You’re probably thinking, pixelle is spelled another way. Well, for the unsophisticated, it might be. But you have discovered the posh, uber-elegant way to view tiny little dots made out of phosphors being scanned over a screen.
What you are looking at now are French pixelles. They’re better than ordinary pixels. Fans of Paris, Miss Piggy, and Hyacinth Bucket understand the instant stylishness of Frenchifying anything. Moi too, et vous? Would you rather have some old dress, or haute couture? (And yes, boring old Pixeldust.com was already taken, but who needs it anyway? – -Other than the company that purchased the domain name.)
Segue? I tend to see connections that other people, well, don’t find obvious. In some venues I’m admired, in others, highly medicated against my will – not really, free meds are free meds. Postmodernism is the collision of high and low culture, but always had a tradition in humor. The collision of seemingly dispirit ideas causes spontaneous joy, often without one’s control, laughing at inappropriate moments, as with Anderson Cooper loosing it on the air when talking about Gerard Depardieu-doo, after an unfortunate bathroom incident on a plane that didn’t involve a snake, unless, well, just insert your own joke here and make it age appropriate. But see, it all starts in France. MIx France and England in colonial politics, and you end up with America. We’re that out-of-wedlock child they have to put up with at Thanksgiving.
The repetition of pattern in high and low culture sometimes does get over-looked in the very human desire to categorize and seek status. Sometimes it does seem funny, but the collision of disparate ideas is the source of both genius and madness. It may just be a minuscule change in the formula that defines one result from the other. Realizing the connection of the varied helps find the source code: the DNA, the essence of pattern, the thin slice that suddenly gives clarity and the ability to predict and alter.
Fractal repetitions, non-algebraic, geometric self-similar producing algorithms, are found throughout the universe, in the organic and inorganic. Most religions reduce to common philosophical themes. If Einstein and today’s String Theory Physicists have been and are interested in a theory of everything, I am interested in the pattern of everything.
One of the most enjoyable pattern repetitions I have ever noticed is the similitude in plot of the six Star Wars films and Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights. The original novel is where one can revisit an eerily familiar plot of the fall from grace and ultimate if complicated redemption of Darth Vader, uh, Heathcliff. I presented my paper on this matter at the University of Southern California’s School of Cinematic Arts. The paper and the Power Point presentation are available when clicked on above. In the inner sanctum of the elite Cinema School that brought you Star Wars, I wasn’t flung out onto the sidewalk of the Dental School across the street, convenient should there be any tooth damage, as I suspected I might be, but a real discussion ensued. So if I seem to be making points that don’t quite seem to connect, or relating fields that don’t seem like they go together, I just suggest look a little closer, or further back. Either will due. And it still might be nuts, but hopefully you can at least break out into uncontrolled laughter like Anderson Cooper or Mary Richards on The Mary Tyler Moore Show loosing it every time she thought about Chuckles the Clown dressed as a peanut being killed by a confused circus elephant.
And just a little note, Emily Bronte’s father changed his family name from Bronty to Bronte, because saying and spelling things in a French way makes you cool, or maybe chic, or just a wee bit better than your neighbors who look down on your Irish ancestry. Just don’t pronounce the ‘x’ at the end of my last name. Tres gauche, even if I’m mostly of Sicilian and United Kingdom decent. It’s kind of like having Archie Bunker and Michael Corleone as dads, and neither would like that, so let’s stick with French fried.
Bon vivant and all that.
All due apologies to Miss Bronte and kin…