/ Literature /
2015 08 28 Yesterday I mentioned Pamela Stephenson in my Movie Scrapbook. The context was Mel Brooks’ casting stunning blonds in his History of the World (1981): Miss Florida found him; he (and studio) found Pamela Stephenson: from Auckland, the other side of the world!
Pamela Stephenson, age 61!
And I’m sure glad he did, as I will get to in a moment. The context now is how as an old man I respond to old women. Image-Google Pamela Stephenson and delectate on pictures of this N’Zedder past age sixty! What a dance partner! Meantime appreciate the comedy she’s long gotten from her high wattage blond face, and her well-cast boobs. We’re up to here with embarrassing images of Miley Cyrus and her skinny chest, her humiliating butt; now here’s pics of an electric adult!
When I was a kid my sister and I were sent off to church on Sunday mornings. Not only could our father thereby sleep through more of his hangover but our parents could rely on the church, Presbyterian writ o’er the door but really just another Pauline, Protestant clone. It was always the same story, the same King James cadences, the same Pauline cast. Repetition made it reverent. Kids don’t know half the words, but it’s not text to make sense; it’s text to ritualize: to hypnotize. By high school I learned to look up words I didn’t know: I don’t mean just recognize, I don’t mean just sort-of-get, I mean be-able-to-define! So, I kept a list: words to look up, when a dictionary was handy: things to research when the encyclopedia was near by. In the 1980s, while I was writing my novels, soon so broke I was living in my car, my son was off to Haverford College, his life entirely planned by his mother and financed by his mother and his grandmother, me raped out of the picture long before. You see, I’d founded the Free Learning Exchange in 1970, offered the world a local example of a possible internet, invited the world to fund it so I could really do it: before the state spoiled it too. bk got kidnapped so all ideas would come to him not via God or his father but via Fortune500-stifled institutions: colleges, universities: how kleptocrats control the human environment.
Before his graduation Haverford hired bk to develop their campus psychology network. By the later 1980s bk was envisioning hypertext to me.
Understand all digital developments were latent in my FLEX: given a budgeted staff who knows what would have developed: the most important detail to recognize is that FLEX was developing independent of personal computers: there was no such thing in 1970. I envisaged mainframe terminals in every neighborhood. FLEX staff familiar with the hardware and software, it all developing under our nose, guided by us, would do the data entry, no need for everyone to be a cyber-engineer. Fine. I never thought bk understood any of that, he was kidnapped to remove him from the deschooler, to force him to fit the Fortune500 universe. So bk knew next to nothing of what I said, but understood near perfectly what Haverford said, where everything was attached to a certificate, state approval, a job, an income … good-enough awareness.
So, bk, introduced me to cypertext as it was being conceived: click on a word and it would expand. Work on a computer and not only could you read, and write, but also conveniently cross-reference.
The Fortune500 captives had no idea that the innovators in all these things had been knocked down an gagged, so things could develop free of influence from God, Ivan Illich … pk … This is secular freedom we’ve got here, Buddy.
I went gaga. That was a detail I had not envisioned. I’d lived among robot cooks and flying cars since 1946, in my mind; but I’d not encountered dictionaries and encyclopedias sleeping within the digital text.
In sun: it always took me forever to read Shakespeare, longer to reread Shakespeare, because I paused, and thought, and digested, and dreamed, then read on. You can see a play in two hours, maybe three; I could read the same play in a week, or a month …
So, these days I watched a movie: DVD or stream: and I pause it. I look up the author, the cast. The star reminds me of something I also look up. Suddenly I’ve got the play open, and the dictionary open, and Wikipedia open: and then I open a Google window and specify Images. Ah, and there’s Marilyn Monroe, or Lindsay Lohan, or Pamela Stephenson: then: and now! Or at least past age sixty! Jesus, look at those hips, look at that crotch.
New Zealand, man. Thanx, Mel Brooks.
I thrilled a nurse-case-manager a couple of weeks ago. She flirted with me from the moment she arrived, kept telling me how great looking she found me. This gal was very nicely buxom, made sure I felt her boobs against my chest before she left (I’d warned her that she wasn’t getting out without a hug). I showed her pictures of Jan, made sure she understood that though the pictures were a couple of years old Jan still looked like that: at age 84! I assured her that any male who doesn’t prefer the images of Jan to images of this months model just hadn’t matured, had no judgment, should be ignored. I told this nurse how much I loved Jan’s old-woman’s belly: how I put my hand on her belly, move it down her body, move it up her body: I told her how I caress Jan’s old-woman’s belly even more than I caress her breast, or her bottom … her thigh, etc.
“I’m so glad you told me that,” said this not yet middle aged, or only just barely middle aged woman.
Just now, typing this, I’m reminded of another hyper-text wonder: if WordPress doesn’t recognize the word (or name) I’ve typed, it puts it in red: automatic spell-checking: and so much better, so much more sophisticated than my first spell checker of 1983 or so. WordPress doesn’t just know the dictionary, it knows the celebrities.