November 2008: A Monthly Review

Of course, the days grew shorter and the nights colder. Such seasonal changes reflect in my own behaviors. A tendency towards hibernation and torpor sets in, especially here in the Midwest, where winter becomes bleak indeed. But the worst of that is yet to come; November is only a moderately chilly month, with many mild days and remaining touches of fall's foliar splendor. In the distance, through the thinning canopy's black branches, brilliant flashes of vermillion and flavine enflame my eye and quicken my pulse.

On the first day of the month, I took one of my favourite drives and walks, this time with a novel twist. I drove across the Mississippi to Alton, Illinois, via the Clark Bridge and then along the Great River Road. The drive itself is spectacular. White sun flashing through the blue sky, striking the river, striking the white limestone cliffs, and striking the Technicolor trees most of all. Of course, I can never pass the Piasa Bird without stopping to marvel at this most peculiar roadside attraction, though its modern interpretation is ugly in the extreme. I wound along the winding and pastoral riverside to Pere Marquette State Park, where I spent several hours hiking the trails up, over, and around MacAdams Peak (791 ft.). I added bladdernut (Staphylea trifolia) to my park list and spent a few moments at the summit explaining to the public that a large congregation of lady beetles were fascinating, harmless and only interested in mating and staying warm. I blazed a new (for me) route back to Missouri. Instead of taking the Clark Bridge or the Grafton Ferry across the Mississippi, I took the Calhoun County Ferry across the Illinois River and then the Golden Eagle Ferry across the Mississippi. It was a significantly longer way to go, especially since I had to wait in line at Golden Eagle through three ferrying cycles, but the delay was worth it because Calhoun County is beautiful. It's rolling hills of green pastures interspersed with copses of woodland and interesting old buildings. I was especially interested to finally see 'Calhoun Country' because one lineage of my French ancestry lived in Calhoun in the 19th Century. Perhaps I have unidentified cousins there still.

The last Clemens Community Garden work party of the year happened. It will be the last work party for me, as a garden member. I removed huge sunflower stalks, tomato tangles and other dieing vegetation from my two beds, 13 and 21. Of course, I left in the perennial milkweeds, asters, Aethionema and herbs. I hope they will fare well with whoever their new caretakers will be. The other gardeners seems to want to turn my rock garden (21) into a herb garden for the whole garden to share. I approve of that plan, as it will be a good use of the rocky limestone soil I created there. I also harvested the last of my chard and bok choy from my vegetable garden (13), as well as one last banana pepper that had escaped my notice before.

I don't write much about the cinema in my monthly reviews, as I always intend to discuss such matters in film reviews… that rarely get written. However, this month, I began to earnestly explore the films of the silent era; a huge meta-genre that largely ended with the coming of sound in 1929. In my youth, my few attempts at watching silent films ended in boredom and disgust. The lack of audible dialogue, as well as monotone colour and the foreign conventions of a bygone era, were more than my inexperience could overcome. However, I now see that these silent films have nothing to apologize for. Rather, the lack of dialogue and other rational distractions allows the viewer to sublimate more fully into the emotional and oneiric state of the imagery. This engaging empathic response can be so rapturous that I'm almost amazed that the silent tradition didn't remain strong, even after the advent of sound. I suspect that the social norms of what was then an almost exclusively group activity may have played a part. I think watching film alone, or at least without interpersonal connections, is necessary for a deeper, fuller, experience. However, the audience's social cross-intentions and the industry's profitability usually trump such appreciations. I wonder if silent films could ever again become a medium with mass appeal? It is an intriguing idea. Of course, I should address the gross misnomer that plagues 'silent ' film. The films are rarely intended to be watched in silence. Rather instrumental music, and sometimes sound effects and non-synced vocalizations, are an integral aspect of the experience, and should not to be overlooked.

Of course I voted in the national elections this month, as well as for my state and local contests. I always vote against the worst candidate, so Obama and Biden were the only sensible choice for President. I was also gladdened that I helped get Missouri a Democratic governor, but locally I was disappointed that a sales tax initiative to support public transportation failed. I also felt the negative impact of California's passage of Proposition 8. For me, marriage itself is not a core issue, but I definitely feel that denying the right to same-sex couples is a telling measure of the level of homophobia in my home state, which is supposedly among the most liberal in the U.S…. Though actually, I don't think of California so much as 'liberal', as 'diverse'… and diversity without the ethics of inclusion, can quickly devolve into Balkanized acrimony.

In the morning of Election Day, I walked over to Forest Park and took in the abstract expressionist special exhibit at the St. Louis Art Museum as well as the permanent modern collection on the second floor, which actually had some of the best pieces I saw that day, by recent German expressionists. The special exhibit was a great summary of mainstream mid-20th Century American art. Some exciting pieces (and some, not so much) were on display, many by the big names of the time: Pollock, de Kooning, Rothko, Frankenthaler, Guston, Still, Noland, Krasner, Stella, etc. etc. ad nauseum. I particularly liked the pieces that seem to disintegrate into nebulous chaos. Two small rooms were set aside for a piece of interactive word art, which was fun but didn't seem to fit the exhibit at all. The whole exhibit was constructed around the contrasting views of two prominent critics of the time, Greenberg and Rosenberg. It was telling that these men seemed less like independent critics than favourite (or client) -promoting admen. This gets right to my major beef with the 'Art World Establishment'. For me, the whole controversy about modern art was misplaced. The questions should never have been "Is Pollock art?" or "Is Pollock good art?" but rather, "Like it or don't, but who cares that it's a Pollock, and if you do care, why?" Instead of constantly paying homage to the establishment, I believe more people should spend more of their own time making their own art; 'uninhibited', 'unconventional', 'radical', 'controversial' art! It isn't that I don't think art history or criticism is without value, on the contrary! But the way museums, galleries, brand-name artists and rich collectors trade and promote artworks like the investments they have become is beyond gross and beneath contempt. I suppose my paying 5.00 to see the exhibit contributes in some small way to the legitimization of these exploitive processes, but at least I can take comfort that it is only 'in some small way' and that it was worth it for my own education.

One of my biggest accomplishments this month was finally catching up on my monthly blog posts. I was a full five months behind and the situation was becoming terminal. I think my summer illness made me feel too drained to write at length, especially about the illness itself. Anyway, staying on top of my 'blogsponsibilities' is one New Year's resolution that I intend to start early! Another resolution is an effort to proofread my posts more thoroughly. My typos are among the worst of anyone I read. If you catch one, let me know… Though sometimes they aren't typos, but rather my attempts to move the language forwards with word coinage and experimental punctuation.

On Sunday morning, I was pleasantly surprised by a call from my cousin, Lynn who lives in Miami. She was in town to celebrate both her birthday and Thanksgiving. We went for lunch to the Boathouse in Forest Park. While waiting for our table, we took a walk around Post-Dispatch Lake. It was a bright, crisp fall day. There were ducks on the water and tall dry grass on the lakeshore that caught the thin light and glowed. We stopped to smell a crushed leaf of sweet bay (Magnolia virginiana) and read the plaques on the Turner Monument. A kingfisher flew across our sight. For lunch I had smoked salmon and cream cheese on a bagel with a creamy salad made with smoked trout. Lynn had fish and chips with basil mayonnaise. After lunch, we rented a paddleboat and again circled the lake, this time on the water. The afternoon light was serene, but dazzling when it shone through the surging fountains on the lake. Our pedaling kept us warm, even when the spray from the fountains blew over us like sea foam. Afterwards Lynn came over to my home for a cup of tea and some Yma Sumac appreciation before heading back to St. Charles, where she was staying. The whole afternoon was a perfect example of modern grace and civility.

I usually avoid the endless stream of speakers that parasitize the college pop-culture lecture circuit, but this month I did take in a question-and-answer session with sex advice columnist, Dan Savage. I was interested in hearing his spiel about Proposition 8 and gauging the queer political activism at Wash U. The evening was marginally entertaining. He argued his viewpoint well, though it is the typical and supposedly practical one that emphasizes separation between church-and-state, without acknowledging that people aren't going to vote against their moral beliefs. Truly, it is the fraudulent and irresolvable claims of ALL religious thought that must be challenged. I realize that is a tall order but nothing less will undermine the thought-control of the irrational and gullible by the self-righteous and dishonest. Some of the audience seemed interested in current events but a lot of them just wanted to ask dumb questions about rimming and then be titillated by Savage's unprofessional and flippant answers. That is the problem with Savage. On one hand, he wants to be a radical activist, but on the other hand he wants to be what progressive straight people think a gay man should be. Some of that is pandering for profit and some of that is because Dan Savage really is an openly homosexual straight man, including having a spouse and a kid. I'm not opposed to his lifestyle choices but I do get tired of how the gay and lesbian political establishment has emphasized marriage and other straight-acting roles at the expense of 'traditional' gay culture, which Savage frankly dismissed as outdated in his response to one audience member's question. However, I for one, value queer cultural achievements such as camp, drag and other explicitly 'gay' artistic innovations, far more than any plain sex act or relationship between people of the same gender. Though of course, sex and love often do provide the raw fuel for the more complex and elaborate cultural novelties that I treasure. I could write so much more about this, but enough for now.

On Thanksgiving, I drove to Janet Daley's house in Florissant. Like the year before, I forgot to take a map and got completely lost by getting off on the wrong freeway exit. One for some huge stupid mall called St. Louis Mills, which I've now seen twice in my life, both times on Thanksgiving when it is completely and ominously deserted. However unlike the year, before, it was still daylight and the weather was much warmer, so instead of heading home in traumatized disgust, I headed eastward across unfamiliar residential streets until I finally bumped into a major road that I recognized. But it was still a stressful vexation to be driving around in circles. To calm my nerves and bolster my blood sugar I ate about a third of the gingerbread muffins that I had baked that morning as my contribution to the banquet… Despite the driving delay, I was still one of the first three guests to arrive. I helped Janet set the table and started giving away small houseplants that I had propagated a few weeks earlier by dividing my leopard plant (Ledebouria socialis). It had grown to the point that it was splitting its pot and needed to be divided. I gave Lynn a back massager made from tagua nuts since she couldn't bring a houseplant back to Miami on a plane.
It was a large family gathering. Janet had something like twenty-five guests in total! Other people that came for dinner were Barbara, Jerry, Joyce, Rodney, Elizabeth, Hannah, Aunt Toots, and Mary-Ellen, as well as Janet's in-laws and three of her sons, Quentin, Matt, and Chad, with their families too. I ate too much, but that is what I want to do on Thanksgiving. I'm a traditionalist when it comes to holiday fare. I insist on the classic dishes of turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, baked yams, cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie… though I also sampled several other desserts as well. The emphasis on feasting makes Thanksgiving one of my favourite holidays. Even though, I never fully fit in with the social norms of the occasion, I usually have a good time anyway.

I spent most of the Thanksgiving holiday weekend working at school, which was largely deserted due to the fall break. It was nice to have the campus mostly to myself, except for the lack of food purchasing options. Every day I took a stroll to a different café in the surrounding neighborhoods: on Friday, Kaldi's, on Saturday, Kayaks, and on Sunday, Messugah. I think I liked Messugah's coffee (and atmosphere) the best, though none compared to the coffee I make for myself at home.

At the end of the month, a novel arrived in the mail that I had to read immediately: Gutter Boys, the latest from an old compatriot in queer culture, Alvin Orloff. The novel has been out for a few years now, so it was really high time that I moved it to the top of the 'to read' list. If only there were time enough for all the edu-tainment options that call to me. Anyway, reading Gutter Boys was at least a moderately cathartic experience, not least of all because it is a roman a clef about the early days, in the early 80s, of Alvin and the late great Diet Von Popstitute, a Warholian instigator to many and a sort-of semi-boyfriend to yours truly… In the book, Jeremy (Alvin) develops a hopeless crush on Colin (Diet) until he eventually accepts the obvious: Colin/Diet, as an avatar of radical cultural expression, cannot, must not, be confined within the clinging threads of romantic sap. The amazing thing for me was seeing that Jeremy/Alvin's realization was also my own, ten years later in the early 90s, though by then AIDS had replaced alcohol as Diet's primary inner demon… Anyway, for those not intimately familiar with the source material, I still recommend Gutter Boys (Is this turning into a book review?!) for its historically unique and hilariously apt view of New York the day after Larry Kramer's Faggots. The bon mots are the real crowd pleasers here. Orloff's writing is full of those dead on, deadpan, camp, social comments that are the bread-and-butter of today's post-modern irony-addicts. After he points out that 1960s television was inadvertent surrealism or that new wave was more punk than punk, it will suddenly seem obvious, and that's why all good entertainment is educational, some how, some way.