I never pegged myself a blogger, but circumstances have forced me to stake out and defend my little patch of cyber-earth. It seems that certain people (I’m looking at you, Sara) have been spreading wild rumor and innuendo about me, claiming that I am both a sleazy used furniture salesman and that I am illiterate. On the first count, I am not the notorious “Sofa King” of Southern Louisiana that you have heard so much about. As to the second charge, I have yet to find an orthography that does justice to my stunning intullect. Had I been able to begin such a project on a happier note, I would have begun with something like this:
Aren’t we all a little deaf from playing in loud punk rock bands? One of the great things about this modern world is that we can all be rockstars, at least in miniature. The problem with this modern world is that it blinds us with its sheer spectacle. Everyone wants to be a rockstar. The torrent of media to which we are daily subjected favors those things that are superficially beautiful whether or not there is much depth or cultural resonance within them. This is not to say that everything that flits across our cultural screen is of no value, but our modern image-making mechanisms are geared towards the ephemeral. Those things that take time and reflection to understand are thus given the deadly label of “boring.” It presents the possibility of a modern epistemological crisis. If, as Michael Oakeshott posited, “to know only the gist [of a concept] is to know nothing,” then our current agents of popular perception are woefully misused; the spectacle has replaced subtlety and nuance as a thing of cultural value. So I have decided to unplug for a while. Not from technology or modern amenities (is it obvious that this is my first blog?), but from the Spectacle.
I am trying to understand the foundations of modern modes of information collection; to test the subsoil upon which this Spectacle is staged. I’ve picked a place and an era that seem to me to be conducive to my quixotic quest; sixteenth-century Britain, the scientific revolution written in a language that I understand.
I haven’t figured out much yet. But I have found out that my family and my research are so much more fun than hangovers and hangers-on. The cultural agency in the Scientific Revolution in Early Modern Britain is so much more Rock than actual rock music, especially when mixed with a bit of baby poop. At least for this deaf cracker.
…Is what I would have written, if I had not been taken to task for misspelling “analytical” on Sara Wood’s blog. Thanks for ruining my first post, Sara.
–The Sofa King
(with aplogies to Murray Edelman)
