Where do we find reliable information?I’m asking this question on an internet-based medium, which itself is ironic.While spending time with some younger people, it’s become clear that the web is their source of truth.You find purveyors of information that you trust, and you accept their YouTube channels as representing correct data.This can be a disorienting experience for an old doubter like me.One of the reasons for studying for a Ph.D., apart from the vain hope of finding a career in higher education, is to hone critical thinking skills.When I went through the process, that involved reading lots and lots of print material, assessing it, and weighing it against alternative views, also in print format.You learn who really makes sense and you judge which publishers have good information more frequently.As you navigate, you do so critically, questioning where they get their information.
Now, I’m not one of those people who think the younger generation is wrong (in fact, there are YouTube educational videos about just that).The situation does, however, leave me wondering about how to fact-check when you don’t know the publisher.It may be an older person’s problem, but it’s essentially the same dilemma behind self-publishing—the reason you trust a self-published book depends on the author alone.Is s/he persuasive?Did s/he document the sources of her/his information?Are those sources good ones?The young people I know seem quite adept at filtering out obviously biased information.Many YouTube personalities footnote their presentations with links to sources (many of them online), and after an hour of watching I’m left questioning what’s really real at all.
You see, many of these internet personalities have sponsors.Sponsors bring money, and money biases anyone’s angle toward the truth.In fact, many of these YouTube sources call out the lobbying groups that influence public opinion for political ends.Only someone completely naive—no matter their generation—would not acknowledge that government runs on money provided by corporations with interests to be protected.There have been reliable sources, even from the days of print, that prove beyond any reasonable doubt just how corrupt governments tend to be.But who has time to fact-check the government when the rest of the information we receive is suspect?Those of us with training in advanced critical thinking aren’t immune from biased information.It’s just that there’s so much data on the web that my head’s spinning.I think I need to go read a book.
The weather in July can be exhausting.I’ve always pretty much associated the Fourth of July with hot, sticky weather and this year’s holiday weekend has lived up to that.Combine it with the incessant rain in the eastern half of the country and you’ve got a mix that won’t permit you to open your windows, but makes you simmer if you stay inside.We often handle this by seeking out air conditioned facilities where you don’t have to spend a ton of money in order to find some relief.It also happens that today is the anniversary of our moving into our new house when, as I recall, the current rainy cycle began.Restless, stormy nights may be Gothic, but they don’t fit the staid, steady nine-to-five lifestyle very well.
Despite it all, I still value summer.The sense of carefree days, as my friend over on Verbomania says, give estival days a shimmer like none other.So much so that it’s difficult to keep track of what day it actually is.For me this particular date will always remind me of buying a house for the first time and spending a literally sleepless hot night learning the hard lessons of homeownership.Still, since I mentioned Independence Day, I continue to find myself relieved at the lack of land lordliness when it comes to the list of those who hold something over my head.If only I could catch up on some sleep over a long weekend it might all seem more real.July can be like that.
As I saw this weekend approaching from a distance, I made plans at how much I would accomplish.I would get so much writing done that I’d be well ahead on my next project.I might figure out what it was most important to say, and maybe finally find the meaning to life.(Summer makes me feel optimistic, it seems.)I would post new videos on my YouTube channel.The weather, however, as the Psalms indicate, can change your plans.Twilight lengthens to the point of making night and day difficult to distinguish.Sleep doesn’t refresh the way it usually does and morning—my writing time—is hazy and lazy.My next book sits untouched on my hard disc while I look over boxes that remain unpacked from a year ago.Childhood summers set the pattern of dropping all and experiencing the mini-anarchy that lack of structure brings.Despite all that I’d hoped to accomplish, I find myself welcoming this hot and humid anniversary.That’s what July is like.
Two times.In my “professional” life I’ve been interviewed only twice (not counting, of course, far too many job interviews).The first time was as a talking head for Nashotah House.This was in the days before the internet really caught on, so it was done in DVD format.If you come over to visit I’ll dig it out and we can have a good laugh.The second occasion was much more fun.Although I write about horror a lot, I don’t mention Theofantastique nearly enough.Back in the days when I started blogging, I discovered this site that featured all kinds of interesting stuff on religion and horror (and actually on all kinds of genre pop culture).I always enjoyed the insights and got more than a few books for my own research and reading from tips I found there.
When I finally got brave enough to contact John W. Morehead, the curator of the blog, we both quickly realized we had some things in common.John very kindly offered to post an interview with me on Theofantastique about Holy Horror.It’s live now and it was really fun to talk to an actual person about my book.You see, I work alone.I knew that, leaving the classroom, I was departing my chosen career.On those high school aptitude tests they told me that I should be an entertainer.What professor isn’t?I pity their students if they’re not.I’ve been posting videos on YouTube for a few weeks now.It’s immediately obvious how much having a live audience helps.
Unfortunately, Holy Horror isn’t exactly priced to move.In fact, local bookstores have turned me down for free presentations based on the price alone.It is, however, a fun book to read.At least I intended it that way.When life give you horror, make Bloody Marys, I guess.By the way, John has been coming out with some interesting books also.I posted on his The Paranormal and Popular Culture recently.Theofantastique is often the place where I first learn of new horror films (I don’t get out much) and new books that I should read.Of these two things there’s never a shortage—horror is a thriving genre—and talking about why you wrote a book helps to clarify things a bit.Horror may seem a disreputable genre to many, but it has redeeming values.To hear about them, please watch the interview.
There’s no other reason for buying a Volkswagen Beetle than making a statement.We bought ours in 2003, before they got squashed.Mechanically it has been a good little car, but, despite the fine engineering, the hood latch is made of plastic.And we all know what plastic does.Yesterday was sunny and a Saturday so I spent at least four hours trying to get the hood open.(Unsuccessfully.)Now, I’m no gear-head, so I watched a video on YouTube that 23,000 views (some 22,000 of which were me) on how to work around this major design flaw.After three hours in the sun I had my face pressed to the bumper, trying hard not to think of all the bugs that have met eternity there, so I could see up to where the inaccessible latch smugly sits.No tool in the history of humankind can reach it. After another hour I gave up, although just one weekend before this trick worked.
YouTube is an alternate universe.There, latches can be made to work.Men who appear larger than me can wedge their entire hands in that unforgivingly tight space while my knuckles are going to take days to heal.They use simple tools that trip well-oiled springs and their engine blocks are revealed to them like the commandments on Mount Horeb.Clearly I am not counted among the blessed in this mechanical paradise.I do pretty well at this kind of thing if someone shows me how, but with a broken hood-latch you’re working by faith with car parts unseen.Kind of like wrestling with an angel at night.
I did notice among the YouTube videos an unexpected sense of tradition.The new Beetle (although ours is well over a decade old) has the engine in the front.The original Beetle (one of which I drove until the cost of parking in Boston compelled me to sell it) famously had it in the rear, making the front the trunk of the car.That nomenclature has persisted despite the passage of time and changing the facts.In my mind the front of the car, where the engine is located (or so I hear) is called “the hood.”The rear is “the trunk” (more spacious in the new Beetle, as I know from experience).Although the design and layout have changed, the old language remains.It seems to me that all of this conforms to a belief in special revelation.Once uttered it cannot be changed.Or opened, apparently.Please excuse me, but after all this typing I’ve got to get some ice for my knuckles.
So how much time is there?I mean all together.I suppose there’s no way to know that because we have no idea what came before the Big Bang.Those who invent technology, however, seem not to have received the memo.New tech requires more time and most of us don’t have enough seconds as it is.Perhaps in the height of folly (for if you read me you know I admit to that possibility) I’ve begun uploading material to my YouTube channel (I hope I got that link right!). These are cut-rate productions; when you’re a single-person operation you can’t fire the help.I figured if those who don’t like reading prefer watching perhaps I could generate a little interest in Holy Horror visually.(I like my other books too, but I know they’re not likely to sell.)
The question, as always, is where to find the time for this.My nights are generally less than eight hours, but work is generally more.What else is necessary in life, since there are still, averaged out, eight more left?Writing has its reserved slot daily.And reading.Then there are the things you must do: pay taxes, get physical exercise, perhaps prepare a meal or two.Soon, mow the lawn.It may be foolishness to enter into yet another form of social media when I can’t keep up with those I already have.What you have to do to drive interest in books these days!I think of it as taking one for the tribe.Readers trying to get the attention of watchers.
There’s an old academic trick I tried a time or two: double-dipping.It works like this: you write an article, and another one, and another one.Then you make them into a book.I did pre-publish one chapter of a book once, but getting permission to republish convinced me that all my work should be original.That applies to reviews on Goodreads—they’re never the same as my reviews on this blog—as well as to my YouTube videos.There’ll be some overlap, sure.But the content is new each time around.So you can see why I’m wondering about time.Who has some to spare?Brother, can you spare some time?I’ve been shooting footage (which really involves only electrons instead of actual linear imperial measures) for some time now.I’ve got three pieces posted and more are planned to follow.If only I can find the time.
Here it is October and I have hardly written about monsters.Apart from the US government, that is.I suspect that I could use a little escapism right about now, and most of the boxes are unpacked from the move.Perhaps it’s time to watch a little horror and feel better about the world.Monsters, you see, crop up in the most unexpected places.Yes, in October we expect them to be crouching in dark corners and in dismal swamps as the light begins to fail.Yet the trees are still mostly green around here and I think I might be in need of some new material.As with most people my age, I get lost on the internet—someone needs to offer a roadmap to it.Preferably on paper.
I admit being stuck in the past.As any music therapist will tell you, a person’s musical tastes often reflect the sounds of their youth, and some of us believe that rock hit its high point in the 1980s.My work doesn’t lend itself to background music, so I seldom listen to the radio, and I wouldn’t even know what station to try to hear contemporary offerings.Fortunately I know some people half my age who find their tunes on the internet, and I was recently introduced to Panic! At the Disco via YouTube.I’m old enough to remember when music videos first appeared, although I never saw them.We lived in a small town and, besides, we couldn’t afford cable.Kids at school, however, talked about MTV and other places—there was no world-wide web then, kids!—that they had seen the latest, coolest video that I could only imagine.When my contemporary young friends showed me “LA Devotee” by Panic! I was stunned.
If you haven’t seen it, just look up the official video on YouTube.You’ve got the whole internet at your fingertips!While the lyrics seem innocent enough—young person wants to make it big and so imitates the Los Angeles lifestyle—the video is horror show.Literally.Borrowing from M. Night Shyamalan the opening sequence is a cross between The Village and Signs.Then it becomes a torture chamber for a young boy (from Stranger Things, no less, a show I binge-watched when it came out on DVD).And Satanism.Yes, taking on the LA lifestyle is compared to selling your soul to the Devil.The stunning visuals kept me clicking the replay button.Even as I felt my age, I also felt October growing.And I was glad to see the monsters are still there.Too bad we can’t banish them from DC, however.
I couldn’t have been an easy kid to raise. As a teen, while other kids were experimenting with drugs and sex, I started an unexpected habit. I can’t remember why or how it happened. I was the son of a professional drunk and a high school dropout. (Step dad worked in a sewage plant, so that likely wasn’t it either.) Somehow I’d discovered classical music. It wasn’t through records we had at home. If the artist didn’t have Cash or Twitty in their name you were probably tuned into the wrong station, buddy. Since this was before the internet it must’ve been something I heard on television. On Saturdays I’d beg to go to the Oil City Public Library where you could borrow LPs. I’d check out five at a time, and listen to them with headphones on at home. The general opinion in my neighborhood was that this was snob music and other people didn’t want to hear it.
One of the pieces I discovered was Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture, (officially The Year 1812). This particular recording began with a chorus singing the Russian hymn, in English (hey, I was just learning!). Although I loved the bombastic ending (what boy wouldn’t?) I was haunted by that hymn. I paid no attention to the conductor—I couldn’t tell a Stravinsky from a Stokowski—so I memorized the albums I liked by their cover art. As a teen I had no idea things would ever change and that one day I’d be downloading music instead of carefully, lovingly pulling it out of a colorful sleeve, breathing in the experience.
Russia’s been on a lot of people’s minds lately. I have a great deal of respect for the Russian people. There’s a stolidity and pathos there that is rarely captured in any national music. I longed to hear that recording again. It took the better part of a day searching the internet to find it—I could walk right up to it in the Oil City Public Library four decades ago and put my hand on it. Those days are gone. When I finally located it on YouTube (Eugene Ormandy, Philadelphia Orchestra, in case you’re interested) I couldn’t stop listening. Not only did it take me back to my fractured childhood, it also made me feel a deep connection for a nation that probably looks at my own with great and earned distrust. We all need to learn to look at ourselves from the outside. That hymn! Listen to the words. I could imagine myself being oppressed by people I didn’t know and who had no reason to hate me. Unto our land bring peace. Amen.