My favorite is Pullman's responsibility to the medium:

... those of us who use [language] professionally are responsible for looking after it... That means, for example, making sure of the meaning of words by looking them up in a good dictionary. And not only that: words have a history, a flavour of their origin, as well as a contemporary meaning. We should acquire as many dictionaries as we have space for, out-of-date ones as well as new ones, and make a habit of using them.

When I was in elementary school, I won several spelling bees, thanks in part to my parents' insistence that I always look up questionable words in the dictionary. The dictionary and I became good friends. It was orderly, patient, and a place I could find invariability in difficult times of change. As the years passed, however, those well-worn pages started to reveal their faliability as language mutated and evolved, proof that the medium -- language, grammar, spelling -- is anything but concrete. Rules we've been taught since grade school are merely guidelines, wishes passed down from previous generations like a photo album or heirloom, hopes that we would preserve this for posterity.

(While there is often a technical requirement for standardization in newer media, this desire for preservation is also observable in web standards efforts over the years.)

This responsibility to the medium also ensures that our writing is not only widely accessible, but that older works and those yet to be written will be as well. In his review, Pullman may not have resolved whether literature can better society. By writing responsibly, however, society maintains a thread of consciousness that can be traced throughout the ages, and this alone may be worth the effort, for progress can't be achieved without a starting point or method of tracking advancements. Writing serves this end nicely.

posted Thursday, December 26, 2002

Convicted

With Christmas over, I'm left with a sort of religious aftershock from a bombardment of nativity scenes, Christmas eve services, feast prayers and philosophical conversations with the pops. And yet my stance on religion is still as stubborn as my father’s. We continually reach the same roadblock that atheists and deists have come to for ages, and whether out of frustration or sheer inability to articulate myself, I give up and we agree to disagree. I'm fortunate to have a civil opponent in him, whatever the outcome.

The New York Times published an article on the studies of Dr. David Wilson, who posits religion is an evolutionary device or byproduct thereof, one which engenders its followers with greater cohesion and will to carry on in "the absence of information, evidence or immediate gratification" -- the most lucid definition of "faith" I've come across -- and I take a step back from my religious roots to see the enormity of this behemoth that crawls in pace with humanity.

I've had my own epiphanies about afterlife and greater power, yet as sure as the sun sets, the moment I crest that understanding and reach the surface gasping at air, I'm pulled back under with the tide. I may not maintain my grasp on that understanding but the feeling remains, that certainty with which I surfaced, and perhaps my dad arms himself with the same conviction. The idea of religion as an evolutionary advantage makes me wonder if it would behoove me to participate voluntarily, but I have seen so much bloodshed at the hands of religion.

Dr. Wilson:

Religions and other social organizations may preach kindness and cooperation within the group, but they often say nothing about those outside the group, and may even promote brutality toward those beyond the brotherhood of the hive.

posted Wednesday, December 25, 2002

Christmas, Oh Two

Because it's that time of year again, I've run about madly garnering last minute knick-knacks and gifts for the ensuing festivities, hoping that I don't fail anyone's expectations, praying that I remembered the entire roster of recipients, and keeping a schedule that would make Martha Stewart cry uncle. I'd normally decry the materialistic fervor of the holiday now, but am refraining due to my undeniable, compulsory participation. On top of that, as my parents are divorced and remarried, I've got two Christmases to celebrate, a tempting arrangement for any kid under the age of twelve immediately sensing stacked odds in Santa's sack, but for someone twice that age it seems rather unnecessary and tiresome. Despite my cynicism, utter lack of patience for tradition, and cheek muscles exhausted from a 48-hour period of continual smiling, upholding face and general pleasantries, I'm nonetheless enthused at the prospect of having the entire clan together again for our ease of interaction, comfortability, and feeling that as long as we're together, everything will be alright.

Here's hoping that you find an equal sense of well being and enjoyment in the presence of those you love this holiday. Merry Christmas!

"Why the need or desire to make this monster human?" Foxman told the Times. "The judgment of history is that he was evil, that he was responsible for millions of deaths. Why trivialize that judgment of history by focusing on his childhood and adolescence? Have we run out of subjects to focus on?"

While not the root of the world's problems, this sort of avoidance illustrates a disturbing tendency, a knee-jerk reaction that is perpetuated through PC and religion, a defaulting of blame or natural process to an ineffable entity that is used as a scapegoat for too much: "Hitler was evil," "Terrorists are evil," "Homosexuality is evil."

By using evil as an excuse to avoid questions that should be asked, we eschew our devoir as cognizant creatures -- we deny reality -- ignoring the fact that our actions and reactions are simply human -- human responses to a human world.

Max opens on December 27 in New York and Los Angeles.

1. Reciprocal links are not guaranteed.
2. If you want me to take the time to read your site, take the time to make it readable.
3. Compliment publicly, criticize privately.
4. If you meet a really sweet, adorable weblogger celebrating his 21st birthday on Friday night at the Wave, and he takes time to write an extensive post on it and even link to you, be sure to provide a link back, if not for the sheer sake of bragging about having had the pleasure of meeting him.

(Ed. note: All 11:11 posts are to be directed to him.)

Meg Hourihan has written an article over at O'Reilly discussing the benefits of XML and RSS feeds, something I've considered implementing here off and on over the past year after discovering some really cool RSS readers, if not for the sheer geek factor. Definitely something to check out if design is your baby.

Speaking of new designs: excitedly anticipating Version Four.

Nothing embodies the era of the brand like Nike Town, the company's flagship retail outlets. Each one is a shrine, a place set apart for the faithful, a mausoleum. The Manhattan Nike Town on East Fifty-seventh Street is more than a fancy store fitted with the requisite brushed chrome and blond wood, it is a temple, where the swoosh is worshipped as both art and heroic symbol. The swoosh is equated with Sports at every turn: in reverent glass display cases depicting "The definition of an athlete"; in the inspirational quotes about "Courage," "Honor," "Victory" and "Teamwork" inlaid in the floorboards; and in the building's dedication "to all athletes and their dreams."

I asked a salesperson if there was anything amid the thousands of t-shirts, bathing suits, sports bras or socks that did not have a Nike logo on the outside of the garment. He racked his brain. T-shirts, no. Shoes, no. Track suits? No.

"Why?" he finally asked, sounding a bit hurt. "Is someone allergic to the swoosh?"

Nike, king of the superbrands, is like an inflated Pac-Man, so driven to consume it does so not out of malice but out of jaw-clenching reflex. It is ravenous by nature. It seems fitting that Nike's branding strategy involves an icon that looks like a check mark. Nike is checking off the spaces as it swallows them: superstores? Check. Hockey? Baseball? Soccer? Check. Check. Check. T-shirts? Check. Hats? Check. Underwear? Check. Schools? Bathrooms? Shaved into brush cuts? Check. Check. Check. Since Nike has been the leader in branding clothing, it's not surprising that it has also led the way to the brand's final frontier: the branding of flesh. Not only do dozens of Nike employees have a swoosh tattooed on their calves, but tattoo parlors all over North America report that the swoosh has become their most popular item. Human branding? Check.

posted Wednesday, December 11, 2002

Cowboys and Indians

Get ready to slap leather! That loveable red-headed scamp is back! And no one handles a hot rod like the Rawhide Kid!

Here-here for Marvel, comic book pioneer, for their brave venture into the world of gunslingers, gunslingers and Tom of Finland:

Although shy with girls, the original Rawhide Kid was not intended to be gay. The new version uses double entendres and euphemisms to reveal his homosexuality without saying anything explicitly. Based on a blurb on Marvel's Web site, the tone may be campy.

While this isn't their first openly gay character, it's made CNN headlines, the New York Post, and my Christmas wishlist, as it smacks of my favorite Louisiana hangout. Although Neale makes a good point -- "this comic will simply re-enforce all the worst possible stereotypes about gay men to impressionable teenagers" -- I doubt teenagers who end up reading the Rawhide Kid will be any more adversely affected by these themes than teens who are exposed to the over-sexualized men and women in straight counterparts. A great move by Marvel, in my opinion, and one that should not only bring marketability to a character forty years in the dust jacket, but also push Marvel deeper into a niche market that neither it nor any other media outlet has yet to fully penetrate.

How's that for double entendres?

To live content with small means, to seek elegance rather than luxury, and refinement rather than fashion, to be worthy, not respectable, and wealthy, not rich, to study hard, think quietly, talk gently, act frankly, to listen to stars and birds, to babes and sages, with open heart, to bear all cheerfully, do all bravely, await occasions, hurry never, in a word to let the spiritual, unbidden and unconscious, grow up through the common, this is to be my symphony

- William Ellery Channing

Beautiful sentiment, contentment as a symphony. Yet, I had always envisioned contentment as a passive, stagnant state, much in the same way passivity is induced by drug use or religion, destructive to both human life and art and there is an underlying fear that contentment often breeds smugness, boredom, arrogance, laziness, apathy, and mediocrity. I want to see myself as part of a larger process than simply a path to good enough, something active, recycling, something always spiraling upwards.

> look at water_

The water is unsurprisingly low for this time of year and gurgles quietly over a small cascade of river stones. Caught in the stones is a lone red rose, upright and standing easily against the gentle current as though it had been growing there all along. Apparently it has gotten caught and you point it out to Dave who immediately comments on how picturesque the scene is. What do you want to do?

> take rose_

Unfortunately, the rose is too far away to reach from where you are standing. What do you want to do?

> move to water_

You step off the paved walkway and onto the large boulders that border the creek. The smell from the water is stronger now, vegetation and a multitude of unknown pollutants rising with the aerated aqueous, infiltrating your nostrils and making you squint with distaste. What do you want to do?

> take rose_

Laying on the giant, flat boulder beneath you, the rose is just within reach and you pluck it from the water with ease, carefully setting it next to you and standing with a quiet sense of triumph. As you begin to stand, however, your sunglasses suddenly slip from your shirt collar and tumble into the water. The two of you watch helplessly as the glasses meander quietly down the creek and deposit themselves somewhere under the current as it flows beneath the bridge up ahead. What do you want to do?

> give rose to dave_

You hand the rose to Dave who doesn't know whether to be thrilled or disgusted by your gift. Quick thinking lends him to pluck the bud from the gunked stem and toss it in the stream. "That sucks about your glasses. I'll definitely have to keep this now," he says, smiling. What do you want to do?

> move to bridge_

Walking ahead about fifty feet, you find yourselves under a street bridge that spans across the Cherry Creek and echoes the sound of the sleepy stream. Dave points to the water. "Hey, there are your glasses." What do you want to do?

> take glasses_

Your red sunglasses are submerged under three feet of water that is beneath a rather large waterfall, all in a ravine of about five feet under the sidewalk upon which you are currently standing. There is a path of boulders that leads to the bottom of the ravine. A sandbar looks as though it provides access to the water. What do you want to do?

> move to boulders_

You agilely leap down the water-worn rocks to the sandy ravine bottom and walk up to the water's edge. Your glasses are just within reach -- if you want to be knee-high in water, that is. What do you want to do?

> look around_

The sandbar is home to a mass of refuse and dried algae, along with several long branches of willow that have washed upon the shore. Dave watches from above. What do you want to do?

> take branch_

You pick up the longest branch nearest to you and return to the water's edge. What do you want to do?

> take glasses_

Holding the leathery willow branch in one hand, you place your feet on slick, green rocks and carefully step closer to the water. The branch dips easily into the water and, hooking into the nose of the glasses, lifts them out of the water and into the air. Dave cheers behind you and cautions you not to slip as you make your way back to the sandbar. You shake off your glasses, triumphantly thinking that you have beaten the creek's strange sense of karma. What do you want to do?

> time to go home_

Words, like eyeglasses, blur everything they do not make clear.

-- Joseph Joubert

The bit of free time I do get is doled out to M or friends or family or books. I've reacquainted myself with the musty paper smell of the library and it feels good, familiar. Some of the books I've borrowed talk about financial independence or starting your own business, both big topics for me right now -- probably for a lot of people today, for that matter. Re-evaluate, plan, act.

Which brings me to something I've had a difficult time deciding. Come January, which is the month this domain was created, I won't be renewing. This doesn't mean I'll disappear completely, however I'll probably be looking at some alternatives, such as blogspot. If you have any recommendations, please feel free to drop me a line.

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