An Open Letter, Quack Quack

Dear Jeremiah et al: Thank you, first of all, for ensuring that all of Oregon gets to have the incredibly cool experience of watching you guys duke it out with Quizz and Canfield next weekend for a trip to the Rose Bowl. Everyone is super excited. Really. Super psyched.

In light of this totally historic season, you might think that I'm being kind of ungrateful, but I feel like I need to ask,

for the next game can you not win in double overtime? A double overtime that you only ended up in because you scored a TD with like, I don't know, under 20 seconds left in regulation?

I'm not asking for me. I mean, it was definitely a game that was too close to comfort for me. But I'm really asking for Bruce. He's not as young as he used to be. And if YOU saw him sitting in his leather recliner, in front of that giant new television, white knuckling it for the 15 minutes or so that it took to decide the game, you'd understand why it might be more healthy for him if you could just play, from now on, with a commanding lead. Really. The Dorseys would all totally appreciate it.

And really guys, I'm not trying to take anything from you. It's awesome. Go Ducks.

Kristin

Down a Hole

Several people have asked me to comment on this.

These are people who know that I am a minor expert on All Things Alice (no, really. it is something that I legitimately know a lot about. That is what happens when you write your undergraduate and Masters theses on the same thing. And then become a bit of a collector.) AND also a pretty big Tim Burton fan. (Although I wouldn't necessarily call myself an expert.) I think that these well-meaning people are thinking that I am excited about this film.

I am not.

Don't get me wrong. I will have to see it as soon as it comes out (March 5, 2010). But I have low, low, low expectations. It's going to be amazing looking. Burton doesn't make anything that isn't. This is why I love his films. But, generally, and boy does it pain me to say this, I would just as soon watch his films with the sound off. Because Tim Burton has NO talent for storytelling (Edward Scissorhands notwithstanding). Seriously. He ruins just about every film he makes by not being able to pace or satisfyingly conclude narratives. I don't necessarily hold this against him. He's much more interested in creating something visual than he is in storytelling.*

But I actually care about All Things Alice. And I do not need to see Burton reconceive Alice as he did Sleepy Hollow (which, again, was beautiful, but certainly made Washington Irving turn in his dark, dank, gothic-y grave).

My fears have NOT been allayed by this trailer, because if I am reading it correctly, it looks like Johnny Depp's Mad Hatter might be narrating the film. This does not bode well. First of all, the Mad Hatter is the most annoying and over-remembered character Lewis Carroll created. (The Doormouse really steals the unbirthday tea party scene, after all.) Also, I, for one, am somewhat tired of the Burton/Depp lovefest. Johnny Depp is not the best actor to play every character that Burton has ever wanted to feature. He wasn't the right choice for Willie Wonka. NOR Sweeney Todd. And certainly not Icabod Crane. (He was, certainly, the right choice for Edward Scissorhands, and was an inspired casting choice as Ed Wood.) I anticipate hating this character.

That said, the visuals will make it watchable, as will performances by Alan Rickman, Christopher Lee, Stephen Fry (! YAY ! As the Cheshire Cat!) and Crispin Freakin' Glover.

*This is actually something that a lot of my favorite directors have in common--an overriding interest in one aspect of filmmaking that leads him (usually him) to under-develop most other aspects. SO, for instance, Kevin Smith is so much more interested in dialogue than almost anything else that his movies tend to look like crap. Strangely, this does not make me like him any less.

Product Review. Sort of.

If'n you know me at all, you likely know that I am a serious sucker for novelty. If you slap "NEW!" on a package, particularly on a package containing candy or cleaning product, or maybe hair products I am likely to buy it. If you then stick that package right next to the check out at Target (silent T) Boutique, then I definitely will buy it. I recognize that this is exactly what companies want me to do. And I don't care. Buying a product that I've never seen before is a cheap thrill.

SO--when I was at the abovementioned retail outlet, and I saw the word "NEW!" emblazoned across a package of chewing gum, I gladly shelled out $1.19 to try it. After all, it could turn out to be a delicious taste sensation like the Grapefruit Tic Tacs I picked up in September.

This new gum is called Eclipse Breeze, which is a really weird name, when you figure out what it is. It comes in two flavors--Exotic Mint and Exotic Berry. Knowing that artificial berry products are a real crapshoot, I went for the mint. This was truly an impulse buy and I didn't do my research (that is to say, I didn't read the label). So imagine my surprise when I got outside to my car and realized that the gum is "NEW!" because it contains cardamom. At that point I knew that I had dodged a bullet. Because here are words that DO NOT belong together: "gum"/"berry"/"cardamom."

In fact, I wasn't sure how I felt about mint and cardamom either. But the damage to my coin purse had already been done, so I went ahead and chewed a piece.

I don't know how I feel about this product. It's good for the breath (cardamom is a natural breath refresher). In general, I am a big fan of cardamom--it is great in cookies, and in chai, and the Pied Cow* used to have a delicious cardamom honey steamer that was totally worth sitting around with stinky hippies. But cardamom and mint is a somewhat awkward combo and certainly it is not something I would describe as "breezy." (Mikey J. suggested that they call it something like "Eclipse Earth," which does work a little better, but may not sell gum.)

It's a weird product. I don't think I'd buy it again, but I also wouldn't turn it down if someone offered it to me. I don't quite know why I'm even telling you all about it, except that I am sort of hoping to hear how other people have reacted to this product. Have you tried it? What do you think?


*I haven't been to the Cow in years and years. It reminds me too much of the Portland version of Spiderhouse, and that doesn't really recommend it. It also hasn't been the same since they started serving alcohol. I have good memories there though. Once a friend of mine almost burnt it down with the candle from our table. And the first time someone proposed to me, it was there.

Unending Cycle

Since nothing else seems to keep him down, I am willing to go Buffy on Brett Favre's ass. Now. Right now. Before we have to endure another whole year of annoying and completely unnecessary Favre "news"/opinion. I am neutral about which of the methods would be most effective:

1. Stake through the heart and reburial in consecrated ground.

2. Silver bullet.

Or maybe we just need to call the Frog Bros out of retirement. I'm pretty sure JBro has their numbers on speed dial.

Hiatus

Loyal friends and readers and reader/friends: um. Sorry about that. I wasn't planning on taking a sabbatical for over a month. I'm not even totally sure why it has happened.

Part of it is summer. Summer makes me restless and I have a hard time concentrating.

Part of it is that I am awfully distracted right now. I have a lot of big, important, life things on my mind. And they aren't really the kind of things that I blog about. (Thank your lucky stars for that, people.) That has been making it hard to think, let alone write, about much else.

Part of it is that I'm teaching a class this summer that I am finding personally and professionally challenging.

Part of it is that I'm not seeing movies, or going out much, or listening to much new music, and so I don't feel like I have much to write about.

But I think I'm coming out of it. I have several things that I would like to discuss with you all. These topics include, but are not limited to:

* Frank Black's opening act at the Aladdin Theatre last week.

* The Limits of Control, The Brother's Bloom and Children's Books (if that sounds like the title of a boring academic article, you are right. But you will read it and love it).

* Something weird I have recently realized about my musical taste.

* Swapping book suggestions with my mom.

* Mountain cows.

Thank you all for still checking in with me, and for actually caring about whether I write. I don't know if I deserve it, but I feel awfully loved.

The People in Your Neighborhood

One of the best things about living in a city like Portland for almost your whole life is that there are people all over the city that become part of your living community, just by virtue of the fact that they too live and work in the city. There are many places I can go and see the same faces that I've seen there for years--some of the booksellers at Powell's (especially Hawthorne, but downtown too). Barisitas like super hot Corey (that's big M to you, Qwanty) who works at Stumptown, but worked at Common Grounds for years. DJs--especially the kind who spin 80s tunes and favor velvet pants. Bartenders like Kip and BLT. Or regulars like the guys at BOG (including the artist otherwise known as Justin, of the painting of the girl with tiny hands).

One of my favorite neighborhood people, though, is Ivy. Ivy works at Arvey's Office supplies on Grand. I have long preferred to service my considerable office supply habit at Arvey's rather than at one of the huge suburban chain stores, and Ivy is one of the big reasons. She's very cool--always smiling, always sporting some arty jewelry, always quick with the small talk, or compliments, or catalogs for special orders. She has been at the front register at Arvey's ever since I started going there, which was not long after I started driving. To me, she's a one-woman institution.

Today I stopped in to pick up some of the black pens I like and I got into her line to check out. She mentioned, as she was ringing up my purchase, that she was retiring at the end of this week. She's going to devote herself to relaxing and making art. This is awesome for Ivy, because I'm sure that she totally deserves to spend time doing something that makes her really happy. This is much less awesome for Ivy's longtime customers, for whom shopping at Arvey's is not going to be quite the same anymore.

"Did you see THAT?"

Lest someone should beat me to it---

On Friday night, Mikey J. encouraged me to see The Hangover with him. The motivation, for me, was not the film, which I was not AT ALL interested in. Rather, it was the opportunity of spending time with Mike, and the very real possibility that I could talk him into a drink or two after. My expectations actually sank when we got into the theatre, where we were surrounded by 110 guys in their 20s and 30s, all of whom clearly failed out of college because they were more committed to their frat houses than their relatively undemanding state school course schedules. But Mike said to stick it out. He said that this was JUST the audience we wanted to see this film with. He told me, with glee, that THIS was going to be a really funny movie.

Oh boy, was he right.

Now, before I talk about this movie, I want to make it clear that my conscience will not allow me to actually recommend this film to anyone. Instead, I can only tell you my experience of it. Make of this what you will:

I have only one other time ever had the feeling I had when I walked out of the theatre after this film. Remember Sin City? When I left that film, I felt shell shocked. I had been completely assaulted by violence. I couldn't tell you why that film seemed overwhelming violent to me (although I have a few ideas, which I would tell you over a beer, if you asked). But I remember feeling exhausted after it, and like I could NEVER see another film with any violence ever again.

I never could have thought that I could be equally assaulted by comedy. But I was. In this film.

There was a point in the film (and I won't tell you what that point was, so as to avoid any spoilers), when I started laughing uncontrollably and didn't stop until at least 5 minutes into the next scene. I thought I was going to be sick. It wasn't so much that the scene itself was so funny--it was more that so much horrible, horrible comedy had been heaped upon me up to that point that I lost it. And by "it" I mean both reason and control.

Don't get me wrong. I was completely offended. Particularly by one scene that actually involves a baby and physical humor. (You know, the lowest form of humor--Marx Bros humor. Where you watch someone get hurt and then laugh. But A BABY gets hurt. A BABY, people.) I did not laugh at his. I was shocked and amazed.

And yet.

I don't know.

It was still funny. Funnier than anything else I can remember. Funny, people.

To add insult to injury, this film actually has sort of a smart narrative structure, and a particularly pleasing gimmick ending--an ending, which, by the way, had me wondering what a film has to do these days to be given an X rating. Because, friends, this is not your parents' R-rated movie. (Thanks to you, Kevin Smith, for taking on the MPAA--twice--and helping to almost single-handedly assure that male full frontal will be de rigueur in dude comedies for the foreseeable future.)

I know that this is not a very detailed discussion, but I don't want to ruin the experience for anyone. Should anyone choose to see this film. Which I'm not recommending. But if you do, call me. We'll compare notes.

Update on My Viewing Practices

Last night, when I couldn't do anything, due to the fact that I am having some fairly major allergy-related breathing problems, I watched a few more episodes of The Wire. Since several of you seem interested, here are some thoughts (keep in mind that I am watching the second half of the second season:*

1. Ziggy and the duck. That is just sort of horrible and depressing.

2. I am noticing the soundrack more this season than in the first. I especially love the use of the Pogues in that scene where McNulty is doing some drunk driving. Terrific. It might have been in the same episode with Prez listening to Johnny Cash. (For the record, Prez is one of my favorite characters.)

3. Speaking of the Nult: I don't know that I think that the guy (and by "the guy" I mean the actor, but I ALSO mean the character) is that hot, but he consistently has very hot-looking sex. With lots of different women. The show does a good job of choreographing sex in general.

4. Brother Mouzone scares the bejeezus out of me. I find it particularly impressive that he makes his henchmen carry his books for him. THAT is evil genius.



*If'n you are not interested, or don't care about The Wire feel free to skip this posting.

Lazy Posting

Facebook is stupid, and these quizzes are stupid, but I've not been very good about adding content, so I'm going to be lazy and self-indulgent and provide you with all kinds of unnecessary information about me. (Someone I know just posted this on his facebook page, and I actually learned a lot about him.)

1) Are your parents married or divorced?
As most of you know, Bruce and the Kare-Bear (otherwise known as "grammie and pal") are an institution.

2) Are you a vegetarian?
Yes. But I eat fish.

3) Do you believe in Heaven?
I have a very hard time "believing" in things I can't see. But I often think that other people might be right in thinking that it exists.

4) Have you ever come close to dying?
No. I avoid all risk, at all costs, all the time.

5) What jewelry do you wear?
A claddagh ring that I bought in Ireland in 1998. A variety of necklaces, most of time. I have a big collection of bracelets, mostly very cheap. I have 2 holes in each ear, but I wear earrings rarely.

6) Favorite time of day?
Sundown. Best light of the day.

7) Do you eat the stems of broccoli?
Peeled, sliced and steamed (lightly) with florets. A little tiny bit of butter and a lot of lemon.

8) Do you wear makeup?
Ha! No. This is how I maintain a good complexion.

9) Ever have plastic surgery?
Also no.

10) Do you color your hair?
I only have once. It was black. But like with so many other things, it was waaaay too much upkeep for me.

11) What do you wear to bed?
It actually varies widely. But usually whatever is closest to bed.

12) Have you ever done anything illegal?
Violate copyright. Otherwise, nothing I can think of. I am very law-abiding.

13) Can you roll your tongue?
Yes. But both my parents claim that they can't, which I believe is not genetically possible. Oh wait. Is this roll your tongue or fold it? I can fold it.

14) Do you tweeze your eyebrows?
Um. Yes. You would know if I didn't.

15) What kind of sneakers?
Nikes. They are the only ones that fit right. Do Converse count as sneakers? If so, I wear a lot of those.

16) Do you believe in Abortions?
This is a stupid question. They exist. This is not a matter of belief.

17) What is your hair color?
Mousy brown.

18) Future child's name?
I have tons of names I like. But the front runners are Maxwell for a boy, and Harlowe (nicknamed "Lolly" or "Lo") for a girl. I also like boy names that are last-names-as-first names, and the names of the Roman empresses--particularly Octavia and Livia.

19) Do you snore?
I make all kinds of noises while I sleep. I moan a lot. It is very embarrassing.

20) If you could go anywhere in the world where would it be?
London is my favorite place to visit. But right now I'm most interested in Spain.

21) Do you sleep with stuffed animals?
Um. I'm not going to say never.

22) If you won the lottery?
I don't know. I don't spend a lot of time thinking about things that are not likely to happen.

23) Gold or silver?
Silver.

24) Hamburger or hot dog?
Neither.

25) If you could only eat one food for the rest of your life, what would it be?
Bagels.

26) City, beach or country?
Why choose?

27) What was the last thing you touched?
Also stupid. Clearly the keyboard.

28) Where did you eat last?
Chocolate cat cookies from Trader Joes, in bed.

29) When's the last time you cried?
I don't remember. Sometime in the last week, I'm sure. Not many weeks go by when I don't cry.

30) Do you read blogs?
Oh, this makes me look so lame, since I write one. But mostly no.

31) Would you ever go out dressed like the opposite sex?
I was a lumberjack for Halloween when I was 8.

32) Ever been involved with the police?
Ugh. What does this mean? I talked to a police officer recently because I witnessed a crash. But I don't break laws and I have never dated anyone in law enforcement.

33) What's your favorite shampoo, conditioner and soap?
Shampoo: Shampure from Aveda (the cult of Aveda is strong). I don't tend to use conditioner, it makes my hair too oily. I like Dr. Bronner's Peppermint soap and the soap for guys made by Burt's Bees. (In general I am a sucker for "product.")

34) Do you talk in your sleep?
I have been known to.

35) Ocean or pool?
Pool. But I just love being in the water, generally.

36) What's your favorite song at the moment?
"Every Me Every You" Placebo

37) What is your favorite color(s)?
Black. Since I was little.

39) Ever met anyone famous?
Yes.

40) Do you feel that you've had a truly successful life?
This is not the time for that sort of introspection.

41) Do you twirl your spaghetti or cut it?
Twirl on my fork. But I think spaghetti is a pain in the ass. I prefer shaped pasta.

42) Ricki Lake or Oprah?
As many of you know, I believe Oprah might be the anti-Christ come to earth.

43) Basketball or Football?
To watch? To play? To date? This question is way to vague.

44) How long do your showers last?
10 minutes? Or maybe 8.

45) Automatic or do you drive a stick?
I can't drive a stick. My dad tried to teach me. It didn't go well.

46) Cake or ice cream?
Pie.

47) Are you self-conscious?
Everyone is about something, right? For me, only about very specific things.

48) Have you ever drank so much you threw up?
Only once because of volume.

49) Have you ever given money to a tramp?
Who wrote this? Tramp? A loose woman? Or a guy who rides the rails. No. No to both.

50) Have you been in love?
Sure.

51) Where do you wish you were?
The chalet.

52) Are you wearing socks?
No. It is hot out.

53) Have you ever ridden in an ambulance?
No.

54) Can you tango?
I could if someone taught me to. I pick up dances easily, usually.

55) Last gift you received?
Oh! This is fun! My dad bought me a new stapler because I was complaining about it here on the Make-Ready.

56) Last sport you played?
Sport? Like with other people? No.

57) Things you spend a lot of money on?
Coffee. Office supplies.

58) Where do you live?
Well, right now, not in my house. No one lives there, and that is sad.

59) Where were you born?
In Portland. I'm a native.

60) Last wedding attended?
Gosh, I actually don't remember.

61) Favorite Drink?
Right now--vodka soda with extra lime. Or Blue Moon. Or Pinot Gris. But I like lots and lots of other drinks. It always goes in cycles. I get really into one thing and drink it all the time. This winter it was the hot toddy. But that was because I was so sick for so long.

62) What'd you do last weekend?
Saw friends from out of town (yay Felisa! yay Leah!), made party food, graded research papers.

63) Most hated food(s)?
Onions and anything onion tasting.

64) What's your least fav chore?
Slopping the pigs. No, seriously, does one have "chores" when one is an adult?

65) Can you sing?
I have a good voice for singing to children. And when he is being sweet to me, I have a friend who tells me I have a good voice. He even recently did it in front of other people.

66) Last person you instant messaged?
I don't instant message. But I do text. Today I texted Jane, Rachael, and the lady Audrey, who is going to Disneyland tomorrow for her mom's birthday.

67) Last place you went on holiday?
Portland. (When I wasn't living here.)

68) Favorite regular drink?
I like drinking more than eating. So, almost anything. Juice, bubbly water, milk, coffee, tea, chai. I don't tend to drink a lot of soda. I think that V-8 is disgusting. I don't drink blood.

69) Current crush?
I only have very, very old crushes. The most current is already almost 2 years old.

Thoughts on Star Trek

So, as is usual for me, I'm not going to be providing you with a review, per se, of Star Trek. Instead, I have a few observations about the film. I'm not going to say that there aren't any spoilers here, but I'm trying to be fairly vague, and, frankly, most of the stuff I thought was interesting is actually about fairly minor details. If you are someone who enjoys something less if you have heard anything about it--then read at your own risk.

1. I am not a big Winona Rider fan. I think that Qwanty could probably attest to that. But I thought that she looked rather lovely in the film. I do think that the decision to cast a woman who looks like she could be a Vulcan herself as the full-human mother of a half Vulcan/half human child is strange. It would have been MORE interesting if they had chosen someone more like Jennifer Morrison (who, by the way, if I have not mentioned it before, is much less pretty as a blonde. Could someone get word to her about that? It makes her look older, and harder).

2. I was VERY skeptical about the casting of Simon Pegg as Scotty. And he doesn't look ANYTHING like he could grow into Jame Doohan. But when he started talking, I was TOTALLY amazed. Because he sounded, spot on, like Scotty. I thought he was brilliant.

3. What was with the obvious nods to Top Gun? I mean, I almost expected McCoy to start calling Kirk "Maverick" and for there to be some space-volleyball scene where the Enterprise Crew plays the Romulans, set to "Playing with the Boys." And if you haven't seen the film, and you are doubting me, then just wait for the scene where Kirk rides up to the transport vehicle on his motorcycle. Seriously, it is ripped directly from TG. (Not to mention the whole flight simulation scene--c'mon!)

4. Speaking of music, I am glad to hear that in the future, kids will still want to drive fast while cranking "Sabotage"--I have long been of the opinion that this is a song best listened to, really loud, in the car.

5. I don't get why, in space movies, the ships belonging to the "bad guys" always look like a crack den in space. Seriously. Am I really to believe that the Romulans are cruising around in space in a ship that has bad lighting, a sewer system running through it, and no discernible living or recreation quarters?

Evaluation: This was a much more entertaining film than I expected. I thought it was REALLY, REALLY funny and smart, and I was almost universally pleased with the casting and the acting. I am not a huge fan of the franchise, but I have seen all of the episodes of the original series, and probably most of the episodes of The Next Generation (Which was quite popular when I was in college). And we saw the films as kids. But I, admittedly, didn't walk into this film with any kind of expectations about the plot content. With all that said, I did have one critical question nagging me while I watched the film. (And I should add that previews for both the GI Joe film and Transformers II sort of put me in the frame of mind to think about this:)

Critical Question: As I was watching this film, I couldn't help but wonder what the deal is with origins films? Although the casting was REALLY good (in general) for this film, it does seem like a tremendous risk to go back in time with a narrative and have to cast the original characters with younger actors. There are so many ways that that can go badly. There are also ways in which it is very dangerous to have actors trying to recreate roles which are now culturally iconic. Why is there an impulse to go back in time, instead of going forward? As I hope I've intimated, this seems to have worked here, but I wonder why no one has learned the lesson from the second Star Wars trilogy? Are American audiences so lacking in imagination that we have to be fed the same story and group of characters over and over? Certainly this seems to be the attitude of Hollywood, who wants to give us origin films, remakes of television shows and films (Land of the F'ing Lost? Who thought THAT needed a film at this point in time?), and sequels.

I also saw the new Jarmusch film The Limits of Control this weekend. I want to write about that too, but I'm still gathering my thoughts. But here is a film that treats its viewers with a great deal of respect--that assumes that we can deal with silence, subtitles, complexity, ambiguity, new characters and situations, a slower pace. As much as I enjoyed the experience of seeing ST, it does make me a little sad to think about the new art and entertainment that isn't produced.

Frustration, In a Sentence

My kingdom for a stapler that works reliably and doesn't jam! My kingdom, I say!

on my TV watching habits

So, I have FINALLY started watching the second season of The Wire. I know, I know, I am WAAAY behind the curve here. (As in, the curve left me a long time ago.) But I watched the first season more than a year ago and then never picked up momentum on it. It isn't because it isn't a great show. It's amazing. But, as I remembered while watching 2.1 and 2.2 yesterday, it is a program that requires that you actually watch it. You know, that you pay attention.

It may seem as if I watch a lot of TV, but the truth is, I don't watch it very carefully. The same set of circumstances that allows my mom to watch Lifetime movies again and again and not remember that she has already seen them also operates in my world. We are both people who have a hard time dedicating our attention to the talking box in the room. In my mom's case, folding laundry and doing crosswords keep her from getting engrossed. In mine, it is writing emails, and grading papers, and sometimes even reading. (Yes, occasionally I read while watching TV. I'm not suggesting this. It is a messed up habit.) I actually get pretty antsy when I have to devote myself to watching something, which is why I've gotten a lot less patient with live theatre and with seeing movies out.

The result is that I can watch A LOT of pretty crappy and lite (and I do mean "lite" and not "light", grammar police) television. This is why I can watch 2 series of The IT Crowd in a weekend, but can't seem to watch more than a season of The Wire every year and a half. My brother also sometimes blames my viewing habits when I don't like a particular movie (he claims, for example, that I don't like Wet Hot American Summer and The Big Lebowski because I haven't really "seen" either one of them). I don't know. Maybe. Or maybe I just don't give something my full attention when I don't feel like it warrants it. Good television--that deserves actual scheduling.

Thank You, Katrina

The greatest of all social activities (according to yours truly) is the dinner party. I love throwing them. I love attending them.

All good dinner parties go something like this: you arrive early--as one of the first attendees. You offer to help. Sometimes you cut things up. Sometimes you just pour a glass of white wine and eat bread or veggies and you keep the hostess, or the other guests, company. You tell some amusing stories. You listen to some amusing stories. You catch up with other people who tell you how things are going at work, or about their recent kitchen remodel. You pour another glass of white wine.

At some point you, and all the other attendees, move around the table. You all ooh and aww (sincerely) over the spread that has been prepared for you with love. You move onto red wine. There is confusion over which way to pass the bowls and platters. The hostess flits around and everyone tells her to sit down. The food is interesting and delicious, and there is too much of it. You make a mental note to ask for the recipe for the spinach and chickpea dish.

People start to migrate outside--smokers first. But everyone eventually. People break up into smaller groups, and conversation turns to larger topics. Everything seems more serious, more important. You begin to ask personal questions of the guy-you-don't-know-well, and he answers them without seeming self-conscious. You drink more wine and think about how much you like this person.

Someone brings you dessert that you can't possibly finish yourself, so you share it. And you begin to wonder where the person you came with has disappeared to.

Eventually you see someone stretch and yawn. She needs to get up early tomorrow; she's had a long day. There is a little exodus, and you are sad to see people leaving, but you are sort of happy that the party has become more intimate. The remaining guests gather together, joined by the hostess, who, finished with serving dessert, just wants to rest and drink a little. Conversation becomes more general again, but not trivial. Everyone is comfortable, and beginning to get sleepy.

The last remaining couple gets ready to leave--but this is your favorite part of the night. You can't leave the hostess with a mess. You, and your companion for the evening, bring in empties, scrape plates, fill the dishwasher. It doesn't take long. Your hostess seems pleased. You feel accomplished. You tell her what a pleasure it was, how much you enjoyed it, remind her that you want the spinach and chickpea recipe.

She walks you both to the door and turns off the outside light when you get to the car. You drive your companion home and you debrief. You talk about conversations you had, who you enjoyed, what dishes you really liked. You sit outside his house and talk about his recent dating life until he's ready to go to bed.

You drive home--tired (but no longer drunk) and full and happy. You listen to a mix of mellow, end-of-evening music (Sam Beam singing "you're the only shape I'll pray to") and you begin stripping. You take your hair clips out, your earrings out, your sweater off. You stumble through the door and throw keys down, turn out the lights on your way upstairs--kick off shoes and pull your dress over your head and fall into bed.

You close your eyes and see the climbing vine entangled with Christmas lights on the deck at your hostess' house.

How Did I Not Know About THIS?

Alright. I'm losing whatever claim I ever had to being a cognoscenti. Clearly.

While listening to the Rick Emerson show this morning on my way to work, I heard a discussion of this.

Um. I was JUST in Bend over the weekend. No way now that I can't be one of those lookie-loos [by the way, I can't quite figure out how to spell that term correctly] that goes to take a look at this trainwreck.

Emerson's take on it is that THIS is exactly why Oregon is so weird. Maybe.

It also reminds me of this story that I've been telling a lot lately that seems to relate to a lot of what is going on in the world around us.

A few years ago I went to the Alamo (for those of you non-Austinites, the theatre--not the actual monument) with my cousin to see David Schmader do his now legendary commentary of Showgirls. David Schmader's whole perspective on the film can be boiled down to this: what is amazing about the film is that there are SO many people involved in the making of a movie with that kind of history and budget. And not ONE of those people, at any level of involvement, at any stage of the process said, "wow. This is a truly awful, awful film. We really shouldn't make it." It passed through hand after hand after hand, and it was STILL unleashed on world audiences. How can it be that not one person (and not everyone involved can be a complete idiot or totally crazy. That is just statistically improbable.) showed any sort of common sense at all?

It's that completely profound? Think of all the things around us that are examples of the Showgirls phenomenon: the reality shows on Vh1, the Pinto, the US involvement with the Contras, New Coke, the credit crisis. I mean, there are Showgirls (and Bend Shires) all around us.

Further proof that the world is going to hell in a handbasket

I really hate to go back-to-back with GnR-related posts, but them's the brakes.

Yesterday morning on my way to work I heard the GnR version of "Live and Let Die"*. I love this song. I love this version of this song. And so I was shocked to realize that I had been missing, for all these years, one of the worst misuses of grammar in a pop song that I have ever heard. Do you know the line? Do you?

In fact, it was so bad that, for a minute, I convinced myself that Axl Rose had screwed up the lyrics. But it turns out that he did not. This is how the song is written:

When you were young and your heart was an open book
You used to say live and let live
(you know you did, you know you did, you know you did)
But in this ever changing world in which we live in
Makes you give in and cry

OK, now stop singing "You know you did, you know you did, you know you did" in your best dolce voce and pay attention! "IN THIS EVER CHANGING WORLD IN WHICH WE LIVE IN"?! REALLY?! Not only is this grammatically W-R-O-N-G, but it is also stupidly redundant. AND that one sentence includes the offending word "in" no fewer that FOUR times. Again, REALLY?!

Don't we, as Americans, have the right to expect our brothers and sisters across the pond to uphold the standards of the Queen's English? Sir(?) Paul, indeed! Clearly QE too has taken a laissez-faire an attitude about the lyrics of Wings songs.




*I'm using all my willpower here NOT to write a long piece about my conflicted feelings about Wings. I will summarize: as much as I love Sir Paul (and I do), I theoretically hate Wings. I say theoretically, because the truth is that I love a whole bunch of songs from that period. I mean, I never turn the dial when a Wings song is playing. Never. Ever. "Live and Let Die" is a particularly great song.

The Moves

In honor of Qwanty's triumphant return to PDX, and in honor of Friday night, we (myself, Qwanty, her Brain Scientist, and Mikey (of the J variety) went to Shut Up and Dance, after drinks in the Cellar at Ringler's Annex. Shut up and Dance is terrific, because it is like attending a high school dance, with the following improvements: 1) alcohol, 2) no one to drag you into the hallway to cry about the fact that the boy of the week is not dancing with her (seriously, I spent three-quarters of my high school dance time consoling other girls in the hallway. The other forth was split equally between slow dancing with Chris Buzo or Jason Birch, and dancing in a circle with my girlfriends to Erasure, New Order, or Tone Loc--the music that I wouldn't miss for any crying chick in the hallway), 3) no chaperones.

Once again, while dancing to Blonde, Berlin and Cyndi Lauper, I thought about the fact that all of my moves are modified versions of things I have seen Molly Ringwald do to music in film. Seriously. If it hadn't been so packed on the dance floor, I would have done the full out leg kick dance from The Breakfast Club. The only time I don't sort of dance like Molly Ringwald is when I'm dancing to "Sweet Child of Mine", when I'm doing a modified version of the Axl Rose side-to-side slither.

It's not a great scene, but is is awful fun.

Why not?

After all, it IS Jimmy's birthday. This way we can all celebrate it together:

Shout outs:

. . . to the Blazers, who, thankfully, took care of business tonight.

. . . to my brother Ryan, or Jimmy, or Rimmy (whichever you prefer) for making it to 33 and celebrating by fishing, snowboarding, kiteboarding, mountain biking, and skateboarding. All in one day. (J-Bro dubbed today "Jimmy's very extreme day") He also did it all wearing a Breakin' tee.

. . . to the interwebs for providing me with this recipe, which, halved, cooked in a loaf pan and topped with chocolate ice cream, strawberries and whipped cream, made a very serviceable birthday cake for said brother.

. . . to Jim Rome for making me laugh out loud by talking about KG's bench antics. Seriously, that is some funny shit.

. . .to Qwanty for bringing the Brain Scientist and her sweet self to PDX tomorrow. Here's to our old haunts and to reconnecting with people we haven't seen in a long time. And to Black Butte Porter and Grilled Cheese Deluxe and DJ Greg. It's going to be super fun to have you here, K-dot!

Rite of Passage

On Saturday morning my 4-year-old niece left a message on my phone, but I couldn't quite make out its purpose. I tried calling back and didn't get her.

As it turns out, it wasn't necessary because later that afternoon she burst into the house yelling, "Auntie K, Auntie K! Come here! Auntie K!" When I walked into the room she excitedly kicked her leg up as far it would go so she could show off her new pink Converse. It is her first pair. She was all anxious to tell me about them, because she knows that I have several pair myself (6 currently, although 3 are still in Tejas--including my own pink ones). Even more terrifically awesome, she was wearing Hello Kitty socks with her pink Cons.

I couldn't be more proud.

(Sadly, in addition to great fashion sense, Ells and I also have in common giant, giant feet. These were a size 9, which, if you know kids' shoes at all, is a fairly remarkable size for a just-turned-4-year-old girl to wear.)

Losing It

Portland thinks she's Austin this week. It was in the upper 70s today, and will be tomorrow as well. I have my bedroom windows wide open in hopes that it will cool down enough so I can sleep, and the frogs are really active tonight, which means that I'll have to eventually close the window so that I can block out some of their amorous noises. I finally saw one, and it wasn't even 2 inches long, which makes the gigantic noise they make all the more strange.

This is an unseasonable reminder that summer is just a few months away, and as I listened to the sounds of people doing yard work, and kids playing outside today, it suddenly remembered the 4th of July. I don't mean that I had a memory of a particular 4th of July. I mean, I remembered that such a thing exists. I had completely forgotten all about it.

That's a weird thing to totally forget about.

Listening in the Sweet Spot

So, yesterday I was driving to the 'Couve for work and the Red Hot Chili Pepper's song "Scar Tissue" came on the radio. I have this weird thing about that band. There is something about the sound--and I think that it is the interplay between Anthony Kiedis's voice and Flea's bass--in particular I think it is the fact that they are both so melodic. Which is not a weird thing to say about someone's voice, but maybe is a weird thing to say about bass lines. Anyway, my point is this. Listening to the song, I started thinking about the musical sweet spot.

I assume that everyone has one. But perhaps you call it something else. Let me illustrate: one of my best guy friends in high school (I won't out him, but Qwanty can probably guess) had this thing about being touched on his neck. He had a very immediate and rather pronounced response to being touched there. (Although I'm not sure how exactly it manifested itself, and I don't think I want to think about it much.) But he would literally jump up and thunder, "DON'T TOUCH ME THERE! YOU KNOW NOT TO TOUCH ME THERE!" when someone did it. Bear in mind that, in those days, I was often in situations that necessitated me sitting behind him (on bleachers at football or basketball games, in the backseat of the car while he was driving), and I did know better than to touch him there, but it was just so tempting . . . Anyway, it was a sweet spot.

Or, if another illustration is needed: you might think about when you scratch an itch exactly at its origin. You have that sense of relief and pleasure all at once. It's a sweet spot.

There is certain music that scratches the itch, or hits the sweet spot, aurally. These are sounds that sort of cause a wave of pleasure (and get your mind out of the gutter--this is not a sexual kind of pleasure. It is altogether different.) and a sort of feeling of goodwill. It's music that sounds like it is perfectly scratching some invisible itch in your ear--an itch you didn't even know you had.

I get this same feeling when I hear:

Any of Jeff Buckley's recordings

Post-Soundgarden Chris Cornell

When Michael Stipe sings backing vocals (like on the Indigo Girls's "Kid Fears" or "Tried to be True" or on the live recording of "Love is All Around" from REM's Unplugged episode)

Ditto for Natalie Merchant (as on "Way Over Yonder . . . " from the first Mermaid Ave. album)

Also, Thom Yorke (on PJ Harvey's "The Mess We're In"--a song I absolutely LOVE, or on some Bjork tracks)

There are basically two categories here. The first is guys who have voices like "pissed off angels" (Kiedis, Cornell, Buckley).* They all have sort of gorgeous and smooth voices with an edge. The other category is made up of people who have voices that I tend to find a little too much when they are singing lead, but absolutely perfect in very small doses.

*I can't take credit for the "voice of a pissed off angel" thing. This actually comes from some guy who has a Clockhammer fan site and used that phrase to describe Byron's voice. I actually don't know if I agree with it being applied to the Byronic Hero--although it's hard to say, since I never heard him sing live.

Anxious Dreaming

You know that super common dream? The one in which your teeth fall out, or crumble in your mouth, or suddenly become crooked? "Experts" interpret that dream (which occurs across cultures) as either being about a sense of powerlessness (assuming that teeth are a symbol of power) or about some sort of public embarrassment or shame. I have the teeth crumbling dream rather often, and, to me, it just seems similar to all of the other anxiety dreams I have. (Because, in terms of dreams I tend to remember, there are only 2 categories: anxiety dreams and wish fulfillment dreams.)

Anyway, the other night I had a dream which I thought seemed like a variation on the tooth dream. I was driving my car and I very lightly bumped something--like maybe the branches of a tree. I then got out of the car to check the hood, and I noticed that this very slight contact had taken off a bunch of paint. I reached down to touch it and paint started flaking off into my hand--although it wasn't really flaking, because the paint seemed very thick, and almost wet. So it sort of came off in clumps.

The feeling was exactly the same feeling I have in the tooth dream though--that things around me are disintegrating, or decaying. I feel an overwhelming things-will-never-be-right-again feeling.

My sister-in-law had a gig at Duff's Garage (I love this website, by the way. Don't go to Austin, indeed!) tonight with her "Sentimental Gentlemen." Man, that girl can sing. She's also super cute.

But it's a weird scene. I just don't know what to do with a bunch of adult males (and it was pretty man-heavy in there tonight) who basically dress in costume to go out on a random Monday night. My favorite guy there was this older Japanese guy who had the slicked-back do, and a rockabilly jacket (with embroidered Asian motifs all over it), and Dockers. There was also a guy who looked like he was a 4th place winner at an Iggy Pop look-alike contest, and another one who was a dead ringer for Legs McNeil.

It was a good show. Joy's new lineup is really tight (even though the new bass player looks more like a member of Weezer than a guy in a country-swing band) and she sounded great. If you get a chance you should come see them play.

Quick Thoughts

Make of them what you will:

1. My current favorite song is the acoustic version of "Overkill" by Men at Work (actually, originally by Men at Work. This version just by the lead singer guy, Colin Hay.). I'm listening to it on repeat over and over. I think it might be brilliant, but I'm not sure what it is supposed to be about. What I get from it is that it is a discussion of thinking about something (I think a relationship) obsessively. And Colin Hay has a totally beautiful, weird voice. This song was also randomly part of a Scrubs episode from a couple of years ago. Listen to it. Or wait until January--this one will end up on my 2009 year-end mix.

2. In the midst of all the exciting things in my life (?), I totally forgot that Tricky was performing in town on Friday night, and I didn't get tickets, and I didn't go. I'm sort of sad about this. On the other hand, my experience with Tricky shows is kind of like that fairy tale in which the girl puts on those shoes and can't stop dancing and dances right to her death. Or like the Pied Piper leading all the children out of Hamlin. It's hypnotic. And I'm not easily suggestible.

3. I went and saw I Love You, Man today. It was disappointing, which is saying something, because I had super low expectations. What I realized is that I don't want to watch Paul Rudd play some milquetoast straightman for 2 hours. Paul Rudd without edge is just pretty. That is not enough, particularly when I know the edge is there to be had. Also, it is weirdly a romantic comedy, and that is, hands down, my least favorite genre of film. Yuk. I will say this though--I find humor centered on Rush fairly effective, as well as any running gag in which someone tries to do impressions/accents and always sounds the same. I do not, however, find Lou Ferringo humor funny in the least.

4. I am really angry that I am going to be forced to watch that X-Men Wolverine Origins nonsense film. I don't like comic-films (second least favorite film genre--after romantic comedies), but Liev Schreiber I love. And he's going to be all cat-like. So I have to see it, but I don't have to like the fact that I have to see it.

5. The Space Room is not the same since the smoking ban. It still has the best jukebox, cheapest drinks, and most accurate day-glo wall mural of the Portland skyline in town, but it isn't the same. How am I going to remember that I was even there in the morning if I can't smell the sin in my hair when I wake up?

Note To Qwanty

Pro hard boiled eggs.

Isn't it nice to know that after all these years there are still things that we don't know about one another?

You are still a mystery to me!

Late Night Rambling.

Just this morning I had a revelation. And this might seem like a totally pretentious thing for me to say. But it is 3:30 in the morning, and I've had a hell of a night, and so I'm going to say it anyway. I had a revelation and it was this: I've become a writer--without even realizing it. Don't freak out. I'm not saying that I am a good writer. But I probably spend more time now in my life writing than I do reading. And I've always thought of myself as a reader (let's face it, after female, daughter, sister, and Oregonian, it is probably the identity category I am most likely to attribute to myself). But in terms of sheer time commitment, I now write more than I read. Not just the blog--but emails, and comments to students, and other stuff too. I write daily. And sometimes for hours a day. And that is a big deal for someone who has always fought her writing. So it was an interesting thing to realize, and maybe a teeny tiny bit of a personal triumph, if I can be a little self indulgent for a moment.

And then I had a rather extraordinary day. Not extraordinary in terms of the world--I didn't take over another country, or walk on the moon, or give birth to eight babies at once, or anything like that. But I had a day that was not ordinary for me. That was more than ordinary. And as I drove home tonight and thought about that day, I was reminded about how woefully inadequate all my attempts at conveying my own experience in words really are. I could try to tell you about my day, but you might not understand why or how it was extraordinary. You might believe me when I tell you that is my experience of it, but you don't know it. You go on faith that I am reporting something as true, or as true as it can be.

I can tell you that I love someone. And I can even try to characterize that love--I can say that I love someone like a brother. Or that I feel platonic love. Or that I feel the remnants of romantic love. But the truth is, everyone that I love, I love differently. And there aren't words to describe those differences. And sometimes the differences are so slight (yet so profound) that there just aren't words to convey the subtlety. I can't explain the color or tone of the love I feel for a particular person. And I also know (or rather, believe,) that no two people who love me love me in the same way. I know this because their love feels different to me. Yet we have this one word that we try to make fit in all kinds of situations with other words that can't possibly express the nuances involved and we hope that other people know-what-we-mean.

Listen, I'm not saying anything that other people, much smarter and more articulate people, haven't said before me and better. All I'm saying is that today (tonight, tomorrow, now--I guess) I am especially struck by the folly of all of us trying to express ourselves. Writing, speaking, reading one another. Trying to do it better. Trying to be more transparent, more efficient, more eloquent, more creative. Trying to communicate experience so that we feel more connected. So that we feel understood.

This is what I do for a living--at least for now. I try to help people do this. And it is a losing battle.

Boston Crazy

So, I've known a lot of freakin' nutheads in my life. (For example, the person from whom I first heard the term "nuthead". That would be Obi, the Nigerian pharmacist I worked with during the Drugstore Cowgirl days. He would say it when he disapproved of someone--usually a drug seeker--and he would shake his head very slowly back and forth. When I think of this word, I always hear it being said with a Nigerian accent and that slow head shake.)

One of those nutheads was A (I won't use her whole first name, you know, just in case), my roommate the year that I lived in Boston. Here are some facts about her that should convince you that she was c-r-a-z-y:

1. She had decorated her room and the kitchen entirely in apple-themed items. (She was in school to get her teaching degree.) We had apple plates, an apple hot pad, apple napkin holders, apple picture frames, and a giant (REALLY GIANT) apple candle. There is no way that I can convince you about how much apple crap she had, but you can ask Mikey J. He witnessed it.

2. She was agoraphobic. She would get herself out of the house for her classes and her student teaching, but when she came home afterward, she would take off her clothes, and put on her pjs and not leave again. This is a weird, and potentially really unpleasant, quality in a roommate. The only way I could get her out of the apartment was to offer to get ice cream with her at JP Licks.

3. She felt that clothing was "too binding." This explains why she would come home and immediately put on pajamas, with nothing underneath. And why she did the Jane Fonda workout naked. I found this out one morning when I forgot something in the apartment and came back unexpectedly.

4. She had lots of food hangups. Most notably, she refused to eat anything prepared by anyone other than her grandmother. She'd go home every weekend and her grandmother would make her a bunch of food and she'd bring it back to the apartment on Sunday nights and eat it for the rest of the week. She also claimed to hate melted cheese. I found this particularly offensive. Who hates melted cheese? It meant no lasagna, no pizza, no grilled cheese sandwiches. Messed up.

5. She was obsessively crushed out on William Hurt. It is strange enough that William Hurt should be anyone's #1 hottie, but she was SERIOUSLY into him. For her birthday, kinda as a joke, I got her a film still of WH from The Accidental Tourist and then I put it in a frame with hearts all the way around it. This excited her tremendously. She almost burst into tears when she opened it. More strange yet, she put it on the nightstand next to her bed and every night before she turned off the light she would pick it up and talk to it, and kiss it goodnight. Further, she tried to get me to kiss it once or twice (this I would not do). She also took it home with her on the weekends, and I think that she even slept with it under her pillow a few times.

There is more, but they get a little too personal, and even though I know that she will never read this, and none of you will ever meet her, I won't write about them in a public forum. But if you buy me a drink I might tell you about them---

Apology

Somehow my very innocent post about seminarians at Peet's has gotten completely out of control. I apologize to everyone for the off-colour banter between my cousin and one of my nearest and dearest. They have long had a contentious relationship.

(And my sincere apologies to John Cusack, who did nothing to deserve to be drawn into this nastiness. Except maybe agree to be ugly in Being John Malkovich. Why, John? Why?)

Take note

You know what's weird? When some guy from Engineering hits on a lady during a teaching seminar. I would not think that would be a good place to find ladies. 1. You are both under fluorescent lights--which, as we all know, are very unflattering. 2. You are in close proximity to a lot of other, really, really bored people who are likely to notice you touching said lady's knee repeatedly, when there is no discernible reason to do so. 3. There is no alcohol present. 4. If said lady does not return your advances (and how could she, given the circumstances?!), you have to avoid eye contact when you see her on campus for the foreseeable future.

Someone needs to send a memo to Engineering.

Closing the Generation Gap

So, I don't know what y'all did on Friday night, but I devoted myself to the noble pursuit of helping my 13-year-old cousin procure a copy of the Twilight 2-disc limited edition DVD. This is, I will remind you readers, the second Friday night of my life I have devoted to Katlyn and her Twilight obsession. And I don't really mind. Because I love her even more than I dislike Twilight.

I'm not going to bore you with the details of our odyssey, but I can tell you that it wasn't the most fun pursuit of my life, and it caused us to spend a lot of time in the car, driving around together. Two things saved the night from utter ruin.

The first thing was the conversation. She badly wants to be able to talk to me about the guys (celebrities) she finds "hot". But she's thirteen, and so she gets crushed out on really young, really pretty, kinda girly guys. I'm not thirteen, and even when I was, I don't think that was my thing. So I can't really "relate". This has been going on for a couple of years now. I think that it disappoints her. But during our epic car ride, she happened to ask me if I ever watch That 70s Show. When I told her that I was pretty well acquainted with show, she said, "there is a really hot guy on that show." I groaned inwardly, because I was going to have to tell her that I wasn't a big Ashton fan either. But then she said something unexpected, "I think that Hyde guy is really cute. I mean, he does a lot of drugs and that is gross, but he's cute anyway." Whoo-hoo! Something that we could finally bond over. Of course, Hyde is the hottest character on that show. There was, I'm sort of embarrassed to say, actual high-fiving in the car over the relief of us actually finding someone we could agree on. We also talked about strip clubs a little (she doesn't approve of them) and how it is hard for her to find Robert Pattison attractive now that she knows he played a gay man in a film (you couldn't pay her enough to do that. It must mean that he is actually kind of gay). It's interesting to talk to someone who is thirteen. I recommend it.

The second thing that saved our night was that, at some point, I stuck the CD "Feed the Animals" by Girl Talk in the stereo. Girl Talk is a DJ who creates music (in this case one big, long album-length song) almost purely out of sampling. Normally, this is not my kind of thing. At all. But he uses a lot of 80s stuff, and some fun rock stuff, and I can recognize almost half of what is on there. And it seems pretty witty--both what he chooses and how he puts it together. But what is brilliant is that this is the PERFECT thing for a thirty-something to listen to with a young teen. Because SHE knew everything I didn't, and vise versa. And we both hear stuff in it that we like, and have an equal investment in the music. We listened to the whole album, twice. (I also got to look cool, since I was letting her listen to something that was really pretty objectionable.) I highly recommend this if you have to spend time with a teenager in the near future. You'll both enjoy it.

(By the way, we did finally get a copy of the DVD. She seemed quite pleased with it. It makes me shudder to even imagine how many times she's actually going to watch it--)

Holy, Holy, Holy

The closest coffee shop to home is Peet's, down at the bottom of the hill. This is fine with me, because of all the chain coffee shops, I find Peet's to be the most acceptable. BUT, there is something really weird about my Peet's, which is that, for some reason I have yet to understand, it is always teeming with male seminary students.

Now, before I get too far into this post, I want to make it clear that this is not an anti-religion post, nor is is an anti-Pastor Jack post (because, Marcus, you are my baby cousin and if you start blowing hard I can always just tell you to shut it, or distract you by talking about my love affair with If Lucy Fell, or I can bring up the topic of degnoming).

What I want to talk about here is the super weird culture that this creates in the coffee shop. First of all, it is full of dudes hugging, offering to buy one another drinks, and talking about how much they love one another. There are really large, really well-worn bibles on most of the tables. You hear the words, "secular," "outreach," "blessing," and the phrase, "God's will" a whole lot more than you do in most other contexts. There is also a LOT of conversation about mission trips, particularly to Mexico. These conversations are often interrupted by the appearance of yet another seminary student, or sometimes a pastor, and conversation ceases for another round of hugging, I-love-you-man-ing, and discussion about what everyone's mothers and sisters (and wives!) are currently up to. Sometimes the hugs are preceded by an enthusiastic clap shake--you know, the shake that starts like a low-5, but ends in a vigorous shake. Weird.

I don't hate these guys because they are Christians, or because they are evangelists (although I am careful about what I read in front of them because I am sort of terrified about them noticing me and starting a conversation with the phrase, "Do you know G--?"). I sort of hate these guys because, if they weren't seminary students, they would be philosophy majors. They would have equally annoying conversations about Nietzsche and Hegel and Kant and his cows. Instead of having spiky hair and wedding rings, they would all wear black and sport tribal tattoos. They wouldn't carry around bibles, but they would carry around really beat up notebooks that they might journal/do pen and ink drawings in.

Both groups of guys are sort of annoying, but in totally similar ways. I'm more used to hanging out in coffee shops with the Nietzsche guys, and I'm less worried about them trying to convert me (I've got mad philosophy skills that I can shut them up with anyway), so I can tune them out more easily. But I find it almost impossible to grade the huge stack of student essays I have in front of me with the chattering of seminary guys in the background.

inexplicable

Today I was driving up Foster, and I saw two small goats tethered and eating grass on the sidewalk.

*Kings* To Watch or not to Watch

I gave two hours tonight to watching the first episode of Kings, the new NBC show loosely based on the biblical story of King David. I mostly did this because I was half hoping that it would feature Ian McShane in a business suit, talking to an unattached head in iambic pentameter. That didn't happen--although there were several speeches with Shakespearean themes (Shakespearean lite) littered throughout the two hour premiere.

This is a strange show. And I don't know yet if I'm interested in it or not. One problem is that part of the premise is that the action takes place in a world that is very, very similar to ours, but that clearly is not ours. This is a form of fiction I don't do well with. I either want my fiction to take place in the "real" world, or I want it to be utterly fantastical. (I prefer the former, in general. But if I'm going fantasy or sci fi, I want the created world to be fairly "otherworldly". This was, by the way, one of the reasons I initially had a lot of trouble with the Pullman His Dark Materials series. Too in-between-y.) Another problem is that, like with a lot of fantasy/sci fi (and I actually would consider this show to fit in that category), Kings might, in fact, prove really cheesy. For example, leaders are "chosen" by a swarm of butterflies that form a crown around the head of the elect. This event is actually shown at the end of the first episode. It is silly. And also pretty heavy handed. These considerations might prove deal breakers, but I can't tell yet.

On the positive side, the show has the potential to create a world somewhat like that in Carnivale, a series that I loved. To me, the strength of that narrative was that, while it felt like an epic showdown between good and evil, individual characters were ultimately too morally ambiguous to wear either black or white hats. If Kings moves in the direction of subtlety and ambiguity, it might actually be very good. I am also intrigued by the fact that there is a gay villain. (Or at least, I think that the character is going to be a villain, and, after the first episode, it is clear that he is gay.) There has been some discussion about this already in the media, and I'm interested to see how this particular character is developed.

Finally, Ian McShane is awesome, and it might just be worthwhile to watch it for his performance. He plays a king, but he is a political leader with real power, and not just a figurehead. There is a moment in the first episode that reminded me of what I loved so much about Al Swearengen. At the end of a meeting with his cabinet, he makes gestures toward dismissing everyone, but before he is done, one of the cabinet members stands up. It is clearly a premature move on the member's part, and he has clearly broken protocol. The king stares at the man. There is a very long silence, and the whole shot depends on the power of McShane's stare to create a kind of dramatic tension. The cabinet member is clearly terrified, and the rest of the room is perfectly still in anticipation. McShane never speaks. And I don't think that I exhaled until after the unfortunate man sat back down again.

So, we'll see. I'll at least watch next week . . .

Thoughts for Today

1. With the rather unexpected news that Mike Bellotti is stepping into his new role as AD at University of Oregon sooner rather than later, the big question everyone is asking is this: will Bellotti's first piece of business be to fire basketball coach Ernie Kent? The consensus before this announcement today seemed to be that Bellotti would wait until after current AD Pat Kilkenny had made a decision about the future of Oregon's men's basketball. This is an especially important time in the history of that program, given the fact that construction is starting on the new Phil Knight-sponsored arena. (It sounds like it is going to be an amazing facility.) Anyway--it will be an interesting situation to watch unfold. Everyone seems excited about new football coach Chip Kelly, who has been a fairly successful offensive coordinator, but who has never been a college-level head coach.

2. I was at Borders this morning in the 'Couve and I saw one of the strangest pieces of marketing. They had a feature table that was full of manga. OK, not weird in and of itself. BUT, the table was also laden with Japanese candy and boxes of Pocky! Now don't get me wrong, I love me some Pocky. But I don't think of Borders as my main Pocky outlet. It kinda freaked me out. Also, did you know that Pocky dipped in DARK chocolate is called (I kid you not) "Man's Pocky." Um. Why? The ladies can't handle dark chocolate? That is certainly not true.

3. I am confused. Am I supposed to LOVE Russell Brand, or HATE him? I don't think that trying to answer this question should send me into existential crisis, yet it almost does . . .

4. For the record, I think that it is totally weird that Anthony LaPaglia is in So I Married an Ax Murderer. How do you go from that to Murder One to Without a Trace? And how does Lantana fit into that trajectory?

Up is Down, Black is White

Everything is all topsy-turvy. I don't know if is the economy, or my own personal circumstances, or what, but I keep asking myself this question:

Is 2009 really my 1991?

Let me explain:

This weird thing has been happening in the last couple of weeks. The weird thing is that, very suddenly, I have started to respond in a noticeably different way to hearing Nirvana on the radio. I have never been a huge Nirvana "fan". I do not own any Nirvana. There are a few songs on my i-pod, maybe. (I borrowed one of Blake's CDs, probably. The same way that H.I.M. found its way onto my i-pod.) Before three weeks ago, chances would have been even between me listening to something by Nirvana if it came on the radio, and turning to another station. But now, it's a sure thing that I am going to listen. There is upwards of an 80% chance that I will even turn it up. It's strange.

And the way I feel? Comforted. And not in a nostalgic kind of way. I'm not nostalgic about Nirvana. Comforted, and happy, as if I am hearing it for the first time and feeling really glad that it is in my life. As if it is something newly good--not oldly good. Which, again, is weird because I never thought it was that "good" to begin with. I mean, I think I have always been little more than indifferent to Nirvana.

How do I explain this? Well, I can't totally. But I have been developing a theory. In 1991 I was doing the following things: 1. learning to drive, 2. writing a lot of notes with multicolored pens, 3. applying to all-women's colleges, 4. picking out hair ribbons that matched my socks and turtlenecks, 5. leading a Camp Fire group--badly. I was also crying a lot, since one of my two best friends was moving to Norway (the one who was not Qwanty). Actually, come to think about it, I was crying a lot generally. I was one weepy teenager. I was also listening to a lot of Erasure and Kon Kan, thanks to Buzo-created mixes, and Music for the Masses over and over again. There was probably also a lot of Roxette and "Unbelievable" and "Groove is in the Heart" playing in my life that year too. (Camp dances. Pep assemblies. Car rides.) I knew that Nirvana was around, but it wasn't a big part of my reality. And I was not feeling particularly angsty, or angry, or disaffected. I was much, much too suburban and honor societied-out for that.

But now? Oh, G--. At 34 I think I'm turning into a 15-year-old boy. I am angry and I sort of want to break stuff. I think that no one understands me. I want to stomp around in heavy boots and clothing made for warmth-and-not-fashion and wear my hair over my face and draw disturbing images in a notebook that I carry around with me all the time. Well, maybe not really. But kinda. Enough that it actually feels eerily good to listen to a tiny blonde dead man scream lyrics that I mostly don't understand into my car.

Pretty Packages

(Well, with it sounding as if Rudy is going to be ok, I can concentrate on other things. Thank goodness. Portland fans are particularly fragile at this point in the season.)

Two separate events have led to this post. First, OMD dropping the "Enola Gay" lyrics last week on the Make-Ready. This made me start to think about OMD the band. Second, hearing a 3-play from the Beastie Boys during a "menage a trois" weekend on KUFO this past weekend. As it turns out, Orchestral Maneuvers in the Dark and the Beastie Boys are both bands that have produced albums that I think are almost perfect. And by that, I do not mean that they are amongst the greatest albums of all time, necessarily. What I mean is that there is something truly wonderful about listening to them from beginning to end. What I mean is that they have a sort of integrity as a whole that I appreciate and enjoy. Here are five examples of what I mean:

The Best of OMD: Ok, it might be super-lame to include a best of album. But hear me out. The album is organized chronologically. And if you sit and listen to it over one sitting, you get to really hear the progression of the band (and I daresay it is representative of a lot of the electronica bands that formed in the late 70s/early 80s and stayed together through the mid-90s) from synth-heavy to synth/rock balanced. Think Depeche Mode. The difference between an album like Speak and Spell (which is probably unfair to talk about, since it so clearly is influenced by the contributions of Vince Clarke, but, well, you know) and an album like Violator is really the proportion of synth elements to instrumental elements, and, particularly, the obvious guitar presence. Anyhoo, it is pretty satisfying to hear that progression taking place over the course of one album. The other thing I like about this as whole is the fact that OMD is actually a strangely versatile band. You wouldn't think so, right? But there is a lot of variety. There are tracks that are clearly dance-y, some that are croon-y, some that are sort of epic sounding. (Well, epic in that alternative-dance-music kind of way). And they are a band that has been often experimental, either with their sound or in their lyrics. For example, I am always sort of surprised when I listen to songs like "Electricity" and "Telsa Girls." What kind of songs are these, anyway? I have a hard time figuring out what these songs are FOR.

For example. The song "If You Leave" is one of the most inexplicable pieces of music I can imagine. The comments that follow, of course, are influenced by the approximate 83 times that I have seen Andrew McCarthy get bleary-eyed over Molly Ringwald's fugly homemade dress in Pretty in Pink (arguably the movie I know the best in the entire world, although my knowledge of Heathers is also impressive). "If You Leave" is a completely inappropriate song to play at a prom, or any dance of any sort. Unless it is a dance where no one is supposed to dance. It is not fast enough to dance alone (you know, alone in a group) to. The lyrics suggest that it is a love song, but it is not slow enough to slow dance to. It's just a bit too dance-y. It's impossible. Whatever you do, you end up looking like an idiot. It makes sense that Blane and Andie go out into the parking lot to make out in front of some headlights (although it does not make sense why Andie cannot hold onto her purse and smooch Blane at the same time). They look stupid, but they look a lot less stupid than their classmates who are inside, trying to decide whether "If you Leave" is a couples or all skate.

The best song on this album, by the way, is "So in Love", which is almost in the middle of the CD version of the album. If you don't listen to the words, you might think that this is a super romantic song. It is not. It is cold and bitter. Sung sweetly. Good music for watching yourself cry in the mirror to. (I mean, I assume so. If you were into that sort of thing.)

License to Ill: This may be the only album that I own on vinyl, cassette AND CD. Really. I think it is one of the best ROCK albums of all time. Disagree. Go ahead. I've given you lots of ammunition in that statement. I get it. But it rocks. Hard.

But this is not why I like to listen to it beginning to end. I like to listen to it beginning to end because I also think that it is a great piece of storytelling. For years, I talked about writing an article called "Narrative Structure in License to Ill." I'm not ever going to actually do it, but I do think that it's fascinating. First of all, the narration is shared. This, of course, isn't weird given the rap/hip hop influences of the Beastie Boys. What IS weird though is that the narration itself is phenomenally linear and traditional. (And by traditional, I mean downright DWG traditional.) It is even folky. Seriously. Their stories often have clear beginnings, middles, ends. There is fairly little meta-discourse--fairly little editorializing. The "morals" come directly from the stories themselves. THERE IS NO DOUBLE CONSCIOUSNESS IN BEASTIE BOYS SONGS. This may be obvious. They are middle-class Jewish boys (were boys). It is a completely different narratological strategy from the tradition that they are, presumably, borrowing from. It's also part of the reason that the record has been sort of personally embarrassing to them. (More on this in a moment.)

But the narratives are shared. There are clearly three voices, but, arguably, only one perspective. Stories are dropped by one speaker and picked up by another. But the sense is that all three voices are in agreement about the events in the songs and the interpretation of those events. While there is some differentiation between the personalities, it is slight and rather one-dimensional. (Um, like Ad-rock is the sort of the kooky one.) What makes this especially interesting is what that perspective IS. It is the perspective of really, really dirt-baggy young men. It is about bravado, a lack of understanding of mortality or other consequences of action. It is about a lack of sensitivity. It is about a lack of responsibility generally. And what is awesome about that is that it is a kind of reflection of reality of a particular kind of guy. A guy who TOTALLY exists in this world, but rarely has an outlet (or the creativity or the native intelligence) to honestly express himself. I'm not saying that this was really who any of these guys were at the time. What they created was a self-consciously constructed narrative voice (in three parts). It is also not to say that it wasn't really who these guys were at the time. The reason that it works, and that it is convincing, is because there was some truth to it. But that is also why they felt a need to apologize to women (including their mothers and significant others) years after the album. It was offensive. It does suggest, and even say outright, some pretty awful things about women. I don't care. It's not like some boys (here I am being very intentional with my language) don't really say those things--further, it isn't like some don't really think those things. The expression of the ideas puts them on the table in a productive way. The fact that they are self-consciously constructed versions of those ideas (constructs that, in and of themselves contain some irony and self-mocking), make them somewhat more safe versions of the real-world attitudes that they represent.

Like a book of short stories, License to Ill presents its audience with a series of themes, and variations upon them. The album is littered with references to White Castle, slutty and criminal women, unnecessary violence. The repetition and variation of these themes over the course of the album creates a portrait of a dystopic white teenage wasteland. It isn't an accurate portrait of late 1980s Jewish Brooklyn or the Jersey suburbs, but it IS, it seems to me, an accurate portrait of how those environments might be perceived by dirtbag teenage boys, characterized by their extreme self-centeredness and myopia.

Plus, did I mention that it rocks? That it is completely listen-able? That it is often very funny and witty--on both the lyrical level and in terms of the sampling?

Abbey Road: To be fair, I suppose that I should remind my readers that Abbey Road might, in fact, be my favorite album of all time. Certainly it is my stuck-on-a-desert-island-with-only-one album. I'm starting to get really long winded here, so I will limit myself. The very best thing about this album is that it represents all of what the Beatles offered in their (relatively) short career. There is a good, and ultimately radio-friendly love song ("Something"), psychedelia ("Because"), a straight ahead rock and roll song ("Come Together") a MEDLEY!, and a goofy Ringo song ("Octopus's Garden", which, if you have been paying attention, you know was my introduction to the Beatles.) If I ever have a boy child, I will name him Maxwell. After "Maxwell's Silver Hammer." Is it a cliche to name a child after a Beatles song? Maybe. Do I care? No. Suck it.

Listening to Abbey Road, like reading the novel Frankenstein, is enriched by knowing the story behind it. Not only does it encompass all the facets of the Beatles' sound, it also has a narrative trajectory ("Come Together"--an invitation to gather, to "The End") and is made more moving by the fact that it represents the end of band altogether. This is part of the brilliance too of the John and Paul sides of the album. It is split in two. Two sides of one coin. Two different voices that must be contained, yet cannot be contained together. The metaphoric potential--

And, of course, don't get me started on the cover art . . .

Louder Than Bombs: Oh damn. Another compilation. I'm not very good at this, am I? But really, it's a lovely package. You might notice some themes by now. There is variety on this disc, right? You have the black songs like "Asleep" and "Unlovable", the dance-y "William, It Was Really Nothing" and "Sheila Take a Bow", and the super, super, super sexy "Hand in Glove" and "Rubber Ring." ("Rubber Ring" is one of the MOST sexy songs I can think of, actually. It's up there with "So Alive" and "Low" and "Hey Pretty"--but I digress.) Sure, often Moz's lyrics are completely self-indulgent and insipid, but they are accompanied by Johnny Marr's guitar, and what could be LESS self-indulgent and insipid than that? (Oh, Johnny Marr.)

And that's another thing about the album--that same yin/yang quality provided by the Lennon/McCartney partnership. There is something amazingly satisfying about what comes out of partnerships with tension. (Not interpersonal tension--creative tension. I don't believe that interpersonal tension is necessary for creative tension. So there.)

"Ask" is maybe my favorite song on the album. I'm shy! I'm coy! I need to be coaxed! If I were a sensitive dude, I would also spend my summer inside, writing poems to some girl in a European city-state!

***
You will notice that I am beginning to get rummy. I've been writing for a long time now. And I am also drinking afternoon beer. As a result, this is turning into a noticeably inconsistent post.
***

Yankee Hotel Foxtrot: In general, I am somewhat conflicted about Wilco and about Jeff Tweedy (who, mostly, I think is sort of annoying). And I know that this is an enormously popular album. But, really, it is lovely, from start to finish. I think that what makes this such a well-packaged album is the transitions. There is nothing jarring about them. One song feeds sort of seamlessly into the next. And it isn't that the whole album sounds the same (oh, does it? I don't think it does.), it is more that there is a strong internal logic to the tracks and the way that they are arranged.

The first time I ever listened to this album was the day after one of the most fun parties I've ever been to. It was at Jane's parents' house, which is, well, an unusual place. The party was HUGELY eventful. The next day, I went to Jane's, ostensibly to help her clean the place (we drank out of "real" glasses, so there was a lot of cleaning to do). But really, we spent most of the day sitting in the living room, with all the windows open, and the gauzy curtains blowing, listening to Yankee Hotel Foxtrot on continuous play, while we debriefed about the party for hours. The only thing that really marked the time was the way that the light changed in the room. We must have sat there for six hours.

Now, good memories related to an album is not enough to land it on this list. What does land it on the list is this: listening to YHF is actually just like sitting in a living room while light changes and a slight breeze rolls through. It is time passing without notice.

And it contains the cutest KISS-related song of all time, which always makes me think of Chuck Klosterman now.

***
Are you (the plural you) still reading? There are others too, but this is fairly representative of what I mean. When Chinese Democracy came out in the fall, Klosterman wrote that it was the last album that would be considered as a whole, thanks to our current music-delivery technology. I hope that isn't true. There is something about the whole of something--songs strung together with some sort of intention--that is, well, more than the sum of the parts. This is why I love (and fear for) the art of the mix--there is much that can be expressed in the art of the compilation.

I had some really important sports thoughts on Friday. So important that I completely forgot them until today.

1. I hate football a lot. And of all the NFL teams out there, I think I hate the Cowboys the most. But even I had to applaud their decision to cut T.O. And since I understand that it would be ridiculous for a future hall of famer to not find another job tout de suite (and don't think that I wasn't hoping against hope that he'd just become another unemployment statistic), I am at least glad to hear that a) he only has a one year contract with the Bills. He might even be enough of a pain in their ass that one year is all it will take for them to want to "set a new tone in the locker room" as well. b) he will be freezing off extremities that will not be named here. (I am a lady, afterall.)

2. As much as I hate football, and the Cowboys, there is something I hate even more. (Yes, fake hustle, but that's not what I am talking about right now.) Mercenary athletes. Athletes who only care about the bottom line and don't seem to be moved at all by the franchise for which they play--not the city, the fans, the tradition of a program. I think that loyalty is worth a little something. Perhaps this has to do with growing up in a one-sport, one-team town like PDX. But here, we like our athletes to like being our athletes. (And if you don't believe that, consider the true outpouring of love and regret over the passing of Kevin Duckworth last year.) Anyhoo--I suppose the 2-year contract between mercenary athlete Manny Ramirez and the Dodgers, from that city-without-a-soul, is fitting. But G--, how can anyone really celebrate THAT? I mean, I get it. The guy is a great baseball player, or something. But he just doesn't seem to care that much about who he plays for. I would think that even the zombie fans in LA would care about the lack of enthusiasm. (And I know, I know, everyone reports that Ramirez wants to be playing in LA, but he sure doesn't sound like it when he talks. And, sure, everyone tries to make as much money as he or she can, but faking a little enthusiasm about the job can't hurt.)

Finally, a word to the gentlemen of the Blazers: please win tonight. Phil Jackson said in a press conference this week that the reason that the Lakers have a sizable losing streak at the Rose Garden is because of the incessant rain and all the depressing faces in Portland. AHHHH! Take your crystals and your incense and well, you know, Mr. Jackson.

Today I asked Ella (who is still a week shy of being 4, officially) if she knew who the Blazers are playing tonight. She said, "no, who?" I said, "the Lakers." She made a face like something really foul had just hit her nose and said, "Oh, I don't like the Lakers."

She's not even four, people! We're all so proud.