Lost causes

So there I was...

Stone-cold sober and conversationally accosted by an older guy on what I guessed was his sixth vodka tonic. He was a successful businessman who wanted to "ask me a few things" about my closed college.

"You had to know it was going to happen," he said, spraying spit on me.

I replied that while we knew of the financial problems and the imminent need to act, we were assured by our leadership, just two months prior to the closure announcement, that we were all right and had years to right the ship.

"Oh so they 'told you.' All right, you know hope's not a plan, right?" he said, the volume of his voice seeming to rise with each slurred word. "Do you think it was smart to listen to them?"

The seventh vodka tonic arrived, distracting him and giving me time to compose.

"Let me ask you another question," he said, pointing at me and tossing back a swig. "You were $27 million in debt. What made you think this was going to turn out all right?"

I explained that many of us saw the college as our home. We were willing to stay and do what we could to make things work because the place meant something to us.

He was stunned.

"Admirable...positive..." he shrugged. "But was that realistic? Do you really think you were smart to do that?"

We writers tend to be a sensitive lot. It allows us to understand how someone else feels and then convey it in words. It also means that we tend to internalize what people say to us. Ironic then, isn't it, that we engage in an activity that insists we tender the work of our hearts and souls up for judgment? That question lands outside the scope of my post. I am trying to grok something else altogether.

Am I really "not smart" for having stayed at my college? Doing the research for my book, I can see the trajectory of things with a cool mind. Indeed, all the signs of collapse had been there for a fair amount of time. In the hours after leaving my conversation "partner," I...well, I felt like my current situation was entirely of my own doing, as are my successive failures. Two days later, I shifted my thinking and I decided that I might need to ask myself a different question: "Having it to do over again, would I have chosen differently?" Pondering the question led me to deep reflection and self-examination. In those moments, I turn to the narratives I've consumed over my years.

As a writer, I have a penchant for the romantic. The painting at the top of the post is a good example of it. It's called The Third of May and it's by Francisco Goya. As you can probably tell, it depicts an execution. Note the man in the center. Though obviously knowing he's at the end of things, he stands defiant. The enemy has complete control of everything in his sphere of existence save for his own attitude, his own integrity, and his own values.

I think of Marius from Les Miserables, which is an excellent book but I insist it be read in the unabridged edition. Hugo will actually go on for pages that become essays on morality and serve neither plot nor subplot. It's beautiful in both its depth and inefficiency. Just can't get away with that these days. But I digress...
Marius believes the love of his life is lost to him. He then joins a group of French revolutionaries, fully intending to die but at least his death will have meaning. At the barricade and in the face of the advancing army, he holds a torch to a powder keg and threatens to gladly send all of them to kingdom come.

I think of the Battle of Helm's Deep in The Lord of the Rings. Knowing they are hopelessly outclassed and outnumbered by an army of Uruk-Hai, Legolas voices quite fact-based doubts to his friend, Aragorn as to the wisdom of their remaining with the refugees.




"Then I shall die as one of them!"

My gods wear spandex. I say that as a paraphrase of another writer's book title. It simply means that comic book superheroes serve as a contemporary pantheon. Their stories serve as a kind of common mythology, helping us make sense of our world and showing us ideals we should aspire to.

In a landmark story arc written by DC Comics in 1993, a creature named Doomsday attacked Metropolis in an incoherent and unstoppable rage. As the body count mounted, Lois Lane, then secretly married to Superman, begged her husband not engage. "At least wait until the rest of the Justice League gets here," she pleaded. Superman counter-argued that though that would be a sensible plan, there was no time for it. More innocents would die while he waited. He was the only one who could do this. Just as Hector said goodbye to his wife in The Iliad, Superman flew off to face his own Achilles. After a fierce and ugly battle, Superman did indeed stop Doomsday, but at the cost of his own life. He dies in Lois' arms, depicted in an homage to Michelangelo's Pieta.

   

Then DC somewhat nullifies the sacrifice by bringing him back to life a year later. Was glad to see him back, but, well...I digress.

I'll confess, I have another, far less cerebral example. Red Dawn is, in truth, an awful movie that fails on most every level. Writing, acting, plot, you name it. But I can't help but hold a special affinity for it. A group of kids cry out to their invading enemy "You will not take our home from us...at least not without paying a grievous, grievous price." In this scene, my favorite character in the film meets his end with nobility.





Now there's a word. Nobility. The more and more research I do on closed colleges, it's a word that continues to resurface. I've seen it in faculty and students as they met the end of their own institutions. I've seen it in other faculty and students as they, against all odds and reason, stood and fought the decisions of their own boards of trustees. I particularly have in mind a quote from one student who transferred from her closing college: "How could I have left my community and chosen to save myself?" She dropped out and returned to her college for its final days.

Why, you might ask? Sometimes the choice that makes no sense is the only sensible choice.

I have the answer to my question. Knowing everything I know now, I would have done nothing different. Not one thing. Wouldn't even have started sending out my CV earlier. I admire characters in each of the story examples I've just shown and of course there are many more. Through them, my family, and the many mysteries and experiences of life, I'd like to think I've acquired a few slivers of nobility. I believe it's necessary for my teaching.

You teach students far more about who you are than what you know. I'd like to think I helped "my kids" through a very difficult time just by being there for them. When they feared the future, I'd like to think my simple words of "I won't leave you" meant something. I was meant to be there at just that time. We all were, each in our own way. Therefore, there is nowhere else I would rather have been than right there with everyone at the very end.

Nobility hasn't made me much on the commodities exchange, but it has helped me stay true to who I am.

I can live with that.


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Where is your technology museum?

From the New Yorker.


I have a technology museum.

No really, I do. I noticed it the other day.

I guess it starts in the basement. There is, as the cartoon above describes, a box of AC adapters and power cables that have long since been orphaned. What did they once belong to? Who knows, because whatever it was broke a long time ago and being in a disposable society, I threw the tech out.

Next to that box is another, this one filled with VHS tapes. Their contents have been replaced by DVD counterparts years ago. Why do I still have all the tapes? This question is made doubly confounding by a trip upstairs.

I have a VCR. It stopped working at least two years ago. In fact, there's still a tape stuck in it (a Godzilla movie, if I recall). Why haven't I just thrown the thing out? Better yet, why haven't I taken it to one of the area's many technology recycling centers? I'm not sure. Just haven't gotten around to it.

And that's how simple it is. As technology turns obsolete, it accumulates in darkened corners as autumn leaves in the porch corner.

Really dusty autumn leaves.

I'm guessing many of us have similar versions of these museums that we curate. They come to be faster than we realize.

Ray Kurzweil, arguing The Singularity is Near, warned me...and all of us...about this phenomenon. Many of my museum antiquities were rendered irrelevant only ten years ago. That's not all that long in the grand scheme of things. In fact, even my DVDs are obsolete and cumbersome due to my easy access to streaming services such as Netflix and Amazon Prime (except for a few rare gems I own, likely only appreciated by me.) The Law of Accelerated Returns. How long until I get cybernetics?

Hopefully soon. I'm feeling my age. Looking at technological relics isn't helping.


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Atompunk

Art by Alex Schomburg.

I have long called it a bored and tired trend in science fiction.

Just add "punk" as a suffix and you've got a new literary subgenre. It started (to the best of my limited knowledge) with cyberpunk and that made great sense at the time. After all, William Gibson was inspired by the increasing prevalence of computers, kids entranced with stand-up arcade games, and the punk movement of the late 1970s. Mix, shake, and serve, and you have something new and exciting.

Now we have steampunk. And dieselpunk. And biopunk. And nowpunk.

May I preemptively coin the term "Englishpunk" for campus novels about faculty? Why not? A few of these subgenres popping up don't have much "punk" in them, so that no longer appears to be a genre constraint.

I really am going somewhere with this.

On Facebook, I saw a fan page called "atompunk." I was skeptical at first, but something about the images people posted enticed me. They hearkened to a time that deceptively now seems simple. In the wake of World War II, our lives were destined to be brighter and better through the power of SCIENCE!

All our aircraft would be jet powered. Humanity would soon be moving outward to conquer space. Most importantly, all of it would be powered by atomic energy.

Of course the public at large hadn't yet come to fully understand the pesky side effects of radiation, but let's not harsh the buzz. For crying out loud, our lives were going to get better. Just look at this depiction of the family car, brought to you by atompunk:

It wouldn't all be a shiny utopia, though. We would face danger from alien invasion or monsters brought about by radioactive mutation. But those threats are nothing compared to the looming and omnipresent menace of Cuba, China, and the Soviet Union.

That's right, folks. I'm talking commies.

Once again though, the atom would save the day. All we needed do is make certain our arsenal of atomic weapons surpasses all rivals, therefore none would dare strike us.

Note: language use here is key. Things are all "atomic" at this point, and not "nuclear."

What exactly about it is "punk" though?

Well, I guess you could say it's found in the beginnings of social change during the Cold War. That was a time when teens had just started to grow defiant with adults. "I just don't understand my kid," was something of a common phrase. Just look to the popular culture of the times for this, the movies of James Dean just as a for-instance.

There are more novel and film examples of atompunk than you can shake a stick at. I'd recommend Forbidden Planet, The Thing (original one), and The Day the Earth Stood Still as being among the very best. If you're a true connoisseur so-bad-it's-good films, then you can't go wrong with Plan 9 from Outer Space.

For comic books, I suggest you look no further than The New Frontier from DC Comics with exquisite writing and art by the late, great Darwyn Cooke.

That's something else. Atompunk might even be seen as an art movement in and of itself. Just look at the above art by Cooke. It's bright. It's optimistic almost to the point of being Norman Rockwell. It's streamlined. It's still seen today, not just as kitsch but as serious marketing (note the logo for Sonic drive-ins.)

Would I like to write atompunk? Boy, would I. It has the escapist allure that I love, but then doesn't everybody these days? Only a jailer would oppose escapism. There is a naive optimism that is likewise tantalizing, even if my critical self keeps screaming "But it glosses over nuclear armageddon! Plus, the 'bright future' of the Space Age sure didn't seem to include anyone who was black or gay!" All too true. So would I write a snarky, critical parody? Too easy. Would I try to write it with every bit of seriousness as I could muster and attempt to treat it as high art while still remaining within the genre constraints? That might be a fun challenge.

Then again, maybe I shouldn't even try as nothing can beat Destroy All Humans.

Here are a few atompunk images I found that appeal to me. Don't know where the Japanese one is from, but it looks like fun.

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Species unknown

Weird doings in the animal kingdom. Is Gaia at work?

First of all, a strange, writhing blob washed up on a beach in Thailand. No one seems to know what it is. The specimen was about five inches in length and rubbery in consistency. A couple of British tourists snapped a picture of it, which you can view at the link. Believing it belonged in the sea, one of the tourists returned it to the water. The pinkish blob immediately turned around and returned to the beach is if repulsed by the water. Observers even claim that the strange creature even looked like it was fighting to stay above water and breathe air.

"It seemed to have something inside which was moving around. The skin was almost transparent and you could see something else inside," one of the witnesses said.

Locals claim to have seen several of them on the beach, but its only been in recent weeks that these wiggly globs have appeared.

It won't be long, if it hasn't happened already, before claims of the paranormal will emerge. I can just imagine the stories now: This blob creature is an unknown species, perhaps not native to this Earth. It has existed for centuries deep in the sea and away from our notice. Of course that doesn't match with the creature's apparent revulsion with water, but let's not let that get in the way of a good story.

Or it's evidence of the Gaia principle, a new organism that has emerged to help get the environment back in balance.

But wait! There are more discoveries!

I missed this the first time around, but a story came out last January that orange crocodiles have been discovered in a cave in Gabon. Previously unknown, these crocodiles live in complete darkness, feeding on bats and crickets. They were thought to possibly be one of a few other species of crocodile, but it's now thought that they are mutations...entirely new species.

What other new, weird lifeforms is the Earth kicking out?

Speaking of the paranormal, discoveries such as these are likely to embolden proponents of cryptozoology. One of the arguments against cryptids is that we have long since discovered all the animals we're ever going to. Somehow, however, we keep finding ones hitherto unknown. Granted, there's a distinct difference between finding a five-inch blob and say...Bigfoot, but the principle is the same.

As a writer, it's giving me plenty of ideas, but I'm warning you, few of them are good. Maybe it's because I've been watching so much Svengoolie, but I think it would be fine to write a line of monster books. You know, adventure/horror stories that are non-serious and far more in the tradition of Kong and Gorgo than slasher fare such as Jaws or Alien.

A group of scientists crash land their helicopter in Gabon. While attempting to survive in the jungle, they are taken captive by bipedal, orange crocodiles and taken into the pitch-black depths of a cave where the orange crocodiles have their own civilization. Certainly isn't Moliere, but it sounds like more fun than I could handle. Is there an audience for it? Who the hell knows. One thing is certain, I think I might welcome the brief respite to write about something that isn't so personal and crushing for a change.

I have a writing partner in mind but I've yet to pitch it to him. I'll let you know what develops.


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Behold your "new organ," the iterstitium

Your body may have a new organ.

Well, not really "new" per se. You didn't just grow it and not notice, rather it's a part of the body being looked at in a whole new way.

Medical researchers at the New York University School of Medicine have written a paper full of new findings on what's called, "the interstitium." This is a "lattice work" made of collagen and elastin connective tissue that is found all over the body near the skin, arteries, and organs such as the lungs and the digestive tract. It is, according to the study, a “highway of moving fluid” and “a previously unknown feature of human anatomy.” The researchers term the interstitium as "an organ in its own right." In fact, it would be the body's largest organ.

An important finding in this study is that the interstitium is the means by which fluids enter the lymphatic system, thereby possibly spreading disease throughout the body and causing cancer to metastasize. Understanding how this happens and the interstitium's role in the process could aid in treating and preventing cancer or several other maladies.

Why am I writing about this? Several reasons.

I can't help but wonder if by understanding this "new organ" and what connection it may or may not have to illness, we might eventually see how transhuman applications can aid in...well, people leading better lives. Knowing the nuances of the interstitium may help us, just as a "for instance," better target nanotech treatments.

I'm also being rather fanciful and thinking about this from the perspective of a creative writer. The headlines proclaiming "new organ found" are somewhat misleading. But what if we really did grow a hitherto nonexistent organ? What would it be for? Why would it have developed? I like to muse that our modern lives have prompted the body to develop an organ that disperses a natural Xanax three times per day or more as needed.

Evolution or mutation? Is that, as a few out there would argue, the same thing?   

Lastly, the objections to the study interest me. Most of these disagreements are based not in the research but in calling the "fluid highway" a "new organ." "There are no new organs" one scientist countered, "except those for musicians on stage." Heh. He's a card.
So, what we have here is essentially a matter of rhetoric. Can you rightfully apply the phrase "new organ?" Does it fit the definition? It's an interdisciplinary argument with at least a few fingers in how language is used.

As much as I'm on Team Rhetoric and enjoy debating the nuances of word meaning and how we humans "code" the world around us, that interest only goes so far in this case. If someone you love is suffering from any form of malady, particularly one where diagnosis is maddeningly elusive, you likely don't give a rat's ass whether or not the term "organ" may be viably used. You just want the research to help make people better. To allow the quibble over terminology to distract from the research is self-defeating and mushyheaded.

Guess there's a practical side to me after all.


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A warming Arctic and a growing Garbage Patch

And now for even more news of humans being inhumane to their environment.

Climate change continues to rear its ugly and undeniable head. This study hit the news a little over a month ago. Temperatures in the Arctic have reached record highs this winter, as high as 35 degrees Fahrenheit at times. The average temperature has been at or just around freezing, which is 50 degrees warmer than typical. Naturally. this has led to ice melt and a open waters around Greenland where there should only be ice. This would seem to be just another point on a continuing trend found by a study  released last July arguing that these stretches of warming have, since 1980, become more frequent, longer-lasting, and more intense. 

As if that were not dejecting enough, we also have the Great Pacific Garbage Patch to contend with. I mentioned it in passing in the last post, but a student I knew back at SJC (hey Nathan!) posted an article on FB that describes how this mass of modern refuse is actually much bigger than anyone had previously thought. It is now a moving collection of plastic trash situated between California and Hawaii and spread out over 600,000 miles. Winds and the currents of the ocean have converged to sort of funnel it all together in that spot.

Sure, science has been trying to find ways to fight climate change. But is the field prepared to deal with a growing mass of Tupperware and empty two-liter bottles of Mountain Dew? This is just plain weird. So weird, that I can think of no better testament to human shortsightedness and ignorance. I suppose it could give one plenty to write about.

I have long toyed with the idea of writing a novel that involves a superstorm hurricane. Climate change causes this storm to be so super-charged that it becomes sentient, a living system unto itself. That's not quite enough, in my opinion, to carry an entire narrative, so I decided it would become a running subplot in a story about an intrepid and mythoclastic journalist. I see now that I must include a weird, self-aware mass of plastic garbage rising out of the Pacific. Well, then again, why would it want to? If the polar caps keep melting, it will have ample habitat.

As my student friend said, "What a terrifying time to be alive."


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