POMO rants (was dfw ... nobel specks)

[MASCARO at humnet.ucla.edu]

Paul York and Max continue the tiresome rant.  C'mon guys.  Insert the name of your 
Dad's profession  and the jargon he uses at work into your puerile caricatures of 
*postmodernists* and you;ll see how unfair such slams are.  You could demean anybody 
with such tripe--half-truths, made-up terms and names, dismissive snorts and chortles. 
 It's funny that Paul Y. talks about *cynical * postmodernists, when his post is as cynical as
 they come, with its assumption that anything he doesn't immediately dig is an elitist 
plot to make him feel like a doo-doo brain (Jules' legacy to the list--the rotating doo-doo 
brain, kinda like the Stanley Cup).

Of course there are cynical elitist morons masquerading as *postmodernist* writers or 
thinkers.  And there are  cynical elitist morons masquerading as doctors, and cynical elitist 
morons masquerading as social workers,  cynical elitist morons masquerading as waiters, 
or plisters.  Whaddya gonna do about that?  Does spreading malice which only further 
highlights the dangerous anti-intellectual streak of our culture help things?

Paul Y. writes:
>[major snippage]

>At worst, its a badge of elitism, whereby works 
>are nominated to the ranks of "postmodern" by virtue of their 
>demonstration of (what academics see as) an intellectual rigor or 
>sophistication.  You know, the books that lots a people just don't seem 
>to be able to "get."  But, I pontificate...

Can you name a book that this occurred to?  Do you really think people sit around in 
rooms to *nominate* books as postmodern after running focus groups using ordinary 
guys like yourself as guinea pigs?

The scene:  Dr. Fish's School of Devious Postmodern Research
In a small room under harsh lights around a large table sit four guys:  Paul, Max. Bill and 
Ernie.  A man in a white lab coat enters with an armful of books and papers.  He spreads 
these out on the table.  "Men," he says, "we're going big time these days and we want to 
make sure that we don't miss you, the little guys, or your needs, when we flood the 
market with new book titles.  What's your net takeaway on these babies?
The men inspect the books carefully.
Bob:  I like this one--BIG GUYS REMEMBER THE 'NAM
Ernie:  My wife will enjoy this new Dillard work: TINKER at PILGRIM CREEK
Max: Got any new Brett Easton Ellis stuff?  He's way cool!
Paul: Hey, what's this, DEONSTRUCTING IMBRICATIONS/OR/THIS-MEANS- 
NOTHING-TO-YOUNESS--where'd you come up with a sissy pants title like this one?  Is 
this some *French* book or something?  What kinda crap is he talking about?  I better not 
see this book at my local Barnes & Noballs.
The lab coated man hustles over to Paul, a look of consternation growing on his face.  "Oh 
my," he apologizes, "I'm so sorry.  This got mixed up with your pile--by accident,  This is a 
subversive book.  Please be assured that its author has been dealt with properly by the 
proper authorities.  Pay it no mind, really."
Paul:  OK, if you say so.  Just so long as you don't go trying to peddle this stuff to innocent 
american schoolkids in their innocent American school plygrounds or anything.  Boy, 
these kinda books really get my clear thinking plainspoken American blood in a boil.
As Paul slowly calms down and begins inspecting the other titles, the lab-coated man 
turns, unseen by the others, to a large *mirror* set behind him in the wall.  He arches his 
left eyebrow in a subtle but significant gesture, and cranes his head toward the title Paul 
had gotten so upset about.  Behind the *mirror*, in the Control Room, a steel-eyed man 
in a narrow cut suit sees the gesture and nods.  He makes a small check on a list of titles in 
front of him.  "I knew it was a sure winner," he mutters to himself, and resumes 
watching  . . .


Paul continues:
>, but Pynchon, as do DeLillo, 
>Coover, [insert name of author who writes books people don't get] etc. 
>do have their cadres of hipper-than-thou, see-right-through-it-all, 
>know-what-fiction's-about, 
>gonna-go-to-grad-school-and-write-a-2000-page-novel-with-parallel-text-in-esperanto 
>types.) 

Uh, would you say you sound a tad cynical here, Paul?


>  IMO _IJ_ has sincerety out the wazoo.

One useful thing a chat with a nice postmodernist teacher might do for you is to help you
 understand how you have arrived at what constitutes *sincerity.*  Or do you think it is 
self-evident?  The same in all times and places?  Uniformly good?  A pure thing?  Yes, 
postmodern therapy, fort et dure, seems clearly indicated.


Then Mad Max chimes in:
Hail, Pope Paul!  :)  I agree.  What is it with that silly use of
punctuation--slashes, parentheses, etc.--that academics feel so clever about
using these days?  "(De)Constructing Derrida," "The Male/Gaze," whatever.
Past intellectuals (even pseudo-intellectuals) were able to make their
points without this sort of crap.

Or maybe he said:
What is it with that silly use of diagrams, circles, slashes, that basketball coaches feel so 
clever about using these days?  "Half-court trap," "The Rotating Switch-Off," whatever.
Past  basketball coaches (even pseudo-basketball coaches) were able to make their
points without this sort of crap. 

See what I mean?  And at least these are real basketball terms!  You'd never let someone 
*argue* like that, yet when it comes to bashing academics, its the same nonsense alla 
time!  Why?


> I know, these bold PoMos are supposed to
>be deconstructing language itself.  But if so, then nothing they write can
>convey meaning.  So give up and commit suicide already! 

No:  If so, then nothing YOU write can convey meaning :-}

Seriously, Max--no one ever claimed language doesn't convey meaning.  No one.  
Deconstructing something does not show that the thing doesn't exist.   Deconstruction 
does not mean *destruction.*  And asking you to pay attention to words is not being 
elitist.

john m