Image: Memorex Memories

It’s the holidays. LA has basically shut down and much of blogland is in a state of suspension until the clock strikes midnight on Sunday. Similarly, as you may have noticed, I have shifted into lower gear with this blog and the podcasts in order to give my overanalytical brain some much due rest, in preparation for many 2007 ruminations, fear not. So I submit to you nothing more, or less, than an objet-trouve from my youth, a Memorex tape whose very Aahs-inspiring aesthetic warms the cockles of my 80’s reared heart. As last night’s/today’s power outtage reminded me–sometimes the best of all possible worlds is a technologically challenged, low-fi existence.

Image: William Blake, “The Ancient of Days” (1794)

“Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.” - Jalal al-Din Muhammad Rumi

SENDING YOU LOVE AND KIND WISHES THIS HOLIDAY SEASON..

Image: Hitlerian villain Burgermeister Meisterburger, from the 1970 claymation movie, “Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town”

What is it with Christmas and Nazis? Today’s big news from Coast to Coast (and literally nowhere in between) was that publishing dragon lady Judith Regan was axed by NewsCorp for some off-color comments she made about her Jewish colleagues, or the “Jewish Cabal,” as she allegedly put it. If this wasn’t already the year when white sheets and hoods were in vogue with the Hollywood set (see: Mel Gibson, and Michael Richards), Regan advanced this terrible trend towards the publishing industry with her bigoted ‘by-the-by.’

All of this occurred during the same two week span that a bunch of ignorant Iranians met to discuss how the Holocaust never happened–giving birth to a hybrid breed of unenlightened fuck + Descartian philosopher. Hey, let’s all get together to discuss something that we think never happened. Can anyone say, I think therefore I am an idiot?

Amidst all of this present-day prejudice I found some quiet time to enjoy the claymation Christmas specials of my younger years. A friend of mine brought over DVD’s of some of the old Rankin & Bass specials. When we watched “Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town,” I found myself once again caught between a Nazi and a hard place. The villain in the animated special is none other than Burgermeister Meisterberger–a stout and evil Lederhosen-clad man with a distinctly Bavarian accent and a flair for good ol’ Prussian autocracy. Meisterberger’s personal guard was eerily reminiscent of the gestapo–walking uniformly in-step and wearing Nazi-inspired uniforms.

The setting of the town that he lorded over was grey and dismal–much like Eastern Europe during the war years. There were even gaudy statues and portraits of the clay dictator all through the town. But the most Hitlerian reference by far came midway through the movie when the Burgermeister ordered that all the children burn the toys that Kris Kringle had given them. What’s interesting is that 1970 was a full 25 years after the end of World War II so why were Nazis still a hot topic? Five years prior, the Nazi-laden musical “The Sound of Music” had been released in theatres.

Perhaps bah humbug was a German colloquialism. Maybe the cold weather brings out the cold and heartless people. Or maybe we all just need a reminder of how much evil there is in the world and what a waste of time it is. At the end of “Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town” the narrator (the voice of Fred Astaire) tells us that if people acted like it was Christmas every day and behaved like Santa Claus (giving and spreading joy), the world would be a better place.

Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah everyone. Spread the good claymation word!

It’s the holidays and ’tis the season to be coupled, I’ve heard many intimate. Beneath each sprig of mistletoe stands a beeming husband and wife, or worse yet, their homely single friend, who’s ‘just right’ for you. Tisn’t the season for slutty and soused singledom–that’s Halloween after all. But many a single in my sphere seems to have discovered that imitation, not bitters, is the mystery ingredient to the best hot toddies. If you can’t beat’em–marrieds, that is–join ‘em. And if you can’t join ‘em because you haven’t met that spectacular someone and you’re not a desperate sell-out, copy’em.

One girl friend of mine, Mary–quite sated by receiving the usual newlywed newsletters–has decided this year to create her own version of the holiday brag sheet. Instead of chronicling baby’s first words or tales of picnics with the in-laws, she will write of her life as a single gal living in Hollywood. I joked with her about some possible inclusions in her proposed holiday roundup note. They work parallel to the traditional marrieds newsletters, as follows:

Marrieds newsletter: “our little one has taken to rubbing mashed potatoes all over his face and then drooling.” Singles newsletter: “Last weekend after a late night of dancing at Element, I woke up in my own vomit, how adorable!” Or another one..Marrieds newsletter: “My husband and I spent months fixing the porch and we can finally enjoy evenings out there under the heat lamp.” Singles newsletter: “I picked up a totally hot surfer boy at a bar in Santa Monica, brought him home and we basically did everything but do it–you’ve got to leave the table with an appetite, I always say,” smiley face icon drawn in for emphasis.

I too am following suit with this trend–in my own way. Just the other day, a single male friend of mine stopped by my house after work. I had steak and potatoes ready for him, we drank egg nog, decorated the tree and then watched Christmas movies together. there’s nothing like a surrogate spouse. Sure, there’s no sex involved but theoretically you can get that with the hot guy or gal you take home from the bar–am I right, kids?

So, now you’ve got the newsletter and the cozy home-cooked meal. Next, it’s time for ‘baby’s first Christmas.’ Having a child is costly (and frankly not everyone’s cup of tea) but ‘borrowing’ one is a thoroughly enjoyable experience. What better accessory for the season of innocent merry and wonder than an innocent? Ok, that sounded a bit Anton Lavey. It’s really a lot less macabre and sacrificial than that. You babysit or have your friends with a baby come over for a holiday evening, watch the Charlie Brown Christmas special, bake cookies, play with the baby. And, poof, before you can say “diaper change,” your perfect evening is capped by a perfect ‘bye-bye baby.’ No fuss, no muss.

During the holidays some folks make snow angels–sprawled out on the ground, arms and legs extended and moving up and down in a joyous, freeing semi-circle. Singles–at least those who don’t settle for less than the best–make bed angels–sprawled out on the queen sized mattress, arms and legs extended and moving up and down in a joyous, freeing semi-circle. There’s nothing like doing the Christmas party rounds with the gloating betrothed, and then coming home to a big cozy pillow-top bed you have all to yourself. After all, what’s the rush? There’s plenty of time for sleeping on the ‘wet spot,’ and getting kicked, shoved and drooled on.

Today the New York Times revealed the results of this year’s census poll of U.S. citizens. Take a look at this one section–which should alarm those of us who aren’t just mind-numb capitalistic money trolls:

“In 1970, 79 percent [of people] said their goal was developing a meaningful philosophy of life. By 2005, 75 percent said their primary objective was to be financially very well off.”

Spiritual grit: 0

Bling: 1

Sad…

Image: A still from the newly released film “Apocalypto”

Yesterday, on the day 11 Caban (Earthquake) 10 Mac of the Mayan Calendar, my friend Peter and I set off for a journey to where no Jew (or half Jew) has gone before, or at least in recent times: a movie theatre screening a Mel Gibson film. We took precautions for our foray–making sure we knew of another film screening at the same time. When we arrived we bought tickets to “Deja Vu” and headed for Theatre 2 where “Apocalypto” was playing.

We were devastated when we saw a tall African-American ticket-taker checking the stubs at the door due to anticipation of the room hitting capacity. He took one look at ours and immediately turned us away. In a crunch and desperate to see the film we formulated a new plan. Peter decided that honesty was the best policy so he told the ticket taker our story. “We’re Jewish and we really want to see Apocalypto but we don’t want to give our money to Mel Gibson.” The man in charge replied, “I understand, no problem, just go in.” Perhaps he too related to being the butt of media racism (thanks to a recent reminder by Michael Richards).

In any case, we couldn’t have been the only ones employing this bait n’ switch ticket trick because, just prior to the movie starting, we saw at least a dozen lost wanderers pacing the aisles of the sold out theatre looking for seats. The film was off to a riveting start with a grizly hunting scene in which a large jungle bore is ultimately gored by a Mayan tribe’s killing contraption–a reminder that though our meat looks like it comes in a plastic-wrapped Foster Farms package, its source was actually subject to similar brutality.

Speaking of brutality, “Apocalypto” was perhaps the most violent film I have ever seen. It made “Scarface” look like “Bambi.” Some of the movie’s violence was your run-of-the-mill tribesman activity while other scenes–like the one in which we see blood squirt from the side of a man’s face, THREE times–was just plain gratuitous. Parts of it were stress-inducing, akin to the non-stop pace of “The Fugitive.” It probably should have been rated XanaX–for the drug you would undoubtedly need to take after watching it.

Though I was disappointed with Gibson’s inaccurate portrayal of the Mayans as human sacrificers, I thought the film was outstanding. The Aztecs, truth be told, were known for their brutal ritualistic killings. And though the Mayans were not completely devoid of this type of behavior it was hardly a benchmark of their civilization. A sophisticated mathematical calendric system employing an advance knowledge of the precession of the equinoxes, though was. Unfortunately, this was not incorporated into Gibson’s film.

Despite any historical inaccuracies, “Apocalypto” was absolutely riveting and moving–from the lush cinematography and mind-blowingly inventive costumes to the superb acting and deep emotional layers. One of my favorite phrases oft employed in it was translated as “Travel Well.” It was uttered as some sort of prayer prior to anyone dying. Whether it is accurate or not (I’ve never heard of it) I loved the implication that death was a great journey. Glaringly absent from the film was my absolute favorite Mayan greetings, “In Lak ‘esh” which translates to “I am another yourself.”

In any case, at the very least, this mainstream film will surely increase interest in the Mayan civilization, whereapon inquisitive viewers can find out the truth by reading translations of the Popol-Vuh, and the spiritual and archeologically oriented writings of authors like John Major Jenkins, Dennis Tedlock, Carl Johan Calleman, etc.

“Apocalypto” was allegedly supposed to parallel the Mayans’downfall just prior to the Spaniards’ invasion as an ominous warning to we Americans with our culture of privilege–W., Hilton and company. It depicted the greedy deplorable actions by denizens of a rich Mayan city where the chasm between the haves and have-nots was akin to the Grand Canyon.

Some of those denizens went into the forest and destroy villages, killing some villagers and taking others as their captives, to be sold into slavery (or if not selected, to be sacrificed to the gods). Gibson depicts fields of dead bodies–villagers who had been used by their evil captors for target practice. My friend and I wondered how a man that could sympathize with such atrocities and genocide could deny that the Holocaust ever happened.

And just today, one of the main stories in the New York Times told of a group of Iranians who just got together for a meeting on the premise that the Holocaust never happened. I wonder how they would feel if the world claimed that the Revolution never happened or that the Iran/Iraq war never happened. It’s amazing, we’re all in the same boat yet we’re all looking for a way to sink the vessel. In the case of the Mayans in the last scene of “Apocalypto,” the boats arrived at shore separate, as invaders intent on destroying indigenous culture in the name of Christianity (Catholicism to be exact). Well Mel, I guess we’re back to square one… unless I missed something in that scene–perhaps the boats were actually manned by Spanish Jews?

While walking down a hall in the Los Angeles Times building downtown, I took in its historical wallpaper–framed front pages from the newspaper’s early 20th century days through more recent times. From earthquakes to O.J., a man on the moon to McMartins–each cover told a larger-than-life tale of community, society and the greater issues that have connected and separated us.

As the parade of front covers came to an end about fifteen feet away from the freight elevator I half expected to see wall-mounted flatscreen computers continue with the theme. That’s because, if you haven’t noticed (as you’ve been too busy online reading blogs), newspapers are having a tough time with their printed product. That is to say that while there’s a growing demand for online news at DSL speeds, the actual tangible newspaper is fast becoming an anachrostic relic of yesteryear. As my friend Pat said, “You pick up the paper to read what happened yesterday.” Literally ‘yesterday’s news,’ or ‘all the news that’s (un)fit (for the web site) goes to print.’

Earlier this year when I interviewed Bill Maher for a story that happened to appear on the front page of the LA Times entertainment section, he expressed great reverence for the printed news. For him it was a physical ritual, not just a way of being informed. True, getting ink on your fingers is a bit of a fetishistic experience. There’s something about being branded by information (if but in the form of smudges). And there is something sensual about not just handling, but watching a man handle a newspaper–the sound of him rifling through it, his big strong arms spreading out so vulnerably as they part before the Sports section.

And if you’ve ever lived in New York you’ve witnessed many a citizen in a subway publicly spreading out his/her news source as the roving eyes of strangers dart stealthly around only to land–inconspicuously–over the reader’s shoulder and onto some free news.

Similarly, there are still guys who wear polyester pants, sport afros and lament the demise of vinyl (or its relegation to the subterranean world of dance music). And there are guys like my dad who listen to CD’s of old time radio programs in an attempt to revive the golden years when programming was all audio and the imagination roamed freer–as he might say.

Nostalgia is romance and romance is what separates us from the apes (that, and a little thing called evolution). The thing about evolution is that once its wheels are turning, there’s no turning back. And though it’s healthy, even sweet, to reminisce and wax retro about such things every once in a while, stagnation, intertia and fear of growth are not.

Newspapers–in my humble opinion–will always exist in print form, perhaps not as cutting edge new sources but as fonts of further information on a subject, and most importantly as a tactile experience. Because no matter how much info you store in your brain–dates, gossip factoids, online dating profiles, Craig’s List ads–sometimes you’ve got to get away from your monitor, roll up your sleeves and get your hands dirty.

Image: An illustration of Quetzalcoatl, the Mayan civilization’s ‘plumed serpant’ hero

Five ideas of how you–an educated, culturally tolerant and curious avid film buff and linguist can go see “Apocalypto“ without supporting the Moonshadows-n-booze-lovin’ Jew-hating Mel Gibson. 

1. Give double what you paid for your “Apocalypto” movie ticket to a Jewish charity

2. See if you can catch a free screening of the film

3. Purchase a ticket for another film that’s playing at the same theatre at the same time as “Apocalypto” and once you’re in and you’ve bought your popcorn and Slurpy–stealthly slip into the “Apocalypto” screeening

4. Never refer to it as “Mel Gibson’s Apocalypto,” as he wishes, but rather, “that foreign flick about the Mayans” (thus not giving him any positive publicity–if you like the film).

5. Go to Cafe Press and have a t-shirt made up that says, “I heart the Mayan Civilization but I don’t heart Mel” and wear it when you see the movie. Or an alternate t-shirt slogan: “Mayan-curious Mel basher.”

Other suggestions are welcome…