. After a long week, there is only one recourse: lying down on the couch--under a blanket--with a book (this particular week's choice: William Gibson's Pattern Recognition). Which means that I am fast asleep by 7:00 PM. On the couch. Most weeks I manage to wake up after half of an hour, maybe forty minutes. Last week, I slept--on the couch--until 10:00 PM.

Now, I'm faced with the Crux: I want desperately to sleep normal human hours at night. A three-hour nap starting at 7:00 PM does not bode well for sleeping normal human hours at night. I figure if I can get myself into bed within three minutes (never has a number been more arbitrarily decided) I should be able to prepare myself for night-sleep without fully awakening. To accomplish this task--suit pants to keep unwrinkled, bathroom to use, teeth to brush--within the self-allotted 180 seconds, I need to summon an intense level of concentration.

Play-by-Play: Concentrating intently, I manage to do all those things within three minutes, and climb into bed at 10:03 PM. Where I proceed to lie sleepless for the next 35 minutes.

Conclusion: Giving up hope for normal human hours of sleep tonight, I go downstairs, back on the same couch, under the same blanket, reading the same book. I continue doing this for more than four hours, until almost 3:00 AM. Good times.

Moral: The intense concentration needed to get ready for bed before your body/mind can fully awake seems to, unfortunately, constitute the very awakeness which I so hoped to avoid.

Another Moral: Don't fall asleep on the couch Friday nights if you hope to enjoy sleeping normal human hours that night.

Last Moral: Sigh.


Wednesday, December 5, 2007

A Procession of Simulacra



I've been thinking a bit about how the line dividing the real and the unreal is eroding. I guess reading Baudrillard's "Simulacra and Simulation" will do that to a guy.

An important excerpt:
Such would be the successive phases of the image:
  • it is the reflection of a profound reality;
  • it masks and denatures a profound reality;
  • it masks the absence of a profound reality;
  • it has not relation to any reality whatsoever: it is its own pure simulacrum

Baudrillard believes that we're in that fourth stage, where things are meant to evoke a past or a present that never, in fact, existed.

The point, in my mind, is that it's not so clear that there is such a thing as fiction/fantasy anymore, because it's all, in a sense, real.

I really like Don DeLillo's White Noise, especially the part about the SIMUVAC (short for "simulated evacuation") technicians dealing with a real life evacuation treat the unexpected event as practice for their simulations: "Are you saying you saw a chance to use the real event in order to rehearse the simulation?" (The answer to this question is: Yes. Yes, they did see that chance.)

A few other, non-literary, examples are in order. Here's one. Here's another. Both are posts from kottke.org, which seems to have developed an interest in the last coupla days in products that started out as fictional but soon became "real." Adam Lisagor, guest editor of kottke.org for the week, calls this phenomenon defictionalization, which has a nice ring to it.

Here's another one, about the dilemma facing fantasy sports owners who are torn between rooting for their fake team or their real team.

The desert of the real itself.