I know I promised I'd blog about my favorite musicals next, but this is just too hilarious to pass up. (May require registration.)
I believe my favorite part is when the producer who is all keen about the film claims that the poem was written in old English (much like many 215 students, I imagine). Though he does echo my own sentiments upon reading the epic, desiring "less Adam and Eve and more about what's happening with the archangels." And I agree, that much nudity would be a problem for a major studio film. Though the speaker clearly demonstrates a flawed grasp of the poem as a whole, claiming there's a nudity "problem" in Eden. Any right-minded scholar could tell you that the nudity problem was only a concern after the Fall. Shame on you, Mr. Producer.
Of course, the glee I take from this article only increases when you look at who's attached already. The writer (or re-writer) has as his only credit at TV sci-fi movie called "Riverworld," and the director is best known for "The Exorcism of Emily Rose" and "Hellraiser: Inferno." Oh, and the original writer? His logic for making the film is as follows: "We figured someone’s going to make a movie of it someday, and it might as well be us." That's..... that's just awesome logic. I wholeheartedly support that logic.
Anyway, I'm going to take immense glee in showing this to all the Miltonists I know. It might actually make them cry. And, come opening day, I'll be there in the theatre with my Riverside Milton in hand, laughing uproariously. (Said Riverside Milton having been hollowed out to smuggle in bottles of alcohol.)
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
A Series of Ruminations to Defer Grading
Long time, no post. And I'm grading papers, so still not a long one here.
First, in general. Has anyone ever really heard or used the word "embolden" before? I can't seem to get away from it now, as it has become a watchword in republican talks about the Iraq war. Not that I follow the war, but there was an "embolden" montage on the Daily Show, and I watch clips of it online instead of doing work. And I just now saw a news post that claimed a recent 60 Minutes show about military people petitioning against the war would also "embolden the enemy." Well, I don't care what your politics are. "Embolden" is a damn stupid word. You sound like a moron if you say it. It sounds like a made up word, even though it might very well be an actual word. But it's still moronic, and I die a little inside each time I hear it.
Second, aside. In our lecture last week, the professor asked the class what a firecrotch was, as he was discussing Lindsey Lohan. He honestly didn't know. I laughed and laughed.
Third, to my New York people. You keep saying something crazy went down this past month, and that stories are forthcoming, yet I see no stories. In fact, I'm convinced that nothing happened. You're all probably just staying sober and watching tv. I refuse to believe your vague, unsubstantiated reports. Give us stories, or admit your falsehood.
Fourth, to my Madison people. Are students stupider this semester? Mine sure are. I'm giving almost all of them horrible grades because of the absolutely stupid things they say in their papers. Who knows, maybe it will embolden them to do better? (See, it still sounds stupid.)
Fifth, to everyone not living in Wisconsin. We had us a blizzard this weekend, and it was awesome. Snow, thunder, lightning, and a trek to the bar amidst the first waves. Good times. Now, when I am an old and venerable professor, I can refer back to my memories of "The Great Blizzard of Aught Seven." And then whack people with my cane for not paying attention.
Ok, must go grade more. Next post, I'll offer SpeakMemory and her cohorts her requested list of my favorite musicals, which will hopefully spark responses from my more theatrically-inclined friends.
And don't forget, New York people, I'll be out there come March 30. I expect to be feted like royalty.
First, in general. Has anyone ever really heard or used the word "embolden" before? I can't seem to get away from it now, as it has become a watchword in republican talks about the Iraq war. Not that I follow the war, but there was an "embolden" montage on the Daily Show, and I watch clips of it online instead of doing work. And I just now saw a news post that claimed a recent 60 Minutes show about military people petitioning against the war would also "embolden the enemy." Well, I don't care what your politics are. "Embolden" is a damn stupid word. You sound like a moron if you say it. It sounds like a made up word, even though it might very well be an actual word. But it's still moronic, and I die a little inside each time I hear it.
Second, aside. In our lecture last week, the professor asked the class what a firecrotch was, as he was discussing Lindsey Lohan. He honestly didn't know. I laughed and laughed.
Third, to my New York people. You keep saying something crazy went down this past month, and that stories are forthcoming, yet I see no stories. In fact, I'm convinced that nothing happened. You're all probably just staying sober and watching tv. I refuse to believe your vague, unsubstantiated reports. Give us stories, or admit your falsehood.
Fourth, to my Madison people. Are students stupider this semester? Mine sure are. I'm giving almost all of them horrible grades because of the absolutely stupid things they say in their papers. Who knows, maybe it will embolden them to do better? (See, it still sounds stupid.)
Fifth, to everyone not living in Wisconsin. We had us a blizzard this weekend, and it was awesome. Snow, thunder, lightning, and a trek to the bar amidst the first waves. Good times. Now, when I am an old and venerable professor, I can refer back to my memories of "The Great Blizzard of Aught Seven." And then whack people with my cane for not paying attention.
Ok, must go grade more. Next post, I'll offer SpeakMemory and her cohorts her requested list of my favorite musicals, which will hopefully spark responses from my more theatrically-inclined friends.
And don't forget, New York people, I'll be out there come March 30. I expect to be feted like royalty.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
It's Like Living in a Cave
My Tuesday has been crippled up to this point by a lack of electricity. You know, that stuff that powers my alarm clock. And my heat. And my hot water heater. And my microwave. And my lights. And my computer.
So basically, I overslept (luckily nothing I had to do today required a specific time deadline), I couldn't shower, couldn't make a hot breakfast (and yes, I do actually have ingredients here for such an endeavor), couldn't respond to those student e-mails I planned to, nor write my own that I had also planned, and couldn't really leave the comfort of my bed for fear of frostbite.
Power just came back on, so my day can begin. My brief foray into the pre-electrical age has only taught me how quickly I would die should technology ever fail us. A few more hours, and I would have been forced to burn my books for fuel. And then I would have tried to rig up a book-burning-driven generator to power my Xbox and my computer. Which would have led to hilarity, or the incineration of me.
So huzzah for Ben Franklin and all his heirs. Even that dastardly Thomas Edison who, as The Prestige has taught us, was a mean old man whose goons brought down the work of Nikola Tesla in the manner befitting a mafia don.
Still damn cold in here, though, so back under the covers I go.
So basically, I overslept (luckily nothing I had to do today required a specific time deadline), I couldn't shower, couldn't make a hot breakfast (and yes, I do actually have ingredients here for such an endeavor), couldn't respond to those student e-mails I planned to, nor write my own that I had also planned, and couldn't really leave the comfort of my bed for fear of frostbite.
Power just came back on, so my day can begin. My brief foray into the pre-electrical age has only taught me how quickly I would die should technology ever fail us. A few more hours, and I would have been forced to burn my books for fuel. And then I would have tried to rig up a book-burning-driven generator to power my Xbox and my computer. Which would have led to hilarity, or the incineration of me.
So huzzah for Ben Franklin and all his heirs. Even that dastardly Thomas Edison who, as The Prestige has taught us, was a mean old man whose goons brought down the work of Nikola Tesla in the manner befitting a mafia don.
Still damn cold in here, though, so back under the covers I go.
Monday, February 05, 2007
Random Thoughts as I Wait for the Simpsons to Come On.
Randomness first. Two phrases I uttered today that now strike me as somewhat ludicrous:
1. "He's the greatest rake ever." (Really only amusing because no one but an English grad student would ever put these words together in this order. Referring to Major Sanford from The Coquette.)
2. "Oh, it's only -6 below. That's not so bad." (When it's -16 with a -30 windchill as you leave in the morning, -6 seems like summertime. Until your eyes start to freeze. But hey, we got above 0 today! Take that, arctic wind!)
And the weirdness: In my apartment building, we have no mail drop box. We just leave mail on top of the row of boxes, and the mail-person takes it. I left a Netflix envelope there on Saturday, and I'm fairly certain one of my neighbors took it, ripped it open, watched the dvd, then resealed it and returned it this morning. The perfect crime! (It was The Descent, by the way, which is really awesome and worth seeing.)
And now, a brief post regarding economics. When my parents visited me last, while walking down State Street, we were accosted by men trying to sell the Socialist newspaper. My parents, being goodly God-fearing Republicans from the midwest, assumed these men were Communists, believed my entire city to be nothing but a hotbed of radical activism (partially true), and bemoaned that their innocent child shouldst be so corrupted by these influences. I didn't have the heart to mention to them that Marxism is one of the foundational ideologies of the field in which I study. I think my mother might have fainted.
But it occurred to me recently that the indoctrination against market capitalism began much earlier in my life. Indeed, one of the foundational texts of my youth presented perhaps the polar opposite of Marxist Socialism, while still inspiring children to imitate one of the greatest enemies of the Free Market. Ladies and gentlemen, how many of you are familiar with this figure?
You may know him as Scrooge McDuck, or Uncle Scrooge. But what few of us realized in our impressionable youths is that this Scottish feathered fiend, were he an actual person, would singlehandedly do more to cripple the economy of any nation-state than Marx or Lenin could dream of. Picture it: He lives in his palatial estate, hoarding riches away from the common man. This is all well and good, until you consider the fact that he does not, in turn, invest his vast wealth back into the market. Instead, he keeps it in a self-styled "money bin," a repository for his riches that serves as nothing more than a swimming pool. Those zillions of coins, rather than supporting new businesses, fostering loans and greater investment capital, or even earning basic interest, are instead stagnating atop a hill in the metropolis of Duckburg.
How dare you, Mr. McDuck. A successful free market hinges upon investment, the free exchange of capital, and so forth. And instead of allowing your money to circulate, you stash it away, withdrawing it from the market for your own private amusement, probably causing the economic collapse of several banks and perhaps even a small country or two. And we, as children, were asked to accept this economic criminality with a smile and a laugh, hoping and dreaming that some day we too could have enough money stashed away to swim in.
There you have it, folks. Indoctrination from youth. The Disney corporation teaching us to ignore the fundamental laws of Adam Smith Economics and help contribute to failing markets, depression, and economic chaos.
Next time, we shall turn to the much maligned adversaries of Mr. McDuck. Champions of the market and the redistribution of wealth.
You may know them as the Beagle Boys (and Mom). Criminals, yes. Inept, certainly. Proletariat economic warriors? Mayhaps.
1. "He's the greatest rake ever." (Really only amusing because no one but an English grad student would ever put these words together in this order. Referring to Major Sanford from The Coquette.)
2. "Oh, it's only -6 below. That's not so bad." (When it's -16 with a -30 windchill as you leave in the morning, -6 seems like summertime. Until your eyes start to freeze. But hey, we got above 0 today! Take that, arctic wind!)
And the weirdness: In my apartment building, we have no mail drop box. We just leave mail on top of the row of boxes, and the mail-person takes it. I left a Netflix envelope there on Saturday, and I'm fairly certain one of my neighbors took it, ripped it open, watched the dvd, then resealed it and returned it this morning. The perfect crime! (It was The Descent, by the way, which is really awesome and worth seeing.)
And now, a brief post regarding economics. When my parents visited me last, while walking down State Street, we were accosted by men trying to sell the Socialist newspaper. My parents, being goodly God-fearing Republicans from the midwest, assumed these men were Communists, believed my entire city to be nothing but a hotbed of radical activism (partially true), and bemoaned that their innocent child shouldst be so corrupted by these influences. I didn't have the heart to mention to them that Marxism is one of the foundational ideologies of the field in which I study. I think my mother might have fainted.
But it occurred to me recently that the indoctrination against market capitalism began much earlier in my life. Indeed, one of the foundational texts of my youth presented perhaps the polar opposite of Marxist Socialism, while still inspiring children to imitate one of the greatest enemies of the Free Market. Ladies and gentlemen, how many of you are familiar with this figure?
You may know him as Scrooge McDuck, or Uncle Scrooge. But what few of us realized in our impressionable youths is that this Scottish feathered fiend, were he an actual person, would singlehandedly do more to cripple the economy of any nation-state than Marx or Lenin could dream of. Picture it: He lives in his palatial estate, hoarding riches away from the common man. This is all well and good, until you consider the fact that he does not, in turn, invest his vast wealth back into the market. Instead, he keeps it in a self-styled "money bin," a repository for his riches that serves as nothing more than a swimming pool. Those zillions of coins, rather than supporting new businesses, fostering loans and greater investment capital, or even earning basic interest, are instead stagnating atop a hill in the metropolis of Duckburg.
How dare you, Mr. McDuck. A successful free market hinges upon investment, the free exchange of capital, and so forth. And instead of allowing your money to circulate, you stash it away, withdrawing it from the market for your own private amusement, probably causing the economic collapse of several banks and perhaps even a small country or two. And we, as children, were asked to accept this economic criminality with a smile and a laugh, hoping and dreaming that some day we too could have enough money stashed away to swim in.
There you have it, folks. Indoctrination from youth. The Disney corporation teaching us to ignore the fundamental laws of Adam Smith Economics and help contribute to failing markets, depression, and economic chaos.
Next time, we shall turn to the much maligned adversaries of Mr. McDuck. Champions of the market and the redistribution of wealth.
You may know them as the Beagle Boys (and Mom). Criminals, yes. Inept, certainly. Proletariat economic warriors? Mayhaps.
Friday, January 26, 2007
New Semester, New Post
So since several of my fellow members of the blogodrome have been criticizing my recent absence, I've decided to appease the masses with this brief office post. Sorry I haven't written much recently, but since it has been break, I haven't been doing all that much that is worth posting. But just this week I moved much further in the phases of life my parents have ingeniously set forth:
Phase 1: Buy XBox 360
Phase 2: Buy new 27" flatscreen tv
Phase 3: Buy new tv stand for said tv
Phase 1b: Get replacement 360 for broken one
That's as far as I've gotten thus far, but the path set forth before me is fairly clear:
Phase 4: Move to new, better apartment (possibly selling phases 1-3 to pay for said apartment)
Phase 5: Buy new sound system to go with new apartment for new tv
Phase 6: Find desirable mate and woo said mate with promise (lie) of financial stability, as evidenced by phases 1-5
Phase 7: Buy house to settle down with said desirable mate
Phase 8: Produce offspring to appease parents
Phase 9: Finish dissertation
(Phase 9 may be moved around to suit circumstances)
In other news, I taught my first discussion sections today. This is my first time teaching an English major course, and the students all seem very energetic, particularly for early Friday morning. In my second section, two fights broke out. One was over the merits or lack thereof of the musical Wicked (thus revealing who the theatre major snobs were) and the other was over the merits or lack thereof of Mean Girls. If they can get this passionate during introductions, I can't wait till we talk about actual literature. Cause there's nothing closer to an 18th century version of Mean Girls than The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin. Unless it's Clarissa. (I can totally see Lindsey Lohan as Clarissa, can't you?)
I gave my students the same questionnaire that I gave out last semester, with some interesting responses. I found out one of my students went to my high school. And another of them hopes to get out of my class an A, a greater appreciation of American Literature, and a girlfriend. And, as last semester, the ultimate showdown ended predictably. Of my 34 students, 21 believed Batman could take Samuel L. Jackson in a fight, whilst 10 felt badass Jackson could best the Dark Knight. One claimed indecision, one poor sod felt that Arnold Schwarzenegger as Mr. Freeze could take them both, and one pried deeper, inquiring as to Jackson's motivation for fighting the Bat in the first place. This Freud-in-training felt that if Jackson were fighting for his family, his children, or some greater cause, he could win, but if he were just fighting for his life, Batman would edge him out. Some of their more intriguing responses were:
-Several chose specifically George Clooney's Batman, as he was too sexy to lose.
-"...and I know that deep down Samuel L. Jackson is just a puff ball."
-Samuel L. Jackson lost points from several for appearing in Unbreakable.
-Batman apparently has superpowers (little did I know...)
-"Probably Frank Miller's Batman, 'cause he was hard." (I think I need to have a talk with this student about proper word usage.)
-One student felt Adam West would win out over all the others, and I admire him for his gumption.
-"Samuel L. Jackson -- total BAMF."
-"Sam L. Jackson, because I'm picturing it as a debate and he's a really smart man! *plus he's older and wiser."
-One student claimed Jackson in Pulp Fiction would win, but any other Jackson would lose.
-"Batman hesitates to actually kill his opponent. Samuel L. Jackson has no such qualms."
That's all I've got time for now, but I do promise to post more regularly now that school has started again. What else am I going to do, dissertate? Yeah, that's a laugh.
(Oh, and if you're on Xbox Live, my screen name is Doombear14. Add me if you want to play some Halo 2 or some Gears of War or...well, that's about all I own at this point.)
Phase 1: Buy XBox 360
Phase 2: Buy new 27" flatscreen tv
Phase 3: Buy new tv stand for said tv
Phase 1b: Get replacement 360 for broken one
That's as far as I've gotten thus far, but the path set forth before me is fairly clear:
Phase 4: Move to new, better apartment (possibly selling phases 1-3 to pay for said apartment)
Phase 5: Buy new sound system to go with new apartment for new tv
Phase 6: Find desirable mate and woo said mate with promise (lie) of financial stability, as evidenced by phases 1-5
Phase 7: Buy house to settle down with said desirable mate
Phase 8: Produce offspring to appease parents
Phase 9: Finish dissertation
(Phase 9 may be moved around to suit circumstances)
In other news, I taught my first discussion sections today. This is my first time teaching an English major course, and the students all seem very energetic, particularly for early Friday morning. In my second section, two fights broke out. One was over the merits or lack thereof of the musical Wicked (thus revealing who the theatre major snobs were) and the other was over the merits or lack thereof of Mean Girls. If they can get this passionate during introductions, I can't wait till we talk about actual literature. Cause there's nothing closer to an 18th century version of Mean Girls than The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin. Unless it's Clarissa. (I can totally see Lindsey Lohan as Clarissa, can't you?)
I gave my students the same questionnaire that I gave out last semester, with some interesting responses. I found out one of my students went to my high school. And another of them hopes to get out of my class an A, a greater appreciation of American Literature, and a girlfriend. And, as last semester, the ultimate showdown ended predictably. Of my 34 students, 21 believed Batman could take Samuel L. Jackson in a fight, whilst 10 felt badass Jackson could best the Dark Knight. One claimed indecision, one poor sod felt that Arnold Schwarzenegger as Mr. Freeze could take them both, and one pried deeper, inquiring as to Jackson's motivation for fighting the Bat in the first place. This Freud-in-training felt that if Jackson were fighting for his family, his children, or some greater cause, he could win, but if he were just fighting for his life, Batman would edge him out. Some of their more intriguing responses were:
-Several chose specifically George Clooney's Batman, as he was too sexy to lose.
-"...and I know that deep down Samuel L. Jackson is just a puff ball."
-Samuel L. Jackson lost points from several for appearing in Unbreakable.
-Batman apparently has superpowers (little did I know...)
-"Probably Frank Miller's Batman, 'cause he was hard." (I think I need to have a talk with this student about proper word usage.)
-One student felt Adam West would win out over all the others, and I admire him for his gumption.
-"Samuel L. Jackson -- total BAMF."
-"Sam L. Jackson, because I'm picturing it as a debate and he's a really smart man! *plus he's older and wiser."
-One student claimed Jackson in Pulp Fiction would win, but any other Jackson would lose.
-"Batman hesitates to actually kill his opponent. Samuel L. Jackson has no such qualms."
That's all I've got time for now, but I do promise to post more regularly now that school has started again. What else am I going to do, dissertate? Yeah, that's a laugh.
(Oh, and if you're on Xbox Live, my screen name is Doombear14. Add me if you want to play some Halo 2 or some Gears of War or...well, that's about all I own at this point.)
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
I am a Lemming
Because everyone and their brother is posting movie lists from the past year, I'm firmly jumping on that bandwagon. I'm doing this primarily to rectify a few gross overlooks I see on others' lists, but also to show you some of the pure crap I've watched this year. So these aren't really in any order, but they're divided into two categories: drek and non-drek. Also, there are quite a few I'm leaving out, as others have commented on them to death, so I won't bore you unless I disagree with my colleagues Speakmemory and Captain Americanist.
Drek
BloodRayne: I saw this on video, so I was saved the $8, but that's not enough. Sweet Jesus did this movie blow. It was like someone had given an 8 year old with a vampire fetish a movie camera and a list of B-grade actors to play with. And why, Billy Zane, why? You were a cool dude, and knew what you were talking about! At best here you had snide contempt for the fact that you were getting paid to be in this worthless dung heap of a film.
Silent Hill: I saw this with the Joycean, and we had no idea what had happened when the movie was over. Then some random dude told us the video game was the same way. There was fire, and smoke....and demons.....and crazy fundy Protestants....and I don't know what else....
X-Men: The Last Stand: Basically they ruined the X-Men franchise and all the brilliance of X2, and then undercut all that in the last five minutes of the movie. As I have noted elsewhere, Ratner deserves to be kicked square in the nuts.
Superman Returns: Granted, I might not give this movie a fair shake. I was forced to see it at a drive-in with some friends from out of town, rather than on the UltraScreen in sweet sweet Dolby sound. My windshield was kinda dirty, and we were far away. And that little tinny speaker was no good. So I was a thoroughly irate Dubs by the time this picture started. Still, it seemed like he took the cool parts from the first Superman movie, and did them again. And it had Kumar, from Harold and Kumar. Only he didn't speak. But boy, Kevin Spacey sure did. A lot.
Clerks 2: I enjoyed this when I saw it with Nittany Lion, but looking back, I can't remember why. Maybe it just made me nostalgic for the Clerks cartoon series. "Who's driving?" "Oh, Bear's driving! How can this be?"
The Black Dahlia: See Speakmemory for all you need to know about this one. It was like two movies, neither of which made sense. And Harry Potter's aunt was in it as a raving nutjob. For some reason.
The Non-Drek (in somewhat increasing order of awesomeness)
Underworld: Evolution: This movie didn't so much have a plot as a lot of cool stuff. Which is all I really wanted from it. And Kate Beckinsale? That girl works out. Seriously. And it had Derek Jacobi, which makes it all the more awesome. He's the definitive film Hamlet, and here he was fighting with the hybrid vampire-werewolf. I love the world in which we live.
V for Vendetta: I enjoyed this movie, and I don't care that Natalie Portman was older than the little girl in the comic. But it lost me in that the Nazi-esque conservative state was too easy a villain to ever believe in. No matter how bad things get, when people look that much like Hitlerites, they're never gonna get power.
Crank: Loads of fun, and a strong showing for a summer action flick. I believe we agreed that it was like five college kids got really drunk and thought of everything that would be cool to have in a movie, then put it in a movie. If all you expect if Jason Statham running around a lot, killing, having sex, and otherwise getting into hilarious situations that involve his adrenaline, you'll go far with this film.
Snakes on a Plane: This was our pre-prelims movie. Yes, it could have been better. No, there was no real reason for the crime boss to know kung-fu (it was the loaded gun of the movie that never went off). But Sam Jackson was Sam Jackson. Again, all I wanted out of it.
Inside Man: Quite a solid heist film, with a nice manipulation of the formula. And it wasn't too Spike Lee to be enjoyed on levels beyond a Spike Lee movie. (See Captain Americanist for further discussion.)
Cars: Loved this movie, even if it basically wasa rehash of Toy Story and Toy Story 2 with cars. It was gorgeous to watch, and earnest without being cloyingly sappy (though there were overtly sentimental moments, it pulled them off in the way Pixar movies can). And, like all Pixar movies, it wasn't a bunch of dribble with the actors overshadowing the film (see the entire animated works of Robin Williams for counterexample).
Pirates of the Carribean 2: People give this film too much grief. Yes, it was too long. Yes, you didn't really need that first section. But it was freakin awesome the rest of the way. The Pirates movies seem to understand exactly what swashbuckling means, and throw it at you every step of the way. And lay off the stupid natives. It's a staple of the genre, so don't get all uppity-postmodern and say it's racist. Cause then you're just overthinking instead of acknowledging the homage to its precursors, from Errol Flynn to Herman Melville. So all you haters out there, just shut up and go watch your artsy fartsy documentaries.
The Good Shepherd: If you don't mind the fact that there's no real through-narrative, this movie becomes a fascinating character sketch. And despite the extremely superfluous Angelina Jolie, the movie works as a mix of suspense, tragedy, and inevitability that captures the Cold War quite intelligently. Worth checking out, as long as you resign yourself to the fact that it's long, and it damn well knows it.
Brick: I heard about this one after the fact, and recently caught it on video. It's a hard, tough film noir, set in a high school. Think Veronica Mars without any of the cute redeeming humor or nice guys. No one is nice here. It's like watching The Maltese Falcon with minors. And it completely works, from the noirspeak to the believable villans and situations. Cause only two kinds of people take themselves that seriously: criminals and high schoolers. If you're a fan of noir or of mysteries, you need to see this movie.
The Prestige: Far and away the best movie I saw this year. So good I saw it twice, which enhanced the experience. Christian Bale and Hugh Jackman, Batman and Wolverine, go at it as rival magicians in Victorian England. Michael Caine and Scarlett Johansson are in there too, but they don't count. Bale and Jackman give riveting performances, and the twists and turns of the story are fascinating to watch. What can I say, I loves me my Christopher Nolan movies. Oh, and it has David Bowie as Nikola Tesla. Seriously, I can't believe none of my friends have this on their lists. See it. It's awesome.
Others that were awesome but have been talked to death in the blogodrome:
Little Miss Sunshine (fun and Proust jokes)
Talladega Nights ("There's nothing more frightening then driving with a live goddamn cougar next to you.")
Stranger than Fiction (Anytime literature is in the movies, we all win.)
Casino Royale (great but with a too-long and disappointing ending)
Children of Men
Drek
BloodRayne: I saw this on video, so I was saved the $8, but that's not enough. Sweet Jesus did this movie blow. It was like someone had given an 8 year old with a vampire fetish a movie camera and a list of B-grade actors to play with. And why, Billy Zane, why? You were a cool dude, and knew what you were talking about! At best here you had snide contempt for the fact that you were getting paid to be in this worthless dung heap of a film.
Silent Hill: I saw this with the Joycean, and we had no idea what had happened when the movie was over. Then some random dude told us the video game was the same way. There was fire, and smoke....and demons.....and crazy fundy Protestants....and I don't know what else....
X-Men: The Last Stand: Basically they ruined the X-Men franchise and all the brilliance of X2, and then undercut all that in the last five minutes of the movie. As I have noted elsewhere, Ratner deserves to be kicked square in the nuts.
Superman Returns: Granted, I might not give this movie a fair shake. I was forced to see it at a drive-in with some friends from out of town, rather than on the UltraScreen in sweet sweet Dolby sound. My windshield was kinda dirty, and we were far away. And that little tinny speaker was no good. So I was a thoroughly irate Dubs by the time this picture started. Still, it seemed like he took the cool parts from the first Superman movie, and did them again. And it had Kumar, from Harold and Kumar. Only he didn't speak. But boy, Kevin Spacey sure did. A lot.
Clerks 2: I enjoyed this when I saw it with Nittany Lion, but looking back, I can't remember why. Maybe it just made me nostalgic for the Clerks cartoon series. "Who's driving?" "Oh, Bear's driving! How can this be?"
The Black Dahlia: See Speakmemory for all you need to know about this one. It was like two movies, neither of which made sense. And Harry Potter's aunt was in it as a raving nutjob. For some reason.
The Non-Drek (in somewhat increasing order of awesomeness)
Underworld: Evolution: This movie didn't so much have a plot as a lot of cool stuff. Which is all I really wanted from it. And Kate Beckinsale? That girl works out. Seriously. And it had Derek Jacobi, which makes it all the more awesome. He's the definitive film Hamlet, and here he was fighting with the hybrid vampire-werewolf. I love the world in which we live.
V for Vendetta: I enjoyed this movie, and I don't care that Natalie Portman was older than the little girl in the comic. But it lost me in that the Nazi-esque conservative state was too easy a villain to ever believe in. No matter how bad things get, when people look that much like Hitlerites, they're never gonna get power.
Crank: Loads of fun, and a strong showing for a summer action flick. I believe we agreed that it was like five college kids got really drunk and thought of everything that would be cool to have in a movie, then put it in a movie. If all you expect if Jason Statham running around a lot, killing, having sex, and otherwise getting into hilarious situations that involve his adrenaline, you'll go far with this film.
Snakes on a Plane: This was our pre-prelims movie. Yes, it could have been better. No, there was no real reason for the crime boss to know kung-fu (it was the loaded gun of the movie that never went off). But Sam Jackson was Sam Jackson. Again, all I wanted out of it.
Inside Man: Quite a solid heist film, with a nice manipulation of the formula. And it wasn't too Spike Lee to be enjoyed on levels beyond a Spike Lee movie. (See Captain Americanist for further discussion.)
Cars: Loved this movie, even if it basically wasa rehash of Toy Story and Toy Story 2 with cars. It was gorgeous to watch, and earnest without being cloyingly sappy (though there were overtly sentimental moments, it pulled them off in the way Pixar movies can). And, like all Pixar movies, it wasn't a bunch of dribble with the actors overshadowing the film (see the entire animated works of Robin Williams for counterexample).
Pirates of the Carribean 2: People give this film too much grief. Yes, it was too long. Yes, you didn't really need that first section. But it was freakin awesome the rest of the way. The Pirates movies seem to understand exactly what swashbuckling means, and throw it at you every step of the way. And lay off the stupid natives. It's a staple of the genre, so don't get all uppity-postmodern and say it's racist. Cause then you're just overthinking instead of acknowledging the homage to its precursors, from Errol Flynn to Herman Melville. So all you haters out there, just shut up and go watch your artsy fartsy documentaries.
The Good Shepherd: If you don't mind the fact that there's no real through-narrative, this movie becomes a fascinating character sketch. And despite the extremely superfluous Angelina Jolie, the movie works as a mix of suspense, tragedy, and inevitability that captures the Cold War quite intelligently. Worth checking out, as long as you resign yourself to the fact that it's long, and it damn well knows it.
Brick: I heard about this one after the fact, and recently caught it on video. It's a hard, tough film noir, set in a high school. Think Veronica Mars without any of the cute redeeming humor or nice guys. No one is nice here. It's like watching The Maltese Falcon with minors. And it completely works, from the noirspeak to the believable villans and situations. Cause only two kinds of people take themselves that seriously: criminals and high schoolers. If you're a fan of noir or of mysteries, you need to see this movie.
The Prestige: Far and away the best movie I saw this year. So good I saw it twice, which enhanced the experience. Christian Bale and Hugh Jackman, Batman and Wolverine, go at it as rival magicians in Victorian England. Michael Caine and Scarlett Johansson are in there too, but they don't count. Bale and Jackman give riveting performances, and the twists and turns of the story are fascinating to watch. What can I say, I loves me my Christopher Nolan movies. Oh, and it has David Bowie as Nikola Tesla. Seriously, I can't believe none of my friends have this on their lists. See it. It's awesome.
Others that were awesome but have been talked to death in the blogodrome:
Little Miss Sunshine (fun and Proust jokes)
Talladega Nights ("There's nothing more frightening then driving with a live goddamn cougar next to you.")
Stranger than Fiction (Anytime literature is in the movies, we all win.)
Casino Royale (great but with a too-long and disappointing ending)
Children of Men
Monday, January 08, 2007
Whodunit?
Quick post now, as not much new to talk about.
During break, I like to read non-essential books. It frees my mind up and gives me things to peruse as I'm trying to fall asleep. At the moment, my mind turns to mystery novels. I've read all of Chandler and Hammet, and pretty much all the Christie I can take, so I'm looking for suggestions of new authors to start. What do you folk enjoy or recommend? And if it's a series, what book should I start with?
More amusing posts coming in the future, I promise. For now, take joy in the fact that I slept in till 3pm today.
During break, I like to read non-essential books. It frees my mind up and gives me things to peruse as I'm trying to fall asleep. At the moment, my mind turns to mystery novels. I've read all of Chandler and Hammet, and pretty much all the Christie I can take, so I'm looking for suggestions of new authors to start. What do you folk enjoy or recommend? And if it's a series, what book should I start with?
More amusing posts coming in the future, I promise. For now, take joy in the fact that I slept in till 3pm today.
Thursday, December 28, 2006
A Dubs Family Christmas
Christmas this year was quite the treat. I won't say much about Christmas eve, as I have described our family's rituals in detail already. It was quite enjoyable (roast beast, gifts, fire, etc.). Christmas day, however, was one of the more surreal holiday experiences of my life.
In St. Louis, my father has no relatives. My mother, on the other hand, has enough relatives to populate a small nation, and every holiday these relatives all converge upon some hapless sucker's home to celebrate the holiday with feasting and drinking. (Emphasis on the drinking. These people are of Polish-Irish descent, and they know how to have a good time.) Some highlights of this year's event include:
-Mistiming the turkeys on the grill, so that dinner was two hours late.
-Setting said turkeys on fire, unbeknownst to any of the partygoers, except...
-My father putting said turkey-fireballs out with his beer.
-The giant $10 jug of Carlo-Rossi.
-Filling the drinking chalice (giant glass bowl) with said Carlo-Rossi and passing it around the table, forcing people to chug whilst the others sang the Mexican Hat Dance song.
-Forcing my cousin's new boyfriend to chug twice, as he was "the new guy."
-Draining the chalice twice on my own to defend the honor of my scion of the family line.
-Celebrating another cousin's 16th birthday party with 22 candles on the cake.
-Sending other cousins out to buy a bottle of Bailey's, only to have them return instead with a bottle of Jagermeister.
-Watching the tivo'd porn in between plays of the football game with my cousin standing guard over the stairs to make sure his young children did not stumble in.
-The slightly uncomfortable period where my brother explained the plot of the porn to me, while his girlfriend helped fill in details (they apparently had seen it before).
-The very surreal experience of eating mashed potatoes, stuffing, and ham (as noted, the turkey was late).
All in all, one of our more enjoyable Christmases. We left at the appropriate time (before the music started to blast for two hours), and I managed not to get drunk, opting instead for "kinda sick" due, no doubt, to the aforementioned chugging of Carlo-Rossi.
Saturday I return to Madison, and not a moment too soon. I adore my parents and enjoy spending time with them, but my God, I need to leave this house before I murder them in their sleep. I believe my mother has brought up no less than 30 times the fact that some day I'll be able to have these fun family experiences with my own children, and I have been told by at least four of my relatives that I need to "find some nice girl and settle down somewhere."
To rectify this tension and questioning of my life choices, I've decided to have wacky Madison fun on New Year's Eve. I don't know what it is yet, but I'm open to suggestions. Whatever it is, it has to top last year's sword brandy (which won't be hard, except in terms of sheer absurdity). So Madison folk, I take it upon you to come up with hilarity and debauchery to ring in 2007. Keep me posted.
In St. Louis, my father has no relatives. My mother, on the other hand, has enough relatives to populate a small nation, and every holiday these relatives all converge upon some hapless sucker's home to celebrate the holiday with feasting and drinking. (Emphasis on the drinking. These people are of Polish-Irish descent, and they know how to have a good time.) Some highlights of this year's event include:
-Mistiming the turkeys on the grill, so that dinner was two hours late.
-Setting said turkeys on fire, unbeknownst to any of the partygoers, except...
-My father putting said turkey-fireballs out with his beer.
-The giant $10 jug of Carlo-Rossi.
-Filling the drinking chalice (giant glass bowl) with said Carlo-Rossi and passing it around the table, forcing people to chug whilst the others sang the Mexican Hat Dance song.
-Forcing my cousin's new boyfriend to chug twice, as he was "the new guy."
-Draining the chalice twice on my own to defend the honor of my scion of the family line.
-Celebrating another cousin's 16th birthday party with 22 candles on the cake.
-Sending other cousins out to buy a bottle of Bailey's, only to have them return instead with a bottle of Jagermeister.
-Watching the tivo'd porn in between plays of the football game with my cousin standing guard over the stairs to make sure his young children did not stumble in.
-The slightly uncomfortable period where my brother explained the plot of the porn to me, while his girlfriend helped fill in details (they apparently had seen it before).
-The very surreal experience of eating mashed potatoes, stuffing, and ham (as noted, the turkey was late).
All in all, one of our more enjoyable Christmases. We left at the appropriate time (before the music started to blast for two hours), and I managed not to get drunk, opting instead for "kinda sick" due, no doubt, to the aforementioned chugging of Carlo-Rossi.
Saturday I return to Madison, and not a moment too soon. I adore my parents and enjoy spending time with them, but my God, I need to leave this house before I murder them in their sleep. I believe my mother has brought up no less than 30 times the fact that some day I'll be able to have these fun family experiences with my own children, and I have been told by at least four of my relatives that I need to "find some nice girl and settle down somewhere."
To rectify this tension and questioning of my life choices, I've decided to have wacky Madison fun on New Year's Eve. I don't know what it is yet, but I'm open to suggestions. Whatever it is, it has to top last year's sword brandy (which won't be hard, except in terms of sheer absurdity). So Madison folk, I take it upon you to come up with hilarity and debauchery to ring in 2007. Keep me posted.
Friday, December 22, 2006
Note to Self: Never Live Like That Again
Ok, so the last few weeks have been rather hellish.
Two weeks back, I could see everything was coming to a head. I had a 15 page research paper due that I had barely worked on at all (on the research level, not even starting the writing), and I had 52 papers to grade. I had planned to write the paper by Tuesday the 12th, then take the rest of the week to grade the papers.
Instead, I discovered that I could find episodes of Scrubs available online. So, in the time between Friday the 8th and Tuesday the 12th, I managed to watch all five seasons of the show. It was pretty sad, actually. Since each episode is only 22 minutes long, I would justify to myself that I could afford to watch one more. Then, as time ran on, I would say that I would get more work done if I only got to the end of a season. Well, it kinda worked. Once I had watched every episode of every season, I did feel like I could get more work done.
Unfortunately, by that time it was Wednesday evening, and I was just getting home from a Writing Center shift. So, in the hours between 11:00pm Wednesday and 1:30pm Thursday, I managed to write a 15 page paper, complete with research. The requirements consisted of 3 giant cans of Monster energy drink, a bag of pretzel rods, a half of a leftover pizza, and a cast-iron stomach that helped me fight the urge to constantly regurgitate the junk I was putting into it. Sorry, stomach. I promise to make amends with sweet purifying alcohol over break.
Following that, I had about 30 papers left to grade by the next day (Friday). Which I did, finishing the last one between discussion sections that afternoon. Again, Monster energy drinks, pretzel rods, and lack of sleep. My mood that Friday afternoon was best described as "jittery," or more accurately described as "bat-shit insane." But then came the office holiday party and sweet sweet alcohol, and even sweeter sleep.
All in all, that week I got about 12 hours of sleep between Tuesday and Friday, with no stretch longer than three hours. I also didn't eat an actual meal for about three days in there. All because I had to watch Scrubs. Blessedly, the addiction is passed, as I am caught up and the actual show is on opposite both Grey's Anatomy and Supernatural, so I can't even tape it. C'est la vie.
So the next week passed relatively benignly. I took my journalism final (done in 22 minutes), administered and graded my own students' finals, and discovered that I can also find episodes of Battlestar Galactica online, which I have now begun to watch in earnest. It's quite awesome, and I highly recommend it.
I now am home, having driven through fog and thunderstorm (seriously, a thunderstorm in Illinois on the first day of winter. What the hell?). I discovered moments ago that I passed both of my courses with flying colors, and thus I am forever finished with taking classes. EVER. NO MORE CLASSES. If I weren't so exhausted, I'd probably do a little dance. Next semester I can actually start work on my dissertation proposal, and live the sweet life that I've only dreamed about. (If it isn't in fact sweet, don't tell me. Let me have my dream a while longer.) And since I won't likely blog anymore before Christmas, some holiday shout-outs:
Madison People: You guys rock, and you kept me sane this semester, despite my clear hatred and contempt for the things I was doing. Those of you who will be there for New Year's Eve, we must do something completely insane. And actual insane, not grad school insane. Board games and wine do not count as insane.
Specifically amongst the Madison peeps (though mention here is not a slight against you):
T.: Thanks for the CDs. Made the drive so enjoyable, though I did nearly wreck my car I was laughing so hard at "6 to 8 Black Men." (For the rest of you, this is not racist. It involves mockery of the Dutch yuletide mythology.)
Officemates: Ours is the best office ever, even if you two are so smugly further in your dissertation process than I am (yes, I'm looking at you Red Headed Stepchild).
Puncher: Sorry no dumplings before I left. But you'll be there for New Year's, right?
Captain Americanist: I'm sad I'm no longer your TA. My new instructor might actually hold me accountable for things. And he damn sure won't let me intimidate the newbies like you did.
Hillbilly and CryptoJew: Sorry I won't be there to hear the fourth lesson of Advent with you. Though I looked ahead, and I believe that it's actually "Screw this patience thing. You have to go to mass again later tonight. Cause Jesus, he's a'coming."
TGD (I dislike your old nickname and need a new one): We must begin our drinking early next year, if I am to be in prime condition in April when I visit my:
New York Friends: That's right, I'm coming out there in early April, and staying a little under a week. We must get drunk and do crazy things. I won't rest until Quantum has actually either assaulted a celebrity or been arrested for rigging an election. Or both.
McJew: Stop the pretentious song posts. I hadn't heard of one of those damn songs. And if you think you've got it bad as a teacher, well, you do. Cause Michigan sucks. (I find alcohol and Scrubs viewings will help dull the pain of grading.)
Nittany Lion: I'm not certain, but I believe my friend Quantum left me a voicemail saying he got Joe Paterno so drunk he may die. You may want to check. And come back to Madison soon. I can't seem to win at poker while you're gone.
Sergio: Loved the Scrubs-related Charlie Brown Christmas link. Call me if you're home for the holiday.
Other Northwestern Friends: Do you know how I can get NU to stop asking me for money? I can't support them and my coke habit, now can I? Go Cats!
Random other folk who read this blog: Who are you? Why are you spying on me? Are you the people I see out in the shrubs every alternate Tuesday at 7:45pm? (Except for L.A. Girl. You're cool, even if you don't like Heroes. If you get a chance, punch Brett Ratner in the balls for me.)
The person from the UK who is viewing my blog for some reason: Happy Boxing Day.
I began this month's posts admitting what a sucker I am for Christmas and all it means, in an un-ironic way. So Merry Christmas to you all, even if I forgot to mention you here by name. I wish you nothing but the best for the holiday season, and I hope the new year finds you happy and prosperous, or at least content with your poverty (i.e. an academic or a drunk).
Two weeks back, I could see everything was coming to a head. I had a 15 page research paper due that I had barely worked on at all (on the research level, not even starting the writing), and I had 52 papers to grade. I had planned to write the paper by Tuesday the 12th, then take the rest of the week to grade the papers.
Instead, I discovered that I could find episodes of Scrubs available online. So, in the time between Friday the 8th and Tuesday the 12th, I managed to watch all five seasons of the show. It was pretty sad, actually. Since each episode is only 22 minutes long, I would justify to myself that I could afford to watch one more. Then, as time ran on, I would say that I would get more work done if I only got to the end of a season. Well, it kinda worked. Once I had watched every episode of every season, I did feel like I could get more work done.
Unfortunately, by that time it was Wednesday evening, and I was just getting home from a Writing Center shift. So, in the hours between 11:00pm Wednesday and 1:30pm Thursday, I managed to write a 15 page paper, complete with research. The requirements consisted of 3 giant cans of Monster energy drink, a bag of pretzel rods, a half of a leftover pizza, and a cast-iron stomach that helped me fight the urge to constantly regurgitate the junk I was putting into it. Sorry, stomach. I promise to make amends with sweet purifying alcohol over break.
Following that, I had about 30 papers left to grade by the next day (Friday). Which I did, finishing the last one between discussion sections that afternoon. Again, Monster energy drinks, pretzel rods, and lack of sleep. My mood that Friday afternoon was best described as "jittery," or more accurately described as "bat-shit insane." But then came the office holiday party and sweet sweet alcohol, and even sweeter sleep.
All in all, that week I got about 12 hours of sleep between Tuesday and Friday, with no stretch longer than three hours. I also didn't eat an actual meal for about three days in there. All because I had to watch Scrubs. Blessedly, the addiction is passed, as I am caught up and the actual show is on opposite both Grey's Anatomy and Supernatural, so I can't even tape it. C'est la vie.
So the next week passed relatively benignly. I took my journalism final (done in 22 minutes), administered and graded my own students' finals, and discovered that I can also find episodes of Battlestar Galactica online, which I have now begun to watch in earnest. It's quite awesome, and I highly recommend it.
I now am home, having driven through fog and thunderstorm (seriously, a thunderstorm in Illinois on the first day of winter. What the hell?). I discovered moments ago that I passed both of my courses with flying colors, and thus I am forever finished with taking classes. EVER. NO MORE CLASSES. If I weren't so exhausted, I'd probably do a little dance. Next semester I can actually start work on my dissertation proposal, and live the sweet life that I've only dreamed about. (If it isn't in fact sweet, don't tell me. Let me have my dream a while longer.) And since I won't likely blog anymore before Christmas, some holiday shout-outs:
Madison People: You guys rock, and you kept me sane this semester, despite my clear hatred and contempt for the things I was doing. Those of you who will be there for New Year's Eve, we must do something completely insane. And actual insane, not grad school insane. Board games and wine do not count as insane.
Specifically amongst the Madison peeps (though mention here is not a slight against you):
T.: Thanks for the CDs. Made the drive so enjoyable, though I did nearly wreck my car I was laughing so hard at "6 to 8 Black Men." (For the rest of you, this is not racist. It involves mockery of the Dutch yuletide mythology.)
Officemates: Ours is the best office ever, even if you two are so smugly further in your dissertation process than I am (yes, I'm looking at you Red Headed Stepchild).
Puncher: Sorry no dumplings before I left. But you'll be there for New Year's, right?
Captain Americanist: I'm sad I'm no longer your TA. My new instructor might actually hold me accountable for things. And he damn sure won't let me intimidate the newbies like you did.
Hillbilly and CryptoJew: Sorry I won't be there to hear the fourth lesson of Advent with you. Though I looked ahead, and I believe that it's actually "Screw this patience thing. You have to go to mass again later tonight. Cause Jesus, he's a'coming."
TGD (I dislike your old nickname and need a new one): We must begin our drinking early next year, if I am to be in prime condition in April when I visit my:
New York Friends: That's right, I'm coming out there in early April, and staying a little under a week. We must get drunk and do crazy things. I won't rest until Quantum has actually either assaulted a celebrity or been arrested for rigging an election. Or both.
McJew: Stop the pretentious song posts. I hadn't heard of one of those damn songs. And if you think you've got it bad as a teacher, well, you do. Cause Michigan sucks. (I find alcohol and Scrubs viewings will help dull the pain of grading.)
Nittany Lion: I'm not certain, but I believe my friend Quantum left me a voicemail saying he got Joe Paterno so drunk he may die. You may want to check. And come back to Madison soon. I can't seem to win at poker while you're gone.
Sergio: Loved the Scrubs-related Charlie Brown Christmas link. Call me if you're home for the holiday.
Other Northwestern Friends: Do you know how I can get NU to stop asking me for money? I can't support them and my coke habit, now can I? Go Cats!
Random other folk who read this blog: Who are you? Why are you spying on me? Are you the people I see out in the shrubs every alternate Tuesday at 7:45pm? (Except for L.A. Girl. You're cool, even if you don't like Heroes. If you get a chance, punch Brett Ratner in the balls for me.)
The person from the UK who is viewing my blog for some reason: Happy Boxing Day.
I began this month's posts admitting what a sucker I am for Christmas and all it means, in an un-ironic way. So Merry Christmas to you all, even if I forgot to mention you here by name. I wish you nothing but the best for the holiday season, and I hope the new year finds you happy and prosperous, or at least content with your poverty (i.e. an academic or a drunk).
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Quickie at the Office
Even bad cookies are good with lots of icing.
So I've got a stomach full of Monster energy drinks and bad cookies with icing. Working on 2 hours sleep. I have 11 pages of a 15 page paper, and I plan to finish before my 2:30 class. Then I have to grade 32 5-6 page essays by Friday at noon.
Will update more later.
(Oh, and on an episode of Scrubs I just saw, it actually was lupis. For all you House fans out there.)
So I've got a stomach full of Monster energy drinks and bad cookies with icing. Working on 2 hours sleep. I have 11 pages of a 15 page paper, and I plan to finish before my 2:30 class. Then I have to grade 32 5-6 page essays by Friday at noon.
Will update more later.
(Oh, and on an episode of Scrubs I just saw, it actually was lupis. For all you House fans out there.)
Monday, December 04, 2006
God Bless Us, Everyone
How many versions of "A Christmas Carol" are out there, do you think? As I begin to tabulate part two of my Christmas blogging (thanks for the massive response on the first post), it occurs to me that two of my entries are variations on that theme (though oddly none of them are traditional tellings of that tale). Do you think the British find it amusing that the dominant American narrative of Christmastime is one that makes us all nostalgic for a Victorian-era London? Lousy snobbish Brits, I guess so. Wouldn't put it past 'em. So here, with a bit more ado, is my companion piece, on the truly great holiday movies and tv specials.
First, a bit of background. In my family, there are really two big moments of Yuletide cheer: the day after Thanksgiving and Christmas Eve. On the day after Thanksgiving, we chop down our Christmas tree and sing a rousing chorus of "Oh Christmas Tree" over it's fallen husk. Of course, we don't know the words (well, they don't. Being the authority on carols [see previous post] I know it in both English and German), so our version goes something like this:
Oh Christmas tree
Oh Christmas tree!
Oh Christmas tree, oh Christmas tree.
Oh Christmas tree! Oh Christmas tree!
Oh Christmas tree, oh Christmas tree!
Oh Christmas tree,
Oh Christmas tree!
Oh Christmas tree, oh Christmas tree!
Then my brother and I drag the tree back to the road, while singing the monkey guard chant from The Wizard of Oz, and the tractor comes and takes it back to the parking lot.
As to Christmas Eve, we all gather together for dinner. My father, since his two children went away to college, has rediscovered a love of and talent for cooking quite excellent meals, and so every December 24th he strives to outdo himself. Last year involved a Crown Roast (or roast beast, as I called it), roasted potatoes, squash and carrots, asparagus tips in a creamy butter sauce, followed by a key lime pie (my mother's contribution which, while not exactly Christmasy, was nonetheless excellent). Following the great feast, we kick back for drinks and watch our traditional holiday fare, which consists of three parts:
1. The somewhat serious: "A Charlie Brown Christmas". This, while funny of course, still strives to have some kind of heartfelt sentiment about it, and so we appreciate it as such (of course with a healthy dose of irony alongside it, as my brother and I together are the most irreverant pair in the world). Besides, nothing is cooler than that kid who dances by putting his arms out in front of him and walking in place, like some crazy Frankenstein's monster celebrating the birth of a God who came to save everyone but him (as he is an unnatural creation). That and Snoopy doing all the farm animal noises. Love that.
2. The really funny: "A Garfield Christmas". This is ironic humor at its finest, as Garfield, Jon, and Odie go to Jon's parents' farm for Christmas, and Garfield learns to put aside his sarcasm to celebrate the holiday. Includes the wonderful opening song "Gimmie Gimmie Gimmie", as well as Garfield's lines "Things, stuff, boxes, greed, avarice, I love it. Now this is what Christmas is all about!", and a fair amount of hokey songs, all of which we sing along with. Granted, we've got a few drinks in us at this point, but we think we're the funniest people on earth. It's an odd mix of ironic amusement and actual nostalgia.
3. The truly absurd: "Mr. Willowby's Christmas Tree". I'm fairly certain we're the only people in the world who watch this. One year, after taping Charlie Brown, my brother came running downstairs and told me to start recording again. The result: Mr. Willowby. The story follows three mice, a father, son, and daughter, on a quest to get the perfect Christmas tree. In this endeavor, they encounter humans (guest stars Leslie Nielson, Stockard Channing, and Robert Downey Jr. as Mr. Willowby), bears, and owls, each of whom wants a Christmas tree, and takes theirs, only to find out it is too tall. Each person cuts off the top and "throws it away," only to have it recovered by the next pair, until finally it is a perfect mouse-size. And all of this is narrated by Kermit the Frog.
Now, I know what you're thinking. Yes, this sounds like the most moronic thing ever. And you're right. It is. It's absurd beyond the dreams of Beckett. There are faceless lumberjacks who bring the tree to Willowby Manor (singing "We tromp and crash through ice and snow, we're lumberjacks that's all we know. We cut and chop and saw and hack, the perfect tree we whack whack whack"). Willowby himself is quite possibly insane, saying things like ""WHERE on earth on this most Christmassy of Christmases can my arboretum arbor vitae BE?", "Oh, what a categorical impartation of absolute smartitude!", and other things that make you wonder just how high Downey was at the time. Leslie Nielson, his butler Baxter, is stuffy and stodgy, and wears at one point a wreath of candles on his head. Channing, "poor Miss Adelade," the upstairs maid, is lonely for her far off home in Sweden (home of the horrible Swedish accent that sounds vaguely Transylvanian), but finds romance with Baxter as they dance together (when she asks where he learned to dance, he replies "Madam, have you ever been to Buenos Aires?"). The bears dance. The owls sing. And the mouse father maintains steadfastly throughout that he knows exactly what he is doing (much like our own father would in times of trouble).
All in all, it's an excercise in absurdity. It makes no sense, there's no real tension, or plot for that matter. And we eat it up. We sing every song. We recite the lines along with it. And we quote it after it's done. The men of the Dubs household all go nuts, whilst our dear mater looks on askance. And I'm fairly certain my brother's girlfriend seriously considered our sanity and her relationship with my dear frere after seeing that little display.
After this comes presents and midnight mass, followed by more drinking and me generally reading by the fire whilst my parents fall asleep. I'm not one to waste a good fire, and I generally try to read something Christmasy (mayhap a bit of Dickens' old tale). So that's our Christmas Eve, used solely as an excuse to list the three main televised specials that top my list. Two others to consider are:
-"Muppet Family Christmas". The muppet gang goes to Fozzie's mother's farm, and everyone is there, including the Sesame Street Gang and the Fraggles. The Swedish chef attempts to cook Big Bird. Fozzie does vaudville with a snowman. and Miss Piggy tries to fight her way through a blizzard. It's awesome, and I suggest you see it.
-"A Claymation Christmas". If you can ever find this one, let me know. It had the California Raisins, an endless debate about what it means to "Wassail", ice skating walruses that terrorize penguins to the tune of "Angels We Have Heard on High," and the best "Carol of the Bells" ever, with one clueless bell who could never remember to ring himself. They stopped showing this one years ago, but I still remember it fondly.
As to movies, I highly recommend and watch every year:
-A Muppet Christmas Carol. Perhaps my favorite rendition of the tale, featuring Gonzo the Great as Charles Dickens (and Rizzo the Rat as his narrator sidekick, who gets off such great lines as "Hoity-toity, Mr. Godlike Smartypants" in response to Dickens' omniscience in his own tale). Michael Caine is a wonderful Scrooge, the songs are fun, and the metafictional possibilities are excellent.
-Scrooged. The second retelling of "A Christmas Carol," featuring Bill Murray as an evil tv executive. Opens with a trailer for the program "The Night the Reindeer Died," where Lee Majors seeks aid fighting terrorists from Santa Claus. And it just gets better from there. No one does evil and sardonic like Murray. And I always laugh when the Ghost of Christmas Present hits him with that toaster.
-Miracle on 34th Street (the original, not the bastardized remake). Santa Claus makes a mockery of the legal system, and we celebrate him for it. The Post Office commits a federal offense, and we love it. And Fred Mertz from "I Love Lucy" plays a savvy political advisor. How can you not adore this movie? It's a classic, and I defy you to say differently.
-Holiday Inn. Bing Crosby, Fred Astaire, and various women who dance and sing around them. You get to laugh at Bing trying to dance. And while technically it's a year-long movie, not just a Christmas one, the featured song is "White Christmas," and it opens and closes with Christmas, so we watch it at Christmas. Deal.
-Love Actually. One of my new favorite Christmas movies. It's a romantic comedy that isn't sappy or overly contrived. Just loads of fun. Bill Nighy as a crazy rock star, Hugh Grant as Prime Minister, and Alan Rickman as Alan Rickman. Oh, and Colin Firth speaking Portuguese is the single greatest moment of subtitles ever utilized in a film. This one is particularly fun because it makes explicit the link between romance and Christmastime, which most movies just hint at as they discuss the worth of man, the childlike spirit of Christmas, blah blah blah. And it's got a killer soundtrack, excellently utilized in the film (where I first discovered Norah Jones' "Turn Me On," perhaps the most sensual song ever).
-Home Alone 2. Going out on a limb here and supporting the sequal over the original. Yes, it's mostly the same jokes. But this one has Tim Curry. And it isn't quite so vulgarly stupid as the first one. At any rate, this is the one I was raised on, so I appreciate it more.
-The Bishop's Wife. Cary Grant plays an angel who teaches David Niven to appreciate life by stealing his wife. Nothing else to say about that one.
-Die Hard. Best "Ode to Joy" ever. And again, Alan Rickman.
I'm sure there are others, but this post is already too long. Also, I'm sure people are going to criticize me for not including Christmas Vacation or A Christmas Story. Well, I hate the Vacation movies as a series, so I've never seen the Christmas one. And A Christmas Story is just stupid. Plus, TBS shows it 12 times on Christmas Eve, which makes me hate it even more.
So Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and God Bless Us, everyone. Except the Jews, who killed my savior. (Just kidding, love ya McJew.)
First, a bit of background. In my family, there are really two big moments of Yuletide cheer: the day after Thanksgiving and Christmas Eve. On the day after Thanksgiving, we chop down our Christmas tree and sing a rousing chorus of "Oh Christmas Tree" over it's fallen husk. Of course, we don't know the words (well, they don't. Being the authority on carols [see previous post] I know it in both English and German), so our version goes something like this:
Oh Christmas tree
Oh Christmas tree!
Oh Christmas tree, oh Christmas tree.
Oh Christmas tree! Oh Christmas tree!
Oh Christmas tree, oh Christmas tree!
Oh Christmas tree,
Oh Christmas tree!
Oh Christmas tree, oh Christmas tree!
Then my brother and I drag the tree back to the road, while singing the monkey guard chant from The Wizard of Oz, and the tractor comes and takes it back to the parking lot.
As to Christmas Eve, we all gather together for dinner. My father, since his two children went away to college, has rediscovered a love of and talent for cooking quite excellent meals, and so every December 24th he strives to outdo himself. Last year involved a Crown Roast (or roast beast, as I called it), roasted potatoes, squash and carrots, asparagus tips in a creamy butter sauce, followed by a key lime pie (my mother's contribution which, while not exactly Christmasy, was nonetheless excellent). Following the great feast, we kick back for drinks and watch our traditional holiday fare, which consists of three parts:
1. The somewhat serious: "A Charlie Brown Christmas". This, while funny of course, still strives to have some kind of heartfelt sentiment about it, and so we appreciate it as such (of course with a healthy dose of irony alongside it, as my brother and I together are the most irreverant pair in the world). Besides, nothing is cooler than that kid who dances by putting his arms out in front of him and walking in place, like some crazy Frankenstein's monster celebrating the birth of a God who came to save everyone but him (as he is an unnatural creation). That and Snoopy doing all the farm animal noises. Love that.
2. The really funny: "A Garfield Christmas". This is ironic humor at its finest, as Garfield, Jon, and Odie go to Jon's parents' farm for Christmas, and Garfield learns to put aside his sarcasm to celebrate the holiday. Includes the wonderful opening song "Gimmie Gimmie Gimmie", as well as Garfield's lines "Things, stuff, boxes, greed, avarice, I love it. Now this is what Christmas is all about!", and a fair amount of hokey songs, all of which we sing along with. Granted, we've got a few drinks in us at this point, but we think we're the funniest people on earth. It's an odd mix of ironic amusement and actual nostalgia.
3. The truly absurd: "Mr. Willowby's Christmas Tree". I'm fairly certain we're the only people in the world who watch this. One year, after taping Charlie Brown, my brother came running downstairs and told me to start recording again. The result: Mr. Willowby. The story follows three mice, a father, son, and daughter, on a quest to get the perfect Christmas tree. In this endeavor, they encounter humans (guest stars Leslie Nielson, Stockard Channing, and Robert Downey Jr. as Mr. Willowby), bears, and owls, each of whom wants a Christmas tree, and takes theirs, only to find out it is too tall. Each person cuts off the top and "throws it away," only to have it recovered by the next pair, until finally it is a perfect mouse-size. And all of this is narrated by Kermit the Frog.
Now, I know what you're thinking. Yes, this sounds like the most moronic thing ever. And you're right. It is. It's absurd beyond the dreams of Beckett. There are faceless lumberjacks who bring the tree to Willowby Manor (singing "We tromp and crash through ice and snow, we're lumberjacks that's all we know. We cut and chop and saw and hack, the perfect tree we whack whack whack"). Willowby himself is quite possibly insane, saying things like ""WHERE on earth on this most Christmassy of Christmases can my arboretum arbor vitae BE?", "Oh, what a categorical impartation of absolute smartitude!", and other things that make you wonder just how high Downey was at the time. Leslie Nielson, his butler Baxter, is stuffy and stodgy, and wears at one point a wreath of candles on his head. Channing, "poor Miss Adelade," the upstairs maid, is lonely for her far off home in Sweden (home of the horrible Swedish accent that sounds vaguely Transylvanian), but finds romance with Baxter as they dance together (when she asks where he learned to dance, he replies "Madam, have you ever been to Buenos Aires?"). The bears dance. The owls sing. And the mouse father maintains steadfastly throughout that he knows exactly what he is doing (much like our own father would in times of trouble).
All in all, it's an excercise in absurdity. It makes no sense, there's no real tension, or plot for that matter. And we eat it up. We sing every song. We recite the lines along with it. And we quote it after it's done. The men of the Dubs household all go nuts, whilst our dear mater looks on askance. And I'm fairly certain my brother's girlfriend seriously considered our sanity and her relationship with my dear frere after seeing that little display.
After this comes presents and midnight mass, followed by more drinking and me generally reading by the fire whilst my parents fall asleep. I'm not one to waste a good fire, and I generally try to read something Christmasy (mayhap a bit of Dickens' old tale). So that's our Christmas Eve, used solely as an excuse to list the three main televised specials that top my list. Two others to consider are:
-"Muppet Family Christmas". The muppet gang goes to Fozzie's mother's farm, and everyone is there, including the Sesame Street Gang and the Fraggles. The Swedish chef attempts to cook Big Bird. Fozzie does vaudville with a snowman. and Miss Piggy tries to fight her way through a blizzard. It's awesome, and I suggest you see it.
-"A Claymation Christmas". If you can ever find this one, let me know. It had the California Raisins, an endless debate about what it means to "Wassail", ice skating walruses that terrorize penguins to the tune of "Angels We Have Heard on High," and the best "Carol of the Bells" ever, with one clueless bell who could never remember to ring himself. They stopped showing this one years ago, but I still remember it fondly.
As to movies, I highly recommend and watch every year:
-A Muppet Christmas Carol. Perhaps my favorite rendition of the tale, featuring Gonzo the Great as Charles Dickens (and Rizzo the Rat as his narrator sidekick, who gets off such great lines as "Hoity-toity, Mr. Godlike Smartypants" in response to Dickens' omniscience in his own tale). Michael Caine is a wonderful Scrooge, the songs are fun, and the metafictional possibilities are excellent.
-Scrooged. The second retelling of "A Christmas Carol," featuring Bill Murray as an evil tv executive. Opens with a trailer for the program "The Night the Reindeer Died," where Lee Majors seeks aid fighting terrorists from Santa Claus. And it just gets better from there. No one does evil and sardonic like Murray. And I always laugh when the Ghost of Christmas Present hits him with that toaster.
-Miracle on 34th Street (the original, not the bastardized remake). Santa Claus makes a mockery of the legal system, and we celebrate him for it. The Post Office commits a federal offense, and we love it. And Fred Mertz from "I Love Lucy" plays a savvy political advisor. How can you not adore this movie? It's a classic, and I defy you to say differently.
-Holiday Inn. Bing Crosby, Fred Astaire, and various women who dance and sing around them. You get to laugh at Bing trying to dance. And while technically it's a year-long movie, not just a Christmas one, the featured song is "White Christmas," and it opens and closes with Christmas, so we watch it at Christmas. Deal.
-Love Actually. One of my new favorite Christmas movies. It's a romantic comedy that isn't sappy or overly contrived. Just loads of fun. Bill Nighy as a crazy rock star, Hugh Grant as Prime Minister, and Alan Rickman as Alan Rickman. Oh, and Colin Firth speaking Portuguese is the single greatest moment of subtitles ever utilized in a film. This one is particularly fun because it makes explicit the link between romance and Christmastime, which most movies just hint at as they discuss the worth of man, the childlike spirit of Christmas, blah blah blah. And it's got a killer soundtrack, excellently utilized in the film (where I first discovered Norah Jones' "Turn Me On," perhaps the most sensual song ever).
-Home Alone 2. Going out on a limb here and supporting the sequal over the original. Yes, it's mostly the same jokes. But this one has Tim Curry. And it isn't quite so vulgarly stupid as the first one. At any rate, this is the one I was raised on, so I appreciate it more.
-The Bishop's Wife. Cary Grant plays an angel who teaches David Niven to appreciate life by stealing his wife. Nothing else to say about that one.
-Die Hard. Best "Ode to Joy" ever. And again, Alan Rickman.
I'm sure there are others, but this post is already too long. Also, I'm sure people are going to criticize me for not including Christmas Vacation or A Christmas Story. Well, I hate the Vacation movies as a series, so I've never seen the Christmas one. And A Christmas Story is just stupid. Plus, TBS shows it 12 times on Christmas Eve, which makes me hate it even more.
So Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and God Bless Us, everyone. Except the Jews, who killed my savior. (Just kidding, love ya McJew.)
Monday, November 27, 2006
It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year
Thanksgiving has come and gone, and I won't say that much about it. My family was fun in that awkward and uncomfortable way that families are. My brother and his girlfriend, while not engaged per se, are talking about choosing engagement rings, and what they might name their firstborn child. This is all well and good, but it led to the inevitable hints that my mother is quite concerned that I haven't found a nice girl to settle down with and raise a family. This is particularly fun around the holidays, as every event becomes a prompt for "Just think, some day you'll be doing this with your own kids." Though this did reveal some confusion my mother seems to have about my future, as she seems to think a professorship at a small midwestern college will involve me owning land, riding a tractor, and planting crops (winter wheat, my father contributed with a wry smirk). I could have disabused her of these notions, but decided it wasn't worth the effort. Instead I fled back to my Madisonian Fortress of Solitude and sought catharsis through blogging.
Anyway, as I said, Thanksgiving is come and gone, and now I am free to revel in my own secret obsession: Christmastime. It's hard to decorate and show it outwardly when you live alone in a pit that isn't appropriate for parties, but inwardly, I'm a Christmas nut. Love it. Adore it. I completely buy in to all the sappy, sentimental drek that I am so content to mock the rest of the year. Part of it, of course, is the extreme hubris that comes when your faith has made the entire world recognize the birth of its savior as a holiday (whether or not they worship it themselves). In fact, I still take great joy that we seized the season from both Haunakkah and the pagan rituals of the Winter Solstice (take that, druids).
But mainly, it's because of Christmas Carols. Those who know me understand my deep affiliation with the musical aspects of life, and carols are the most freakish and unmanly manifestation of that inner connection. Let's face it, most Christmas carols, particularly most modern carols, are overly sentimental, full of cliches, and no self-respecting cynic would ever enjoy them. We all know that the drivel in Christmas songs is stuff and nonsense, pretty words to say or sing once or twice a year, then ignore. Yeah, that may be true. But I say humbug to that claim, all the same. Give me my carols, let me sing along, and I'll be happy for the entire month of December. (My car radio, tuned constantly to 107.3's Festival of Lights, a month of carols. I'm not ashamed.)
And, oddly enough, I enjoy many of the more "contemporary" carols. While I can appreciate the old Bing Crosby-esque era of carols, the more traditional renditions, I heard (and sang in choir) these songs so often, now I gravitate more toward less conventional fare. Of course, this does not excuse the majority of modern renditions, which are simply American Idol-ized versions of older carols, where the singer simply sings the song more slowly and with more warbling in his or her voice. But there are a lot of songs I just adore that are fairly recent. For example, that song from Polar Express, by the guy who sings songs about Jesus but the radio station pretends they aren't about Jesus so they can get prime time air play. It's a really stupid song. Full of stupid cliches about belief and heart's wishes and nonsense. And I'll listen to it every time it's on the radio.
So, to ring in the Christmas season, here's a selection of my prime Christmas playlist, including both favorites and banned songs:
Good, both traditional and more recent:
"God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen" by Barenaked Ladies. It's fun and swingy and has Sarah McLachlan in it. How can you go wrong?
"It Came Upon a Midnight Clear" by Sixpence None the Richer. Same style as "God Rest Ye," and enjoyable for the same reason. A nice revision (note the word revision, not just slowing down) of a great song.
"O Holy Night" by N'Sync. Yes, everyone and their mother has covered this song. But I choose this arrangement because 1. It isn't American Idol-ized, unlike practically every other version out there. 2. It's got kickass harmonies in it, including a killer tenor track. 3. My college a cappella group sang it when we used to carol in the sorority quads. Gotta love it.
"Where Are You, Christmas?" by Faith Hill, from How the Grinch Stole Christmas. This is one of those songs I realize is bunk, overly sentimental clap trap. I don't care. I love it. I'm not too proud to admit it.
"New York Christmas" by Matchbox 20. This song is only ok, but it got me through some tough times. My first Christmas out of college, I was working at RadioShack. My second week there, I spent 8 hours at a time locked in an empty store, tearing things down, as the store had just changed locations. It was my job to take the old store apart and throw it away, all alone. It was just me, a mess, and a radio, and this song was one of the few Christmas carols they would play that was different enough for me to appreciate.
"All I Want for Christmas is You" by Mariah Carey. First off, this song is just fun. I defy you to say otherwise. Second, it has cultural value for the awesome role it played in Love Actually (see my next post, on top Christmas movies, for further elucidation).
"Carol of the Bells". We did a killer arrangement of this song in college, where we transitioned from the end of it into the beginning of an a cappella version of "You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch." Really was quite badass.
"All Alone on Christmas". Not sure who the original artist is, but it's used quite effectively in the Home Alone movies and, again, Love Actually. It's kinda sad but with a driving beat nonetheless, and makes my list because it is unique and fun.
"The Christmas Song" by Nat King Cole. Only version of this song I'll listen to (well, except for a brief fascination with the New Kids on the Block version as a youth). A traditional song for the traditionalists out there.
"Happy Christmas (War is Over)" by John Lennon. I never heard this song until I was a senior in college, and loved it. It's different from practically every other carol out there, so props for that. And damn, the man was a Beatle.
"Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas". I love almost any version of this song. It's fairly indicative of my preference for the slower, sentimental carol. Which, again, doesn't give me many points in the manly department, but screw it.
"I'll Be Home For Christmas". See the previous entry. Also, very resonant during the year of RadioShack, when I thought I wouldn't make it home for the holiday. Had to threaten to quit the store entirely before they let me off for the holidays.
There's a lot more I could add to this list, but I'll spare you. Feel free to comment with your own selections, and I'll see if they make the playlist.
Bad:
"O Holy Night". Practically every other version. Seriously, singing it more slowly and soulfully is not an improvement.
"Simply Having a Wonderful Christmas Time". I hate this song. God, how I hate this song.
"Little Drummer Boy". Worst. Song. Ever. Pa rum pa pum pum. Smack you upside the head with your lousy drum. Biznitch.
"Santa Baby". No, it isn't cute. It's annoying. Deal.
Can't think of others at the moment, but they're out there.
Anyway, as I said, Thanksgiving is come and gone, and now I am free to revel in my own secret obsession: Christmastime. It's hard to decorate and show it outwardly when you live alone in a pit that isn't appropriate for parties, but inwardly, I'm a Christmas nut. Love it. Adore it. I completely buy in to all the sappy, sentimental drek that I am so content to mock the rest of the year. Part of it, of course, is the extreme hubris that comes when your faith has made the entire world recognize the birth of its savior as a holiday (whether or not they worship it themselves). In fact, I still take great joy that we seized the season from both Haunakkah and the pagan rituals of the Winter Solstice (take that, druids).
But mainly, it's because of Christmas Carols. Those who know me understand my deep affiliation with the musical aspects of life, and carols are the most freakish and unmanly manifestation of that inner connection. Let's face it, most Christmas carols, particularly most modern carols, are overly sentimental, full of cliches, and no self-respecting cynic would ever enjoy them. We all know that the drivel in Christmas songs is stuff and nonsense, pretty words to say or sing once or twice a year, then ignore. Yeah, that may be true. But I say humbug to that claim, all the same. Give me my carols, let me sing along, and I'll be happy for the entire month of December. (My car radio, tuned constantly to 107.3's Festival of Lights, a month of carols. I'm not ashamed.)
And, oddly enough, I enjoy many of the more "contemporary" carols. While I can appreciate the old Bing Crosby-esque era of carols, the more traditional renditions, I heard (and sang in choir) these songs so often, now I gravitate more toward less conventional fare. Of course, this does not excuse the majority of modern renditions, which are simply American Idol-ized versions of older carols, where the singer simply sings the song more slowly and with more warbling in his or her voice. But there are a lot of songs I just adore that are fairly recent. For example, that song from Polar Express, by the guy who sings songs about Jesus but the radio station pretends they aren't about Jesus so they can get prime time air play. It's a really stupid song. Full of stupid cliches about belief and heart's wishes and nonsense. And I'll listen to it every time it's on the radio.
So, to ring in the Christmas season, here's a selection of my prime Christmas playlist, including both favorites and banned songs:
Good, both traditional and more recent:
"God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen" by Barenaked Ladies. It's fun and swingy and has Sarah McLachlan in it. How can you go wrong?
"It Came Upon a Midnight Clear" by Sixpence None the Richer. Same style as "God Rest Ye," and enjoyable for the same reason. A nice revision (note the word revision, not just slowing down) of a great song.
"O Holy Night" by N'Sync. Yes, everyone and their mother has covered this song. But I choose this arrangement because 1. It isn't American Idol-ized, unlike practically every other version out there. 2. It's got kickass harmonies in it, including a killer tenor track. 3. My college a cappella group sang it when we used to carol in the sorority quads. Gotta love it.
"Where Are You, Christmas?" by Faith Hill, from How the Grinch Stole Christmas. This is one of those songs I realize is bunk, overly sentimental clap trap. I don't care. I love it. I'm not too proud to admit it.
"New York Christmas" by Matchbox 20. This song is only ok, but it got me through some tough times. My first Christmas out of college, I was working at RadioShack. My second week there, I spent 8 hours at a time locked in an empty store, tearing things down, as the store had just changed locations. It was my job to take the old store apart and throw it away, all alone. It was just me, a mess, and a radio, and this song was one of the few Christmas carols they would play that was different enough for me to appreciate.
"All I Want for Christmas is You" by Mariah Carey. First off, this song is just fun. I defy you to say otherwise. Second, it has cultural value for the awesome role it played in Love Actually (see my next post, on top Christmas movies, for further elucidation).
"Carol of the Bells". We did a killer arrangement of this song in college, where we transitioned from the end of it into the beginning of an a cappella version of "You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch." Really was quite badass.
"All Alone on Christmas". Not sure who the original artist is, but it's used quite effectively in the Home Alone movies and, again, Love Actually. It's kinda sad but with a driving beat nonetheless, and makes my list because it is unique and fun.
"The Christmas Song" by Nat King Cole. Only version of this song I'll listen to (well, except for a brief fascination with the New Kids on the Block version as a youth). A traditional song for the traditionalists out there.
"Happy Christmas (War is Over)" by John Lennon. I never heard this song until I was a senior in college, and loved it. It's different from practically every other carol out there, so props for that. And damn, the man was a Beatle.
"Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas". I love almost any version of this song. It's fairly indicative of my preference for the slower, sentimental carol. Which, again, doesn't give me many points in the manly department, but screw it.
"I'll Be Home For Christmas". See the previous entry. Also, very resonant during the year of RadioShack, when I thought I wouldn't make it home for the holiday. Had to threaten to quit the store entirely before they let me off for the holidays.
There's a lot more I could add to this list, but I'll spare you. Feel free to comment with your own selections, and I'll see if they make the playlist.
Bad:
"O Holy Night". Practically every other version. Seriously, singing it more slowly and soulfully is not an improvement.
"Simply Having a Wonderful Christmas Time". I hate this song. God, how I hate this song.
"Little Drummer Boy". Worst. Song. Ever. Pa rum pa pum pum. Smack you upside the head with your lousy drum. Biznitch.
"Santa Baby". No, it isn't cute. It's annoying. Deal.
Can't think of others at the moment, but they're out there.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
No child has ever meddled with the Republican Party and Lived to Tell About It
"Your liberal conscience may force you to vote democratic, but deep down you long for a cold-hearted Republican to lower taxes, brutalize criminals, and rule you like a king!" - Sideshow Bob
So today was election day in Madison (unlike the rest of the country, or so I seem to imply). As a member of an extremely liberal profession living in an extremely liberal city, it's sometimes very awkward or downright off-putting to be a Republican, as people make all sorts of assumptions about your personal views, your choices on key issues, and your frequent deals with Satan. Plus, when I tell my parents that I'm voting against the Grande Olde Partie on some key issues, they of course blame my choices upon some kind of "liberal infection" that I get from living in Madison, where *gasp* Communists roam the streets handing out newspapers, where no one likes the president, and where we'd all ride the country into an immoral hell-hole if we had our way (not that my parents care predominantly about the moral issues, for while they are both stalwart Papists, they are far more concerned with their economic focus on my father's continued employment within the aerospace industry, a place that does particularly well under Republican rule for some reason). So basically, I often get mocked by all sides, to the point where sometimes I just dream of turning all of Wisconsin into a nature preserve where my friends and I can hunt the most dangerous game of all, Man.
Like I said, I'm a republican that way.
But way back at the get-go, I swore this blog would not be about politics, so it won't be. I just don't have that much else to say about other things with any kind of coherence, so here's a lot of random stuff since I haven't posted in a while:
First, as to the story T. mentions in the previous comments, here's the short version. We were having our monthly Writing Center training meeting, discussing a scenario where someone had written a paper against reparations for slavery, which was for some reason abhorrent to the instructor. Already, I'm on bad footing here, as I myself am against reparations by that concept (Republican, remember?). But then the conversation devolves, as I could have told you it would long before, into a moral quandry of academic b.s. where we discuss what role we have in changing this person's paper and mind, to transform them from a redneck racist to a kind, all-loving liberal, just like us. There were several of us, however, who felt that to change the paper would be a disservice to our profession, as we always strive to make people's writing better, not writing their papers for them or telling them what to think. So I raised the issue by claiming that we wouldn't even consider changing the paper that drastically if it weren't a "hot button" topic like race. And, in my brilliant inventiveness that has already earned me multiple degrees, the best example I could come up with was: "What if, for instance, they were writing a paper on....the testing of 12-14 year olds....in the field of....umm....Molecular Biology?" Or some nonsense like that. Sadly, my own ire at the exploitation of our early teen scientists in the laboratories of the mad did not accurately convey itself to the rest of the group, who immediately continued their academic circle jerk, wasting my time when I could have been drinking. Or plotting raids on mad scientists. Or both. Luckily, that night led to about seven hours of drinking and drunken Halo.
I'll admit, that phrase doesn't look very funny now. But it did make the entire room laugh, thus cementing my position as Department Jester.
Second, I just found out yesterday that my father's aunt died. I didn't even know he had an aunt. Which brings to mind just how little I know about my father's extended family, which is apparently scattered throughout the country. Which leads me to question what horrible accidents of genetics have been passed on to me and kept hidden away thus far. For all I know, I may end up with superpowers. Or a predisposition to insanity. Or both, leading to wacky adventures and my continued persecution of the cast of That 70's Show.
Other points:
-See The Prestige. It's awesome beyond the dreams of Nazis.
-See Bourbon Samurai's carnivale of shows. And note that his theatre company seems to have simply transplanted the Northwestern class of '04 to New York and let them run mad with power. And people wonder why they refer to it as the Northwestern Mafia.
-Pray for me this weekend, as I travel to Michigan to join friends in their annual drunkfest. If I die, remember me as a peacemaker, and not as an agitator for the destruction of Uruguay.
So today was election day in Madison (unlike the rest of the country, or so I seem to imply). As a member of an extremely liberal profession living in an extremely liberal city, it's sometimes very awkward or downright off-putting to be a Republican, as people make all sorts of assumptions about your personal views, your choices on key issues, and your frequent deals with Satan. Plus, when I tell my parents that I'm voting against the Grande Olde Partie on some key issues, they of course blame my choices upon some kind of "liberal infection" that I get from living in Madison, where *gasp* Communists roam the streets handing out newspapers, where no one likes the president, and where we'd all ride the country into an immoral hell-hole if we had our way (not that my parents care predominantly about the moral issues, for while they are both stalwart Papists, they are far more concerned with their economic focus on my father's continued employment within the aerospace industry, a place that does particularly well under Republican rule for some reason). So basically, I often get mocked by all sides, to the point where sometimes I just dream of turning all of Wisconsin into a nature preserve where my friends and I can hunt the most dangerous game of all, Man.
Like I said, I'm a republican that way.
But way back at the get-go, I swore this blog would not be about politics, so it won't be. I just don't have that much else to say about other things with any kind of coherence, so here's a lot of random stuff since I haven't posted in a while:
First, as to the story T. mentions in the previous comments, here's the short version. We were having our monthly Writing Center training meeting, discussing a scenario where someone had written a paper against reparations for slavery, which was for some reason abhorrent to the instructor. Already, I'm on bad footing here, as I myself am against reparations by that concept (Republican, remember?). But then the conversation devolves, as I could have told you it would long before, into a moral quandry of academic b.s. where we discuss what role we have in changing this person's paper and mind, to transform them from a redneck racist to a kind, all-loving liberal, just like us. There were several of us, however, who felt that to change the paper would be a disservice to our profession, as we always strive to make people's writing better, not writing their papers for them or telling them what to think. So I raised the issue by claiming that we wouldn't even consider changing the paper that drastically if it weren't a "hot button" topic like race. And, in my brilliant inventiveness that has already earned me multiple degrees, the best example I could come up with was: "What if, for instance, they were writing a paper on....the testing of 12-14 year olds....in the field of....umm....Molecular Biology?" Or some nonsense like that. Sadly, my own ire at the exploitation of our early teen scientists in the laboratories of the mad did not accurately convey itself to the rest of the group, who immediately continued their academic circle jerk, wasting my time when I could have been drinking. Or plotting raids on mad scientists. Or both. Luckily, that night led to about seven hours of drinking and drunken Halo.
I'll admit, that phrase doesn't look very funny now. But it did make the entire room laugh, thus cementing my position as Department Jester.
Second, I just found out yesterday that my father's aunt died. I didn't even know he had an aunt. Which brings to mind just how little I know about my father's extended family, which is apparently scattered throughout the country. Which leads me to question what horrible accidents of genetics have been passed on to me and kept hidden away thus far. For all I know, I may end up with superpowers. Or a predisposition to insanity. Or both, leading to wacky adventures and my continued persecution of the cast of That 70's Show.
Other points:
-See The Prestige. It's awesome beyond the dreams of Nazis.
-See Bourbon Samurai's carnivale of shows. And note that his theatre company seems to have simply transplanted the Northwestern class of '04 to New York and let them run mad with power. And people wonder why they refer to it as the Northwestern Mafia.
-Pray for me this weekend, as I travel to Michigan to join friends in their annual drunkfest. If I die, remember me as a peacemaker, and not as an agitator for the destruction of Uruguay.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Believe It or Not
Believe it or not, I'm walking on air.
Never thought I could feel so free-ee-ee!
Flying away on a wing and a prayer!
Who could it be?
Believe it or not, it's just me!
Just saw a YouTube clip of the opening to Greatest American Hero, and felt like sharing with all of you. Awesomely catchy tune. (And yes, we've all seen the Seinfeld usage, no need to invoke it.)
So I survived yesterday, which was momentous. I had a midterm Tuesday morning, so naturally Monday night I had a Writing Center shift, studied for two hours, watched Studio 60, studied for an hour more, slept for 4.5 hours, studied more, went to WC Training (more on that to come), then took the midterm, went to class, then worked another WC shift until 8:00. All in all, a long and painful day, where I discovered that Red Bull does in fact give you wings, but tastes like ass and upsets your stomach. Though still not as bad as the time I pounded the ginormous can of Monster energy drink and jittered the rest of the day.
The midterm was easy, because I had studied. It was all multiple choice, based on rote memorization, and no real thought was necessary. As someone who survives by being able to write well about things I really don't remember or understand, I was personally affronted by a multiple choice exam for a 500 level course. But then, I also finished in 25 minutes. Still, I think that in a class on modern communication, where the first lecture emphasized the fact that changes in technology are good because it means people don't have to memorize as much, is extremely hypocritical for making people memorize a lot. Had I failed, I planned elaborately to throw the midterm down in front of the professor, spit at his feet, and accuse him of this very hypocrisy. Luckily, that didn't happen.
At WC training that morning, we discussed problems of racism and racial inequality in the classroom and in conferences. And, for the majority of the time, I just kept hearing Homer Simpson saying "I'm a white male, ages 18-45. Everyone cares what I think, no matter how stupid." He then pulls out a can that reads "Nuts 'n' Gum: Together at last!" I'm just happy I didn't laugh out loud, and get branded a horrible racist by my peers.
So my question for you all: what should I go as for Halloween? I'm pondering going as my alter ego from NBC Nightly News. Thoughts? Or other suggestions? It needs to be something cheap and easy, just like me.
Oh, and go Cards! Though I do look forward to Quantum attempting to burn St. Louis to the ground. But then, aren't we still slotted to burn down Minnetonka, MN, before anyplace else? Or have we abandoned that idea?
Never thought I could feel so free-ee-ee!
Flying away on a wing and a prayer!
Who could it be?
Believe it or not, it's just me!
Just saw a YouTube clip of the opening to Greatest American Hero, and felt like sharing with all of you. Awesomely catchy tune. (And yes, we've all seen the Seinfeld usage, no need to invoke it.)
So I survived yesterday, which was momentous. I had a midterm Tuesday morning, so naturally Monday night I had a Writing Center shift, studied for two hours, watched Studio 60, studied for an hour more, slept for 4.5 hours, studied more, went to WC Training (more on that to come), then took the midterm, went to class, then worked another WC shift until 8:00. All in all, a long and painful day, where I discovered that Red Bull does in fact give you wings, but tastes like ass and upsets your stomach. Though still not as bad as the time I pounded the ginormous can of Monster energy drink and jittered the rest of the day.
The midterm was easy, because I had studied. It was all multiple choice, based on rote memorization, and no real thought was necessary. As someone who survives by being able to write well about things I really don't remember or understand, I was personally affronted by a multiple choice exam for a 500 level course. But then, I also finished in 25 minutes. Still, I think that in a class on modern communication, where the first lecture emphasized the fact that changes in technology are good because it means people don't have to memorize as much, is extremely hypocritical for making people memorize a lot. Had I failed, I planned elaborately to throw the midterm down in front of the professor, spit at his feet, and accuse him of this very hypocrisy. Luckily, that didn't happen.
At WC training that morning, we discussed problems of racism and racial inequality in the classroom and in conferences. And, for the majority of the time, I just kept hearing Homer Simpson saying "I'm a white male, ages 18-45. Everyone cares what I think, no matter how stupid." He then pulls out a can that reads "Nuts 'n' Gum: Together at last!" I'm just happy I didn't laugh out loud, and get branded a horrible racist by my peers.
So my question for you all: what should I go as for Halloween? I'm pondering going as my alter ego from NBC Nightly News. Thoughts? Or other suggestions? It needs to be something cheap and easy, just like me.
Oh, and go Cards! Though I do look forward to Quantum attempting to burn St. Louis to the ground. But then, aren't we still slotted to burn down Minnetonka, MN, before anyplace else? Or have we abandoned that idea?
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
This is NBC Nightly News...
My students took their midterms today. On one of them, under "Instructor", she wrote "Brian Jennings." Now, as insulted as I am that she couldn't remember my name (and it isn't a hard name to remember), I'm more amused that she remembered it was the last name of a newscaster, and just confused Brian Williams and Peter Jennings (or at least, that's what I like to think happened).
Unrelated, on Veronica Mars last night, they set up an entire intricate plot of theft and betrayal, including a villain named Larry, just so the wronged football player could storm in at the episode's end and say "Where's the playbook? Where's the playbook, Larry? You're entering a world of pain!" Any show that goes to such intricate lengths to toss in a Lebowski reference is clearly awesome.
Unrelated, on Veronica Mars last night, they set up an entire intricate plot of theft and betrayal, including a villain named Larry, just so the wronged football player could storm in at the episode's end and say "Where's the playbook? Where's the playbook, Larry? You're entering a world of pain!" Any show that goes to such intricate lengths to toss in a Lebowski reference is clearly awesome.
Monday, October 09, 2006
God Bless America
Once again, dear readers, I come to you after Studio 60, when I just don't feel like doing any homework anymore. This show has been catching some heat on some of the blogs I link to, and I can understand the criticism (mostly that people just don't seem to care about the drama of putting on the show itself). I respectfully disagree, part of which comes out of my own experience in theatre throughout high school and college, where the ability to get the show out there when it needs doing was always paramount.
Besides, tonight was just laugh out loud funny. The Baseball-Strindberg dual metaphor scene alone made the entire show. Not to mention the constant pitcher bashing, the scene with the exotic dancer and the boot, and the hookers, pimps, crips/bloods, and army men dragged in for the late night audience. Comic gold. And did I mention the Strindberg? Or the tripartite breaking window gag?
Anyway, an update on my time at the Writing Center. This past week I've come across some trying times, as for the first time I've had to deal with the people who, God bless em, just couldn't write their way out of a paper bag (with a very sharp and pointy pen, and a very thin bag). With these poor souls, we only normally get half an hour, and the paper is due the next day, so it's hard to say "You've got this all wrong, rewrite it," or "You clearly have no idea how to do a close reading," or "I'd fail this if I were your TA." I'm still not quite sure how to help these poor bastards, other than offering some basic things they can work on (This is what a thesis is. This is what you don't have.) and praying their TA is merciful. And, since these are English papers more often than not, I know who their TA is, and I know if I were grading it myself in their position, I wouldn't be all that merciful. Not with a first paper. But then, I'm cruel and sadistic that way.
Which leads me to my next point. Tomorrow should be fun, as we are discussing ESL (English Second Language) students in our training. For said training, we had to watch a video, the opening of which discussed the different styles of writing found across the globe. Naturally, when they repeatedly told us how they differed from American expectations, my response was "Because they're stupid. What moron would write a paper that way? Lousy country." Followed closely by "That's all well and good. But if you're in America, you'll write like an American, or fail my course." Followed by chanting of "USA! USA! USA!" I'm culturally sensitive that way. At any rate, it should make training fun tomorrow, provided I don't actually say these things out loud, and get fired faster than you can say "hegemony." Which was ironic, considering one of the books they showed during this video was a copy of Edward Said's Culture and Imperialism. (English joke.)
In closing, to all my friends out there, please update your blogs. McJew, you've been in Manhattan for the better part of two months now. I want to hear the further exploits. And Brownsox, you may have written something recently (recently for you, at least), but it's freakin insane. Have you ever considered a heavy drug regiment?
Oh, and the Tigers are in the playoffs. My world doesn't make sense anymore. But go Cardinals!
Besides, tonight was just laugh out loud funny. The Baseball-Strindberg dual metaphor scene alone made the entire show. Not to mention the constant pitcher bashing, the scene with the exotic dancer and the boot, and the hookers, pimps, crips/bloods, and army men dragged in for the late night audience. Comic gold. And did I mention the Strindberg? Or the tripartite breaking window gag?
Anyway, an update on my time at the Writing Center. This past week I've come across some trying times, as for the first time I've had to deal with the people who, God bless em, just couldn't write their way out of a paper bag (with a very sharp and pointy pen, and a very thin bag). With these poor souls, we only normally get half an hour, and the paper is due the next day, so it's hard to say "You've got this all wrong, rewrite it," or "You clearly have no idea how to do a close reading," or "I'd fail this if I were your TA." I'm still not quite sure how to help these poor bastards, other than offering some basic things they can work on (This is what a thesis is. This is what you don't have.) and praying their TA is merciful. And, since these are English papers more often than not, I know who their TA is, and I know if I were grading it myself in their position, I wouldn't be all that merciful. Not with a first paper. But then, I'm cruel and sadistic that way.
Which leads me to my next point. Tomorrow should be fun, as we are discussing ESL (English Second Language) students in our training. For said training, we had to watch a video, the opening of which discussed the different styles of writing found across the globe. Naturally, when they repeatedly told us how they differed from American expectations, my response was "Because they're stupid. What moron would write a paper that way? Lousy country." Followed closely by "That's all well and good. But if you're in America, you'll write like an American, or fail my course." Followed by chanting of "USA! USA! USA!" I'm culturally sensitive that way. At any rate, it should make training fun tomorrow, provided I don't actually say these things out loud, and get fired faster than you can say "hegemony." Which was ironic, considering one of the books they showed during this video was a copy of Edward Said's Culture and Imperialism. (English joke.)
In closing, to all my friends out there, please update your blogs. McJew, you've been in Manhattan for the better part of two months now. I want to hear the further exploits. And Brownsox, you may have written something recently (recently for you, at least), but it's freakin insane. Have you ever considered a heavy drug regiment?
Oh, and the Tigers are in the playoffs. My world doesn't make sense anymore. But go Cardinals!
Monday, October 02, 2006
We're not old. We're not!
So my post-Studio 60 blog is getting to be a habit. Tonight was fun, but not as good as last week. Matt and Danny definitely make the show worthwhile, though, and their banter is awesomely good. Also appreciated were jokes about Moliere.
The title of this post comes from the shock I had today. Whilst observing in the Writing Center (where I now work, earning a fat paycheck that may actually raise me out of the poverty level this year), a student casually commented that she remembered exactly where she was on 9/11. She was at school, dutifully attending classes. In the eighth grade.
I, of course, was lazily whiling away a morning in Atlanta, preparing to begin my senior year of college. I now feel very old, in a way that I haven't felt old before. Guess I'll have to drink a lot this weekend to counter that feeling. Cause when you're hung over, you don't feel anything but hung over.
This weekend, watched Groundhog Day (on sale at Target for $7, made me nostalgic for winter and angry at the 80 degree weather we had today) and saw Little Miss Sunshine (very good, even though the English grad students were the only ones laughing at the Proust jokes, which made me feel like an intellectual snob (which I love)). I also found that one of the great joys of being a book reader is going back and rereading books you haven't touched in forever. I tend to use whatever's at hand as a bookmark. I normally find bits of paper, straw wrappers, napkins, hunks of cardboard, actual bookmarks (I'm always more shocked by these than anything else, though I still don't know where my Saruman bookmark it), etc. This past weekend, I found an old Far Side comic, from around 2000. Brought me great joy, for some indescribable reason.
Other than that, I'm spending the week besieged by students, who all feel the need to meet with me and discuss their papers, due this Friday. I think I frightened them last week. Excellent. But not quite so excellent, they all need to meet outside my office hours, so I'm pretty much cancelling everything else I have going. But if it means I have to read a few less crappy thesis statements, I'll be content. Or even more pained, as they still write bad papers even after meeting with me several times.
But then, who really knows how the mind of the undergraduate works? Not me, that's for sure. I guess I'm just too old.
The title of this post comes from the shock I had today. Whilst observing in the Writing Center (where I now work, earning a fat paycheck that may actually raise me out of the poverty level this year), a student casually commented that she remembered exactly where she was on 9/11. She was at school, dutifully attending classes. In the eighth grade.
I, of course, was lazily whiling away a morning in Atlanta, preparing to begin my senior year of college. I now feel very old, in a way that I haven't felt old before. Guess I'll have to drink a lot this weekend to counter that feeling. Cause when you're hung over, you don't feel anything but hung over.
This weekend, watched Groundhog Day (on sale at Target for $7, made me nostalgic for winter and angry at the 80 degree weather we had today) and saw Little Miss Sunshine (very good, even though the English grad students were the only ones laughing at the Proust jokes, which made me feel like an intellectual snob (which I love)). I also found that one of the great joys of being a book reader is going back and rereading books you haven't touched in forever. I tend to use whatever's at hand as a bookmark. I normally find bits of paper, straw wrappers, napkins, hunks of cardboard, actual bookmarks (I'm always more shocked by these than anything else, though I still don't know where my Saruman bookmark it), etc. This past weekend, I found an old Far Side comic, from around 2000. Brought me great joy, for some indescribable reason.
Other than that, I'm spending the week besieged by students, who all feel the need to meet with me and discuss their papers, due this Friday. I think I frightened them last week. Excellent. But not quite so excellent, they all need to meet outside my office hours, so I'm pretty much cancelling everything else I have going. But if it means I have to read a few less crappy thesis statements, I'll be content. Or even more pained, as they still write bad papers even after meeting with me several times.
But then, who really knows how the mind of the undergraduate works? Not me, that's for sure. I guess I'm just too old.
Monday, September 25, 2006
This is not Nam, this is English. There are rules!
Near the Blockbuster I go to, there's a new store, or a store with a new sign, or a sign I've never noticed before. The store/restaurant is simply called "Fish and Chicken," and it has two of those little cloth men on air vents in front of it (so they look like they're waving). Next to the bright red neon sign are several other blobs of neon, which may just be decorations, or may be symbols of some vaguely Asiatic origin. I'm not sure. But I am tempted to go get some chicken. But not fish. I'm not that crazy.
Anyway, I'm sick, and I have a headache, and I have an outline due tomorrow for a paper I have no clear idea about, so naturally I'm here blogging. Once I finish blogging, I plan to sleep. I plan to dose myself liberally with Nyquil, and hope that when I awake, my cold will be gone, as will my headache, and I will magically have a clear view of my paper. What can I say? I'm an optimist.
If said idea does not come through, I don't really care that much. The entire Vietnam War was a morass, why should my paper on said war be any different? This is excuse #3 I have to offer the professor. #1 is I'm sick, cut me some slack. #2 is I'm not a history grad student, and I have no idea how to write a history grad student paper. And then there's #4, which is I'm almost a dissertator and I just don't give a damn about your paper, as it's only for my minor, which is very small in the grand scheme of things. So back off.
I've noted I'm becoming increasingly hostile to the world of academia, or at least that part of it that thinks I still need to take classes. This is especially apparent in my other minor course, where I have dreams (during the lectures) of telling off the professor, critiquing his absolute failure to understand any basic pedagogical skills, lecturing skills, public speaking skills, or even any concept of what it means to study or teach history. In these fantasies, I then take over teaching the lecture just to prove I could do it better, even without any prior knowledge of the subject, and I do, to thunderous applause. Then I look up, realize only five minutes have passed, and he's still reading names off a sheet and telling us who they are. (I kid you not. It's like a study sheet for an exam, but that's the entire lecture, apart from him showing us pointless slides and rambling incoherently about common historical knowledge like the Boston Tea Party.) Then I die a little inside, because I know this will make the rest of my Tuesday or Thursday all the more crippling to me. Ask my office mates. I am positively hateful when I come out of that class.
Studio 60 was much better tonight. I really recommend it now. Echoes of Sports Night, which was always prime tv (or at least it was when I caught it in reruns on Comedy Central at 1:00 am).
Ok, that's all for me. If I'm not heard from after tomorrow, it's because my professor has killed me. And he could, too. This man traveled with guerrillas in Laos. He's on the CIA's angry list. He could probably kill me with a pen. And he gives a mean lecture (which I rarely appreciate, seeing as how I'm in such a bad mood from my earlier lecture).
In closing, some words of wisdom I heard on the radio tonight, as I took back my rental of Inside Man (which is excellent, watch it):
Do you believe in life after love?
I can feel something inside me saying, "I really don't think I'm strong enough."
Hah. Now it's stuck in your head, too. Feel my pain.
Anyway, I'm sick, and I have a headache, and I have an outline due tomorrow for a paper I have no clear idea about, so naturally I'm here blogging. Once I finish blogging, I plan to sleep. I plan to dose myself liberally with Nyquil, and hope that when I awake, my cold will be gone, as will my headache, and I will magically have a clear view of my paper. What can I say? I'm an optimist.
If said idea does not come through, I don't really care that much. The entire Vietnam War was a morass, why should my paper on said war be any different? This is excuse #3 I have to offer the professor. #1 is I'm sick, cut me some slack. #2 is I'm not a history grad student, and I have no idea how to write a history grad student paper. And then there's #4, which is I'm almost a dissertator and I just don't give a damn about your paper, as it's only for my minor, which is very small in the grand scheme of things. So back off.
I've noted I'm becoming increasingly hostile to the world of academia, or at least that part of it that thinks I still need to take classes. This is especially apparent in my other minor course, where I have dreams (during the lectures) of telling off the professor, critiquing his absolute failure to understand any basic pedagogical skills, lecturing skills, public speaking skills, or even any concept of what it means to study or teach history. In these fantasies, I then take over teaching the lecture just to prove I could do it better, even without any prior knowledge of the subject, and I do, to thunderous applause. Then I look up, realize only five minutes have passed, and he's still reading names off a sheet and telling us who they are. (I kid you not. It's like a study sheet for an exam, but that's the entire lecture, apart from him showing us pointless slides and rambling incoherently about common historical knowledge like the Boston Tea Party.) Then I die a little inside, because I know this will make the rest of my Tuesday or Thursday all the more crippling to me. Ask my office mates. I am positively hateful when I come out of that class.
Studio 60 was much better tonight. I really recommend it now. Echoes of Sports Night, which was always prime tv (or at least it was when I caught it in reruns on Comedy Central at 1:00 am).
Ok, that's all for me. If I'm not heard from after tomorrow, it's because my professor has killed me. And he could, too. This man traveled with guerrillas in Laos. He's on the CIA's angry list. He could probably kill me with a pen. And he gives a mean lecture (which I rarely appreciate, seeing as how I'm in such a bad mood from my earlier lecture).
In closing, some words of wisdom I heard on the radio tonight, as I took back my rental of Inside Man (which is excellent, watch it):
Do you believe in life after love?
I can feel something inside me saying, "I really don't think I'm strong enough."
Hah. Now it's stuck in your head, too. Feel my pain.
Monday, September 18, 2006
And so it begins
With the advent of Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, I enter the new season of unheralded television addiction. This season marks the first time ever I will watch at least one show regularly for more than two nights a week. Whether that makes me somewhat of a problem or more like the majority of Americans, I can't say. I do know it makes me a man who doesn't care at all about his academics yet, and probably won't until at least another month has passed, or I have failed out. Either way, I blame prelims, as I can no longer read anything for more than a half hour without getting horribly irritated.
So anyway, my breakdown:
Monday: Studio 60. I missed out on Sports Night. I missed out on The West Wing. I've caught both of them in reruns, and loved the few episodes I've seen. I'm not missing out on this Sorkin project. Besides, Matthew Perry was always the best of the Friends, Steven Weber was the high point of Wings (though Tony Shaloub was cool), and that little dude from West Wing is pretty awesome too. The pilot was entertaining, but not mind-blowing. We'll see.
Tuesday: Veronica Mars. Bless you, CW, for bringing this show to network tv.
Wednesday: Lost. No surprise there. And Abrams is coming back to write and direct again.
Thursday: My problem day. Smallville and Supernatural on the CW, vs. Grey's Anatomy on ABC. Well, that's why God invented the VCR. Though it is odd that all the shows I watch because they're kind of good rather than really good are on Thursdays. (I know some of my readers may disagree about Grey's, but it gets repetitive with its use of voiceovers and pop music, which can distract.)
Friday: Drinking and partying. No room for tv.
Saturday: See Friday.
Sunday: I get up every week at 7:00 and do a little dance because Charmed is no longer on the air. Seriously, worst. show. ever.
So anyway, my breakdown:
Monday: Studio 60. I missed out on Sports Night. I missed out on The West Wing. I've caught both of them in reruns, and loved the few episodes I've seen. I'm not missing out on this Sorkin project. Besides, Matthew Perry was always the best of the Friends, Steven Weber was the high point of Wings (though Tony Shaloub was cool), and that little dude from West Wing is pretty awesome too. The pilot was entertaining, but not mind-blowing. We'll see.
Tuesday: Veronica Mars. Bless you, CW, for bringing this show to network tv.
Wednesday: Lost. No surprise there. And Abrams is coming back to write and direct again.
Thursday: My problem day. Smallville and Supernatural on the CW, vs. Grey's Anatomy on ABC. Well, that's why God invented the VCR. Though it is odd that all the shows I watch because they're kind of good rather than really good are on Thursdays. (I know some of my readers may disagree about Grey's, but it gets repetitive with its use of voiceovers and pop music, which can distract.)
Friday: Drinking and partying. No room for tv.
Saturday: See Friday.
Sunday: I get up every week at 7:00 and do a little dance because Charmed is no longer on the air. Seriously, worst. show. ever.
Friday, September 08, 2006
Dubs and the Goblet of Fire
Yes. I know. It's been a while. Freakin' Bourbon Samurai posted something more recently than me. I apologize.
This post's title has little to do with Harry Potter, and nothing to do with a particular tale of drunken escapades and insanity (a story I feel I tell far too often anyway). Rather, as the new school year starts, I realized that I am starting my fourth year here in Madison. That's as long as I was at Northwestern. As long as high school. More pertinently, that's akin to three defeats of Voldemort or his cronies, not to mention countless quidditch matches and hijinks. And what have I done in those three years? What can I look back upon, now that I'm entering my Goblet of Fire year?
Well, I passed prelims for one. Suck it, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
My Madison friends know, so this info is largely for my NU readers. I am now preparing to start my dissertation, my own version of the Triwizard Tournament, which lasts for several years and rewards me not with any large monetary reward (certainly not enough to start a Weasley brother joke shop), but with the honorific "doctor" before my name. But that's all in good time.
Since prelims ended, we've been partying and preparing for year four. I went on a fishing trip with the fam (driving through, amusingly, Bourbon, Missouri, home of the Bourbon Family Fun Center and the Bourbon RV Dealership), mocked Fangirl when she lost her wedding ring (proving, as I claimed, that God does not support alternative lifestyle choices such as hers), and began teaching literature yet again, praise be to Allah. I am currently taking two lecture courses to complete my minor, one of which seems to rock and one which seems to not, and I imagine soon I shall gather my forces for a foray into the world of prolonged academic research that will result in the grail of grails, the Dissertation Proposal.
So that's me for now. More forthcoming, I promise, with frequent updates.
Finally, a report on this year's crop of students:
Of the 52 I surveyed today, 28 claim that Batman would beat Samuel L. Jackson in a fight, whilst 21 claim Mr. Jackson could best the Caped Crusader, and three remained undecided. Most cite the Dark Knight's gadgets as his trump card, not to mention an ability to fly that I was heretofore unaware of. Although some feel that Batman's emotional instability is a weakness Jackson can exploit to his advantage. Or that, had Jackson the same resources as Bruce Wayne, he'd be a formidable opponent. Here are some choice comments:
"Samuel L. Jackson, of course. He'll kill you just as soon as look at you."
"Jackson, because in the later Batman movies he had nipples on his suit."
"They would both kill each other."
"Neither. They would join forces to fight Godzilla and Mothra."
"Samuel L. Jackson would because Batman is mortal, unlike Jackson."
"Did you SEE Snakes on a Plane?"
"Batman, but not the Val Kilmer or George Clooney version."
"Batman; Samuel L. Jackson is only a man. Batman is only a man as well but he has a childhood experience involving bats that drives him to win."
"Batman because he was trained in the orient to kick ass plus he's got a sweet utility belt."
"Hopefully Sam can kill George Clooney Batman."
"The people watching this fight are the real winners here."
This post's title has little to do with Harry Potter, and nothing to do with a particular tale of drunken escapades and insanity (a story I feel I tell far too often anyway). Rather, as the new school year starts, I realized that I am starting my fourth year here in Madison. That's as long as I was at Northwestern. As long as high school. More pertinently, that's akin to three defeats of Voldemort or his cronies, not to mention countless quidditch matches and hijinks. And what have I done in those three years? What can I look back upon, now that I'm entering my Goblet of Fire year?
Well, I passed prelims for one. Suck it, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
My Madison friends know, so this info is largely for my NU readers. I am now preparing to start my dissertation, my own version of the Triwizard Tournament, which lasts for several years and rewards me not with any large monetary reward (certainly not enough to start a Weasley brother joke shop), but with the honorific "doctor" before my name. But that's all in good time.
Since prelims ended, we've been partying and preparing for year four. I went on a fishing trip with the fam (driving through, amusingly, Bourbon, Missouri, home of the Bourbon Family Fun Center and the Bourbon RV Dealership), mocked Fangirl when she lost her wedding ring (proving, as I claimed, that God does not support alternative lifestyle choices such as hers), and began teaching literature yet again, praise be to Allah. I am currently taking two lecture courses to complete my minor, one of which seems to rock and one which seems to not, and I imagine soon I shall gather my forces for a foray into the world of prolonged academic research that will result in the grail of grails, the Dissertation Proposal.
So that's me for now. More forthcoming, I promise, with frequent updates.
Finally, a report on this year's crop of students:
Of the 52 I surveyed today, 28 claim that Batman would beat Samuel L. Jackson in a fight, whilst 21 claim Mr. Jackson could best the Caped Crusader, and three remained undecided. Most cite the Dark Knight's gadgets as his trump card, not to mention an ability to fly that I was heretofore unaware of. Although some feel that Batman's emotional instability is a weakness Jackson can exploit to his advantage. Or that, had Jackson the same resources as Bruce Wayne, he'd be a formidable opponent. Here are some choice comments:
"Samuel L. Jackson, of course. He'll kill you just as soon as look at you."
"Jackson, because in the later Batman movies he had nipples on his suit."
"They would both kill each other."
"Neither. They would join forces to fight Godzilla and Mothra."
"Samuel L. Jackson would because Batman is mortal, unlike Jackson."
"Did you SEE Snakes on a Plane?"
"Batman, but not the Val Kilmer or George Clooney version."
"Batman; Samuel L. Jackson is only a man. Batman is only a man as well but he has a childhood experience involving bats that drives him to win."
"Batman because he was trained in the orient to kick ass plus he's got a sweet utility belt."
"Hopefully Sam can kill George Clooney Batman."
"The people watching this fight are the real winners here."
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