I'm a bit put out with myself for not saying anything yesterday about the deaths of Jack Klugman and Charles Durning. And, today, word that Gerry Anderson has passed. The death of Klugman, in particular, gave me pause, as he's such a small but integral part of the jigsaw puzzle of my childhood's culture landscape. It's all very weird.
Yesterday I did, I suppose, what people do on vacations. I napped, read, and ate too much. Okay, maybe that's only what some people do on vacations. Others climb mountains and waterski. But my feet no longer permit mountain climbing, and I never learned to ski (water or snow). Oh, once I was a superb mountain/rock climber...but that's another story. I'm digressing. As I was saying, I read, napped, ate. I felt thoroughly lazy; I am unaccustomed to feeling lazy. I read the first half of The Cat Behind the Hat: The Art of Dr. Seuss and all of the second volume of Dan Lockwood's The Lovecraft Anthology.
After dinner (rigatoni, and we should have finished that bottle of wine, but I only just remembered it), we watched the last episode of Season Two of Boardwalk Empire (superb!), then Oliver Stone's Savages. The latter was quite good, but not great. He's capable of much more. Only my thoughts, mind you. Your mileage will vary and all that, as I have said. Someone out there, no doubt, has good cause to believe this is Stone's masterpiece. They're wrong, of course. But, here, you see how these things work, yes? Anyway, after the movie, we read more of Cloud Atlas, then I read more Bloom County. Yesterday.
There are photos behind the cut, though none much relate to the above. Mostly it's cats. Spooky's been cat sitting for our downstairs neighbors, and she took a few of Louie (the downstairs cat, natch). Or maybe it's Louis. But pronounced "Loo-ee."
How to decorate your door for Xmas (downstairs).
Louie! Or Louis!
Spooky's marine Xmas cookies!
Hubero, Selwyn, and Das Schnabeltier. Exhausted, caught with the flash whilst makin' snuggle-bunnies.
All photographs Copyright © 2012 by Kathryn A. Pollnac
So, just a thought for the Outrage Bridge: The proposition you've put forth is that we are to disregard historical context and jettison from our favor the writings of every woman and man who ever held a bigoted point of view and expressed it in their art. This would, I think, obviously, extend to essentially all authors, artists, filmmakers, etc. Of every nationality, creed, religion, etc., as racism, sexism, homophobia, classism, etc. are to be found in all cultures on all continents, in all races throughout all of human history. Finding a book, story, fable, myth, and so forth which is free of it – and certainly free of it to the exacting specifications of the OB, everything that makes you uncomfortable – is very likely impossible. Such a work has probably never been penned. So, we junk everything, starting anew.
Only, you seem to believe virtually nothing being written now is free of some degree prejudice, no matter how hard an author tries to avoid it. And in decades to come, let us presume, dear soldiers of the OB, that your ideological descendants will find fault with everything being written now, as even you lot will be considered, by future standards, barbarians. Fifty years from now, this age you suppose to be enlightened and progressive will seem a nightmare of oppression as bad as any other before it.
So...would it not be best if art simply ceased to exist? Certainly, much wasted energy and money would be saved. It could be diverted to other ends. If art ceases, that concludes your need to tirelessly condemn each and every work of art, and each and every artist, for this or that infraction. That saves you much time and energy, yes? You could actually do something with your lives, and, at the same time, proudly proclaim yourselves victorious in a battle against all those mediums that perpetuate so many injustices. You would be heroes.
Just a thought.
* Dr. Seuss