I have to admit I didn’t see what was so great about Gatsby. At first anyway. It’s one of those stories that you have to really step back and look at the whole picture to completely understand why it’s so good. Because at first glance, excellent writing aside, the book is a tough sell.

The main obstacle that comes to mind is there’s not a single character that’s wholly sympathetic. Daisy is a selfish, gold-digging airhead. Tom is a rich, lecherous asshole. Jordan is a snobbish flake. Gatsby is a misguided, sad little man who surrounds himself with strangers so that he doesn’t have to be alone. With a motley crew of materialistic children, it’s hard to find one that you care about enough to make you want to turn to the next page. With that in mind, I’m not sure we’re supposed to like the characters. I think we are meant to empathize with Nick, in that he is swept up in a lifestyle he’s not particularly versed – a feeling I’m sure we’ve all had before. But at the same time, an argument could be made that his laissez-faire attitude towards his newfound friends makes him just as unlikeable and weak.

It’s been said that Gatsby is one of The Great American Novels because it so accurately depicts a time, a place, and a national personality. While I do agree that it seems to be the epitome of the roaring 20′s, I was also somehow reminded of Shakespeare. Most of his plays starred royalty – kings, queens, ladies and lords – and it was their weaknesses in character that eventually brought about their tragic ends. The same could be said for America’s royalty – the fabulously rich – and so watching Tom, Daisy, and Gatsby fall to such lows is similar to watching the young prince Hamlet go insane.

Unfortunately, in this tragedy, the main one who pays is poor Mr. Wilson, who does his best to make a life for himself and his wife, but in the end has everything he’s worked for taken away from him. It’s sad, but at the same time, notice how the community comes together to help him after his wife is killed. While at first some gather like crows on the gallows, there are genuine friends who come to care for him during his grief. The same cannot be said for popular party host Jay Gatsby who never said no to anyone. His quiet, solitary death is only recognized by one proper friend. Maybe in the end it’s only old Wilson – the penniless, sickly, cuckold garage owner – who led a life that could be considered great.

I, as well as Mrs. Fernweather’s 4th hour English class, could go on for days about Gatsby, examining the many themes, relationships, character traits, and plot points. But as I said before, everything that could be said about the novel probably already has, so I won’t bore you any longer. Just know that I really enjoyed reading this after all these years. I could see me picking this one up again down the road and finding something new to explore. I’m sure I’ll always be welcome at Jay Gatsby’s house.

Wanna see the coolest thing on the internet right now? Check out the BBC’s awesome animated promo for their Beijing Olympics coverage, based upon the Chinese legend of The Monkey King.

It’s by the same folks who did the Gorillaz animations, so you know it’s excellent. And I dig the song, too; I wish I could download it somewhere.

Oh, you lovable little scamps, you spammers you.

I received this email in my gmail inbox today:

After the last annual calculations of your fiscal activity we have determined that you are eligible to receive a tax refund of $863.80.

Please submit the tax refund request and allow us 6-9 days in order to process it.

A refund can be delayed for a variety of reasons. For example submitting invalid records or applying after the deadline.

To access the form for your tax refund, please click here.

Regards,
Internal Revenue Service

How cute. You guys almost had me there. It’s kind of quaint what you guys are trying. Really, it’s cute. I’m sure that, had there actually been a link to access the form for my tax refund, you would have promptly asked for my bank account information so that I could receive this refund as a direct deposit – surely the only way the IRS would have sent me the money. You guys…

Now run along and go try that whole Nigerian ex-pat trick again. That one makes me laugh every time.

Kids these days…

As mentioned before, it’s easily been 15 or 16 years since I read The Great Gatsby in high school. And while I remembered the basics (1920′s…rich, white dude, etc.), I had forgotten, or more likely, never realized, the very subtle gay (or at least bisexual) undertones of the book. While narrator Nick’s constant fawning over Gatsby’s appearance, demeanor, smile, style and personality could be written off as a literary technique to help us understand the gravitational force Gatsby and the decadent, upper-class lifestyle seems to have on people , one also has to wonder if there’s more to these compliments than just characterization.

Then there are a couple of scenes near the end of Chapter 2 that are especially interesting. At a party in New York, Nick gets drunk for what he claims is only the second time in his life. After Nick’s acquaintance Tom breaks up the party by breaking his girlfriend’s nose (swell guy, huh?), Nick leaves in a huff with new friend, Mr. Mckee, “a pale, feminine man” married to a pretty annoying woman. The two ride the elevator down to the McKee’s home and the sexual innuendo follows.

Then Mr. McKee turned and continued on out the door. Taking my hat from the chandelier, I followed.
“Come to lunch some day,” he suggested, as we groaned down in the elevator.
“Where?”
“Anywhere.”
“Keep your hands off the lever,” snapped the elevator boy.
“I beg your pardon,” said Mr. McKee with dignity, “I didn’t know I was touching it.”
“All right,” I agreed, “I’ll be glad to.”
…I was standing beside his bed and he was sitting up between the sheets, clad in his underwear, with a great portfolio in his hands.
“Beauty and the Beast…Loneliness…Old Grocery Horse…Brook’n Bridge…”
Then I was lying half asleep in the cold lower level of the Pennsylvania Station, staring at the morning Tribune, and waiting for the four o’clock train.

We groaned down the elevator? What’s this about a lever being inadvertently touched? Standing beside the bed while your host is dressed only in his underwear?

Sure, maybe Nick just helped the drunken McKee into bed so he could pass out for the night, then wandered down to the station to catch a train. Nick was drunk after all, so maybe he just sort of lost some of the memories in the haze. I can see it, honestly. But at the same time I find it odd that Nick’s memory of the evening is crystal clear until he gets to McKee’s apartment. It definitely feels like he’s leaving some things unsaid.

Whether Nick is not entirely heterosexual or not, though, doesn’t really make a difference at this point. It’s more a fun exercise in literary analogy than anything having a real bearing on the story. (Although I do find it interesting that the original screenplay, written by Truman Capote for the famous 1974 Robert Redford film, depicts both Nick and his gal-pal, Jordan, a professional golfer, as being homosexual.)

I’m moving right along in the book – really just getting to the heart of it as we speak – so chances are my next entry will simply be my final thoughts. But we’ll see. You never know what’s going to spark my interest…

Yesterday it was medical equipment, today it’s terabytes!

This is pretty trippy.