December 14, 2008
The Diving Bell and the Brain Tumor
From his vantage point: sewing Jean-Dominique Bauby’s eye shut after his stroke. Still from the film The Diving Bell and the Butterfly.
Today is my mother’s birthday: more accurately, the 87th anniversary of her birth. She died in 1971 just days before her fiftieth birthday. Eleven years before she was diagnosed with a benign brain tumor: acoustic neuroma, Clinically speaking, this tumor is “a non-cancerous growth that arises from the 8th or vestibulo-cochlear nerve.” But the effects of her illness and treatment were as toxic as any chemotherapy would have been. At 11 I was too young to be included in the discussions of her disease, prognosis, and treatment. Invasive and targeted, today my memories of her illness are still as imbedded in my brain as her tumor was in hers.
Yesterday, while the rest of the family was out on holiday errands I decided to force myself to watch the Netflix movie that had been sitting next to the TV for months. Next in our queue was The Diving Bell and the Butterfly. While I couldn’t remember the film’s exact synopsis I knew it had something to do with a man locked in his body, unable to respond to the world around him. This certainly wasn’t on my list of comedic films I’d gravitated to recently, hence its longevity on our TV shelf. And as the plot unfolded I was totally unprepared for the striking similarities to my mother’s illness the film would convey. I was shocked at how raw my feelings and emotions were 48 years after the fact. And I was glad I was alone.
Don’t Stop Now! Read the Climactic Conclusion to "The Diving Bell and the Brain Tumor"
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December 6, 2008
The Composite Sum of Obama's Face
Beauty has always been a product of the social attitudes of the time. During the Renaissance voluptuous Rafaelesque women were the standard aspiration while in the 1960s, and certainly today, thin —even an emaciated look— is often what people admire.
While waiting for the subway after work yesterday I found a new back-lighted dental ad at my usual standing spot. Quick! Who does this man look like?
Is it a coincidence this model reminds me of Barack Obama? His election was more than the total electoral votes he garnered —some even calling it a post-racial social revolution. Oh, our propensity to overstate and overstate prematurely. His election was only a beginning. We’re all still racists. How could we not be, given the importance and effect race has had in our society? We’ve got a long way before race is not the issue. But we did learn this time that something else was more important to most of us when it came to our vote. That’s a watershed.
From his campaign logo to his iconic visage for change, the visual in social politics and contemporary culture is once again on its ascendancy. And it was inevitable that Obama’s “look,” beginning as a political critique, would find its way into advertising.
Right now, this is all about Obama and what political and social changes his administration with usher in. But, ultimately, this will be less about him and more about how we see ourselves. An ad for a Dupont Circle dentist is an interesting beginning.
The couple pictured above could be black or white or a mix of cultures and races. I’m reminded of Nancy Burson’s 1980s computer composite photographs, and her Human Race Machine which allows us to see ourselves as a mix of ethnicities. Yes, this couple could be a composite. Then I look at my own family, a mix of European and Han and Mongol Chinese —our transracial family. Each of us literally comes from a different part of the world. We’re less a composite and more of a sum.
Whether composite or sum, it’s the understated mix that Barack Obama’s presidency heralds. A norm. Expect to see more racially mixed or ambiguous advertisements. High style is often at the forefront of cultural shift. But dental ads are another little step. This isn’t Vogue. Suddenly it will seem as if it’s always been this way. And, in a way, it always has.
Update: Washington’s local NBC affiliate picked up this piece and wrote about it on their Web site. The most interesting part of their reportage was the comments. Most readers felt it must have been a slow news day for the station to write this up. Reading NBC’s post I can see why. Rather than treat the dentist’s advertising photo in the context of a larger cultural identity shift, they chose to write it up with comic overtones: times must be tough if Obama’s looking for a second job. Using humor to talk about serious issues is difficult (especially about people trying to find work). NBC, you might want to stick with reporting facts from now on.
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November 23, 2008
The Boxer Rebellion
So cute. And just perfect for the First Family and the Gates family.
While the rest of the country recovers from the election, Washington is swimming in a sea of Obamamania. It’s not surprising considering that Barack, Michelle, Malia, and Sasha will be moving in just down the road. For us all politics is local. You see, while I live just outside the Beltway, I often connect with the Politicos of DC in more intimate ways —sometimes directly and sometimes in an off-the-cuff chit chat moment. They’re locals, just like us. Many of my neighbors work directly with political higher ups. Oh, the stories they tell —all off the record of course. Of course. We’re neighborly but definitely discreet. Yeah, that sort of thing is commonplace around here.
So while the Washington Post dutifully reports on Obama’s cabinet choices with brevity on its front page, the social aspects of the First Family To Be are treated as local news in the Style section. After all, this is our hometown paper.
So I wasn’t surprised when I spied another “what dog should the Obama’s get” story in this morning’s edition. But I was riveted to the article when I noticed a big picture of a Boxer dog. The Post, with all the authority it could muster, was recommending the First Family get a Boxer. While the Poodle was the choice of the 42,000 people who voted in the American Kennel Club’s poll for the best dog for the Obama girls, the Post had what it thought a more appropriate choice:
Given all factors considered, though, we’re going for something else. We’re going with something fitted to your size, physique and the temperament of your chief of staff. Yes, we’re talking about what the AKC calls “the well-conditioned middleweight athlete of dogdom,” the boxer!
I grew up with Boxers. And I melt when I see one. I will stop and talk to total strangers when they are walking one. They are wonderful family dogs. And I’ve been working on my wife for years to add one to our family tree. The article continues: “According to Kennel Club’s Web site: ‘The breed is known for standing up on its hind legs and batting at its opponent, appearing to box with its front paws.’ Perfect for dealing with Congress!” But more importantly, it goes on to say: “One of the breed’s most notable characteristics is its desire for human affection, especially from children. They are patient and spirited with children, but also protective, making them a popular choice for families.”
So true. So very true. My two girls are on board. But it’s been a hard sell for my wife. You see, she was bitten by two “huge” German Shepherds as a girl and is a little dog shy of bigger breeds. After taking the family to see Beverly Hills Chihuahua a couple weeks ago she tried to convince me that pint-sized, um, dog would be a perfect choice for us. Really? You’ve got to be kidding, Wife!
Of course, I’m sensitive to her early childhood experiences. And I try to help her rise above them whenever possible. Early in our marriage, even before we had children, I tried to “de-sensitize” her by taking her to a local Boxer dog show. Seeing hundreds of Boxer dogs in one place was pretty funny. And not one pooch was biting anyone. But she wasn’t totally convinced. Dear, Boxers are not German Shepherds. Way different temperaments (and much cuter).
I can’t wait for the rest of the family to wake up so I can show them this article. Barack and Michelle, heed the advice of the venerable Post. As dutiful Democrats, we will fall in line right behind you. Well, that’s what I’ll suggest to my wife.
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