Dear Santa,

As you know, I’ve been a relatively good boy this year, certainly as compared to last year. And now that my community service is done and many of the civil suits settled, I feel like I’m finally working with a clean slate!

We’ve not always communicated efficiently in the past, and so I’m keeping this year’s wish list short and “civil-tongued” — I think that’s the term you used in your reply to last year’s letter. You’ll note that this time around, per your request, there are no overt threats against Mrs. Claus or the elves if I don’t get my way. I am willing to make some changes if you are.

So here’s my Christmas wish list, please let me know if you need any further clarifications, invoice numbers, or celebrity home addresses. Thanks, Nick! You’re the greatest!

All I want for Christmas:

Please teleport Tyra Banks to the exact geographical center of the Arctic National Wildlife Preserve. I finally caught an episode of America’s Next Top Model, the latest in America’s new pornography of cruelty-and-humiliation-based “reality” programming, and that woman deserves some time alone. I figure it’ll take her a few months to find her way out, and this should at least put the show on temporary hiatus for a while. It’s OK by me if you want to give her some warm clothes and food or whatever. It’s also OK by me if you don’t.

Do that sneaky fly-around-the-planet-in-a-night thing you do and switch the reels at all the theaters opening King Kong so that millions of people globally will see Syriana instead. Hey, I like Pete Jackson as much as the next guy, but wouldn’t it be refreshing to have Syriana top the box office reports? And then wouldn’t it be fun to watch the citizens of the world achieve a collective moment of clarity, rise up in a series of bloodless revolutions, and tear down the Western military-industrial-oil complex? I think that would be fun.

While we’re on the subject, any way you can get my government to stop lying to me in 2006? Long shot request, I know. Thanks, anyway.

See if you can get Eleanor Friedberger of the Fiery Furnaces to accept my marriage proposal. This is, of course, my annual Rock Chick Crush request. If you check your files, you’ll see that over the years I’ve asked for your assistance on this matter with Siouxsie Sioux, Sinead O’Connor, Tanya Donelly, Laura Ballance, Liz Phair, Melissa Auf der Maur, Shirley Manson, Cibo and Matto, that crazy girl from Elastica, Ms. Dynamite, Poe, the character Lisa Bonet played in High Fidelity, and, um, Billie Joe Armstrong. I am willing to make a lot of exceptions for Billie Joe Armstrong.

Really and sincerely — do whatever you have to do to get Dave Chappelle back into the Comedy Central studios to make more Chappelle’s Show episodes. To the extent that I understand what’s going on, I totally back Dave and his choice to walk away from the soul-crushing Hollywood machine, because Dave is a genius and I defer to his judgment on these matters. Unfortunately, Dave is a genius, and so he needs to get back to work regardless, because that’s what geniuses do. Paradoxical, isn’t it? Please figure it out and get us a Season Three, thanks. (As a Plan B, give the reins to Sarah Silverman. Have you seen her pitch video? Maybe while you’re at it, see if she’ll marry me, too.)

I actually could use some socks this year, thanks. Also, one of those sonic toothbrushes, and a new motorcycle.

Can you please somehow convince all the old, dumb, unfunny syndicated newspaper cartoonists to retire, so that all of the young, smart, funny cartoonists looking for work can get published? That would be nice. It’s puzzled me for a long while — how is it that every other genre of entertainment turns over constantly with new blood and ideas, and yet three generations of my family have been skipping over 90 percent of the funny pages while eating our breakfast cereal? The exception here, of course, is Marmaduke. Because that dog is huge, and the joke somehow never gets old!

Round up all the studio executives responsible for canceling Arrested Development and have them meet me in the alley behind my house. I want to have a talk with them. May as well also grab up the knuckleheads who cancelled Joss Whedon’s Firefly and bring them along, too.

This is such a dumb coincidence that I almost hate to mention it, but I really do need two new front teeth, having lost them in the Ron Artest incident last year in Detroit. You and I both know that I did the right thing there, but we Pistons fans are somehow still getting grief about the whole thing, and meanwhile I look like one of the Hanson brothers. Maybe a Paul Wall grill, and a bottle of some that stuff DJ Screw used to drink when remixing and/or undergoing dental surgery, just to take the edge off a little bit.

Peace on earth, goodwill to all, and a swift kick in the ass to Spielberg and Lucas so that we get the new Indiana Jones movie while Harrison Ford can still memorize his dialogue. Yes, I know I’m obsessed with this, but someone has to light a fire here, and it may as well be me. Or, more to the point, you.

Well, thanks in advance, Santa. Say “hello” to Rudolph for me, and to that weird kid you got in the shop that still wants to be a dentist (maybe he can help with the front teeth thing?) Let me know if you guys still want in on that time-share condo in Miami — I’m guessing you could use a little sun. Good luck with the Big Trip, and keep an eye peeled in case Tyra starts wandering north. It’d be just like her to show up on the porch, trying to bum a ride back to L.A. Honestly! Some people!

Yr pal,

Glenn

The native habitat of the US movie and entertainment industry, Hollywood, California is lush and densely populated ecosystem. Home to thousands of fascinating species, the Hollywood landscape is swarming with the strange and wonderful — ruthless predators, docile vegans, majestic failures, and vast roaming herds of Beautiful People. On your next trip to LA, see if you can spot some of these amazing creatures!

The Struggling Screenwriter Scribblus interminus Pale and sickly, the Struggling Screenwriter makes its home deep in the burrows of Santa Monica coffee shops, huddled over laptop computers and worn copies of Syd Field books. This odd creature usually exists in a bizarre state of symbiosis with a gainfully employed mate. While the mate provides food and shelter, the nocturnal Screenwriter spends its nights in a kind of fugue state in which it imagines it is reinventing the heist film. Within a year or two of reaching maturity, the Struggling Screenwriter migrates from Hollywood in droves, where it returns to its original family unit in the Midwest and sets up a bedroom in the basement.

The C List Celebrity Vaguii familiarus Thanks to mushrooming media technologies, the C List Celebrity is flourishing in the modern era, running rampant and unchecked over the verdant sidewalks and parking lots of Hollywood. Several subspecies have been identified in recent years, including the Screeching Comedienne Harpy, the Prime Time Pageant Show Discard, the Rehabilitated Porn Star, the Bad Sitcom Sidekick, and the frighteningly prolific Campy 1980s Referent. The C List Celebrity has found a successful niche in the Hollywood ecosystem by settling in the endless valleys of basic cable “reality” programming, where it is often fed, clothed and housed for weeks at a time. Oddly, the actual biological origins of the C List Celebrity are shrouded in mystery, but some scientists believe they are hatched beneath the rafters of abandoned Burbank soundstages.

The Studio Mogul Honcho haedius Once renown for its glorious pelt of fine Italian suit jackets and seamless hair weaves, the Studio Mogul has found its numbers dwindling in recent years due to internecine struggles and (some say) cannibalism. Now on the brink of extinction, the Mogul fiercely defends its territory with many formidable defense mechanisms, including personal publicists, libel attorneys, tell-all books, and a glandular “stink spray” secretion known as the Eisner Stench. Despite its dwindling population, the male of the species is still considered to be particularly potent — during its annual 363-day mating cycle, the Mogul often attempts to mate with many hundreds of interns and up-and-coming actresses.

The Independent Film Director Scavengus incessantii Solitary and cunning, the Independent Film Director maintains its position in Hollywood due to a single but formidable survival skill: the ability to forage surprising amounts of money from maxed-out credit cards, family and friends, and the occasional unwary investor. A relentless hunter, the Independent Film Director can often be seen at industry events lulling prey into submission with passionate monologues on narrative decay and mise-en-scene. When its victims are sufficiently numbed and distracted, the Independent Film Director pounces — socializing mercilessly and fundraising with savage abandon.

The Iconoclast Musician Hipstrus junkie Usually found wandering Sunset Strip in packs, grumbling about studio rental rates, the Iconoclast Musician is distinguished by its hipster thrift fashion sense, expensive-looking haircut, and constant air of snide dismissal. Despite debilitating environmental conditions and virtually no income, the Iconoclast Musician nevertheless manages to subsist on a diet of gas station sandwiches, cheap heroin, and the occasional backstage fruit tray. Those who manage to survive the first few seasons usually end up working as record store clerks and attending 12-step meetings in the Valley. In extremely rare instances, Iconoclast Musicians go on to incredible fame and fortune for one to three years, after which they end up working record label A&R jobs and attending 12-step meetings in Beverly Hills.

The Aging Movie Queen Decrepedi vanitus Easily spotted due to its polysaccharide exoskeleton, the Aging Movie Queen is driven by a tenacious will to survive. Despite the ravages of age, precancerous tanning rituals, and a lifetime of “recreational” drug use, the Aging Movie Queen cannot be dissuaded from competing for territory at award ceremonies and charity fundraisers. Biologists have noted that this species has developed an inadvertent group camouflage technique in recent generations, as repeated “elective cosmetic procedures” have rendered individual pack members virtually indistinguishable. These days, the Aging Movie Queen derives much of its parasitic nourishment from devotional legions of gay male admirers.

The Eager Young Protégé Naiveius doomedii Also known by its more accurate scientific name, the Production Assistant, the Eager Young Protégé typically migrates to Hollywood in huge regional groupings around springtime, having departed various university habitats with Communications and Dramatic Arts diplomas. Hunted mercilessly by many other Hollywood species, such as the Mid-Level Studio Executive, the Sexually Confused Talent Agent, and Colin Farrell, the Eager Young Protégé survives by clustering together in cramped, overpriced West Hollywood apartments and maintaining a moderately toxic blood-alcohol ratio. Many if not most of these hopeful migrants quickly move on to more hospitable climes, but some do remain, morphing into the larval form of the Struggling Screenwriter or emerging after a short dormant period as the Mid-Level Studio Executive’s New Pregnant Wife.

Other notable species include the Hypertoned Body Nazi, the Bling-Breasted Compton MC, and Fat-Headed USC Film Student. Your donation to the Hollywood Preservation Fund is key to protecting these magnificent creatures. Send your check to this author, c/o PopMatters.com. Thank you for your concern.

The Fiction of Historical Accuracy

PopMatters.com

Dan Brown’s mystery/thriller The Da Vinci Codeis the kind of phenomenon for which the words “mammoth” and “blockbuster” were seemingly invented. Every now and again, an author manages to find the cultural sweet spot with surgical precision, and many trees are felled to print the billions of pages demanded by hungry readers.

In fact, the book has been at or near the top of the sales charts for more than two years now — the first printing hit shelves in March, 2003. At one point, Da Vinci was selling around 100,000 copies per week. Two years later, and it’s still hovering in the top five of the New York Timesbestsellers list. To date, it has sold more than 18 million copies and has been translated into at least 44 languages. Everyone I know has read this book. Everyone you know has read this book.

Indeed, Brown’s efforts have spawned a kind of pocket industry — a movie is forthcoming next summer (Tom Hanks and director Ron Howard are attached), and countless TV, radio and magazine specials on the book have already come and gone.

Da Vinci’s success has also had the effect of spinning off dozens of “response” books by historians, quasi-historians and trivia-peddlers hawking insights into the secrets of the mothership tome. A quick Google of Amazon (O glorious technobabble!) returns several titles: Secrets of the Code, Da Vinci Code Decoded, The Truth Behind the Da Vinci Code, Truth and Fiction in the Da Vinci Code, Unlocking Da Vinci’s Code and Decoding Da Vinci. I am dead serious when I say Da Vinci for Dummies is on shelves now.

Of course, it’s not uncommon in the book industry for a massively popular piece of work to generate companion titles looking to cash in on the action. The Da Vinci Code phenomenon is somewhat different, however. The relationship of these books to the source work is not as overtly parasitic as in other cases. (Does the world really need New Clues to Harry Potter, Book Five? No kidding, you can look it up.)

Instead, several of these response books are written by scholars and historians who take umbrage with Brown’s claims to historical authenticity within the fictional framework of The Da Vinci Code. (Soon, the Catholic Church will be involved in all the factual hand-wringing, too: Seventy-year-old Cardinal Tarcisio Bertone, the Archbishop of Genoa, was selected by the Vatican to officially pen their official rebuttal to Brown’s novel in March.)

They are academic works, primarily, often published by a university press and crammed with the kind of obsessive footnoting that makes textbooks so much fun to read. The authors of these particular works aren’t looking to attach their books, barnacle-like, to the hull of the mighty S.S. Da Vinci. (Although the association probably doesn’t keep them up nights, either.) Instead, they have scholarly bones to pick.

+ + +

Da Vinci begins with a seemingly blunt declaration concerning the factual accuracy of historical artifacts referenced and described within the stories:

All descriptions of artwork, architecture, documents and secret rituals in this novel are accurate.

Brown’s preface, sort of the opposite of a disclaimer (a “claimer”?), is actually very canny. This one simple sentence has proven to be incredibly effective at coloring the experience of reading the book that follows. Many if not most of Da Vinci’s readers seem to have interpreted the preface to mean a lot more than it actually does.

Look carefully, and you’ll see that Brown employs some rather dexterous sleight-of-pen in that preface. At first glance, it seems very bold and compelling. Reread it, though, and you’ll see that Brown is quite specific about the elements of the book he claims to be historically accurate. His descriptions of the artwork, architecture, documents and secret rituals inDa Vinci are, indeed, accurate. The story that surrounds them, however, is conjecture; a puzzle assembled from historical jigsaw pieces that have been rearranged to present another picture. It’s a neat trick.

A big part of the reason the trick works so well is that the story itself is carefully researched — it’s apparent that Brown put a lot of effort into the details. The book proceeds from accepted historical subject matter. (As accepted as can be reasonably demanded — there’s a whole ‘nother epistemological conversation here on what we think we “know” about history.) And the central “mystery” uncovered in Da Vinci is actually a fairly well-worn theory that’s been floated in conspiracy circles for a very long time.

Brown naturally uses quite a bit of selective editing and convenient rearranging to power the revisionist histories he describes, and his characters come to conclusions that are wildly inventive, from a rigorous scholarly standpoint. In fact, it’s clear that Brown takes creative license throughout the book, in regard to what’s fact, what’s fiction, and whatever’s in between. The academicians can point you to many of the specifics, if you’re interested (I recommend Bart Ehrman’s Truth and Fiction in the Da Vinci Code). But even the modestly attentive reader will conclude after reading Da Vinci that the story is, as they say, too good to be true.

Well, of course. Da Vinci is a fiction novel, and what’s more, it’s a thriller — a page-turner designed to provide a hook on every page, and a cliffhanger in every chapter. The book’s preface serves the same basic function as title cards in movie that read, “Based on a true story,” or even more vaguely, “Inspired by a true story.” It’s for effect.

This is a familiar trope in cinema, and storytelling in general. You can rest assured that Mr. Brown knows exactly what he’s doing. His preface statement heightens the wonder and excitement that Brown so effectively summons from the rich topic he explores. The book suggests not just an alternative history – this could have happened! — but a deliberately concealed actual history – this is what really happened! The effect plays into what is perhaps the greatest strength of Brown’s pop literary formula — he writes efficient thrillers that make you feel smart.

Because Brown’s fact/fiction misdirections are so subtle, and the “mystery” he reveals so astonishing, a massive readership has been incidentally (or perhaps skillfully) nudged into an interesting vantage point on history itself. For the first time, many readers are reflecting on their history classes and books, religious and secular, and on the nature of received wisdom. Who do you choose to believe? What do you want to believe? How do we know what we think we know?

Times being what they are, several parties are cleaning up by trolling this strange ancillary market. Brown suggests a massive cultural conspiracy that is historically actual. The more scholarly response books are falling over each other to tell you otherwise. The savviest critics are not actually responding to historical discrepancies in the fictional The Da Vinci Code, but to a readership that is taking the story literally. Meanwhile, the evangelists and trivia-peddlers assemble quickie books to mine the areas in between.

And everybody’s winking, just a little bit.

See Original Article

MORE THAN HUMAN:Embracing the Promise of Biological Enhancement

The Bright Side of Biotechnology

The only way to discover the limits of the possible is to go beyond them into the impossible. 
— Arthur C. Clarke

Ridley Scott’s excellent and influential 1982 film Blade Runner — based on a Philip K. Dick novel — introduces us to the Tyrel Corporation, a kind of bioengineering firm writ insanely large. Tyrel manufactures robot animals as well as humanoid Replicants, androids that equal or exceed human capabilities and are used for “off-world labor.” Slaves, in other words. The film depicts one of cinema’s great futuristic dystopias, in which out-of-control technology has stripped Earth of virtually all life forms and replaced them with ersatz machines. Tyrel’s Replicant motto: “More Human Than Human.”

Author Ramez Naam gives a nod to Blade Runner with the title of his book, but his outlook on the future of biotechnology is much sunnier. Naam suggests that the intersection of machine and man is an inevitable and indeed natural process in the evolution of our species. His book explores the many scientific, social and ethical issues surrounding what can be broadly termed as “biological enhancement.” This includes genetic engineering, stem-cell research, cloning, performance-enhancing drugs and human-machine integration.

For the reader appreciative of cogently investigated pop science, this is fascinating stuff. As a scholarly statement, More Than Human is sufficiently meaty — Naam provides thorough annotations and footnotes as he guides us through various case studies. The writing style is friendly and clear, and he populates the book with stories of real people — the scientists, doctors, researchers and patients at the event horizon of biological enhancement technologies.

Take, for example, the case of Johnny Ray, a 53-year-old patient who became paralyzed from the neck down following a massive stroke, leaving him essentially unable to communicate. One of Ray’s doctors, neurologist Phil Kennedy, won US Food and Drug Administration approval in 1998 to conduct a human trial procedure in which wireless electrodes were attached directly to the brain. After a period of recovery and training, Ray was able to move the cursor on a computer monitor simply by thinking about it, thereby enabling him to communicate. Similar cases followed, and this nascent field of biotechnology is flourishing today. Of the Johnny Ray case, Naam writes:

Under Kennedy’s guidance, Ray would think about moving his left hand: up if he wanted the cursor to move up, down if he wanted the cursor to move down, and so on. As he imagined moving his hand, the electrode in his brain picked up the signals of the few neurons near it and broadcast those to a nearby computer. The computer in turn moved the cursor. Something amazing was happening. A human was just thinking about something and a computer was responding. It was the stuff of science fiction.

This is typical of Naam’s approach, passionate and rather wide-eyed. Naam points out that there are a quarter million paraplegics in the U.S. alone, and it’s easy to get caught up in his enthusiasm when a human-machine interface provides such fantastic and unmitigated benefit.

The book is less convincing when it covers more complex scenarios, such as the wide-open area of genetic engineering. This is a particularly controversial topic these days, and with good reason. Science and technology do not exist in a vacuum, they are part of the fabric of our civilization and intricately linked with social, legal, ethical and economic concerns. Naam addresses this reality, but often frames his arguments in terms that many will find far too optimistic. Take for instance certain “gene therapy” treatments that have been proven to extend the life span of laboratory mice (more accurately put, these treatments slow the aging process.) Naam suggests that these genetic experiments not only could be applied to humans, but should be applied as soon as they are proven safe and reliable.

Perhaps they should. But who, exactly, will determine when such enhancements are indeed safe and reliable? You may have noticed a few headlines of late concerning drugs being pulled off the market. Many now openly question the efficacy of the FDA — or any government regulatory agency — at curbing the capitalist inclinations of the pharmaceutical industry. If there’s a huge demand for arthritis pain medications, imagine the market for a pill that adds 30 years to your life. History (and common sense) suggests such a medicine will have a market — regulated or not. Legal or not. Safe or not.

It’s to Naam’s credit that he raises these issues — the trouble is that he does not resolve them convincingly. There are other examples throughout in the book of this basic problem. Naam details instances of potentially awesome biological enhancement, then runs them through a battery of best-case scenarios in which corporations behave ethically, governments serve efficiently, and society as a whole functions with humane, progressive, enlightened self-interest.

Would that it were so. For readers who see specters of the Tyrel corporation in headlines every day, Naam’s relentlessly optimistic take on the future of biotechnology is a tough pill to swallow. That said, the book’s final chapter, titled “Life Without Limits,” is compelling. Here Naam passionately and intelligently argues his case in toto, and his vision is so articulate, so attractive, that you may find yourself persuaded. Technological progress is inevitable, and the sci-fi scenarios put forth in the book are not that far off. We will be dealing with these issues in our lifetime, and Naam provides a fascinating — and hopeful — point of view. Someone has to look on the bright side of things — let’s hope Naam’s vision is prophetic. Can’t hurt.