schweblog

I finished Infinite Jest in January and, at the behest of a certain someone, recently picked up Thomas Pynchon’s Against the Day.  Once again, I find myself meandering through a lengthy postmodern tome, this time set in a reimagined version of turn of the century America.  There are windships and æther, anarchists and Nikola Tesla, tunnels through the Earth and gnomes underground.

When I reveal the fact that I’ve decided to go off on another trek into a lengthy, labyrinthine novel, most of my friends give me a bewildered look  (or, as one friend calls it the “Oh Jesse” look).  This isn’t unusual.  It’s something I’ve come to expect when I discuss what kind of media I like to digest.  Similarly, I encounter few people who share my sentiments on what makes a good movie.  And my taste in music is appreciated by only a handful of my friends.  My choice of entertainments is eclectic.

Most people respond with cynicism when I discuss my preferred films, books, and movies.  It is the era of the hipster, where people like things because it will make them seem somehow different, disengaged from the hive mind and mapping out barely-explored regions of the cultural geography.  Their disillusion is understandable because, hey, doing things merely because they’re different lacks that sense of self-awareness that has become the essence of hip these days.  The thing is, I really, genuinely enjoy this stuff.

In an effort to disassociate myself from being branded with the scarlet letter of hipsterdom, though, I’ve been trying to get to the root of why, precisely, I enjoy the things that I do.  After a few discussions with my friends, I think I’m getting close to understanding things.

I’ve found that, by and large, people see entertainment as a device that allows them to escape from reality, disengage their mind, and go on a mental vacation.  Popular novels.  Sitcoms.  Blockbuster films.  In the event that I’m faced with such things, I latch onto what I can and start analyzing it, combing through pop entertainment in hopes of stumbling upon an insightful cultural criticism.  If given a choice, though, I’ll opt for the challenging, involved, difficult media that is less common but far more rewarding.

In short, I prefer media that engages me.  Whereas your average person prefers the entertainment equivalent of slurping oysters on the halfshell while lounging a Mexican beach, I like media that makes me feel like I’m harvesting a pearl, prying and working and dedicating my full attention to the matter.  I feel as if I should have to work—that I owe this to the creator of whatever media I’m taking in.  To ask an author, musician, or other artist to strip their work of nuance and subtlety to make it easier for me seems insulting to both of us.

And this is why I choose the media that I do.  It has nothing to do with a deep-seated desire to be the pioneer of cool things, to come across as edgy and avant garde to my peers.  It has everything to do with taking an active role in the process of entertaining myself.  Your average experience on television tonight is the entertainment equivalent of a lapdance—the artist does their damnedest to make the audience feel wanted and desired and the audience passively stands by and waits for stimulation.  I prefer to take a more active role in my entertainment experience, though, and will happily lend a hand in reaching entertainment euphoria.

Filed under: culture, literature, movies, music by Jesse
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About a month ago Albuquerque had one of those rare weeks where it rained off and on for several days in a row. Besides making everything green, it also made the snails come out.

One of the snails got stepped on and his friends were eating him. I wonder how knowing that your friends will eat you upon your death changes your perspective on life?

Filed under: photo by Jesse
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I am currently sitting at the Satellite Cafe in Albuquerque’s “Nob Hill” district—about a mile-long stretch of Route 66 that runs from the intersection of Carlisle and Central to right around where the University of New Mexico starts.  For as long as I can remember, this relatively tiny span of our city has been home to a myriad of cool, quirky local businesses.  I’ve spent what probably amounts to weeks of time in this very cafe and have been roaming this corridor of Central before I even moved to Albuquerque.  It is a place that is near and dear to my heart, chock full of memories and stencil graffiti and homeless beggars.

With few exceptions, the area has been mostly occupied by local, non-corporate businesses.  When you walk down the street, there’s a very distinct sense of difference in the air.  Sure, the heat and pollution and all the classical city elements are there.  But it doesn’t feel the same as everywhere else in the city.  In most burgeoning neighborhoods—all over Rio Rancho, for instance, one of the fastest growing cities in the nation—you can’t spit without hitting a franchise: Starbucks, P.F. Changs, and McDonalds are planted every six or seven feet blocks.  Nob hill is different.  It’s not like that.  Sure, we have a Starbucks, but it took over the building owned by Arby’s.  And it is an exception to the rule.

In the past year or so, though, changes have been set in motion that threaten the very sense of place that sets Nob Hill apart from everywhere else.  A lot was bought by a developer and a massive construction project began about a year ago right in the middle of everything.  Business space on the lower story, with two or three stories of loft apartments above.  The lofts are priced in such a way that the demographic of the neighborhood is going to undoubtedly change.  It’s prime real estate, located smack dab in the middle of the quirky, funky Nob Hill area.  Any proud hipster would be happy to reside here, in the midst of this young, fresh neighborhood.

The problem is that this development, along with others that are starting to crop up, threaten to undermine the quirky, funky nob hill vibe that makes this corridor so appealing.  A sign was recently posted letting passersby know that an Urban Outfitters was going to occupy a space beneath the lofts.  Let’s just stop delaying the inevitable and plop down a WalMart, shall we?

I realize that I sound like an angsty Bohemian lamenting the inevitable flow of capitalism.  And I guess that, in a way, I am.  Outside of one store that will most likely be nailed by the presence of Urban Outfitters, called Toad Road, there are usually a couple of employees outside jamming on their guitars.  This is the essence of Nob Hill: the delightful combination of nuances that are unique to this one place.  You see things that you don’t see in subdivisions and planned developments here.  And I’m pretty sure that there isn’t a measure in the Urban Outfitters corporate handbook that allows employees to jam on their guitars outside of the store.

And that phenomena explains precisely what I’m going to miss.  The smelly hippies that haven’t showered for weeks will all be gone because they can’t afford to live here, as will the starry-eyed idealistic student activists and amateur cafe philosophers.  The flailing musicians that work in a shop to buy studio time won’t be allowed to loiter outside of their store with instruments because it’s against corporate policy.  The stores with the overpowering smell of incense creeping out of their open doors will shut down and reopen with chain stores catering to young girls that like to dress like Paris Hilton.  Real culture will be replaced with the much more profitable gentrified culture. The money will be great.  The neighborhood, though, will be gone.

Filed under: culture, lamentations by Jesse
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