American Television

Well after an extremely short search on the internet I found out how to write on my blog using my IPad. Yes, this is being written on an IPad. One of the very first things I did when I bought this thing was open up my blog and attempt to post. I was unsuccessful and I simply assumed Blogger simply isn't compatible with this new, fangled thingy. So instead of utilizing the full spectrum of homogenized technologies inhabiting the IPad (such as the internet, etc.) I just pouted and decided that it wasn't worth it to me to take the three seconds to figure out the solution to this minor of minor problems.


So this is the first time I have ever jumped so quickly onto a new product band wagon. This is the first time I have even purchased an Apple product. Those who know me well might point out that I do own an IPod Touch but to them I must point out I painted my mother-in-law's laundry room and as payment she gave it to me because she felt owning an IPod she never used and an IPhone was a bit redundant. Speaking of redundancy, I am reading a novel by Muriel Spark and she keeps referring to all these men as being redundant and having a tough time making ends meet. She is british and I suppose redundant in Brit Land is synonymous with "unemployed" on this side of the pond. But Spark gives very few clues to suggest this and I am no expert in the field of vernacular of the modern Britain. It probably took me far too long to figure out this simple semantic issue and perhaps she was writing with a purely British readership in mind but I still felt put off by the whole thing. I suppose, even on this dinky blog, I write far too "American" and use several phrases that would confuse the world's masses if they weren't being pumped hours of American Television every day.

'Harvard Musical Anthropology Survey'

Okay, so I tried to upload one of Harvey Pekar's last stories but something was going terribly wrong and the image was only 80% visible in this little dialog box I am typing in. So here is the link instead. This is not necessarily indicative of his usual fare but it will at least give you an idea of his sense of humor. Most of his comics are funny in the same way Peanuts was funny. The characters are miserable, lonely, rejected, frustrated, unbecoming, but they have their immutable intelligence and solidarity with others who are poor in spirit.

In the passage of the Bible where Jesus is remarking about these sorts he says they will inherit the Kingdom of Heaven. When I was trying to remember what he said they would inherit I thought it was "the Earth." But that is what the meek get. I really thought it was the complete opposite. In the Christian faith I supposed it was the truly humble and contrite who gain access to God. But it seems it is merely the tread-upon. Actually this is making an immense amount of sense because why would those who lived desperate lives on Earth want to inherit it?

"every morning in a cold sweat"

It is more than fitting that it is bitterly dismal today. Harvey Pekar was found dead around 1 a.m. this morning by his wife, Joyce Brabner. (I began this post yesterday but was so disheartened and so terribly busy I was unable to finish).

I don't think I fully understood the term "salt of the earth" until I discovered this rare human who balked at life's menial yet overwhelming daily struggles and yet never made me feel pity nor shame but almost exclusively the most unexpected emotion ever to be elicited by a oft-labeled curmudgeon: love. I believe I fell in love with Harvey Pekar. 'From off the streets of Cleveland' and straight into my heart.

A few months ago just after seeing the film based on Harvey's comic book series 'American Splendor' I wrote a post concerning the life-altering revelations proffered by my viewing of this movie. The implications of a single human's life being so important without being so important struck me about as deep as any proper philosophical account of the same anomaly of living. I re-watched the movie last night accompanied by my enduring partner in art and life (so akin to Joyce in the best ways) and a 2-liter of orange soda (reportedly Harvey's consistent beverage of choice). There is a scene set up like a dream sequence after Harvey passes out in their Cleveland Heights apartment because his cancer treatment is so oppressive to his already feeble body. In this scene Harvey walks among partially illustrated rooms in a nondescript house reciting a monologue about living in his first apartment and coming across other Harvey Pekars in his first phone book.

He is very self-aware and naturally realizes the oddity of more than one person having such a rare name let alone several people. He follows these other Harveys' lives through their presence in the phone book and when they come to die he said, "I was filled with sadness. Although I had never met them I felt we had this inexplicable connection."

This sentiment is what I fell in love with. He was known as cantankerous, which he certainly seemed to be, but he was so generous with his appreciation that other people existed. He was desperately lonely because he valued other people so exceptionally. When I heard of his death the reality of his contribution was clearer than ever. I too was filled with sadness. I had hardly even known Harvey through his art but his unorthodox care was so evident and life-affirming I was completely disarmed by the news. In my estimation one of the most loving humans had passed. He was entirely mortal and just by living his day-to-day he reveled in that. It is not that he was remarkable for his unremarkableness. He was beyond those trite assumptions. He was fascinating because he existed and that is all. And I believe he would say the exact same thing about anyone else.

'Ordinary life is pretty complex stuff.'

You will be sorely missed, Harvey
brandon