Friday, May 16
Fin
(editor's note: we the publishers of the site would like to apologize for this buzzer beater post. Fans of the team will note the last time this happened was when Tristan competed at the state tournament for soccer in African American Literature. To amend our error, we would like to offer this, a very special final edition of They All Just Fade Away, and Gurtler Blogs, Inc.)
Here's an idea: furries perfectly exemplify the postmodern age.
This post, we'll be taking one last look at the postmodern world around us. For those in the know, Mike Rugnetta, friend of the blog (ed. We wish), takes one idea every week and explores it, in great detail, on his Youtube production, the Idea Channel. Above, I've included a great speech Mr. Rugnetta delivered at the 2013 XOXO Festival, which celebrates "creativity and innovation in forms [...] considered alternative or disruptive to the prevailing social or professional context." Mr. Rugnetta's Youtube channel inspired many posts on this very blog, including its own title (check out the "If you have to ask, you're streets behind" page over on the sidebar for some vague explanation). But this speech is of particular interest to me because he spends some time talking about something he hasn't gotten to on the Idea Channel and something of a personal interest of my own.
I'll sum up the beginning half of the video like so: the Internet is a big deal. And the Internet's native format is to connect people in communities. Here's what Mike means: the Internet is, in so many ways, completely different from anything that came before it. Never before could people from so distant places connect so easily with each other. And why is this important? Well, now, people who before would have to travel great distances and go to great lengths in order to connect with others of similar, unusual interests (a la sci-fi conventions, etc.) can simply go to the relevant forum or subreddit or special community site in order to do... whatever it is that they do.
This, of course, is not hard to see from our own experiences. However, there's something about each of these communities that they share(d), even when they didn't have a home on the internet. Most communities like this, or fandoms as they also may be called, have some canonical media to be a fan of. "Trekkers" have Star Trek. DnD players have, well, Dungeons and Dragons. "Bronies," perhaps the most recent group, have My Little Pony. Because of this, although the Internet makes it easier for these people to connect, the Internet also did nothing to create them. Ante-Internet, these people would've shipped out to conventions, or found a meager few near themselves, or held these interests more or less to themselves in their garage or whatever.
The trick is, nowhere here did the Internet itself create a venue where any of these ideas could be cultivated. None of these fandoms are quite... postmodern enough. There is, however, at least one fandom that exists today that we could argue is, that, though it technically does predate the Internet some used the Internet to more or less create its own canon media to be fans of. They are furries.
Here's an idea: furries perfectly exemplify the postmodern age.
This post, we'll be taking one last look at the postmodern world around us. For those in the know, Mike Rugnetta, friend of the blog (ed. We wish), takes one idea every week and explores it, in great detail, on his Youtube production, the Idea Channel. Above, I've included a great speech Mr. Rugnetta delivered at the 2013 XOXO Festival, which celebrates "creativity and innovation in forms [...] considered alternative or disruptive to the prevailing social or professional context." Mr. Rugnetta's Youtube channel inspired many posts on this very blog, including its own title (check out the "If you have to ask, you're streets behind" page over on the sidebar for some vague explanation). But this speech is of particular interest to me because he spends some time talking about something he hasn't gotten to on the Idea Channel and something of a personal interest of my own.
I'll sum up the beginning half of the video like so: the Internet is a big deal. And the Internet's native format is to connect people in communities. Here's what Mike means: the Internet is, in so many ways, completely different from anything that came before it. Never before could people from so distant places connect so easily with each other. And why is this important? Well, now, people who before would have to travel great distances and go to great lengths in order to connect with others of similar, unusual interests (a la sci-fi conventions, etc.) can simply go to the relevant forum or subreddit or special community site in order to do... whatever it is that they do.
This, of course, is not hard to see from our own experiences. However, there's something about each of these communities that they share(d), even when they didn't have a home on the internet. Most communities like this, or fandoms as they also may be called, have some canonical media to be a fan of. "Trekkers" have Star Trek. DnD players have, well, Dungeons and Dragons. "Bronies," perhaps the most recent group, have My Little Pony. Because of this, although the Internet makes it easier for these people to connect, the Internet also did nothing to create them. Ante-Internet, these people would've shipped out to conventions, or found a meager few near themselves, or held these interests more or less to themselves in their garage or whatever.
The trick is, nowhere here did the Internet itself create a venue where any of these ideas could be cultivated. None of these fandoms are quite... postmodern enough. There is, however, at least one fandom that exists today that we could argue is, that, though it technically does predate the Internet some used the Internet to more or less create its own canon media to be fans of. They are furries.
The furry fandom, as well as anybody can date anything, was begun in the year 1980, as a "funny animal" sci-fi discussion group inspired by the art of Steve Gallacci that met at various conventions. Of course, it is predated by a variety of anthropomorphic media (Disney's Robin Hood, for example), but this is seen as, more or less, the first time anybody met to discuss such media. What you may notice, though, is that it started with a canon media: Albeda Anthropomorphics, Gallacci's work.
With this beginning, though, it was not long before the fandom grew in an entirely different way. MUCKs, Multi User Content Kingdoms, are a sort of text-based MMORPG (like World of Warcraft) where fans morphed from discussing anthropomorphic art to performing it, acting as various anthropomorphic animals in chat and action. Now, there was more than Gallacci's art; there was the beginning of something bigger.
In the time since the 80s, various other forms of communication have arisen between members of this fandom. Though MUCKs have fallen by the wayside for the most part, now there is an increasing presence in IRCs, a variety of forums, and most importantly, social media-like art communities. The largest of these is FurAffinity, begun in 2005 and has already collected millions of submissions. Submissions consist of drawings, writings, music, and anything else that users want to share with a like-minded audience. However, most importantly, these drawings are, largely, original content. They don't relate to any strict canonical media (though there does exist a significant amount of cross-fandom activity between Bronies and Furries). They only are joined together by an idea, a general structure to follow.
Even that is tenuous. Nowhere will you find a hard and concrete definition of what a furry, or furry media is. Generally speaking, it's somebody or something that relates to art (not just visual, but written and so on) involving anthropomorphic animals. BUT, not all art that does this is furry. Is Robin Hood, a piece created before a formal furry fandom even existed, furry art? How about TwoKinds, a webcomic created by Tom Fischbach using animals and humans as allegory for racism and, at least according to Tom, not intended to be anything related to a furry fandom? Nobody can tell you explicitly. On the /r/furry subreddit, one of the most frequent posts are questions of whether individuals are furries. The answer? "What do you think?" The fandom as a whole is an ever-changing, ever-whirling maelstrom where the edges are never constant but the center always is. Nothing can be stated resolutely but this; those who identify as furries enjoy art of anthropomorphic animals.
The trick is, this really couldn't exist in quite the same state without the Internet. For one thing, just gathering these people together would be difficult. But what's more compelling about this is the way people can change how they represent themselves on the Internet. Whereas in person, to those they know they are bound by their known character, and to those they don't they are still bound by their bodies and appearance. But, on the internet, none of this applies.
With this beginning, though, it was not long before the fandom grew in an entirely different way. MUCKs, Multi User Content Kingdoms, are a sort of text-based MMORPG (like World of Warcraft) where fans morphed from discussing anthropomorphic art to performing it, acting as various anthropomorphic animals in chat and action. Now, there was more than Gallacci's art; there was the beginning of something bigger.
In the time since the 80s, various other forms of communication have arisen between members of this fandom. Though MUCKs have fallen by the wayside for the most part, now there is an increasing presence in IRCs, a variety of forums, and most importantly, social media-like art communities. The largest of these is FurAffinity, begun in 2005 and has already collected millions of submissions. Submissions consist of drawings, writings, music, and anything else that users want to share with a like-minded audience. However, most importantly, these drawings are, largely, original content. They don't relate to any strict canonical media (though there does exist a significant amount of cross-fandom activity between Bronies and Furries). They only are joined together by an idea, a general structure to follow.
Even that is tenuous. Nowhere will you find a hard and concrete definition of what a furry, or furry media is. Generally speaking, it's somebody or something that relates to art (not just visual, but written and so on) involving anthropomorphic animals. BUT, not all art that does this is furry. Is Robin Hood, a piece created before a formal furry fandom even existed, furry art? How about TwoKinds, a webcomic created by Tom Fischbach using animals and humans as allegory for racism and, at least according to Tom, not intended to be anything related to a furry fandom? Nobody can tell you explicitly. On the /r/furry subreddit, one of the most frequent posts are questions of whether individuals are furries. The answer? "What do you think?" The fandom as a whole is an ever-changing, ever-whirling maelstrom where the edges are never constant but the center always is. Nothing can be stated resolutely but this; those who identify as furries enjoy art of anthropomorphic animals.
The trick is, this really couldn't exist in quite the same state without the Internet. For one thing, just gathering these people together would be difficult. But what's more compelling about this is the way people can change how they represent themselves on the Internet. Whereas in person, to those they know they are bound by their known character, and to those they don't they are still bound by their bodies and appearance. But, on the internet, none of this applies.
People can represent themselves however they like. Sherry Turkle, in her book Life on the Screen: Identity in the Age of the Internet (from 1995), talks about the way people use and, to some, misuse communicative technology on the Internet. Specifically, she argues that misrepresenting oneself, whether by gender or by personality or, in the case of furries, by species can be therapeutic, where people can gain insights into the lives of others by pretending to be them, where there are no consequences. Of course, this also can lead to catfishing (what happened to Manti Te'o) and predatorial relations, but Turkle sought instead to look at the positive. But, ultimately, this is an act restricted to the Internet, where every girl's a guy and every kid's an undercover FBI agent.
So, furries, love them or hate them, are nothing if not interesting to talk about. More than just freaks in suits, they embody a whole principle of ideas about the world we live in today. Can you say the same?
"The more you know, the more you realize you know nothing" - Socrates, according to some guy on Yahoo! answers
"The miscalibration of the incompetent stems from an error about the self, whereas the miscalibration of the highly competent stems from an error about others" - David Dunning and Justin Kruger of Cornell University
The Dunning-Kruger effect is a cognitive bias that manifests in two ways. Firstly, those who lack skills in a subject perceive themselves to be significantly better than they really are, attributed to a metacognitive inability to recognize one's own ineptitude. Secondly, those who have considerable skill in a subject may suffer from weak self-confidence, attributed to their possible assumption that those around them share said skill. We all know of people who are not good at something, but constantly claim to be amply good. Some of us may also know people who are good at things, and don't realize that others aren't too. This effect is loosely related to the quote in the title, attributed to Socrates though possibly it's from Aristotle and more probably neither of them said it explicitly, they just said something vaguely like that.
It's particularly interesting to me that we can talk about the action of knowing something as precluding further knowledge. What a thought that is! Really though, what we're saying is not nearly so concrete. After all, there are experts in fields for reasons. They didn't all just make stuff up to gain popularity. Rather, those who know a lot about a subject know that they know a lot about said subject. They also know, however, increasingly more about the parts of the subject they don't yet know about; questions raised by research designed to answer questions raised by earlier research, and so on.
So what does this have to do with Libra? Well, I think when I talked in class earlier about this concept, it became an impromptu implicit proof of the maxim that we may never know what exactly happened in the JFK assassination. And to that, I say, well, maybe? But don't be so sure. The thing is, we still learn about subjects. We still gain knowledge. We still make narratives. It is easier to complicate a narrative today, surely. It is easier to find evidence that points toward an incorrect conclusion as well. But, the whole aim of science is to be able to do better with this, and make statements with greater and greater confidence. There is, naturally, no such thing as saying all but a precious few things are undoubtedly true. Even criminal courts can only require proof "beyond reasonable doubt." There is no way we could force lawyers to argue against unreasonable doubt, even if they were at a later date proven not as unreasonable as originally thought. And, certainly, there may or may not be reasonable doubt in the case for Lee as the lone gunman of November 22, but with more and more successful ways to interpret data (notice that I focus on interpreting, not creating), we can push doubts to be more or less reasonable.
The Dunning-Kruger effect is a cognitive bias that manifests in two ways. Firstly, those who lack skills in a subject perceive themselves to be significantly better than they really are, attributed to a metacognitive inability to recognize one's own ineptitude. Secondly, those who have considerable skill in a subject may suffer from weak self-confidence, attributed to their possible assumption that those around them share said skill. We all know of people who are not good at something, but constantly claim to be amply good. Some of us may also know people who are good at things, and don't realize that others aren't too. This effect is loosely related to the quote in the title, attributed to Socrates though possibly it's from Aristotle and more probably neither of them said it explicitly, they just said something vaguely like that.
It's particularly interesting to me that we can talk about the action of knowing something as precluding further knowledge. What a thought that is! Really though, what we're saying is not nearly so concrete. After all, there are experts in fields for reasons. They didn't all just make stuff up to gain popularity. Rather, those who know a lot about a subject know that they know a lot about said subject. They also know, however, increasingly more about the parts of the subject they don't yet know about; questions raised by research designed to answer questions raised by earlier research, and so on.
So what does this have to do with Libra? Well, I think when I talked in class earlier about this concept, it became an impromptu implicit proof of the maxim that we may never know what exactly happened in the JFK assassination. And to that, I say, well, maybe? But don't be so sure. The thing is, we still learn about subjects. We still gain knowledge. We still make narratives. It is easier to complicate a narrative today, surely. It is easier to find evidence that points toward an incorrect conclusion as well. But, the whole aim of science is to be able to do better with this, and make statements with greater and greater confidence. There is, naturally, no such thing as saying all but a precious few things are undoubtedly true. Even criminal courts can only require proof "beyond reasonable doubt." There is no way we could force lawyers to argue against unreasonable doubt, even if they were at a later date proven not as unreasonable as originally thought. And, certainly, there may or may not be reasonable doubt in the case for Lee as the lone gunman of November 22, but with more and more successful ways to interpret data (notice that I focus on interpreting, not creating), we can push doubts to be more or less reasonable.
Thursday, May 15
The Art of Persuasion
The trouble with fate is that it messes with causality. Lee began his work in the Depository before JFK was even scheduled to kill JFK, let alone drive right past the building. Yet, if Lee is fated to kill JFK, as Ferrie supposes, then that fact, occurring after the events that led to it, is whagt causes JFK to give Lee an opportunity. As The Doctor, of Doctor Who fame, puts it, "People assume that time is a strict progression of cause to effect, but actually from a non-linear, non-subjective viewpoint - it's more like a big ball of wibbly wobbly... time-y wimey... stuff." If anything, Ferrie seems to be in tune with this non-linear, non-subjective viewpoint. He taps into the consciousness surrounding Libra itself to know that things we may call coincidence because we have no better term for it are anything but. Why does Lee see a sign from the universe when his boss buys a few rifles immediately following his discussion with Ferrie?
And for that matter, why does Lee start "reading between the lines" of the leftist periodicals he receives? Of course Cuba and Russia are sending him secret, coded messages, aren't they? Really, Lee is close to delusional in the hype and excitement leading up to the culmination of the plot. Ferrie, likely unintentionally, feeds into Lee's latent narcissism and self-importance, convincing Lee to finally get out and do it. Never mind that Lee doesn't know there's plans behind his back, a second shooter, a bullet with his name on it in the dark theater. Neither does Ferrie, after all; these things aren't so paramount to "fate" as Lee's presence in the window on November 22.
So, if Lee is convinced to go through with his portion of the plot by fate and delusion, what makes Jack Ruby step up to the plate? We could talk about his fervent patriotism, the idea that people will love him for killing Lee Harvey Oswald. But, I think that's merely a subtext. Karlinsky is speaking without speaking in his conversation with Ruby. He mentions the people that want Lee Harvey Oswald dead outright, but he's more concerned about the people that want Lee dead, who don't want Leon to give up the game. Ruby, on the other hand, doesn't seem to have any passion in the killing of Oswald that one might think goes with killing a man patriotically. On his way to the event, he has to stop and wire one of his dancers money. He's running late. He's nervous. It all happens in a rush. The forces that be had set it in motion, and Ruby was just along for the ride.
Jack Ruby is concerned for his financial affairs. He is concerned for his future beyond the murder. Lee, on the other hand, may be concerned for his future, but that is the future of the assassination. He doesn't have plans for what he'll do following killing Kennedy. Ruby's first concern is what the state of his club will be while he's in prison (because, he knows he will go to prison, at the very least). We talk about Ferrie convincing Lee, but really Lee convinces Lee, and Ferrie is just there to see it happen. When we look at Ruby, Karlinsky is fully the one to convince Ruby to do the act. Ruby has no reason to be the man who kills Oswald other than Karlinsky has given him a good offer for what will happen afterwards. Talking about the patriotism, the love Ruby will receive for his act, is inconsequential. Fate doesn't direct his actions quite like it does Lee's.
And for that matter, why does Lee start "reading between the lines" of the leftist periodicals he receives? Of course Cuba and Russia are sending him secret, coded messages, aren't they? Really, Lee is close to delusional in the hype and excitement leading up to the culmination of the plot. Ferrie, likely unintentionally, feeds into Lee's latent narcissism and self-importance, convincing Lee to finally get out and do it. Never mind that Lee doesn't know there's plans behind his back, a second shooter, a bullet with his name on it in the dark theater. Neither does Ferrie, after all; these things aren't so paramount to "fate" as Lee's presence in the window on November 22.
So, if Lee is convinced to go through with his portion of the plot by fate and delusion, what makes Jack Ruby step up to the plate? We could talk about his fervent patriotism, the idea that people will love him for killing Lee Harvey Oswald. But, I think that's merely a subtext. Karlinsky is speaking without speaking in his conversation with Ruby. He mentions the people that want Lee Harvey Oswald dead outright, but he's more concerned about the people that want Lee dead, who don't want Leon to give up the game. Ruby, on the other hand, doesn't seem to have any passion in the killing of Oswald that one might think goes with killing a man patriotically. On his way to the event, he has to stop and wire one of his dancers money. He's running late. He's nervous. It all happens in a rush. The forces that be had set it in motion, and Ruby was just along for the ride.
Jack Ruby is concerned for his financial affairs. He is concerned for his future beyond the murder. Lee, on the other hand, may be concerned for his future, but that is the future of the assassination. He doesn't have plans for what he'll do following killing Kennedy. Ruby's first concern is what the state of his club will be while he's in prison (because, he knows he will go to prison, at the very least). We talk about Ferrie convincing Lee, but really Lee convinces Lee, and Ferrie is just there to see it happen. When we look at Ruby, Karlinsky is fully the one to convince Ruby to do the act. Ruby has no reason to be the man who kills Oswald other than Karlinsky has given him a good offer for what will happen afterwards. Talking about the patriotism, the love Ruby will receive for his act, is inconsequential. Fate doesn't direct his actions quite like it does Lee's.
Thursday, April 17
Remember, If You See Something, Say Nothing, and Drink to Forget
"A friendly desert community where the sun is hot, the moon is beautiful, and mysterious lights pass overhead while we all pretend to sleep. Welcome... to Night Vale."
Welcome to Night Vale is a podcast produced by Commonplace Books, written by Joseph Fink & Jeffrey Cranor, and narrated by Cecil Baldwin. The best way to describe it is as a cross between This American Life and The X-Files. In it, we listen in as Night Vale Community Radio host Cecil narrates the news of a desert town swept up in the middle of intrigue and worldwide conspiracies. As Cranor describes it in an All Things Considered interview, "[...] it's a small community town. It has the mundane qualities of everyday life in small-town America. As you hear more about the dog park (the first "news piece" read in the first episode), you realize it is completely locked down, not only physically but somehow spiritually too. You have no concept of what's happening in there. And there aren't even people in the dog park, just hooded figures that are in and around the area. [...] here's a mundane, quaint American town, sort of overrun by ghosts or spirits or conspiracies or underground societies."
The radio show itself is informative about Night Vale, albeit not in any straightforward way. Each biweekly podcast centers around one main news story (e.g. the opening of a new dog park, a sandstorm threatening the city, history week) spread in chunks throughout the twenty minute show. In between these chunks, we get various snippets of other items. In the community calendar, we discover what's happening in the next few days, and which days are still scheduled to occur. In traffic, we receive poetic statements about the action of travelling interspersed with actual advice. In words from the show's sponsors, nonsensical and bizarre advertisements for normally mundane products tell us what we should buy. In the weather... well, this is the only "weather" piece that so much as discusses meteorological occurrences. Recurring themes and arcs appear every so often, like Intern Dana, who got trapped in the dog park trying to see what was inside, or Carlos, a scientist visiting Night Vale whose hair enthralled Cecil at first sight. But, most of all, we get a sense of a pervasive and strong conspiracy, whose existence is undeniable fact and relatively unnoteworthy, as we see from this snippet of episode 19a "The Sandstorm":
I contrast this especially with conspiracy theories in our world, the real world. Whereas Cecil exasperatedly agrees with listener Steve Carlsburg that the government would naturally be manipulating the weather, people in our world wouldn't even give him the satisfaction of believing him if he said the same thing here. It's interesting to me how Welcome to Night Vale flips the idea of the government conspiracy on its head; it would be more unbelievable if everything went exactly as it should. A commenter on some internet forum explaining how there had to have been a second shooter on the grassy knoll would be ridiculed by the average person if he were talking about the knoll in Dealey Plaza. Assumably, it would be different if he were talking about the knoll out by Old Woman Josie's house, in Night Vale. I wonder, what about a covert government action makes people automatically decide that the person they're dealing with is out of their mind?
Welcome to Night Vale is a podcast produced by Commonplace Books, written by Joseph Fink & Jeffrey Cranor, and narrated by Cecil Baldwin. The best way to describe it is as a cross between This American Life and The X-Files. In it, we listen in as Night Vale Community Radio host Cecil narrates the news of a desert town swept up in the middle of intrigue and worldwide conspiracies. As Cranor describes it in an All Things Considered interview, "[...] it's a small community town. It has the mundane qualities of everyday life in small-town America. As you hear more about the dog park (the first "news piece" read in the first episode), you realize it is completely locked down, not only physically but somehow spiritually too. You have no concept of what's happening in there. And there aren't even people in the dog park, just hooded figures that are in and around the area. [...] here's a mundane, quaint American town, sort of overrun by ghosts or spirits or conspiracies or underground societies."
The radio show itself is informative about Night Vale, albeit not in any straightforward way. Each biweekly podcast centers around one main news story (e.g. the opening of a new dog park, a sandstorm threatening the city, history week) spread in chunks throughout the twenty minute show. In between these chunks, we get various snippets of other items. In the community calendar, we discover what's happening in the next few days, and which days are still scheduled to occur. In traffic, we receive poetic statements about the action of travelling interspersed with actual advice. In words from the show's sponsors, nonsensical and bizarre advertisements for normally mundane products tell us what we should buy. In the weather... well, this is the only "weather" piece that so much as discusses meteorological occurrences. Recurring themes and arcs appear every so often, like Intern Dana, who got trapped in the dog park trying to see what was inside, or Carlos, a scientist visiting Night Vale whose hair enthralled Cecil at first sight. But, most of all, we get a sense of a pervasive and strong conspiracy, whose existence is undeniable fact and relatively unnoteworthy, as we see from this snippet of episode 19a "The Sandstorm":
Steve writes, "The sandstorm is clearly a cover-up. I believe this was a government-created project. Our government has long been participating in cloud seeding experiments and trying to suppress the people with pharmaceuticals. I believe that this government will stop at nothing in order to..."
Now you listen here, Steve Carlsburg! You're not saying anything new, Steve. Of course the sandstorm was created by the government! The city council announced that this morning! The government makes no secret that they can control the weather, and earthquakes, and monitor thoughts and activities. That's the stuff a big government is supposed to do! Obviously, you have never read the Constitution.
Okay, sure, government can be very inefficient, and sometimes bloated, and corrupt, but the answer is not to complain about everything that they do. Without government, we would never have schools, or roads, or municipal utilities, or helpful pandemics, or black vans that roam our neighborhoods at night, keeping us safe! So please, Steve Carlsburg, I've had enough of your government bashing!Does that sound like how anybody talks about the various JFK conspiracy theories? Welcome to Night Vale is a totally strange and wonderful upheaval of the way we look at conspiracies. Everything that you may assume has, in our world, a normal explanation, in Night Vale, probably has one connected to "a vague, yet menacing government agency" or "the Sheriff's Secret Police" or some other group. "[The podcast is] trying to take the dystopia model and actually make the people who live there quite happy with it," says Cranor elsewhere in the NPR interview. It's a small little town, where everything is just off.
I contrast this especially with conspiracy theories in our world, the real world. Whereas Cecil exasperatedly agrees with listener Steve Carlsburg that the government would naturally be manipulating the weather, people in our world wouldn't even give him the satisfaction of believing him if he said the same thing here. It's interesting to me how Welcome to Night Vale flips the idea of the government conspiracy on its head; it would be more unbelievable if everything went exactly as it should. A commenter on some internet forum explaining how there had to have been a second shooter on the grassy knoll would be ridiculed by the average person if he were talking about the knoll in Dealey Plaza. Assumably, it would be different if he were talking about the knoll out by Old Woman Josie's house, in Night Vale. I wonder, what about a covert government action makes people automatically decide that the person they're dealing with is out of their mind?
Wednesday, April 16
The Aesthetic of Conspiracy
As we break into Libra and specifically following the Frontline piece ("Who Was Lee Harvey Oswald"), it always fills me with wonder to see the people who decide to step out and comment on something with their own "correct" version of the story; just look at the comments on the Frontline webpage for the piece for several examples. Certainly, readers will note a sense of superiority in correcting a news source as lauded as Frontline in their own comments section, but what struck me was my reactions to each. If it was a short comment, (to me) it was just some uninformed idiot who didn't know what they were talking about. If it was a long comment, it was somebody trying to justify their ridiculous premise by launching words at me. If it was a poorly written comment, the commenter's inability to type properly ruined their attempts to persuade me. If it was a grammatically infallible comment, it still didn't change anything because what they were saying was still preposterous. No matter what, they couldn't win.
I wonder why I immediately presume that these commenters couldn't possibly be correct. My first thought comes to the stereotype of a conspiracy theory buff. In the television show Fringe, about a FBI team that investigates bizarre and weird occurrences and crimes believed to be connected to an international (and later interuniversal; it makes sense in context) terrorist group (very similar to X-Files), one episode in the first season sees the team meet Emmanuel Grayson, a "conspiracy monitor" who they think might be able to help them explain apparent cases of spontaneous combustion. First, however, they must be passed through his security system containing no less than eight locks. When they speak to him, you can see three computer monitors behind him, open to various conspiracy theory webpages or with a background featuring a flying saucer hovering just beyond the earth's atmosphere. Behind where members of the team sits are stacks upon stacks of manilla folders filled with various documents. On the wall hang several paintings of an abstract space vista. He insults the FBI agent for being "[a pawn] being used by the government to spread their propaganda." But when they convince him to help them, he lays out what proves later in the episode/series to be correct; a bizarre and ludicrous theory that an extremely powerful weapons and technology company (who frequently contracts with the US government) was founded so that its owner could build up a team of "supersoldiers" to fight an upcoming war. Then, Grayson goes back off the rails, saying that the war will be between the United Federation of Planets and the Romulans (from Star Trek), and that he himself is Spock. Yet, in the middle, he was completely correct, and if the team ignored him outright for his later completely unbelievable statements, they would miss out on critical leads to solve the case they were working on. Just because he looks like somebody they couldn't put their trust in, didn't mean he was never right.
Now that's interesting, isn't it? Surely the conspiracy theorists commenting on the Frontline piece would try to convince you they are even more correct than Grayson. The fact of the matter, though, is it's very hard to believe them. Just look at any of their websites. Here's one to explain the solution to the JFK murder. Here's another, that tells us that all the world's governments are run by lizard-like aliens. One more for you, about Denver International Airport. In large part, these websites share a lot in common. They were designed early in the age of the internet (and show it). They give huge and detailed explanations that are, to a non-believer, hilarious to read through. But, they bring up interesting points. The JFK murder is questionable. The Reptoids page detailed a technology that is both interesting and surprisingly similar to Elon Musk's upcoming hyperloop project far before he outlined it. Not only is DIA a creepy and weird place, but various tours of the place have been met with closed doors that could not be entered and odd vibes. Is there an underground city beneath DIA? Probably not, but it's still fun to think about.
My memory goes back to walking on Green St. a summer or two ago. There was a man on the street corner handing out fake dollar bills and brochures, both containing information about his 9/11 truther website. He looked like a nice enough guy, but my friends and I looked through his information to see what we could make of it. It was interesting, but ultimately extremely unlikely. But, specifically before I knew what this guy was handing out, I didn't think anything of him. He wasn't somebody I had to distrust, nor was he someone I implicitly wanted to believe. Once I knew what he was telling people about, I just laughed. It was silly! I tried to sneak a picture of him without him noticing. The spectacle of a conspiracy theorist was enough to entertain me by itself.
I suppose this post reads like a defense of conspiracy theory buffs, and I'm not really trying to tell anyone what to believe about anything. How should I know what's right? But, really, it's crazy how immediately we either assume somebody is believable or unbelievable based on what they believe.
I wonder why I immediately presume that these commenters couldn't possibly be correct. My first thought comes to the stereotype of a conspiracy theory buff. In the television show Fringe, about a FBI team that investigates bizarre and weird occurrences and crimes believed to be connected to an international (and later interuniversal; it makes sense in context) terrorist group (very similar to X-Files), one episode in the first season sees the team meet Emmanuel Grayson, a "conspiracy monitor" who they think might be able to help them explain apparent cases of spontaneous combustion. First, however, they must be passed through his security system containing no less than eight locks. When they speak to him, you can see three computer monitors behind him, open to various conspiracy theory webpages or with a background featuring a flying saucer hovering just beyond the earth's atmosphere. Behind where members of the team sits are stacks upon stacks of manilla folders filled with various documents. On the wall hang several paintings of an abstract space vista. He insults the FBI agent for being "[a pawn] being used by the government to spread their propaganda." But when they convince him to help them, he lays out what proves later in the episode/series to be correct; a bizarre and ludicrous theory that an extremely powerful weapons and technology company (who frequently contracts with the US government) was founded so that its owner could build up a team of "supersoldiers" to fight an upcoming war. Then, Grayson goes back off the rails, saying that the war will be between the United Federation of Planets and the Romulans (from Star Trek), and that he himself is Spock. Yet, in the middle, he was completely correct, and if the team ignored him outright for his later completely unbelievable statements, they would miss out on critical leads to solve the case they were working on. Just because he looks like somebody they couldn't put their trust in, didn't mean he was never right.
Now that's interesting, isn't it? Surely the conspiracy theorists commenting on the Frontline piece would try to convince you they are even more correct than Grayson. The fact of the matter, though, is it's very hard to believe them. Just look at any of their websites. Here's one to explain the solution to the JFK murder. Here's another, that tells us that all the world's governments are run by lizard-like aliens. One more for you, about Denver International Airport. In large part, these websites share a lot in common. They were designed early in the age of the internet (and show it). They give huge and detailed explanations that are, to a non-believer, hilarious to read through. But, they bring up interesting points. The JFK murder is questionable. The Reptoids page detailed a technology that is both interesting and surprisingly similar to Elon Musk's upcoming hyperloop project far before he outlined it. Not only is DIA a creepy and weird place, but various tours of the place have been met with closed doors that could not be entered and odd vibes. Is there an underground city beneath DIA? Probably not, but it's still fun to think about.
My memory goes back to walking on Green St. a summer or two ago. There was a man on the street corner handing out fake dollar bills and brochures, both containing information about his 9/11 truther website. He looked like a nice enough guy, but my friends and I looked through his information to see what we could make of it. It was interesting, but ultimately extremely unlikely. But, specifically before I knew what this guy was handing out, I didn't think anything of him. He wasn't somebody I had to distrust, nor was he someone I implicitly wanted to believe. Once I knew what he was telling people about, I just laughed. It was silly! I tried to sneak a picture of him without him noticing. The spectacle of a conspiracy theorist was enough to entertain me by itself.
I suppose this post reads like a defense of conspiracy theory buffs, and I'm not really trying to tell anyone what to believe about anything. How should I know what's right? But, really, it's crazy how immediately we either assume somebody is believable or unbelievable based on what they believe.
Tuesday, April 15
Sacrificial L[i]mb
Foreword: late post is late. Apologies from the team of monkeys. Now back to your regularly scheduled programming.
Of course, it's not a stretch to say that Dana's missing arm is an omnipresent reminder of the bizarre and harrowing experience she endured. Dana can't get Rufus off her mind, even in her own time. Her fifteen days in LA with Kevin after cutting her wrists are fraught with worry over coming back once more. But, when Dana returns after killing Rufus and losing her arm, the experience is apparently over. She begins to travel again, going to Maryland to check out records of what happened after she left. We don't hear anything about any more time travel. There is no Rufus to call her back. In much the same way, the tramp stamp person learns an important life lesson about the dangers of excessive drinking. The injured/ill may be much less able now, but they're certainly still alive. I may have an unsightly line across my left abdomen, but the cancer seems to be gone. The marks that remain are a constant reminder both of what we went through and that we aren't dealing with them anymore (Note: this doesn't really work for people with deteriorating conditions, like Alzheimer's or Parkinson's).
Dana losing her arm has a sense of finality to it. It feels like she sacrificed some of herself so that she could be free of the curse (of time travel). In a real sense, she sacrificed a part of herself when she killed Rufus too, both considering his status as her ancestor and their relationship. But, Rufus's ruthless love could only be ended or satiated with hurt. Imagine, for a moment, that Rufus and Dana are playing tug-of-war and between them is a portal between their worlds. For the portal to close, there are only three possibilities: Dana pulls Rufus through (unlikely), Rufus pulls Dana through (he is satiated), or somebody cuts the rope. Their connection is ended, and like any games of tug-of-war when the rope breaks (looking at you, Spirit Assembly) everybody falls down. Rufus dies, Dana loses her arm, but Rufus's love for Dana can no longer hurt her. So it goes.
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