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vika – Page 62 – Words' End

sketchy thoughts on materiality

I wrote a paper… a first draft, anyway, in part prompted by this post on Matthew Kirschenbaum’s Web log (and also the discussion that prompted Matt’s post). The paper’s called Three Short Case Studies on Materiality in New Media and can be found here. I’d like to flesh it out more over the summer, and would love feedback! (As long as it’s, you know. Constructive.)

I guess, if I were to write a one-thought synopsis of what I’m trying to get at, it would be: materiality, by whatever name, does matter in new media. Considered on a case-by-electronic-case basis, it can be revealing of our (humans’? Western humans’?) interaction with language and art in general.

Hooray!

I am glad that Anders is blogging again. I met him when he was here a couple of years ago doing some work as a visiting scholar. He has some interesting things to say on the rhetoric of/in new media.

Well.

Looks like I passed my prelims.

I’m now ABD – All But Dissertation.

Wicked!

Untitled.

This is a repeating cycle in my life: I make myself a one-person support network for others, regardless of whether they’d ever think of doing the same for me.

It’s partly a problem with my own expectations of the surrounding world, but really. I’ve got to stop putting energy into situations like this with people who, as a rule, show no interest in me on their own initiative.

Partly this is surely stress talking, but another part is this perception I’ve been trying to articulate for years. If it seems to me that I could do something to make others’ life easier, I do it, for the most part without thinking much about being inconvenienced. My innate assumption is that others think that way too, in general as well as specifically with regard to me; except they don’t. It’s not their fault, it just doesn’t occur to them, but it hurts me because I do not separate tasks from people. I keep putting myself in situations where I wait for someone to remember my existence, and one of two things happens: either they do remember and I am really, genuinely thankful (even if I did them a favor in the first place), or they never do remember and I feel somehow left out.

My god, I’d kick so much ass as an administrator. But I’m nobody’s administrator, even if I do act sometimes as though I were.

Here’s the thing that makes me most bitter: I wouldn’t mind being support girl. That’s what people do, right? Wrong: in my experience, this sort of attitude is not reciprocal.

(There are individual exceptions, of course. I’m talking in ranty generalities, here.)

Mm. I’ll get in trouble for this, but here goes: I perceive this… I don’t know, lack-of-thoughtfulness? oblivion? to be more prevalent in the U.S. than elsewhere I’ve lived. “Elsewhere” being USSR, Italy, Britain, so I feel that I’m not completely talking out of thin air here.

“Yeah, well, you’re in the States now, so deal.”

Yeah, well, I am not blaming anyone in particular, and will leave this country first chance I get anyway.

The easiest answer is, well, you owe nothing to people. Stop volunteering your energy. The fundamental flaw I see with that argument is that it is devolution. So, most likely, I’ll continue doing what feels good and right to me, and continue to be disappointed.

I’m so tired of being disappointed.

You are what you eat

If morning’s your time to do work (as it is, usually, mine), feed your brain accordingly. Oatmeal? Enh. Today’s breakfast: leftover cioppino from last night, with some pasta thrown in for carbohydrate goodness. Besides carbs, this takes care of protein (seafood) and vegetable matter (peppers, tomatoes, veg. broth). And caffeine but that’s from coffee, not the cioppino.

My brain had better appreciate this. I already feel more awake, and haven’t even had that much coffee. Must be the protein.

(San Francisco style, my nose. I believe this is a Roman dish; it’s certainly Italian.)

T minus one week

My prelim is in one week and two hours. There’s a symmetry to this one-two deal that makes me happy. Also, I’ve got an article due on the 30th. Consequently, I have been thinking Very Academic Thoughts. These are some of the things that have been on my mind lately.

Hypertext, the h word, is almost a bad word nowadays. Like Noah did, I went back to Theodor Nelson’s definition. “Let me introduce the word ‘hypertext’ to mean a body of written and pictorial material interconnected in such a complex way that it could not conveniently be presented or represented on paper. [and then in a footnote:] The sense of ‘hyper-‘ used here connotes extension and generality: cf. “hyperspace.” The criterion for this prefix is the inability of these objects to be comprised sensibly into linear media, like the text string, or even media of somewhat higher complexity.” (This is from his talk at the ACM proceedings in 1965.)

Nelson’s done with that definition, it seems, it’s mutated and so has the computer. But we still attempt to find a definition for hypertext, or else to coin better suited words.

I am not saying anything new, but keep coming back to this: the “problem” isn’t with the term, the term’s fine. In defining it, Nelson hit on a quality intrinsic to the human experience. Everything, the world, is a hypertext; this is a scary concept to academics, because it is too vague and imprecise. Still, it’s unproductive to deny this, or to shy away from it. The question shouldn’t be whether a set of data is or is not a hypertext, but rather whether it’s interesting or revealing to represent it as such electronically.

The electronic medium is the most suited one in which to define the Roland corpus, because Roland is a hypertext spanning different media. He is in literature, film, theater, music, painting, drawing, sculpture, stone carvings… I’m probably forgetting something. (Are sculptures and stone carvings distinct, or is it all sculpture?..) Combining them, viewing them through the codified electronic eye acts as an equalizer. Any critical discourse affects the way we view an artifact, and critical discourse of several media which takes place in an altogether different medium fails to skew perspective in favor of one of the constituent corpus media. Am I making any sense, and if so, am I full of nonsense?

In writing the to-be-published article (as opposed to my written prelim, which is more than twice as long and will only be read by my committee), I omitted heuretics entirely. It is the lifeblood of my research, but I omitted it, finding it impossible to explain what’s going on with RolandHT, put forth some preliminary conclusions and defend the heuretic approach, all in 6000 words or less. Greg Ulmer suggests scholarship as creativity, “a generative experiment: based on a given theory, how might another text be composed?” (Heuretics: The Logic of Invention 5). This feels liberating and right, both in my own research and in my thinking about teaching. (I’ll get to implement the teaching next spring, in “Codex to code: an introduction to humanities computing.”)

This’ll be its own article. But not until after prelim. And the two term papers. And the article. And Electronic Cabaret, at which I am apparently reading. Woot.

Besides academia, I am thinking about the summer. For all its foreseeable (and foreseen) difficulties, it will satisfy my wanderlust like no summer before it… mm, save perhaps 2002. Road trip down to Athens, through Roanoke where we get to stay with a friend I haven’t seen since December. After the conference, on to Huntsville, Alabama, where I’ll meet an exceedingly cool laser physicist MUDfriend whom I’ve never actually met in non-digital space. Then Memphis, the Mississippi river, New Orleans. West to Albuquerque, where Scott and Rachel are young doctors in residency and in love. Then Grand Canyon, and Los Angeles. Two and a half months in LA to do work and be with family, then drive north to Nevada, hang out with thirty thousand community-oriented nutjobs for a while, drive back east through Madison and probably Chicago.

In-between, learn perl, encode a 700-page text, digitize all my primary Roland sources.

I can’t wait ’til summer.

Oh, also, I’m thinking of applying for a Fulbright, and to that end am looking for experienced guidance wrt the application process.

Insomniac

And so we dance, only with our voices, filling the spaces in-between admission and action. The more insistently we attempt to fill them, the more starkly obvious these gaps become, beckoning.

Detached amusement is odd to observe in oneself.

I am sold.

This past weekend, I bought a PowerBook. It was about time: my Win98-running PC laptop is five years old; and Brown has a crazy .edu deal; and I’m tired of asking my friends to test Web site stuff with Macs… Not to mention that this new machine is half the weight of the old one, more compact, robust and has much better battery management. There were many reasons to get a new machine.

Not wanting to entangle myself unnecessarily with Bill Gates again, I checked out OpenOffice.org.

I’m completely sold. Not only on OOo, but also on OS X, the whole deal. When I was having problems with keeping the ‘net connection going and had to reinstall the OS, my heart sank: this is a big annoying deal in Windows. It wasn’t here, everything got archived cleanly, even most of the preferences. OOo checked for twenty million components that it needs in order to run (or that’s how many it felt like, anyway), and installed without a hitch. I finally have a Unix environment to play in.

It hasn’t all been entirely smooth, of course, as I’ve gotten to know this system. But here’s a huge difference between this and Windows PC: none of the problems I’ve encountered have corrected themselves as if by magic. Everything seems to be happening for a reason. If something seems to be going wrong, my gut feeling is that eventually I’ll find a solution that makes sense.

Current mood: geekhappy. (Though not blindly so: if you think of any issues I should look out for and want to let me know, I’ll cook you borsch and be generally thankful.)

Letter to a god.

(This is a sort-of response to something a friend wrote. It’s not critical to know the original piece.)

Janus,

Two-faced, you speak looking up, bury a box looking down. Green exhumed upright dead old man gazes straight ahead, holding your gaze up and away from the inside of his burying box. You never see him down looking up, unless you take the whole frame and turn it sideways.

Horizontality is decay. Unused muscles, skin, bones decay. Upright existence requires integrity of body, so isn’t frightening to look at. But this here is death made vertical: and so, since decay is not an option, apply color. Green, like a tree. Brown roots underground; above-ground—green. Trees with their double-liminal, ambiliminal existence remind you of the dead; this frightens you, so you teach schoolchildren of the life trees bring.

Lest we forget that green death is all around us, grass grows where trees don’t. Liminal death’s reminder, a low dense green fog toeing the line between above and below.

We’re frightened, so we reaffirm the line. Asphalt is hard fastening the gap between us and deathl; we look down and see no green. We are supported—but stifled, deprived of oxygen in our self-imposed separation from death. Soles become burned and numb and tough like leather.

Until an earthquake, or time, or tree roots, break the asphalt, and the dead surface. Subliminal roots revolt, become superliminal, obvious. Only part pokes out, tangling the spiderweb-thin sticky divide between now and never again. Once tangled, there’s no returning to order, never a full separation. Re-asphalting will only repeat the cycle. Roots like crooked fingers tear at the blockage of memory

and feed the green death’s reminder that makes poison into life for us.

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