Alan Watts came to San FranÂcisÂco durÂing the earÂly 1950s, wrote his bestÂseller Way of Zen, and became one of the foreÂmost popÂuÂlarÂizÂers of Zen BudÂdhism, HinÂduism, TaoÂism and varÂiÂous forms of EastÂern phiÂlosÂoÂphy. His TV show, EastÂern WisÂdom and ModÂern Life (1960), introÂduced AmerÂiÂcans to the seemÂingÂly exotÂic conÂcept of medÂiÂtaÂtion (watch here). And his radio show and lecÂtures forced lisÂtenÂers to pause and look at their lives from a fresh perÂspecÂtive. Again and again, Watts chalÂlenged the WestÂern emphaÂsis on monÂey-makÂing to the excluÂsion of all else. We’ve heard Watts rail against this soul-crushÂing valÂue in a lecÂture aniÂmatÂed by the creÂators of South Park. (I’m not kidÂding you.) And, in the newÂly-proÂduced video above, he conÂtinÂues along the same traÂjecÂtoÂry. So, as you drink your mornÂing cofÂfee and ponÂder your day, ask yourÂself: Are you putting monÂey-makÂing before hapÂpiÂness itself? Or are you purÂsuÂing the pasÂsions that bring hapÂpiÂness, achievÂing excelÂlence, and then letÂting the monÂey folÂlow? With that, I’ll let you conÂtinÂue with your day.
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I’ve always thought of writer, actor and filmÂmakÂer MiranÂda July as someÂone who creÂates her own opporÂtuÂniÂties. Long before her stoÂries in The New YorkÂer, and before Me and You and EveryÂone We Know, the award-winÂning first feaÂture that cementÂed her indie darÂling staÂtus, she was cirÂcuÂlatÂing video chain letÂters feaÂturÂing her own work and that of othÂer young, female filmÂmakÂers. She recordÂed LPs and toured origÂiÂnal perÂforÂmance art pieces.
What a relief to find out she’s a proÂcrasÂtiÂnaÂtor, too.
July insists that her chatÂterÂing monÂkey mind nearÂly deprived her of the conÂcenÂtraÂtion necÂesÂsary to finÂish writÂing The Future, her secÂond full-length film. One of its most comÂpelling parts actuÂalÂly wound up on the cutÂting room floor. In it (above), we see Sophie, the under-employed would-be dancer played by July, comÂing to grips with her own self-sabÂoÂtagÂing tenÂdenÂcy toward proÂcrasÂtiÂnaÂtion.
Of course, the reaÂson we’re able to see it at all is that July, whose indusÂtriÂousÂness sureÂly has earned her the right to spend a decade or so doing nothÂing but watchÂing YouTube and Googling her own name, repurÂposed it as a short, instrucÂtionÂal film (A Handy Tip for the EasÂiÂly DisÂtractÂed), which offers an antiÂdote for those of us who share her afflicÂtion.
(Admit it. You’re proÂcrasÂtiÂnatÂing now, aren’t you?)
In addiÂtion to the soundÂness of her advice, her methodÂolÂoÂgy is endearÂingÂly low-tech. As one who’s been known to attribute a lack of creÂative outÂput to a less than ideÂal workÂspace, I found the clutÂtered, shabÂby apartÂment set both familÂiar and galÂvaÂnizÂing. If we’re going to make excusÂes, we may as well own them. July takes yet anothÂer step by harÂnessÂing them and forcÂing them to work for her.
Long before William FaulknÂer got his big break in litÂerÂaÂture, he, like many of us, had a good old-fashÂioned day job. FaulknÂer had a series of odd jobs in fact. But, most famousÂly, he worked from 1921 to 1924 as the postÂmasÂter at the UniÂverÂsiÂty of MisÂsisÂsipÂpi, where, accordÂing to legÂend, he did the folÂlowÂing: someÂtimes threw mail in the garbage, othÂer times read magÂaÂzines before bringÂing them to peoÂple’s homes, often played cards and wrote ficÂtion durÂing workÂing hours, occaÂsionÂalÂly went golfÂing instead of delivÂerÂing mail, and genÂerÂalÂly ignored his colÂleagues and cusÂtomers. But, who could blame him? EspeÂcialÂly when he earned $20,000 in today’s monÂey and had great litÂerÂary ambiÂtions to purÂsue. EvenÂtuÂalÂly, when a postal inspecÂtor came to invesÂtiÂgate, FaulknÂer resigned. The resÂigÂnaÂtion letÂter, recentÂly highÂlightÂed by LetÂters of Note, is short (a mere 56 words) and cutÂting. But, scathing as it was, it didÂn’t stop the US postal sysÂtem from issuÂing a comÂmemÂoÂraÂtive FaulknÂer stamp in 1987.
OctoÂber, 1924
As long as I live under the capÂiÂtalÂisÂtic sysÂtem, I expect to have my life influÂenced by the demands of monÂeyed peoÂple. But I will be damned if I proÂpose to be at the beck and call of every itinÂerÂant scoundrel who has two cents to invest in a postage stamp.
“In this proÂgram,” says narÂraÂtor Peter CapalÂdi at the outÂset, “we’re going to show you how to be more ratioÂnal, and deal with some of life’s biggest deciÂsions.” It’s a pretÂty big claim, and you may doubt that it’s true (espeÂcialÂly durÂing the silÂly openÂing scene involvÂing a group of nerds tryÂing to score a date) but give this 2008 BBC HoriÂzon proÂgram a litÂtle time and you might come away with a few things to think about. How to Make BetÂter DeciÂsions takes us inside cogÂniÂtive sciÂence labÂoÂraÂtoÂries and out on the streets to demonÂstrate how the emoÂtionÂal part of our brain gets the betÂter of the ratioÂnal part. The film introÂduces a numÂber of intriguÂing conÂcepts, includÂing Prospect TheÂoÂry, “the framÂing effect,” and “primÂing.” More conÂtroÂverÂsialÂly, it highÂlights some research that sugÂgests the posÂsiÂbilÂiÂty that our intuÂition may have someÂthing to do with an abilÂiÂty to sense future events. How to Make BetÂter DeciÂsions is 49 minÂutes long, and we’ve decidÂed to add it to our growÂing colÂlecÂtion of Free Movies Online.
Some say you’re nevÂer too old to learn someÂthing new. OthÂers say you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. Well, you know where we come down on this. And we’ve got some celebriÂty case studÂies to back us up. In a blog post yesÂterÂday, The New York Times feaÂtured four culÂturÂal icons and one war hero who learned new skills latÂer in life. Miles Davis startÂed boxÂing when most boxÂers are hangÂing up their gloves. Ayn Rand, in her 60s, improbÂaÂbly took up the hobÂby of stamp colÂlectÂing. Marie Curie learned to swim in her 50s. And the great novÂelÂist Leo TolÂstoy took his first bike ride at the age of 67. The Times writes that he startÂed cycling:
only a month after the death of his 7‑year-old son, VanichÂka. He was still grievÂing, and the Moscow SociÂety of VelociÂpede-Lovers proÂvidÂed him a free bike and instrucÂtion along the garÂden paths on his estate. He became a devoÂtee, takÂing rides after his mornÂing chores. “Count Leo TolÂstoy … now rides the wheel,” declared SciÂenÂtifÂic AmerÂiÂcan in 1896, “much to the astonÂishÂment of the peasÂants on his estate.”
ApparÂentÂly that’s TolÂstoy and his bike above.
Charles BukowsÂki, “Hank” to his friends, was once called the “best poet in AmerÂiÂca” by kinÂdred spirÂit Jean Genet. He was a writer who told the truth, when he wasn’t lying, and who could tell a great stoÂry, whether sober or drunk. BukowsÂki once told Sean Penn in a 1987 InterÂview magÂaÂzine piece: “AlcoÂhol is probÂaÂbly one of the greatÂest things to arrive upon the earth — alongÂside of me. Yes…these are two of the greatÂest arrivals upon the surÂface of the earth. So…we get along.” This stateÂment encapÂsuÂlates the qualÂiÂties BukowsÂki is best known for—lifelong heavy drinkÂing and bravaÂdo. They tend to go hand in hand, espeÂcialÂly in novÂelÂists of his genÂerÂaÂtion. But what made him a poet was anothÂer qualÂiÂty the booze helped him cope with, his tenÂdenÂcy to be “a shy, withÂdrawn perÂson,” an almost tenÂder perÂson, and humane in his own low-rent way. In the video above, he tells the stoÂry of his worst hangÂover ever. I’ll let him tell it. There’s no way a paraÂphrase could come close to Bukowski’s own voice.
Josh Jones is a docÂtorÂal canÂdiÂdate in EngÂlish at FordÂham UniÂverÂsiÂty and a co-founder and forÂmer manÂagÂing ediÂtor of GuerÂniÂca / A MagÂaÂzine of Arts and PolÂiÂtics.
JohnÂny Cash wrote down at least two lists in his lifeÂtime. Let’s start with the big one. In 1973, when his daughÂter Roseanne turned 18, the legÂendary musiÂcian pulled out a sheet of yelÂlow legal paper and began writÂing down 100 EssenÂtial CounÂtry Songs, the songs she needÂed to know if she wantÂed to start her own musiÂcal career. The list, writes the webÂsite FolkÂWorks, didÂn’t conÂstrue counÂtry music narÂrowÂly. It was eclecÂtic, takÂing in old folk songs, AppalachiÂan balÂlads, and also protest songs, earÂly counÂtry clasÂsics, and modÂern folks songs sung by artists like Bob Dylan. (Don’t miss our post on Dylan and Cash’s 1969 colÂlabÂoÂraÂtion here.) This essenÂtial list nevÂer went pubÂlic, at least not in full. Roseanne Cash guardÂed it closeÂly until 2009, when she released an albumfeaÂturÂing interÂpreÂtaÂtions of 12 titles from her father’s list. The othÂer 88 songs still remain a mysÂtery.
Now on to that othÂer list: SomeÂwhere along the way (we’re not sure when) The Man in Black jotÂted down 10 “Things to Do Today!” This list feels almost like someÂthing you and I could have writÂten, the stuff of morÂtals. Heck, in a givÂen day, we all “Cough,” “Eat” and “Pee.” We strugÂgle with will powÂer (not eatÂing too much, perÂhaps not smokÂing, maybe not foolÂing around with anyÂone but our spouse). And we’re hopeÂfulÂly good to our loved ones. So what sets JohnÂny Cash apart from us? Just June and that piano.
JohnÂny’s to-do list sold at aucÂtion for $6,250 in 2010.
If you would like to supÂport the misÂsion of Open CulÂture, conÂsidÂer makÂing a donaÂtion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your conÂtriÂbuÂtions will help us conÂtinÂue proÂvidÂing the best free culÂturÂal and eduÂcaÂtionÂal mateÂriÂals to learnÂers everyÂwhere. You can conÂtribute through PayÂPal, PatreÂon, and VenÂmo (@openculture). Thanks!
Kurt VonÂnegut nevÂer did things the conÂvenÂtionÂal way. He didÂn’t write parÂticÂuÂlarÂly conÂvenÂtionÂal novÂels. He cerÂtainÂly didÂn’t make very conÂvenÂtionÂal speechÂes at uniÂverÂsiÂties. But he did make semi-conÂvenÂtionÂal domesÂtic agreeÂments. Take, for examÂple, this conÂtract writÂten on JanÂuÂary 26, 1947. PostÂed on the Harper’s webÂsite in full, this odd litÂtle docÂuÂment, dubbed “The Chore List of ChamÂpiÂons,” finds VonÂnegut outÂlinÂing all of the tasks he promised to do around the house — this while his young wife, Jane, preÂpared to give birth to their first child. The conÂtract (the conÂtent is conÂvenÂtionÂal, the form is not) will be pubÂlished in Kurt VonÂnegut: LetÂters next month. And it begins:
I, Kurt VonÂnegut, Jr., that is, do hereÂby swear that I will be faithÂful to the comÂmitÂments hereÂunÂder listÂed:
I. With the agreeÂment that my wife will not nag, heckÂle, or othÂerÂwise disÂturb me on the subÂject, I promise to scrub the bathÂroom and kitchen floors once a week, on a day and hour of my own choosÂing. Not only that, but I will do a good and thorÂough job, and by that she means that I will get under the bathÂtub, behind the toiÂlet, under the sink, under the iceÂbox, into the corÂners; and I will pick up and put in some othÂer locaÂtion whatÂevÂer movÂable objects hapÂpen to be on said floors at the time so as to get under them too, and not just around them. FurÂtherÂmore, while I am underÂtakÂing these tasks I will refrain from indulging in such remarks as “Shit,” “GodÂdamn sonoÂfabitch,” and simÂiÂlar vulÂgarÂiÂties, as such lanÂguage is nerve-wrackÂing to have around the house when nothÂing more drasÂtic is takÂing place than the facÂing of NecesÂsiÂty. If I do not live up to this agreeÂment, my wife is to feel free to nag, heckÂle, and othÂerÂwise disÂturb me until I am driÂven to scrub the floors anyÂway—no matÂter how busy I am.
And then latÂer conÂtinÂues:
g. When smokÂing I will make every effort to keep the ashÂtray I am using at the time upon a surÂface that does not slant, sag, slope, dip, wrinÂkle, or give way upon the slightÂest provoÂcaÂtion; such surÂfaces may be underÂstood to include stacks of books preÂcarÂiÂousÂly mountÂed on the edge of a chair, the arms of the chair that has arms, and my own knees;
h. I will not put out cigÂaÂrettes upon the sides of, or throw ashÂes into, either the red leather wasteÂbasÂket or the stamp wasteÂbasÂket that my lovÂing wife made me for ChristÂmas, 1945, as such pracÂtice noticeÂably impairs the beauÂty and ultiÂmate pracÂtiÂcaÂbilÂiÂty of said wasteÂbasÂkets;
j. An excepÂtion to the above three-day time limÂit is the takÂing out of the garbage, which, as any fool knows, had betÂter not wait that long; I will take out the garbage withÂin three hours after the need for disÂposÂal has been pointÂed out to me by my wife. It would be nice, howÂevÂer, if, upon observÂing the need for disÂposÂal with my own two eyes, I should perÂform this parÂticÂuÂlar task upon my own iniÂtiaÂtive, and thus not make it necÂesÂsary for my wife to bring up a subÂject that is modÂerÂateÂly disÂtasteÂful to her;
l. The terms of this conÂtract are underÂstood to be bindÂing up until that time after the arrival of our child (to be specÂiÂfied by the docÂtor) when my wife will once again be in full posÂsesÂsion of all her facÂulÂties, and able to underÂtake more arduÂous purÂsuits than are now advisÂable.
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