Merry Christmas

There is about a half an hour left in the west coast Christmas day, and I wanted to take this opportunity to wish my friends and other readers (like you, Marcus! We missed you today, but really enjoyed seeing the kids. I beat the Lady M in Sorry by one move. It was a badass Sorry game!) a really terrific holiday.

And if it hasn't been a terrific holiday (because I can certainly understand that), I want to wish you a better 2009.

At least we're all not still waiting to finally see Twilight, or to hear Chinese Democracy, or for the election. We have lived through a lot of stuff already. Proof that we can persevere.

Year-end Mix

One of my favorite traditions that belongs to this time of year is the year-end mix. For many years now, I have been trading mixes with Mikey J and Dr. Awesome that somehow represent the year that has just passed. Last year my mix was populated with songs that all came out in 2007. The year before that, I chose a song that represented each month of 2006 somehow. I know that Mikey and Shane have different kinds of criteria for their mixes.

This year's mix (entitled "Spin it Again") is now done, and mailed off to the regular recipients (or sitting under my tree for Mikey and J-bro and Jane), so I thought I'd "publish" the list here. For posterity, or whatever. Before I do it, I have to say--I have felt very uninspired this year. And I admit that this is mostly a very depressing mix. Which is to say that it sort of befits a mostly depressing year.

*"Ride" The Old 97s
*"Chinatown" Luna
*"Too Drunk to Dream" The Magnetic Fields
*"A Dustland Fairy Tale" The Killers
*"The Bleeding Heart Show" The New Pornographers
*"Disorder" Joy Division
*"Love Song" The Dandy Warhols
*"Stone Cold World" Caroline Herring
*"Librarian" My Morning Jacket
*"All in It" British Sea Power
*"Clouds" The Go-Betweens
*"Lost Coastlines" Okkervil River
*"Mapped by what Surrounded Them" The Twilight Sad
*"Walls" Beck
*"Ruin" The Pierces
*"Believe" The Bravery
and, because it wouldn't be 2008--
*"Madagascar" GnR

(You will notice for the second year in a row, there is no Frank Black on the list---!)

Cabin Fever

Alright. So you might think that being almost totally home bound for the last 9 days would give me ample opportunity to catch up on some blogging. But I know how much Qwanty resents any blogs about the weather, and really, it is impossible for me to write about anything else. Since a week ago Sunday, we have had temperatures almost exclusively below freezing, and snow, freezing rain, and sleet. As you all know, I am sometimes given to hyperbole. In this case I am reporting fact. Currently, at the compound, we have about 10 inches of packed snow, a 1 inch ice layer, and then another 12-14 inches on top of that. Do the math, people. That is about 2 feet of snow. In Portland. For over a week.

For those of you who do live here/have lived here, you recognize how freaky this is. We are just not a people who are used to long-term arctic conditions. The last time Portland had a "snow event" of this magnitude was 40 years ago. So, I have never seen anything like it. The year that I lived in Boston was exceptionally mild, so I didn't even see it there. And if you think that I'm exaggerating, wait until you see the pictures (they are coming--).

And I am so bored I can hardly stand it. My little car is buried. So I'm stuck here for awhile. Yesterday I actually played 2 rounds of that racist domino game (I'll not name it, in respect to J-Bro) with my parents and my grandmother. Have any of you ever played a game with me? That's right. You haven't. Because I don't play games. I don't play games because I am the world's worst sport. It is very unpleasant to play games with me. But I played that damn game for 4 hours yesterday because THERE IS NOTHING ELSE TO DO.

There are, of course, a couple of silver linings in this series of storms. Here are the highlights:

1. Watching Ella snowboard in the backyard at 10 o'clock at night. That was pretty cute.

2. Going to "McCool's" with my dad for lunch Saturday (the last day we were able to get out), and seeing a room full of people drinking coffee nudges (the $5 cocktail special) in the middle of the day.

3. Local news. They are preempting almost everything to continuously tell us that it is still snowing (awesome!). But after the first 48 hours they began to get really bored and punchy and they have had to work harder and harder to find things to talk about. That has led to some funny on-air antics. The best thing that I've seen so far--one news team was talking to their field correspondent in Troutdale, which is a pretty important location since it is the end of the line for truckers who are wanting to travel east--I 84 has been closed for about 3 days. Anyway--the correspondent had his camera man pan over to the diner at the off-ramp to show a 10 foot drift, and as the camera panned back to the correspondent, a man walked out of the gas station and fell. I'm not someone who usually laughs at other people getting hurt or embarrassed--I don't tend to think that sort of thing is funny. BUT. One of the anchors back at the station actually said, "Aww. Look at that! I sure hope that guy isn't one of ours!" Which is a completely jackass comment to make on the air. It was a nice break in the facade that these guys try to create to make us feel like they care.

4. Hands down the best thing I've seen: I was at Kinko's on Saturday (long story--) and it was snowing like crazy. A woman walked outside and her windshield had iced/snowed up while she'd been self-serving at the copy machine. She took her copy of (I SWEAR!) The Prophet and used it to clear the windshield. This could only happen in Portland. It made me simultaneously proud and disgusted to be an Oregonian.

Thanks, by the way, to Stobie. Your Remington Steele tip came just in time.

Competiton

As much as I like to believe that I am the best storyteller in my family (immediate family, Marcus. Calm down.), the truth is that I have some competition. The youngest brother can spin a yarn or two, and even Rimmy occasionally can pull out a good one.

But we're all going down to my niece, who at three and a half can tell some whoppers.

If you see her ask her about:

*How Emily doesn't want to be her friend anymore cuz Ella stole the "E" from her name.

*How the little boy with the "black skin" (I think he's actually Indian or something) gave her his fruit snack. (In her defense, she has the most translucent of skin. EVERYONE looks like they have black skin in comparison!)

*About how she was a pumpkin when she was a baby.

*About what she is going to do when she gets older and drives a Toyota like Pal.

Only at your own risk should you ask her why she wants a high chair for Dodie (her stuffed bear) for Christmas. TMI, my friends.

Just So's There's No Misunderstanding

I don't have a thing for Clint Howard.

For the record.

It Must Be Addressed!

I'm taking time out from my grading hell (and it IS hell, my friends) and coffee-induced delirium to discuss the head shaving thing. For those of you who don't know this, I have, on occasion, had the opportunity to mention the fact that I have a kind of weird fascination (ok. maybe a fetish) about film scenes in which a character shaves his head. This began with the film Pi, and really, the only other film I can think of that has a comparable scene is The Royal Tenenbaums, which I believe I have mentioned in the blog before.

Anyway, the reason I feel a need to address this is that I'm a little embarrassed about it. Well, not so much about the fact that I do have a thing about it, but more about the fact that it seems to be a fact that is SUPER memorable to a particular group of people. Not only did Stobie and Mullins both just reference it in the comments to my last post (and Melissa actually implied that this particular fact is indestructible. Like this is the cockroach or Twinkie of memories), but I actually got a random Facebook message from THE DODD about a month ago. The gist of it was this: she had a student who had shaved his head and she had a conversation with him about his decision to do that, and then it reminded her of me (!) and I think she also said that she told the student that she knew someone who would be interested in his shaving his head.

Um. That's disturbing. And I can't, for the life of me, figure out what makes this so memorable. 1) Did I make a really, really big deal out of it? Because I don't remember doing so, and I'm really ashamed if I did. 2) Is it really that weird? I mean, people have all kinds of weird things that they are into, right? 3) Is there no one else out there that can see my point here? I can't be the only person---

***

On a related note, I was equally confused by the fact that I was at the grocery store with Felisa (maybe the last time she was in town?) and we were in line when she pointed to an item on the counter in front of us and said, "what are those called?" I looked down and saw a package of chocolate Popsicles. She thought that she was being VERY funny, but it took me a minute to realize that she remembered that I can't say that word. Really? That is memorable?

***

On what I hope does not become a related note, I can't believe the conTROVersy (to quote Jane's dad) over my attraction to Jason Mewes. I mean, it isn't like I wrote that I have a thing for Clint Howard. THAT would be weird. Jason Mewes is hot. That's why he doesn't mind being super naked in a movie. HE knows he's hot.

I don't think that this warrants Marcus's freak out. Listen M--we can agree to disagree. Why do these things always end up with you calling names? I can like If Lucy Fell (nice Jim Rome-style burn, by the way) and you can think that Shawshank Redemption is the greatest film ever. You can like Catherine Keener (although I really don't get it) and I can like Mewes. It's all good. Variety is the spice of life. It makes the world go 'round. Seriously.

Thanksgiving Films

OK, so last week the time off afforded me the opportunity to see 2 movies. I made one really good choice, and one really bad one. Actually, I didn't make the first choice (since it was Mikey J's idea), so I really just ultimately chose badly.

Zack and Miri was the good choice (credited to Mikey J). It is a very, very funny movie. We both laughed a lot. Since I know you people do not care enough to read a long review, just let me make the following observations:

1. Jason Mewes is a babe. I didn't just start thinking this. I have always even thought that Jay was really hot (which is weird, cuz that guy would NOT be my type in real life. AT ALL). But I swear that he's actually getting better looking as he gets older.

I don't like to think too much about what is behind my attraction to Jason Mewes, because, if I am honest with myself, it is for all the kinds of reasons that reflect badly on my gender. He is really screwed up. His characters are really screwed up, but Mewes himself is also really screwed up. He is also, from all accounts, a dog (with regard to his dealings with women). But, and this is where I sort of start to hate myself, he seems super, super vulnerable. It is my understanding that he lives with Kevin Smith more than he lives anywhere else--because he needs to be watched over a little, and Smith and his wife provide some sort of stability for him. The point is this--it is that mixture of bad boy/vulnerable boy that makes him sort of irresistible. I know that this is messed up thinking, and part of the reason that we don't have a woman in the White House (because, let's be honest, Bill is an older, puffier, better-educated, Southern Jason Mewes).

All rationalization aside, Jason Mewes is hot.

2. We are getting really old. It is hard to tell from looking in the mirror, but seeing certain other people age makes it impossible to deny. Traci Lords looks OLD. Part of it is hard livin'--I get that. But it still made me feel old.

3. This film requires me to write a sentence that I never expected/wanted to. That sentence is: "Justin Long is a great comedic actor." Seriously. His character is--by far--one of the funniest things in the film. Seth Rogan's reactions to him are equally priceless.

4. It is very, very strange, but also very, very pleasing, when Seth Rogan opens his mouth and Kevin Smith comes out. It's almost too much of a good thing, if you know what I mean.

5. I love Kevin Smith THIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIS much. I don't care how many unwatchable films he makes. When he makes a good film, I just love him THIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIS much more.

***

And then I saw the new Charlie Kaufman film Synecdoche, New York. I should not have done this. I always WANT to like Charlie Kaufman films, both because I sort of believe it is a thing-to-do, but also because, in theory, I like the idea of Kaufman. But in reality, I always either end up mildly disappointed (Being John Malkovich) or downright horrified (Eternal Sunshine*). S, NY is a horrifying movie. If you haven't seen the press, here is the story in a nutshell. Philip Seymour Hoffman plays a theatre director who decides to stage an epic piece of avant-garde theatre after his wife leaves him and he receives a MacArthur genius grant. The idea of the theatre piece is to recreate reality--and to that end he casts someone as himself, and as the people (women) in his life and makes art until it kills him (and everyone around him). This takes a very, very long time. Long enough that I seriously considered walking out of the film, and long enough that 3 (smarter) couples actually DID.

Here's the thing. The idea behind the film is cool. The casting is interesting (except for Catherine Keener. I hate her. What is everyone's thing with her anyway?) and Hoffman is really, really wonderful, which is weird, given the fact that I hated his character so much that I wanted him to die, die, die (and the faster the better). Kaufman is smart, and he tries to make smart movies. But I can't stand them.

And I think that I've figured it out. Kaufman is a smart guy who is tortured by the kind of thoughts and the kind of knowledge that smart people are always tortured by. He's aware, self-conscious, thoughtful. And, like people who are these things tend to be, he is miserable because of it. His films are all about the pain of feeling and thinking deeply, about the tedium of obsessive thinking, about the hopelessness of insight.

I don't think I'm as smart as Charlie Kaufman, but I am familiar enough with the challenges of having a critical mind that I don't want to relive it in my art. The cyclical, obsessive thinking of Kaufman's characters only serves to irritate (and perhaps even trigger) my own cyclical, obsessive thinking. This is not therapeutic, nor does it offer any sort of escape. It is an irritant.

Imagine that you are walking around all day with a blister. Worse yet, it is a blister that you have had since you began walking at 11 months. You spend most of your days trying to manage the blister. You baby it--rotate your foot as you walk so as not to aggravate it. You think about ANYTHING other than how much your blister is bothering you. And then once every few years you walk by a store that sells pebbles. And you think to yourself, "I like the look of those pebbles", so you walk in and buy yourself one and then stick it down your shoe. Now you have a pebble in your shoe (and YOU put it there). With every step, you are reminded of the pain you are currently in, the pain that you are ALWAYS in (because even without the pebble you have that damn blister), and the fact that you are to blame for the increased pain you are feeling, because you bought the pebble and stuck it in your shoe.

That's what it feels like to sit through a Charlie Kaufman film.

*I don't get what people LOVE about this movie, by the way. It's nightmarish.

AND---

I almost forgot. The best thing about the whole Twilight craze, of course, was last week's South Park episode. If you haven't yet seen it, do yourself a favor and sniff it out.

Per se.

I'm Not Mean, or, a Considered Twilight Review

Friends, I tread lightly. This is not going to be a no-holds barred review of the new Twilight film. Which, for the record, I wasn't crazy about. Instead, I am going to try to stick to some general comments about the interesting conditions that surround the film and would have made it hard to produce a film that was somehow more satisfactory to me. I will try not to give away any spoilers, and I will try REALLY hard not to do further damage to my friendship with J-Bro.

First, some context. I went to see Twilight Friday night with my 13-year-old cousin, who was so excited that she could hardly contain herself. We would have gone to one of the midnight shows on Thursday, but she had that whole pesky middle-school thing going on Friday morning, so we waited. We went to the last show of the evening, which took place in a 300 seat theatre that was only about a third full. Most of the audience consisted of women between the ages of 20 and 40. There were a few teenagers--but ones clearly old enough to have driven themselves. There were also a couple of boyfriends, and maybe a gay-best-friend or two as well. There was one awesome 30-something guy flying solo as well--clearly he has nothing better to do on Friday nights until The Hobbit finally comes out. I had to admire his moxy.

For the record, I have read the first three books of the series. Scratch that. I've read books 2 and 3. I listened to the first one on CD driving through Utah and Idaho this summer. (It seemed somehow fitting to listen to a story about Mormon vampires living in the PacNW while driving through Mormon country on the WAY to the PacNW!) I don't love these books. But I see the appeal and I don't, ultimately, find it surprising that they have really struck a nerve.

Now--the film itself. Although Stephenie Meyer says that she could see each of the books cinematically as she wrote, upon watching the film, it occurred to me that there are sort of insurmountable problems attached to the translation of this written text to film. This is interesting. And so I'm going to talk about this, instead of talking about the aspects of the film that I did not like that are going to get me into trouble with a friend I actually really respect and value.

1. The Jane Eyre Conundrum. Historically one of the problems of illustrating, staging, or filming Jane Eyre is Jane's own description of her physical self. If we are to believe her, Jane is, literally, a "plain Jane". Throughout the text she refers to herself as unexceptional looking, and compares her looks unfavorably to those of other women. There is a critical tradition that suggests that Jane is an unreliable narrator and that her description of herself might be based on a distorted image formed by childhood trauma. Whatever. The practical result of this is that it confronts artists/directors with a dilemma, given that Jane is the heroine (and lead character) of her own story: represent her visually as she describes herself (not very pretty), or make a conventional choice by casting (or otherwise representing) her as the most attractive woman in the production. One decision is clearly more in keeping with the spirit of Jane's narrative, the other is more likely to please audiences who like seeing love stories featuring attractive characters.

The director of Twilight faces the same choice. Bella also does not describe herself as a particularly attractive girl. And despite her popularity with the other guys at Forks High School (which can easily and plausibly be explained by the fact that she is an outsider in a place that doesn't often get transfusions--excuse the pun--of new blood in the student body population), readers do not necessarily have a reason to doubt her assessment of her own attractiveness. (Evidence for this--she was not nearly as popular in AZ as she is in WA--a fact made abundantly clear by her lack of experience with boys, love, etc.) While I do not think much of her acting, I do believe that Kristen Stewart is a much-better-than-average looking girl. This is a particularly a problem because of the next hurdle:

2. The Un-humanly Attractive Conundrum: In the fictional world that Meyer has created, one of the natural endowments of Mormon vampires is that they are unnaturally attractive. More attractive than a normal human. This is a difficulty on screen because Mormon vampires are, unfortunately, played by normal human actors. This was a concern in casting, apparently, because the casting of Edward Cullen took the consideration of 1000 actors. Unfortunately, Robert Pattinson is not un-humanly attractive (I don't care HOW attractive you might THINK he is--he doesn't look like a god). Nor are any of the other actors/actresses playing vampires in this film. Worse yet, they are not necessarily more attractive than Stewart herself. Especially troubling is the casting of Nikki Reed as Rosalie Hale. Reed is not stunningly beautiful, perhaps not even more beautiful than Stewart herself. This makes the awe of the student population of Forks HS and Bella's intimidation much less believable on screen than in the novels.

3. The Perils of First Person Narrative: Twilight, the book, is narrated in the first person by Bella herself. This is important for many reasons, not the least of which is that she controls the perspective and tone of the narrative. Bella is a detached, disaffected, emotionally flat character. As annoying as I have sometimes found this as I have read the novels, I realize after seeing the movie that her voice is essential to the consistency and success of the tone. The books seem very, very serious to me. There is a feeling of dread, danger, and melancholy that is pervasive throughout the series--which I think accounts for much of the romantic tension between Bella and Edward. It is one of the few things that makes Edward, or Bella's unhealthy obsession with him, remotely believable.

While screenwriter Melissa Rosenberg has given a nod to Bella's narration with some strategically placed voiceover, the camera (and director) necessarily becomes the narrator of this story when it is translated to film. Through the camera lens the perspective widens and the audience sees that Bella's world contains a far more wide-ranging emotional landscape than the novel suggests. The humor in the first half of the film (almost all of which emanates from Bella's peer group at school) is a result of the fact that the camera captures the reality of a high school experience that Bella herself cannot convey because she is either self-absorbed (in the first part of the novel), or preoccupied with Edward (in the second half). This myopic picture of Bella's world is actually more conducive to the suspension of disbelief because the dark and weighty tone allows the reader to enter a world in which eternal love and noble vampires might exist. The injection of "reality" provided by the perspective of the camera only serves to remind the viewer that Edward and his kind (not to mention the all-consuming, yet virginal, passion between Edward and Bella) cannot possibly exist in our world.

These were jarring problems for me, and made it impossible for me to fully enjoy or get lost in this film (something which, in the most ideal of circumstances, is not easy for me to do).

There is one element I'd like to praise the film for though. I did not even realize myself how specifically I had pictured the setting of the story. This probably should not be so surprising, given the fact that it is one of those rare narratives that takes place in my backyard. But I was pleased that so much of the background of the film looked exactly like I had imagined (with only one notable exception). They did get the feel of the NW--particularly the more rural NW--down beautifully. And there are a couple of stunningly beautiful (dark and rainy!) shots of Multnomah Falls.

Ultimately none of my thoughts about the film matter much, since, as J-Bro has commented, I wasn't the audience for this film in the first place. The people it was produced for--my teenage cousin and Jamie, who is a self-professed fangirl--loved it. Fair enough. Truly satisfying things in this world are few and far between--I'm glad that they loved it.

See. Not mean.

Woe is she

Today I let myself get dragged into a conversation about the lack of female representation in national politics and then I got mad and stomped my feet. In class.

I don't think that is very professional of me--do you?

And one more thing

Today is the 17th anniversary of my independent driving life. I have been a driver now longer than I was not a driver. This seems worth noting.

Why would I remember this date? Fittingly, I got my driver's license on my mother's birthday, the year that I was 16. And today is her birthday. (I know, she's a Scorpio. Scary, huh?) I say it is fitting because I might still not have a license if it were not for the fact that she threatened to ground me until I got it. See, because I was a terrible, terrible driver. And I had older friends who all agreed to drive me around. But my parents had to pick up the slack, and apparently they didn't appreciate it so much. So that's why, 9 months after my 16th, she had to take drastic measures.

I passed my test, but I shouldn't have (I turned left off a one way street from the center lane, which should have meant an automatic failure). When I got back, I could see that she was clearly happier about it than I was. She made me drive to my dad's office to tell him and I drove off the parking lot in his old work car--a white Oldsmobile Cutlass which became known as "Bessie" in honor of her cow-like qualities. (Lumbering, slow, a propensity to think for a long time before starting.)

Anyway, in typical Karen fashion she made me a driver by shoving me into it. And I'm better for it. (Let's face it, we're all better for it.) Happy birthday to her.

A Note for OMD

If he is reading--

I didn't want to take up more space on YOUR blog, but I did want to say that, upon further reflection, I'd add both Paul Rudd and James Garner to my fantasy dinner party. The guest list already includes (and these picks should be no surprise to anyone), Henry Rollins, Chuck Klosterman, Kevin Smith, Crispin Glover and Jim Rome. I would put HR and CK on different ends of the table, of course, and JR near CK, since I can see JR being a controversial figure (based on anecdotal information about the propensity of smart guys to hate him, and based on the fact that I know from reading CK that he doesn't mind him so much). I'd put JG at the head of the table, and PR in the middle, since he seems like a guy who could bring people together.

If I made too much, I'd also invite Seth Green, although I know that he'd be an afterthought.

Please don't anyone post a comment about how there are no women on this list. I am aware that I am a traitor to my gender. But this is MY fantasy dinner party. You can invite Jane Addams to yours.

Diagnose This

Before I begin, let me extend an apology to those of you who don't watch House. You are not going to be interested in this post at all.

If you are still reading, I beg you to explain to me what is going on with this show. Because I am sincerely and completely baffled. I just don't understand it anymore.

Listen, I was a huge fan of House before the first episode even aired. I have been a Hugh Laurie fan since about 1993, when I saw him in the relatively horrible AIDS flick Peter's Friends (he was my favorite friend of Peter). I read his book The Gun Seller (a book I believe he only wrote to keep up with friend and comedy partner Stephen Fry, who turned his hand to fiction first). I even admit to occasionally popping Stewart Little into the DVD player to get a little Hugh-Laurie-in-bowtie action. (Actually, I've been trying to convince Ella that she really likes that movie so that I don't feel so creepy about watching it. But she isn't playing along.) SOOOO when I saw the previews for House--interesting premise, great supporting cast, dead-on American accent, and amazingly consistent limp--I knew it was a show I would enjoy. And I have enjoyed it, pretty regularly, for 5 seasons now. Although the show is ultimately formulaic, the relationships between the characters and the clever last-minute saves have kept me and interested and avid viewer.

I was somewhat concerned at the end of the 3rd season when the concluding episode left House without any of the original members of his team, and, for all intents and purposes, without a love interest. But, being a television viewer well versed in hour-long drama conventions, I assumed one of two things would happen at the beginning of the 4th season: either House would find some way to regroup the team (or at least a part thereof), or all three actors (Jennifer Morrison, Omar Epps, Jesse Spencer) would leave the show. After all, these seemed like the only conventional and, therefore, plausible resolutions. Well, mea culpa, people. I lived through the Bobby-Ewing-in-the-shower-it-was-all-a-dream Dallas season 10 opener, so I should have known that these television writers are sometimes a dodgy lot.

When it became clear that, in addition to a huge group of potential new team members, Chase, Cameron, and Foreman would continue to be written into scripts, I assume that the arrangement would be a temporary one (a la MI-5 cast member departures, which have generally occurred mid-season). And here we are, 8 episodes into the 2nd season after the dissolution of the original team, and CCF continue to appear.

Herein lies my first source of confusion. Although Omar Epps's character plays a fairly well-exposed role as the assistant leader of House's new diagnostic team, he has not been given much of a story line, or much character development, in the last 2 seasons. With the weird exception of last week's episode, Jennifer Morrison and Jesse Spencer have only been given a few minutes of screen time (often together) an episode.

WHY? First of all, why would these actors continue on with the show in such diminished capacities? Only two reasons come immediately to mind. 1) Money. 2) The promise of new developments for their characters over time. I hate believing that any of these actors would stay solely for the money (since their new roles on the show amount to a demotion), let alone all of them staying solely for monetary reasons. On the other hand, I hate waiting for the other plot shoe to drop. Are they going to leave? OR is something very dramatic going to happen to make them central once again? Do I continue to keep Cameron (a character of whom I have always been fond) at a distance, believing that she will eventually REALLY leave the show? Do I invest any more effort in disliking Chase and wanting him to return down under, if he is just going on marry Cameron and take her off to another teaching hospital? There is too much tension--too many expectations--for me to be comfortable in my relationships with these characters. I just can't see where this is all going, and that makes me nervous.

Then there is House's relationship with Cuddy. Although I joked with Laura all of last season about how badly LC wanted to get with Greg, now that it is sort of happening, I feel a little icky about it. It feels slightly incestuous, not to mention inappropriate, given their professional relationship. And, of course, I am gun shy about any sparring partners getting together on a television show after the whole recent season 5 Moonlighting debacle.

Further, and this is probably the most complicated thing of all, the potential relationship has made me realize how much I dislike House, which is making it harder and harder for me to watch the show. Because the fact is, I like Cuddy. And I maybe even relate to her a little. (Not the successful and hot parts, but some of the other.) And I have realized that I fundamentally am worried for her emotional safety in a relationship with House. And THAT has made me realize that I don't have a lot of faith that he is a decent guy underneath it all. There are several things that have eroded that faith: his dealings with Wilson this season, his lack of any meaningful connection with his new team, his on-going quest to humiliate Cameron (especially since I am now convinced that he is no longer doing it because he has complicated feelings about her). But the biggest problem is USA. That's right. House marathons are to blame. When I only see him once a week, and have summers off, it is really easy for me to romanticize House. To think that he is just too smart for his own good, or a man with demons, or a rough exterior with a soft inner core. When I watch episodes on end though, I am confronted by the stark reality of Gregory House: he's an asshole all the time. And there is rarely any evidence that there is anything going on inside of him. And when that evidence does present itself, it is usually immediately undone.

It's too much unpleasantness. As much as I like the idea of him, the reality of him (and I realize the sad irony of using the word "reality" to describe a fictional character I am taking WAY too seriously), is too much for me. And I can't see my way to thinking that it would be a good thing for Lisa Cuddy.

So where does this leave me? I've become, increasingly, aware of a deep conflict. I am a House fan who can hardly bring myself to watch the show any longer. I'll watch it tonight, but through the cracks between my fingers, which will be over my eyes.

Tell me I'm wrong, fellow House fans. Give me a reason to believe again.

The Election

Thank G-- it is over.

2012 is too soon. I need at least 10 years off from political ads.

Doughnut Drama

So, because I know you are wondering how the doughnut experiment went on Halloween night, I am providing you with a little update. They were great. Typically doughnuts are my least favorite of all sweet things--the sweet thing that I am least likely to chase down. (My preferences are as follows, in case you care: Cookies, Pie, Candy of the Chocolate variety, Pudding-like things, Cake without much icing, Doughnuts, Cake with a lot of icing. I don't like icing much.) But I have always thought that it looked fun to make them. And, indeed, it is. Doughnut making includes some of my favorite baking and cooking processes: making dough, rolling out dough, cutting shapes out of dough (in this case with an Easter egg cookie cutter and an apple corer), and FRYING. This frying is foolproof. Heat the oil to 375 degrees, slip in the dough, wait about 30 seconds and flip. It couldn't be easier, really.

They were just plain raised doughnuts with an orange glaze. Not too sweet--since all the sweet comes from the glaze. And they were small and warm. Lovely, really. But, as Marcus found out, you have to be there to take part in the doughnut experience. Homemade doughnuts don't have much of a shelf life, and they really are best experienced right after they are fried.

It sounds great right? I bet you are wondering where the drama comes in. Well--just as I was firing up the fryer, the power went out. Everyone else thought this was really fun. But I was pissed. So we all ran around lighting candles, and the trick-or-treating part of our group returned to the house about 15 minutes later. We had about 20 people over--eating and talking and drinking cider in the dark. Not surprisingly, I sulked and did dishes.

But the lights eventually came back on, and I got to have my fun, and the doughnuts were considered a success, even though Ella thinks that I need to try chocolate.

Halloween History & Philosophy, Make-Ready Style

It is Halloween y'all. And if you live in the Pacific NW, you know what that means. After a week of lovely, lovely fall weather and unseasonably warm (low 70s) temperatures, it turned suddenly cold and rainy last night--just in time to secure the tradition of big bulky coats obscuring cool costumes, turtlenecks under princess dresses, and dads carrying big golf umbrellas and travel mugs. I know that I am sometimes given to hyperbolic statements, but believe me when I tell you that I can't remember a Halloween when my hopes for decent trick or treating weather were not dashed at the last minute. I remember one year it was so windy that I kept considering the possibility that I might actually blow away. (You know, like Piglet in the Blustery Day story.)

Luckily I was blessed with a mother who downplayed the whole dressing up thing, and played up the getting candy thing, so I was often dressed fairly last minute in a costume that I didn't care very much about. My mom dressed us for comfort and warmth: sensible shoes for maxium distance, layers for optimal heat. Even our trick or treating routes through the neighborhood were carefully planned so that we could do half the neighborhood, come back home and drop the candy we'd received (and maybe have a hot chocolate) and then head back out with a lighter load, but without having lost valuable time or energy due to backtracking.

The costume was never the thing. And so costumes could be functional. And since my parents' planning resulted in fairly large candy stashes every year, my brothers and I were not likely to complain. It was clear that they had a plan for success. This explains why I allowed my mother to dress me, for instance, as a lumberjack (complete with a full black makeup beard) when I was 7, and also why I was never a princess, a bride, a fairy OR a female superhero. It may also explain why I absolutely refuse to costume myself now. The only reason to do it in the first place was to fleece my neighbors of their sweets. Once the opportunity to do that passed, there was never a good reason to do it again. (Well, once. I DID wear a costume for the Spirit Week pep assembly lip synch contest my junior year in high school--devoted readers might remember this story--but that is the only time I have put on a costume since the last time I went trick or treating. When I was 12.)

But don't misunderstand me. I'm not all, "Bah, Humbat" about Halloween. I celebrated by baking cookies for my classes and showing them episodes of Making Fiends. And tonight the family will gather, and Blake will probably carve some pumpkins, and my mom will make some fondue, and the kids will run around and scream and eat too much sugar and stay up too late. And I am going to try my hand at doughnut making--since homemade doughnuts seem like a seasonal kind of foodstuff.

But I'm not passing out candy, whipping up maple frosting, playing with baby Hank (in a giraffe costume, no less!), or eating liquid cheese in a costume. And I'm certainly staying indoors.

Speaking of

Qwanty and social networking sites. I told her a long time ago that I would write on the following subject. Maybe now is the time.

So, there were these two guys that I knew growing up--Stace and Lance. They were older guys (probably 5 years older) who lived in the neighborhood. They were enough older than me that I never really had much to do with them, although I think that they stole money from me the one time that I had a lemonade stand with my 1st brother (the one who Qwanty likes to call "Rimmy"). Anyway, L & S were the kind of neighborhood guys who remained friends all the way through high school. And they were seniors when I was a freshman. This was the first time since elementary school that I was anywhere where I'd see them on a regular basis.

Coincidentally, freshman year is when I met Qwanty, who ended up having a crush on Stace.* Now, don't hold this against her. I think that we had a silent pact in high school to split all the guys we knew down the middle so that between the two of us we had crushes on most of the male population of CHS.** I did think that this particular crush was ridiculous though. And you will soon see why.

You may be thinking that this is just a nostalgic post, but I'm giving you background so that you can understand why this is particularly silly.

Here's the deal. A few months ago, while hoping that a very old crush of mine could be found on Facebook (no such luck!), I came across Stace's Facebook page. And curiosity dictated that I check out a website dedicated to this guy and his apparent wife. I find this website shocking. I mean, G-- knows that I've got enough internet presence to not throw stones, but, really? They have their own swag? I can order a tank top with a picture of Stace as a child with the word "player" written across it? I can contact Heidi about her semi-precious stone jewelry? Or I can book Stace to DJ at my next blowout? I can check out their latest theme party and/or vaca pictures?

I don't even know what to say about this kind of bizarre self-promotion. I mean, we probably could have predicted something like this. This website seems completely in keeping with his personality. Here' s the problem. Thirty years ago, a guy like Stace would have been the type to invite people over to his house to have dinner, look at 400 slides of his last cruise to Greece, and then maybe listen to a pitch for the latest multi-level marketing scheme in which he was involved. Now this personality can bring his special kind of self-absorption to the whole world via the internets.

Listen, I'll continue to write pointless, self-indulgent, and sometimes snarky posts--but I promise you--dear readers--no coffee mugs with pictures of a young KRD with the word "princess" underneath.

*She also, and for the life of me I can't remember why she did this, drew a picture of Lance at one point. It was amazing, because it looked exactly like him, but also exactly like Mozart at the same time. It was a picture of Mance, or Lozart. I still have it in my dusty, dusty archives.

**I think that we only overlapped once. On Chris Clark, of all people. But I've written about that before.

Just for Qwanty

And to thank you for making me feel better, here's something just for you.

Behind the Curve

Am I the only person in America who didn't know that the Hall and Oates song "Maneater" was written about Kelly LeBrock?

I feel like a pop culture fraud.

Officially.

Thanks for the comments, guys.

I actually feel like the two comments on my last post deserve a post of their own. So, here are my thoughts.

Felisa: I can't remember ever really disagreeing with you, about anything, ever. But I have to disagree about the Pitt. Going the way of Redford does, indeed, mean aging badly. My theory on this is very simple, if you are a too-pretty man (and this seems to particularly afflict blondes for some reason) you may be a beautiful young man, but you are not likely to age well. I have never been a big Brad Pitt fan and I have said for years that I thought that his looks would not hold up over time. Here is where I must really disagree with you--although I have not seen the film yet (Burn Before Reading), I have seen the previews both on TV and on the big screen. And I don't think that the guy's skin looks good. He looks sort of haggard and he's starting to look weathered. And not in a good Steve-McQueen-Paul-Newman (rest his soul)-Clint-Eastwood kind of way. But in a sad, I-remember-how-good-looking-he-was-in-The-Natural Robert Redford kind of way. Except I never really thought all that highly of the Pitt.

OMD: Yes, I have heard the same rumor about Dr. Pepper promising every American (with the exception of Slash and Buckethead. Which is pretty funny.) a free can of soda if Chinese Democracy actually would come out in 2008. I didn't repeat the story because:

1. I don't know if it is true, or some kind of weird urban legend. And I don't like being responsible for the propagation of an urban legend.

2. I can't imagine how Dr. Pepper would go about distributing a free can of Dr. Pepper to every American.

3. I only care about the story if they will give me my choice of a diet Dr. Pepper. But I kind of doubt it, since diet soda pop is not very rock n roll.

I do think that the whole thing is pretty funny--even if (or especially if) it is all a big hoax. If it isn't, I do think that we should hold Dr. Pepper responsible for the offer.

Now that I think about it, I wouldn't put it past Axl Rose to have finally allowed the album out of the box just to call Dr. Pepper's bluff.

Ok, but really, Dr. Pepper?!!? It's just so freaking random.

Chinese Democracy: Bad Music for All

Gosh. I just realized that I really haven't written much in the last month or so. I've felt a real lack of inspiration, I guess.

But then I heard that the long-awaited (15+ years?) Guns n' Roses album Chinese Democracy is finally and officially being released on November 23rd, 2008.

There are a few things that I have really looked forward to happening in my lifetime: the uncovering of the identity of Deep Throat (that ended up being a little bit of a let down), the election of a black Pope (not yet, but I still have my fingers crossed), a woman in the White House (no comment), the inevitable aging of Brad Pitt (he's totally going Redford right before our eyes), and the release of Chinese Democracy, which I believe will prove to be the biggest musical train wreck, maybe ever.

Consider:

1. This is only a Guns n' Roses project if you believe that Axl Rose is Guns n' Roses. Rose has worked with, literally, scores of musicians on this project including several ex-members of GNR, Dave Navarro, Buckethead, Brian May, and everyone's favorite celebreality television whore, Sebastian Bach. There are various reports about who actually has ended up on the album, but with so many different musicians (and probably hundreds of mixes), I really question whether the album can attain any kind of coherence.

2. In every clip I have seen of any GNR or Axl Rose solo performance in the last 10 years, it has been incredibly clear that Rose has lost both vocal power and range. He's pushing 50, and just doesn't have the pipes he used to have.

3. This recording has been plagued with problems, not the least of which is that Rose is a "perfectionist" (see more on this in item 4), and has rerecorded and remixed every song on the album over and over and over again.

4. Axl Rose is mentally ill. I'm not sure what his DSM diagnosis is, but he is, by turns, reclusive, paranoid, megalomaniacal. And he is the "genius" behind Chinese Democracy. Good times.

5. Finally--and this is the most awesome thing about this "masterpiece"--CD is only going to be available at Best Buy. This is terrific. For all of Rose's blustering about what an artiste he is, and what an important work of art CD is, the fact that he has an exclusive deal with Best Buy shows him for the shameless self-promoting, money-grubbing hack that he is. No one can convince me that Best Buy is rock n roll.

Luckily, I won't have to buy myself a copy of the album, as I am sure that my little brother won't be able to hold himself back. After all, I just want to listen once. And then I want to read reviews. And then I want to laugh. And then. And then I'll be looking for something else to look forward to.

HA HA, USC.

Hey guys. Sorry about the most recent hiatus. I have been horribly sick, and started work, which means leaving the house by 6 am every morning. I have not had to do this since--um--I've NEVER had to do this. Not even in high school, when we started at an ungodly 7:15 or something like that.

Needless to say, I have not been feeling very energetic or inspired.

However, I could not possibly go to bed tonight without adding my CONGRATS! to the Beavs, who managed to do two of the only things that can make me happy in the realm of college football.

1. They have screwed with the BCS poll in a big way for this coming week, and in a Thursday night game, no less. And live on ESPN. The only thing I really love about college football is a good upset, particularly one delivered by the Ducks or Beavers.

2. They managed to pull said upset on USC, which is the one team in all of college football that I actively hate (as opposed to the simmering antipathy I have for the vast majority of programs).

Well done, gentlemen.

Between this post and my last one, I think that I have blown all of my sports opinions for the whole year, so something different next time. I'll give you a teaser about what I'm thinking, so you can look forward with great and eager anticipation.

For those of you who can't get enough
Here's a future blog hint, though it's rough:

He's gathered great fame,
But I don't know his name--
Is it Diddy or Daddy or Puff?

Check back!

Portland Loves

Greg Oden.

On Monday, Mikey, of the J variety, sent me this, with the comment "How can you not love this guy?" I thank Mike for thinking of me and for sending this along. But I would have seen or heard it anyway, because it has been all over Portland media.

Originally, because of my ties to Texas athletics (the fact that I was mentoring in study hall the same time that the men's basketball team served study hall), I was sort of sorry that the Blazers didn't get Kevin Durant. I thought it would be especially cool to see two former UT players (Durant and LaMarcus Aldridge) in Portland, since I'm always looking for ways to feel like my two most recent worlds are colliding. I was, and I'm ashamed to say it now, disappointed to see the Blazers draft Greg Oden instead--even more so when the news came that Oden would not play his first season due to knee surgery.

No offence or disrespect to Kevin Durant. But, boy, was I wrong.

And I say the following with absolute sincerity: I have never, ever cared as much about any professional athlete as I care about Greg Oden. And I am including that strange crush I had on Andre Aggassi in 1991 that caused me to actually put up a poster of him in my bedroom (a dubious honor that he shares only with Johnny Depp--circa 21 Jump Street, Elvis, and the Beatles). Greg Oden is a cool freaking guy. He sings 'N Sync in front of hundreds of kids, badly. He talks to Barack Obama on the telephone and then goes on RIB to talk about the experience. He writes a blog, which is charming and silly as hell (if you only read one recent entry, read the one about him going to see Kanye West and Rihanna). And while you are looking at this material, consider this: THIS may be (is, in fact, likely to be) the next monster superstar of the NBA. He is a goofy, down-to-earth, self-conscious kid. And Portland is already in love with him, before we've seen him play a single NBA game, in spite of the fact that we already have a team full of great young guys who we AlSO love. Hell, I saw the guy riding in a truck during the Jr. Rose Festival Parade in June and had to hold myself back from running onto Sandy Boulevard to give him a big ol' hug. And you people know how I feel about hugs.

Those of you who are not from Portland may not understand how meaningful this team, and this particular player, are to this city. The Blazers are all that we've got--no other professional sports teams. Our state universities are represented by duck and beaver mascots. With the exception of some great runners (moment of silence for Pre) and a surprising recent run by the OSU Baseball team, we sort of know that we can't really compete--or at least can't often compete--in the realm of sports. We are the city equivalent of the kid who always gets picked last in P.E. So this is an exciting year for us. It is the chance (or the beginning of the chance) for Portland to play--hell--to compete--with the big dogs. And, because we believe in the character of this player, and the players of this team generally, we can do it without feeling a loss of integrity.

And that is why Portland loves Greg Oden.

Teaser

True story. Last night I got a text message from J-Bro that consisted of the word blog typed over and over again. This is not the first time she has pressured me. My recent writing hiatus has also prompted promptings from other readers.

The good (?) news is that I have a list of things that I have been needing to blog about. (And I use the term "need" very loosely.) Now that part of my employment picture is settled for the next few months, I have the time/energy to devote to the Make-Ready.

However, at this very moment, I have limited time--so I'll just provide this little nugget and promise you more to follow.

Earlier this week I went to see Vicky Cristina Barcelona with Keri T. I thought the film was totally delightful (maybe more on that later). But something really funny happened while we were there. When we entered the theater, we were the only patrons. But by the time the film started there were about 4 other parties seated. The most interesting of these was a group of 4 seemingly straight guys in their mid-twenties. As soon as they walked in, I started to wonder about how THAT came about. How did this group of guys decide to see this movie together on a Tuesday night? Weird, right?

As I was puzzling it out, the trailers started. The second or third trailer was for that remake of The Women. You know, the one with every female actress in the world in it. This is not a film that I am going to see. And I would bet that it isn't a film that Keri T. is going to see either. But we sat quietly and patiently during the trailer. At the end of it, however, one of the 4 guys in front of us said, a little too loudly, "I'd rather slit my wrists . . . "

The other guys laughed kind of quietly, but I laughed not quietly at all. Because that is funny. Not funny because it was really witty or anything. But funny because this guy apparently is the kind of guy who WOULDN'T see The Women, but WOULD come see V C B with 3 of his buddies on a Tuesday night.

I appreciated the unintentional irony.

(And before I get a bunch of comments that make this point--I sort of figured out the motivation eventually. These guys clearly expected the film to have significant girl on girl action--involving Scarlett Johansson and Penelope Cruz. Hmmm. That had to be sort of a disappointment.)

Brideshead Revisited, Visited

At the chalet with my sister-in-law, mom and the kidlets. We have not been able to pry E away from the water. If we are at hanging at the chalet she wants to be in the hot tub, and if we go out, she just wants to be at one of the pools. That kid is a water baby. As it turns out, her little brother may be as well. Mom and Joy put him in the hot tub yesterday and I guess he was in heaven. He likes to do a little splashing. Good for him.

But that is not primarily why I'm here, because I know that most of you don't need the daily E & H report. I'm here to talk about the fact that, once Joy got the kids down for the night, we headed into Bend to see Brideshead Revisited. Joy is a big fan of the British costume drama, so she's the perfect date for a film like this. Add to that the fact that no one else in the Bend/Redmond area felt the need to see this film at 10 pm on a Monday night, and you have the set up for a good time. We were alone in the theatre and could talk all we wanted through it (also I was not horribly embarrassed when I knocked over a box of plain M & Ms and they scattered all over the floor during a particularly tense moment in the film. Although Joy did laugh at me for about 10 minutes.).

I'm going to confess that I have only ever read one Evelyn Waugh novel, and that is Handful of Dust. If you have read Handful of Dust (or seen the absolutely ridiculous 1988 film version with Kristin Scott Thomas, James Wilby and Rupert Graves), you may understand why I stopped there. It is, in my opinion, a profoundly stupid story.

But now I want to read Brideshead.

Let me back up. For those of you who do not know the story, Brideshead Revisted is about a young man--Charles (Matthew Goode)--with desires to become an artist, who gets sent up to Oxford to read History. He meets a rich, charismatic, gay (and Catholic, as it turns out) fellow student--Sebastian Flyte (Ben Wishaw)--who takes him to his huge country house, Brideshead. Charles falls in love with the house, it's vast collection of mostly Italian and Catholic-themed art, and the wine cellar. Oh, and he sort of develops a thing for Sebastian's sister Julia (Hayley Atwell, who is beautifully curvy. Side note--I think that it takes away from sex scenes when an actress is so tiny and fragile looking that you spend the whole time worrying about the fact that the other actor is going to crush her to death. And yes, I'm thinking specifically of Keira Knightley in Atonement. I mean, broken hips just aren't sexy.). Meanwhile, Sebastian clearly is falling in love with Charles. There is no sex, but lots and lots of British sexual tension. YAY! So far, this is all sort of conventional--even a little predictable.

Anyhoo. Sebastian and Julia's scary uber-Catholic mother (Emma Thompson) makes certain demands of Charles regarding his friendship with her son, and sends the whole love triangle to Italy. (Clearly she had never read Forester, or James, or any other English novels of the period. Or she would have known that this could only end badly . . . ) But in many ways, this is less of a conventional love triangle story, and more of a story about belief--religious beliefs, beliefs about oneself, beliefs about others. And, maybe even more than that, it is about the doubt that accompanies those beliefs. The most interesting relationship in the film is the one between Charles and Lady Flyte--because it functions both on the level of a personal relationship, and one in which both people involved stand for a particular set of beliefs and worldviews. There is tension between those two levels of interaction.

Here is why I feel like I have to read the novel now: the film suggests very complicated ideas about these issues, but doesn't explore them in a way that I found totally satisfying. The ending felt open-ended to me in a way that made me wonder if the book actually does a better job of philosophizing. I want to see if there is more, well, direct discussion of this tension, or if the book leaves most of that discussion to the plot itself. (As the film does.) I will let you know. It's on my reading list now.

Two other necessary, but slightly less weighty comments--I can't NOT mention the fact that Matthew Goode is extraordinarily good looking. He also is a pretty subtle actor. Or maybe he can't act. I'd like to see what else he is going to do before I decide. But he is a beautiful, beautiful man. As my sister-in-law pointed out, he really grows on you too. At first you just think, "that's a hot man," but as the film progresses, he becomes sort of unbelievably hot. Good for him!

Second. There is a small part, played by character actor Patrick Malahide, of Charles' father. I'm not going to characterize this part, because it is small, but delightful, and I don't want to give anything about it away. But Joy and I agreed that he was one of our favorite elements of the film.

Real Time Report

I am currently sitting at a coffee shop staring at a man who is a dead ringer for a fitter version of Brando at 60. He doesn't talk like him though, which is good, because I'm tripped out enough already by the physical similarities.

Also, a weather report for those of you not in Portland right now. It's raining like crazy, and it is gray and cold. I think it is only about 66 degrees out right now. It looks like it could be anytime between late October and April. But not August.

But I'm not complaining. Just reporting.

"I'm a lead farmer"

Although my goal when I left the house this afternoon was to find someplace where I could be productive and get some work done, I was undone by a phone call from Mikey J, who invited me to see an afternoon showing of Tropic Thunder with him and his new squeeze. My work was not fun. Tropic Thunder, on the other hand, sounded really fun.

And it was.

But maybe not for the reasons that I thought. Because, it is my opinion--and before I write this I just want to say that this is perhaps the most unlikely sentence to ever issue forth from my fingertips--that the performances by Matthew McConaughey and Tom Cruise are reasons enough to see this film.* Because these performances are very, very strange. And they would suggest that both actors have a sense of humor, something I don't tend to attribute to either of them. There is one moment in particular, when McConaughey deeply interrogates his conscience, that I think might be my favorite McConaughey moment of all time. (Of course, there aren't a lot of other moments in the running, but still.) Again, I can't believe that I'm actually writing this, but I'm ultimately very glad that Owen Wilson went all nutty and the McConaughey had to take his place. I think that it was smart of the studio to keep Cruise and the un-shirted one out of the previews. Too often the best jokes end up in the previews, ruining the few really good comedic moments in the film.

Um. Yeah. And that's all I really have to say about it. The thing that made me laugh the hardest I can't really write about, because it would give something worthwhile away. So, that's it.

Oh yeah, and did anyone else think that Downey looks strangely like Jude Law with the weird blue contacts and blonde hair? Cuz that is who he looked like to me . . .

*And, for the record, I am not primarily talking about the dancing, which is more disturbing than anything else.

HA!

I just realized that I should have given that last entry the title, "Tag, You're It."

Well, there you go, J-to-the-bro. You're it.

Bottom of the Barrel

Sadly, my current status as unemployed, housebound loser presents me with a paradox. On the one hand, I have almost unlimited time to blog. On the other, I am having virtually no experiences, and therefore have nothing to blog about. I mean, do any of you really want to hear about the five episodes of Intervention (a show that I find totally reprehensible, yet can't get enough of) I watched on Monday? Or about my short shopping trip to New Seasons with Miss E last night that led to the purchase of many potatoes and two loaves of bread? I thought not. It is, all things considered, a sad state of affairs.

Yet some of you (no names) believe that I should be writing anyway--

So I'll say a little something about J-bro's recent challenge to me to watch A & E's inexplicable The Two Coreys. If you don't know about this show, a short introduction: it is a half hour "reality" (I mean the quotation marks here) show in which Corey Feldman (of Lost Boys, License to Drive and Dream a Little Dream fame) and Corey Haim (of Lost Boys, License to Drive and Dream a Little Dream fame) perform their on-again-off-again-but-mostly-off-again best friend routine while Feldman's wife fans the flames and poses nude for Playboy. There is also something about the Corey's making Lost Boys III--a terrible idea--and couple's therapy (for Corey and Corey).

I have watched this show. More specifically, I have watched about 5 episodes of the current season. I have seen no episodes from the first season. I have only done this at the request of J-bro, whose taste I usually respect.

It's not even that this show is terrible (and it is). The larger problem is that I just don't understand it. Not at all. There is so much more unknown than known, that every time I watch it I end up more confused than I was before. I'm pretty sure that isn't how it is supposed to work. I'm just going to provide a list of some of the vexing questions raised by this show:

1. The format: Why is the show only a half hour long when A & E just runs 2 episodes back-to-back every week to make what is, essentially, an hour long show?

2. The believability factor: How does A & E expect audiences to continue to ride the roller coaster when one Corey or the other is constantly saying, "This is it. The end of my friendship with Corey. We're done. I'm done." (Both Coreys say this 2-3 times an episode--each.)

3. The therapist: Part One) Where did they find a therapist who would agree to conduct therapy sessions (individual, couple, family) on camera. Part Two) Why does this woman appear to still have a license to practice?

4. The drugs: Apparently Haim is on drugs. That makes sense given his behavior (unless he is actually acting. I don't put it past him.), and his puffy appearance and the fact that Feldman thought that he needed an intervention. But what drugs? And where is he getting them? And why is there no drug taking on film?

5. The mysterious brown liquid with ice cubes: Haim is constantly (and I do mean CONSTANTLY) drinking some mysterious brown liquid out of large plastic cups. It happens so often that it is distracting. To make matters worse, his assistant Nelle now also drinks the mysterious brown liquid. Out of slightly smaller cups.

6. The missing child: Um. Feldman and wife Susie have a kid (his name is--I looked this up on IMDB--Zen) but he is never seen on camera. Nor is there any indication that there is a child on the set. Nor do I think I have ever heard either Feldman or Susie mention their offspring. Apparently this child is 4. The only reason I even know anything about him is that J-bro mentioned him. That's messed up.

7. Art: Who told Haim that he could paint? Because he can't. What he does seem to do is buy a lot of painting equipment which he throws around a lot when he is upset. And sometimes paint does land on some canvases, but I'm pretty sure that it isn't painting. And then there is usually some cigarette smoking after the throwing around of the paint paraphernalia. Haim does the smoking, not KRD.

8. Hair: Am I supposed to want to see Susie Feldman straight-ironing her hair at least once an episode? If so, why?

These questions just begin to scratch the surface. This show is confusing. Worst of all, I have no idea why I'm supposed to care about these guys. I didn't like them when we were kids--Lucas notwithstanding, and let's be honest, I only like that flick because of Charlie-on-top-of-the-dryer-with-no-shirt-on-Sheen.

I'm sure that J-bro will be able to clear some of this up for us. I look forward to that. In the meantime I wish to add:

Listen, I bet that most of us secretly cared more about Cory Matthews than whiny Kevin Arnold. At least Cory had the stones to really have a relationship with Topanga. And we all know that Topanga was waaaay cuter than Winnie. She even had better hair (and that's no small feat). The only reason I ever really watched that show was in hopes that Karen (the fantabulous Olivia d'Abo) would show and have a meaty part.

Young @ Heart

So, as many of you know, I am lucky to have marvelously fabulous parents. Tonight I went out on the town with them--to see a film (Young at Heart) and out for a bite to eat at the always satisfying Doug Fir. How many of you have ever gone to eat and drink somewhere with your parents where they were asked to present their inner right wrist for a stamp? I appreciate that I have parents who are up for that sort of thing.

Young at Heart is a documentary about a senior citizen's choir based in Northampton, MA. Their repertoire consists of punk, rock and r & b hits, with some gratuitous Talking Heads songs thrown in for good measure (apparently the choir's director, Bob Cilman, is a big David Byrne fan. Go figure). They give concerts in Noho, and tour Europe yearly, wearing jeans and white tuxedo shirts, reinterpreting popular music, and even performing a little choreography. The film follows the group for six weeks, as they prepare for a spring concert and learn new music that includes James Brown's "I Feel Good", Allen Toussaint's "Yes We Can", "Fix You" by Coldplay, and--inexplicably--Sonic Youth's "Schizophrenia". Filmmaker Stephen Walker profiles a half dozen of the members, letting his audience get close to them through interviews, home (and hospital) visits and long scenes in the rehearsal hall. There are also 3 or 4 music videos featuring the group peppered throughout the film.

It may be true that I am much more forgiving--nay--even welcoming--of schmaltz in non fiction films than in fictional ones. This film is poignant, sweet, funny and, ok, I'll admit it, inspiring. What becomes very clear over the course of the film is that these committed men and women live, often literally, for this music and for this group of people. It's a movie about the love of performance, about friendship, about growing old, and about people who find a way to live up until the last moments of their lives. It made me cry, my mother clap and exclaim out loud (often), and my father grin from ear to ear. It's a great doc.

Lest you think I have just been sitting around pouting about the fact that I am a bad writer, let me tell you about the TV I watched yesterday.

1. The whole current season of Project Runway thusfar. Hey, you know what, that Suede guy needs to stop referring to himself in the third person. Seriously. I also have to admit that Blayne is growing on me. I mean, he's ridiculous and I hate all of his designs, but the guy does sort of make me laugh. And I get a kick out of his interactions with Tim.

2. Two episodes of Shear Genius. That show is AWFUL. But I saw the Charlie's Angels challenge, and I thought that Kate Jackson looked amazing. She has always been my favorite Angel. (And I've mentioned before my fondness of Mrs. King, as well.) I think maybe Bruce also likes her . . .

3. Half of Agnes of God. OK. I have a couple of questions suggested by this film. A) Why is it that certain films become late-night cable staples? I'm thinking of A of G, but also True Believer (a film that I cannot ever pass up if I come across it), A Few Good Men, An Officer and a Gentleman, The Accused. I've seen each of these films at least 5 times each. At least. But why do these films make good late-night fodder? I don't get it. B) What the hell is A of G about. In spite of the fact that I've seen it a number of times, I don't know what it is about at all. I just don't get it. I think I continue to watch it because I'm always sure that I've never finished it, and thus never got to the heart of the film. But last night I realized that I just don't understand it. C) Why do I like that scene between Anne Bancroft and Jane Fonda in the gazebo so much? I think that this scene is the other reason I can't not watch the film. D) Am I crazy to think that, if I could look like anyone in the world, I might choose Jane Fonda? The thing that is awesome about Jane Fonda is that she is very, very pretty, but in a perfectly normal kind of way. I mean, she could be just some woman that you could see in the grocery store or something. That appeals to me.

4) Three episodes of Dog the Bounty Hunter. I suppose I should be wicked ashamed of how much I love the Dog. But I've decided to embrace it. Also, I have a big crush on Duane Lee, his least-badass looking son.

That's about it. If it seems like this is a lot of TV for one girl to watch in one day, you are right. But I stayed up very late in order to accomplish it, and I was doing lots of other stuff while the TV was on--so it wasn't quite the waste of time it could have been . . .

I Don't Want to Get Pissy, But

OK. So first of all, I want to thank you if you are reading this. I think that most of you know how very, very pleasurable I find writing the blog, and how much I like the fact that you read. And comment. I especially like it when you comment because it means that this can continue to be a way for us to keep in touch.

But I am begging you--all of you--please don't criticize the grammar or the spelling in these posts. Part of the joy of writing in this format is that I don't have to worry so much about those internal editing voices. This is good for me. If I have to start worrying about you guys being the grammar and proofreading police, I'm not actually going to want to write any more. And I want to keep wanting to write. Also, please consider the following points:

1. You can bitch all you want about the content of my posts. That's great.

2. I wouldn't criticize your blog (if you have one, or if you were to have one), on the basis of your grammar, punctuation and spelling. I really wouldn't. That isn't my style.

3. I do try to proofread several times before I actually post. I don't always find my own mistakes. And sometimes I'm doing other things alongside the blogging, and I'm a little distracted. I am not trying to offend anyone's sensibilities. Not only that, but I DO think about you all a lot when I'm writing, and I try to produce content that most of you will like. And I try not to offend anyone either. So I am attentive to audience, whether you appreciate it or not.

4. You do not have to read the blog. Seriously. If it annoys you, or pisses you off, or bores you (Marcus), just don't read anymore. But please don't make me feel badly about writing. Reading is not a requirement of any of the relationships I have with any of you.

5. I am sorry that I don't have a sense of humor about this. But I really don't.

OK, that's it for now. My apologies for how un-fun and un-entertaining this post is--but sometimes a little editorial moment is necessary.

Thanks again for being my audience. I do appreciate it more than you can know.

Series Finales, Revisited

The comments* on my recent post about Moonlighting have made me think that the subject of series finales is something that deserves a little more discussion. Thank you, in particular to OMD and J-Bro for their thoughtful lists.

Here is where we stand. Everyone seems to agree that Six Feet Under wins the prize for the best ending. This is interesting (and I guess that this COULD be a spoiler if you haven't seen the whole series), given the fact that so much of what happened in the final season of the show is actually amazingly irritating. Maybe the writers tried to piss us off so that our expectations were relatively low for the end. I don't know. I'm glad to hear that we are all on the same page about this.

As to the other suggestions:

The Office (UK): I haven't seen the end of the series. But I do wonder about this--I'm not a "fan" of either version of this show, but I've watched a lot of both. Why the weird animosity amongst fans of either show? I mean, they share a general concept, but little else. I think that they both have perfectly enjoyable aspects. I don't see how liking one is mutually exclusive of liking the other. (This said, I would probably HATE it if they tried to make an "American" version of MI-5--although how do you DO that? or of Hustle.) I will finish the series and let you know what I think.

90210: I watched a lot of that g--damn show, but I DIDN'T watch until the end. It just got seriously painful. What even happened in the end? As for SBTB--are you talking about the end of the show proper, J-Bro? Or the end of The College Years? And, seriously, how long is it going to take TV writers to figure out that shows always suck when they follow characters from high school to college?

Buffy/Angel: Not a fan. Although I've seen more total episodes of Angel and I find it, in general, easier to watch.

The West Wing: Again, not a fan. I have a personal bias against this show. I defer to OMD and J-Bro.

Kids in the Hall: Good call, J-Bro, but Roswell? Seriously?

I thought about mentioning the Cheers finale in my original post. But I'm not sure if it was actually good/satisfying. It was the most "important" (whatever that means) finale of our young lives. In my own home, it was likened to the series finale of MASH, which was an almost sacred event. (At least, that is the way that I remember it.)

I thought about The Wonder Years too, but the truth is, I was mightily irritated by the end of that show. Predictably, they tried to wrap things up a little too cleanly. That didn't work for me. Of course, Kevin Arnold (both the kid and the narrative voice) never really worked for me either.

The Arrested Development finale was good, in the sense that it was consistent with the show generally.

Alright. Now, Carnivale. I don't know if I have dealt with my complicated feelings about his show in the blog before. I don't think that I've written about it. And if I did, it was in the old blog. So, here goes: I don't think that it counts in this discussion. In order to be considered as having a "good" series finale (and maybe what we should be talking about here is what criteria for evaluation of the category of "series finale"), I think that the "finale" has to be self-conscious. That is to say, the writers need to know that they are writing the end to a series. My understanding is that this was not the case for Carnivale--that the creators, cast, crew, all thought that they might be making a third season. I believe that I even heard or read somewhere that they knew which character they were going to focus on in the third season. (And I also remember thinking that I surely would have hated the direction in which they meant to take the show.) The open-endedness of the finale, which, OMD, if I am reading you correctly, is part of the reason that you thought it worked, was actually a product of the fact that no one knew that it was the end of the series. Since it was unintentional, I don't think that it can be praised as a satisfying series finale. (This, of course, is sort of a different conversation than whether, given the material conditions under which this series was produced, it "works" as a completed piece of art. It may very well--despite the intentions of its creators/producers.)

By the time Freaks and Geeks ended, did they know they weren't coming back? I liked the end of that show, as well. But I can't remember if it was an intentional finale or not.

One last thought. FSK, I understand your hesitation to get involved with shows, knowing that you may fall in love with them and then be disappointed when they end. But our relationship with TV on DVD isn't that different, at least with regard to this point, as with our relationships writ large in the world. And don't we all (or at least don't you and I?) do too much focusing on the inevitability of the decay of relationships already? Isn't this what keeps us tentative, even self-defeating, about the possibility of meeting new people and incorporating them into our lives? Maybe the lesson here is MORE TV. Maybe the relationship building that happens as we watch, and having to go through the difficult and painful (and lest any of you bitches laugh at me, think back to the end of SFU and tell me that THAT wasn't painful) separation with those shows at the end of the series, and the fact that we then go on to love another show, that all of this actually helps prepare us for real relationships in the world. When the Deadwood film comes out, I may very well avoid seeing it, or reading anything about it, for a long time. But eventually I will see it. And it will not be as painful as I think that it will be. It will not remind me of what I do not have, anymore, but rather of what Deadwood has added to my life.

Book series, by the way, serve this same function. It was very hard to convince myself to read the last Lemony Snicket book, but when I look back, I can't say that I'm not better off for having A Series of Unfortunate Events in my life. Or Gormenghast, TLOTR, Ramona, Kristin Lavransdatter, etcetera.



*With the exclusion of smart ass comments from Qwanty and Marcus about my misspelling of the word "thumb". Thanks, guys.

Cruising the American West

OK, so I feel like I should sort of apologize to you, readers, for the Yucca post. I have toyed with the idea of removing it, but Qwanty convinced me that, at the very least, it is a good reminder to us of our big night out in Tempe.

Sadly, that night kicked both of our asses, so the next day we took her lovely daughter out school clothes shopping in the afternoon, and then school supply shopping in the evening. And then we came back and lounged around while Qwanty's Brain Scientist made (and served) us a wonderful dinner. At some point, while we were in the car, Qwanty's daughter said, very somberly from the back of the minivan, "Mom. Can I ask you a question?" Qwanty said, "Of course, what's on your mind?" And then, in all seriousness, the daughter asked, "Why would anyone name their child Gaylord?" Qwanty almost drove off the road, and it took us about 5 minutes to calm down enough to even BEGIN to deal with the question.

Saturday Qwanty, the BS and the three kids went to a cabin in northern Arizona that belongs to the BS's father. I sort of followed slowly. It was great. Quiet, in the middle of the forest, and much, much cooler than it was in Phoenix. I sat on the porch with Qwanty and the BS and we talked and drank lots of wine (I did an unusually good job picking a couple of bottles) and enjoyed the cool air and a short lightening storm.

When I found out that I was only about 2 hours from the Grand Canyon, I figured that I should go. After all, it might be a while until I will have the chance again. It is not particularly fun to go to something like that on one's own, particularly on a Sunday in the middle of the summer. There are so many groups, and families, and I was uncomfortably aware of how weird it was to be there by myself. On the other hand, it was sort of nice to get to have the experience on my my terms--

Which, as it turned out, were standing on the edge and getting amazingly dizzy and thinking obsessively about falling. And then moving really fast to get away from the edge.

The drive around to the north rim is long, and not very attractive, so I didn't make great time getting out of there. It took about 4 hours to drive through the Navajo reservation, which was utterly desolate, and depressing. I was relieved to get to the Utah border (! Yes, I did, really, just say relieved.) The first town in Utah on 89 is a place called Kanab, which is one of the cutest towns I've ever seen. The kind of town that makes you want to fall in love with small-town life. The movie theatre is only open a couple of nights a week. I wanted to stay there, but it wasn't nearly far enough north, or late enough, for me to stop. Plus, I think it would have turned into my equivalent of Calypso's island. (OK, for a second I need to stop and enjoy the pleasure that comes from this analogy, which, taken to its logical conclusion, suggests that the Chalet is Circe's island, and Portland is Ithaca. Oh, and I am "cunning". That's lovely.)

OK, so anyway, I drove through many small towns (nothing more than a collection of 3 or 4 buildings and a couple of houses. For example, in one of these towns there was only a gas station--not open--a store selling "Utah rocks" and another that advertised "tools and CHAINSAWS" (emphasis in the original). I didn't dawdle.

That night I slept in a place called Beaver, Utah. Take my word. You never need go there. And then then next day I drove 1100 miles. This was folly. I stopped in Provo, to see where Larry and Dave went to college. And I wanted to see the Temple in Salt Lake, but the drivers on 15 were so scary, and the Temple so far away, and all the streets numbered (no street names!) and I decided to stay on the road instead.

I went by a town called Sulfurdale, which seems like a particularly badly-named town. I didn't stop there--the name didn't recommend it.

I did stop in Boise. Now, in general Idaho gets a pretty bad rap. And it mostly deserves it. It's a pretty ugly state. But Boise is surprisingly delightful. Although surrounded by really arid land, they seem to have done admirable irrigation in the city itself. It is really green and pretty, and the downtown area is surrounded by cute neighborhoods that look like what you would picture mid-American small town residential areas to look like--wide streets and tree-lined sidewalks. Small houses with beautifully manicured lawns and front porches. I was very taken with it.

I got food and a new book on CD there--I had finished both that I brought along (A Guide to Recognizing Your Saints, which I mostly hated. I kept thinking "I can write better than this jackass. I just haven't ever met Bruce Weber or Alan Ginsberg." And then Susanna Clarke's The Ladies of Grace Adieu. This one I liked a lot, particularly since I was listening to it. It may have been a more irritating read.). For the rest of the trip I bought Twilight, the first book in the series by Stephenie Meyer. I know a couple of people (I will leave your identities obscured, because I'm not sure you want this public knowledge) who are very into this series, and with the excitement surrounding the release of the most recent book, I wanted to know what all the buzz was about. It's not good literature. But I understand the appeal.

Leaving Boise, I experienced one of the most harrowing drives I can remember ever taking--from Ontario, OR to Burns. It was dark, twisty, showering bugs, and remote. About 30 miles outside of Burns, we (my fellow westward travelers and myself) were stopped, and then escorted by pilot car over 20 miles of gravel and construction at 35 miles an hour. By this time, my nerves were shot, and I kept thinking that I just wanted to pull over and cry for awhile.

And, although I was only 2 (!) hours from the comfort of the chalet, I decided to sleep in Burns instead. This was, I believe, the safest decision I could have made.

And now I'm at the chalet, soaking up the quiet and getting rested before returning to Portland. And that is lovely. Lovely. Lovely. It's been raining here this morning, but it is starting to clear up nicely, and soon I'll go for a run and I'll be able to smell wet ground and pine.

The American West is vast. The topography is varied. It is an amazing place. Nikki was recently telling me that someone she knows has never been farther west than Austin, and we were talking about what a strange thing that is. And I was saying that no one can really understand America, or being an American, without having experienced the West. For those of you who have traveled through it, you know what I mean. For those of you who have not, you can't, really, until you do it yourselves.

For Those About to Rock

Or for those of you who have been rocking this Thursday night:

Tonight I went out with Qwanty. To Rock 'n' Roll karaoke at the Yucca in Tempe.

In all of my, well, let's face it, my zany years of friendship with Qwanty, we have always made it home on our own. Safely.

Tonight we had to call a cab.

I fell down on the job. It was my fault, really. I had a reasonable number of drinks. And then we met a band. Yes, a whole band. Top Knot, Francis and Dreads (also known as "Nick"). These "gentlemen" offered us 2 rounds of "Irish Car Bombs" (Jameson, Baileys, dropped into a glass of Guinness). Um. We tried to be polite, and so we accepted.

That was a mistake.

For the record, Qwanty was on exceptional behavior.

I, however, made multiple physical contacts with Dreads, and spent about 20 minutes outside with Top Knot while he smoked. I think that we talked about the fact that he wrote "prose". (And works at a nursing home.)

Qwanty asked our cab driver (who I think could accurately describe as a "wigger") about his experiences driving late night cab. He told us about some girl who got him to "take off [his] hat and shirt and roll around with her" for a total cab fare of 250 bones. Wow.

Now we are going to bed. Rest assured, fans, Double Trouble is alive and well. Our thirties, graduate school, children and everything. Some things never change.