David Milch Saves Television

Television is an affliction of sorts. Channel after channel of empty escapism, beckoning us away from whatever superficial woes we'd rather not deal with. And what do we find ourselves watching? Washed up comedians hosting game shows. Reruns of sitcoms that were never really that great to begin with. Endless loops of sports highlights mixed with the sub par eloquence of a retired athlete's commentary. It really adds up to horseshit, when you think about it. Even the news is thrown at us with glitzy celebrity tidbits swirled into the latest five car pile-up or murder. What are we really pumping into our brains?

Whatever we're absorbing cultures the way we think. Our conversations reflect our short, jerky attention spans. Seldom are we willing to push our brains into creative thought or process, or truly dialogue about what lurks beneath our shiny exteriors. And it's not just television that is to blame, of course. But it is one hell of a large contributor, and I'm not here saying we shouldn't watch it. For me, the question becomes, can we somehow incorporate creative process and intellectual stimulation into the shows that come on? Is it possible for television to move past brainless sitcoms about cohabiting friends, or dramas about attempted presidential assassinations? Can we find something more entertaining than grown men chasing leather spheres on grass or pavement? You bet your ass we can. Six Feet Under, Dexter, Rome, The Sopranos, all offer serious attention to the process of writing good television. But one creator stands alone at the top.

Enter David Milch, creator, screenwriter, producer. Just read the man's brief bio and right away you'll understand here is a man who is just as passionate about the process as he is about the end product. Yale grad in English Literature, MFA in Writing, award winning writer. Hard to believe this guy is working in television after nine years of teaching. And yet he co-created NYPD Blue, wrote for Hill Street Blues, and served as a consultant for numerous other projects. But what really warrants high praise, and I mean this in the fullest sense, is his creation and work with the HBO projects Deadwood and John From Cincinnati.

Deadwood is one of television's greatest offerings. The outlaw camp setting, the complicated characters, the multiple story lines, all make the show a feast for the senses. And the dialogue is completely remarkable, a vicious but poetic mix of the fading British formalities and rough western vernacular. Even when the language is at its most vile, the dialogue rolls from the characters' tongues like Shakespearean dialect. You can get all three seasons on DVD these days, since no new episodes have aired in quite some time. Well worth checking out.

John From Cincinnati is Milch's latest creation. Set amongst the surfing community in Imperial Beach, California Milch decided to take on some theological concepts by introducing the "what if" premise of God trying to communicate with humanity. At first glance, you would want to roll your eyes, perhaps thinking oh shit here comes the Billy Graham crusade or Dr. James Dobson is at it again. Nothing could be further from the truth. Milch plays with religious archetypes to be sure, but without the nauseating evangelism. The story unfolds more with each episode and I have never been so enthralled with a television show in my life. There is art to this writing, there is creativity and thought and an unabashed attempt to make the viewer consider what he or she is watching. It's not always comfortable, soothing viewing, but it is so worthwhile. It bespeaks of the human condition, and what more could you want?

There is worthwhile television out there folks. You've been told.

The Poison of Religion

Not very often do I find something worthwhile to read while sitting in a doctor's office. On most occasions I have a book tucked in my back pocket, but today I left Jack Kerouac's On The Road beside the door. So, while Dear Wifey had her pregnant tummy poked and prodded by the doctor, I sat nearby in a chair, reading a very interesting article by Brian Bethune in Maclean's magazine. The article, aptly titled Is God Poison? gives a brief but thorough overview of the rising atheistic movement in North America. And while it is unclear as to whether Bethune is a supporter or not, the movement, aided (though not necessarily in a collaborative sense) by bestselling authors like Christopher Hitchens, Richard Dawkins, and Sam Harris, is pushing to reveal all monotheistic religions for what they believe they are: corrupt, archaic, processes, steeped in violence, that do far more to impede progress and society than they do to help it. While the indictments lie heavily with American Christianity, Islam, Judaism, and Catholicism among others, all fall under the same criticism. And rightly so, I say.

The debate over God's existence, influence, ability, and attributes is centuries old. I'd be a fool to imply that I'm some sort of expert on the subject, too. But there is a distinction between the existence of God and the religions created around his existence. And while one can remain agnostic about the former, the latter is, and should be, a necessary topic of continual debate. Regardless of where you sit on the spectrum of theism, you'd have to be completely blind not to see the historic and current negative effects of religion on society.

I grew up surrounded by particular religious opinions, many of which I find no longer workable in my worldview. Where many see religion as the solution to the world's problems, I see it as the root cause. I see sexual obsession, war, prejudice, hatred, and worst of all, a clear and intentional lack of caring for human beings around the world. Of course there are plenty of moderates, people with human conviction and passion and a desire to see change and progress, yet still rallying around their God. But there is a disconcerting fundamentalist side as well (as the article points out), a side that waits with open arms and eager smiles for death. And isn't this the real issue with all monotheistic religions? A fear of death? And a supposed requital of that fear? Interestingly enough, some atheists suggest that it is the moderates who are the most dangerous, for they never truly condemn fundamentalism, allowing it some rightful place on the spectrum of faith. And this is proving to be costly.

When you have religions speaking out against the encouragement of condom usage in Africa to stem the tide of AIDS or when you have religions claiming AIDS is a direct judgment of some Old Testament God, something is amuck. When religions hide pedophiles by moving them from parish to parish without punishment, when they murder Dutch filmmakers on the street for speaking out against their bullshit or hold mass outcries when Danish cartoonists call their irrationality into question, something is really wrong. How about the scare tactics of running "hell-houses" where people are paraded through various rooms to see reenactments of abortions, homosexual intimacy, and then the supposed literal hell and torment that awaits? Or church websites that extol hatred as a virtue (type "God Hates Fags" into Google sometime, and you'll see)?

And my largest concern, how about those that wave a flag and a cross side by side, claiming that their God has given them the right to blow the living shit out of countries somewhere else in the world? A pissing contest for deities, carried out by slack-jawed, pretentious minions. And to do it with such swagger and arrogance. Is no one frightened about the notion of a nuclear-capable, fundamentalist Christian state? Why do we allow them so much power? Why do people refuse to revolt? I think it's because collectively, people wallow in intellectual apathy. To question or seriously debate pushes them out of their comfort zone. There is minimal comfort in blind faith, no matter how absurd. It is always easier to say "oh, it's just God's will" then it is to sit down and talk about change. This article suggests that religion wants death, religion is eagerly awaiting for it because it means the vindication of its beliefs.

And you wonder why peace is so difficult to attain?

Anyways, read the article, Is God Poison? and tell me what you think. None of us are going to be one hundred percent in agreement. But the very nature of debating issues like this is at least a step in the right direction. At least we're not standing on a street corner reciting the four spiritual laws to pedestrians walking by.

The end is near. But likely not in the way you think.

Sherman Alexie is back.... so go buy his new book

I remember the first time I saw the movie Smoke Signals, how I felt humbled by the humour, the beauty, the delicate respect. And it was only by fluke that I learned it was based on a series of short stories penned by Sherman Alexie, who happened to have been born and raised just outside of Spokane Washington, a few hours across the border from my home town. We used to drive to Spokane all the time as teenagers, stopping at the Indian Reservation to purchase fireworks. That had been the extent of my interaction with American Indians.

Alexie's short stories were published in a collection called The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight In Heaven and to this day I consider this book to be some of the finest works I've ever read. There is so much honesty in his writing, a willingness to both laugh and rage at the changes his culture has undergone over so many years. And there is a keen sense of spirit too, an almost metaphysical element woven between his words. I try to read it every year.

And now Mr. Alexie, a man I have never met, has a new book out called Flight This has me excited, of course. I assume I am similar to most of you out there when I say that there are certain writers whose books I buy without question or hesitation. Like film, where certain directors illicit the same response from me, once I've read an amazing book I am always looking forward to the next release by the author. Flight will be by next book purchase, to be sure.

So, if you are looking for a new author to check out, a new book to add to your afternoon reading material, or just to expand your reading base (it's so easy to get stuck in a rut when you read) I offer my humble suggestion of any of Sherman Alexie's works. Just use the Amazon link to the right. Or perhaps you want to rent Smoke Signals first, to get an idea of what his writing is about. I have yet to come across someone who has been disappointed by the experience. Here's a final link to CBC's interview with Alexie, regarding his latest novel:

http://www.cbc.ca/arts/books/alexie.html

Epistlary Humour is Good Writing Too...

As some of you know, I grew up in a conservative Christian family. As with any religious upbringing, there is a fair amount of baggage attached, usually fully recognized when you enter the real world as an adult. But the reek of shit rises just as high as the reek of piety... and wouldn't you know it, they seem to smell really similar. And I love when someone writes a letter or essay or article that reduces one of the many absurd aspects of fundamental theology (of any religion) to the absurdity it really is. Case in point: a letter was recently written to Dr. Laura Schlessinger (popular American radio host) regarding one of the comments she made on her show. Can you imagine if her and Rush Limbaugh hooked up? The world would probably implode with stupidity.

What follows is just a "cut and paste" by me. I take no credit for it and am just posting it for the sake of humour, and the tongue in cheek attack on literal theological interpretation. Normally, I wouldn't do so on this blog, but it struck a chord with me. In other words, I think it's good writing. Here goes...

Recently, she (Dr. Laura) said that, as an observant Orthodox Jew, homosexuality is an abomination according to Leviticus 18:22 and cannot be condoned under any circumstance. The following is an open letter to Dr. Laura penned by an east coast resident, which was posted on the Internet. It's funny, as well as informative:

Dear Dr. Laura:

Thank you for doing so much to educate people regarding God's Law. I have learned a great deal from your show, and try to share that knowledge with as many people as I can. When someone tries to defend the homosexual lifestyle, for example, I simply remind them that Leviticus 18:22 clearly states it to be an abomination. End of debate.

I do need some advice from you, however, regarding some of the other specific laws and how to follow them:When I burn a bull on the altar as a sacrifice, I know it creates a pleasing odor for the Lord - Lev.1:9. The problem is my neighbors. They claim the odor is not pleasing to them. Should I smite them?

I would like to sell my daughter into slavery, as sanctioned in Exodus21:7. In this day and age, what do you think would be a fair price for her?

I know that I am allowed no contact with a woman while she is in her period of menstrual uncleanliness - Lev.15:19- 24. The problem is, howdo I tell? I have tried asking, but most women take offense.

Lev. 25:44 states that I may indeed possess slaves, both male and female, provided they are purchased from neighboring nations. A friend of mine claims that this applies to Mexicans, but not Canadians. Can you clarify? Why can't I own Canadians?

I have a neighbor who insists on working on the Sabbath. Exodus 35:2 clearly states he should be put to death. Am I morally obligated tokill him myself? A friend of mine feels that even though eating shellfish is anabomination - Lev. 11:10, it is a lesser abomination than homosexuality. I don't agree. Can you settle this?

Lev. 21:20 states that I may not approach the altar of God if I have a defect in my sight. I have to admit that I wear reading glasses. Does my vision have to be 20/20, or is there some wiggle room here?

Most of my male friends get their hair trimmed, including the hair around their temples, even though this is expressly forbidden by Lev.19:27. How should they die?

I know from Lev. 11:6-8 that touching the skin of a dead pig makes me unclean, but may I still play football if I wear gloves?

My uncle has a farm. He violates Lev. 19:19 by planting two different crops in the same field, as does his wife by wearing garments made of two different kinds of thread (cotton/polyester blend). He also tends to curse and blaspheme a lot. Is it really necessary that we go to all the trouble of getting the whole town together to stone them? -Lev.24:10-16. Couldn't we just burn them to death at a private family affair like we do with people who sleep with their in-laws? (Lev.20:14)

I know you have studied these things extensively, so I am confident you can help. Thank you again for reminding us that God's word is eternal and unchanging.

Your devoted fan,
Jim

The Mad Shuffling of Priorities

Guilt is a byproduct of my writing endeavours, desperation too. At 32, I feel a keen sense of urgency to get somewhere with all of this, make something of myself. Right now I can only call myself a writer in the loosest of terms. So I get frantic sometimes, which results in some likely subpar output. It's like there is a magic number in my head, some age limit, that I need to be successful by (and I realize that success is a rather subjective quality). I want writing to be my priority, the focus of what I am about, the core substance which defines my processes as an adult. But I'm realizing that this may never be the case. Life is notorious with its ability to make you take stock and implement changes.

Last year, my wife and I went on a three week backpacking trip through various parts of Europe. By far, it was the single most remarkable thing we'd ever done as a couple. The art, culture, food, drink, people -all left a permanent impression with us, something we value and talk about all the time. Of course, added into the mix was the fact that our first child (still in Sandra's belly as I write this) was conceived. I'd heard that trips to Europe could do this to a couple, but I always thought we'd outside the norm. Not so. Novotel in Brussels will always be held in very high regard.
Throughout Sandra's pregnancy, I've wrestled with where to place writing on my list of priorities once the baby is here. Instinctually, I know the baby comes first. Each time I talk to the grub through dear Wifey's belly and it tries to thump me in the nose I am overwhelmed. But in the back of my mind I get this desperate feeling like I need to keep writing at the top of my list, that to let it take a back seat to anything will ultimately result in prolonged failure down the road. Surely, the successful writers out there let nothing deter them. I grow concerned that I will have to sacrifice one for the other.

A poet friend of mine and I were emailing back and forth recently. He mentioned that when he was married to his then wife, he made the big error of telling her that writing would always be his biggest priority. He wasn't being disingenuous with her (though he did say it was young and stupid of him to say this), just honest about where he was at. He didn't want her to think he would sacrifice his writing for job or relationship. But when his first child came, all of that was thrown out the window. He considered it primal instinct, something you cannot avoid, something deeper than marriage. Your children always come first.

In the Belly to Baby classes Sandra and I attended this past weekend (which I highly recommend), I watched at least six different DVD births. Each and every one of them was beautiful and remarkable. And I get this sense that I'm realizing what my poet friend was talking about. This instinct is so immense and yet I only feel twinges of it right now. Even if I were callous enough to want to put writing in front of my children, I do not think I would be able to. When the bambino finally arrives, after all the labour and work my dear wife will go through, there will not be any doubt about priorities. And it may not be a matter of sacrifice. Writing is influenced by experiences. And this will be an unforgettable one, I'm sure.

Procrastinator Terminus

I've got Beck's Whiskeyclone, Hotel City 1997 (from the album Mellow Gold) playing and it is a lazy song. The music bleeds out slow, an inebriated slick of sound, sunken into the ground with apathy. There's no inspiration in it, but it is good music, the kind that slows you down to a staggering crawl.

The feel of this song, not the words per say, seems to embody my head space for writing these past few weeks. I have two stories in their final stages: peer edits in, red marks scrawled all over the manuscripts, all notes ready for serious concession. And I have not done a damn thing with them.

At first, I chalked it up to having to complete an editing assignment for a course I'm taking. But when that was done, nothing changed. So I considered blaming Facebook and its infernal addictiveness. But that would also mean blaming my wife, Sandra, who started me up on the whole thing. To be honest I value my appendages... all of them. No the responsibility must lie with my own pathetic shortcomings. All the criticism I've levied against writers who look for ways to distract themselves from completing those last steps now comes full circle. And I have it a lot easier than most people.

The funny thing is, I often find the editing process more enjoyable than the actual penning of the first draft. Getting the initial story out can be agony. All the images jumbled in my head, giving me only a murky idea of what I'm trying to convey. Once the story is out on the page and I can start picking it apart, moving paragraphs, changing word choices, finding out what my peer editors have to say --that's when I feel like something of value can be accomplished.
So, I think I'm pulling back from those last few steps because I know that once they're done I've got to go back to square one. I have to start from scratch again, from one concrete image, from the idea of context. It's a trivial thing, really. I should be looking forward to the next editing process, the same way one anticipates a good meal without being too mindful about the preparation involved beforehand.

In other words, I'm being lazy. There, I said it. Of course, now that I've said it, I'll be racing upstairs to hammer away at my stories like a good boy. But I must do it quick, before my garden out front calls me into the sun, before someone posts on my Facebook account, before the hockey game starts, before... crap, too late.

Salvation Through Oprah...

Postured high in lofty realms where God is all sunshine and lollipops, and "Jesus Saves" bumper stickers are both the cause of and solution to all life's problems, another form of religious fervor has bubbled its way into this roiling mess of North American soul searching. In all its greasy, omnipresent power, the manufactured ego-deity of Oprah permeates the media to bless her minions. Her face appears on every issue of her own magazine, her opinion is canonized daily on her television show with bold statements and images, reminding everyone what she does to save the world. People buy into it too, with empty, painful smiles. But surely there must be the occasional suspicious question as to how or why so many nod their heads in perfect, holy agreement.
And of course, how can we forget her book club and its rather gooey mixture of nauseating self-help, flimsy spirituality, and the occasional literary piece, all marked with her name as if she has something to do with their existence. No surprise that I might take exception with that.

The best thing about television is that you can change the channel whenever you want, or just shut the damned thing off. I don't have to spend my afternoons watching Oprah pose for all her camera closeups, reiterating how she spends her money and time saving the souls of (wo)mankind and buying tennis shoes for kids. But I tell you, I almost get an aneurysm when I go into a bookstore and find a sticker bearing her name, pasted across the cover of a book she's had no part in writing. Does her Christ complex give her license to tag everything with her own vacuous approval? What could she possibly have to offer to the literary world?

Right away, I know some of you will jump and and say, "Well dammit Harry, I never would have read East of Eden if it hadn't been for Oprah. Fair enough, but perhaps you could contemplate that statement for a moment. Are you suggesting that your slovenly mind was not intuitive enough to start seeking out good literature on its own? Steinbeck, Faulkner, Morrison... all these great writers' reputations were not enough to compel you to be inquisitive about them? It took the almighty Oprah, someone without any literary background or real education, someone who has nothing to offer but superficial and ultimately meaningless commercialism -- someone you do not even know, to compel you? You would rather concede that you take your cues in life from a network media mogul than your own discernment? Then I wish you would never have read East of Eden at all. Leave all those wonderful books alone. Better yet, maybe you can find a recorded copy of Oprah reading one of those books so you don't have to tire out your poor, poor brain.

Awhile back, Rex Murphy, one of Canada's best critical commentators, wrote a scathing piece on Oprah's book club. Titled The Author Eater, and now found in his book of essays called Points of View, Murphy's article rails against Oprah's book club on two fronts. He observes how she leeches the uniqueness out of good books, making them a byproduct of her "Oprahness", and then marketing them as if they were products of her own ideas. He also comments on the quality of the books in her club, those self-help Tony Robbins, Deepak Chopra and Chicken Soup for the Soul type books that use smiley-face, booster shots of nonsense to lull the masses into happy, generic slumber. In this instance, I think Rex hits the nail on the head. Celebrity is becoming synonymous with intellectual opinion, an absurd nightmare in its own right. We race to bookshelves to read books because glamorous (at least when they have makeup on) people tell us to. And this hurts both sides of the equation. Established authors now grovel at the accursed throne to get their names mentioned, knowing that the majority of readers base their book choices on coerced popular demand. Who in their right mind would want to be mentioned alongside Deepak Chopra anyways?

Ever get that gnawing feeling that something is wrong with the way people perceive the world? That somehow we are moving further and further away from complex thought and dialogue, away from intimate discussion, towards some weird, mechanized form of interaction? How about how difficult we often find it to articulate our ideas or feelings about something personal and important? Or how about how little rationale we use when forming opinion? You can thank Oprah for this, along with a plethora of other like-minded sycophants out there. She has blended weak entertainment with weak commentary, feeding on the ever growing demographic of people who are comfortable to have others think for them, and packaging her ego and need for attention into a massive pandemic of intellectual apathy. Hurrah.