I read The Watchmen

The holy grail of graphic novels, the starting point for someone who wants to know what graphic novels are, one review said. So I read the 100-page long comic book, published around 1987.

Holy grail or not, it didn't change my life.

My impressions were 1) it was very comic-bookish, not as one might have assumed, that is, something quite different, somehow of a different quality than a comic book. 2) it had more sex than I expected. 3) it was dark, adultish, and unresolved, as if the way to entertain people was to leave them in a moral quandary.

The review I read tried with urbane journalistic objectivity to say that "intellectuals" always look down on graphic novels. The insinuation was that those who are accustomed to reading books without pictures should get down off their high horse and understand the times. Who are you, anyway, to say that books with words are better than books with pictures? That's just your tiresome western assumptions again, trying to assert that your way is superior to another equally valid way. Another case of logocentrism, or the intolerance of word-oriented toward those of other literary orientations. At least, that's what was laden in this review's attempt at literary pluralism.

I suppose I have to line up with the "intellectuals", we few, we snobs who said, "you mean, a comic book?" when we first heard the term "graphic novel", we who like flagellant monks prefer the archaic way, the dusty road of toilsome words, words, words, we who cling to tradition with an arthritic bent finger upheld sermonizing about the good old days, we who eschew even the Kindle in favor of the earthy, dead, eco-unfriendly books. But I digress.

Little boys do this when they gotta go

Maybe if rappers used the bathroom before the show, they wouldn't be caught on camera in embarrassing postures like this.

I wonder if they pick their noses too

A bathroom conversation

I went into a public restroom today and noticed what is now undeniable empirical evidence that men have evolved a totally new language used only in restrooms. But this language consists of a reversion to primitive body signals, not words.

When I walked into the restroom, a man in a stall sniffed, and he sniffed louder than necessary. I realized, "he is signaling to me, 'there's someone in this stall.'" I can only presume that he was doing this as a courtesy to me. Perhaps he was afraid that I might break wind at the urinal, or start singing out loud thinking I was alone, and then I might be embarrassed when I did notice someone else in the stall.

I have been noticing this now for a couple of years, and I am trying to piece together the rudimentary elements of the language that is developing - an anthropologists dream this is! To be able to witness a new form of communication developing in its natural habitat.

So here for the first time, I will share with you a typical conversation using this new language with translation. I may post further advancements in future blogs as my vocabulary grows.

[I walk into the men's room and go the urinal.]

Stall 1: Sniff. [Translation: Heads up, sir. There is someone else in this bathroom.]

Me: Cough. [Thank you, friend. I will be careful of my behavior.]

Stall 1: Rattles newspaper. [Splendid. Now, no need to get too friendly.]

Stall 2: Ahem, Ahem. [I say lads, just letting you know there's a third one here.]

Me: Sniff. [Yes, I could already tell by the odor coming strongly from that stall.] Sigh. [If you dont mind gents, I need to concentrate here.]

[Long pause.]

Stall 1: uncomfortable silence. [If someone would be so kind as to turn on the tap, it might stir things up a bit, ay what? Might also deliver me from some embarrassment over the terrible splashing that is about to occur.]

Stall 2: russling loudly with pants and zipper. [One moment old chap, I'm happy to oblige. Just let me tidy up my trousers.]

Me: Heavy sigh. [I bloody wish both of you wankers would get out of here so I could bloody well concentrate.]

Stall 2: especially loud flushing. [There you are, old man! That should help things a bit. A good rushing water sound usually helps me. Better let it go fast before the flush is over. You too, stall number 1. Go ahead, I can't hear a thing!]

Stall 1: cough. [Sir, you are a gentleman. I hope you will let me buy you a drink.]

Stall 2: clattering door latch and squeaky hinges. [No need to thank me, old sport. I know how it can be. We're all in this together, right-o!]

Stall 1: vigorous unrolling of approx. 15 feet of toilet paper. [If only my ex-wife and I could communicate this well, our marriage might have lasted. As it is, she's run off to Strattford on Avon with some bloke from the bankers office. Bloody wretched business. But as Dr. Johnson said, "a man of genius is seldom ruined but by himself." I have to catch the trolly at 6, so let me get you that drink. What'll you have?]

Stall 2 man at sink: briefest possible dispensing of soap, washing, drying hands on paper towel. [Really, there's no need. I trust you would do the same for me.]

Stall 1: quick flush. [I insist!]

Stall 2 man exiting: casual, relieved exit. [very well, sir. Gin and a dash of elderflower cordial. Shot of apple juice.]

Stall 1: exit briskly without washing. [brilliant! Make it two!]

me: sigh. [Great ceasar's ghost, finally a chap can have a bit of peace without those two yammering on.]

How close we came

Sarah Palin's daughter, Bristol, had her baby in December. Shortly after, she and her fiance broke up. Then in February, the single 18-year-old did an interview for Fox in which she said that abstinence is "not realistic at all". Granted the statement was made in passing.

Not that she's different from most other teens. And not that teen-pregnancy is such a great catastrophe. What gives me that sensation of the being narrowly missed by an out-of-control semi truck is her mother's incompetency, the depths of which we still apparently have not discovered, as demonstrated in her inability to pass on her ultra-right-wing worldview to her closest family members. And John McCain's inexcusable, uncritical, highest-possible-stakes gamble in selecting her for a running mate.

Respect for Islam

Last week I heard more than one news report about Muslims upset at being labeled terrorists because of the bad behavior of a few radicals. Everyday Muslims, they said, do not condone terrorism, and dont appreciate their faith being associated with it. We shouldn't let a few crazies blemish an otherwise peaceful world religion.

So, what about when the craziness is the action of an entire nation? Are we allowed to think Islam is a cruel, violent religion then? Take a look at this article. This is not just a handful of crazy men.

"That's only the Wahhabist sect," they say, "that's not all of Islam." I say, OK fine, its a sect, but it is a large, influential sect that controls several middle eastern nations, perhaps even the majority of practicing Muslims.

This seems a conundrum for the post-moderns who want to have us tolerate everybody. I like tolerance, but I like humane behavior better. Sentencing a 70-year-old woman to 40 lashes for having two men in her house, her surrogate son and his friend, is insane.

How modern culture is destroying our ability to view art

I was looking for something on how to approach nudes in art. On the web, I expected to have to wade through a lot of adolescent silliness, but I figured there would be some cultural site, some artists blog or museum page that would give a mature answer.

What I found was...a lot of nude art. Also, artists demanding veneration, bloggers insisting that pornography is simply art (beauty of female form etc.), news stories about religious people ringing their hands about taking their children to the art museum. I did find a few pages trying to deal seriously about it, but not many.

Then it occurred to me. Maybe the accretion of western civilizations, the layers of attitudes for hundreds of years, has made it impossible for good men to view nudes today. How so? Sown deep down within us are the inherited attitudes of Victorian prudishness (if it werent true, we wouldn't be having this conversation) plus the ever-pressing-the-envelope hyper-sexualized culture of the 80's and 90's. Today, pornography is only a problem for those who have a problem with it. In the paradox of the age, we are both prudish and salacious at the same time. We hide sexuality from our children fearing for their innocence (as if sex was bad), but we are obsessed with it, get treatments for enhancement, and seek counseling or divorce when we are not sexually fulfilled. Christian moms dress in tight fitting sweats for what other reason that to show off their bodies? Large percentages of Christian men indulge in secret, solo adultery with pornography.

It used to be that viewing the great classical nude paintings and sculpture, and even some 18th century stuff, with was possible for the mature: usually married people or at least sexually initiated. Today's nude "art", however, is so sensual as to be difficult to distinguish from porn. It's as if artists want to take the mature attitudes that were possible in the past and sneak it into viewing gradually more salacious or shocking material, calling it art all the time, and leading cultured viewers into greater disarmament of modesty.

But what about the classical old stuff? Can we view that? As a teacher of history to Christian teens, I encounter this. I had to teach about it today in talking about Greek sculpture. And what about me? I think I can view Botticelli's Birth of Venus or Durer or Matisse. These pictures are pretty tame compared to today's "nude art", aren't they? But is everything permitted? Is there no limit as long as we call it art?

Which gets to my point. Since chaste men today have such a hard time with images on billboards, newsstands, commercials and contemporary styles of dress, since flirtation and sensuality are blasted at us almost constantly during the day, can we still go to the museum and view nudes without the raw nerve of conscience being prodded with a needle? Since we still have the baggage of Victorianism, gnostic physical-is-bad-ism, Leave-it-to-Beaver Sleeping-in-separate-beds cardigan-pipe-and-pearls perfectionism - all of this is in us as Americans. Just think about sex in other cultures - one room huts where mom, dad, and all the children share the same room. They had to have sex there in the room with the children listening.

We are messed up. But I wonder - is our demented attitude about sex also making us squeemish about nudity in art? Is it stealing away our souls in this way too, that the legitimate mature admiration of the physical form of the human body in art has become "naughty" for adults who want to be mature, but who's vision is clouded by the barrage of the sexually conflicted culture?

Its the end of the world as we know it

This week one news article asked out loud what everyone is thinking: can we use the "d" word yet? Are we in a depression? Because, ya know, the stock market is still going down, and everything. And today it is even lower than yesterday!

Think. What if the stock market goes all the way to zero!

One thing that would happen is that Tattoo Barbie would no longer be available because Mattel would go out of business.