Further Tales of the City

About five hundred people were cheering hysterically while a statuesque man in nurse drag - boobies, bouffant, the works - thrashed about violently on the back of a mechanical bull. In other words, thought Mary Ann, just another Memorial Day.

A battered Volvo pulled alongside the Le Car. "What the fuck is this?" asked a frizzy-haired woman with an infant child and a back seat full of No Nukes posters.

'The Great Tricycle Race," said Mary Ann. She had learned that much from Michael.

"What's that?" asked the woman.

"Uh, well... gay guys on tricycles. It's a benefit for the SPCA."

The woman beamed. "Wonderful!" she shouted, as the cars began to move again. "How goddamn wonderful!"

Curiously enough, Mary Ann knew exactly what she meant. How could anyone feel threatened by this kind of whimsy?

Hippies and Mass Murderers!

From the opening pages of Tales of the City, where the protagonist calls her mother to tell her that she's moving to San Francisco:

"You aren't listening, Mom. I'm trying to tell you I'm a grown woman."

"Well, act like it, then! You can't just... run away from your family and friends to go live with a bunch of hippies and mass murderers!"

How We Choose

This is a long one. Inspired by citations in Blink, I decided to pick up Sheena Iyengar's The Art of Choosing. Dr. Iyengar's book explores different facets of how we make decisions, such as cognitive biases and the effect of priming. Although I thought it was a little tedious at times, for the most part, it provided several interesting studies on how humans react to a lack -- or abundance -- of choice. (I don't think I'm ever going to be able to walk into a supermarket without thinking about her famous jam study.)


What I found most interesting, though, was her examination on how a person's cultural background influences his or her decision-making processes. She begins by distinguishing between individualist and collectivist societies, and reading her two definitions made me reflect how each society has shaped my own decision making process.


"From early on, members of individualist societies are taught the special importance of personal choice. Even a walk through the local grocery store becomes an opportunity to teach lessons about choosing, particularly in the United States, where stores routinely offer hundreds of options. As soon as children can talk, or perhaps as soon as they can accurately point, they are asked, "Which one of these would you like?" A parent would probably narrow down the number of choices and explain the differences between this cereal and that one, or that toy and this one, but the child would be encouraged to express a preference. After a while, the child would graduate to making tougher choices, and by the ripe old age of four, he may well be expected to both understand and respond to the daunting question, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" From this children learn that they should be able to figure out what they like and dislike, what will make them happy and what won't. Because their happiness is on the line, their own opinions truly matter, and they must figure out how to judge the outcomes of their choices.


By contrast, members of collectivist societies place greater emphasis on duty. Children are often told, "If you're a good child, you'll do what your parents tell you," and the parents need not explain themselves. From what you eat to what you wear, the toys you play with to what you study, it is what you're supposed to do that's most important. As you grow older, instead of being asked what you want, you may be asked, "How will you take care of your parents' needs and wants? How will you make them proud?" The assumption is that your parents, and elders in general, will show you the right way to live your life so that you will be protected from making a costly mistake. There are "right" choices and "wrong" ones, and by following your elders, you will learn to choose correctly, even relinquishing choice when appropriate."

On Holy Wars

For that same word, rebellion, did divide
The action of their bodies from their souls;
And they did fight with queasiness, constrain'd,
As men drink potions, that their weapons only
Seem'd on our side; but, for their spirits and souls,
This word, rebellion, it had froze them up,
As fish are in a pond. But now the bishop
Turns insurrection to religion:
Supposed sincere and holy in his thoughts,
He's followed both with body and with mind;
And doth enlarge his rising...

Edge

Just finished Margaret Atwood's The Year of the Flood. While I haven't loved other things that I've read by her lately, Atwood's dystopia always manages to get under my skin.

The novel is partially told from the perspective of a young sex worker, and, from the first chapter, this snippet struck a chord:

"[The strip club] was well run, though it was in a seedy area -- all the clubs were. That was a matter of image, Mordis would say: seedy was good for business, because unless there's an edge - something lurid or tawdry, a whiff of sleaze - what separated our brand from the run-of-the-mill product the guy could get at home, with the face cream and the white cotton panties?"

Six Impossible Things

I finally saw Alice in Wonderland, courtesy of the in-flight movie selections on my latest trans-Atlantic flight. Overall, I really enjoyed it: I thought Mia Wasikowska captured the right mix of wide-eyed Alice and skeptical Alice, Helena Bonham Carter's tone was appropriately imperious, and Johnny Depp was brilliant.

But -- and, you knew there was a but! -- I cringed (multiple times) at the deviations from Carroll's original storylines. e.g., Alice's famous line in the film? Not actually said by her in the original:

"I can't believe that!" said Alice.
"Can't you?" the [White] Queen said in a pitying tone. "Try again: draw a long breath, and shut your eyes."
Alice laughed. "There's no use trying," she said: one can't believe impossible things."
"I dare say you haven't had much practice," said the Queen. "When I was your age, I always did it for half an hour a day. Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.''

Of finding happiness in the extremes

''You tell me there is no fighting or hatred or desire in the Town. That is a beautiful dream, and I do want your happiness. But the absence of fighting or hatred or desire also means the opposites do not exist either. No joy, no communion, no love. Only where there is disillusionment and depression and sorrow does happiness arise; without the despair of loss, there is no hope.''