PRIVATE EYE SEZ: Get Your Own Damn Philosophy

There's a saying (often attributed to Charles Bukowski though that's a continuing debate) that goes, "Find what you love and let it kill you." The fallacy of this quote is that, unlike some of the better creeds or aphorisms, it's casually open to interpretation; it's famously embraced and misappropriated by addicts and obsessives as an intellectualized excuse to carry on with whatever's become equal parts pleasurable and detrimental to their quality of life. Absent of the grim or cynical approach, what does the quote really mean? Typically "love" and "death" are two circumstances that have a way of finding us and not the other way around, but again it seems both ignorant and careless to be so rigidly literal (and be cautious of people who are). My understanding of it, simply put, is that you should put in the effort to maintain some semblance of happiness until the very end. Of course that's not as catchy or mysterious as the actual saying, but the mentality of "stick with it, don't give up" can be a healthier, more sporting interpretation. But it does lack that romance that strikes truer on a literary page than it does across a poster on the wall of a gymnasium. I despise the things that kill me or are killing me and I champion that which makes me feel more alive. For some (maybe for most) that feeling of dicing with death is the core essence of feeling alive and appreciating life; we tend to become complacent about something as banal and predictable as "living" so some folks need reminders. The trick is to not actually die - people will say "I could die happy right now!" because I suppose everyone wants a happy ending, but give them a minute and they want sequels. Death is not the reward and you can't take it with you. None of it. Not love, not happiness, not sunsets, not the points you've accumulated to redeem one free medium pizza with one topping. Find what you love and let it set you free from the feeling of your inescapable fate. 

Nietzsche famously said "That which does not kill us makes us stronger" which, though largely contradictory to the supposed Bukowski quote, is saturated in its own gloomy optimism - exploited by survivors and people who have decidedly not allowed themselves to be killed by whatever it is that they love. It's a blindly upbeat take - once it sinks in we quickly recognize that experience doesn't always change us for the better; hardship can leave us feeling weaker, frightened, broken. Personal growth is a likely aftereffect of trauma but the real guarantee is wisdom: accumulating perception and practical knowledge is the actual "strength" to which the theory refers. And while knowledge can often do us more harm than good, wisdom comes with a sense of calm understanding and security. And it will find you if you let it in. 

We currently live in an age in which we know what everyone thinks - not just the opinions of those who are qualified, but the opinions of our neighbors and their children and their children's schoolteachers. But there was a time between the fall of the Christian Bible and the World Wide Web when people could peacefully form their own thoughts, their own inventions, their own beliefs without the interference and distortion of The Crowd. I suppose that in and of itself (though routed in some historical fact) is its own belief, but that by and large is my point: when unfettered wisdom has found you (though we're allotted only a lifetime's worth and it's never enough) your belief system will become more rigidly personal and you'll be able to see the path before you more clearly because it is uniquely Your Path. Let those who are younger, those who are uninformed, those who are without wisdom argue about what is true and good. You've earned your time and it's precious, and you needn't waste it following or leading, but simply taking solace in knowing that you are right. 

- P. Eye

PRIVATE EYE SEZ: I Love The Nightlight

What's all this I keep hearing about a supposed One Bad Summer? We've barely skimmed the pool and people are already dismissing the entire season as a flop. Whatever happened to "the sun will come out tomorrow?" 

I would never try to sell you any brand of "blind optimism" - I'm anatomically incapable of it. But what I can offer is unadulterated perspective; you're most likely going about your day not appreciating or even noticing the beauty of your short journey, but rather eating your heart out over whatever's troubling you this very moment. Know that every season comes with its unique style of challenges, but hardships don't respect a calendar. On the smallest scale, perhaps you feel Summertime owes you the fragment of leisure and relief to which you became accustomed as a child, but instead you're confined to the couch with connective tissue damage while the rest of the world is attending outdoor events and Running Up That Hill. On a larger scale, perhaps mass murder and diminishing human rights have got you down. These are all valid stressors with enough muscle to ruin an entire weekend, but we're too human to resign our entire disposition to a crisis or cause that is beyond our reach or understanding. Sure you can bear the colors and crusade against these tribulations, and then that can be your thing - the thing that gives you joy or purpose. The rest of us don't have time to choose our battles - we're too busy allowing them to choose us.

So what are we to do? The better question is: what can we count on? We're blessed with daily reminders of how quickly change can occur - and in the words of Dick Hallorann, "...not all of them was good." We're very much on our own and we control nothing - so, I place my faith in the odds & ends that retain this control; not in the people because they're fallible, but in object permanence and scientific circumstance. My credence rests upon my bathroom nightlight.

Every night, once dusk rolls around, I switch it on, and it stays on until morning. Through the night as I slumber, 4 watts of warm brightness illuminate my personal comfort station - whether I need it or not. When I do, it's inviting and unintrusive enough that it doesn't occur to me to appreciate it; I take it for granted which is a dangerous sensibility that should be embraced sparingly. When it burns out, I replace it; the bulbs come in packs of four and are readily available in most stores. But otherwise, it's the last thought I take to bed with me; whatever other worries stay on my mind, I know that light is in the other room, shining for me.

- P. Eye

PRIVATE EYE SEZ: 2020 is alright

We could talk about "the year that was" all we want once 2021 rolls around. But I'm not here to recap the headlines by which we measure our progress (or regression) as a society. I'm here to provide a new perspective on the fortunate circumstance in which we currently find ourselves: being alive.

The year is not yet over, but that's part of the reason why I wanted to talk about what I want to talk about. I've spied with my grotesquely large eye a number of people (the majority, actually) who've decided to personally (and publicly) nullify the year that is 2020 - to "cancel" it - supposedly based upon the hardships brought on by recent world events. And whatever amount of ironic humor is behind these incessant declarations simply doesn't balance out the people who truly feel this way about this very specific 12-month period. Well, even if it's in a generalized way, The Private Eye is here to help.

If you or a loved one has taken ill, been the victim of injustice, or become financially unstable, it is your right to process this trauma in any way you see fit, and act accordingly as a result. And even if none of these larger, widespread events have had any effect on your schedule, you're still free to feel angry, sad, confused, resentful, or even entitled. But what I'm telling you is what you already know: we're all free to wear sunscreen, just as much as we're free not to. As people, you're able to digest and adapt to whatever hardships come with living and breathing. There'll be sad songs to make you cry, so what're you going to do about it? There are good things in this world, and there are good things that are specific to your life, and it's up to you to decide what takes precedent.

This isn't about trivializing the horrors of human failings, nor is it about looking at the bright side. This year has been largely about change - and the wonderful thing about change is that it's always changing. Some of these changes have been in your interest, and some have not - so "change" as a concept is not really the culprit; we're all conservatives when it applies to the ideals we'd like to conserve. But if you yourself seek a change in your outlook, there is a level of optimism that comes into play: if you're courageous enough to recognize what's good about life - your life - then take some time and meditate on it. If saving the world doesn't seem like it's immediately attainable, then take a day for yourself, guilt-free. And any other day in which this is the case, follow as directed.

Take the premise of the movie Titanic: two young people find love set against the backdrop of a sinking ship. The world, as it is today (and always has been), is your backdrop - and I don't think it's too dramatic to analogize it with a doomed passenger liner. So, find your Jack or Rose - whoever or whatever that may be. Most of you will find that you already have it - if not, a quest lies ahead of you, and it is a noble one. For some of you, that joy may derive from the self-satisfaction of physical distancing or marching in the streets. If so, then you've already found your calling, and have no blame to simply cast upon the calendar year; you're in it. Social Justice Warriors are content to be a jerk, but they're content. I implore you to find what you love, and if you already have it, spend your time with it. Whatever nightmares you personally encounter, let them, in hindsight, define this year as a time when you grew, you learned, you discovered that you're able to overcome with the aid of who and what you truly value.

- P. Eye

1,000th Post! / Welcome to Bennett Land

Looks like we made it.

Look how far we've come, my baby.

Gosh, it feels like just yesterday we were churning out trashy pop art and heroic prose about Punky Brewster. Goodness, were we ever so young? 1,000 posts, and every single one of them an artistic achievement in and of itself - illuminating the mind and dazzling the eye, keeping you safe while challenging you to embrace your own path.

I'm just fuckin' with you. What can we say? It's been real. Thanks for sticking with us through thick and thin (and if you didn't, you're probably not reading this, so suck a dick). But when we stand back from it, I think we're pretty pleased with what we've got - maybe even a little proud of one or two things. Just know that, at the very least, we've only ever put stuff together that we've found interesting, and we'll continue to do pretty much only that for as long as they let us. And let's face it: some things fell flat, some things may've been too broad or esoteric, and some things just drowned and sank into the internet abyss (sorry, WOWMANWOW). But please do know that it's very important and exciting to us when we're all on the same smutty page - otherwise we'd just keep a diary and be done with it.

But I'm not here to explain shit to you -- well, technically I am, but not shit you already know. I wanted to talk about something - it may mean something to you, it may not, I don't know, I don't know anymore. But I'm trying to set something up here, so bear with me...

Our name derives from Bennett Place, the street on which I grew up. Bennett Place was a dead end with only three houses, and we lived in the last house on the left. Next to Bennett Place is a little red schoolhouse called Bennett School, which was abandoned for the bulk of my childhood. Behind Bennett School is a small, patchy sorta baseball diamond that I called Bennett Field, on which I learned to hit a ball and ride a bike with no training wheels. Next to Bennett Field was a corner deli named Lein's Market, which I only ever referred to as Bennett Store. This was the place where I'd buy my Batman trading cards, Flintstones Push-Pops, Slimer Bubble Gum, and any and every other nostalgic piece of millennial youth you've ever experienced or read about here or anywhere else.

This was the formative bubble that shaped all that I know & feel, and by incidental design, I tied it all together with the name 'Bennett.' You have it too: however protected or disrupted your childhood may've been, I'm sure you can connect your dots into an image - geographically, thematically, however you wish. For me, growing up was video games and Christmas mornings, and I realize not everyone had it so good, but the major point here is that, if you're alive and reading this, you must've experienced pop culture in some capacity in your time on this planet, and you predictably formed opinions of it. That's all we're about.

And now, this:

This? I don't know what this is. But I can explain what I do know - or what I think I know.

This was something I drew when I was... 8 years old? Maybe 7 or 9? Around there, I can't be entirely sure and it drives me a little mad. But anyway, what I am sure of (I think) is my life-changing experience of having just seen Dough For the Do-Do, the 1949 Merrie Melodies short.

If you don't know it, here's the gist: Millions of dollars will be awarded to anyone who can find the last remaining Do-Do Bird, and so Porky Pig travels to "Darkest Africa" in search of the supposedly-extinct animal. (That's how I remember it, anyway.) Now, I'm not sure what Hollywood animators were trying to pull off with suggesting that this is what goes on in Africa, but I (as I'm sure every kid since the 40s) knew better. What I took from it was the surrealistic eye candy that it is: an artistic free-for-all full of cerebral carte blanche that allowed its creators and viewers to explore a made-up world that was clearly not an actual, terrestrial place here on Earth. In layman's terms: Looney Tunes on acid.

The plot of the episode mattered so little to me; I was too enamored with the setting. It was an aesthetic of sparse landscape contrasted by striking images and bad puns -- a vibe that would stay and has stayed with me, and eventually lead me to similar stuff in everything from Ralph Steadman to Ren & Stimpy. But at the time, my father alerted me to the most obvious source of inspiration for the short - Salvador Dalí - and from his vast literary library, gave me some material to look at. And that was it: I had to go ahead and make my own interpretation, my own tangible atmosphere that I could return to and explore at any time. And so, over the course of what was probably months, I constructed and added to and modified what would eventually become this.

So, that's what this is, in its most clinical terms. So now, as I rapidly approach middle-age, I think it's time to give it a larger context; assign a narrative outside of its initial story and give it more weight -- because I created it and so I'm allowed to do that.

I'm not looking to write a three-act structure here, but I think we can get away with some abstractions. Firstly, let's not forget that, while I was not a professional artist at the time, this still qualifies as "early 90s art," which is its own thing (and something we celebrate around here exhaustively). Porky Pig aside, most TV commercials - particularly food & beverage spots aimed at kids - pretty much used this same mood. So if we come at it from an advertising angle, I nominate to repurpose this as a two-page print ad for Bennett Media - the kind you'd find in a magazine (or, more appropriately, a comic book).

I'd initially planned to number and label every single detail in this composition, but I was struck with a mild fatigue when I thought about my end of that undertaking, and then became flat-out disabled when I thought about you having to read such a thing. Instead, here's a closer look at its contents:

I thought, at the very least, we could give this a long-overdue title. So now, working within these parameters, I'd been leaning towards "Bennett Media Land"(?) which, clearly, is a mouthful, and the phrase "Media Land" is treading a little too close to "Circuit City." So I thought just simply Bennett Land. At any rate, I was thinking along the lines of "Candy Land" or "McDonaldland." I think I've always been attracted to the word "land." I've never been to a Disney-themed amusement park, but if I ever had a choice, I'd bypass Disney World for Disney Land any day of the week - simply for the name.

But enough of the cat-and-mouse shit. I'm sure I could go on and on (in fact, I think I already have), so let's try to wrap this up and solidify it with the idea we had that prompted this exploration. We've combed over this mosaic and nominated... the Bennett Media Mascot! So, here it is: The Private Eye

I don't know where I first saw this visual pun, but I'm sure I didn't come up with it on my own. Suffice to say that it encapsulates just about every decorative hallmark that turns me on, and it fascinates and excites me that this particular design was conceived and constructed during the time period on which this site is primarily focused.

So, who is The Private Eye? What does it do, what does it mean, and what is its main function? Well, I don't know if we're cutesy enough for some kinda origin story nonsense (we're not Dinosaur Dracula), but I'd certainly like to assert that Private Eye is a symbol of all you have just read and will (hopefully) read in the future. It won't necessarily have its own comic strip or anything, but I'm sure we can find a job for it eventually. And if you have suggestions... well, just hire The Private Eye!

Okay, so there it is. That's all we wanted to say: no real big changes, but mostly just a big thanks for joining us in this continuing outlet for our passions, and an extra big thanks for when you participate vocally. We know there's a lotta weird & negative stuff in the world today (and every day since the beginning of time), but we've never ever been about that. And even when we've touched upon that stuff in the slightest gesture, it's only ever been in the name of art, because the wisest and the best affix their attention on the good... and the beautiful.

- Paul