By now you’ve probably heard about social media and how it’s making celebrities out of mild mannered public servants and chirpy journalists who think in 140 character bursts. Maybe you’re wondering whether a witty and intelligent person like yourself could also become an internet celebrity. The good news is YOU CAN!
Here’s what you’ll need:
If you’ve ever been quoted out of context by journalist you’ll know what it’s like to be a fictional character. As a therapist to troubled inhabitants of fictional works, I see what happens when authors abuse characters who are often finer human beings than themselves.
The intelligent and tough-minded Mr Gradgrind is a typical example. Most of you know him only through the confused and sentimental writing of Mr Charles Dickens. In Hard Times, the hapless Mr Gradgrind can hardly open his mouth without inviting some sarcastic commentary from the author. But is Mr Gradgrind able to take the same liberties with Mr Dickens? If only.
I am always happy to assist readers in distress. Recently I received this letter.
Dear Dr Troppo,
Despite a protective screen of refractor rays, my gulch has been invaded by a small army of talking tin cans with sink plungers for hands. The leader of these metallic looters says that unless I give them the plans to my motor they will exterminate me and everyone else in the gulch. I assured them that I would rather have it crumble and vanish forever than allow it to be seized by force.
Since they seemed to be highly technologically advanced I assumed that they would respond to reason. I explained to them that to force a man to drop his own mind and to accept your will as a substitute, with a gun in place of a syllogism, with terror in place of proof, and death as the final argument — is to attempt to exist in defiance of reality. Their leader then fired a death ray at my house and vaporised it.
The looters have now been here a week and I have had a chance to observe them more closely. They are completely immune to emotions like pity, guilt, compassion or fear. They exhibit no understanding of altruism (which suggests that they are not entirely without virtue).
My problem is this — in many ways these creatures appear to more rational than I am. They propelled themselves across the galaxy in a flying saucer, effortlessly disabled my refractor rays and are clothed in metal alloys that are lighter and stronger than Rearden Metal. Given their obviously superior mental and technological abilities, is it possible that their system of values is more rational than my own?
Yours sincerely
John Galt
Mr Galt, to help you with your problem I need to know a little bit more about your visitors. Do they look anything like this?
Do readers have any suggestions for Mr Galt?
Things have been a little dull over the holiday period. So dull, in fact, that I’ve been picking through my receptionist’s collection of novels. First there was that book everyone’s been chattering about recently — Ian McEwan’s Atonement. The second book in her pile was Jonathan Franzen’s The Corrections. Ever helpful, my receptionist had bookmarked it with a copy of Oprah’s reading guide: "How does concern over class status affect Gary…?" asks the guide. Like this apparently:
Oh, misanthropy and sourness. Gary wanted to enjoy being a man of wealth and leisure, but the country was making it none too easy. All around him, millions of newly minted American millionaires were engaged in the identical pursuit of feeling extraordinary — of buying the perfect Victorian, of skiing the virgin slope, of knowing the chef personally, of locating the beach that has no footprints. There were further tens of millions of young Americans who didn’t have money but were nonetheless chasing the Perfect Cool. And meanwhile the sad truth was that not everyone could be extraordinary, not everyone could be extremely cool; because whom would this leave to be ordinary? Who would perform the thankless work of being comparatively uncool?
Which brings us to our reader’s cry for help. Troppo denizen Rex Ringschott wonders " whether it would be considered cool to wear a Kevin-07 T-Shirt in Brunswick St, and if not, where one might go where it would be considered cool."
Mr Ringschott, the pursuit of cool is the deliberate pursuit of social exclusion. As Mr Franzen’s character correctly notes, it is not possible to be cool unless others are uncool. The urge to be cool is a vindictive urge for superiority. Social exclusion is contrary to the stated aims of the Rudd government and, after you realise this, the t-shirt may cause uncomfortable sensations of cognitive dissonance.
At this stage you may be wondering whether the obvious tension between the t-shirt’s message and your intent to look cool is ironic and that irony might be cool. If so, you should be aware that the t-shirt’s message is displayed publicly on your chest while the irony is sealed inside your head. Unless you can find an socially acceptable way to display a fashionably ironic stream of consciousness while walking down the street you will still not be considered cool.
I hope this helps.
The receptionist’s fingers paused over the keyboard. The heat was making it difficult to think and the din of hundreds of amorous black cicadas wasn’t helping. She wanted to show Mr Farrell how completely he’d misunderstood Ian McEwan’s novel, but at the same time she didn’t want to seem like an arrogant know-it-all. After all, it wasn’t Mr Farrell’s fault. In McEwan’s narrative Briony had written a novel. But — and this was the disturbing part — James Farrell had seen a film. No wonder everyone was so confused. Her fingers found the keys and she began:
Dear Mr Farrell,
I was sorry to hear that you went to see Atonement at the cinema and came away unsatisfied. To be honest, I was surprised to hear that they had made Atonement into a movie. I can’t imagine how this could work Judging from your review, neither could the film’s writers or director.
It seems to me that Atonement is a novel within a novel…
As usual my correspondents seem incapable of taking responsibility for their own emotions. Troppo reader Don Arthur asks:
Dr Troppo, I’d like your advice on something I read in the newspaper this morning. According to Peter Hartcher subjects in a Dutch study found politicians like Tony Blair and George Bush less realistic than fictitious characters like Dracula and Superman. Should I be worried?
Mr Arthur, if you are worried by things you read in newspapers but continue to read them I can only conclude that you enjoy being worried.
Less self-absorbed readers may have googled the study Mr Hartcher refers to and noticed that it was conducted in Amsterdam with students of the Free University. No doubt you are wondering whether there is a pharmacological explanation for these findings. But while it might amuse you to think so, there are some things even a drug-addled university student might notice. For example, that the Bush family really are terrible actors and that even Béla Lugosi‘s performances are less fake.
Even the neurotically self-absorbed playwright Arthur Miller has noticed that politicians are acting. For some reason he finds this disturbing:
I can’t imagine how to prove this, but it seems to me that when one is surrounded by such a roiling mass of consciously contrived performances it gets harder and harder for a lot of people to locate reality anymore. Admittedly, we live in an age of entertainment, but is it a good thing that our political life, for one, be so profoundly governed by the modes of theatre, from tragedy to vaudeville to farce? I find myself speculating whether the relentless daily diet of crafted, acted emotions and canned ideas is not subtlely pressing our brains to not only mistake fantasy for what is real but to absorb this process into our personal sensory process.
As a fictional character, I’m fascinated by people who don’t exist. There are just so many of us — fictional people, imaginary people, hypothetical people and people who will exist but don’t exist yet. But despite our non-existence, we are able to generate facts about ourselves just as you are. And as the opponents of postmodernism will assure you, there is nothing more real than a fact.
If you’ve ever wanted to make a burger with 100% pure bacon or you need a recipe for caramelized bacon then I’ve got links for you. Welcome to the baconsphere!
"Bacon is totally meat candy," says bacon enthusiast Heather Lauer. Heather blogs at Bacon Unwrapped. See Heather’s recipe for caramelized bacon here.
"A while back I heard about the Flavor Spray™ Diet," says the anonymous author of I Heart Bacon. Apparently the spray is meant to eliminate fat-rich "toppings, gravies, dressings" and give back the flavour diets take out. But the I Heart Bacon blogger didn’t care that the spray was endorsed by former Miss USA, Chelsea Cooley –the ad said that it tasted like bacon:
I was still unclear about how I was supposed to use them. I suspected that I should spray them on food, but I wanted instant gratification after waiting that long. I decided to spray the bacon flavor directly onto my tongue. What could it hurt?
As usual, my naive innocence led my astray. It hurt bad.
It was like bathing my tongue in a tubful of liquid smoke. All I could taste was smoke. Was my tongue on fire? After that came the harsh chemical aftertaste. Choking and gasping for air I made my way to the sink. You know how they make those eye bath cups for chemical burns? I wanted one for my tongue.
I thought that maybe the parmesan one would be better…
I Heart Bacon has links to other bacon blogs like The Bacontarian, "a person who supplements an otherwise normal diet with large amounts of pork!"
"We feel sad for them for they know not the ecstasy that is nature’s perfect food" say the team at Six Degrees of Bacon. Six Degrees’ authors include Mr Flitch, Chef Guanciale and General Hogwashington. But rather than being a hobby, the blog was created by marketing firm Optiem as "a sandbox to test out a wide variety of online and word-of-mouth marketing techniques." According to Optiem president Jeff Rohrs, there’s a passionate group of people out there discussing bacon. And that’s just what marketers need.
Rohrs himself seems to have a passion for smallgoods. He is also the author of The Sausage Manifesto — an open letter to paid search networks on behalf of pay per click (PPC) advertisers.
If all this talk about bacon is making you hungry, here’s a tasty recipe from The Bacon Show — "one bacon recipe per day, every day, forever."