Indiscriminate Watching (or Art by Algorithm)

If, like Sir Edward of the previous post, you are "no indiscriminate reader" (though hopefully, like Charlotte, you have  decidedly different taste in books than Sir Edward), then you know how frustrating it can be to find something really good to read, a story on which you can lock your eyes, heart and mind, with no regrets. 

The more catchy titles continually appear, the harder it becomes! How many of such  thinly conceived tomes littering display tables and lauded by "reviewers" have you latched onto, only to discard them  barely halfway through. . . ? It's like those movies you want to walk out on, but easier to do.

And so this winter I chose (or should say choze) a rereading of the novels of Jane Austen, starting with a favorite, Emma. As I delved once more into this scrumptious satire of manners and motives, after initially wrangling with early 19th c. spelling and syntax my resolve suddenly strengthened; I had caught sight of the first disappointing episodes of PBS' "Sanditon," Austen's unfinished work, and it was so soothing to be able to return to the source and ignore this misbegotten production. Somewhat idiotically written as a story now completed for a mass TV audience, the "finished" narrative has little relevance to Austen. Instead, it's become a kind of twenty-first century, lackluster soap with a few retro, lamely progressive and totally anachronistic nods,  all done up in lots of period costumes. 

So sad! Even PBS has gone the way of quick fixes and cultural photo ops; but though a bunch of these inane episodes still are waiting in the wings to be mind-numbingly aired, it was comforting to know that Austen's actual work and wit endures in the written word.


Here's but one gem from the novel I'm reading, the excerpt relating to an upcoming entertainment- a ball; Mr. Knightly, a character normally gracious and obliging, just does not like to dance, as he explains to Emma, and finds his enjoyment elsewhere. His words also can stand as a metaphor for participating in the predictable screen "dance" of a crappy, uninspiring, made-for-"prime" TV/streaming industry that can screw up even Austen. 

"Very well. If the Westons think it worth while to be at all this trouble for a few hours of noisy entertainment, I have nothing to say against it, but that they shall not choose pleasures for me.- Oh! yes, I must be there." could not refuse; and I will keep as much awake as I can; but I would rather be home, looking over William Larkin's week's account; much rather, I confess.- Pleasure in seeing dancing! -not I, indeed- I never look at it- I do not know who does..- Fine dancing, I believe, like virtue, must be its own reward. Those who are standing by are usually thinking of something very different."
                                           - Mr. Knightly in "Emma"

And like Knightly, even if you are present at the ongoing screen ball, you can chuze not to "dance," not participate in something you view as badly conceived, nor stand on the sidelines either, watching with interest a watered down art form or clapping to a faux, really badly writ, pseudo 19th century representation- (even if you are bored on a Sunday night and have come to the ball looking for a fix). And Net-Fix-Land is not Shakespeare, or Austen, and often not much of anything. 

Okay, I'm through with this rant for now on classic lit misappropriation as a means of upping TV ratings. Next time, something fun.

You Are What You Read

'I am no indiscriminate novel reader. The mere trash of the common circulating library, I hold in the highest contempt.The novels which I approve are such as display human nature with grandeur- such as show her in the sublimities of intense feeling- such as exhibit the progress of strong passion from the first germ of incipient susceptibility to the utmost energies of reason half-dethroned- where we see the strong spark of woman's captivations elicit such fire in the soul of man that leads him. . . to hazard all, dare all, achieve all, to obtain her. . . and event is plainly anti-prosperous to the high-toned machinations of the prime character, the potent, pervading hero of the story, it leaves us full of generous emotions for him;- our hearts are paralyzed-.'                          - Sir Edward, "Sanditon"           

'If I understand you aright'- said Charlotte- 'our taste in novels is not at all the same.'

The truth was that Sir Edward whom circumstances had confined very much to one spot had read more sentimental novels than agreed with him. . . . With a perversity of judgement, which must be attributed to his not having by nature a very strong head, the graces, the spirit, the sagacity , and the perserverance of the villain of the story outweighed all his absurdities and atrocities with Sir Edward.- It interested and inflamed him. . . . Sir Edward's great object in life was to be seductive.
                      -Jane Austen

Perfectly stated! Choose carefully. . . . 
         -me

The Shadowy World of Futons, a Parable

I found it. . . . Finally.

The guy on the phone sounded sort of normal, rational, not uninformed or dazed, not resentful or bored, not fatuous or high pressured. And he had the exact futon mattress I sought. An actual store with a live human and samples. Almost too good to be true.

I quickly dressed and jumped in the car (how come you always jump in a car but into a shower??), then headed to the west side. Miraculously I found a parking spot albeit on a speeding avenue, with a perilous-to-pedestrian bike lane that seemed to welcome motorized two wheelers zooming straight at you; gingerly I made my way to the curb.

The company name was all over the web, but the store was so small that at first I did not believe it existed. When the sign came into view, immediately I tried to quell my disappointment. Once inside, the narrow, dreary, dim cave-like atmosphere matched the ramshackle, faded and chipped paint of the outside. You know the kind of situation- it blares MISTAKE, but inexplicably draws you in further if only to delay the small agony of defeat.

This was not at all like the cheery, suburban, well organized futon place with the knowledgeable, clean cut futon guy from whom I bought a futon mattress two decades earlier. All that was gone- gone-gone; online sellers had taken over; what’s more, after voluminous online research on how to replace this simple item without receiving a returned, bed bug ridden, sagging bundle of rags, it appeared choices were scarce; cyberspace held just a few dealers, most of whom did not have actual stores like this one, hence my initial, doomed elation. I had found a couple of wildly overpriced organic, west coast sellers who claimed futon spiritual purity, the other online retailers seemed spurious. 

The futon mattress on the floor of this “brick and mortar” venue of course was horrible, much like the store itself; it seemed comprised of bricks by its weight and bulk, and was truly frightening. If it fell on you, you’d be instantly smothered. In addition, it was dirty, really dirty. Two customers walked in as I stared in disbelief at this almost alive thing; the lone sales person totally ignored them and after a couple of minutes they left; I soon followed.

At that point I started flirting with the idea of “mattress toppers,” knowing deep down it would not end well. After all, a futon in itself is a kind of hefty mattress pad. In addition, finding one  to my liking in the shadowy world of pixels would entail the same frustrating process as before.

In the end I went with LL Bean, which offers only one simple futon mattress, not dozens. Their George Washington Apple Tree image of Total Honesty notwithstanding, I suffer from online shopping PTSD and still must endure the inevitable qualms and misgivings as I await delivery. Hopefully all those fears will become a dim memory and I will never have to stay awake at night thinking about how to repackage and mail back a fifty five pound mattress.

But why, oh why, must something like buying a damned futon mattress (or anything else you may need) be so daunting?? Oh yes, I forgot. Online product acquisition! The wild west, the unregulated “air b & b” of commerce- yes, it’s true, you can find a cozy sweater in your correct size and color in cyberspace, and at a great price (though chances are it may already have been washed by a previous owner, perhaps more than once); conversely you also can fall victim to a creepy, invisible, retail sociopath from some shady, online outfit that makes you curse and kick yourself for foolishly shopping online, again.

As if you had a choice these days . . . .

The naysayers of anything pre internet scoff at those of us who pine for the old days,  refuting complaints about online shopping as reactionary, unliberated, not in step with the times; they reduce our intense and well founded angst to a mere retro, nostalgic and unrealistic view of the world pre-online; they are not beneath dredging up arguments like lack of penicillin back then too! to prove what an old fashioned idiot you are.

And naturally they have a point. Now I actually can figure out how to treat toenail fungus or sore throat or even a bad back or the plague simply by clicking a button. I even can take my life in my hands and order medication without a prescription from unknown, online sources! But consumers also can be major-ly and egregiously scammed in a variety of ways, over and over and over again ad nauseam in this quintessential bait and switch universe, and  wind up throwing stuff away rather than repackage or fight with faceless customer reps.

In truth, I also miss all that human to human contact, the touching of the fabric, the pinching of cushions, the smelling of rugs, the peek at that pristine, first page of a novel in the book store so that you don’t defile or mess up the volume’s crisp, newness even as you feel the shopkeeper’s vigilant eyes boring into you; the kindly doctor you love, or obnoxiously taciturn, arrogant ass of a practitioner whom later you can diss but who still talks to you, discusses your case face to face, personally as it were. Even healthcare is getting the screen treatment! How do you explain your intensely mysterious, no doubt significant symptoms to the image of a face attired in the image of a white coat?

Oy. You think this is bad? Just wait until “AI” takes over. . . .