Bruce and Books

This is the video for "Wrecking Ball," a new song Springsteen wrote as a tribute to Giants Stadium. Bruce and the Band played the last shows ever at Giants Stadium, which is in E. Rutherford, New Jersey. The stadium is being torn down.



Also, some new books out this fall that folks might enjoy. I haven't read them yet, myself, but I figure I'm not the only one wandering through bookstores looking at the new releases and wondering what's what. Here are my recommendations for what's new in Fall 09.

Spooner by Pete Dexter

Under the Dome by Stephen King

Manhood for Amateurs by Michael Chabon

Last Night in Twisted River by John Irving

Wild Things by Dave Eggers

Pirate Latitudes by Michael Crichton

The Greatest Show on Earth by Richard Dawkins

U is for Undertow by Sue Grafton

Text of My Speech Given in Communications Class

This is the text of my speech given last Thursday to my communications class. We were assigned to give a "conflict" speech, detailing a conflict which we had been involved in, and to bring to bear various methods and terminology from the course.

As to the actual events which transpire within the speech, I can only refer you to John Irving, who once wrote: "A fiction writer's memory is an especially imperfect provider of detail; we can always imagine a better detail than the one we can remember. The correct detail is rarely, exactly, what happened; the most truthful detail is what could have happened, or what should have happened."

Conflict Speech

Act I

I was once mistaken for Tyler Durden.

I'm in a bar in my hometown, just me and my cousin JR having a drink, Bruce Springsteen playing “Glory Days” on the jukebox. Red Sox kicking the Yankees ass on the flatscreen. A good night, you know. Nothing happening.

This guy comes sauntering across the bar, short guy, older, lanky kind of hair and a shirt with a little dashed line across the chest, says Must Be This Tall To Ride This Ride, which puts him in the market of midgets and twelve years olds. He gets up real close, looks right at me.

“You're Tyler Durden, aren't you?” he says to me.

My first thought is maybe I heard him wrong. He got my first name right, so maybe the guy actually knows me, one of those scenarios, you know you know the guy but you don't know where from, or maybe the whiskey's messing with my ears, I just heard him wrong.

So I give the guy a look.

(look)

“You're Tyler Durden,” he says.

This time it's not a question.

See, the problem with being mistaken for an imaginary character in a movie is you're not really sure if the guy thinks you're actually a fictional character, or if he thinks you're the actor who played the character in the film. There's a world of difference. In the one case, you're dealing with a drunk. In the other, you're dealing with a looney.

There happens to be an added layer when you're mistaken for a fictional movie character who isn't even real in the movie, a character who's actually a split-personality. In which case, it's possible you're talking to a crazy man who honestly believes that you're the fictional figment of the imagination of a crazy fictional movie character.

This whole line of thinking only occurred to me later, after the fight and after a few more whiskey sours. You drink enough whiskey you get philosophical, but at first the only thing I was really thinking was whether the guy thought I was Edward Norton or Bradd Pitt.

“You got the wrong guy,” I tell him.

Well, now he thinks about this a while. His eyes go kinda blank and watery, and I'm thinking this is the end of it, he's just gonna go away and get a little more plastered and go on home and sleep it off and forget about the whole thing.

Finally, his eyes focus and he's looking at me again.

“I'm gonna kick your ass,” he says.

Act II

Upon reflection, this was really the first escalation, that first turn which eventually led us out of the bar. I mean, we were all on our way to being best friends. Think about how many friendships start out in a bar, drowned in whiskey, Bruce rockin out, the Red Sox kicking ass. The guy already thought I was Brad Pitt. I admit, it would have meant building our relationship around a lie, but it's not like it's the first time in recorded history that would have happened.

Unfortunately, when a guy tells you he's gonna kick your ass, it kinda derails that Feel Good Train.

Way I figure it, the best thing to do is play like I didn't hear him. Maybe if he thought I hadn't heard he'd just forget he said it and be on his merry way.

This is the Non-Confrontational Approach to Conflict Management. In a bar in my hometown, this usually works. You keep your mouth shut, drink your drink, the night goes on

The guy leans in, says: “You wanna fight, Mr. Durden? I'll kick your ass.”

JR hears him this time. Takes a clean look at the guy and then says to me:

“You want me to kill this guy?”

JR just did two tours in Iraq. Sometimes I get the feeling he isn't happy to be home, being peaceful.

As a way of comparison, JR's suggestion could be headed under the Aggressive Approach to Conflict Management.

I tell him no, the guy's just got the wrong person. Mistaken identity. Not a problem.

“Let's go outside and punch each other.”

The guy seems to have a one track mind.

“That's alright, buddy,” I tell him. “I'm not in the mood.”

He thinks about this a minute. His eyes squint up again, getting all watery. It's like a little storm is going on inside his head. A small storm, and eventually it clears and he comes back to the world.

“Let's go out back and punch each other,” he says. “You can hit me first.”

Now, at this point I think it's worth illustrating various communication models. You've heard about the Action Model, the Interaction Model and the Transaction Model. I would like to add another communication model which I think the textbook has neglected. I call it the Missing in Action Model, and it looks something like this.

(model drawing)

It is this particular communication model which I was dealing with, and it was rather wearing my patience pretty thin.

Act III

This is really where the second major escalation occurred. We said a few more things to each other which just got bounced off into outer space, the messages not getting through. Eventually, we decided that JR had a set of boxing gloves out in his truck and we ought to go out back and clear this all up.

Now, I want to say that I could have stayed right there on that bar stool. I could have, and there wasn't much chance of any further escalation. But a number of events transpired which, when put together, made it hard to stay seated. First, the Yankees scored three runs and tied up the ballgame. This was a dark omen. Second, Elton John came on the jukebox, claiming that Saturday night was alright for fighting.

Third, and most importantly though, was that I was Tyler Durden. And the Tyler Durden Approach to Conflict Management didn't include going out the front door.

So out the back we went.

If you've never boxed with only one set of gloves, it works like this. Each guy gets a glove. If you get the left handed glove and you're right handed, well you're just SOL. So you got one hitting hand, and the other goes behind your back.

It's a laborious way to fight. With one hand behind your back you got your chin wide open for the other guy to chop away at. This means if you want to avoid getting hit you gotta shuck your head or move your feet, neither of which are things you particularly feel like doing when you're intoxicated.

What it boils down to is you get hit a lot.

I hit the guy a few times on the nose. You hit a guy square, between the eyes, sting him a little, he usually calls it quits. No one really likes getting hit. Some guys think they do, but nobody really likes it.

My buddy, however, well, he's been staring down the bottle all night, so he ain't feeling anything at all.

He's just taking it, like he's got no place else to be, nothing else to do all night.

So, finally, I cheated.

I felt bad about it afterward. But I felt like it was the kind of thing Tyler Durden would have done.

I faked him a few with my gloved hand, and then came round and clocked him with him bare hand.

It wasn't gentlemanly, but it worked. The guy went down on his ass, his nose a little bloody, and that was the end of it.

I helped the guy up and we took off our gloves. I told him to come back in, I'd buy him a drink, but he said he couldn't stay and he wandered off.

Dénouement

JR and I went back into the bar and ordered another whiskey.

I thought about it for a while, and I could have done it differently.

Even though my Non-Confrontational Approach wasn't accomplishing much, I could have stayed on my stool.

Or I could have walked out the front door, an Avoidance measure, still Non-Confrontational.

I could have attempted a more Cooperative Style, could have asked the guy if there was another solution that would have suited him. We could have brainstormed alternatives on a cocktail napkin, passed it around the bar for votes on the best course of action.

I drank my whiskey and thought about all of this. And I determined two things.

First, it's a well known adage that in nine fights out of ten the guy who wins is the guy who throws the first punch. So, next time someone comes up to me in a bar and asks if I'm Tyler Duren, I'm gonna hit him right there and then.

Second, the guy definitely thought I was Brad Pitt. I don't look anything like Edward Norton.

October Shivers

It's October, and all the nights of lonesome October would not be complete if one didn't spend at least a half dozen hours or more watching horror movies. With this simple and yet essential truth in mind, I've drawn up a list of the flicks you ought to be seeing with your eyeballs and feeling in your veins.

This is not a “best of” list or a “favorite” list. If I made such a list it would be all too likely that you'd have seen all the films and would therefore be rather bored. Instead, this is a List for the Season 2009 (yes, with other lists coming in later years).

For this compendium, I've mixed some favorite films, which you may have seen, with other classics you may have not, and with some smaller cult films where there's a good chance you haven't even heard of them.

Also, my own conception of horror extends rather broadly (since I write horror myself I feel I've got a right to do this). It includes genres that may not actually be horror, but which contain elements and strains of the horrific strong enough that I felt they could be included. Throughout history, horror has been a color on the palette often mixed with other genres, be they science fiction, fantasy, mystery or otherwise. It is thanks to this blending that we have received innumerable classics as diverse as Macbeth to Lord of the Flies.

Well, enough ballyhoo from me. Here's the list.

I expect everyone here to reply with at least a few suggestions of their own.

Creepshow
1982
George Romero

“I drove out there with the remains of three human beings...well, two human beings and Wilma.”

A unique presentation of three separate stories, each roughly half an hour long, written by Stephen King and directed by Romero (of Night of the Living Dead fame). A rare combination of horror and comedy, what's important to remember, here and elsewhere in horror film, is that you're supposed to have a good time. Each tale is presented as a comic book story, and the whole film has the feel of the old EC horror comics.



Child's Play
1988
Tom Holland

“We're friends to the end, remember?”
“This is the end, friend.”

Chucky is one of the many instantly recognizable horror icons. But how many of you have actually seen this first film? Here, in the original, Chucky is a menace and a terror, not the object of laughable derision he became in later films.


The Blob
1958
Irvin Yeaworth Jr.

“At least we've got it stopped.”
“Yeah, as long as the Arctic stays cold.”

The first film of Steve McQueen's career. Low budget graphics and an amorphous blob that just doesn't want to quit eating people. Get past the rather unbelievable and goofy story line and this is still an enjoyable film. Can't beat it for it's closing line, quoted above, which take on a rather different meaning today.


Psycho
1960
Alfred Hitchcock

“A boy's best friend is his mother.”

The all-time classic. People ran out of theaters screaming when they saw this. Hard to believe today, but Hitchcock's most famous scene is a brilliant study in filmmaking power. Watch it in slow motion. Though thousands of people swore they'd seen Janet Leigh slashed and ripped open, you never actually see the knife touch her skin. All you do see is Hitch's magnificent film editing.


Soylent Green
1973
Richard Fleischer

“You're a helluva piece of furniture.”

A fantastic sci-fi, post-apocalyptic film, the paranoia that fuels it and the deeply horrifying ending gives it the boost to make my list here. A wonderfully creative movie, especially in its wry bits of black humor, such as the way in which young women are sold as part of the package deal of buying a rich man's condo. A prostitute really, but she comes with the house. And what do they call her? Furniture. Wicked, but priceless.


Friday the 13th
1980
Sean Cunningham

“He neglected to mention that downtown they call this place Camp Blood.”

Again, classic, identifiable, but how many of you have seen it? This first film beats the pants off every Jason slasher that came after it (which many people claim with certain series and which is not always the case). Moody, atmospheric, and ahead of its time.


Bride of Frankenstein
1935
James Whale

“I hope her bones are firm.”

Frankenstein was a massive hit in the early 1930's, but it was this sequel which stands out as the true masterpiece, probably the most stylistically accomplished and most brilliantly filmed horror movie of that decade. On display once again is the genius of Boris Karloff, who never outdid himself as this particularly un-jolly green giant.


Night of the Living Dead
1968
George Romero

“He's coming to get you, Barbara.”

Romero's first masterpiece. Shot in black and white in an era of color (just like it's famous predecessor, Psycho) this film stunned audiences and became one of the small handful of enormously influential horror films. Throughout what is apparent is Romero's flair and style, the brilliant camera angles, the noir touch, and his gift for letting the camera tell the story.


The Fog
1980
John Carpenter

“Are you going to give the benediction tonight, Father?”
“Antonio Bay has a curse on it.”
“Do we take that as a no?”

Carpenter is one of the greatest horror directors, and was a sad day when Hollywood butchered the remake of this fantastic film. Forget the new crap. Get your hands on this masterpiece. It is classic Carpenter (who also directed Halloween), eerie, disturbing, and filled to the brim with tight, chilling suspense.


Idle Hands
1999
Rodman Flender

“Oh, man, the lefty's a keeper. I mean, I guess it wasn't idle enough.”
“Really?”
“Oh yeah, man. I mean, I hit the remote with it, light up with it, relieve a little tension.”

Disgusting. Fun. Outrageous. And Jessica Alba. Reminding one of other horror/humor mixes, ala Creepshow, this is horror for the youth generation. The plot line sounds unbelievably silly, a kid wakes up with his hand possessed by the devil and it starts killing people without his consent, but it's actually an update on a silent-era thriller The Hands of Orlac. If nothing else, it's worth watching the kid strap his hand down to the bedpost, mock-bondage, so that he can have sex with Jessica Alba without his hand killing her.


Shadow of the Vampire
2000
Elias Merhige

“Go ahead! Eat the writer! That will leave you explaining how your character gets to Bremen.”

Nosferatu was a wildly popular and influential film in its time, and this movie is an homage to that silent film. Here, John Malkovich plays the director actually making Nosferatu. Except, in a twist, the vampire of the famous film isn't really Max Schreck the actor. It's really a vampire.


Prom Night
1980
Paul Lynch

“It's not who you go with, honey. It's who takes you home.”

The original. Again. Jamie Lee Curtis had the dubious honor of starring in multiple horror films, some of which were ultimately definitive (this film and Halloween). This movie is all about build-up, the killing only coming near the very end. Funny, amusing, and rather interesting as the killer bumbles through numerous killings, having quite the hard time acting out the revenge. This film too would be butchered in the remake, but before that it would set the stage for a legion of films, from Scream to I Know What You Did Last Summer.


Alien
1979
Ridley Scott

“This is the worst shit I've ever seen, man.”

Like Psycho, this film promises a scene you will never forget. Not even on your deathbed. You'll remember it forever, and if you haven't seen it I won't spoil it for you. A beautifully done story, a scientific team trapped in space with a monstrous killing alien being which stalks them down and can't be stopped. Wow.


They Live
1988
John Carpenter

“I've come here to chew bubble gum and kick ass. And I'm all out of bubble gum.”

Another Carpenter. Imagine if you had a pair of special sunglasses that when you put them on revealed what the world was really like. And what it revealed was that all the people in power are really grotesque aliens with skull-like faces. And their running the world. And they've manipulated us all into compliant, apathetic submission. This one is outrageously funny.


The Omen
1976
Richard Donner

“Wrong? What could be wrong with our child, Robert? We're beautiful people, right?”

There was yet another remake of this film, which originally spawned two sequels, but this original screenplay is truly creepy. A well-balanced act of eerie scenes, religious paranoia, and graphic violence. October isn't complete without at least one movie about the anti-Christ, and this one does the trick.

Dylan Rocks Seattle

A man doesn't choose his heroes.

He may choose who he wishes to admire, who he wishes to emulate, but his heroes speak to some portion of his character and personality where he does not rule and his vote does not count. It has been the good fortune of my life to have seen all of my heroes in the flesh (those still alive, anyway).

On Oct. 5^th, 2009 I saw the last of the three great heroes of my life, Bob Dylan.

Dylan is the kind of artist who gets under your skin. I don't mean it in the derogatory sense. Rather, once you start listening to Dylan, once he slips past whatever walls you've thrown up in his way, he goes straight for the bloodstream, and you can never be free of him. His music haunts you, showing up in random places and attaching itself to half-formed thoughts in your mind. You dream him. You think him. And, in the end, you are irrevocably changed by him.

If there was ever any question about Dylan's ability to still influence a wide and diverse body of people, it would easily have been laid to rest last night in Seattle. The audience ranged far and wide, and relatively few of the concert-goers could have been called Baby Boomers, the era which Dylan falls squarely inside of. Last night's audience was surprisingly young, some half of it under forty and a good quarter or more between 15 and 30.

More, this was an excited crowd. People were laughing, having a good time, and verily eager to see His Bobness appear on the stage. When he finally did, the place erupted.

The other issue that was nailed in its coffin was whether or not Dylan could still rock. The music he's produced in the last twenty years is mostly blues/folk/Americana, which would leave some pondering if Dylan still has it in him to rock out.

The answer?

My god, does this band ever rock. Half a dozen times Dylan about ripped the roof off the WaMu Theater, hailing the crowd with numbers that were louder and filled with more rockin' energy than the work of artists a third his age. The depth of Dylan's journey through early American roots music forms has tapped the vein of what makes the foot stomp, the heart pound, the hips sway. If an entire generation seems to have forgotten how to dance to anything other than computer generated drumbeats, Dylan is here to remind us just why we rock n roll in the first place.

What follows is the setlist, lyric excerpt and a few notes.

Enjoy.

Gonna Change My Way of Thinking

From: Slow Train Coming

I got me a God-fearing woman

One I can easily afford

This is one of the few tunes Dylan still plays from his Christian-convert days in the early 1980's. He released two albums of Christian rock, rather a surprise at the time to his fans, who didn't exactly picture their hero as a Believer. While he abandoned the convert pose, this song still fits within Dylan's end of the world, world gone wrong repertoire of blues.

Lay Lady Lay

From: Nashville Skyline

Stay, Lady, stay

Stay with your man awhile

As classic as it gets. One of Dylan's most popular songs. Dylan sounded a bit scratchy here, but his delivery now, in his late 60's, gives this song a whole new kind of meaning, and is a rare kind of pure romantic note in Dylan's current show. However, it is his raw, blues-drenched voice that is able to convey the depth of feeling in this song now, which is missing from the album track.

Beyond Here Lies Nothin

From: Together Through Life

We'll keep on lovin pretty baby

For as long as love will last

From his new album, this song really rocks. It is short, sweet and to the point. From this song forward it was obvious that Dylan wrote the new album with the live performances in mind, because their blues foundation gets kicked into high gear on stage, and they bring down the house.

Spirit on the Water

From: Modern Times

Sometimes I wonder

Why you can't treat me right

You do good all day

And then you do wrong all night

A ballad of broken love, one of Dylan's most tender and beautiful songs. On the album it is moody and long, a meandering meditation on heartbreak and love. Sped up in concert, it still moves, but the band seemed to be rushing.

Honest With Me

From: Love and Theft

I'm not sorry for nothin I've done

I'm glad I fought

I only wish we'd won

If they were rushing it was to get to this song, because the band tore the place apart with it. This song showcases Dylan's brutal sense of irony and his acerbic wit. He is one of the funniest lyricists in rock n roll, and this number, along with all of Love and Theft, attest to his mastery of humor.

I Don't Believe You (She Acts Like We Never Have Met)

From: Another Side of Bob Dylan

But now something has changed

For she ain't the same

She just acts like we never have met

A classic Dylan song, I've heard this done half a dozen different ways over the years, and yet Dylan reinvented it here again for his current show. It may be the best recreation, as he slowed it down and parceled out each lyric, giving it more weight and more grove. And, I think, more sorrow.

My Wife's Home Town

From: Together Through Life

State's gone broke

The county's dry

Don't be lookin at me with that evil eye

Another of Dylan's funnier tunes, as he quips about his wife's hometown, Hell, and confesses how much he loves her anyway. The band played this one just right, and Dylan ripped into it on harmonica, an instrument that he has used for years but which suits him best now as he plays primarily blues-rock at this later stage of his career.

Stuck Inside of Mobile With the Memphis Blues Again

From: Blonde on Blonde

An I say, 'Aw, come on now

You must know about my debutante'

And she says, 'Your debutante knows just what you need

But I know what you want'

This is a great song. Dylan has recast it for his new band, but this old sixties tune is the first apex of the show. The band plays on and on, rolling out one flourish after another, and they hit a high note here that won't be reached again until the end of the show.

Forgetful Heart

From: Together Through Life

What can I say

Without you it's so hard to live

Can't take much more

Why can't we love like we did before

A slow, mournful dirge, Dylan took center stage and worked the crowd like the master that he is. This is a quiet, painful tune, and after the crescendo of the last song, its timing in the lineup is perfect. Dylan held the crowd in the palm of his hand.

If You Ever Go to Houston

From: Together Through Life

If you ever go to Austin

Fort Worth or San Antone

Find the bar rooms I got lost in

And send my memories home

A fun number, midtempo, a kind of Tex-Mex swing that shows just how far Dylan can push this band. The musical variety in Dylan's shows is always stunning, and here he plays with freewheeling sense of Americana that few other bands can pull off.

Highway 61 Revisited

From: Highway 61 Revisited

God say to Abraham, 'Kill me a son'

Abe say, 'Man you must be puttin me on'

God say, 'No'

Abe say, 'What?'

God say, 'You can do what you want Abe but

The next time you see me comin you better run'

Abe say, 'Where you want this killin done?'

God say, 'Out on Highway 61'

Another high point, the band broke out again into full rock n roll. This is one of Dylan's best songs, and his vocal performance here was superb. He growled his way through the story of God and Abraham and howled through the mishaps and misfortunes of the fabled Highway 61. A perfect rendition.

I Feel a Change Comin On

From: Together Through Life

Dreams never did work for me anyway

Even when they did come true

Another midtempo number in which Dylan wisecracks about being told that he has “the blood of the land in his voice.” As perhaps the only musician to be seriously held as the voice of his generation, this isn't a far stretch, and Dylan has played against this stereotype his whole life. Here, with some humor.

Thunder on the Mountain

From: Modern Times

I did all that I could

I did it right there and then

I've already confessed

No need to confess again

This song never quite reaches its full height on the album, but live it gets the blood pounding. With a name drop nod to Alicia Keys in its opening lyric, Dylan wonders just “where in the world Alicia Keys can be,” after which he growls a lecherous “oh yeah.” Another rocking song.

Ballad of a Thin Man

From: Highway 61 Revisited

Because something is happening here

And you don't know what it is

Do you, Mr. Jones?

One of Dylan's great epic songs, the band focuses in on the darker quality of it here, stressing again and again that you don't really know what's going on, do you? Over the years this has become one of Dylan's more subversive and weighted songs, as history has added echoes to its original intent.

Like a Rolling Stone

From: Highway 61 Revisited

You used to be so amused

At Napoleon in rags and the language that he used

Go to him now he calls you

You can't refuse

When you got nothin

You got nothin to lose

Rolling Stone called it the greatest rock song ever written. Nuff said.

Jolene

From: Together Through Life

Well it's a long old highway, don't ever end

I got a Saturday night special, I'm back again

A rollicking romp, Dylan takes the high road here instead of woman-done-me-wrong. Here he insists he's going to get what he wants and make old Jolene his. This is one of the most upbeat numbers from his new album, full of good times.

All Along the Watchtower

From: John Wesley Harding

'No reason to get excited,' the Thief he kindly spoke

'There are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke

'But you and I we've been through that

'And this is not our fate

'Let us not talk falsely now...the hour is getting late'

There's a few folks out there who felt that Jimmie Hendrix outdid Bob when he released a rock n roll version of this song, which originally was a quiet, almost country like tune. Well, Jimmie's probably rolling over in his grave, because the version Dylan performs today is harder and more rockin than even Hendrix could have envisioned. The perfect way to end a show.

It was a great night, one of the best concerts I've seen. And I'd say if you have any doubts about Dylan, check out a live show. You won't have any doubts any longer.

'El Sol es el Mejor Torero'

Leading the Arts section of the New York Times Thursday was the headline: “In a Spanish Province, a Twilight of the Matadors.”

The article outlined what might just be the final performance—ever—of a bullfight in the Catalonia region of Spain. The great and mysterious matador Jose Tomas (he of the double-barreled first name), once retired at the height of his fame and prestige, packed the 19,000 seat Plaza Monumental, the first sellout there in over 20 years. But outside the dust and the brick of the plaza, the Catalan Parliament is considering a referendum that would ban bullfighting in the region, which includes the capital, Barcelona.

Bullfighting is considered a Spanish tradition, and the Catalans of the region are largely opposed to being seen as Spanish. For them, it is both culture and politics. They have, in recent years, gained plenty of momentum and support from animal rights activists, who for reasons of their own decry the long, bloody history of the bullfight.

Now, I do not pretend to fully grasp and understand the Spanish or Catalan people, and my own knowledge of bullfighting is limited. I have never attended such a spectacle, as they are not held here in our country. However, if they were, I would very much wish to see one.

And should the Catalan Parliament pass this referendum, I would mourn the loss.

For it seems to me that what we stand to lose, this brutal, violent sport, is not what it appears at first, certainly not to the outsider, the non-Spaniard. I fear that it's disappearance might only be understood in distant retrospect, on a day and at an hour when we no longer recall what living is for and all that we remember is a fading echo of something that once reminded us we were alive.

You can count on one hand the places you can go to see a violent death.

Our theaters, what Bradbury called the “cave of winds,” do not count. For the winds that blow here are not real and do not scratch at the skin or tangle in the nose or sting at the eyes. Neuroscientists have shown that the areas of the brain activated when watching film are the same activated during sleep. The brain processes film as a dream. Literally. And thus our notion of filmic catharsis vanishes before our waking eyes as we come to understand that death on screen never was and never can be a rehearsal for death.

Actual death, especially violent death, is an experience your brain cannot hedge around. And while prescribing such viewing sounds morbid, there is something to be said for it within the bullfighting ring. For inside the ring, death is given meaning through ritual.

Bullfighting reminds us coldly and without any doubt that we will die, and that the color of life is red. It reminds us of what we wish most not to see and not to know, that every breath is fragile and someday those breaths will become ragged and run out.

The average person does not want to contemplate the end. In fact, the average person will do almost anything they can to prevent contemplation. This condition grows ever worse as years pass, when the fearlessness of youth gives way to the uncertainty of old age.

But a great deal of our disease with death comes directly from the fact that we have removed all references to it in our daily lives. We have no contact with it, and as with everything unknown we fear it all the more because we do not know it.

Consider:

Almost none of us hunt. What used to be a regular, daily interaction with death is gone. Someone else kills our food for us, and the vast majority of us do not know how that death occurs or what it looks like (and what little we do know comes almost exclusively from animal rights groups, who portray only the worst and most extreme cases which support their cause).

We do not even put down our own pets. We bring them to veterinary clinics so someone else may kill them for us.

We do not handle the bodies of the dead. Specialists take our loved ones away, clean the bodies, dress them for funeral, take them away and put them in the ground. We have no part in this, and thus we who possess the most duty to those who have died reject our obligation and turn it over to someone else.

We put our near-dead in housing facilities where we do not have to look at them, and once out of sight they remain also out of mind. Our fear of death is so strong we can not even face the reminder of our mortality the elderly bring with them.

We pass laws granting animals similar rights as humans, not out of an honest appeal to the sanctity of life, but because we can not bear the reality that for us to live something else must die.

It is nature's law that all that live must die, but we shield ourselves so completely from this truth that it creates psychosis. It creates undeniably bizarre and irrational behavior, such as sentencing minors to twenty years in prison for killing cats.

Worse, it creates a culture in which we cannot come to terms with truth, and the worst lies are the ones we tell ourselves.

Bullfighting is a candle in the dark. It stands as a last remnant of an earlier time when death walked more comfortably among us, and we knew its face better because we could not so easily turn away.

The ritual of death within the bullfighting ring, however, is only half the story. Death is the tale, but the matador provides the context.

Proper bullfighting is an enactment of the proper way to live. The proper bullfight, and a true matador, illustrate courage in the face of danger, grace in the face of death, calm and poise and control of emotion when it is needed most, and honor in flawless execution. There is no pride in fakery over true form, no honor in showmanship over character, no dignity in ends outweighing means.

Killing the bull is not the point. The point is an honorable death, which can only be achieved by honorable and correct form.

The bullfight, though it brings us face to face with death, is not about death.

It is about life. About how to live knowing that we will die.

To live correctly, rightly, so that we may meet death with grace.

So I hope the Catalan Parliament chooses wisely, and that if it does not such decisions to not spill over to other regions where the bullfight still holds on. For too often we try, in our ignorance, to abolish the very tools which we need most to live and to live well. Too often, because something is not pretty or because it is upsetting we believe it cannot be good.

But goodness and beauty should not be confused to be the same thing, nor good intentions and wisdom.

“The spectator going to a bullfight for the first time cannot expect to see the combination of the ideal bull and the ideal fighter for that bull which may occur not more than twenty times in all Spain in a season and it would be wrong for him to see that the first time. He would be so confused, visually, by the many things he was seeing that he could not take it all in with his eyes, and something which he might never see again in his life would mean no more to him than a regular performance. If there is any chance of his liking the bullfights the best bullfight for him to see first is an average one, two brave bulls out of six, the four undistinguished ones to give relief to the performance of the two excellent ones, three bullfighters, not too highly paid, so that whatever extraordinary things they do will look difficult rather than easy, a seat not too near the ring so that he will see the entire spectacle rather than, if he is too close, have it constantly broken up into bull and horse, man and bull, bull and man -- and a hot sunny day. The sun is very important. The theory, practice and spectacle of bullfighting have all been built on the assumption of the presence of the sun and when it does not shine over a third of the bullfight is missing. The Spanish say, ‘El sol es el mejor torero.’ The sun is the best bullfighter, and without the sun the best bullfighter is not there. He is like a man without a shadow.”

--From “Death in the Afternoon” by Ernest Hemingway