P.S. A Column On Things

16 December 1970 /Christmas

Here it is Christmas time again. My special Christmas present to all of you faithful ERGO readers will be a longer than usual column, since we are putting out a longer than usual issue this time, a sizzling spectacular of 12 pages filled with the spirit of Christmas selling, brought to you by the people whose money has made this all possible.

Come to think of it, faithful C.O.T. readers might be more appropriate a greeting than ERGO readers, since I understand that the two sets are not always the same. Some people just do not know what they are missing.

So, here it is Christmas time again. It-is one of those things of life that never seem to fail you. Like death and taxes, except that death only comes to you once, whereas taxes come every year to those who pay them; so Christmas is like taxes. Just like so many other religious events, it happens whether you are ready or not, with a regularity that many find disturbing.

"What? You mean it's Christmas again already?"

"Oh, Christ", say some others, in obvious reference to the historical origin of the occasion: the celebration of the birth of Jesus Christ. Of course, most Americans today realize and concede that in this country, the Christmas season has come to mean so much more than "just religion". As a matter of fact, to most it means anything but religion.

In the spirit which has made this country great, a simple religious holiday has become the Mercantile Celebration of the Winter Solstice. This is a time of great feasting and celebration among the merchants about our plentiful land of the free and home of the credit card. During this period, they harvest the fruits of a year's labor. For some, over 50% of their annual take occurs during just this one time period (Thanksgiving to Christmas, although there is a movement afoot to have the opening moved back to Halloween, which is in itself another fine example of an American religious holiday); but that is actually a good thing. As Calvin Coolidge, our 30th president once remarked: "The business of America is business. Then the time is good for the sellers of goods in the U.S., the time is also good for most of the employees of our land. Thus, they are able to buy many nice products to give as presents, which makes the times good, which makes the employee more money...

But we have degenerated in this discussion from the real point. If this were a normal discussion in a normal column, you would anticipate that at this point, I would state " All of the above is a terrible indication of the decline in the moral strength of our people and the true spirit of Christmas." HOWEVER, THAT IS NOT MY CONCLUSION AT ALL.

Christmas, in my opinion, is what you make of it. There is still ample opportunity for you to enjoy it as a religious holiday if you so desire. But if you enjoy giving and receiving gifts; if you like the stories of Santa Claus, Rudolph, and Charlie Brown; if you like tinsel and Christmas trees; JOIN THE CROWD. And try not to pay too much heed to the messages which will, as usual, proliferate around Christmas time about "Getting Back to the REAL Christmas." YOUR Christmas is the real Christmas; make it a very merry one.

Even M.I.T. qets into some sort of spirit for the duration of the season. Some little patches of institute grey (here and there) are covered by plastic symbols of the time: little Christmas bells, holly, mistletoe. The bright reds and greens really stand out from their surroundings, as though to remind that Christmas penetrates even here.

So, 'neath our plastic tree, we look past our plastic gifts and over the top of the plastic Santa on our lawn to wish you and yours the most Merry of Christmases and a Happy New Year. Turning to doings around M.I.T. as we come down to the Christmas wire...

The MIT Community Players are to be commended for a job well done on the play, The Firebugs, A Morality without a Moral, written by Max Frisch. The Friday performance of last week leads me to suggest that you make it a point to see the play. There are performances tonight through Saturday night.

My reviewer's ticket was the best money I never spent to see a play. The acting was smooth, and the whole thing flowed very well. It seems that some of the politics that you can interpret from the play are not in complete sympathy with ERGO, but this does not diminish the fact that the play is good theatre.

In particular, the principals Paul Epstein, David Lang, and Mark Zweifach seemed to stand out. The lighting was also effective, showing the good job done by Steven Liss (there was some trite strobe lighting at one point, but just at one point). See it.

9 December 1970 / About PSACOT

If you look very closely at the top of this column, you may note that the title is "A Column on Things." The title was chosen after a great deal of deliberation, because it promises nothing and everything at once. When I came to ERGO, I intended to write a generalized column of offbeat information. In recent weeks many people seem to have ignored title and premise. I have been asked:

"Why isn't your column more serious?"

"What is it doing in ERGO?"

"Your article on New York City made you sound like a country boy dazzled by the City Lights."

Any 'real" newspaper contains personal journalism, the quality of which is a highly subjective judgment. ERGO is a "real" newspaper, or is, at least, becoming one, and as such it is spreading its horizon to encompass a broader scope of comment, news, and opinion. This column is part of that trend. That's what it's doing in ERGO-- that's why Steve Wright is here too.

My column is a function of my personality. I am not by nature a dour, serious person. Life is too short--and since I firmly believe that happiness is a state of mind, it's not necessarily related to what's happening around and about you. You make your own happiness by the way you react to stimuli.

I was a "small-town" boy looking at the City light when I wrote about New York. I come from Portland, Oregon, and that city just doesn't stack up to the world's largest.

Changing Gears:

Perhaps it is beating an old horse to death. Perhaps. But it seems to me that, on a random basis, the language one chooses to use is a function of the institution of learning he attends. I can think of N occasions plus or minus epsilon (for very small values of epsilon) on which I have heard MIT students, most often upper classmen, use the language of math in general and calculus in particular in everyday situations.

"The ability to study is a function of your personality."

"Let's charge $45 plus epsilon where epsilon is some small number."

"Some random shithead"--Baker lobby conversation, in ERGO last issue.

One explanation has been offered for the frequent use of the words random and the phrase by definition.

"Everything at MIT is either so vast and confused as to seem entire1v random or so simple-minded as to seem obvious by definition."

It seems intuitively obvious that the above is true, at least as far as the MIT campus is concerned. I have checked with 2 people for very large values of 2, and they agree with my analysis. Besides which, the time I have to finish this article is ∞ for very small values of infinity. The proof of this article is trivial, and is left as an exercise to the reader.

Zomarr was better than almost ever on Mike Davis (9 p.m.-12 m) over WTBS (88.1 FM). The captain will sing out on a Christmas Special, Over the same program , at 10 pm. On Dec. 19  

2 December 1970 / Paul in NYC

(NEW YORK CITY) November 26. This is...THE city. It may well be the only place in the country worthy of the name. Anyplace else just doesn't measure up.

Come to think of it, New York City is a state of mind. 10 million people living within 50 miles of one another. Polluting the blazes out of the air. Crapping in the Hudson River. Drinking Water from 100 miles away. And generally leeching off the world.

New York City is a very big place, geographically as well as population-wise. I've been there three times, and I admit freely that I have only scratched the surface.

As a matter of fact, for example, I have been driven through Harlem twice: once by Greyhound, and once by Penn Central. They tell me that a lot of people live there, and in other places like it. But that's not the New York City I saw, so it isn't the New York City I can write about.

N.Y.C.= Manhattan= that part of the island of Manhattan located north of 42nd street and south of 60th street, between 1st and 8th avenues. That is: Broadway, parts of the upper east side (swank residences), the U.N., the 42nd street theatre district, Times Square, Rockefeller Center, NBC, CBS, ABC.

What else is there to NYC? Quite a bit. I've seen some of it: Wall Street, Staten Island (what you can see from the ferry slip), Co-op City, the Bronx, Queens, JFK and LaGuardia airports... but they just seem like names. No pazzaz. They just don't grab you.

What's so spectacular about midtown Manhattan? It's hard to tell. It glitters, it glows: sometimes, it rather seemed alive to me. Maybe the Theatre is part of it: New York is the only place in the world where you can really call it the Theatre Capital T).

Whatever it is, Manhattan has it. And Manhattan is the Center of New York City. And New York City is the center of America's folklore as a place where dreams are made and broken for every resident of the town, day in and day out. Madison Avenue makes dreams for a living. Broadway's living is making dreams. And the entire city makes dreams as a hobby. Even for the visitor of 1 day, or 1 week. It’s a feeling that you probably would not get if:

1. You lived there
2. You didn't know what NYC was.

As far as I am concerned, New York is probably as close as you can get to the center of the free world. In trade, commerce, art, science, publishing (book), magazines, newspapers, transportation and opinion-making, it has no real rival. When you're there- you're where it's at, where it's happening. It's really far away. Right off!

In closing, the reports of the city's imminent demise are premature. Most seem to feel that there are many years of robust good health left in those concrete canyons, and I am among them. Why, from personal experience I can state that it is possible to walk from Broadway to 1st on 53rd at 11 pm on Thursday night, without even being mugged.

Ahhhhh..... New York.

Last time when we left you, you may recall that our hero, Captain Zommarr whose name I cannot spell either correctly or consistently) was planning to be on Mike Davis' Radio Programme, this Saturday around 10 pm. That's still true. Maybe.

That is to say, Mike Davis has been told that Zommarr will be on. Since it is his program, you might imagine that he would have some say in the matter. You would have quite an imagination. Just call Mike and Ask Him. 868-WTBS, ext4969, dl. 0-731, Saturday.

25 November 1970 / A defense of campus media

For some reason, a lot of people on the M.I.T. campus seem to be disappointed with the quality of campus journalism at this institute. "The good people are all getting out, they say, pointing to a rash of recent resignations from the grandaddy paper on campus, the TECH (But since I am still involved in M.I.T. journalism, I must admit some skepticism about that statement.). There are other people, and sometimes they are the same people, who complain about the WTBS coverage of the M.I.T. campus, claiming that the station spends more time in "local" coverage of the Cambridge and Boston areas, than it does covering the "local area which surrounds its studios. As of now, radio and the newspapers are all the M.I.T. media and some feel that they are just not doing the job.

I'm not going to make a total defense of the media. None of them are really doing the job they should be, including this paper. They should be covering the news of this campus, day in and day out, on an objective basis, providing the students and faculty with the facts, presented as honestly as possible, to facilitate each one making his own decisions, which is the function of a "real' news medium. In addition, the editorial staffs should express the conclusions they have reached as a form of guidance (except WTBS which is restricted by law).

This is not what happens now. What happens now is that most of us get our current information from super slanted hand-outs or reports, with very little independent investigation of either side. There are excuses for this deplorable situation (aren't there always?) but they simply point up another failure of the media: there aren't enough people on this campus interested in being working journalists. Or if there are enough interested people, they don't seem to feel that they can work within the presently existing structure here. Until they pitch in too, it will remain true that, from your four sources of M.I.T. news, you will get what you pay for (assuming you get the TECH free like the rest of us.)

Speaking of movies (whaaa...?) WUSA is now playing at the Sack Cheri complex, and it is very nearly worth the 3 dollar admission to see it(I say very nearly because there is almost no movie ever made that is worth that kind of scandalous admission. Let them eat cake until next year, when it comes to LSC for 50 cents.) The movie features (among others) Joanne Woodward and hubbie Paul Newman, who do a good job of acting in a plot filled with stereotypes. The plot is thin: Paul Newman is working for a super-right wing radio station in New Orleans, WUSA. The owners have political designs, and are using patriotism, racism, and welfare fraud to suck in the rubes. As you might expect, we see the familiar faces: the hardened cynical announcer-with-no-conscience Paul Newman, the suddenly disillusioned young social worker who only wanted to help people, and the hard-bitten southern nit-wit who is using faith in America as a front. It's a little hard to believe that this is the only kind of person left who believes in this country, but if you judged our culture by our films and literature, that's what you would think. In spite of its faults, the movie makes some valid points about shallow "live-in" relationships, and the ludicrous aspects of patriotism run rampant.

If  all things go as expected, Captain Zommar and the Galaxy pirates will appear once more on the Mike Davis radio Programme sometime ( 9:30 P.M. to 12 M.) during the show of December 5. Here's your chance to catch their act. More later...

18 Nov 1970 / Comics Code

It's been two weeks since we last met. At the very least, we're both older, and I'm wiser.

 Speaking of comic books, as you may remember, as we left you last time, we prepared to introduce our villain: The Code of the Comic Magazine Assoc. of America Inc., which consists of 90% of all publishers, distributors, printers and engravers.

And let me give you a hint: You can write and have printed the world’s most fascinating piece of illustrated fiction, and if no one will distribute it, no one else will ever see it.

The distributors, in the comics field, hold the key to power, and since they are directly subject to local pressure, they embrace the concept which makes taste, judgement, and censorship someone else's decision. How about a code that says "no comic shall use the word Horror or Terror in its title." (Part B-l); or one that includes a prohibition against " Scenes of horror...gory or gruesome crimes, depravity..."

Not that I am in favor of comics which would feature such things, but the language used is so broad and vague that it can and has been used against comics that have tried to express a worthy point in graphic form.

In this day and age, the code still enforces a candy-coated reality for the comics world: "Illicit sex relations are neither to be hinted at, or portrayed.” (My emphasis added) The ultimate in self-censorship is yet to be found, in section C of the code: "All elements or techniques not specifically mentioned herein, but which are contrary to the spirit and intent of the code, and are considered violations of good taste or decency, shall be prohibited." It's certainly comforting to know that someone was protecting my good taste and decency during the years I read comics myself. Why quote the code? What is it? What does it mean? It means that the comics industry self-polices itself into a nearly universal level of blandness.

There are no real surprises in comics.

Which is what gives rise to the underground comics. The blandness is a result of the generalities which we have just quoted from the code.

It is so broad as to be able to condemn almost anything, any story, and illustration, depending on who is interpreting it.

And to second guess this kind of censorship is to eliminate controversy before the material is even submitted.

In talks with production people at the Marvel comics group, I discovered that late submission of material to the printer results in large financial loss. Since all material must be pre-submitted to the code authority, censorship is equal to money lost.

This kind of censorship is now being hailed by many because it is so successful. Le-'s hope that its success does not lead to its adoption in other fields. Yet there are people in establishment comics that are trying to make a point in the magazines they write. In particular, I am speaking of Stan Lee and the Marvel Comics Group, of which he is head man (Art director and Editor-in Chief).

The group is a loose confederation of commercial artists ( as most comic groups are these days) who are given their story lines from a select group of authors employed bythe publishing house. The editor adds his loving touch on every story, and PRESTO! You have a consistent editorial line which has a point of view of life to get across to the reader.

That helps define the comic art form as literature.

The other adventure magazines are now following suit, but I see Stan Lee as the leader.

Illustrated fiction is heading for bigger and better things, and if you'd like to see a new entertainment form in the embryonic stages, go back again, and look at the comics rack especially for Marvels).

Scenes From American Life by A.R. Gurney Jr.

(The M.I.T. instructor in the field of playwriting) was, to put it simply, one of those rare combinations of the very funny and the deeply tragic, together yet separate. When viewed as whole, it is clear that the play's kaleidoscopic representation of Buffalo, N.Y. from 1930 to 1985 is tragic in nature. This does not really become clear until the end of the play however, so one is allowed to laugh at the very human and very touching scenes from everyone's life that the playwright portrays. (Without telling too much of the lot, I highly recommend close attention to the scene with the choir boys; the minister; and the young person's first exposure to tennis, in which he asks “What is love?" and is told that " Love means nothing.").

In describing the mixture, I am reminded very much of a common reaction to the film Joe. Some say that if the overall tone of a play or movie is tragic, then no individual part of it can be considered funny, but I disagree. Looking back on the whole play, I consider it to have been frightening, prophetic, and well done.

The dialog was sharp (Some minor lapses.

No major ones), and considering the short rehearsal period, their performances were nicely polished. The scenes from 1985 were introduced gradually throughout the play, until, near the end, they became more entwined with the past and the present, so much so that they dominated.

All the harmless little inhumanities that went before suddenly combined into man's ultimate inhumanity. Since many have mentioned it, including a Maijamajers who wishes to remain anonymous, you will note that this column did not start off by saying "This is what I will do this week", following which I proceeded to do it.

Instead, I got right into the real guts, a habit I will continue while relegating my tangents to the end rather than the start.

4 November 1970 /Stan Lee is Shakespeare

Well, the time has come to speak of many things. In the main, we should start off by telling you what you won't see if you continue to invest your time (wisely) in this column. You will not see a review of the MIT Dramashop performances of the Friday prior to Princeton Week. This is because I was unable to attend them, and I dislike reviewing things I haven't seen.

By the By, if you want to compare my style of reviewing with your own opinions of an event, you can see Scenes from American Life in Kresge Little Theatre sometime between tonight and Sunday night, and then read my review next week (make that the week after, since we don't publish next week). Turning to more important things, we reach the real guts of this week’s column: a stunning analysis of COMIC-Format Magazines

Do you really know what a comic book is; he queried? Probably not. Probably, you think of Donald Duck or Superman, or Millie the Model, if you think anything at all. Well, do not think things like that. That is like judging the LP record format on the basis of the Archie's Sugar Sugar. It's not the format, it's the content that counts (It's the message. not the medium).

Of all the messages expressed in the medium, I of course have my favorite style of delivery and content. That is Stan Lee's Marvel Comics Group, as those of you familiar with the lore of comicdom could no doubt have guessed.

Without a doubt, if there is a Shakespeare of comic-magazines, Stan Lee is the leading contender for the title, on the basis of over 20 years of continuing lofty contributions to the medium. But why read comics? Of what import are they? Why waste time in this column on them? I don't consider it a waste of time, any more than I consider any other form of entertainment a waste of time. I believe that comics are important as an alternative form of written entertainment which is all too often ignored or minimized simply out of Blind Prejudice, rather than an examination of the facts. Their importance as portrayals of a view of life is probably minimal, and this is of course a major function of most “quality” written entertainment (or literature if you will). But when it comes to fantasy and science fiction in which the story's "statement" is a more or less "secondary" part of the content, Illustrated Fiction (as comics are on occasion known) takes a back seat to no art format.

This occurs in spite of an Industry demon known as the "Comics Code Authority", which is a rather thinly veiled attempt to make everything in the Comics field as bland as Daffy Duck. For example, the entire line of gothic horror magazines produced by EC Publications (Mad magazine when it was a comic book was part of this group) was driven from the stands by the code, and Mad was forced into a magazine format. For years after the code's mid-fifties introduction, the entire field of Illustrated Fiction was stagnant, until the arrival in the early 60's of The Fantastic Four, bravely titled "The Worlds Greatest Comic Magazine!". After a few months the title seemed a little less brave, because the magazine nearly was the world's best at the time

If the above does not seem to fit the flow of this column very well, that’s because it cannot and does not fit naturally. Suffice it to say that you can’t understand why comics have been so totally ignored until now until you know about the Comics Code, and Stan Lee, and the new “Golden Age of Comics,” and the Marvel Comics Group which should soon (or perhaps now has) make comics acceptable and respectable.

14 OCT. 1970 / Why Read This Column

Why should you be reading this column? I could tell you why I read it, but I don't think they apply to you. I read it: 1. because I write it, 2. to look for typographical errors.

But if those motives aren't helpful, try these: If you are a freshman, you can read this column to find out how another frosh is adjusting, and what he thinks and sees around this Boston, this Cambridge, this M.I.T. (some 3000 miles from his home in the verdant forests of Oregon) or if you're not a freshman, this collection of randomness may remind you of your long-lost feeling of disorientation when you first arrived here, lo that many years ago. The feeling which you gradually discovered your way out of. That's what this is, or at least what it's intended to be. A column of discovery. And among other things discovered in the last three issues:

1. A Column on Culture was a pretentious title. So, the title was changed, but the intent of the column is not.
2. This author has discovered, on the advice of the editor, the first person singular. I have mixed feelings about the editorial we, so it's hard for us to make up my mind. But we will keep working on it. If you have a comment, write it down and send it in to this column. We will save all the best ones for ideas, and print the others in this column.

 Half the column gone, and no reviews of any sort yet! You may have noticed that. As long as you have survived the column up to this point, I might as well give you the good word about this week's column. It's gotten off to such a slam bang start that I'm going to finish it off with a few general musings about ERGO, if God and my editor (not necessarily in that order) are willing. People that know me and know that I write for ERGO ask me why our paper does not look as "pretty" as some of the opposition. (Not that looks are the only thing that counts). To them and many others, I reply that this paper is no more or less than the joint efforts of those who produce it. We need more photographers and lay-out men. With more people, we could be unshackled from the day-to-day details of just getting the paper out and concentrate on the long-range task of putting out an ever-improving paper, esthetically. So, until you get up off your veranda, that's the way it will be. (The opinions expressed are those of the author, not the editorial staff of this paper.)

A word on the nature of criticism: It is an art which I am unashamed to admit I am still learning. Many, many people have said to me that my reviews in the last issue of ERGO were too positive, that a true critic would have pointed out the faults in each of the three events. There were, no doubt about it, some faults in each event. I plead guilty to over-enthusiasm, and promise regular readers of this column (both of you) that I will make an effort in the future to be a little more critical of that which I view and hear.

SHORT NOTES: Catch 22 is probably one of the most reviewed movies in the business today, but having just seen it, I feel I owe you one: believe the favorable reviews you read elsewhere, it's a good movie.

AND: Thanks to the anonymous student who brought the title quote of this column to my attention by writing it on the wall in the main hall.

CORRECTIONS

There were two misspellings in the P.S. a Column on Things column in the last issue of ERGO. Apologies to both Tim Phegley and Mike Wildermuth for incorrect spellings of their names due to errors in the author's text.

7 OCTOBER 1970 Captain Zommar, Potluck Coffee House

This columnist has decided to strike closer to home. During the last week, several events of note occurred that we witnessed. (This is not to exclude other events, but we didn't see them.) They just go to prove that there are hidden pools of talent around the old 'tute. To wit:

EXHIBIT A: Calvin Coolidge presents Thursday Evening featuring Captain Zomarr and the Galaxy Pirates quarter hour, was an auxiliary feature of the Mike Davis Radio Programme on WTBS a week ago Saturday. The show was a 40-minute comedy routine complete with commercials. It was put together by a large, somewhat more than normally batty group of M.I.T. students, and funny is just not a sufficient word to describe the roaringly humorous material presented. This show might have made radio history. Maybe it made radio a pickle. We aren't sure how to handle it. But neither was Mike Davis, it seems. The program was well worth the time, and should it return for a third ppearance we can hope for a little more advance publicity. (The author must admit knowing a few of the players, and thus may be slightly prejudiced.)

EXHIBIT B: (Note: This reporter had to leave before the second act last Friday, the singing of John Fagley. We'll try to hear him next time out.) Pope Pius XII is not only a new (?) group on campus, he was our 30th president, the Friday night audience of the Pot Luck Coffee House was told by Mike McClure, Mike Wildermuth, and Clark Smith, who compose the trio. The group did a stand-up singing routine, and came through well in the small Mezzanine Lounge, despite microphone problems. The group's repertoire was well balanced; during their first set they sang four ballads and soft tunes, four driving "pop tunes, and five gag tunes. The group's gimmick numbers are spectacular and include snappy choreography ("Duke of Earl") as well as dollar bill, comb, and kazoo ("Ladies"). But their talent on straight music is undeniable, both on copy songs and originals. ("She Knows: and "Psychic Players") Smith holds down the lead vocal chores, while Wildermuth (wearing a photie of an Indian village) and McClure (tastefully open collar) provide back up vocal and guitar, with occasional leads (including a ten minute Wildermuth solo spot). Technically, as good as any folk group, recorded or not, that we've heard.

EXHIBIT C: Then, of course, there was the M.I.T. Dramashop with a two-day series of two plays (one performance of each per night) last Friday and Saturday. (The Friday performance had filled the Kresge Little Theatre at least ten minutes before showtime, when we were turned away by the full house signs on the doors.) The plays were. "Picnic on the Battlefield" by Arrabal and "Under Plain Cover" by John Osbourne. The performances were crisp, and the sets were, as usual, well done. The special effects and lighting left nothing at all to be desired, and the director, cast, and crew are to be complimented on a very balanced presentation. What more remains to be said?

23 September 1970 Don't Crush That Dwarf

In a dedicated effort to push forward the public taste, this column will dedicate itself to the discovery and review of that which is not normally discovered and reviewed by the opposition. And if we do overlap on occasion, that's their tough luck.

Don't Crush that Dwarf, Hand Me the Pliers
The Firesign Theater
 Columbia Records.

 This album is definitely not one for a newcomer to the Firesign Theater. The spoken word comedy group has two other albums out, Waiting for the Electrician or Someone like him and How can you be in Two Places at Once When You're not Anywhere at All, both of which are tightly organized, hysterically funny adventures in the realm of the spoken word which has been unexplored since the Marx Brothers. But as they put out each album, they seem to be less concerned with tight technical work and precise style editing. This third adventure is their loosest yet, with almost no pretense of comprehensive plot, and long stretches of rather dull technical effects, with minimal humor value. It deals with the future world of "sectors", and spoofs TV, as well as old movies of several tvpes, including Andy Hardy and War Epics. Everyone is named Tirebiter, and it tends to confuse the issue. In spite of its weakness, it is still good Firesign, with a gold mine of material spoken in the background, and fancy footwork with the stereo speaker system. Definitely not an album to be listened to in Mono.