HANDS OFF
We costantly fantasize about actions we’d never initiate, because we fear the consequences and may not care enough to see the outcome anyway. But some people, ingenuous or nihilistic, neglect consideration for others and take obscene risks.
On New Years Eve, I found myself stuffed in the back of a minivan cab with a couple I had just met. She was sitting on his lap, but his hand would occassionally find itself under my knee. The first and second times it happened, I tensely ignored it, but the third time I tapped his wrist and said firmly, “wrong knee.” I felt uncomfortable for the remainder of the ride, as his other arm was around my shoulder. That hand would gently brushed against my collarbone, until I moved away. In a cab with ten other people, the only thing I could do was sit it out (squirming in the other direction as best as I could.) I avoided them both at the party, and dismissed it as his drunken stupidity, until I overheard two of my girlfriends talking about “manhandaling.”
“Are you talking about that guy? He was touching me inappropriately in the cab!,” I told them.
“Yeah, he stroked my leg under my skirt as he walked by to get another drink,” my friend said.
A few hours later, just as the couple left, the party hostess said, “So, who invited the PERV?”
It wasn’t some weirdo in a trenchcoat, but a nice, sweet, and shy-seeming hipster. My friends have seem them both since that incident and reported he must have been uncommonly inebriated the evening of his infamy.
Alcohol –or narcotics–is one way to lose impulse-control. But nothing excuses a lack of basic respect for others.
2/28/2005
PRECOG POLICING
An 18 year old student was arrested last week for making “terrorist threats.” William Poole’s journals outlined potential violent acts on students, police, and teachers. His grandparents found it and alerted the police.
“It’s a fake story,” says Poole. “I made it up. I’ve been working on one of my short stories, (and) the short story they found was about zombies. Yes, it did say a high school. It was about a high school over ran by zombies.” (via Morons.org)
WRITER’S BLOCK PARTY
Perhaps it is the collision of past and present – for those elements combined make that looming question mark on the horizon even more distant and faint – that makes traveling “home” such an emotionally charged experience.
I could not read on the flight back to Chicago after a week in DC. I frantically changed songs on my iPod, unhappy with each, and picked at a very small bag of pretzels. After arriving and then boarding the train into the city, I quickly became that girl on the L staring out the window and rubbing away at her eyes so no one would notice the tears.
Mine is perhaps an especially trying circumstance as I have only just moved to this city. I haven’t had time to assemble tried-and-true friends yet. So my week in DC was a whirlwind of advice-seeking for the boatloads of conflicts I’ve accumulated since I last saw everybody.
I left DC with my head full of ideas and new approaches. When I finally arrived at what is now my home, I went straight to my computer to write it all down. What ensued was the sort of marathon writing session I’d been waiting months to experience.
I had recaptured the sadness that always motivated my work in the past. This mind frame is, of course, unpleasant, but the desire to create comes from the limbic system, just like hunger and sexual desire. Alice Weaver Flaherty in an excerpt of her book The Midnight Disease : The Drive to Write, Writer’s Block, and the Creative Brain explains the biological underpinning of artistic expression:
Evidence that ranges from Nabokov to neurochemistry, Faulkner to functional brain imaging, shows that thinking about excesses and dearths of writing can also clarify normal literary output and the mechanisms of creativity. The few current books on creativity that have included a neuroscientific perspective have neglected crucial brain regions such as the temporal lobe and limbic system in favor of a still-popular – but oversimplified – emphasis on a right brain-left brain dichotomy.
Both Flaubert and Dostoyevsky were temporal-lobe epileptics, a condition that often produces “hypergraphia,” an overwhelming urge to write. Vincent van Gogh’s epilepsy fueled his many letters to his brother Theo and also frenetic painting binges.
Does writer’s block have a neurological basis that is the opposite of hypergraphia? Yes – in certain respects. Block is highly associated with depression, just as hypergraphia is with mania. And block shares with depression some features of frontal-lobe alteration, including lack of initiative and excessive self-criticism. There is evidence for a push-pull interaction between temporal and frontal lobes in creativity, an axis that turns sideways the 1970s theory of right brain-left brain interactions. While a link between block and depression seems to fly in the face of the conventional wisdom that professional writers often suffer from depression, the fact is that talented writers are actually more likely to be blocked than poor writers. (This is true outside of literature as well. The tremendous outpouring of Leonardo da Vinci’s ideas, for instance, was matched only by his long list of giant unfinished projects.)
She ends with quotes from writers describing the physical effects they sometimes encounter when they’ve been away from a pen and paper for several days. “Writing is what they are meant to do, and the headaches and the restlessness are their body rebelling when it is kept from fulfilling its destiny.”
2/23/2005
NOWHERE LAND
Jason, whose comment I failed to properly approve as I figure out the Word Press software, directs me to this editorial in the Guardian. Can sprawl happen in England as well? Or does their history and small size prevent it?
Of course, I don’t believe in any of the regulations the article supports. Those of us that consider the suburbs ugly and soulless can choose, very simply, not to live in them. Still, much of the perceived dissatisfaction in our lives can be attributed to our living situations. Articles like this should not be taken seriously for policymaking, but are somethings to consider for personal reasons.
COMMENT:
The URI to TrackBack this entry is: http://www.joannemcneil.com/weblog/wp-trackback.php/481
1.
Well, that may be, but it’s really hard to find a job in a place like Portland where such measures have been taken b/c so many highly educated/skilled people have moved there to escape a city like Dallas or Atlanta or Phoenix. The market is taking a long time to respond to these peoples’ desires. Government intervention of another sort may be to blame for this, I’m not sure. I haven’t spent much time looking into it. Nevertheless, serious damage, damage that will take possibly generations to correct, is being done. I don’t want to wait around that long. In the market place of ideas, Portland is certainly winning over these people (at least for now).
As for Dallas (something I can speak of with more knowledge), the market is offering up a brave new world:
http://www.azureliving.com/azureFlash.html
Comment by Jason — 2/23/2005 @ 2:29 pm | Edit This
2/21/2005
THE MAKINGS OF A MOLESTOR
The New York Times Magazine’s feauture, The Making of a Molestor is a balanced look at another person who crossed the bounds of mere fantasy into disctruction.
My sense of Roy shifts back and forth ceaselessly, from perceptions of basic normality to those of extreme aberrance, from guarded trust to deep unease. But one constant is the reverberation of his words: ‘’I just don’t know how I got myself there.’’
First, the illusion of anonymity – an illusion because Internet use can be easily tracked – leads to disinhibition. Second, there’s a blurring of fantasy and reality. There’s someone at the other end of the Internet conversation, but it’s not quite a real person; there’s a feeling of playing a game that can lead to actually doing what one otherwise wouldn’t. Third, the easy accessibility can facilitate’’ moving over boundaries.
Over the past decade, with the surge in Internet use, there has been no spike in the overall number of cases of sexual abuse against children. (There has been, it appears, a significant decrease, attributed by some to the success of harsher sentences and offender registries and by others, in part, to the possibility that those sentences and registries discourage victims, who tend to know their abusers, from reporting the crimes.) But Berlin’s concern was echoed by Prentky when he described the Internet as ‘’a catalyst for fantasy and dangerous if the control over behavior is markedly impaired.’’ And by David D’Amora, Patrick Liddle’s boss and the head of the Center for the Treatment of Problem Sexual Behavior, who has about 800 child sexual abusers under his watch in Connecticut, when he talked about the Net’s abundant porn and disembodied chat-room conversation as a ‘’disinhibitor.’’ And by Liddle himself, whose normally tempered voice nearly rose to a yell when I asked whether online porn might provide a safe outlet for otherwise destructive erotic drives: a man masturbates; the craving subsides. ‘’No!’’ he replied. He was thinking of the men in that back room at the probation building. ‘’That’s like an alcoholic saying I’ll only have a couple of drinks, I’ll only have low-alcohol beer.’’ And then he was thinking of everyone when he said that pornography ‘’desensitizes people so extraordinarily.’’
When Roy tells his story, he insists that he never visited any Web sites of child porn. He doesn’t think there is much relevance in the mainstream porn that he did view – and it doesn’t seem to have had, for him, the erotic impact of his stepdaughter’s conversations with her best friend. But he claims (perhaps too self-servingly) that he would never have propositioned his stepdaughter had it not been for the Internet’s unique, oddly dehumanized form of communication. In the ultimate moments, he beckoned her to his computer. He beckoned her, physically, into his space. But before then, his lust gained much of its unbearable power, and found its most intense expression, screen to screen.
MOST UNWHOLESOME CANCEROUS STRANGLING TENDRILS
Laura Miller has an excellent article explaining HP Lovecraft’s mixed reviews among horror and sci-fi aficionados. Stephen King once said his fanbase was limited to teenagers and other people “living in a state of total sexual doubt.” Lovecraft’s purple prose descriptions of underwater “shrieking, slithering, torrential shadows of red viscous madness,” including some hilariously obvious sexual imagery like tentacles and gaping abysses, is charming in its nescience. Miller reads his books with a sense of “mockery and love,” but concludes there is far more to his staying power than camp:
There is a ferocious imaginative power driving these tales, and all the more so for being, to cop a favorite Lovecraftian word, unwholesome. In the Freud-crazed ’50s and ’60s it became fashionable to denounce Lovecraft’s fiction as “neurotic,” to which the only conceivable reply is: Duh. How could anyone think of presenting such an observation as an insight when neurosis lies palpitating on the surface of the work? These tales are veritable carnivals of anxiety, repression and rage; that’s the source of their appeal. They aren’t in any sense healthy, but then neither is the poetry of Baudelaire.
In addition to being a person in a state of “total sexual doubt,” I’m found of Lovecraft for really capturing the alien nature of deep underwater territory. The creatures we encounter in deep sea exploration are as alien to us as extraterrestrial life would be.
THE L WORD
There’s paradoxically no shortage of good television these days. Last spring, I went on a Netflix-fueled binge of CSI and Law and Order: SVU. I’m probably the only person in the world that hasn’t yet loaded my queue with Six Feet Under episodes, or has yet to watch an episode of Nip/Tuck, Arrested Development, or 24. Even The OC fans insist the show has integrity. But surely the most groundbreaking of these is The L Word; the second season of which, debuted on Showtime last night.
As Ariel Levy writes for Slate, it shows “lesbians who aren’t marginal characters whose maudlin tales of coming out and familial rejection are not really our problem.” Yes, the cast members are all pretty–and sometimes goddam ridiculously so–but that’s true of all TV actors. The stereotype of lesbians as women just too ugly for heterosexuality is one of many the show seeks to rectify.
While The L Word is eye candy, a glossy production on which everyone is luminous and constantly having explosive sex, it is also a memo to the nation (including the lesbian nation) that there are other reasons for women to have sex with each other than to dismantle the dominant paradigm. The best reason for a woman to have sex with another woman (or for anyone to have sex with anyone) is because she wants to.
Yes, there are smart, sophisticated, professional, beautiful lesbians that don’t own macrame wall hangings or listen to the Indigo Girls. And for that matter, bisexuality isn’t a synonym for “desperate.” The relationships on the show, as in real life, involve a lot more sex than deep sisterhood bonding over herbal tea.
Of course, normalizing the love lives of lesbians may be a groundbreaking cultural achievement but isn’t necessarily fun to watch. Last year Heather Havrilesky wrote for Salon, “by completely sidestepping anything that might seem remotely stereotypical (or negative), they end up with stories that feel a little dishonest and not nearly textured or involved enough to keep our interest. All people, gay, straight and bi, are far more flawed and conflicted than the writers of this show are willing to admit.”
COMMENTS:
1.
have you noticed that katherine moenning always plays sexually or gendered conflicted/confused characters? her lovely stint as the playa on the L-Word was preceded by her *outstanding* gig on the WB’s Young Americans (my fav. WB show to date) where she dressed like a boy so she could go to the boy’s school rather than the girl’s school. then, she played a tormented transgendered boy-turned-girl in an awesome L&O SVU. she’s my fav. and, she’s gwneth paltrow’s second cousin, or something.
Comment by h — 2/23/2005 @ 1:59 am | Edit This
2.
it’s because she’s gay-girl hot just like gina gershon. i’ve been trying to get my straight guy friends to watch the show with me to see if she’ll have a similar effect on them
Comment by joanne mcneil — 2/23/2005 @ 2:47 am | Edit This
3.
She does not. At least not with my straight roomate and boyfriend. And when I mentioned that I need more ties and blazers in my wardrobe after seeing Shane in the first episode of the new season, my sister pointed out that I might have a few more girls hitting on me, but could say goodbye to boys in those outfits 
(I would think gina gershon in considered hot by straight men…right?)
I could write volumes on Shane, but will refrain. I am rather obsessed though, and my sister and I shamlessly lust after the girl week after week, which makes me question whether or not she is the “player” of the show because that is an accurate representation or because they are playing to a straight girl audience.
And finally, sooo glad you are blogging again, sorry I missed you in DC.
Comment by Kate Duree — 3/9/2005 @ 8:08 pm | Edit This
2/16/2005
VIVA VIA GOOGLE
This Wired News article touches upon an idea I’ve been thinking about:
[Digital] artist David Sullivan’s contribution to [Hydriotaphia: New Orleans Artists Design Their Own Funeral Urns] is the Ego Machine, a project that uses Google to project Sullivan’s soul into the future and puts the fun back into funeral.
“The vanity of death memorials parallels in some ways the use of the internet as a vanity mirror, as shown by the practice of Googling your own name, or accumulating links to your website,” said Sullivan. “And a lot of geeky interests, like robots, artificial intelligence, and DNA replication or cloning all speak to the urge for immortality that drives so much of technology.”
Sullivan said he wanted to create an urn that was visually interesting, allowed some user interactivity and referenced the physical body. He decided that his remains will be integrated into a computer processor. A virtual agent running on the computer that contains his ashes will scour the web for mentions of his name. As the mentions increase, an on-screen image of Sullivan will morph into an image of his younger self. But if the mentions decline, Sullivan’s image will age, deteriorate and eventually fade away.
Google lets us all “live forever.” If we can count on all our published words as perpetual documents in cyberspace, and publishing is as simple as posting on a newsgroup or weblog, the need for celebrity to immortalize ideas is diminished. Those of us that simple want our ideas to live –rather than our identity –can expect that much to be true even in anonymity. Now the question is: how many intellectuals are that modest?
2/15/2005
NEXT BIG THING
Today’s must read: The Guardian asks a number of notable physicists, neurologists, and mathematicians what they predict will be our next great scientific discovery following the revolutions made by Copernicus, Darwin, and Crick and Watson.
Some observations are profound (our thought-process defined clearly as an activity, rather than an “immaterial soul,”) some are obvious (collective intelligence,) some are far-fetched (parallel universes, where even Elvis could be alive and well,) and some are blatantly incorrect. Susan Greenfield, an Oxford University neurologist writes:
If you’re constantly in front of a computer screen, you’re the passive recipient of lots of information. You’re just a consumer, living at that moment, having an experience, pressing buttons and reacting, but not having a life narrative any more. You’re not defined by your family, or by what you know, or by specific events in the real world, because most of your time is spent in cyberspace. So what are you? Could it be that we just become nodes on a much larger collective thought machine?
This space, where I’m contending with her point, is as interactive as anything organic. And despite the attempts by drippy sociologists to vilify this experience, the trade-off has and always will come naturally to people. Whenever you get up from your desk for coffee, you are reminded that the tangible always matters more.
2/14/2005
GENERATION BORING
“Most days, I wish Anne Sexton were my mother,” sobs Koren Zailckas in her inevitably forgettable book about her wild times at college keggers. Add her to the list of insipid memoirists under the age of 25. I refuse to consider anyone my age a prodigy, but to Salon.com readers, I guess she’s a novelty. Forget the fact that she, like the rest of ‘em (Abigail Vona, Melissa Panarello and Amanda Marquit–and Molly Jong-Fast and Elizabeth Wurzel before them,) is a college-educated, white, upper-middle class, New Yorker completely oblivious to the fact that internal conflict is a natural human function.
Most telling is her uninspired list of influences:
She says she loves the Libertines and flew to see them perform at the Coachella music festival in California. She wears their pin on the outside of a black jacket on which she has spray-painted the words “Young and Angry” in red block letters. After thinking about her other nonalcoholic escapes for a few seconds, she offers up photography and reading. “Memoirs are like crack to me,” she says casually and rattles off her favorites (“Liars Club,” by her Syracuse mentor Mary Karr; “This Boy’s Life,” by Tobias Wolff; and “Speak, Memory,” by Vladimir Nabokov) before moving on to her beloved poets (Stephen Dunn, Sharon Olds, Pablo Neruda, Robert Hass).
Yawn.
COMMENTS:
1.
Wrong. I’m a prodigy.
Comment by Matt Jordan — 2/14/2005 @ 1:26 pm | Edit This
2.
yeah! your back!
Comment by dennison — 2/15/2005 @ 12:45 am | Edit This
3.
oh i’m a prodigy. i’m just a prodigy without an agent or friends of daddy’s in publishing.
Comment by h — 2/15/2005 @ 10:42 pm | Edit This
4.
I hate Jonathan Saffron-Foer (or whatever that kid’s name is), too. His book sucks, and the PR payday he received for it makes me furious.
This whole cult of the wunderkind that’s popped up in the last few years breaks my heart – it’s the literary equivalent of the Real World. At least Dave Eggers is conscious of how self-obsessed and ridiculous he is; at least he made a – somewhat elliptical – comment about the greedy, attention-starved solipcism of youth in Staggering Genius… but then, he hasn’t really been able to move beyond that.
I hate everything I write – I find it over-reaching and jejune – and I have a hard time stomaching any one who feels any differently about their own work. Like Jonathan Saffron-Foer.
Comment by Haplo — 2/16/2005 @ 1:46 pm | Edit This
5.
Ah, so my experiences are not valid because I am white, college educated, and middle class? Wow! If only I had been born Latina! If only I’d been too damn lazy to go to college! Then maybe my humanity would mean something!
It’s people with ideas like this woman that really make me lose my faith. It’s incredibly offensive.
Comment by Christina — 8/30/2005 @ 10:32 am | Edit This
THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY
We all have one. Salon offers this valentine. The best story comes from the always insightful Curtis Sittenfeld, who concludes, “feeling unhinged by a crush is mostly draining, but, as everyone knows, during those interludes when you’re hopeful, it’s also really, really fun. And, in the end, Wes isn’t the one that got away; it’s a moment in time that did.”
2/13/2005
WATCH OUT
Mr. Gadget at Technosexual is getting me all hot and bothered. He’s linked to a number of enticing retro-tech timepieces.
This one is the latest of my L(ust)ED objects:
The Zeon Matrix “Coolwatch.”
By now, everyone knows my dork-chic fetish. This summer I finally broke down in consumeristic rapture at Tokyo Flash to have in my hands my very own gold-plated P.I.M.P Trip the Light Fantastic.
Rolling up my right sleeve with Joseph Colbourne to reveal our matching–in his words– “groundbreaking revolution on how to tell time” was easily one of the highlights of my winter in Boston.
The Museum of Nerd Watches shows the second wave of digital watches. (via NYT.) Less costly, and more energy-efficient LCD made LED obsolete in the 80s. But as you can see, these watches are Soviet in their practicality.
Check out Retro World’s section on LED for the sexier models and some interesting articles as well.
Wow.
BLAME THE MESSENGER
Interesting point raised at Tech Dirt: if web browsers can access confidential info can we expect a lawsuit against Google anytime soon?
2/10/2005
NURTURING DESTRUCTION
Jill Meredith Collins has a thoughtful essay on the “pro-ana” interweb in Off Our Backs. Anyone who was once an insecure teenage girl can empathize with her comment, “if you have a horrible life, at least you know that you have a life,” and her insatiable need for reassurance.
When I watched these [teen, anorexia-themed] movies in my early teenage years, I couldn’t help but notice the concern friends and family held for the girl in question. They looked out for her, took care of her, and there was no doubt that they sincerely loved her. I couldn’t help but wonder if anyone loved me that much. If I ever became anorexic, would someone be there to help me through it? I needed my family and friends to prove their love to me. I didn’t consciously develop anorexia because of this need, but I admit that I formed the idea.
Collins rightly criticizes the anorexia “communities” that exist on social software like LiveJournal.com. These groups provide reinforcement disguised as support. But when is self-destruction not a cry for help?
SPOTLESS MINDS
Future Pundit, easily one of the best and most prolific bloggers around, links to this research paper by Johns Hopkins University scientists that shows a difference in brain activity when individuals create false memories. It seems some people are more prone to this than others.
2/9/2005
I’M BACK
The word “blog” has always made me cringe just like so many other vulgar-sounding but innocuous terms: “coconut,” “snarky,” “pundit,” and such. But later, I cringed when I heard “blog,” because it became a responsibility rather than a hobby, and I only heard the word when people were asking me why I wasn’t doing it in the infinitive.
Blogging is my exercise. It helps me keep track of the obsessions that motivate much of my professional life. In the early days it had an added benefit as proto-social software, but for me, the purpose was always insular. Moving from DC to Chicago, with lengthy stops in Cape Town, South Africa and Boston in between, I simply didn’t have time to maintain this website. So I abandoned the blog to focus on my “wiki,” the framework of the speculative fiction novel I have been working on since last spring. It’s full of links and quotes about innovation, economics, and biology that have or will make their way onto the blog once I properly format these ideas into complete sentences.
Once blogging became a routine, it felt false to me. I felt uncomfortable personalizing the information I’d publish, which is a silly concern as this is, after all, joannemcneil.com. If you want to read about tech news and only tech news, check out Tech Dirt or Corante, two websites that are far more bleeding edge and researched than mine will ever be. But this is my room to digress and stretch out. While most of the stuff here will still deal with technology, my focus will be less legal and political than sociological, as I describe its impact on education, medicine, gender, and developmental economies.
And now that I am comfortable and confident as a writer, updates will come more frequently. I’ll be good enough to update this site daily, but if you don’t believe me please update your news aggregator with the link http://joannemcneil.com/WEBLOG (and if you don’t have a news aggregator—do yourself a favor and head over to Bloglines when you are through reading this.)
2/3/2005
DESPERATE LOVE DOLLS
“Love is strange, but imaginary domesticity is truly bizarre,” says the Village Voice’s Vince Aletti on photographer Elena Dorfman’s show at New York’s Edwynn Houk Gallery. For three years Dorfman followed the owners of life-sized sex dolls in their intensely imagined domestic bliss. (via Alina and Fleshbot)
How desperate must one be to love an object? Are Dorfman’s subjects simply high off the sweet rush of oxcytocin, just like the rest of us do?
Robert Parigi’s clever film Love Object also explored this curious obsession. In it, a loner tech writer orders one of these dolls modeled, part-by-part, after his office crush. But soon they are romantically involved, and the doll is jealous.
Well, he thinks the doll is jealous. Love Object is an exaggerated example of the false confidence of unrequited love. We often like to exaggerate other people’s romantic feelings for us, even when we don’t reciprocate interest. And sometimes you’ll find their actual interest is less pointed as our desire for it; hence lending sex dolls the emotions of infatuation. What should be a cut-and-dry one-sided power struggle really isn’t.
Passion requires conflict. Sex dolls provide risk-free –in other words, passionless–relationships. Even prostitutes can reject you or run away. Still, as Dorfman’s photographs show, they can be loved. Because sex dolls do manage to entertain their owners with the veritable “thrill of the chase.” They never love back.
A similar relationship takes place between an artist and his creation. Modigliani or Botticelli, for example, had to have had a variation of this as their motivating psychoses. In which case, the quest to define the perfect woman is further conflated with “her” ability to prove himself as an artist.
Hans Bellmer, curiously, did not try to realize a dream girl in his art. Feminine perfection was an object itself; only dolls and doll parts populated his erotic photography.
Bellmer said an artificial muse was, “capable of re-creating the heights of passion even to inventing new desires…amid the smell of glue and wet plaster, the essence of all that is impressive would take shape and become a real object to be possessed.”
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