Plasma Pool

Icon

a set of sharp and cogent notes

Stuff We Like

  • F for Fake

    This is Orson Welles's masterpiece, a virtuoso performance of sound and video editing that co-opts the documentary but is not one. It is the rare postmodern text that's laugh out loud funny, steeped in the relativism of the post war period but not held hostage by it. He appears as himself, sheared of doubts and humanity, in full possession and knowledge of his genius, but he is not the subject (excuse my language) of the film. It's a "film about trickery, fraud and lies," and about two great exponents of those arts, Elmyr de Hory and Clifford Irving. The film is not much watched by people from any generation, met with cold critical reception on release, how can it be Welles's masterpiece? But it is, and is neglected due to its translation from the dross and palaver of our late capitalist society in which relativism extends mainly to the comparison of ledgers, a number of hard, unpleasant truths about meaning, about value, and about our modern oracles, the experts. Or as Welles says of art (or anything): "How is it valued? The value depends on opinion. Opinion depends on the expert. A faker like Elmyr makes fools of the experts, so who's the expert? Who's the faker?"

  • Ferret-Legging

    Ferret-Legging

    The ferret goes in your pants. Your pants are cinched to prevent its escape. Then you stand there while a scared rodent scratches, bites, and generally freaks the fuck out in the vicinity of your manly-bits. He who endures the longest wins. There you have the “sport” of ferret-legging, a Yorkshire coalminer practice now revived at the Richmond, VA Celtic Festival. While I cannot speak for the rest of the Plasma Pool team, I have not personally experienced the joy of ferret legging – nor do I have any desire to do so in the future. But what should be Liked about this particular Stuff is not corporeal, but rather its statement about the competitive nature of man such that he would trap a ferret in his pants for over five hours for no reward but the knowledge that he did what no other man could do. There exists in each of us a compulsion to strive for greatness, and in the course of this pursuit we are capable of unimaginable sacrifice in the name of achievement. Today humanity faces new and difficult challenges, but what drives these semi-sane “athletes” is the same that drives those in more noble fields to cure diseases, create art, and improve humanity in countless other ways. So, thank you ferret-leggers. Just keep that animal away from my junk.  -- Donny Bridges

  • Reactions to the OJ Simpson Verdict

    OJ Simpson Verdict

    Without getting into any kind of commentary about the trial itself or its place in pop culture memory, this video of the OJ Simpson verdict is stunning. Pay attention to 1:24, 2:10, 3:30, 3:59. The camera pans over a near-complete spectrum of emotions, almost oblivious to the murmur of the verdict while the faces hang on to every word. The calm voice at the end advises to "expect the worst." For me, the bizarre essence of the clip is that some idea of "justice" is located somewhere in the physical and conceptual space between the rows of silent faces and the implied source of the unseen voices. The mass of bodies tenses and contorts as an articulation of the disembodied speech of the justice system. I am reluctant to give a reading of all this beyond this cursory description, but one final thing to consider is that our detached gaze is nearly embedded in the perspective of the invisible jury, who sits at the center of the verdict.  -- Scott Coomes

From the Vault

Things that died in 2008.

Our president pledged as primary candidate to staunchly defend individual civil liberties and curb the domestic intelligence abuses of the Bush Administration. As the Democratic candidate, he hedged. As president-elect, he made stunning about-faces, notably on immunity for telecommunications companies who cooperated with Bush's illegal requests. Now, as president, he's continued as many of Bush's abuses as he's curtailed. Also, there was a time when John McCain wasn't an unprincipled, dishonorable bigot. He was quite the man, when he was a man. Then came a succubus to hasten his by then inevitable decline.

Apr 5, 2010

I Survived a Taping of American Idol

Aysha Pamukcu

American Idol Judges

I was once a thirteen-year-old girl.  But I wasn’t very good at it, because I loathed boy bands and read too many comic books.  Recently, though, at the resolutely adult age of 24, I was given a chance to redeem myself at a taping of an American Idol episode.  If you’re pressed for time and can’t read through this whole article, my experience can be summed up in one event: I touched Justin Bieber’s hand.

This unlikely scene was made possible when a law school friend extended the invitation to me and two of our classmates.  As we were herded from the CBS studio lot to the audience pit, we experienced the singular discomfort of being four grown women standing in a pack of screaming ‘tweens.  Fortunately, we were prompted into a thirteen-year-old frame of mind by two voices from our past:  guest-starring on this episode of “American Idol” were Usher, who may have single-handedly kickstarted my puberty, and Diddy, once known to me as “Puff Daddy.”  If I began the show by standing with my arms crossed like a jaded old hipster, the first sight of Usher’s strut had me dancing in a circle of girls like it was eighth grade graduation.

The on-air portions of Idol were surprisingly brief, considering were at the studio for seven hours.  A pretty, unmemorable contestant was eliminated from the competition and wept during an awkward group hug that suggested schadenfreude more than real sympathy.  Ryan Seacrest postured and preened irritatingly, having used up his quota of “boyish charm” years ago.  Heads swiveled to watch him snipping back and forth with Simon Cowell like sorority sisters who have lived together for too long.  “This isn’t the Oprah Winfrey show,” bitched Simon, after Seacrest asked him how an inexperienced teenager might be able to convincingly deliver a love song.  “I’m going to ask you because you’re a judge and this is your highly paid job,” Seacrest retorted through a brittle smile. Ooooh, the all-female pit audience said in unison.

Ryan Seacrest and Simon Cowell

Of course, seeing American Idol live bore no resemblance to the tidy version that airs on national television.  So many priceless moments go unseen by TV viewers. There are the bizarre rules: dress in “trendy, upscale” darks; clap with your hands above your head; do not hug Justin Bieber.  There are awkward and unscripted moments: an overcome fan bum-rushing the stage to hug Bieber in violation of Bizarre Rule #3, Usher doing a second take of his single “OMG” because the crowd wasn’t adequately pumped the first time, a fifteen-minute search for the fedora Usher tossed into the crowd during his first try.  There are long periods of standing around and watching the antics of non-celebrities: backup dancers adjusting their bras, a hype-man with a not-coincidental resemblance to Seacrest giving away the occasional iTouch, security guards admonishing the pit audience that an attempt to hug Bieber would result in “going to jail, like, forever, okay?”

The show ended in a “pre-tape” of Bieber performing a medley of his songs, which would be aired during the next episode.  Before the performance, stagehands strategically arranged girls from the audience pit on the steps leading to the stage—the better for Bieber to dole out soulful gazes and handshakes.  (See my first paragraph.)  Upon hearing the first bar of music, the girl beside me screamed and clutched her chest alarmingly.  Others followed suit.  I sensed that this is what I had been missing during my middle school years when I declined to accompany my friends to see *NSYNC in concert.

Justin Bieber

My friends and I tried to get into the spirit of teenage frenzy by dancing and screaming, but we were outed as twenty-somethings twice. The first moment occurred when our catcalls stretched the boundaries of PG-13, earning us a raised eyebrow from the closest security guard.  More representative commentary consisted of “I love you, Justin!” and “Oh my God, you’re hot!” We also gave away our ages by being the only girls in the audience pit who could not sing along to every single lyric.  And through all of this, Bieber smiled awkwardly and flipped his bangs fetchingly.  By the time the performance began, his stage entourage included a troupe of hip-hop dancers, backup singers, a live band, a DJ, and pyrotechnics accompanied by a drum solo.

During one commercial break, the generic hype-man threw out glow-pop rings, which were inexplicably greeted with the same enthusiasm as the free iTouch.  A mother with a ‘tween in tow muttered, “Maybe they have Bieber’s baby teeth in them.”  At that point, one of my law school friends captured the tenor of the night perfectly: “It’s crazy—I identify more with the moms here than their daughters!”

Category: Art and Culture, Thought and Society

Tagged:

Leave a Reply

The Plasma Spring