cool kids

I'm not sure what it means, that I feel most at ease when bantering back and forth with an older generation of academics in our little corner of the institution. And I do mean that...the adjunct work space is in a hidden-away corner of the institution. They aren't really my peers: several Baby-Boomers with grandchildren, mostly Gen X with kids in middle to high school. I'm one of the oddballs. I know there are more of us, but they don't seem to hang out in the corner.

And the weird thing is that I'm okay with that. I don't really want to be reminded of my own generation anymore. Neither those of us who are "making it," nor those of us who suffer from underemployment. I'm insanely jealous of the thirty-somethings with jobs, and hearing about unemployment makes me ill. It seems the more I read about possibly pursuing a PhD and making this academic thing more of a career than just paying the bills, the more I believe it is a terrible idea. And not in the Hollywood, bad-decisions-lead-to-happy-endings sort of way.

My generation seems to be lost. Or at least I am. Of the two "Xennials" writing in this bittersweet article in Good magazine, I side with the admitted "malcontent" born in 1983. I'm right there with you, pal.

But I don't want to hang out with you.

There has to be some name for it--if not, I could come up with one all my own--this compulsion to seek out people who are different, to be lost in the heterogeneous crowd. I always felt better walking around the city by myself. Having a friend along on roadtrips always made it more stressful. Conversing casually with strangers is infinitely easier than opening up to closer acquaintances.

My fear is that the strangers in the adjunct corner aren't strangers anymore. They ask me about Dad, and I share what's going on in my life outside work. I ask them about their wives and kids and travel plans. Horror of horrors! It's wrong, isn't it? Shouldn't I socialize with people who are in the same life stage as I am? What life stage is that, exactly? Chronically stuck. Circling the drain. Failed to launch.

I just had the thought that my musings about the adjunct corner do not qualify as cultural clash. Maybe I'm not so different from the other teachers, despite decades of life in between. That just makes my lack of those "signifiers of success" that much more painful. How did I get into a Gen X mindset without all the Gen X bells and whistles? Where is my mortgage? Where is my white picket fence? Shouldn't I have those before I am qualified to sigh heavily at the snotty Millennials that fill the hallways and roll through the campus stop signs?

The knowledge that many of my peers have over thirty years of secondary teaching experience or doctorates or families seems suspended long enough for me to derive actual pleasure from hanging out in the corner. There is the IT guy whose phone sounds like the Star Trek (TNG) comm, and the geology professor who yells at the nursing faculty for using the community Xerox machine. Granted, those nursing gals do tend to cause several paper jams.

There are the math professors--all former high school teachers--who tease me over my far too subjective discipline of choice. They tease everyone else, too, so it's no big deal. One has to keep his desk super clean because of an immune deficiency, but he makes it entertaining, writing "No Adjuncts Allowed" or piling furniture in front of the desk to prevent the next English professor from sitting down. The mock battle over territory is a welcome respite from fearing the dull stares of students in the next hour.

There is the political science professor that I could probably talk to for hours on end if we didn't have work to do. And she's Republican. That's how deep I'm in this. I get along with people who I would expect to look at my liberal self with conservative scorn. I'm the only art history nerd in the adjunct corner, yet I fit in.

This fitting in is a very strange sensation, mind you, considering my experiences as a student. Before I stood in front of a whiteboard to earn money, I was an outcast. Now, I imagine we are the cool kids of the faculty. Too cool for our own offices. We can't be bothered to hold regular office hours. Health insurance is so over. Our clique is not impenetrable...full-time staff and tenured faculty are welcome to stop by. I don't even mind seeing students in the grocery store anymore. This is naturally what happens when geeks and nerds become cool.

I'm way too comfortable with this. Where is the angst? Wait, I just remembered I'll never be able to retire. Oh, and my part-time socializing eclipses even my closest relationships that are in dire need of repair. There we go, angst recovered!

I want you to agree with me

I think it is essential for all Americans human beings to experience what it feels like to be a member of the majority and the minority. In every conflict, I try to place my feelings and observations on that scale: am I going along with the crowd or am I being contrary again? This scaling determines whether I post an article to my facebook, or write about an issue here. What I'm really asking myself is, is it safe to let others know what I'm thinking?

The majority means comfort and safety. We tend to be so confident when we just know that most of those around us share our beliefs or opinions. Because I like that sense of safety, I feel the need to agree; I crave agreement as much as my poor self craves approval. Take the current issue going on with the OSU band. I have a lot of friends who are band alumni, and when you consider the larger band program that includes more than football games, I am one of them. This makes me want to say "I stand with Jon" and change my profile picture. To do so would bring me a sense of unity with old friends and even strangers.

So why haven't I done it? As much as I crave agreement and belonging, I look at the issue from a different perspective. That perspective puts me in the minority. The minority, unlike its counterpart, means risk and adversity. Voicing a minority opinion is risky because it can bring about "flame wars" on the internet or even end friendships. That's what I'm afraid of, now. There's a nagging voice in my head that says, "Jon may be a nice guy, but these allegations are quite serious and should not be taken lightly." I can say that I think the university acted rashly and purely for the sake of appearances by firing the director, yet I keep thinking about the students involved more than I think of him. How would I feel, if it seemed that band leadership didn't take my personal safety seriously? How would I feel, if a fellow student assaulted me but justice was never done? My positive memories of the band do not outweigh the harassment any one band member may have experienced. It is those thoughts that prevent me from "standing with Jon" as much as I feel that termination was an overreaction.

I should be clear that even our perceptions of majority and minority are flawed. If I were just some random citizen with no connection to the band, I might not feel like my opinion put me in the minority. I suppose I'm using the two terms in a more qualitative way than a quantitative one, since I haven't actually taken a poll of how many people think A as opposed to B. The reality is that I am closely connected to the band and its culture, so my instinct tells me to hush up.

And it's the hushing up part that bugs me. My instinct doesn't seem so different from the sensationalized picture of secrecy that the media is painting. Go with the flow. Don't you have a sense of humor? Lighten up. If you don't like it, you can leave.

Since when was belonging to a family or community or organization predicated on agreeing on every single thing? It reminds me of the article I read about the #JewsAndArabsRefuseToBeEnemies campaign. In the article, Gutman describes how friends are scared of posting with the hashtag for fear of reprisal in their respective communities. If I take my own feelings about the band and ratchet them up by, say, a thousand, I think I'm still underestimating the anxiety these people are feeling. For them it is not just "Hey, my friends think this, when I think that," but it seems to get at the heart of their cultural and religious identities. On top of that, as the article emphasizes, this "minority" message they would send if not for fear is a peaceful one!

So back to my hunch about experiencing both positions, majority and minority. If you always go with the crowd, you never know that inner struggle. And if you always choose the contrary side, you never feel that sense of belonging. Both are important for understanding where the other guy is coming from. If I let myself think that my friends are denigrating women who allege sexual harassment, the situation only gets worse. If Israelis perpetuate the idea that to criticize the occupation is a yes vote for Hamas, then peace is still light-years away. This idea that "If you're not with us, you're against us," needs to go away.

Essentially, I'm still enough of an idealist to believe that as long as we can imagine life in the other guy's shoes, we'll be kind, thoughtful, and just people. We would be slow to judge and slow to anger, because it takes time to consider both sides of an issue in a thoughtful way. Many a hasty comment or post would be avoided!

Yes, Virginia, there is a dove and an olive branch

While I found the breakdown of Aronofsky's use of the biblical account in the Slate article instructive, I also found that the author, Miriam Krule, covered much of what I would have if I had written this all the night I went to the movies. The film and its critics were practically screaming for a breakdown of just what appears in the Bible, so I read it again that night.

Of course, I published my own thoughts about the Watchers and the industrialization of Cain, but instead of copying Ms. Krule's format, I thought I might frame the rest of my interpretations using my old stand-by, internet comments.

Some question the purpose of comparing the film and the Bible (let alone Many Waters). "It's a myth," they say. Well, I certainly hope those same people have never criticized a director for straying from source material of a more substantial nature, like the Harry Potter series. The adaptation of novels to film is another element we must remember as we consider Noah, because all filmmakers select the material from their sources, embellishing and sometimes leaving things out altogether. Remember Hermione's pro-house elf organization, SPEW? Totally cut from the movie version...

Other commenters stress that Aronofsky was under no obligation to adhere at all to the Bible; they wade into dangerous territory, baiting each other with comments that the story is untrue or to get to the truth you must consider the epic of Gilgamesh, not the Bible. I'd rather question why viewers expect adherence to "facts" in any movie and give my conclusions about the effects of the deviations made in the film.

The changes Aronofsky made--and I do consider them changes from the biblical story--allowed for greater clarity when it comes to Noah's relationships with his family: specifically with his wife and his second son, Ham. After Noah gets drunk and Ham found him naked, the biblical account offers the most confusing part of the story:

[Noah] said, "A curse on Canaan! He will be a slave to his brothers. Give praise to the Lord, the God of Shem! Canaan will be the slave of Shem. May God cause Japheth to increase! May his descendants live with the people of Shem! Canaan will be the slave of Japheth."  - Genesis 9:25-27

Canaan of course refers to Ham and his descendants, and I'm not one of those who views these verses as evidence of sodomy. Call me optimistic. In the film, Shem and Japheth do demonstrate the biblical taboo of seeing their father naked, but Ham stays several steps away, not helping his father up. Ham has up to this point struggled with his father's mission, and I found him to be one of the most emotionally gripping characters of the entire cast. Why curse him, as Noah does in the Bible? Why does he leave, as he does in the film?

As a younger sister, this preference of one son (or two) over another has always bugged me. Why love Jacob more than Esau? Why show preference for Able? (This questioning by no means acquits Cain of what he does later.) It appears to me that Aronofsky is also asking such questions, and one of the biggest deviations made in the film ratchets up the conflict between father and son: Tubal-Cain as a stow-away.

Ham helps him, even plots revenge on Noah, but Ham is also shocked by Tubal-Cain's recklessness towards the animals on board. The conflict within Ham is just as riveting as the one between father and son, as Noah the anti-hero and Tubal-Cain the villain battle one last time. The son ultimately chooses family over all else, even though that choice does not solve his problems: being alone without the possibility of his own family, first and foremost.

I'd like to offer up this conflict, both the biblical account and the film's embellishment, as a proxy for what is missing: the voice of God. In the Bible, many a verse begins with "And God said..." However, we hear no heavenly voice, see no heavenly figure, and in some cases, we aren't even clued in to the visions Noah has. Again, I think the goal is realism. Instead of the Monty Python version of God speaking from a cloud, we get silence or strange dreams, things to be interpreted. Isn't that more like how the Holy Spirit has communicated with men in the Bible? A burning bush, dreams of cattle dying, not straightforward speeches.

God speaking to Arthur and his knights in Monty Python and the Holy Grail, 1975

Oh stop your grovelling! If there's one thing I can't stand it's when people grovel! And don't apologize! Every time I try to talk to someone it's "Sorry this" or "Forgive me that" or "I'm not worthy! - God, Monty Python and the Holy Grail

The relationship between father and son is analogous to that between God and human. There is confusion about what the other one is after and conflict between the desires of both that drives them apart. To me, it is a beautiful metaphor of fate and free will, that timeless preoccupation of many a writer and artist. Ham's own will is to find a wife and start his own family. Noah's will is for Ham and the entire family to perish as the rest of humanity has. What will Ham do, with his hopes and desires in opposition to the path laid out by his father?

The climax of the movie, after all, is not the flood itself, but Noah's decision about his family's fate aboard the Ark. This is where Noah's wife, called Naameh in the film, goes from "submissive" biblical spouse to modern woman. In her final plea to Noah, Naameh essentially outlines the situation in which they, and humanity, have found themselves: is it justice to punish the good in people in order to eradicate the evil? Her actions and words, like Ham's, appear to fight against fate, represented by Noah. She is not a blind follower. She stands up to Noah and leads me to my final conclusions about the film: Aronofsky's own brand of feminist revisionism.

Nameless in the Bible, Noah's wife and Shem's wife, Ila, already reclaim identities denied them in the written tradition. In their dialogue and behavior, they represent a counter to Noah's vision-driven sense of fate. Ultimately, Aronofsky rights the wrong of eliminating the wives of Ham and Japheth with Ila's twin daughters; we now have the "correct" number of women aboard the Ark, though there's a subtle hitch called incest.

How can these girls "be fruitful and multiply" if the men available are their uncles? If the rest of the film has not convinced you that it is not a Sunday School version, this open ending should finally get the point across. Fox News's Dana Bash laments the fairy tale aspect of her childhood, with the dove and the rainbow and everyone living happily ever after. Jon Stewart naturally replies in his bit, "Everyone dies!" However, as if just for Dana, there is a dove who brings Japheth an olive branch at the end. The Ark does land on a mountain, as in the story. And, in a final stroke, the screen dissolves into the spectrum of the rainbow.

After all the darkness, a rainbow at the end. Shouldn't that be enough to satisfy the Sunday School crowd? I smirked at this final frame, because what I felt was so wonderful about this film were the concept of humanity's incestuous origins and the struggle between fate and free will...in short, the messy, good stuff about the story, whichever version you read or watch or listen to.

So, about Noah...

[Um...spoilers might be found within...]

What could possibly be more shocking than one of today's weirdest directors taking on one of the oldest stories in the Bible? Knowing what I know about Darren Aronofsky, I was prepared to view the film as one interpretation among many. However, there has been a slew of negative reviews, from the Vatican to your everyday Christian blogger, bashing Aronofsky's lack of Biblical "facts" and apparent science-fiction twist on the tale of a global flood.

And I think to myself...why not sci-fi? I mean, it's an epic flood that kills all of humanity except Noah and his family. Animals seem to peacefully hop on a man-made boat and do not wind up eating each other? Fallen angels, giants, all of those things that I know from the story seemed to rub people the wrong way. So I have to wonder...which Bible are they reading?

I'm personally using the Good News version for this entry, along with Many Waters, a novel based on Noah's tale by one of my favorite authors, Madeleine L'Engle.

I must also encourage everyone to watch The Daily Show's bit on criticism of the film, cleverly titled "Haters of the Lost Ark." Among other things, Jon points out that the Genesis we know is a translation of a translation (of a translation of a translation...). If you are bothered that the actors use "Creator" in the film rather than "God," I say go have a cup of tea and read Many Waters.

Both L'Engle and Aronofsky (attempt to) inject realism into their stories with the use of "Creator" or "El," the Hebrew term later translated as "God." It's a bit of a switch, I know, considering the rest of the dialogue is English. However, consider that the point of both film and novel is not to rewrite or illustrate the Book of Genesis, but to interpret it in a new form. The dialogue is a reminder that this is not simply a film version of Genesis, but a way to put ourselves into a more ancient than ancient mindset; we have to separate from what is familiar.

Setting aside the familiar aspects of the story is imperative to understanding the intensely personal and modern interpretation of the flood story. Those who dismiss it as "wrong" and "inaccurate" are missing the whole point. If I could borrow a line from Ken Ham, how do we really know? We weren't there. The following points are twists and turns that embrace the immense distance between us and the time of Noah, and the possibilities of interpretation presented in Genesis.

First, The Watchers: all right, I've read several reviews that scoff at these stony giants as too sci-fi. However, there is plenty of room for such characters in the story. L'Engle uses the Hebrew Nephilim, but it's right here, in plain English...giants!

In those days, there were giants on the earth who were descendants of human women and the heavenly beings. They were the great heroes and famous men of long ago. - Genesis 6:4

A Slate blogger points out this verse too, but then curiously drops the subject. In the Bible, the giants are products of unions between fallen angels and human women. Even in my modern translation, this part made me squirm a bit. There's a tinge of blame, here, as if the presence of women itself is a temptation. And Aronofsky furthers that squirmy concept when Noah proclaims that Ila's child will not live if it turns out to be a daughter who could someday have children herself.

Aronofsky's Nephilim are themselves the fallen angels, who have been punished for sympathizing with Adam and Eve. They become powerful allies to Noah, in terms of building the Ark and fighting off the evil descendants of Cain. I suppose this might be offensive, if you want to see an Ark built by a single man, toiling over the years without assistance. If you want Noah to be an ultimate hero, then the film definitely disappoints.

But this is the age of the anti-hero. We have reinvented and rebooted our Batmans and Supermans to have inner conflict, flaws, and the ultimate Aristotelian downfall. It's the same here with Noah.

My comparison of Superman and Noah also comes out of the more modern twists to the story: specifically the industrialization of the descendants of Cain. They and Noah alike use "zohar" to produce fire; it's a coveted mineral that is a fuel source and a flashpoint for violence. Contemporary connections to fossil fuels, anyone? Cain establishes a civilization of power, metal, and insatiable consumerism. And I do mean consumerism...including consuming fellow human beings. It's an environmental and social side of Noah that I, for one, never considered. But it worked as a plot point, and I do think it is worth exploring further, as some at the website Daily Kos are doing. Tubal-Cain, while an invented villain, exemplifies the greed, power-grabbing, and total disregard of consequences we've all seen in gems like Fern Gully and even The Lord of the Rings. He has a "mind of metal," rooted in the Bible's description of another Tubal-Cain, and with every bite of bloody meat he took, he made me cringe and feel for those animals on the Ark, two by two.

Amid my squirming, cringing, and asking someone to please put their friggin' phone away, I kept thinking to myself, why were people expecting a Sunday School film? In Aronofsky's version of an early earth, they do not live "happily ever after," Noah is not perfect, and I'll write more about why I like it that way in "Yes, Virginia, there is a dove and an olive branch."

in defense of Clooney

I care about art, but I did not loathe The Monuments Men as some would say I am obliged to do. Now in my school days, this difference would have me terribly alarmed. I feared retribution for liking what was derivative or feeling ambivalent toward what was revolutionary...according to others. Who am I kidding? I still fear that difference because it makes me feel like a fraud. It makes me feel like I missed something really important in that one seminar that one day, and now my future is irreparably off course.

But that fear can be calmed by realizing the unique position I have occupied for the past three years: not (just) as a sad little adjunct, but more as a "missionary" of art history to a population of rural neophytes. I do not and cannot approach the history of art as an elitist because I am guiding (not indoctrinating) new art viewers. Think about it. Would Clooney really produce a film that was only for the art elite? Only for those initiated into academia? The man knows how to make a buck or two in Hollywood, so to understand the nature of the film, we have to consider his intended audience.

How do you entertain that audience while telling a true story? How do you make art, and the preservation of it, sexy?

I myself played Lady Gaga and Queen in class last week, but Bill Murray and Cate Blanchett work, too, I suppose. We could surely dismiss this film just on the basis of who is in it: Clooney's clique, acting out his latest sad puppy cause, which happens to focus (to an obsessive extent) on the Ghent Altarpiece. But I liked it. And I understand why certain elements were condensed and why others were overplayed.

In order to immerse a viewer in this true story, you have to make them care about the art. So which art? Everything known to man? I can't even get through that much material in one semester, let alone two hours. So Clooney used particular pieces as emotional foils, if you will. The daring escape of the aforementioned altarpiece opens the film, the abduction of Michelangelo's Madonna in Bruges is somehow more important than the death of a main character, and the torching of Raphael's Portrait of a Young Man is played out like we're watching a hero's unjust execution. I found it to be a good and inevitable device to make the viewer care about the art without requiring at least a bachelor's degree.

Now, if this elicits talk of art as puppies, then so be it. I'll admit to referring to Mona Lisa as a woman, not a portrait. I'll gladly admit to objectifying these objects in an overly sentimental way, because I cannot disconnect the object from the artist I read about in school. It's like meeting Leonardo without a time machine. Yes, it is anthropomorphism, too...but this is a blog written by someone who loves lolcats, mind you. Look for realism elsewhere.

I know there is a segment within the "art world" that does not share in my objectification. There are people out there who will argue that a reproduction is just as good as an original, or bemoan the millions exchanged at Sotheby's for paint on wood or canvas. We all judge value differently. And in this postmodern (or postpostmodern?) age, the idea of the art object itself is questionable. Words are art, as are actions, sounds, and fleeting sights on a screen. Art today can seem immortal, like an digital image, or it can succumb to the ravages of time like latex sculptures dissolving in storage like old rubber bands. Is art something to be owned and stolen and found again, or is it just the idea?

And by focusing on the object, do we necessarily undervalue the idea? The film might not have touched upon the inner workings of art history, and like many Hollywood versions, there are inconsistencies visible to the trained eye: like Matt Damon sauntering along with a canvas in a way no curator would. I think it is both confusing and understandable that character development takes a back seat to the art objects, too. To really get a sense of and learn to care for the Monuments Men themselves, we'd need a different type of film.

We use objects, not just art, to contain, symbolize, and embody ideas like the Monuments Men. Like the shoes in the Holocaust Museum, or the gold fillings found alongside the art in a salt mine, the work of the old masters carries the weight of a loss of human life, the loss of a way of life, and the efforts to save it. At least, that's the parallel I am drawing, whether Clooney meant it or not. And he might as well say he meant it all along, to shoot back at the puppy criticism.