The Make-Ready

and my lips, they don't kiss, they don't kiss the way they used to

2011-12-13T23:52:00.001-08:00

Tonight, as I was driving home, I was listening to an old mix that had this Killers song on it. And I was reminded of something that I have thought a lot about before: there are songs and bands (entire band catalogs!) that belong to someone.

Here is what I mean: I cannot hear the Killers or Arcade Fire without thinking of one person. And, even more specifically, one night I spent with this one person. We listened to Arcade Fire that night. But I associate the Killers with him because he is the one that told me, before I ever heard them, that I would love them. And he was right.

But there are others. People I don't see on a regular basis, or people I don't see ever, that are literally with me every time I hear their song. The odd part about this phenomenon is that I think that most of the people who own music for me probably don't know it.

Do you recognize yourself? For each of the following songs, there is only ONE person that I think of, or will ever think of. These are YOUR songs, people. (To make it easy, I'll give you a hint.)

*"At My Window, Sad and Lonely" (You are a sad, sad bastard.)

*"These Days" (You cry in coffeeshops.)

*"When the Children Cry" (You drink slurpees and look at Christmas lights with me.)

*"Okkervil River Song" (We have never heard this song together, but it makes me think of you growing up on the James.)

*"More than a Feeling" (I don't know what to say about this one. You either know who you are, or you don't.)

*"Daydream Believer" (I'd sing it for you at karaoke.)

*"Self-Esteem" (Turn it up. Roll down the windows. Sing along.)

*"All I Want is You" (There is a time when I wanted was you. But you would have made me a U2 widow.)

*"Go Places" (I don't see you anymore. And I don't want to. But I will say that your appreciation of this song persists as one of the best things about you.)

*Anything by the Pet Shop Boys. (I mean, c'mon. How much time did I spend in your bathroom? How could the Pet Shop Boys NOT remind me of you? Of course, I can't hear Rufus Wainwright without thinking of you either.)

*"Your Love" (You are 7 and 9, and you both have this song on your I-pods cuz of me.)

True Confession: I would love to know that I shored up some music for someone else. And maybe something other than the Singing Nun version of "Que Sera Sera."

Sports n Me

2010-08-06T16:38:00.000-07:00

It is possible that some of you, readers, are as confused about my relationship to sports as some of the people in my non-blog life seem to be. I can totally understand that. My plan is to write about how annoying sports are this summer (and Portland sports talk radio, in particular), but I recognize that a more systematic explanation of my interest in sports might be necessary first. An attempt at that follows.

Point one: I am not a sports fan. I do not watch sports. In the past year, I have perhaps seen a grand total of two hours of college football and 3-4 hours of NBA basketball. I will also admit to watching a few minutes here and there of World Cup action. (It seemed impossible to miss.) Most years I catch at least a few NCAA March Madness games, but this year I don't think I saw any at all. I didn't watch anything during the Winter Olympics, other than the unavoidable footage of the poor luge guy who died. (Which, by the way, was hardly better than a snuff film. I mean, really?) I also do not root for any teams myself, although I do take a hometown pride in the Blazers, when they do well, and in both U of O and Oregon State when their teams do well. But that is more a function of my out-0f-control regionalism than sports fandom. Further, I do not own any gear, other than an "Oregon Girls Rock" tee shirt (which doesn't even look like U of O swag) and a green on green longhorn tee which I mostly bought because it was the most Oregon-looking UT product I could imagine.

Point two: I am a huge radio fan. I love listening to people talk on the radio. And, truth be told, I have always sort of felt like I missed out, historically. I would have been a rabid radio "stories" fan in the 1920s, 30s and 40s. Most talk radio now, unfortunately, sucks. And it trades mostly in fear and anxiety. I don't need much more of that in my life. I am surrounded by un/underemployed people with rising credit debt. I don't need to hear about it on the radio. This is half of why I have become near obsessed with sports talk radio. Sports talk radio does not make me feel anxious. I do not find myself talking back to the hosts, nor to the callers. I never end up shaking and angry. At most, I occasionally feel some mild irritation.

I also really like listening to someone describe a sporting event on the radio. When I was young, my dad would often take my brothers and me with him to the post office at the airport sometime between dinner and bedtime. I think it gave my stay-at-home mom a little evening breather. I have fond and vivid memories of resting my cheek against a cold car window, watching rain pelt the dark 205 pavement, while Bill Schonely called Blazer games on crackly AM radio. Interestingly, I can't really follow games called on radio. I can hardly follow games that I'm actually watching. But I like listening to games being called, and I really like the interaction between a play-by-play guy and a good color commentator. (Commentators, by the way, have one of the hardest jobs I can imagine. They have to look for openings, and then talk to fill the holes, but get out of the way quickly when something happens. That's not an easy task, especially if you want to make it not seem clunky.)

Point three: I like stories. Most people know this about me. Narrative rocks my world. My primary interest in sports is in sports narratives. Narratives about individual players. Narratives about certain teams. Narratives about management. Sports is filled with great stories. And they are, almost without exception, cooler than stories about celebrities and politicians, because, in sports, stuff actually happens. Celebrities go shopping, have their pictures taken, talk to the press, get pregnant, break up, go to parties, and occasionally do some work. Not really that interesting. And when it IS sort of interesting (a la Lohan), it is too depressing to really follow. Politicians (and American politics, for that matter) are hardly better. But in sports, games are played. Players are drafted and traded. Seasons are completed. Cool stats emerge. Epic battles are won and lost. Personality helps, or gets in the way of success. There is a lot of script. And I find, as someone who has a good handle on story, in general, that it is super easy to follow sports stories. So that I don't really have to watch sports in order to talk about them with some intelligence.

Point four: Guys dig sports. I like listening to guys talk about sports. It has taught me a lot about men. And I like witnessing men bond. Ok? I think it is cute. (And, yes, that is probably as condescending as it sounds.) Listening to sports talk radio appeals to me in a real "fly on the wall" kind of way. AND it has the added benefit of making me informed enough to talk to guys about sports (most of the time--I mean, don't scratch too deep, guys, because if you do, I'll sound like a real idiot). I have an old school belief in the art of conversation. And knowing a little about sports, and about what people are saying about sports at any given time, makes me a better conversationalist (as does knowing a little about film, tv, pop psychology, history, music, and whatever else I know a little bit about).

OK. I'm hoping that sort of clears things up a bit. Next post--what I am learning from sports talk this summer, and why it IS making me a little anxious.

New Blog

2010-08-05T19:29:00.000-07:00

As promised, my new blog Rubens's Muse has officially launched. Unlike The Make-Ready, which is meant to be a catch-all, Rubens's Muse is a theme-based entity. And it won't be for everyone. But I encourage you all to at least check it out.

Watch The Make-Ready for other developing projects. This is a very creative and productive period for the KRD.

As always, thanks for your interest!

What's New

2010-07-26T20:45:00.000-07:00

Goodness. The world keeps spinning and I have lots and lots that needs a-talkin' about. Stay tuned for discussions about 1) a new blog! (I know, you think that I can't keep up with this one. It's true. But this is going to be a new project altogether.) 2) Why I am a crappy Victorianist and how I'm getting better. 3) Why I am going to FREAK OUT on Portland sports talk radio. 4) How tv has recently convinced me that I should only watch tv/movies starring Tom Selleck and destroy all of my music, replacing it with the entire Rush catalog. 5) Self improvement, and how I plan to achieve it.

My pupose here is not just to promise far off blog posts. It is also to alert you to the fact that I now have a twitter account. I TOTALLY want to make excuses for myself. But I am not going to. I am just going to tell you that it is out there. So far, I have mostly "tweeted" (GOOD LORD) about Rebecca Haarlow. And re-tweeted JBro's responses to my tweets about Rebecca Haarlow. If that appeals to you at all, you can check it out @Frissin.

I think that Jamie is getting tired of being my only follower . . . It is a lot of pressure on a girl.

A Gift for Me

2010-07-14T09:57:00.000-07:00

Today is like Christmas, my birthday, and the first day of school all rolled up into one.

The Sklar Bros are hosting Jim Rome's radio show.

Ear candy, people. Ear candy.

Greetings From Lobster Girl

2010-07-13T22:27:00.000-07:00

I. Am. So. Burnt.

Ow. I just pulled the sheet over my burning hot, super sensitive body. (And I do NOT mean this in a sexy way. I mean this in a totally NOT sexy way.) Ow.

Today my mother and I took my wards, and her two wow (wards of the weekend) out to the Indian Reservation to swim. Um. Maybe that sounds weird. We went to the pool fed by natural hot springs at Kah-nee-ta, the resort on the Warm Springs reservation. This is a favorite summer activity of ours. My grandmother (mother's mother--whose birthday would have been tomorrow, poetically) used to take us. She would put together a kick ass picnic lunch and we would spend the WHOLE day by the pool. This is a tradition that we've kept up with the kids in our lives. (OK. Our picnic today wasn't totally awesome, but the day was.)

The best part of going to Kah-nee-ta--every time the best part--is getting home at night. Super worn out. Super hungry. A little pink. Tonight I'm supper tired. I would be supper hungry if I had a normal person stomach. And I'm a lot pink. But it still feels really, really good. (On the inside. Because on the outside it hurts like hell.)

KFK, revisited

2010-07-12T20:32:00.000-07:00

Aw Damn. After all that Karate Kid discussion (thanks for the shoutout, OMD, by the way), I totally reversed my stance and took the wards to a mall showing (complete with an awesome trip to Hot Dog On A Stick) of the film. I know, I know. No integrity.

A girl gets desperate when she is hanging out with bored kids and the temp is going to get close to 100 degrees. Have a little pity.

Anyway. It's not bad. The worst parts are actually all the nods to the original. I wish that they had just made a kung fu film with Jackie Chan and Jaden Smith and had forgotten about the fly/chopstick bit, the dead wife, the evil sensai, and the hopping at the competition. That was all the weakest stuff. (Well, that and one performance, which I will discuss further in a moment.)

The film is actually pretty beautiful to watch. I could have used even more scenes in the urban playground. (I love the ping pong dude!) The festival scene and the location training scenes are also beautiful. The highest praise I can give the film is that it made me yen to go to China myself--something that not even America's Next Top Model has been able to do.

Watching Jaden Smith is like watching a tiny version of Will Smith. They are charming in EXACTLY the same way. They move in EXACTLY the same way. It would be creepy if it were not so adorable. Also. That little kid is ripped. How does that even happen? It was impressive. (One of my wards rushed home and immediately started to do push ups with his feet up on one of the living room chairs. He also was impressed by J. Smith's awesome upper body.)

On the down side: I COULD NOT STAND the woman who played Smith's mother. Which is weird, because I really wanted to like her. But she was annoying. And she took away from every scene she was in. It was frustrating.

As I predicted, the age of the young Smith is a little bit of a problem. The romance between Smith and the freaking adorable Wenwen Han would have been more successful if they were both just a little bit older. I was also a little weirded out by the fact that Smith's character seemed significantly younger than any of his kung fu opponents. (In fact, one of them looked like he could be 20. What is a 20 year old doing trying to beat up a 12 year old?!) Listen, William Zabka was a lot bigger than the Macchio, but he didn't seem to be a whole lot older. It is a totally different scenario.

Bottom line? If you can think of this film as NOT part of the orignal franchise, you can certainly be entertained by this film.

Stay tuned for discussions about my summer obsessions: Tasty Planet, white chocolate mac nut Luna bars and audio books! (Do not judge, dear readers.)

Enchanted Afternoon

2010-06-30T00:03:00.000-07:00

Wednesday I took my two summer wards (boys, aged 6 and 8) to the Enchanted Forest. For those of you who grew up in Oregon, get ready to wax nostalgic. For those of you who are not, I shall attempt to explain.

The Enchanted Forest is a weird little amusement park, about 10 minutes south of Salem, OR. (And about 15 minutes south of the 45th Parallel. Have I ever blogged about the 45th Parallel? If I have not, I should at some point. I have a lot of thoughts about it.) Anyhoo. This means that it is about an hour by car from my childhood home. My parents probably took us once a year or so. In those days, there were really 3 main features to the park (unless you include snack bars, which in this case, you might. Then there were 4.). First, there is a path through the woods with little scenes from children's books and fairy tales. Some of them are somewhat interactive. For instance, there is a crooked house to walk through. And a rabbit hole to crawl through. Some of them are just scenes off the path--Jack and Jill falling down the hill, for instance. Some are made to walk through--like the mine of the seven dwarves. There are a couple of big slides along the path too. All of these attractions date back to the 1950s or 60s. Some of them are slightly animated, but not in a high tech kind of way.

After you make your way though this part of the park, you will find yourself in a fake western town. There are scenes and vingettes, a shooting games/galleries, super cheesy "gift shops", a fort and another slide (this one is the best in the park).

Right outside of the western time sits a small, outdoor theatre. When the park is open, the theatre features several daily showings of a short (25 minute) play. These plays belong to the genre of fractured fairy tales. This time, the play was Hansel and Gretel and it featured all of the expected conventions of an Enchanted Forest masterpiece: 1) outrageous costumes; 2) many gratutious cultural references (the Jonas Brothers, Miley Cyrus, Justin Bieber); 3) one female character played by a male; 4) college-aged theatre major actors; 5) a couple of musical numbers; 6) lots of physical humor; 7) audience participation. I remember seeing several of these plays as a child. Definitely a Princess and the Pea, and also Rumplestiltskin.*

At some point between my childhood visits and my senior skip day (Yes, my girlfriends and I went to the Enchanted Forest for senior skip day.) the park started adding attractions. First a European village. Then some amusement park rides. Now the park contains a decent log ride, haunted house, some kiddie rides, a small, alpine-themed roller coaster, and a ride called "Challenge of Mondor" which is described as a slow-moving, magically-themed ride that allows visitors to interact by shooting dangerous magical creatures. (?!?!) Unfortunately, I couldn't convince the boys to go on this ride with me. I am tempted to drive back down there at some point this summer just to check it out.

The boys DID, however, convince me to take them on the roller coaster and the log ride. As I was standing in line for the roller coaster, I realized that this was the first time in about 8 years that I had been on any kind of ride. As a kid, I was fearless when it came to thrill rides. Not so anymore. They terrify me now. The log ride has a 40 foot drop into the water below. Once we got to that point in the ride, I had to close my eyes and turn my head to the side as we started the descent. At the top of the ride, I thought, very distinctly, "I don't actually want to do this anymore."

But it was actually super fun. And I was surprised how familiar the whole experience was. And it made me think very fondly of my childhood. Enchanted Forest is a throwback. Not only to my personal past, but to a kind of kitchy mid-century Americana that really predates my childhood, but that I still find myself nostalgic for. It is sort of inspiring me to take some road trips to see some of the other destinations of my childhood. Stay tuned . . . In the meantime, I can recommend a really fine piece of outdoor theatre . . .

*This particular play became a part of Dorsey lore, because my youngest brother--hardly more than a babe-in-arms, was freaked the freak out by the creepy Rumplestiltskin theatre nerd. For years and years, all one would have to do to make him scream was to bend over, hobble around, wiggle fingers and say "Rumplestiltskin, Rumplestiltskin" in a meanacing voice.

Gold Rush!

2010-06-26T22:00:00.000-07:00

So, officially I don't think that I have blogged about my brother and his current Alaskan adventure.

I shall do so now.

My middle brother (the one you would EXPECT to have an Alaskan adventure, if'n you know us Dorseys at all) left for Alaska at the end of April. He is there with a group of guys that he met in his Christian-men-who-like-to-hunt-and-fish-and-do-outdoorsy-things organization. They are there to work a gold mine. Yes. A gold mine. No. He doesn't know anything about mining.

The mine is 3o miles from Haines. In the middle of nowhere. Well. In the middle of bear country. But nowhere by people standards.

My sister-in-law and my niece (5 years old) and my nephew (3 years old), joined my brother 2 weeks ago. This is what they have to say for themselves:

Joy is bored.

Ella is playing in the dirt a lot, and she reports that she cannot play in "the backyard" because of the bears.

Hank has a blue sleeping bag.

Ryan doesn't say much--to me.

Now. This might all sound sort of strange, but not maybe extraordinary to you. This is where you are wrong.

Because this whole experience is being taped for a reality show for the Discovery Channel (working title Gold Rush). Oh yes. My brother, sister-in-law, niece and nephew, are poised to become darlings of the reality tv world--probably next year some time. This is completely surreal. Maybe even more surreal to those CLOSE to them. (Because, let's face it, this is sort of par for the course for Ryan and his brood.)

Here are some of the topics of conversation/worry/hope we entertain about the subject:

1. Lots of jokes (in bad taste, clearly) about the possibility of Ella and Hank being "Timothy Treadwell'd". (Yes. He has become a verb.)

2. Ryan or Joy or the kids showing up on The Soup. Or maybe Ryan getting to be a guest on Chelsea Lately. (This would rock my world, by the way.)

3. The potential need for me to change my last name.

4. Which of Henry's wives is married to one of the crew members. (The crew are all native English/Welsh/Irish/Scottish dudes. One of them is married to an actress who plays one of Henry the Eighth's wives on The Tudors. But I don't know which crew member. And I don't know which wife.)

5. Whether these guys are actually going to strike gold.

6. Whether Karen will end up on film. (Everyone agrees that she'd be a good tv character.)

You get the picture.

I'll keep you all posted.

My Hiatus Hole

2010-06-14T16:07:00.000-07:00

So, a few posts ago, OMD mentioned something about my "hiatus hole," by which he meant the hole that I appeared to have climbed into (fallen into?) that caused a protracted hiatus from this little labor of love.

What is funny about that turn of phrase is that I have a hiatus hole (literally, I'm not even kidding), which sort of caused me to fall into that other hiatus hole. I will explain:

About a year ago I contracted a pretty nasty stomach virus, thanks to my lovely, but continuously contagious, niece and nephew. (Who, by the way, are dodging grizzlies as we speak. But I'll save that for another post.) I never recovered fully from it. After a while, probably too long a while, I started looking for an explanation. For a long time I thought I had an ulcer. And I went around for several months treating myself for that. It went ok, except that occasionally I would have bouts of uncontrolled vomiting, which was not so ok. Then, over spring break, I had a really bad bout (no details--I know you don't want them) and I started going to doctors.

Sparing you all the doctors visits and tests, I will just fast forward to what I know now. I have a series of weird anatomical defects--one of them being a hole in my hiatus--that require very fancy and expensive surgery. (My nurse today told me that I'm receiving the "gold standard" treatment.) In short, I am going to have my stomach pulled down and into proper position (it has become a bit jostled). It is also going to get a little nip and tuck so that it will become sort of mini-stomach, which will serve me just fine. Although it is going to seem like I eat like a bird, only rather more often than I've been accustomed. THEN they will stitch up my hiatus hole, and attach some webbing--made of biological material, how cool and sci-fi does that sound?--over (around?) my diaphragm, in hopes that my diaphragm will get a little stronger and more resistant to tearing.

It all sounds worse, maybe, than it is. Because I have a super-star surgeon and he's going to do it all through a couple of tiny holes. And I have been promised that, although I will feel super, super crappy for a week, I will be able to work two weeks after the surgery. Amazing, huh? All of this will result in a much more structurally sound me! ('Though a me that has to give up beer and all carbonated bevies in the future. This is sad, certainly. But they aren't taking away my coffee and I get to live and stop vomiting all the time. One does not get something for nothing.)

The point of all this is: I have not felt well in a long, long time. I've managed to keep working, but it has been hard to keep up other things that take effort. Because I'm tired a lot. And a little undernourished a lot. And, more recently, I've been seeing doctors a lot. But it is all starting to calm down a little, and I've been feeling very good. And one of the first things that happened was that I got back to you all (however many of you there are), and that should make you feel good too.

Thanks for checking back and finding me again.

Shout Outs

2010-06-12T02:46:00.000-07:00

To my brother: I hear things have been a little rough in the great white north. Don't let the bastards get you down.

To Colorado: Way to be the first rats off the sinking ship, and welcome to the Pac 11.

To Baylor: Guess you guys are conference shopping. Good luck with that.

To Adam, with the adorable floppy hair: I would have been so super psyched if you and your drunk little friends had come to sit with me and my friends when I was your age. Want a piece of advice? Keep "You have to help me out here. I'm out of my element" in your pick up arsenal. You can get away with that for another few years. It's disarming. Have a good time drinking whiskey in Molalla tomorrow night. Happy 21st birthday.

To the Stray Cats: My apologies for butchering your song tonight. It was meant as an homage. Best intentions and all.

Aw, Hell No!

2010-06-09T17:52:00.000-07:00

Fair warning: this is going to be a post full of complaints.

1. In response to James's meditation on the remake of KK: I am totally with you. I have not blogged about this travesty for the very reason that I also have no intentions of seeing this. My issues, dear James, are slightly different from yours (although we do overlap on the red leather jacket). For one thing, why is the karate kid (oops! the Kung Fu Kid!) 12? I mean, the original film was a teen flick. Jaden Smith is not a teen. Ergo, this is not a teen flick. What's with that? If they had to have him, couldn't they have waited until he hit 16? It would have given Chan a few years to age too, and that couldn't hurt. I don't share your feelings about Jaden Smith though. I mean, he is the offspring of two of the most adorable people on Earth (even though I have a sneaking suspicion that Jada is not a very nice person). He is also adorable. But he's too young for this film. It is silly.

Also, I agree, Chan is no Miyagi. What is KK without Bonsai? Without catching flies with chopsticks? Without Southern California and a lot full of cars that may or may not run? Without a heart wrenching back story about a lost Japanese love? Without saki?

It's all crap. What's with Hollywood and remakes anyway? I know so many damn writers, some of them really talented, who could tell new stories, but we get this rehash. What's the point? It is so, so, so not interesting and not creative. Grrr.

2. The Pac 16? With Tejas and Oklahoma? Screw that. To quote my niece, "Are they even being serious right now?" Listen. I get the fact that it will bring better money, better television time, more prestige to the conference. I also get the fact that this could lay groundwork for several "superconferences" that could lead to some kind of actual playoff/national championship football situation. I also get that there would likely be two divisions that would return us to, for all intents and purposes, a Pac 8 situation. (Arizona and Arizona state would form the B division with Oklahoma, Oklahoma State, Texas, A & M, Tech and, probably, Baylor.) Those are pluses. I can't deny it. But I cannot get behind anything that ties the Oregon schools to the Texas and Oklahoma schools. On principle. Is that narrow minded and regionalist of me? Hell, yes. But the truth is, I don't want Texas anywhere near my Pacific anything. (By the way, we are going to be screwed when the state of Texas secedes from the union. We'll end up the Pac-13. And that just doesn't make any sense.)

3. If Paul Allen is going to fire Kevin Pritchard, I wish he'd just do it. I'm tired of the speculation already. There's been too much upheaval in the Oregon sporting world already this year (by the way, thank the sports gods that Masoli was stupid enough to get busted for what was reported to be a tiny possession charge. He only would have proven a distraction this coming year.). Just get rid of K.P. (without the blessing of the majority of Blazer fans) and name his replacement so that we can all get on with our lives.

4. And I can't believe I am saying this, but PLEASE, PLEASE could we get some warmer and sunnier weather?! I mean, you all know that I love rain more than most, but I do recognize that Oregonians need a few good months of sun in the summer. And I am good with that. Besides, I can't get a damn thing done with sheets of rain coming down all the time. It has been a miserable couple of months, and even the heartiest of us are starting to get a little down.

That's about it. For today. Feel free to leave your personal bitchfest in my comments section. Lord knows I deserve to have to listen to them!

A review (kinda) and a digression (really)

2010-06-05T22:51:00.000-07:00

I have actually found a way to shoehorn in a little reading recently (although not much). I did pick up Chuck Palahniuk's 2008 novel Snuff, mostly because I knew that I could read it in a short one hour reading session at a coffeeshop. (Well, an hour 15, probably.)

I was right.

This novel takes place at the taping of a porno flick, and is organized in alternating chapters narrated by five different characters. This is a gimmick Palahniuk has used before--to much better effect in Rant (a book about which I have complicated feelings). The plot of the novel is thin--it doesn't take long to figure out what the relationship between the characters is likely to be. Nor is the expected "Palahniuk twist" all that unpredictable. The final scene of the book should only be described as gratuitous, disgusting and (maybe worst of all) highly improbable.

Wait. I just had to interrupt the writing of this because Criminal Intent is on, and I just got very distracted by wondering if Saffron Burrows spends all of her time trying to remember to suck in her cheeks while she is "acting," or if that is just a freak of facial anatomy. Either way, it stresses me out.

Ultimately, this is a disappointing book. I have read most of Palahniuk's books. I'm not sure why. Usually I am left with the feeling that he just didn't really give it much effort. He's a man with a lot of imagination. And he has a good ear for dialog. But he rarely comes up with much more than a sort of interesting, but underdeveloped, concept. I always read him thinking that maybe the novel in my hand will be the one in which he delivers what his potential promises. (Rant did come close. Just because it was, in its own way, a much more ambitious book than most of his others.) To make matters worse, Palahniuk takes sophomoric delight in creating the names of the fictional male porn stars and the films in which they star. It is humor hardly worthy of morning rock station shock jocks, let alone a darling of contemporary fiction.

So. Um. I'm not really recommending this book. Unless you read as quickly as I do, and you are just sort of curious, and you aren't someone who is overly worried with squandering your leisure time.

EXCEPT. The hardcover of this book sports really great thematic endpapers. If you pass the book in a bookstore, pick it up and look. And see if you don't agree that it would be great to have a roll of that in wrapping paper form.

In Mourning

2010-05-17T20:00:00.000-07:00

It is with great sadness that I say:

Rest in Peace, Ronnie James Dio. ('Though to me you shall always be Johhny Del Rio). We loved you for your awesome rock finger sign, your weirdo I-never-would-have-gotten-laid-without-rock looks, your unfortunate legacy as the "other" lead singer of Sabbath, and your completely incomprehensible lyrics. (Seriously. I read the lyrics to "Holy Diver" today. I am a college instructor of the English language, and I couldn't make heads nor tails of it.)

You were a rock underdog but will be remembered as a rock alpha dog. Today I make the devil horns sign not only with my hands, JDR, but also with my heart.

An Open Letter, Quack Quack

2009-11-21T23:19:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-16T19:51:00.000-08:00

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.

2009-11-13T21:46:00.001-08:00

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

2009-08-18T10:28:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-11T16:03:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-24T23:31:00.000-07:00

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?"

2009-06-09T22:39:00.001-07:00

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

2009-06-05T10:57:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-01T21:54:00.000-07:00

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

2009-05-26T11:36:00.000-07:00

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

2009-05-20T19:46:00.001-07:00

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

on my TV watching habits

2009-05-14T09:23:00.001-07:00

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

2009-05-10T01:55:00.001-07:00

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?

2009-05-06T09:12:00.000-07:00

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

2009-05-05T09:24:00.000-07:00

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

2009-04-25T02:13:00.000-07:00

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?

2009-04-21T23:56:00.000-07:00

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

Shout outs:

2009-04-21T23:28:00.000-07:00

. . . 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

2009-04-20T12:23:00.000-07:00

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

2009-04-19T22:27:00.000-07:00

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

2009-04-16T09:23:00.000-07:00

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

2009-04-06T18:37:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-03-30T23:05:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-30T03:39:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-28T04:04:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-03-28T03:37:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-26T21:42:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-24T23:40:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-24T17:36:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-23T21:33:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-19T14:21:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-18T23:30:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-15T22:39:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-13T22:31:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-12T15:47:00.001-07:00

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

2009-03-10T12:30:00.000-07:00

(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.

2009-03-09T13:26:00.000-07:00

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.

Very Important Query

2009-03-09T11:30:00.000-07:00

Why are coffee sleeves ubiquitous now?

I mean, I try to remember to bring my own coffee mug, but I don't always. And then I get a paper cup, which I already feel sort of guilty about. And now they just AUTOMATICALLY put extra cardboard around my coffee every time it is in a paper cup. This is too bad, for a few reasons:

Most of the time I get an Americano with (cold) soy milk. The soy milk cools the coffee down easily enough that I can hold the cup comfortably without something between my hand and the cup.

I have 2 reusable sleeves of my own that I pretty much always have with me (whether I have a mug or not). One of them is silicone and pink and works beautifully. The other (a recent birthday gift from a thoughtful friend) is black, beautifully designed, and can actually also be worn as a bracelet. But I don't get to use them. Unless I take off the cardboard sleeve, which seems kind of rude after someone went to the trouble to put it on.

It also just isn't very (and I HATE this term, by the way), green.

Coffee with milk almost NEVER requires a sleeve. And if you are one of those assholes that orders your latte "extra hot" or--worse yet--at a specific temperature, you deserve burnt hands.

So what I am saying is this: can we go back to the days when the sleeves were optional? Please.

A message from your friendly vampire

2009-03-08T22:57:00.000-07:00

I hate Daylight Savings Time.

Seriously.

I like the dark. I do not like having to adjust to getting up an hour early in the spring--and I mean, BARELY the spring, now that the brain trust in Washington decided to extend DST. It really added insult to injury that, on the same day that I lost a full hour of weekend, it also freakin' snowed in Portland. I do not like the assumption that light is somehow better than darkness, or that the only form of S.A.D. is a reaction to less light. Screw that.

It's enough to make me want to move to Arizona. Those crazy, old Republicans have it right. Down with DST.

Happy Birthday!

2009-03-06T23:29:00.000-08:00

I just returned home from the second and final night of Mikey J's birthday extravaganza 2009. (He mildly objects to the "extravaganza" part, but that's how I like to think of it.)

Tonight was the mellow part of the celebration--dinner at Dots (eat your heart out displaced Portlanders!) and our now customary Friday night drinks at North, which we redecorated in our heads as we downed our bevies.

For his birthday, I got Mike tickets to the Reading Frenzy benefit at Holocene last night. It made me happy to be able to support RF, which is my favorite alternative media outlet. I also figured it would make Mike happy to attend an event where he could see Carrie Brownstein (who was showing some of her Thunderant shorts) and Corin Tucker, who was playing a short set of all-new solo songs. He loves those Sleater-Kinney girls!

There were also a couple of readings, and other bands (we both sort of liked Explode into Colors) and there were a lot of hipsters. Mike had a few drinks, and found one guy and one girl who he wanted to rumble with. The guy, he argued, deserved an ass kicking for sporting a ridiculous mullet-becomes-a-rat-tail. The girl's offence was wearing overly ironic garb. She was dressed like Bailey from WKRP, but she wasn't as cute. He kept his cool though. During Tucker's show a drunk, loud, obnoxious S-K fangirl almost got a beat down. I could have gotten behind that one. She was truly deserving. But, ultimately, Mikey is a lover (so I hear), and not a fighter. Thus, she got off easy with just a well-justified verbal lashing.

We also heard a horrible short story about a giant slug and a "vixen" named Teresa, delivered by the guy behind How's Your News and we saw one of the ladies that Mike has recently been on a date with. All in all, it was an entertaining evening.

Happy birthday, Mikey J! The anniversary of your birth is something worth celebrating.

One more

2009-03-03T23:11:00.000-08:00

for Qwanty. (And maybe also for J-Bro, if she's out there somewheres.)

We went to the Delta for a little Portland soul on my birthday. And by "Portland soul" I mean corn and black eyed pea fritters and a lovely drink that was made with Earl Grey-infused vodka and soy milk (over ice). The dinner party was made up of myself, my parents, Ryan, Joy, and my lovely niece and nephew.

They were playing the Beach Boys. This pleased my niece, who loves her some Beach Boys, some Buddy Holly, and some Joan Jett. (Go figure.)

This also led to a startling revelation about my mother, the Kare Bear. Apparently, her favorite Beach Boys song is "The Sloop John B." Weird, huh? I didn't know that this was anyone's favorite Beach Boys song.

That Karen is an original.

Speaking of Grandparents

2009-03-03T21:18:00.000-08:00

OK, so have I ever written about the "Hunter's Banquet" (now, I guess called the "Sportsman's Banquet")? I don't think that I have. Which is weird, because the HB is one of the strangest things that is not really exactly a part of my life, but is something that sort of borders uncomfortably on my life. I forget about it most of the year. And then, suddenly, all the men in my family (with the exception of my youngest brother) are making plans to attend this event together and I am reminded again of the fact that this very weird thing is sort of part of my life experience. Let me explain:

For decades, my grandfather has been involved in a yearly event called the Hunter's Banquet. I have never attended this event (more on this in a moment), but here is my understanding of it: a bunch of church-goin' men who like to kill things for sport and have lifetime memberships to the NRA get together once a year for fellowship. They show off their recent taxidermy work, tell tall tales about fishing and hunting, win fishing/hunting related door prizes (everything from scopes, to knives, to gloves), and eat game. (And also bridge mix, which is sprinkled on the tables and is meant to represent--I kid you not--scat. Marvelous.)

The reason that I only have a shadowy idea of what happens at this event is that, for most of my youth, I was not invited because this was a men (and manchildren) only event. Now, it is true that I would not, at any point in my life, have been interested in attending this event. But the absolute exclusion based on my gender never really sat well with me. To make matters worse, I knew that there were women allowed to serve the men at the banquet, but this was the extent to which they were allowed to participate. Think I am exaggerating? Part of the event used to be that there was a bell that someone would ring every time a man mentioned anything about a female--be she a lady, or a doe. Um. Really.

At some point this started to change. I don't know that there are many women who go now, but my niece went this year and it sort of sounds like everyone enjoyed having her here. (How could they not. As any of you who have met her know, she's a damn charming person.) That said, I am sort of ashamed to admit that I harbour some negative feelings toward this event. It represents a lot of stuff that I really hate and that I don't have much of a sense of humor about. On the other hand, it isn't my deal. And I really only have to hear about it once a year, which amounts to nothing more than a mild irritation.

Right?

In Dreams

2009-02-27T09:21:00.000-08:00

I know that it is awfully tedious when people try to tell you about their dreams, but I had a particularly strange experience this week.

I've been sick for almost 2 weeks now. Not just kinda sick either. Really sick. In fact, I am just getting my voice back, and I've been almost voiceless for 4 days. (As you can imagine, this has been hard on me.)

Anyhoo, I've been getting up to teach in the morning and then coming home by noon or so to go back to sleep. On Wednesday I was napping and had a dream in which the following topics were seamlessly woven together: 1) Running 2) My grandparents making pre-arranged funeral plans for themselves 3) Chaselweiss and 4) Gypsies.

I can account for the Chase part of this dream, as it has just recently been his birthday and I was thinking about it. I think that the running part of the dream, which was very, very vivid, had to do with the fact that I haven't been able to go to the gym, or for a run, since President's Day, which is when this whole sick thing hit me.

But I can't account for the part about my grandparents, and I certainly can't explain gypsies, since they are not a part of my everyday life. Although, my mother is rather unnaturally facsinated with gypsies, so I suppose it is sort of always there.

But c'mon. That's weird, right?

HA! Pextrix

2009-02-25T09:03:00.000-08:00

Qwanty is right--when one thinks about Peter, there are almost too many things to say. He's a strange, and complicated, guy. In that way (and probably in that way only) he is like my dad. To those of you who don't know (and who doesn't?), Peter is my favorite teacher I have ever had in my whole life. Ever. In my whole life. And I've had a lot of teachers and I've been really into a lot of them, but none come near to the almost mythical standing of Peter. (Not even Doc B)

Here are some interesting things about Peter:

1. He really likes the phrase "will-he-nil-he" which, for those of you who don't speak "peter", is willy-nilly. Even though he knows that people will be put off by this, he refuses to use the colloquial version of the saying, either in his writing or speaking. He's stubborn like that.

2. He referred me to his therapist. And I went. He also referred Qwanty to his wife's hairdresser. I don't think that she went. He believes that he can be that intrustive into certain student's lives. I guess maybe he can be.

3. Sometimes for Valentine's Day I make homemade fortune cookies and write out little haiku to stuff inside them. One year, I made one for Peter. The haiku was especially mushy. This should not surprise anyone. Several months later I was sitting in office (probably crying, because that is mostly what I did in his office), feeling uncomfortable because I realized that he had a weird naked woman fertility talisman statue on his desk. I kept trying not to stare at it, because it was such a weird thing to see there. At some point he mentioned the Valentine, and I sort of shrugged it off, but he reached FOR THE WEIRD NAKED WOMAN FERTILITY TALISMAN (at this point I wanted to run screaming from his office) and he showed me that it had a little box in the base and inside that box was the little slip of paper on which I'd written the hakiu. To this day I don't know if this is the sweetest memory I have of him, or the creepiest.

4. Peter, as of a few years ago, only considered me the 7th smartest student he'd ever had. Um. 7th? Talk about your faint praise.

5. I have seen Peter throw an eraser at a student. I also saw him throw chalk at the same student. I have also heard him ask another student, in complete seriousness, "who put you in charge of the obvious today?"

6. One of Peter's greatest friends in the world is a fairly well-known academic who writes like an angel. His prose is so conciliatory and has such a reasonable tone. Peter's writing is,well, cranky and scrappy. It is fun to read them back to back. One wonders what their friendship must be like.

7. Peter likes to eat. A lot. Let him take you out to lunch sometime. You only eat at nice resturants, and you can order whatever you like, and he forces wine on you. (And sometimes dessert as well.) He once told me that the only food he thinks that he doesn't like is cucumber. Cucumber?

I'm sure Qwanty has her own factoids about PC that she might like to share, but these are my favorites---

Quickies

2009-02-23T12:56:00.001-08:00

Here are a few things that I am thinking about today:

Smart Kids: It seems like I am surrounded by pretty friggin' smart kids. My niece and nephew are hella smart. My cousin's kids are all smart. Qwanty's kids are smart. My best buddy in Tejas, Gus, (big shout out to you, by the way, sport!) is super smart too. Amazingly, they are all also beautiful. Anyhoo. I've always enjoyed being around all these smart whippersnappers, but maybe that is changing. I got an email from my cousin's youngest, Mitch. HE IS ONLY IN FIRST GRADE, and this is what he wrote to me: I noticed a mistake, on your email to me!When you said I love you to, the 2 (too, two, to) was really the too kind of 2 (to, too or two).Too as in very or also. And then his sister said, "Kristin, doesn't this really embarrass you, considering that you teach college and everything." Great. I officially declare Mitch and Michaela "too smart."

(In my defense, I had a fever of 102 when I wrote the email and I think that it was just that the ring finger on my right hand was just toooooo weak to hit the "o" that second time.)

Why you gotta do me like that, Eddie Vedder? So I don't normally notice things like this, but apparently Pearl Jam has a new song called "Brother." Um. Seriously? Does this mean that if the band stays together for long enough we have "Great-niece" and "Gramps" and "Stepsister" to look forward to? (Actually, now that I ask, doesn't "Sexy Stepsister" sound like a DLRoth-era Van Halen tune?) But seriously. Maybe it is time to hang up the mechanic's jacket, Eddie. Are we also going to be subjected to an outpouring of songs named after color? (By the way, if you ever meet my youngest brother, try to get him to do his impression of Pearl Jam's drummer trying to play "Daughter". This is one of my favorite of his bits. He also does a really funny Charlie Watts impression, but he has to be in the right mood for it.)

If you can't beat them: Felisa, inspired by your comment on the last post, I made myself a birthday manicure appointment. I figure I can have pretty nails and whip some cream like I mean it.

Good feelin': Hey, you know what makes you feel good? When you hear from someone you haven't heard from in a long time, and they tell you that a conversation that you had with them has stuck with them in some way. Case in point, yesterday I got a message from Chung (those of you in Tejas will know of whom I speak, those of you who don't, he's a guy from the program there). He was at my going away party in July, and I had recommended Bill Buford's sensational book Heat to him. I had forgotten that we'd even talked about it. Anyway, he let me know that he'd read it and really enjoyed it. What a nice thing to do for someone else. I need to remember to be more thoughtful like that. Good on ya, Chung.

List: I am trying to make a list of some of the nicknames that I (or others in my life) have had for boys/men that I have either had relationships with, or crushes on. I am quite sure that I am leaving lots off the list, but this is what I have so far (it is more or less chronological). Slashes indicate a guy with multiple nicknames:

Little Jason Brown (5th grade boyfriend--he was pretty little)
Turtle
Beaner (in my defense, I didn't give this one--he gave it to himself)
"All the colors of the rainbow"
Ohio
Fon Jarrell
The Weasel
Homer
Axel
Prof. Detroit
Butt Karl and Smoking Karl (I had crushes on two guys named Karl in college, at the same time. I actually had hand motions that I used when referring to them, but they don't translate to blog)
Nature Man/Dr. Frankenstein
Coffee Boy
Bus-y Boy
Slim Shady
Hot & Bald
Byronatron/Byronasauraus Rex/Byrone/"The Old Man" (By the way, he would not be happy to know that he has such a long list of nicknames, ALL of them given to him by people other than myself)
Dunket
Firken (I mistakenly thought that this was a guy's last name. It was not, in fact)
Chaselweiss/Monster (there are many more too, but I didn't come up with them, and I don't want them getting back to him)
F.J.

Qwanty? I'm sure I'm leaving some important ones out.

In case you're counting: Rome had on his 8th Rex in a row today.

Piece of Cake

2009-02-23T00:48:00.000-08:00

Tonight, while I was making cupcakes to take to class tomorrow morning (for my birthday), I started thinking about something that has been bothering me for a long time, but which I have not spoken about to anyone. See, I watch a lot of Food Network programing. I like watching people cook a lot. I'm not sure why I find it entertaining, but I do. And, for the most part, I find almost anyone entertaining to watch. But there are two groups of people I don't enjoying watching:

1. Emeril. I guess that he is not really a "group" of chefs. But I don't like the guy.

2. (And this is what I really wanted to discuss in this post.) The dilettante cooks. This group includes Ellie Krieger (from Healthy Appetites), Sandra Lee (Semi-Homemade), Ina Garten (The Barefoot Contessa) and--the absolute worst--Giada deLarentiis. There are multiple reasons to dislike all of these women, but the thing that really bothers me, and what all of them have in common, is the super delicate way that they all handle food. All four of them have well-manicured nails (one of the ways you can tell that they are dilettantes) and everything that they do with food, whether it is chopping (which, by definition, is a sort of violent act, right?) to zesting, to stirring, is really gentle and ladylike. Who cooks like that? Seriously? A lot of cooking is sort of vigorous. If you are all concerned about not chipping a nail how can you appropriately mix, grate, mince, knead? Often you need to get in there and work your food. These women don't do that, and that makes all their food suspect. Lesser complaints about these women include: Ellie Kreiger puts lo-fat cheese into everything. That is gross and unnecessary. Sandra Lee 1) uses cans and mixes all the time and 2) ends every show with a themed "tablescape"--which is a word that no one should ever use. My biggest beef with Ina Garten (besides the fact that she is too dainty when she stirs things) is that she has somehow managed to marry a man rich enough to keep her in a nice house and to not have to work so that she can just cook food for all her fabulous gay friends. I am sort of jealous. I want a gay gardener friend, a gay foodie friend, a gay shopping friend, a gay florist friend, just to throw fabulous luncheons for. (I mean, I've got Dr. Awesome, but he doesn't have a whole lot of time for me now that he is busy saving children from disease.) But Giada. Don't even get me started. Who can't boil pasta and make 4-ingredient sauces and salads? There's no talent needed for that. It's ridiculous. I agree with Jeffrey Steingarten that the only reason that she has a cooking show is that she is sort of pretty.

That's it. I feel better now that this is off my chest. But don't take my word for it. See for yourself. It just seems wrong.

(By the way--I made devil's food cupcakes with orange cream cheese frosting, and polenta cupcakes with lime cream cheese frosting. I do not use boxed cake mixes. That's another rant all together.)

Weird Sad

2009-02-20T10:14:00.000-08:00

So, this morning I drove into work very early (left the house a few minutes to 6) and caught the very beginning of the last Adam Corolla Show broadcast, and then I caught the last 20 minutes as well.

And what I have to say about it is that I am weirdly, weirdly sad. I was sad when Corolla left Loveline to take this job in the first place. In my 20s I often would find a reason to drive across town after 10, just to listen to the show in the car. Then, this fall when I came back to Portland and began working very early in the morning (or, at least, very early in the morning for a girl like myself), I started listening to Ace every morning. On Fridays, recently, when I hang out with Mikey J, part of our hang out time has been devoted to talking about what happened on the show during the week. When the announcement came yesterday that the show was definitely ending today, Mike sent me an email expressing his regret for it.

I guess I hadn't realized how much this show has contributed to my well-being over the past few months. You may think it is trite, but it is a lot easier to get up and face a half hour commute (in the dark, and often on frosty roads) when you know that there is entertainment a push-button away. Not only that, but it's entertainment coming from a guy (and, heck, a whole crew of guys/gals) who is just kinda a good guy. A guy who deserves the success that he's had. A thoughtful and committed guy. It's going to feel like a real loss.

Sure, I still have Rome to get me home after work, but I'm going to miss my radio ice cream sandwich. (Corolla/sweet and creamy teaching/Rome) Hopefully it won't be long before he finds another media home.

In honor of--

2009-02-18T18:14:00.000-08:00

If you have been listening to Jim Rome for the past week, you know that he has become TOTALLY obsessed with guys by the name of Rex. For each of the last 5 broadcast days, he has had on someone named Rex. Today it wasn't even someone related to sports. It was Rex Lee, the actor from Entourage. In keeping with Rome's Rex week, I am reposting the following blog post from the old MySpace blog. I wrote it a couple of Valentine's Days ago. I am also considering resurrecting the "Bad Crushes and the Horrible Reasons I Had Them" series on The Make-Ready. God knows that I have about 300 crushes left from which to draw. Anyhoo. Enjoy this jog down memory lane.

In Honor of Valentine's Day's Approach

Bad Crush #2

Ok, I feel a little guilty calling this a "bad crush" because it was actually a fairly good one. But . . . well, it does have an element of the ridiculous to it. Wait. For. It.

SO, my parent's moved into their last home the summer between my junior and senior years of high school. It was a weird move, because they did it while I was at camp (busy being a CIT, or counselor-in-training for those of you who are not initiated into mysteries of summer camp). I left, and we were in the house I grew up in, and I came back, and we were in this new house. I HATED it. I won't get into all the reasons why, but one of them had to do with the fact that it was the middle of summer (bad to begin with) and the house didn't have any window coverings, and was A LOT brighter than the house I grew up in. All the light was making me cranky, and I missed MY house. On top of all of that, my best friend had moved to Norway about six months prior, and I missed her awfully, and she was miserable as well, which I knew because of the 2-3 letters PER DAY I received all that summer.

The move had one silver lining though, which I found out about a few days after I got back from camp. Our builder had hired a college-aged handyman, and he was over at our house several hours a day, working on finish work (a deck in the back, landscaping, adjusting doors. He was very handy.) On top of being handy he was HOT, and in his early twenties. And I was a bored sixteen-year-old. I was in heaven. He did a lot of working outside with his shirt off (and, I don't need to tell you, dear reader, that he had a great chest, and a great tan, and bleached out hair) and I did a lot of taking him glasses of lemonade. It was all very 90210 (you know, when Kelly had a thing with Jake, before they spun him off onto Melrose?!).

If all this was not enough to send me into hormonal overload, he did the cutest thing ever, and it sealed the crush deal. See, we had moved into a new housing development, and we were in one of the first houses finished and occupied. So the area around us was leveled, but not really developed. A stray dog showed up one day. My mom got worried about it and started making sure that he had food and water. He was a mutt, but very sweet. My parents, of course, were not going to take it in (we have a family aversion to pets), but my mom was somewhat worried about what was going to happen to him. The handyman was VERY sweet to the dog, and it began to follow him around all day. In the afternoons, the handyman would take a break for lunch, and the dog would curl up next to him. Before long it became pretty obvious that he was going to have to take the dog. OK, so I'll admit that I'm not a huge animal lover, but I did think that it was adorable that the handyman felt responsible and nurturing toward this dog. I remember the day that he finally decided to take it home with him. I have this image of the handyman's truck driving away, the dog happily riding in the bed. He looked like he couldn't believe his luck.

The handyman finished the work on my house, which was sad. Then summer ended, and he finished working for our builder, and that was sadder. (Yes, I did just say "sadder"--get off my back, grammar police!) He went back to college, I went back to finish my senior year of high school.

Sigh.

So I know what you are thinking. Nothing THAT ridiculous about the story. But I have been keeping for you, reader, the detail that does make this crush silly and embarrassing in retrospect. The handyman's name?

Rex.

I kid you not.

Stuff I Dig

2009-02-18T17:03:00.001-08:00

Everything is very doomy and gloomy recently, ain't it? Strangely, I've been in a remarkably upbeat mood. This might be because times like this are sort of good for contrarians like myself. Today I feel like spreading the love. Here are five things that I really like a lot.

One: Craft root beer. I am not a big soda drinker. And I grew up on diet sodas (literally--my mom drank Tab when I was very little, Pepsi Lite when I was in elementary school and the weirdly addicting Diet Coke since). So I just generally do not drink regular sugared sodas. HOWEVER. I make a special occasion exception for craft root beer. Henry's, on tap, is my favorite (although I know it is a little too sweet and too smooth--if in fact root beer can be too smooth!--for some). But I also like Mt. Angel. Those monks make some very tasty root beer. I do not, however, love craft root beer as much as this dude.

Two: Pilot G-2 Extra Fine Gel Pens. It isn't so much that these are my favorite pens ever (far from it), but they are ideal for grading. They come in a variety of colors beyond black, blue and red (none of which I like to use to grade with). I particularly like the purple and burgundy ones because I find them easy to read against the black and white. They are nice and fine, but don't clump. I think I went through about 5 of them last term alone. (And if any of you feel like bitchin' about how little I blog, think about all the writing I'm doing on student papers.)

Three: North. Since I have now been there the last 4 weekends (or so) in a row, I think I can call this "my new bar." North is unpretentious and small and neighborhood-y. You can put music on the jukebox for free, and they have Kenny Rogers. There is also a lot of Bruce Springsteen. The clientele is somewhat eclectic. Mikey J. likes to sit at the bar. This is ok by me. The one drawback is this older guy we've seen a couple of times who drinks wine and tries to listen in on our conversations and smirks at everything I say. I could do without that dude. However, last week I told Mike that I was ready to rumble with the guy if he gives me any more attitude. Mike said, "You are not prepared to rumble with that old guy." I said "seriously, I'm ready to take him down." Then Mike told me that this might be the most ridiculous thing I've ever said.

Four: Iced Lattes from Peet's. Here's the thing: I know that Peet's is a chain and all, but I had just given up ordering lattes anywhere. Everywhere I went it seemed like I was getting coffee-flavored milk. When actually what I wanted was coffee with a lot of milk in it. (See the important distinction?) Peet's lattes taste like milky coffee. That is delicious, and just what I want sometimes (when I'm not in the mood for an Americano or cafe au lait, which are much more my "everyday" coffee drinks). Peet's used to really be marvy because they kept soy milk (for my Americanos) out with the cream, but they have ceased to do that, so I'm back to having to ask for it at the bar. I don't like that as much. It makes me feel high maintenance to have to ask.

Note: I do realize that 3 of the 5 things so far have to do with beverages. I like beverages. I think--and do not freak out about this--that I would rather stop eating solid food than stop drinking fluids.

Five: Chelsea Handler. OK. I realize that she is actually a person that I like, and not so much a thing. I resisted for a long time. But I think she's really funny. I can't help it. And--this is weird--she and I are exactly the same age. Check this out: Drew Barrymore was born on February 22nd, 1975. I was born the next day. Chelsea Handler was born on the 25th. I find this totally bizarre. CH clearly seems older than me. They dress her real old and adult-like on that show, and she dates the president of E!, who is sort of old. Drew Barrymore--I don't know. I guess she seems older too. But it is hard to say when you are talking about someone who is crazy and went through rehab at 13. I was just barely getting through Drama I my freshman year of high school. (Ask Qwanty. She will confirm that I spent a lot of time in the "little theatre" staring off into space and crying.) My point is this, don't compare yourself to famous people who were born the same week you were. It starts to make you feel sort of weird and bad, but also glad that you are NOT famous and so, thus, no one cares if you wear your kitty jama bottoms and beat up Chucks to the grocery store at night.

Oh wait. Except that was not my point. My point was, Chelsea Handler is funny.

And my larger point is this: you may not have a job past March 18th, and you may have a condo in Austin that just refuses to sell, and you may be turning the UNGODLY age of 34 in less than a week, and the American economy may be a disaster, but you can still take pleasure in the small stuff.

Protest Songs

2009-02-14T01:16:00.000-08:00

Hey Kids--By my watch, it is now officially February 14th. For those of you who are happily coupled, I suggest that you stop reading now and go and do something cute and disgusting with your significant other.

For the rest of you--the bitter, the heartbroken, the lonely--the Make-ready would like to offer you a very special Valentine. Had a dry year? Got dumped unceremoniously right before New Year's? Been cheated on? Grab a Reece's peanut butter heart, or a handful of Hershey's Kisses, and check out some songs that might help you uncelebrate this g--awful, Hallmark-fueled florist fest.

9. "Not the One" The Donnas. Our first date was our last date/You're the kind of guy I love to hate

8. "On the Fire" Holly Golightly Your love is a lie

7. "The Things You Said" Depeche Mode I get so carried away/You brought me down to earth/I thought we had something special/Now I know what it's worth

6. "If Looks Could Kill" Heart Love is on the line--I ain't about to be kind/That's a promise and a threat

5. "For Reasons Unknown" The Killers Well my heart, it don't beat, it don't beat the way it used to/And my eyes they don't see you no more

4. "Love to Hate You" Erasure Love and hate, what a beautiful combination/Sending shivers up and down my spine

3. "All My Little Words" The Magnetic Fields Now that you've made me want to die/You tell me that you're unboyfriendable/And I could make you pay and pay/But I could never make you stay

2. "You Look Through Me" Book of Love You looked right through me/As though I wasn't there/In love with your own image/Completely unaware/'Cuz boys who look right through me/And only like me for what I do/Next time I'll be more careful/Next time, I'll look through you

And for the truly, truly angry:

1. "Ruin" The Pierces I do not want/For you to be happy/I do not want/For you to be happy/All that I want/Is for you to come crawling back

January Book Report

2009-02-11T13:06:00.001-08:00

OK, so I'm not big on New Year's Resolutions, but I do like the idea of periodic reassessment and goal setting. This year, I am focusing on moderation. I am a big fan of moderation (along with many Enlightenment ideas. I am sort of an Enlightenment kind of girl.), but I'm not particularly good at it. Rather, I am a binge/fast type--with regard to most things in my life. Perhaps nowhere is this more true than in my reading patterns. So--this year I have set myself a goal to read, as consistently as possible, 3 books a week. I figure that this is both a moderate (and attainable) goal, and will foster a kind of moderation in me.

As a kind of accountability to this endeavor, I've decided to blog about it. You can keep updated on how I am doing (if you care), see what I am reading (if you care), and I can feel that I have people to answer to (whether they care or not). Win, win, win.

So, in the month of January I read:

The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger. This is a total book club book, and not the kind of thing that I would ordinarily pick up. But my mom read it, and she wasn't sure that she understood the way that it ended and wanted me to read it so that we could confer. I did this, as the accommodating daughter that I aspire to be. It's a story about a time traveler. At the heart of it is a potentially awkward sexual relationship. I don't really suggest it, but it's fine for plane reading or whatever.

Medicus by Ruth Downie. Historical mystery/thriller about Roman Britain. I'm a sucker for this kind of thing. It was fair to middling.

When She was Bad by Patricia Pearson. A non-fiction book about female killers. I don't know why.

The Oxford Murders by Guillermo Martinez. This seemed like something I would like, but the idea is not fully realized or developed. I found myself not really caring.

My Life in Heavy Metal by Steve Almond. I am a big fan of Almond's NF (thanks, Mikey J, for the recommendation), but I didn't have high expectations for his fiction. This book of short stories is actually pretty tight. The stories are loosely connected through theme (love, loss, commitment), but the delight comes from the variety of characters and narrative perspectives. It almost feels like an anthology of short stories--which might seem like damning praise--but I enjoyed the virtuosity. "How to Love a Republican" and the poetic "The Pass" are particular standouts, in my opinion. (Plus, Steve Almond is a babe.)

Father of Frankenstein by Christopher Bram. This is the first Bram novel I've ever read, and it is the book on which the film Gods and Monsters (you know, the film that proves that Brendan Frazer can actually act if given a decent script) was based. I liked the book every bit as much as I remember liking the film. It's a book about lonely people and the ways in which they may attach in order not to feel so lonely. Predictably, it is sad, and ultimately really messy. But Bram is a good writer--sensitive and manly at the same time. That isn't an easy balance to strike.

Whit by Iain Banks. OK, confession. Iain Banks is one of my favorite authors. I haven't ever read any of his science fiction (published under the name "Iain M. Banks"), but his straight fiction, which admittedly often deals with popular sci fi themes like surveillance/loss of privacy
is really good. The Wasp Factory is one of my top 20 favorite books and Complicity is in my top 5 list for light pleasure reading. (It's a damn exciting book. And I think that it was made into a film with super-hottie Jonny Lee Miller, but I've never actually seen it.)

Anyway, Whit is the story of a young woman who has been brought up in a religious cult in Northern Scotland and who has been tapped by the cult's leader (her grandfather) to become his heir apparent. One of the younger members of the cult, the girl's cousin, becomes "lost" in London, and the girl is sent to find her. What is interesting about the novel is the sort of Alice-in-Wonderland experiences and perspective of a young adult who has lived in the world, but not really engaged in the world. The plot itself is less impressive than the perspective of, and ultimately the decisions made by, this character.

Book of Evidence by John Banville. It seems like Camus already wrote this book. And IT was better.

Wide Sargasso Sea by Jean Rhys. Yes, it is true, I've never read this before. And now that I have, I don't really see the big deal. Because, here's the thing, I don't really care about Bertha. Is that wrong of me? (Just another example of how I'm not a very good feminist.)

Watership Down by Richard Adams. I know what you are thinking. "That book about rabbits?" I've been putting reading this for years. It's actually a totally fascinating book. In the introduction, Adams writes that he means the book to be a children's story, and he denies that it is a satire or allegory (clearly he is trying to say that this is not his Animal Farm). But the book chronicles the story of a group of rabbits who leave their warren after one of them has a premonition about the destruction of the warren at the hands of men. The motley group (of all male rabbits--this becomes a problem later in the novel) travels over the English countryside looking for a suitable new home. Along the way they encounter natural enemies, make unusual alliances, and encounter other rabbit cultures, which certainly beg to be read as political allegories. The group finally settles and builds its own ideal society, only to realize that mates are necessary in order for the society to continue and flourish. This is a book about survival, mating and parenting, and death. It's tone and subject are very serious. The rabbits are not cute, and most of them begin the journey the bunny equivalent of young adults. In no way does this seem like a children's story.

On the other hand, it's about bunny rabbits.

I actually recommend the book highly. It's interesting and a quick read. There are real moments of pathos, of excitement (there's lots of rabbit battles--those guys are scrappy too!), of danger. It doesn't feel like a typical children's "animal fantasy".

***

That's the whole list, kids. Stay tuned for February's picks. So far the list is pretty short (damn student papers!) but I'll try to make some headway before the end of the month.

January pages=3,189

A Valentine, Part One

2009-02-10T11:12:00.000-08:00

I find myself with a little extra time today, thanks to the fact that my second class confessed that only ONE of them had done their homework--which was to read one of Chuck Klosterman's Esquire pieces (2 pages). Since my whole lecture today was based on their having read this, I told them to go home and to come back when they had done the assigned work. 2 pages! I can't even imagine what it would have been like to have had anyone only assign me 2 pages to read in college. I had terms in which I was reading 30 pages of poetry, 2 plays, 2 novels, and a book of art history/philosophy/history in a given week. (Not to mention writing for all of those classes.) What a bunch of weenies.

Anyhoo. I'm taking this time to send out a little Valentine to my good buddy, Qwanty, who has been wanting me to write on the following topic for some time now. I will probably get some of the story wrong. She will, without a doubt, correct me if I misremember.

This is the story of Patrick Lunch. (Which is not his real name, but I'll get to that part of the story eventually.)

Back in the day when Qwanty and I were hanging out at the 1201, drinking sourballs, splitting fondue, not paying cover due to the fact that we'd made friends with the bouncer (thanks, Devin--even though you turned out to be a real tool), and flirting with a bus-y-looking bus boy in vinyl pants over our glasses (ok. so "we" didn't really do that. It was more "me"), we became fans of a couple of different local bands. One of them was the ridiculous Rollerball, a band that featured a tall drink of water in a Mr. Roger's cardigan who played the clarinet like he was having crazy sex with it. The other was a band called the Dolomites, which might sound like some sort of R & B band, but was really a band that played "pirate rock", which, as far as I can tell, meant some stuff that sounded like Pogues rip-offs and some Tom Waits covers. Clearly, we followed Rollerball because of the clarinet player. We followed The Dolomites because Qwanty knew the "brains" behind the band from PSU. His name was Steve, but this is hard for me to remember most of the time because we referred to him exclusively as "Strictly" due to the fact that Qwanty thought that he looked like he could have been a character in Strictly Ballroom.

Anyway, we saw the Dolomites all over town. Memorable performances include 1) the Kells Irish festival. It was so cold that I remember sitting at a table in the tent LITERALLY shivering for several hours. I also remember that this set off one of the worst bouts of tonsillitis I've ever had. 2) the Green Room. Mostly what I remember about this one is that Strictly dedicated a song to us, and had us STAND UP so everyone could clap for us (ugh) and then the song was a Tom Waits cover and I HATE TOM WAITS. (I wasn't that crazy about Strictly either). 3) Ash Street Salon. It was here that the story at hand began--

As I remember it, the Dolomites were opening for a band called The Moops. Strictly talked us into staying at Ash Street to watch The Moops by telling us that they were "great guys." He might have also bought us a round. I believe he also warned us that the frontman was "kind of a character." As it turns out, the front man was no other than DJ Gregarious T. Cline. Some of you know Greg as the guy who spins for "Shut Up and Dance"--a weekly, mostly 80s themed dance party. (And--story for another occasion--the DJ for the New Year's event I attended this year with Mikey J. and my sister-in-law.) Here are some things that you should know about Greg: 1) He will try to score with almost any woman who walks by him. 2) He has an astounding collection of velvet (and velveteen?) pants and frilly ascots. 3) He sometimes dances to certain 80s songs as if he is performing a sacred ritual (ask my sister-in-law, Joy, she's observed it). 4) His REAL first name is Gregarious. Like, his mom named him that on purpose. 5) He seems to actually be aging backwards, like Benjamin Buttons, or Mork. 6) He is ridiculous.

*At this moment I have to interrupt this story to report to you all that I am currently sitting in a coffeeshop and, hand to G--, "Afternoon Delight" just started playing overhead. Oh Paul Rudd--I love you looking like a 1970's on-location TV news reporter!

Back to Ash Street--So, this band with this completely ridiculous frontman, playing a guitar painted with scenes that seemed to be ripped from "Octopus's Garden"--steps on stage and starts playing. I don't remember a lot about the performance, other than the fact that I couldn't stop laughing, and that maybe the last song they did was a rock cover of Paula Abdul's "Cold-Hearted Snake." (I vaguely remember this being brilliant.) Anyway. I was entertained. It turns out Qwanty had paid more attention to the whole thing that I had though . . .

The next day Qwanty was at Palio (this is when I was going there pretty much every day to see the narrow-hipped Coffee Boy and she was going to see a cute little diabetic). This tall, thin blonde guy kept looking at her, and finally approached. Turns out that he had recognized her from the show the night before. He was the drummer for the Moops. Qwanty recognized him. She chatted with him for awhile and found out that he was living in a big house in Ladd's Addition and that Palio was also HIS coffeeshop. This is where my memory sort of falters. Qwanty either made plans to have a drink at BOG (the other bar where we spent time in those days. Also owned by Phil Ragamuffin), or he mentioned to her that he sometimes drank at BOG. Either way, we ended up sharing Black Butte Porters with him at BOG one night soon thereafter. We found out that he hung out there because he (along with too many other Portland jackasses) had a huge crush on a bartender there (she will remain nameless. But I can say that he sometimes played drums for her, and she is an Irish chanteuse).

Anyway, we spent the whole evening with him. We found out about his crush, and that he worked at OMSI making models out of wiggly board, but only part time because he also manufactured and sold some weird nut used in drum kits. The most clear memory I have of that night is, at one point, Patrick leaning over the table and saying, "Ladies. Before we progress in this friendship any more, there is something about me that I think you should know. I am a convicted felon." Turns out that he had done some time for manufacture with the intent to sell. He was growing a lot of pot.

Then he asked us to have breakfast with him the next morning.

END OF PART ONE. STAY TUNED FOR THE NEXT INSTALLMENT OF: THE EPIC OF PATRICK LUNCH.

Naked Conversation

2009-02-09T20:22:00.000-08:00

For Christmas my parents got me a gym membership, which, in an unexpected turn of events, I absolutely love. Someone should have explained to me a long time ago that the gym is a lot like the coffeeshop. You go at more or less the same times. You see more or less the same people. You have your routine. You can be somewhat friendly, or somewhat standoffish, basically by employing (or not employing) your earphones.

There are two things that differentiate the gym from the coffeeshop. One of them is no big deal. Sweat. Sweat is gross, but ultimately sort of negligible. The other is hard to get around. Nudity. Here's the thing. It seems like common sense to me that you should avoid other people while nude in semi-public. You should avoid really looking at them, and definitely avoid touching them in any way, and under NO circumstances should you speak to them. This, however, turns out not to be as obvious to other people as I would like it to be. Seriously. What can you need to say to me (a stranger) that cannot wait until you are appropriately covered?

Oh yeah--

2009-02-08T16:11:00.000-08:00

I think that my family now has a group favorite song to sing along to. That song would be "Everyday" by Buddy Holly.

Last night, we actually did sit around singing it together. It might be Ella's current favorite song (and she breaks out it in often. In public.).

After we listened to it I heard her say, to no one in particular, "I just really love his voice."

She's a very discerning almost-4-year-old.

Heavy Rotation, Revisited

2009-02-08T15:29:00.000-08:00

OK. Here's another one: Hall and Oates, The Cars and Duran Duran.

Also, I would like a station that only played Depeche Mode, The Cure, The Smiths, New Order (have I mentioned the fact that I love Peter Hook?), Erasure, Yaz, and maybe an occasional Book of Love song. I know what you are thinking, long time PDXers. That sounds a lot like 970 the Beat. YES. YES IT DOES. And if this station could be AM and all dirty and rumbley sounding, that would be terrific. I would listen to it ALL THE TIME.

It might have occurred to you readers that maybe an IPod could create the illusion of these heavy rotation stations. But you would be wrong. Because the IPod, for all the wonderful things it can do for me, cannot recreate the joy of hearing something really great (that I haven't heard in a long time) on the radio (or even in a mix made for me by someone else). The problem with the IPod is that there is no real surprise. I've put everything on there. There is no connection to someone else who thought it might be nice to hear "Institutionalized" or "Gypsy" or "Mr. Brightside". It's like getting a really good present when I'm not expecting it.

In honor of the spontaneity and unexpectedness that sometimes comes from radio, here is my list of best songs to sing along to in the car:

Runners Up: anything by the mamas and the papas (good harmonies), "The Gambler", "More than a Feeling", "Open Arms", "Ain't Talkin' Bout Love", "Livin' on a Prayer", "Don't Talk to Strangers"

10. "Just Can't Get Enough" Depeche Mode (I suggesting singing "Just Can't Get it Up" to the chorus. It is funny.)

9. "Euro-trash Girl" Cracker

8. "Crucify" Tori Amos (actually, it's hard to pick just one--she's just fun to sing along to period.)

7. "Song 2" Blur

6. "Sabotage" The Beastie Boys

5. "Black Dog" Led Zeppelin

4. "Mother" Danzig (Qwanty, I know you know what I mean!)

3. "Good" Better than Ezra (the happiest break up song pretty much ever)

2. "Sweet Child of Mine" Guns n Roses

1. "Self-Esteem" Offspring

Crazy und Crazier

2009-02-02T13:59:00.000-08:00

Saturday night I accompanied Mikey J to view the Werner Herzog film My Best Fiend, about Herzog's relationship with Klaus Kinski. I should say, first off, that I have only seen a couple of Herzog films, and Nosferatu was the only thing that I'd ever seen Kinski in. (Although, for the record, Kinski's vampire is, by far, the greatest portrayal of a bloodsucker ever. He is so sad, so lonely, so awkward. Edward Cullen should have skipped all the LONG explanations to Bella about the sacrifices of eternal life and should have just rented Nosferatu. Then maybe the 2000 pages of the Twilight series could have been slimmed down to more like 500.)

But here's the thing--you don't have to know ANYTHING about Kinski, or about Herzog, to watch this film. You just have to love crazy people. And watching crazy people tell stories. And seeing crazy people freak out and yell "lick my ass" when they are not happy with the offerings of craft services. And it helps if you find any of the following entertaining: 1) German understatement 2) nihilistic descriptions of nature 3) possible animal abuse 4) extreme examples of egomania. It turns out, by the way, that I find all of these things amusing.

Herzog is a confounding fellow. I'm not sure that I believe ANY of the stories he tells in the course of the film. And yet, I'm not sure that I believe that HE doesn't believe those stories. He is a man who always seems completely un-ironic, while also appearing completely insincere. How can that be? I am tempted to chalk it up to German-ness, but I'm not sure that my sense of German-ness is not based (almost entirely) on a ridiculously exaggerated caricature. And by that, of course, I mean Mike Meyers's Dieter. So I'm not sure what to think about Herzog. Nor about Kinski.

The greatest mystery of all is WHY IN THE WORLD Herzog made this film. Mikey suggested that he made it because he was tired of answering the question, "what was it like to work with Klaus Kinski?" Maybe. But I'm not convinced that I really understand what it was like to work with Kinski after seeing the film. Herzog does interview a couple of other people who knew and worked with Kinski, but since these interviews are conducted and edited by Herzog, they serve mostly to support Herzog's own interpretation of events, rather than to flesh out the man.

But this isn't really a criticism. And the confusion inherent in the film should not be a deterrent to seeing it. You all should see it. You'll like it. If nothing else, the film offers a surprising suggestion about how to quickly silence a raving maniac. The technique involves chocolate. Go figure.

Don't Ever Use this Against Me

2009-01-24T00:57:00.001-08:00

Today, while driving home from work, I heard "Sweet Caroline" followed immediately by "Crocodile Rock"* and I had this really embarrassing, but strangely compelling, thought. As the day has worn on, this thought has become a conviction. Don't judge. You know that sometimes you have shameful ideas too.

This is the thought: I think that I would really like it if there was a radio station that played nothing but Neil Diamond, Elton John and Billy Joel.

I'm not saying that I would listen to it all the time. I don't even know if I would pre-program it on my car radio, but I would like knowing that it was there, if I needed to hear those guys in continuous rotation. It would be comforting.

*This is probably my least favorite Elton John song, and I find it just barely more tolerable than "It's Still Rock n' Roll to Me" which is my least favorite Billy Joel tune.

Additions/Corrections

2009-01-24T00:48:00.000-08:00

Thank you for your kind words, readers, about my angry Sam Adams letter. Although, Marcus (or should I say, "Pastor Jack"?), I didn't actually say that I ever thought he was a "good" guy. I said, "ok" guy. My expectations of anyone who wants to run for elected office are appropriately low.

The leaf tax, thanks for your interest Felisa and Qwanty, is a tax levied against the residents of about 16 Portland neighborhoods. The idea is that these people should pay the city to remove leaves in the fall--whether they do their own yard maintenance or not. This is a terrible idea--arbitrary and unfair.

Even Just Out has pulled its support of Mayor Adams. The sooner he resigns, the better.

2009-01-21T21:06:00.000-08:00

So this is not my promised blog on Bryan Adams (which, by the way, has now been upstaged by Qwanty's response anyhow), but it is, rather, an open letter to newly-installed Portland mayor Sam Adams. I don't usually get political, but this situation is upsetting and confounding. If you don't already know about Adams and the recent scandal, check out the Willie article that led to Adams's recent media confessions.

Dear Sam Adams:

I am very, very, very disappointed in you. It's not that you did something creepy by sleeping with an 18 year old (although I would argue that you knew it was creepy. If you didn't know that, you wouldn't have lied about it). It's that you lied--over and over--until you got yourself into the mayor's office. And your lie most hurts those who have supported you. It makes the people of Portland, who love and are proud of this town, look like fools for believing you when you claimed that you were just a "mentor" to this young man. You had to have known that Portland would get national attention for electing the first gay mayor of a major American city, and that your administration would be under some heightened scrutiny. I'm not saying that it is fair that you should be more closely watched than a heterosexual mayor may be--but I would think that you would be 1) sensitive to the very real possibility that you would be and would 2) take appropriate steps to conduct yourself in a way that would reflect well on the city that you claim to care about and the community that has been so supportive of you.

Not only have you made Portlanders look bad, you have actually further damaged perceptions that too many in the straight world have of gay men. Instead of contributing to gay history in a positive way, you have helped set back gay public relations. Well done. Right wing talk show hosts are probably positively gleeful. (And, if for no other reason, you are dead to me because you have made that ass Lars Larson happy. That is unforgivable.)

There are two aspects of this situation I find especially galling. First, that you thought--even for a second--that you could get away with this. What the hell is wrong with you politicians? In what world does this young man, or his friends NOT TALK? You were bound to be found out. But you lied anyway. People might have forgiven the bad judgement (because sleeping with a barely legal intern less than half your age IS bad judgement--whether that intern is the same sex or not) , but you don't deserve to be forgiven by the very people who believed enough in you to take your word over the word of those who tried to tell the truth in the first place. You clearly think that you are very smart and the rest of us are very stupid.

Second, I cannot, for the life of me, understand why you would risk your reputation, the reputation of the city (that, again, you claim to love), and the perception of the gay community for an 18 year old piece of ass. I mean, it isn't like you were in love. Or thought that this was going to be a long term relationship. You literally just wanted to have a fling with a twink. Well, good for you. I hope that you DO get yanked out of City Hall. I hope that this ruins any other political aspirations that you have. Because you could have had all the tail you wanted after you were done with your public life. Your lack of self-control (and it IS reported that your staffers warned you away from this "relationship" so you can't very well claim that you didn't know better) has been visited on all of us. I hope it was worth it.

You know, I was willing to look past your ridiculous "leaf tax" and that terrible fur hat you wore during the December snow storms because I thought you were an ok guy. You are not an ok guy. You are a guy who has repeatedly shown bad judgement, arrogance, a propensity to lie (even when you are sure to be caught) and supreme selfishness. You don't deserve to be the mayor of the greatest town in America.

A truly disgusted,

Kristin R. Dorsey

If you think that was bad--

2009-01-20T11:48:00.000-08:00

First of all, thank you to those who responded to my coffee outrage with appropriate support (except for you, Duggan. Not funny. I need to believe in someone.) But I have to say that I didn't realize that the post was as bitchy as it was until I read J-Bro's response. It gots to be bad when a tough-as-nails girl like Brownie tells you that you are snarky.

That said, let me rage on you all some more. You can file this in the "people are assholes" folder.

Yesterday the Kare-bear had surgery. Don't worry--it was just day surgery and she's hobbling around just fine. BUT. I went to pick her up in the truck, which is for sale (a fact important to the story to follow).

All the way down Sunnyside I kept thinking that someone was honking at me, although I dismissed this as paranoia since there was no reason for someone to be honking. I turned into the clinic parking lot and the honking followed me, and then pulled up next to me at a stop sign. The people in the car motioned for me to roll down my window. I thought maybe they were kindly going to inform me that I had a tail light out. Instead the man driving said, "Your truck is for sale?" I answered that the truck was indeed for sale, but that it wasn't mine, it belonged to my parents. I then TOLD HIM that I was picking my mother up from surgery. I thought that this would be the end of the conversation. But no. His wife asked me how me how much it was. "I don't know--I'm just picking my mom up from surgery in it." Then the guy asked how many miles it had on it. I answered, and then reiterated that I wasn't selling it, but rather just picking my mom up from surgery in it. Then the guy says, "Can you take down my number and have her call me?"

Seriously? I mean, I know that she was just having a little day surgery, but HE didn't know that (the hospital is right next to the clinic). It could have been something serious. And it was cold, and she was waiting, and this idiot is delaying me with conversation about a vehicle that I'm not even selling. So I told him that I didn't have a writing instrument (which was true) and then he said that it was alright--he'd had his wife jot down the number on the sign when we were sitting at the light.

SO WHY WAS HE EVEN BOTHERING ME IN THE FIRST PLACE? And, really, why would someone continue this conversation after being told that 1) the person that they are talking to is not the seller and 2) the person is picking up the seller, who has just had surgery. And then, after being informed of these facts more than once would you continue to continue the conversation?

Arg.

(Thank you for reading this rant. The next post will be about something happy. Bryan Adams, and the music of Bryan Adams, to be specific.)

Milky Coffee Blues

2009-01-09T12:04:00.000-08:00

There are many reasons to hate Starbucks. I know that I don't have to tell you people that. But here is one that you may not often consider: the popularization of coffee culture brought about by corporate, franchised coffee shops has made every yahoo think that he or she knows something about coffee, when really, he or she does not. This leads to the most annoying of all coffee shop encounters: 17 year old "baristas" who think that they know more about coffee than I do. They do not.

What follows is a true account of my coffee-buying experience this morning. I warn you. This is not for the faint of heart.

ME: Can I please have a soy cafe au lait?

17 YEAR OLD: UM? What did you want?

ME: A cafe au lait made with soy milk?

17 YEAR OLD: [with great disgust] Um? Is that some kind of Starbucks thing?

ME: No, it is some kind of French thing.

Then I proceeded to EXPLAIN to this half-and-half wit how to make a damn cafe au lait.

I think that SHE owes ME a dollar ninety, plus tip.

Of course, this is still second to my all-time favorite coffee ignorance story, which involves a young lady who worked at IHOP and asked me and Donna (and, for those of you who don't know Donna, let me assure you that she is NOT someone to whom you want to pose a stupid question) what "decaf" coffee meant. She worked at friggin' IHOP. They sell two things there--pancakes with whipped cream and coffee in carafes.

ARG!

Merry Christmas

2008-12-25T23:19:00.000-08:00

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

2008-12-23T13:51:00.000-08:00

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

2008-12-23T13:21:00.000-08:00

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

2008-12-08T15:42:00.000-08:00

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

2008-12-08T15:41:00.000-08:00

I don't have a thing for Clint Howard.

For the record.

It Must Be Addressed!

2008-12-08T15:13:00.000-08:00

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

2008-12-01T14:44:00.000-08:00

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---

2008-11-25T13:27:00.000-08:00

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

2008-11-25T11:46:00.000-08:00

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

2008-11-19T09:12:00.000-08:00

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

2008-11-18T11:57:00.001-08:00

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

2008-11-18T11:43:00.000-08:00

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

2008-11-18T09:35:00.000-08:00

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

2008-11-04T21:36:00.000-08:00

Thank G-- it is over.

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

Doughnut Drama

2008-11-03T21:40:00.000-08:00

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

2008-10-31T11:48:00.000-07:00

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

2008-10-16T15:18:00.004-07:00

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

2008-10-15T23:12:00.000-07:00

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

Behind the Curve

2008-10-15T16:00:00.001-07:00

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.

2008-10-13T14:50:00.001-07:00

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

2008-10-11T20:49:00.000-07:00

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.

2008-09-25T22:56:00.001-07:00

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

2008-09-15T00:16:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-13T10:11:00.000-07:00

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

2008-08-26T12:45:00.001-07:00

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.