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Clickety Clack - De File
Does Collecting Make You Feel Dirty?
cbertsch
cbertsch
Clickety Clack
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From: bobo_amargo Date: January 18th, 2006 11:08 pm (UTC) (LINK TO SPECIFIC ENTRY)
Sorry for posting so much. Work is slow today. And it's raining out this gloomy San Francisco evening.

Just wanted to say how much I like the linked post from 2003 on _Lost in Translation_ (by the way, how do I render italics here?) and Kim. I guess I had, by fits and starts, heard features of the story of your meeting, but never the whole deal. (A good example of your not being cynical is your tendency to share the details of your life with people, LiveJournal being only the latest manifestation of it.)

I like it because I liked the movie every bit as much as you and Kim seem to have liked it, and, like you guys, I liked it immediately, both personally and pure-cinematically. Though my relation to (pop) music has never been as intense as yours clearly is (if everyone was like me, Plato could safely have allowed it to remain in the Cosmopolis), I was nearly undone, after all those years, to hear Bob (!), middle-aged everyman, eke out a version of Roxy Music's "More Than This," a shared favorite (along with, you'll be glad to hear, The Cure passim) from my first real relationship.

I like it because it instantiates, without self-consciously trying to, the kind of impassioned autobiographical criticism ("passionate," as opposed to "performative," utterances) Stanley Cavell has been writing for as long as -- of course I mean longer than -- I've lived what they call the life of the mind. I used to hold with Wilde -- who claimed somewhere that the only noble form of autobiography is criticism -- that where telling your story's concerned, discretion is the better part of validation, but I've come to believe, through the good offices of Cavell's therapeutic work, that hanging some of your laundry out in public is not such a bad idea after all. Incidentally, I still believe a good place to go to think about the opposite poles represented for you by Habermas and Foucault is Cavell's house of moral perfectionism. Try the new volume, _Cavell on Film_.
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