mills

My name is Mills Baker; I write about love, culture, art, religion, mental illness, philosophy, memory, politics and the rather random.

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Fig. 1. Astute viewers will note that ordinarily, Hobbes carried Calvin.
One thing I particularly like about Abby is her incredible emotional resiliency. On Saturday night in New Orleans, on an evening in which I was peripherally involved in a startling assault and we were digested and spewed out by the monstrous crowd on Frenchman street in the Faubourg Marigny, a very drunk girl fell through a sign and they both crashed onto Abby’s little foot, breaking it.
Despite being crippled by pain -see here for the amazing bruise- she was in good spirits as the evening wore on, maintaining that her foot would be fine. The next day, at the most amazing clinic in the world, we learned that it will not. Abby is uninsured, has no car, and works as a waitress while attending school in San Francisco, so the coming months will be trying.
On the other hand, it means she is staying with me for a few more nights, boot and all. Here are our Halloween photos. Note in particular that my best friend went as Jack White, who tried to steal my girlfriend: tangled webs and so on.

Fig. 1. Astute viewers will note that ordinarily, Hobbes carried Calvin.

One thing I particularly like about Abby is her incredible emotional resiliency. On Saturday night in New Orleans, on an evening in which I was peripherally involved in a startling assault and we were digested and spewed out by the monstrous crowd on Frenchman street in the Faubourg Marigny, a very drunk girl fell through a sign and they both crashed onto Abby’s little foot, breaking it.

Despite being crippled by pain -see here for the amazing bruise- she was in good spirits as the evening wore on, maintaining that her foot would be fine. The next day, at the most amazing clinic in the world, we learned that it will not. Abby is uninsured, has no car, and works as a waitress while attending school in San Francisco, so the coming months will be trying.

On the other hand, it means she is staying with me for a few more nights, boot and all. Here are our Halloween photos. Note in particular that my best friend went as Jack White, who tried to steal my girlfriend: tangled webs and so on.

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

Lachrymarum - Stan Douglas

This, from the re-imagining by Stan Douglas (with John Medeski and Scott Harding) of the soundtrack for the Italian horror film Suspiria, is scientifically-proven to be the scariest song ever.

Feel free to use it to keep trick-or-treaters away.

Flaubert and de Maupassant

From Irredenta I found this article by Julian Barnes, whom I like very much, on some new translations of Guy de Maupassant and much more; at the outset, he includes an exchange between de Maupassant and literary mentor Gustav Flaubert:

At the age of 27, de Maupassant writes:

‘Fucking women is as monotonous as listening to male wit. I find that the news in the papers is always the same, that the vices are trivial, and that there aren’t enough different ways to compose a sentence.’”

Flaubert replies:

You complain about fucking being ‘monotonous’. There’s a simple remedy: cut it out for a bit. ‘The news in the papers is always the same’? That’s the complaint of a realist – and besides, what do you know about it? You should look at things more carefully … ‘The vices are trivial’? – but everything is trivial. ‘There aren’t enough different ways to compose a sentence’? – seek and ye shall find … You must – do you hear me, my young friend? – you must work harder than you do. I suspect you of being a bit of a loafer. Too many whores! Too much rowing! Too much exercise! A civilised person needs much less locomotion than the doctors claim. You were born to be a poet: be one. Everything else is pointless – starting with your pleasures and your health: get that much into your thick skull. Besides, your health will be all the better if you follow your calling … What you lack are ‘principles’. There’s no getting over it – that’s what you have to have; it’s just a matter of finding out which ones. For an artist there is only one: everything must be sacrificed to Art … To sum up, my dear Guy, you must beware of melancholy: it’s a vice.

The rest of the article is very interesting on questions of translation, literature, and love, and offers what  might be a reason Flaubert would object to some blogging : [He] thought that for a writer to give the public details of his private life was a bourgeois weakness which should be avoided.”

el cráneo de lobo (10.27.09, brooklyn, ny. mamiya rz67, 65mm@f5.6, 120 fuji provia 400 speed, slide).
By the inimitable S. Stratodrive.

el cráneo de lobo (10.27.09, brooklyn, ny. mamiya rz67, 65mm@f5.6, 120 fuji provia 400 speed, slide).

By the inimitable S. Stratodrive.

“We, amnesiacs all, condemned to live in an eternally fleeting present, have created the most elaborate of human constructions, memory, to buffer ourselves against the intolerable knowledge of the irreversible passage of time and the irretrieveability of its moments and events.”
GPOYW: Bandwagon Saints fans better respect the lifetime of suffering some of us have endured, afternoon depressions every Sunday that condensed into shattering headaches of such intensity that we’d pass out, dreaming of a day when the “Cajun Canon” Bobby Hebert or the Dome Patrol with Sam Mills would be enough to actually make it to the playoffs.
(This is not to be taken as a prediction that we’ll achieve postseason success this year; one hopes, but doesn’t jinx).

GPOYW: Bandwagon Saints fans better respect the lifetime of suffering some of us have endured, afternoon depressions every Sunday that condensed into shattering headaches of such intensity that we’d pass out, dreaming of a day when the “Cajun Canon” Bobby Hebert or the Dome Patrol with Sam Mills would be enough to actually make it to the playoffs.

(This is not to be taken as a prediction that we’ll achieve postseason success this year; one hopes, but doesn’t jinx).

“A mismatched outfit, a slightly defective denture, an exquisite mediocrity of the soul - those are all details that make a woman real, alive. The women you see on posters or on fashion magazines -the ones all women try to imitate nowadays- how can they be attractive? They have no reality of their own, they’re just the sum of abstract rules.”
Milan Kundera in The Book of Laughter and Forgetting, quoted by Quiet-time.
[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

Los Fabulosos Cadillacs - El Matador

This has been a truly wretched day; Abby said, in reference to the various people who helped make it so, “Fuck ‘em, fuck ‘em in the neck.”

Mother, Grandmother

Mother, Grandmother

Mother on Ship

Mother on Ship

Passport Posing

Passport Posing

Running to greet father

Running to greet father

First communion

First communion

Venice

Venice

I started crying while sorting photographs of my mother’s childhood and could not say, at first, why I was so overcome. Perhaps it is because they are singularities: they exist -as does she- as poignant exemptions from all the abstract and general principles to which I subordinate reality; they are irreducible for me; I cannot partialize them as I do the rest of the universe.

For example: I tend to regard most tragedy with the notion of inexorability in mind; this is the world, I say, this is how life occurs; but I cannot so contextextualize her life, the struggles of which seem, to me, unforgivable and forever awful.

That is to say: I cannot forgive the universe for my mother’s suffering. I find myself desperately wishing I could have protected her from the things that befell her, as she protected me.

Sons and mothers, daughters and fathers. It occurred to me while I looked at these and other photos that these oceanic swells of feeling must be what parents feel for their children, and it even struck me that if I had a daughter I might feel this way, but I am not sure I could bear it. There seems to be no consolation once one falls into such an abyss; it seems pathological, feverish, compelling in a literal sense. With a child one might lose one’s will before the absolute of one’s love.

But I don’t know about children or parenthood and am not sure I will or want to. I do like these old family photos, though; I’ll add more to the set soon.

“Display of superior knowledge is as great a vulgarity as display of superior wealth — greater indeed, inasmuch as knowledge should tend more definitely than wealth towards discretion and good manners.”

Henry Fowler, the lexicographer best known for A Dictionary of Modern English Usage. David Foster Wallace, in his evidently quite-flawed essay “Tense Present,” described Fowler thusly:

If Samuel Johnson is the Shakespeare of English usage, think of Henry Watson Fowler as the Eliot or Joyce. His 1926 A Dictionary of Modern English Usage is the granddaddy of modern usage guides, and its dust-dry wit and blushless imperiousness have been models for every subsequent classic in the field…

What interests me about Fowler’s claim is that I am often amused by the veneration of intelligence in the same communities that deplore the veneration of beauty or wealth, since intelligence is no less arbitrary in allotment, constructed in classification, and happenstance in appearance than those attributes. Indeed, it involves as many attendant flaws as they do, too: often, wit entails derision; brilliance, arrogance; knowledge, pedantic elitism.

Simen commented recently on the inequality of beauty, a fact which problematizes even the most pleasant utopias; those who hope to maintain in the face of the irresolvable unfairness of beauty’s inequitable distribution the plausibility of a fair society will have to claim that beauty is a fluid concept we can redefine, that it only matters because of the patriarchy or advertising, or some such idea reducing its import. I’ve long wondered what egalitarian revolutionaries propose to do about nature’s individuated and unequal distribution of attractiveness.

And what of intelligence? I believe intelligence is no more laudable than athleticism, morally; it makes one good at some things and not at others. It is not a moral virtue; it is not a mark of goodness; someone cannot be faulted for not possessing it; and Fowler is right: we should regard the display of knowledge as comparably vulgar to material ostentation.

Or is this not the case? Is there some quality to intelligence which distinguishes it from beauty, speed, height? Is there a connection, in theory or in fact, between intelligence and goodness (should there be such a thing)? Does it relate to this characteristic of mind?

Dear Betsy and Elizabeth,
We already knew you were awesome, but bribery never hurts. You are now official members of Ills Manor Country Club, entitled to hunt balloon elephants, play foosball, listen to music from the Decade Care Forgot, and pen delightful, digressive epistles anywhere on the grounds.
Thank you, thank you, thank you!
M/W +ill(s)

Dear Betsy and Elizabeth,

We already knew you were awesome, but bribery never hurts. You are now official members of Ills Manor Country Club, entitled to hunt balloon elephants, play foosball, listen to music from the Decade Care Forgot, and pen delightful, digressive epistles anywhere on the grounds.

Thank you, thank you, thank you!

M/W +ill(s)

“Perhaps the biggest question of all is whether the process of inquiry that has revealed so much about the universe since the time of Galileo and Kepler is nearing the end of the line. “I worry whether we’ve come to the limits of empirical science,” says Lawrence Krauss of Arizona State University. Specifically, Krauss wonders if it will require knowledge of other universes, such as those posed by Carroll, to understand why our universe is the way it is. If such knowledge is impossible to access, it may spell the end for deepening our understanding any further.”

Petichou linked to an article on some of the preoccupations of contemporary physicists, and I was struck by the paragraph above; Krauss’ is a curious concern.

It is often noted that one of the defining qualities of our universe is its comprehensibility, but it might just as well be said that comprehension is a defining quality of mind. This symmetry between the knowable universe and the knowing mind reflects an important quality of the latter: it does not merely observe, record, and inductively detect intelligible connections.

Rather: it encompasses, interiorizes, virtualizes, and explains holistically. That is to say that the mind is an organ which can contain within itself accurate models of all phenomena in the form of explanations. These models are akin to virtualizations: we can recreate within our minds even what we cannot observe, and we can do so such that those recreations are astonishingly isomorphic to their real counterparts.

This is the metaphorical basis for cognition: we construct metaphorical models (theories, ideas, terms) which retain the logical properties and relations of their subjects so that we are not dependent on accessibility for knowledge. We cannot, for example, see the Big Bang; the perplexing flow of time prevents it. Yet we can model it with incredibly acuity, and our virtualizing computational minds allow us to extract from those models conclusions which predict and explain the behavior of the physical universe.

Nothing about the multiverse would be different, regardless of its observational accessibility. I am surprised to read Krauss’ epistemological anxiety, since it would be an event unprecedented in the history of physical reality were we to encounter something fundamentally incomprehensible. I imagine David Deutsch, in particular, would object that such a development would be unlikely given the evolution of mind within physical reality, an evolution which has allowed the former to contain the latter with profound accuracy.

(In this sense, mind –including its externalized components, such as computer networks- may be the only element of reality which can in theory contain reality, although Walker Percy claimed that mind cannot, as a semiotic matter, contain itself: hence the success of the sciences and the failures of modern selfhood).

In my family, it is customary to deliver news very late or not at all; as a result, I recently learned that my parents’ 40th anniversary occurred on October 11th of this year. This weekend, I spent some time scanning in a few photos of them and many photos of their childhoods, their parents, their early lives in the 1940s. Many of those are to come, as I find them transfixing.
Update: Disqus is failing to show comments left earlier, again. I apologize and am hoping to get it fixed.

In my family, it is customary to deliver news very late or not at all; as a result, I recently learned that my parents’ 40th anniversary occurred on October 11th of this year. This weekend, I spent some time scanning in a few photos of them and many photos of their childhoods, their parents, their early lives in the 1940s. Many of those are to come, as I find them transfixing.

Update: Disqus is failing to show comments left earlier, again. I apologize and am hoping to get it fixed.

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

When the Saints Go Marching In - Eddie Bo

I know I promised Bechet the next time the Saints won, but that will have to wait until next week; Sazerac had the inside line on a great version of this song by Eddie Bo, whose music has also been posted by Liz, twice.

On the other hand, another game like this will certainly kill me. (Previously!)