Give me my liberty or give me a sandwich.

Friday, July 18, 2008

End of elitism?

While procrastinating I came across this piece about some poor guy who got virtually mobbed for writing undesirable lines about "the Dark Knight". I do feel bad for the victim for getting some rough treatment. He wrote a rebuttal, which probably didn't change any opinion, but hopefully soothed some of his ruffled feathers. I recognize his right to freedom of speech. I also respect his prowesses to get considerable space in NY Times, twice. I liked the first edition, Batman Begins, but I can't say I'm a fan. Thus I certainly have no reservations to his unpopular critique. What stimulated me to pick-up the pen metaphorically speaking, yet another metaphor, was his faith in eternity and usefulness of his profession. While it is certainly not an undesirable trait to have, but the one which can blind you from the brutal realities of the harsh unforgiving world.

I do not accept the assertion that spread of internet has given rise to semi-literate, rowdy bunch with the mob mentality. They always existed, it has just given them a voice. So far it has been a one-way street. Roger Ebert will write something in Chicago Sun Time and move on with his life. It did not matter if readers accepted his dissection of the movie. It was cumbersome to express the dissent. It is not just about film critics; book reviewers, sports columnists and political commentators also join the list. With no apparent dissent, the preferences of elite became the standards to which every movie, book or any other work of art must live up to. So much that critics became celebrated artists and their opinions, the work of art. Rise of internet has democratized the process. People are not only choosing the opinion they like, they are openly disagreeing and expressing their own. Suddenly revered critics are finding that the last word is not theirs'. It is definitely a painfully awakening, more so when it comes with a promise of reducing the rare to common.

The problem with opinions is, they can not be cast into mathematical equations. Hence it can't be proved that right one exists, even with some audacious assumptions. Unless one is a judge in the Supreme Court, one's opinion is hardly enforceable. I too have my own opinions about arts, sports and life in general. So long I have differed with pre-mid-post game analysis of Harasha Bhogle and Peter Shilton. Theoretically one can ignore rants of the chosen few and go about one's merry life. But then how can one ignore the matters which are so close one's heart. There is not enough in world one can get of them. To this very day, I look at every sort of explanation on why Roberto Baggio missed the penalty in USA'94 final. Nothing for me has demystified yet, what happened to mighty Indian batting lineup in 2003 World Cup final. I read anything that remotely concerns such events, historic if I may call them. It doesn't matter if it was written by a bald man or the god himself. I always had the mechanics to tell former, how badly his opinion sucked. Internet has provided me a way to tell latter, the same.

Wednesday, July 09, 2008

An uncomfortable visit

"How would you like it?", she asks.

"Short", I said.

"Anything I'll do is going to make them short". You can tell she had a sense of humor. "So tell me, how you want it?", she was persistent nevertheless.

"Can you cut them from sides and take off little bit from the top?", I made a valiant effort.

"What?", she was clearly not satisfied.

"Do whatever you like".

"Ok! I can do that", she finally relented. I am sure she would have enjoyed my misery longer, but in the battle of pleasure to humiliate versus tip, money had the final say.

This was the brief conversation I had with a girl at Aveda Institute, who was going to cut my hair. I am a reasonably neat guy. I have visited barber shops quite regularly for the past 30 years, yet I find the question of how I want my haircut, extremely difficult one to answer.

Back in India life was so good. The barber would ask the question dutifully yet nonchalantly. I'd confidently shoot back "short". That would settle everything. The guy would proceed to do, what was required to be done. If there existed some degree of familiarity among both the parties, formalities were often dropped. Good old days when barbers were barbers, gentle and understanding. My geographical shift to west and coincidental rise of customer is the king philosophers, things will never be the same. One can no more ignore the important questions like how they want it.

If I am so uneducated in the matters of hair, why would I go to MIT of haircutting? Why not choose something more appropriate? That is a question every intelligent reader would like to ask. This time I can conveniently point finger towards my wife. Her unwavering faith in my latent beauty is only matched by my father's confidence in my uselessness. Such high expectations usually lead to disappointments.