Black Mirrors: The Arcade Fire

They've been nominated for countless upon countless awards, including Grammy's, Juno's, and, BRITs. MTV2 heralded their debut album, Funeral, as the Greatest Album of 2005. Time Magazine honored them on the front cover of their magazine. The Arcade Fire have conquered mainstream and indie music circles around the globe with their captivating music and insightful lyrics.

Currently, the bands new album, Neon Bible, reached #1 in Canada and Ireland...and #2 in the US, UK, and Portugal. The first single of Bible is a darkly orchestrated masterpiece called Black Mirror.

Click the music player to hear The Arcade Fire sing about Black Mirrors.

BLACK MIRROR
I walked down to the ocean,
After waking from the nightmare,
No moon, no pale reflection:
Black Mirror.

Shot by a security camera,
You can’t watch your own image,
And also look yourself in the eye:
Black Mirror.

I know a time is coming,
All words will lose their meaning,
Please show me something that isn’t mine,
(but mine is the only kind that I relate to).

Le miroir casse {this broken mirror},
Le miroir casts mon reflet partout {this mirror casts my reflections everywhere}:
Black Mirror.

Black Mirror knows no reflection,
It knows not pride or vanity,
It cares not about your dreams,
It cares not for your pyramid schemes.

Their names are never spoken,
The curse is never broken,
The curse is never broken...

Un, duex, trois, du miroir noir {one, two, three, the black mirror}:
Black Mirror!

Mirror, mirror on the wall...
Show me where them bombs will fall!
Mirror, mirror on the wall...
Show me where them bombs will fall!

Black Mirror.

TO READ THE REST OF THE BLACK MIRROR DIARIES CLICK HERE

Black Mirrors: Sharks, Prince, Salt & Everything Else You've Come To Fear The Most

I’d the oddest dream last night. I was off the beaches of Fiji, dogpaddling the Pacific Ocean...when suddenly I started being chased by a troupe of singing Hammerhead sharks. It was rather disturbing. The sharks were all singing various Prince songs. A few were crooning When Doves Cry. Another belted out Let’s Go Crazy. There was even one that had committed to memory I Would Die 4 You. The weird thing was, in my dream, I didn’t think twice about why these sharks were hunting me down...or how they’d taught themselves to speak, let alone sing. No, all I could think of was, “Seriously, how do all these sharks know so many different Prince songs?!?”

Note to self: No more cheese before bed. Or Purple Rain.

While I’m relieved that singing fish are utter falsehoods...the parts concerning Fiji, the Pacific, dogpaddling, and me are utterly true. In December of ’05, I vacationed off the coast of Nadi, where I’d the luxury of swimming in an ocean for the very first time. Alas, there were no sharks involved...but I blogged about the experience nonetheless. As I read my entry for the first time in over a year, I can’t help but think of Black Mirrors:

Today, I met up with my uncle and his wife. I spent the entire afternoon with them loafing on the beach and swimming in the sea. The sea! God, I’ve never tasted saltwater before! How unfamiliar! The entire experience has caught me completely off guard.

When you least expect it, the circle of life has an amazing sense of throwing new arches your way. As conscious beings, we spend a tremendous part of our brief and limited existence arrogantly assuming we’ve seen and done it all. Using a string of singular, recurring daily rituals, we end up persuading ourselves that life is nothing more than mere routine:

• Wake up at 7:52am
• Drop kids off at school
• Commute to job
• Work eight hours
• Drive home
• Eat dinner
• 6:00pm news
• Put the kids to bed
• Watch Law & Order
• Read a couple chapters from a NY Times bestseller
• Fall asleep
• REPEAT

It’s from this mindset we make-believe that all future events in our lives, no matter how fresh and new, end up being repackaged versions of our past. You might fall in love with some fantastic new girl…but it’s not like you haven’t fallen in love before. You might graduate with your MBA…but it’s not like you haven't graduated before (high school, kindergarten, etc). Even the swank of brand new creations end up being boiled down re-inventions. The never-before-seen 2008 Ford Explorer is really just another Ford Explorer. Coke w/Lime is really just Coke...with lime. We’ve been there and done that. We’ve experienced all that life can offer.

Then one day you paddle out into the Pacific, taste some salt, and re-realize how naked and alone you truly are. It’s thrilling and humbling and dreadful...and all at once. Overwhelming, for sure. I guess it’s times like these that make air worth breathing. If there weren’t a sense of uniqueness or individuality to our experiences, what would motivate us to keep pushing forward in the first place?

As you can tell, this topic exceedingly vexes me. I’m constantly petrified that if I stay in one place for too long, it'll end up being the death of me. It’s why I changed my major three times in college. It’s why I can’t hold down a steady relationship or career for longer than a year. It’s why in the past eight years, I’ve lived in seven different cities…at fourteen different addresses…with thirty-nine different roommates. It’s why I’m always walking away.

What if there comes a moment in my life where every experience is so familiar that it all ends up being one deeply tiresome routine?

The truth is I shouldn’t be fretting over such thin-skinned uncertainties. And not because the questions are intensely heavy or depressive...but rather because the questions solely serve as a clever way of stating, What if I’ve been there and done that…and then I get bored? It plays off a primal assumption that I’ll actually get to a point in my life where I’ve done everything. And who am I to be worrying about that? I’m two weeks shy of twenty-seven years and savoring saltwater for the very first time.

The way I live, consume, and play, I’ve maybe thirty years left in me. Unless I hit the Mega Millions jackpot, I can pretty much guarantee that two-thirds of that time will be consumed by work and sleep. A good portion of that remainder – my so called “free time” – will in all likelihood be spent playing Nintendo, listening to Belle & Sebastian CDs, reading comic books, watching Mad About You reruns, and being an all-around sarcastic wiseass.

Been there, done that? If anything, I should be concentrating on being nowhere and doing nothing.

Black Mirrors: If We Met in a Former Life, Maybe He Was Straight Then

Love is never as easy as it appears...

Anna David contributes a humorous yet poignant New York Times article, concerning the most awkward of Black Mirrors: Counterfeit Love.

CLICK HERE TO GO TO ARTICLE

Black Mirrors: Press One For The Biggest Headache In The Whole Wide World

I love bad t-shirts. I love everything about them. Their tackiness. Their inelegance. Their lack of utter poise and charm. Say what you’ll say...but for me, a bad t-shirt equals a good time.

Over the years, a favorite hobby of mine has been buying bad t-shirts and gifting them to various friends and family members. Nothing says I Love You like a scoop neck that declares: I’m With Stupid!

The key to giving away bad t-shirts is all in your follow through. I can’t emphasize this enough: ALWAYS FOLLOW THROUGH. The next time you award your best friend a bad t-shirt, make sure you follow up in two to three weeks with a well-timed, guilt-induced phone call. Watch how I do it:

Hey, why aren’t you wearing that Milli Vanilli shirt I bought you? Don’t you like it? Seriously, it took me weeks to find that shirt for you! Why don’t you just wear it to the Tigers game tonight? Oh, you will? Thanks, that means a lot to me.

Attention? Oh, trust me, you’ll get ALL the attention tonight.

There’s only one other man born to this planet who enjoys bad t-shirts as much as myself...and that man is Kenny. Oh how, I wish you could all meet Kenny! I just love that kid! I love him to death. In fact, might just love Kenny almost as much as I love bad t-shirts. Almost.

Kenny has a lengthy and intimate history with bad t-shirts. One night, a group of Kenny’s pals – a sharp trio of educated and droll bachelors – fancied themselves up for a proper Boys Night Out. The evening was to begin at Post Bar...and continue on till all of Metro-Detroit was painted a suave and urbane shade of red.

Kenny showed up to the club wearing this monstrosity:

I guess the party had not arrived...because the bouncers at Post were so repelled by Kenny's shirt that they barred him from entering their club.

Kenny had a birthday party a few weeks ago at uber-chic club, Cinq. Before heading over to his shindig, I found myself surfing the web, desperately attempting to find Kenny the perfect bad t-shirt. Here were my top three finds:

1. 2.

3.
Note the last one, which is remarkably poor in taste and humor. To imagine that someone actually came up with this t-shirt idea...and then envisioned the shirt so witty that it needed to mass produced for public consumption...well, it just screams buy me and make Kenny look like the biggest fool in the room.

I’m not a huge fan of Cinq. Cinq is one of those nightclubs where you stand in line for half an hour...just so you can crowd up against aging hipsters and pay absorbent amounts of money for mediocre cocktails. My patience doesn’t fair well with social establishments like Cinq...but it was Kenny’s day to shine...so I slugged my way into line. That’s what you do for your friends on their birthdays, right?

Waiting in line, I’d the luxury of standing behind a couple undeniably gorgeous Spanish-speaking ladies and three fraternity brothers. Here is a full recount of their one-sided conversation.

JOSH: Hey, them girls are smokin’ hot!
BRIAN: Whatcha ya think they're speakin’? Spanish?
JEFF: Hit on 'em in Spanish, Josh!
JOSH: Ladies, you're muy bonita! MUY BONITA!
BRIAN: They're not listening, Josh.
JOSH: That's 'cause they probably can't speak American.
BRIAN: I just don’t understand why they come over here and don't speak American. We’re in America, right?
JOSH: Amen!
BRIAN: You know, I called up my cable company the other day and they asked me to press one for English!?! Why should I press one for English? I live here! I shouldn't be pressing nothing! I bet them girls don’t have to push one when they’re in Mexico...or Spain...or wherever the hell they’re from.
JOSH: I wish they’d all just go home. All of 'em. Then they could speak whatever language they wanted wherever.
JEFF: Josh, will you shut up!
JOSH: Oh, you shut up. You believe it too.
JEFF: That doesn't make a difference! We’re in public. We don’t talk about that stuff when we're in...
BRIAN: I don’t care anymore. All these foreigners need to get on their boats and go home.
(JEFF turns to me)
JEFF: You're one of them Indjuns, right? I guess this is pretty awkward for ya right now, eh?

Maybe I won’t buy Kenny that t-shirt after all.

Black Mirrors: The Last Word Is Imagine

In my last blog entry, I received a comment asking me why I'm scared of Thirty. The remark got me to thinking...why AM I so scared? Is Thirty even that big of a deal?

On more than one occasion, these questions have cropped up in my weary head...and at first glance I'm inclined to believe that I'm just terrified of growing old. But that's just an At-First-Glance. I know myself better than that...and I know that aging is no monkey on my back. I've no difficulties with thirty-one...or thirty-six...or fifty-four…or sixty-eight. There's only one year that frightens me...and that's Thirty.

But why? Why does Thirty loom over my head? Bigger than that, why does Thirty terrorize all my friends lives too? It's just a silly number, right?

Somewhere down the line, Thirty became the new Forty. Somewhere, it became my generation's midlife crisis. I'm only twenty-eight but I can already feel self-actualization knocking at my door. And while I'm way too young to be flirting with women half my age...and way too broke to be hanging out in Porche dealerships...it doesn't negate it eminent domain. Thirty is coming for me...and it's coming sooner than later.

Thirty is the first true milestone of adulthood. As the story is told, we spend a good majority of out teenage years desperately seeking out a self-identity. Once we've found one, we plan away our twenties, listing goals for our identities to aspire towards.

For the most part, our goals are similar in intent. We want:

• A loving spouse
• A successful career
• A lot of money
• A fancy house
• A couple kids

Of course, we've no clue how we're going to actually achieve any of above...but for some reason that tiny detail really doesn't faze us. We naively assume that as long as we make it through our twenties, everything will fall into place. So that's what we do. We patiently wade through entry-level positions, bad apartments, and part-time lovers until...well, until we finally reach Thirty.

Because Thirty's when everything turns perfect and we all end up living happily ever after!

Or so that's what the black mirrors lead us to believe.

Like it or not, Thirty is when we reassess our lives. All our plans, our dreams, our ambitions...we comb over them with careful inspection, realizing where we're at…and more significantly, where we're not. Like it or not, Thirty is when we reassess our lists and start breathing in our failures.

And our list of goals? The bullet points that seemed so attainable if we just stayed the course? Well...now that list reads like a thousand nagging moms, all pestering in unison:

• Have you settled down with a nice proper woman and made her your wife? You haven't? What of nuptials? Have you set a date yet? Hold up, do you even have a ring?!? Please tell me you've proposed! Wait...what do you mean, you're not dating right now!
• How's work treating ya? Are you thriving in your career? Do you like all your bosses and coworkers? Are they everything you'd imagined? Oh, and are you making a difference? Because we all know it's foolish to simply work for a paycheck!
• What about finances? Have you made your first hundred thousand dollars yet? No? But I thought you had a ten-year plan! Well, how're your 401k and Roths fairing? Social Security isn't going to be around forever, you know...
• Do you own a house? A house that isn't falling apart? You understand that rent is just another way to waste your hard-earned money, right?
• What of kids? Have you provided your mother a grandchild? She did carry you in her womb for nine whole months. The least you can do is give her what she wants. Don't you love your mom?
• Are you truly happy with your life?

These tricky black mirrors! I wish someone would've sat me down at twenty-two and explained how life wasn't going to be like how I envisioned it in my head. Most likely a couple people did. I was probably just too busy dreaming up fantasies to actually let their advice sink in.

This is the providence of mankind. We never candidly look at what the world entails. Instead, we rifle through a medley of attractive black mirrors, optioning the model that best depicts what we wish life to look like. In short, we pick our best-case scenario.

The bottom line is nobody gets their best-case scenario. We might all strive for perfection, but none of us get there. Right now, I'm running through my cell phone, counting up my friends. My Verizon says I've 153 friends...and after careful scrutiny I'd say only two of them would say YES to all the above bullet/goal questions. Out of 153, only two would say their lives are exactly how they planed them to be a decade ago.

And for those two perfect lives...well, they're just a couple more cases of At-First-Glance. I know those two as well as I know myself...and I know for a fact they're both lying. One guy isn't sure he ever loved his wife...and the other wishes she'd never started a career in advertising. They might proclaim their lives faultless, but in the end it's just another set of black, black mirrors.

All these vile black mirrors. We like to make believe there's a simple, pretty, and concrete way to existing...but in reality our destinies are farther away from us than we could ever imagine.

Black Mirrors: No Reflection, No Pride, No Vanity

My friend, Jim turned Thirty.  Yessir, the good ol’ dreaded Thirty!  Chuckle if you will...but you gotta feel sorry for the poor sap.  Thirty isn’t as graceful as it used to be.

As I type this, Jim’s in a bit of a denial.  At quick glance, one would assume Jim to be embracing his age quite admirably.  Jim’s happy.  He’s smiling.  There’s actually this weird new bounce in his step.  When asked of his age, Jim goes as far as to implicitly state “I ain't scared of my life.  There’s nothing big about turning Thirty.  It’s just like being twenty-nine or twenty-eight...or even twenty-seven!” 

Alas, if this were only true.  I know my friend quite well – well enough to know that he’s exactly like the rest of us.  Jim’s built this intricate set of black mirrors around his insecurities, each mirror dazzling his audience with this ridiculously vain and proud reflection.  In Jim's black mirror, he plays the lead role...and if anything, Jim's playing it strong and comfortably content.

And while I’m sure you’ll catch Strong and Comfortable Jim when he’s shopping for groceries or as he’s bouncing off to work, I can literally guarantee you won’t see Strong and Comfortable Jim after he’s downed three Vodka Tonics at the bar.  Somehow, when Jim feels truly strong and comfortable enough to express his genuine feelings, all the black mirrors fade away, taking a proverbial back seat to the Real Jim.

And what’s Real Jim like, you ask?  Real Jim is a simple and beautiful mess, one that’s dominated by the likes of confusion, reluctance, and disheartenment.  Real Jim isn’t ready to landmark the first marker point of his adult life.  He sure isn’t prepared to contrast the last twenty years of his youthful idealism with the upcoming twenty years of his adult pragmatism.  Real Jim isn’t twenty-nine or twenty-eight.  Real Jim isn’t even twenty-seven.  Real Jim is Thirty.

I’ve never been Thirty and nor do I want to be.  I’ve seen what turning Thirty has done to my friends...and I want no part of it.  Trust me, I’ve enough neuroses manhandling my life as it is.  I don’t need the perils of Thirty rampaging their way through my daily routine.  Just count me out. In fact, when my turn comes, just throw thirty-one candles on my cake and we’ll act as if Thirty never existed.  I’ll pretend like it never happened.

Because pretending is so obviously the best way to address the issue at hand.

Black Mirrors: An Introduction

What is a Black Mirror?

This is what wikipedia has to say about the matter:

A Claude glass (or Black Mirror) is a small mirror, slightly convex in shape, with its surface tinted a dark colour. Carried in the hand, black mirrors were used by artists, travelers and connoisseurs of landscape painting.

Black Mirrors have the effect of abstracting the subject reflected in it from its surroundings, reducing and simplifying the colour and tonal range of scenes and scenery in an effort to give them a painterly quality. Black Mirrors were widely used by artists in England in the late 18th and early 19th centuries as a frame for drawing sketches of picturesque landscapes. The user would turn his back on the scene to observe the framed view through the tinted mirror. This process added the picturesque aesthetic of a subtle gradation of tones.

Black Mirrors were widely used by tourists and amateur artists, who quickly became the targets of satire. Hugh Sykes Davies observed of their facing away from the object they wished to paint, commenting: "It is very typical of their attitude to Nature that such a position should be desirable".

Imagine it. There was a point in our history where thousands of painters faced AWAY from the inspiration that they were painting. Dissatisfied with life’s true colors, they employed a shoddy piece of technology that magically made their surroundings appear prettier than they truly were.

A hundred years have passed since that heyday....but sometimes I wonder...does Southeast Michigan have its own black mirrors? As a region, do we own a set of concrete and complex issues that we collectively turn our backs towards...or over-simplify in an attempt to fit them into pretty little boxes?

Let’s start talking. Let’s open a dialogue. I’ll speak straight from the heart if you do the same. Positive or negative. Hopeful or despondent. Relaxed or frustrated. I don’t care what your past experiences are with this region. I just want to hear your opinions. And your stories.

What's our biggest black mirror?