It's May, as you may have noticed (god what an awful pun). May always means fun things: the end of the semester (still no proposal, but a good idea what I need to do this summer), papers to grade without commenting upon, exams to grade in a laughably quick manner, a trip to Chicago next weekend for the F15 show (If anyone I know is still in Chicago, I need a place to crash Saturday the 19th since Bluesman is out of town. Any takers?), and my birthday, arriving just in time to place me within the triumphant realm of the May Geminis and not within the lesser, enfeebled ranks of the May Tauruses (Taursi?).
Today, to celebrate both the end of the semester and the onset of my 27th year, I went shopping. Rather than let my parents buy me things that I only marginally like, I just took their cash and bought things that I myself actually like. I have decided I'm a blue person. I enjoy the color blue, particularly in shirts. Now, shopping is something I traditionally abhor and shun as if it were a certain crystal-reading gorgon my New York friends will know all too well. Even when shopping for myself, I tend to be the "strike quickly and get out before the echo fades" kind of shopper. So what makes me go shopping, even when I have money to spend? Well, I found something I didn't want to do even more: grade papers. Yes, when it comes down to grading papers or shopping, I choose shopping. But it's still a close race.
For my birthday proper, I'm still planning what to do. And for that, I need your help, dear readers. Birthdays are traditionally a time of great, mind-erasing drunkening for me. I highly doubt I'll top last year's birthday, when the director of our graduate program bought me the glass of bourbon that sent me over the edge, but I still plan to give it my best. And for that, I've got three options in mind. Please offer your comments.
1. Dinner at Dotty's and drinking at a bar with larger seating afterwards. This plan has the beauty of being simple; I get to eat at Dotty's (some of the best burgers in Madison, for my outsider friends), and then lots of people will buy me drinks. Odds are I will get drunk and shout crazy things in the streets. Not much more to it, but what more do you need?
2. Drinking and then karaoke: This is a variant of plan 1, but with karaoke. I've never been karaoke-ing, but it sounds fun. And I hear some of the younger generation of grad students are hot hands on the mike.
3. 15 bars in one night. This is the challenge set forth by my New York friends, who tried and failed to do the exact same feat. I think they made it to 12, but then were sabotaged by both the need for food and the negative influence of their friends (correct me if I'm wrong, Quantum). Ours would be a slight variant, becoming 15 bars in one day, which isn't quite as cool, but we have a good deal of walking between. This plan has perks and detriments. The perks: my birthday becomes a day-long event, starting with brunch and drinks, and basically continuing drinking all day long. It will be an epic event, suitable for the last cubed birthday I'll have until I'm 64 (when I will be more worried about someone needing me and feeding me than I will about 15 bars in one night). And it'll be as much an intellectual exercise as it will be a drunkening. The detriments: it'll require a lot of scheduling, so people can join up if they want later in the day. It'll require a hefty time commitment. And we may die of alcohol poisoning. Plus, we may be so focused on getting to the next bar and staying on schedule that we might not be open to spontaneous fun (though I highly doubt that will be an issue the more we drink). Part of the joy of the birthday bar time is sitting in one place, gathering many many friends around, and watching them all drink with you (not to mention buy you drinks). I feel that if we're constantly hopping bars, we won't get that solid group effort that I really appreciate.
Ok, so those are my three options at this point. If you have other suggestions, feel free to add them. Or just offer advice, ideas, etc., on how to make sure my 3x3x3 birthday is quite spectacular.
Oh, and if you know you're going to be out of town for a time at the end of May, let me know. I'll try to schedule accordingly, but I can't accomodate everyone I already know.
Saturday, May 12, 2007
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
Comeuppance?
So this fall, I actually do have a job (praise to Buddha and Colonel Sanders, who sits at the left hand of God feeding him popcorn chicken). I'll be teaching English 169, Modern American Lit. (yay!) at 8:50 in the morning (still better than the 8:00 slot I have now). It's a pay cut, but not much of one. Sadly, though, I'll be teaching for the professor that many of us simply think of as "Spousal Hire."
You see boys and girls, in academia, we have this thing called "spousal hire." It means that if your husband, wife, life partner, etc. is really talented and the university wants him or her badly, they will offer you a job as well, if you are in fact an academic. This can lead to good things, as several of my friends are (facetiously or seriously) contemplating their role as the spousal hire, despite the fact that they are all excellent scholars in their own right. It's often a great boon for the university, gaining two top notch academics.
Sadly, this is not always the case. I'm teaching for one of the exceptions come the fall.
Oddly enough, though, I was supposed to teach for this person my very first semester as a PhD student, but the couple went on leave for a year, and I was reassigned. Perhaps this is just the Universe's way of righting itself, in a bizzare academia-based version of Final Destination. Which will be awesome, but only if it has Ali Larter in it.
You see boys and girls, in academia, we have this thing called "spousal hire." It means that if your husband, wife, life partner, etc. is really talented and the university wants him or her badly, they will offer you a job as well, if you are in fact an academic. This can lead to good things, as several of my friends are (facetiously or seriously) contemplating their role as the spousal hire, despite the fact that they are all excellent scholars in their own right. It's often a great boon for the university, gaining two top notch academics.
Sadly, this is not always the case. I'm teaching for one of the exceptions come the fall.
Oddly enough, though, I was supposed to teach for this person my very first semester as a PhD student, but the couple went on leave for a year, and I was reassigned. Perhaps this is just the Universe's way of righting itself, in a bizzare academia-based version of Final Destination. Which will be awesome, but only if it has Ali Larter in it.
Monday, May 07, 2007
Stopgap Post
Longer post coming soon, but for now this brief post to appease my ravenous fans and keep me from going the absentee route of Brownsox.
First, we threw a kegger in our department building a few weeks back, to celebrate our conference. Highlights include the beer pong, the flip cup, and our immediate hush when campus security showed up at the building. Then magically we made it all disappear the next morning, roughly 20 minutes before we used the same room to run panels all day. Though I think the faculty is under the impression we were kicked out of the building, which we decidedly were not. Not that they'll tell us this openly, as that would admit that they knew we had a kegger, which violates the "don't ask don't tell" policy we all seem to have mutually agreed on.
Second, saw Urinetown this past weekend, which the University Theatre was putting on (two of my students were in it). The show itself is great, and is now added to my list of awesomely good musicals. The production was good, but not stellar. The director was going for some overly stylized stuff, trying to echo stuff like Threepenny Opera and The Cradle Will Rock; some of it worked, some didn't, and some just looked plain dumb. Not really the fault of the actors, just a director who wouldn't pull things back when they needed it. The male lead, while suitable for the part, wasn't really selling the higher register stuff, which seems necessary for the role. Although maybe that critique comes just because of my own girlishly-high vocal range. But if you're hired for a tenor part, you shouldn't look like you need to stop acting just to hit the high notes. And overall the sound was kind of messed up; the orchestra sounded like a recording for some reason, even though I could see them playing, and the choral numbers just didn't have that much oomph to them. Not to blame the chorus, as they were clearly putting their all into it and doing some very nice dance work. I think it was mainly a sound issue. Oh, and that theatre is a deathtrap waiting to happen. There are no aisles, people! It's just one long row that wraps its way around the entire house! Madness!
But the play itself is great, and you should see it if you get a chance. Very dark and yet hilarious at the same time.
Third, saw Spider-Man 3 last night. Again, good but not great. It wasn't Spider-Man 2, but then again, it wasn't X-Men 3 either. Everyone seems to have a different critique, though most seem to agree there are too many villains. I personally just don't buy Sandman. I almost laughed whenever he was on, as Venom and Harry Osborn made much better villains for me. I can see why they kept all 3 in there, but it was just too much. They should have focused much more on the Peter/Harry infighting, as that was my favorite part of the movie. But Bruce Campbell again rocked out his cameo, which leads me to point four.
Fourth, am in the process of renting and watching The Adventures of Brisco County, Jr. If you've never seen it, this is a Bruce Campbell t.v. comic western that was on Fox for all of 26 episodes back in the early 90's. Phenomenal stuff.
Fifth and last, watch Heroes. If you aren't, you're a chump. Cause it rules. Quantum will back me on this, unless the ants have already taken over his brain (see Bourbon Samurai's blog for elucidation). New episode tonight, and only 2 more after that. Embrace your inner geek!
For next time, a meditation on what to do for my birthday. Should I accept the challenge of 15 bars in one night? Or save that for a more random time this summer?
First, we threw a kegger in our department building a few weeks back, to celebrate our conference. Highlights include the beer pong, the flip cup, and our immediate hush when campus security showed up at the building. Then magically we made it all disappear the next morning, roughly 20 minutes before we used the same room to run panels all day. Though I think the faculty is under the impression we were kicked out of the building, which we decidedly were not. Not that they'll tell us this openly, as that would admit that they knew we had a kegger, which violates the "don't ask don't tell" policy we all seem to have mutually agreed on.
Second, saw Urinetown this past weekend, which the University Theatre was putting on (two of my students were in it). The show itself is great, and is now added to my list of awesomely good musicals. The production was good, but not stellar. The director was going for some overly stylized stuff, trying to echo stuff like Threepenny Opera and The Cradle Will Rock; some of it worked, some didn't, and some just looked plain dumb. Not really the fault of the actors, just a director who wouldn't pull things back when they needed it. The male lead, while suitable for the part, wasn't really selling the higher register stuff, which seems necessary for the role. Although maybe that critique comes just because of my own girlishly-high vocal range. But if you're hired for a tenor part, you shouldn't look like you need to stop acting just to hit the high notes. And overall the sound was kind of messed up; the orchestra sounded like a recording for some reason, even though I could see them playing, and the choral numbers just didn't have that much oomph to them. Not to blame the chorus, as they were clearly putting their all into it and doing some very nice dance work. I think it was mainly a sound issue. Oh, and that theatre is a deathtrap waiting to happen. There are no aisles, people! It's just one long row that wraps its way around the entire house! Madness!
But the play itself is great, and you should see it if you get a chance. Very dark and yet hilarious at the same time.
Third, saw Spider-Man 3 last night. Again, good but not great. It wasn't Spider-Man 2, but then again, it wasn't X-Men 3 either. Everyone seems to have a different critique, though most seem to agree there are too many villains. I personally just don't buy Sandman. I almost laughed whenever he was on, as Venom and Harry Osborn made much better villains for me. I can see why they kept all 3 in there, but it was just too much. They should have focused much more on the Peter/Harry infighting, as that was my favorite part of the movie. But Bruce Campbell again rocked out his cameo, which leads me to point four.
Fourth, am in the process of renting and watching The Adventures of Brisco County, Jr. If you've never seen it, this is a Bruce Campbell t.v. comic western that was on Fox for all of 26 episodes back in the early 90's. Phenomenal stuff.
Fifth and last, watch Heroes. If you aren't, you're a chump. Cause it rules. Quantum will back me on this, unless the ants have already taken over his brain (see Bourbon Samurai's blog for elucidation). New episode tonight, and only 2 more after that. Embrace your inner geek!
For next time, a meditation on what to do for my birthday. Should I accept the challenge of 15 bars in one night? Or save that for a more random time this summer?
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Dubsgiving; or, One Man's Journey into the Abyss (Part II)
Rather than grade papers, and to get my mind out of the funk it's been in all day long, I offer you the conclusion of my recent sojourn to the city that never sleeps.
Day 4
Day 4 was the day that had been long prophesized. For on this date, my generous hosts had scheduled the second installment in their developing attempts to add new depth and coordination to drinking endeavors. Earlier in the year, I believe, they had hosted an event called "Let's Go to a Bar Night," in which they, to wit, went to a bar. To accomodate my schedule, they had arranged for the sequel to occur; thus, Monday became the day of "Let's Go to a Bar Night 2: Return of the Revenge of the Blood." My friends pulled all the stops. They arranged to get off work on a Monday (basically by telling their boss they weren't coming in). They had spread the word via that most inexorable scheduling device, the E-vite. And they had even made plans for at least one actual female to attend (a rare event, I'm told, and one of which they were quite proud). The stage was set for a truly wonderful soiree. But first, we had to go shopping.
The original "LGTABN" had, I was told, begun with a barbecue. We decided to continue this tradition, only it turned into grilling burgers indoors, as the weather was dodgy. That morning, then, Quantum, Bourbon Samurai, and I, took a trip to Costco, a magic land of bulk and wonder. There, one could make a meal on free samples of food (or so tradition tells, though this day the sample givers were few and far between). There, we ended up buying enough jumbo ketchup bottles to last several years, because you had to buy that many. There, the checkout man told us we could not buy the bag of bagels we had in the cart; we had to buy a second one, or they would not sell it to us at all. We were off the map, and my midwestern mind was blown.
Following that trek, we went to Teach's apartment, cooked the burgers (each of which ended up being roughly 1.25 pounds of meat per patty, and of which we each ate two), and then set off for the Continental, gleefully exclaiming "Let's go to a bar!" every few minutes. Now, there are high class bars and there are low class bars. Then there are dives. The Continental, unfortunately, was one of the latter. The place looked 5 minutes from falling down on us. The stall in the men's room was an excercise in contortion. There was only one tv, and a really crappy jukebox. They didn't take credit cards at all. Though, on the flip side, the bartenders (bartendresses?) were fairly attractive, and one of them appeared to be wearing a bandana rather than an actual shirt. We stayed there for hours, in spite of their lack of multiple televisions showing baseball games, for two very simple reasons. One, the e-vite said to meet there, and the rest of our party was staggering in at various points throughout the night. And two, they have an eternal deal where you can get five shots of anything for $10. So the four of us sat there, watching the Red Sox game, playing spades in our booth, and alternately drinking Bud Light and doing shots of Jim Beam. Over the next few hours, we were joined by Uber260, Brownsox, Sketchrock, Hubris, and multiple others whom I either had never met or cannot remember (and, lo and behold, there were several females over the course of the night, though one was a terrifying gorgon of mythic proportions).
Eventually, full of cheap beer and as many shots as we could muster, we crossed bars, rounding the block in order to go to a place that actually had food as well as boozeahol (I believe it was called the St. Mark's Alehouse, though my NY compatriots can correct me). We dined and drank, we had crazy conversations, we marvelled at the whimsy of Fate, who had basically recreated one of the most humorous and disturbing episodes of our college career in the form of a new couple, but with similar names (it's too complicated to explain here, and it might end up with the arrest of several of my friends). At one point, Bourbon and Sketchrock went outside to have a fistfight, because it seemed like the thing to do. Neither of them would throw the first punch, though, so Hubris socked Sketchrock in the ear in order to provoke the fight. Sadly, it did no such thing.
The evening boiled down, to the point where it was just Teach, Brownsox, Bourbon, Quantum, myself, and a latecomer female that Brownsox was apparently trying to engage in conversation (for the full and tragic details, see his post about that night). As we retired to the bar for one last round, my friends all turned into their conversations, while I, on the end, was engaged by the advances of who we would later refer to as "Crazy Carolina Girl." This Southern Belle was clearly under the influence of massive amounts of alcohol, and regaled me with the tale of her and her friend, Necktie Girl, who had travelled from the Deep South in order to seek jobs in some sort of Human Resources related field. Having worked in HR myself for a summer, I recognized immediately that anyone who would actively seek to work there is either A. moronic or B. batshit crazy. Though we did have a nice bonding experience when I mentioned I was from Madison, Wisconsin, and she immediately started talking about the joys of cheese curds, which squeak when you eat them, and are apparently the best or only memorable thing about this city that I love. This sealed the deal, and I tactfully withdrew to use the restroom rather than throttle her with my bare hands. As I left, I noticed she tried to engage Teach in conversation, who in turn introduced her to Quantum, but gave Q. his own name (i.e. Quantum was "Teach" and Teach was "Quantum"). Quantum, recognizing the crazy drunk, backed off quickly. As I returned from the restroom, I found Teach and Carolina engaged in what was unarguably the most one-sidedly offensive conversation ever. Teach was asking her point blank questions about how she valued human life, whose lives she would choose to save over others, and assorted questions, all of which seemed destined to pick a fight due to their obnoxiousness. But she never even noticed, and plowed gamely through the conversation, much to our amusement/horror.
Around this time, I retired to the other end of the bar, lest I burst out laughing in her face. Brownsox had ordered a beer, but the bar had a $15 minimun for a credit card purchase. Rather than actually reach into his wallet and get physical money, he bought me a glass of Macallen's 12 year. I toasted him, and he endeavored to return to his conversation. Unfortunately, as he notes, he was deftly cut out of the fair maid's attentions, and moved to join us, leaving poor Carolina girl all alone with her friends, to the great rejoicing of us all. Well, except for Bourbon, who had been chatting up the waitresses, sharing their contempt for the drunken Carolina and her friend. Brownsox, like a rampaging bull, crashed into their conversation and ruined all chances for our dear cohort to ever seal any kind of deal. Thus chagrined, we all fled into the night, where Teach and the girl ended up in one cab, and Bourbon, Quantum, Brownsox, and myself all together in another. Bourbon, in a show of rage, railed at all of us drunkenly for not capitalizing on our opportunities of the evening, blatantly ignoring the mediating circumstances and relative drunkenness of us all. But then we got home and watched the end of Galactica again, which soothed us all into sleep.
(This concludes my memories of LGTABN2:RotRotB. But my friends are free to add their own remembrances and qualifiers, as I basically drank from 2pm [giant beer at Teach's] until we left the Alehouse at around 2am [hefty glass of scotch].)
Day 5
The rest of the trip from here on out may seem anticlimactic, for the simple reason that my friends had to work the other days of the week. (Not that this would stop them from drinking in the slightest; it just meant we couldn't go on more all-day benders.) On day 5, they departed for work around 10:30am or so, further cementing my notion that they have the greatest job ever. I messed around their apartment for a bit, slept a while longer, did laundry at the laundromat, had a truly excellent bagel, and then went into the city. I was attempting to go to "Top of the Rock," the observation deck of Rockefeller center, as my mother had been telling me for months that I needed to go there. Quantum's directions were ever so helpful (take the subway to 5th Avenue, then go south a while), so I ended up very lost. I did find St. Patrick's Cathedral, and spent some time there admiring the temple to my risen lord, then found another subway station with a map. I made it to the Rock, where, oddly enough, I encountered one of my current students atop the building. She was there with her family, and we had a wonderful "What the hell are you doing here?" moment that was only slightly awkward, further testimony to my teaching abilities and rapport with my students. Quantum called while I was atop the building, having just gotten off work (around 4:30), so we met up for a drink or two.
That night we saw O'Neill's A Moon for the Misbegotten with this man and this one, as well as a truly phenomenal actress who is apparently very well-known in British theatre circles, but not popular American film or tv shows. There was a snafu with our online ticket order, so we got better seats for less money (a Dubsgiving Miracle), and ended up about 10 rows from the stage. It was a spectacular performace all around, the best theatre I've seen in years (definitely the best since my last trip to NY and I saw Albee's The Goat). Not that this is all that spectacular, as I don't see much theatre, and most of what I saw was college productions of things. But still. Awesomely good.
After the subway ride back to Astoria, we met up some of our fellows at yet another bar (which oddly enough shared a name with our pal Irish McJew), and drank more cheap beer until around 1:30 or 2:00.
Day 6
Perhaps the most uneventful day of them all. It rained, so while my friends were at work, I stayed at their place and watched a lot of tv. The rain ended around 3:00, so I ventured into the heart of the Upper East Side, and went to the Met. This was not nearly as eventful as my last trip there, where Quantum high-fived a priceless buddha statue and set off an alarm. But it was still quite nice. Met up with Bourbon, Quantum, and Brownsox for drinks afterwards, as their work was nearby, then went to the theatre again. This time we saw a show called Spring Awakening, a phenomenal new musical that is most likely going to sweep all the major awards this year. I really liked it at the time, but I have since bought the soundtrack and elevated that "really like" into "outright love." The music is powerful, moving, and electric. The story concerns a group of 14-15 year olds in 1890s Germany, coming to terms with their developing sexuality in the face of their repressive schooling and parents. It's based on a play of the same name, written at the turn of the century, which was banned in Germany for years afterwards. If you get a chance, I highly recommend seeing it. If not, I can lend you the soundtrack.
To conclude the events of Dubsgiving, we met at one last bar, where we actually drank very good Czech beer rather than the cheap crappy beer my friends seem to guzzle like water. I also learned that I am awesome at Big Buck Hunter when I've had a few drinks. And that Brownsox can't not hit a doe to save his life, and he gets amusingly irate the further and further he falls in the standings. I learned the history of the bar, where Quantum had both been kicked out at one point and embraced by the owner at another (apparently he was an Eastern European man who admired Quantum because he "looked like Gestapo," an irony they still puzzle over). The beer was good, and though we clearly stayed much later than the wait staff wanted us to, we did tip well.
Day 7
On the seventh day, even God rested. But clearly, God didn't have to travel back to O'Hare and then Madison. Or if he did, he didn't go out of La Guardia or into O'Hare. After bidding a fond farewell to my most gracious hosts, I got one last bagel for the road (this time hot with butter, as Quantum ordered, though sans shmear), then caught the bus to L.G. Quantum said this bus ride would take roughly an hour. Naturally, it took about 10 minutes. So I was there about 3.5 hours before my flight, which ended up being delayed another 2 due to high winds in, you guessed it, Chicago (oh sweet irony). But it was all ok, because we got to spend the last hour's worth on the plane itself, sitting on the runway. I slept through most of it, as well as the bus ride back, and got to my sweet sweet bed at around roughly 10:30, Madison time. Mad props to Nittany Lion for the ride from the bus stop.
Conclusions
Thus ended Dubsgiving, though I did learn several key life lessons:
1. Bagels are in fact better in New York.
2. My friends, who taught me in college to be snobs of all things alcohol (unless drinking games are involved), now subsist almost entirely on cheap beer.
3. Cab drivers are crazy. Seriously.
4. Tall beers are better than regular beers.
5. The e-vite is considered a binding social contract.
6. You can apparently buy 1000 lb of sand at Home Depot for very little, and it doesn't cover quite as much space as one would imagine.
7. The prank value of 1000 lb of sand may still outweigh the drawbacks.
8. I can actually survive for a week in NY without getting shot, mugged, beaten up, or having my teeth stolen while I lie bleeding in a gutter. Though I still will check my back pocket every few minutes, just to make sure my wallet is still there. What can I say? I'm just a smalltown midwesterner at heart.
Day 4
Day 4 was the day that had been long prophesized. For on this date, my generous hosts had scheduled the second installment in their developing attempts to add new depth and coordination to drinking endeavors. Earlier in the year, I believe, they had hosted an event called "Let's Go to a Bar Night," in which they, to wit, went to a bar. To accomodate my schedule, they had arranged for the sequel to occur; thus, Monday became the day of "Let's Go to a Bar Night 2: Return of the Revenge of the Blood." My friends pulled all the stops. They arranged to get off work on a Monday (basically by telling their boss they weren't coming in). They had spread the word via that most inexorable scheduling device, the E-vite. And they had even made plans for at least one actual female to attend (a rare event, I'm told, and one of which they were quite proud). The stage was set for a truly wonderful soiree. But first, we had to go shopping.
The original "LGTABN" had, I was told, begun with a barbecue. We decided to continue this tradition, only it turned into grilling burgers indoors, as the weather was dodgy. That morning, then, Quantum, Bourbon Samurai, and I, took a trip to Costco, a magic land of bulk and wonder. There, one could make a meal on free samples of food (or so tradition tells, though this day the sample givers were few and far between). There, we ended up buying enough jumbo ketchup bottles to last several years, because you had to buy that many. There, the checkout man told us we could not buy the bag of bagels we had in the cart; we had to buy a second one, or they would not sell it to us at all. We were off the map, and my midwestern mind was blown.
Following that trek, we went to Teach's apartment, cooked the burgers (each of which ended up being roughly 1.25 pounds of meat per patty, and of which we each ate two), and then set off for the Continental, gleefully exclaiming "Let's go to a bar!" every few minutes. Now, there are high class bars and there are low class bars. Then there are dives. The Continental, unfortunately, was one of the latter. The place looked 5 minutes from falling down on us. The stall in the men's room was an excercise in contortion. There was only one tv, and a really crappy jukebox. They didn't take credit cards at all. Though, on the flip side, the bartenders (bartendresses?) were fairly attractive, and one of them appeared to be wearing a bandana rather than an actual shirt. We stayed there for hours, in spite of their lack of multiple televisions showing baseball games, for two very simple reasons. One, the e-vite said to meet there, and the rest of our party was staggering in at various points throughout the night. And two, they have an eternal deal where you can get five shots of anything for $10. So the four of us sat there, watching the Red Sox game, playing spades in our booth, and alternately drinking Bud Light and doing shots of Jim Beam. Over the next few hours, we were joined by Uber260, Brownsox, Sketchrock, Hubris, and multiple others whom I either had never met or cannot remember (and, lo and behold, there were several females over the course of the night, though one was a terrifying gorgon of mythic proportions).
Eventually, full of cheap beer and as many shots as we could muster, we crossed bars, rounding the block in order to go to a place that actually had food as well as boozeahol (I believe it was called the St. Mark's Alehouse, though my NY compatriots can correct me). We dined and drank, we had crazy conversations, we marvelled at the whimsy of Fate, who had basically recreated one of the most humorous and disturbing episodes of our college career in the form of a new couple, but with similar names (it's too complicated to explain here, and it might end up with the arrest of several of my friends). At one point, Bourbon and Sketchrock went outside to have a fistfight, because it seemed like the thing to do. Neither of them would throw the first punch, though, so Hubris socked Sketchrock in the ear in order to provoke the fight. Sadly, it did no such thing.
The evening boiled down, to the point where it was just Teach, Brownsox, Bourbon, Quantum, myself, and a latecomer female that Brownsox was apparently trying to engage in conversation (for the full and tragic details, see his post about that night). As we retired to the bar for one last round, my friends all turned into their conversations, while I, on the end, was engaged by the advances of who we would later refer to as "Crazy Carolina Girl." This Southern Belle was clearly under the influence of massive amounts of alcohol, and regaled me with the tale of her and her friend, Necktie Girl, who had travelled from the Deep South in order to seek jobs in some sort of Human Resources related field. Having worked in HR myself for a summer, I recognized immediately that anyone who would actively seek to work there is either A. moronic or B. batshit crazy. Though we did have a nice bonding experience when I mentioned I was from Madison, Wisconsin, and she immediately started talking about the joys of cheese curds, which squeak when you eat them, and are apparently the best or only memorable thing about this city that I love. This sealed the deal, and I tactfully withdrew to use the restroom rather than throttle her with my bare hands. As I left, I noticed she tried to engage Teach in conversation, who in turn introduced her to Quantum, but gave Q. his own name (i.e. Quantum was "Teach" and Teach was "Quantum"). Quantum, recognizing the crazy drunk, backed off quickly. As I returned from the restroom, I found Teach and Carolina engaged in what was unarguably the most one-sidedly offensive conversation ever. Teach was asking her point blank questions about how she valued human life, whose lives she would choose to save over others, and assorted questions, all of which seemed destined to pick a fight due to their obnoxiousness. But she never even noticed, and plowed gamely through the conversation, much to our amusement/horror.
Around this time, I retired to the other end of the bar, lest I burst out laughing in her face. Brownsox had ordered a beer, but the bar had a $15 minimun for a credit card purchase. Rather than actually reach into his wallet and get physical money, he bought me a glass of Macallen's 12 year. I toasted him, and he endeavored to return to his conversation. Unfortunately, as he notes, he was deftly cut out of the fair maid's attentions, and moved to join us, leaving poor Carolina girl all alone with her friends, to the great rejoicing of us all. Well, except for Bourbon, who had been chatting up the waitresses, sharing their contempt for the drunken Carolina and her friend. Brownsox, like a rampaging bull, crashed into their conversation and ruined all chances for our dear cohort to ever seal any kind of deal. Thus chagrined, we all fled into the night, where Teach and the girl ended up in one cab, and Bourbon, Quantum, Brownsox, and myself all together in another. Bourbon, in a show of rage, railed at all of us drunkenly for not capitalizing on our opportunities of the evening, blatantly ignoring the mediating circumstances and relative drunkenness of us all. But then we got home and watched the end of Galactica again, which soothed us all into sleep.
(This concludes my memories of LGTABN2:RotRotB. But my friends are free to add their own remembrances and qualifiers, as I basically drank from 2pm [giant beer at Teach's] until we left the Alehouse at around 2am [hefty glass of scotch].)
Day 5
The rest of the trip from here on out may seem anticlimactic, for the simple reason that my friends had to work the other days of the week. (Not that this would stop them from drinking in the slightest; it just meant we couldn't go on more all-day benders.) On day 5, they departed for work around 10:30am or so, further cementing my notion that they have the greatest job ever. I messed around their apartment for a bit, slept a while longer, did laundry at the laundromat, had a truly excellent bagel, and then went into the city. I was attempting to go to "Top of the Rock," the observation deck of Rockefeller center, as my mother had been telling me for months that I needed to go there. Quantum's directions were ever so helpful (take the subway to 5th Avenue, then go south a while), so I ended up very lost. I did find St. Patrick's Cathedral, and spent some time there admiring the temple to my risen lord, then found another subway station with a map. I made it to the Rock, where, oddly enough, I encountered one of my current students atop the building. She was there with her family, and we had a wonderful "What the hell are you doing here?" moment that was only slightly awkward, further testimony to my teaching abilities and rapport with my students. Quantum called while I was atop the building, having just gotten off work (around 4:30), so we met up for a drink or two.
That night we saw O'Neill's A Moon for the Misbegotten with this man and this one, as well as a truly phenomenal actress who is apparently very well-known in British theatre circles, but not popular American film or tv shows. There was a snafu with our online ticket order, so we got better seats for less money (a Dubsgiving Miracle), and ended up about 10 rows from the stage. It was a spectacular performace all around, the best theatre I've seen in years (definitely the best since my last trip to NY and I saw Albee's The Goat). Not that this is all that spectacular, as I don't see much theatre, and most of what I saw was college productions of things. But still. Awesomely good.
After the subway ride back to Astoria, we met up some of our fellows at yet another bar (which oddly enough shared a name with our pal Irish McJew), and drank more cheap beer until around 1:30 or 2:00.
Day 6
Perhaps the most uneventful day of them all. It rained, so while my friends were at work, I stayed at their place and watched a lot of tv. The rain ended around 3:00, so I ventured into the heart of the Upper East Side, and went to the Met. This was not nearly as eventful as my last trip there, where Quantum high-fived a priceless buddha statue and set off an alarm. But it was still quite nice. Met up with Bourbon, Quantum, and Brownsox for drinks afterwards, as their work was nearby, then went to the theatre again. This time we saw a show called Spring Awakening, a phenomenal new musical that is most likely going to sweep all the major awards this year. I really liked it at the time, but I have since bought the soundtrack and elevated that "really like" into "outright love." The music is powerful, moving, and electric. The story concerns a group of 14-15 year olds in 1890s Germany, coming to terms with their developing sexuality in the face of their repressive schooling and parents. It's based on a play of the same name, written at the turn of the century, which was banned in Germany for years afterwards. If you get a chance, I highly recommend seeing it. If not, I can lend you the soundtrack.
To conclude the events of Dubsgiving, we met at one last bar, where we actually drank very good Czech beer rather than the cheap crappy beer my friends seem to guzzle like water. I also learned that I am awesome at Big Buck Hunter when I've had a few drinks. And that Brownsox can't not hit a doe to save his life, and he gets amusingly irate the further and further he falls in the standings. I learned the history of the bar, where Quantum had both been kicked out at one point and embraced by the owner at another (apparently he was an Eastern European man who admired Quantum because he "looked like Gestapo," an irony they still puzzle over). The beer was good, and though we clearly stayed much later than the wait staff wanted us to, we did tip well.
Day 7
On the seventh day, even God rested. But clearly, God didn't have to travel back to O'Hare and then Madison. Or if he did, he didn't go out of La Guardia or into O'Hare. After bidding a fond farewell to my most gracious hosts, I got one last bagel for the road (this time hot with butter, as Quantum ordered, though sans shmear), then caught the bus to L.G. Quantum said this bus ride would take roughly an hour. Naturally, it took about 10 minutes. So I was there about 3.5 hours before my flight, which ended up being delayed another 2 due to high winds in, you guessed it, Chicago (oh sweet irony). But it was all ok, because we got to spend the last hour's worth on the plane itself, sitting on the runway. I slept through most of it, as well as the bus ride back, and got to my sweet sweet bed at around roughly 10:30, Madison time. Mad props to Nittany Lion for the ride from the bus stop.
Conclusions
Thus ended Dubsgiving, though I did learn several key life lessons:
1. Bagels are in fact better in New York.
2. My friends, who taught me in college to be snobs of all things alcohol (unless drinking games are involved), now subsist almost entirely on cheap beer.
3. Cab drivers are crazy. Seriously.
4. Tall beers are better than regular beers.
5. The e-vite is considered a binding social contract.
6. You can apparently buy 1000 lb of sand at Home Depot for very little, and it doesn't cover quite as much space as one would imagine.
7. The prank value of 1000 lb of sand may still outweigh the drawbacks.
8. I can actually survive for a week in NY without getting shot, mugged, beaten up, or having my teeth stolen while I lie bleeding in a gutter. Though I still will check my back pocket every few minutes, just to make sure my wallet is still there. What can I say? I'm just a smalltown midwesterner at heart.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Dubsgiving; or, One Man's Journey into the Abyss (Part I)
Over spring break, I discovered the single most terrifying thing on the face of the planet: the New York cab driver. These men (and women, I suppose, though all of ours were men) race about with reckless abandon, ferrying merry bands of drunks (and others) to and fro. They don't seem to work strictly in the world itself. They certainly don't obey the laws of God or man. Lane markings? Pshaw! Street signs? Scoff. "Oh my God, you can't possibly fit between those two cars!"? A wry glance and a stomp on the accelerator. While I was very grateful for these brave souls (particularly that first night, as you shall read), I was kind of scared witless when I actually looked where we were going and how we were getting there. People say the subway's dangerous; clearly they've never taken a cab at 2am from the Village to Astoria.
This slight diatribe is my long way of introducing my trip to New York, which my merry band of reprobate friends named "Dubsgiving" in my honor. Dubsgiving has sacraments (mostly drinking-related), various feast days (Let's Go to a Bar Night 2), and a theme song, which they gleefully improvised my first night there. I'll attempt to chronicle these days as best I remember, but my memory is rather uncertain in places, so I invite commentary from my fellow celebrants.
Day 1
To begin, I got into La Guardia around 5:00pm, Friday. I was at Quantum's apartment by about 5:20. By 5:30, we were on our way to a bar.
The weekend was starting off so very right.
Along the way, we picked up one Hubris, fellow rapscallian and committed Dubsgiving celebrant, although he was not in fact drinking during our time there. This above all you must remember, dear reader, lest nothing else appear strange and wonderous. The three of us went to a place called "The Irish Rogue" several blocks away from Times Square, which is supposedly the bar from which one cannot be kicked out. Apparently my compatriots had, at various times, crashed private parties, started fistfights, and generally raised all manner of havoc, without ever being asked not to come back. So naturally this was as good a place as any to kick off our holiday.
En route, the lads sereneded me with an imprompteu version of "New York, New York," which they believed would foretell my week's sojourn in the Big Apple. I don't remember all the lyrics, but I believe it ended with me lying dead in a gutter, with someone running away, having stolen my teeth.
So at the bar, we began by ordering their traditional drink, the Beer Boat (or Beer Bone, or Beer Bong, depending on who you ask). Basically, the BB is a 74 oz glass tube, with a spigot on the bottom. You fill said tube with beer (St. Pauly Girl), and let gravity do it's work. This of course serves as a wonderful conversation piece; all manner of people will come up to your table and ask what that giant tube of beer is for, and then look both bemused and disgusted at your reply. This does not in any way make up for the fact that you're drinking cheap beer out of what is probably an unwashed glass tube, which slowly gets warmer and warmer as the night goes on. But then again, you're talking to men who used to combine tabasco sauce with various alcohols, and who once put gin and soy sauce in a glass together. We are not to be daunted by trifles like that.
Throughout the course of the evening, the cast of characters would grow and shrink, as various friends came and went. We three were originally met by Bourbon Samurai and his parents, who were going to the theatre. They left, and we were in turn met by Uber260. Later, Bourbon came back sans parents, to aid in our drinking. So, over the course of the night, note that the drinkers consisted of Quantum, myself, Uber260, and Bourbon, and that Bourbon was only really drinking during the later portion of the eve. Hubris, as noted, did not drink, but instead pounded diet coke and egged us on.
The result: 5 tubes consumed. 370 oz of beer, split between about 3.5 men. Over a tube a piece. Plus the shots, and Uber260's Irish car bomb.
Why did we drink five tubes, you ask? Why not stop after two, as I originally suggested? Quite simply, because our waitress told us that the bar record was four. Four tubes. I believe she told us this on our third tube, and by that point, we'd already drunk three tubes of beer. We were drunk with power (and St. Pauly Girl), and decided to go all the way. I don't remember if we finished the last tube. I don't remember actually leaving the bar. I do remember the drunken rendition of the St. Crispen's Day speech from Henry V that we all gave, huddled around our beer boat, glasses raised in the air (with photographic evidence taken by Hubris). I don't remember Uber260 falling into the table of frat guys, though I'm told it was quite hilarious. I remember getting into the cab home with Uber260 and Quantum, and Bourbon telling 260 to go ahead and sleep in his (Bourbon's) bed, as I was sleeping on their couch (Quantum and Bourbon live together, for all you non-NY folk). And of course, I remember thinking what a good idea it was that I had eaten dinner at the bar.
In hindsight, this last takes on special meaning, as we all concluded that food was the only reason a dire fate was not a shared dire fate. I ate dinner, and a large one at that. Quantum did as well. Uber260, sadly, did not. Therefore, it is only slightly surprising, in hindsight, that Uber260 ended up vomiting all over the cab floor. Luckily, for us, it was a mini-van-esque cab, rather than a traditional, and so we did not end up with vomit on our shoes. Even luckier, the cabbie was cool, so that when Quantum did what he does best and threw money at him, he was willing to wait and take us the rest of the way to Astoria. I barely hesitated when Quantum asked me for more money to pay the cab driver. Yes, I was on a tight budget. Yes, I had hoped to make my money last, and not blow it all the first night. And yes, I ended up adding about $80 onto Quantum's $120, to appease the cabbie.
It's amazing how things like this can instantly sober you. There we were, nursing our friend home, I cursing myself for spending so much money already, but figuring that this was how my friends rolled in the big NY. In my small-town mindset, I could see Quantum routinely paying cab drivers over $150 a ride. In my mind, Quantum's finances are akin to those of a decent-sized nation state. So we got Uber260 back to Astoria, where he promptly vomited on Bourbon's jacket (which, to be fair, was on the floor). This kicked off a streak of destruction, as Uber basically managed to vomit on everything Bourbon owned, including his bed during the middle of the night. Quantum's possessions, remarkably, remained entirely untouched, as did anything communally owned. Even the floor was spotless, said jacket having absorbed all regurgitation. It was as if there was a vendetta of vomit against Bourbon Samurai, and he was not there to fight against the tide, so to speak. We put Uber260 to bed, I crashed on the couch, and Quantum retired to his room.
Thus ended the first day.
Day 2
Day two is more of a sea of images than anything else. The most joy came from awakening and realizing I wasn't at all hungover. Again, dealing with a friend's breakdown really picks you up. The rest of the joy came from the absurdity of what had transpired the night before. This was where we realized the truth about Bourbon's possessions and their magnetic vomit properties. This was where Uber260, in the most shamefacedly way possible, laundered all of the despoiled goods. This was where Bourbon finally came home, to change to go see another play with his family, and Quantum's first words were "Don't be mad." Which prompted a look of brief caution, and then outright laughter. Bourbon was too amused to be mad, though I think the lingering smell of vomit on his bed was slightly 0ff-putting. Throughout the day, we took stock of the situation, rehashed the night before, ate delivery food, and watched a lot of Battlestar Galactica, as they had it and I needed to catch up on the season.
That night was rather more mellow. I met up with my high school friend The Baker and his new girlfriend (new in the sense I hadn't met her before), who took me out to a delightful Thai dinner in Hell's Kitchen. Supposedly one of the best Thai places in town, a claim I won't dispute. We then went to another bar (Divine, I think it was called) and, in a snobby way, drank flights of wine (rather than cheap beer, a nice contrast to every other night). We chatted, and they had to leave around 11:30, so I basically hung out in Times Square until my drunken friends were done with their late dinner. We met up in the Village (prompting once again my small town fears of riding the subway after dark), threw back a drink or two, then once again returned to Astoria. Here was where I first encountered my supernatural dread of cab drivers, as described above. Seriously. I thought we were all going to die.
Day 3
Day 3 was Sunday, and I sadly could not continue our streak of sleeping in until roughly 1:00. As it was Palm Sunday, I needed to find myself a Catholic sanctuary and holy myself up. Seeing how Astoria contains the second largest Greek Orthodox population in the world (after Greece), naturally there was a Catholic Church about five blocks down the road. After attending mass, I bummed around Astoria, as both of my hosts were out of the house. I got some reading done, explored their local coffee houses, wandered the streets, and ate a spectacular corned beef sandwich from the local deli. Quantum, returning from the children's theatre show he had just seen because a friend was directing it, encountered me outside a local coffee shop reading a book, drinking an italian soda and eating a scone. He quite rightly mocked me for being a pretentious academic, and we retired to their apartment to conclude the BSG season, which was 90 different kinds of awesome. It reaffirmed my faith in television, myth, Bob Dylan, the electric sitar, and the Easter Bunny. Seriously, if you like good tv, excellent stories, great acting, and kickass moments of transcendent brilliance (not to mention awesome lawyers who wear sunglasses and are Irish in space), please check this series out.
Following the viewings, Bourbon made meatloaf and a soup out of what appeared to be a pteradactyl bone, three kinds of bacon, and various other animal parts. I won't describe it further, but I invite him to do so in the comments section. Needless to say, it was all excellent, and we were joined by Rockstar and girl whose nickname I don't know, to feast and watch the opening game of baseball season. The Mets shellacked my poor Cardinals, and Quantum threatened that they also planned to burn my city to the ground. I'm not sure why, other than New Yorkers are apparently full of rage and like burning cities to the ground. Luckily, St. Louis still stands. I think the Mets' bloodlust was sated by stomping the Cards in every game of the series. (Oh, and Sergio, Quantum wanted me to give him your cell phone number so he could call and gloat. I rightly refused, so you owe me.)
I believe we watched the last four minutes of BSG twice more at the end of the night. This would be a recurring practice for the rest of the week.
(Ok, this is already unwieldy and long, and I'm not even to day four yet. I'll add more tomorrow, when I chronicle the events surrounding "Let's Go to a Bar Night 2: Return of the Revenge of the Blood".)
This slight diatribe is my long way of introducing my trip to New York, which my merry band of reprobate friends named "Dubsgiving" in my honor. Dubsgiving has sacraments (mostly drinking-related), various feast days (Let's Go to a Bar Night 2), and a theme song, which they gleefully improvised my first night there. I'll attempt to chronicle these days as best I remember, but my memory is rather uncertain in places, so I invite commentary from my fellow celebrants.
Day 1
To begin, I got into La Guardia around 5:00pm, Friday. I was at Quantum's apartment by about 5:20. By 5:30, we were on our way to a bar.
The weekend was starting off so very right.
Along the way, we picked up one Hubris, fellow rapscallian and committed Dubsgiving celebrant, although he was not in fact drinking during our time there. This above all you must remember, dear reader, lest nothing else appear strange and wonderous. The three of us went to a place called "The Irish Rogue" several blocks away from Times Square, which is supposedly the bar from which one cannot be kicked out. Apparently my compatriots had, at various times, crashed private parties, started fistfights, and generally raised all manner of havoc, without ever being asked not to come back. So naturally this was as good a place as any to kick off our holiday.
En route, the lads sereneded me with an imprompteu version of "New York, New York," which they believed would foretell my week's sojourn in the Big Apple. I don't remember all the lyrics, but I believe it ended with me lying dead in a gutter, with someone running away, having stolen my teeth.
So at the bar, we began by ordering their traditional drink, the Beer Boat (or Beer Bone, or Beer Bong, depending on who you ask). Basically, the BB is a 74 oz glass tube, with a spigot on the bottom. You fill said tube with beer (St. Pauly Girl), and let gravity do it's work. This of course serves as a wonderful conversation piece; all manner of people will come up to your table and ask what that giant tube of beer is for, and then look both bemused and disgusted at your reply. This does not in any way make up for the fact that you're drinking cheap beer out of what is probably an unwashed glass tube, which slowly gets warmer and warmer as the night goes on. But then again, you're talking to men who used to combine tabasco sauce with various alcohols, and who once put gin and soy sauce in a glass together. We are not to be daunted by trifles like that.
Throughout the course of the evening, the cast of characters would grow and shrink, as various friends came and went. We three were originally met by Bourbon Samurai and his parents, who were going to the theatre. They left, and we were in turn met by Uber260. Later, Bourbon came back sans parents, to aid in our drinking. So, over the course of the night, note that the drinkers consisted of Quantum, myself, Uber260, and Bourbon, and that Bourbon was only really drinking during the later portion of the eve. Hubris, as noted, did not drink, but instead pounded diet coke and egged us on.
The result: 5 tubes consumed. 370 oz of beer, split between about 3.5 men. Over a tube a piece. Plus the shots, and Uber260's Irish car bomb.
Why did we drink five tubes, you ask? Why not stop after two, as I originally suggested? Quite simply, because our waitress told us that the bar record was four. Four tubes. I believe she told us this on our third tube, and by that point, we'd already drunk three tubes of beer. We were drunk with power (and St. Pauly Girl), and decided to go all the way. I don't remember if we finished the last tube. I don't remember actually leaving the bar. I do remember the drunken rendition of the St. Crispen's Day speech from Henry V that we all gave, huddled around our beer boat, glasses raised in the air (with photographic evidence taken by Hubris). I don't remember Uber260 falling into the table of frat guys, though I'm told it was quite hilarious. I remember getting into the cab home with Uber260 and Quantum, and Bourbon telling 260 to go ahead and sleep in his (Bourbon's) bed, as I was sleeping on their couch (Quantum and Bourbon live together, for all you non-NY folk). And of course, I remember thinking what a good idea it was that I had eaten dinner at the bar.
In hindsight, this last takes on special meaning, as we all concluded that food was the only reason a dire fate was not a shared dire fate. I ate dinner, and a large one at that. Quantum did as well. Uber260, sadly, did not. Therefore, it is only slightly surprising, in hindsight, that Uber260 ended up vomiting all over the cab floor. Luckily, for us, it was a mini-van-esque cab, rather than a traditional, and so we did not end up with vomit on our shoes. Even luckier, the cabbie was cool, so that when Quantum did what he does best and threw money at him, he was willing to wait and take us the rest of the way to Astoria. I barely hesitated when Quantum asked me for more money to pay the cab driver. Yes, I was on a tight budget. Yes, I had hoped to make my money last, and not blow it all the first night. And yes, I ended up adding about $80 onto Quantum's $120, to appease the cabbie.
It's amazing how things like this can instantly sober you. There we were, nursing our friend home, I cursing myself for spending so much money already, but figuring that this was how my friends rolled in the big NY. In my small-town mindset, I could see Quantum routinely paying cab drivers over $150 a ride. In my mind, Quantum's finances are akin to those of a decent-sized nation state. So we got Uber260 back to Astoria, where he promptly vomited on Bourbon's jacket (which, to be fair, was on the floor). This kicked off a streak of destruction, as Uber basically managed to vomit on everything Bourbon owned, including his bed during the middle of the night. Quantum's possessions, remarkably, remained entirely untouched, as did anything communally owned. Even the floor was spotless, said jacket having absorbed all regurgitation. It was as if there was a vendetta of vomit against Bourbon Samurai, and he was not there to fight against the tide, so to speak. We put Uber260 to bed, I crashed on the couch, and Quantum retired to his room.
Thus ended the first day.
Day 2
Day two is more of a sea of images than anything else. The most joy came from awakening and realizing I wasn't at all hungover. Again, dealing with a friend's breakdown really picks you up. The rest of the joy came from the absurdity of what had transpired the night before. This was where we realized the truth about Bourbon's possessions and their magnetic vomit properties. This was where Uber260, in the most shamefacedly way possible, laundered all of the despoiled goods. This was where Bourbon finally came home, to change to go see another play with his family, and Quantum's first words were "Don't be mad." Which prompted a look of brief caution, and then outright laughter. Bourbon was too amused to be mad, though I think the lingering smell of vomit on his bed was slightly 0ff-putting. Throughout the day, we took stock of the situation, rehashed the night before, ate delivery food, and watched a lot of Battlestar Galactica, as they had it and I needed to catch up on the season.
That night was rather more mellow. I met up with my high school friend The Baker and his new girlfriend (new in the sense I hadn't met her before), who took me out to a delightful Thai dinner in Hell's Kitchen. Supposedly one of the best Thai places in town, a claim I won't dispute. We then went to another bar (Divine, I think it was called) and, in a snobby way, drank flights of wine (rather than cheap beer, a nice contrast to every other night). We chatted, and they had to leave around 11:30, so I basically hung out in Times Square until my drunken friends were done with their late dinner. We met up in the Village (prompting once again my small town fears of riding the subway after dark), threw back a drink or two, then once again returned to Astoria. Here was where I first encountered my supernatural dread of cab drivers, as described above. Seriously. I thought we were all going to die.
Day 3
Day 3 was Sunday, and I sadly could not continue our streak of sleeping in until roughly 1:00. As it was Palm Sunday, I needed to find myself a Catholic sanctuary and holy myself up. Seeing how Astoria contains the second largest Greek Orthodox population in the world (after Greece), naturally there was a Catholic Church about five blocks down the road. After attending mass, I bummed around Astoria, as both of my hosts were out of the house. I got some reading done, explored their local coffee houses, wandered the streets, and ate a spectacular corned beef sandwich from the local deli. Quantum, returning from the children's theatre show he had just seen because a friend was directing it, encountered me outside a local coffee shop reading a book, drinking an italian soda and eating a scone. He quite rightly mocked me for being a pretentious academic, and we retired to their apartment to conclude the BSG season, which was 90 different kinds of awesome. It reaffirmed my faith in television, myth, Bob Dylan, the electric sitar, and the Easter Bunny. Seriously, if you like good tv, excellent stories, great acting, and kickass moments of transcendent brilliance (not to mention awesome lawyers who wear sunglasses and are Irish in space), please check this series out.
Following the viewings, Bourbon made meatloaf and a soup out of what appeared to be a pteradactyl bone, three kinds of bacon, and various other animal parts. I won't describe it further, but I invite him to do so in the comments section. Needless to say, it was all excellent, and we were joined by Rockstar and girl whose nickname I don't know, to feast and watch the opening game of baseball season. The Mets shellacked my poor Cardinals, and Quantum threatened that they also planned to burn my city to the ground. I'm not sure why, other than New Yorkers are apparently full of rage and like burning cities to the ground. Luckily, St. Louis still stands. I think the Mets' bloodlust was sated by stomping the Cards in every game of the series. (Oh, and Sergio, Quantum wanted me to give him your cell phone number so he could call and gloat. I rightly refused, so you owe me.)
I believe we watched the last four minutes of BSG twice more at the end of the night. This would be a recurring practice for the rest of the week.
(Ok, this is already unwieldy and long, and I'm not even to day four yet. I'll add more tomorrow, when I chronicle the events surrounding "Let's Go to a Bar Night 2: Return of the Revenge of the Blood".)
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
The Vigil Blog
I figure it's worth it to blog about something uplifting and soul-enriching, before I blog about the depths of hell we went through in New York. Plus, I'm at the office right now and have limited time before a student shows up. Don't worry, I'll blog the full experience of Dubsgiving in a day or so. But for now, the blog of Easter Vigil.
First off, this vigil differed from previous years, in that all of my Catholic friends chose to abandon me for lesser masses, due to baby, travel, family, etc., all of which are just excuses that lead down that slippery slope to Protestantism, or as I like to call it, damnation. So there I sat, alone, in my spiffy new jacket, hoping against hope that this mass would be just as amusing as last year, if not quite so heretical (see last April's "Where Was Moses When the Lights Went Out" for details). We began strongly, with a fair showing and a solid lighting of candles, with no small child arsonists this year. Sadly, the seminarian singing the Exsultant this year was not quite so strong as last year's singer, the little man they kept in the closet until Easter. He had a nice tenor, but it was relatively weak, and seemed rather wishy-washy about the ultimate salvation of mankind.
Until the fire alarm went off.
You'd think that Holy Mother Church, in its infinite wisdom, would have realized having hundreds of people holding candles might set off the alarm, and would take preventative steps. You'd be wrong. We stood there, with the lights flashing and the sirens blaring, listening to that one singer. But then, as if inspired by the Divine Himself, our cantor kicked it up a notch from "lame" to "Divine Champion and Herald of Christ's Resurrection." With a nod from the Bishop, he got louder, more self-assured, and infinitely more passionate in his singing. He challenged that fire alarm as if it were Lucifer and he was Piers Plowman, fighting at the Tree of Life. And he won out. Of course, to acknowledge his victory and the ever-present power of Christ, the alarm shut off right when the entire congregation came together for the "Amen." (For you non-Catholics out there, this was after about seven minutes of solo song.) It was as if God truly blessed our mass and silenced our opposition.
From there, the mass itself was much more well-constructed than last year. It was as if the Bishop had read my blog and responded to my critique. The trilling was present, but much less noticeable. The homily was not heretical, nor was it completely tied in with the bashing of the gays and the abortionists, as is his usual idiom. There was a fair amount of generic social critique, but nothing that raised my ire as a free-thinking libertarian ensconsed in a world of crazy liberal academics.
There were only two other main points worthy of notice throughout, as the bishop kept things to a sane 2.5 hours. First, while I acknowledge that it may be part of the ceremony to bless the cross with the incense, I could not help but imagining the Bishop going around and saying, a la Cool Hand Luke, "Holying up the cross here, boss." I nearly lost it when that popped randomly in my head, and stared at my feet resolutely for a minute after the fact. Though I do think that kind of speech would really bring the ceremony home to the common man. "Holying up the bread here, boss." "Transubstantiating the Eucharist here, boss." "Washing my hands here, boss." Etc.
Second, during the baptismal, it is customary for the Bishop to move throughout the church, scattering holy water onto the congregation. Our bishop. though, has not a mitre that holds water, as at my old church, but what is best described as a bundle of reeds tied together, soaked in water. This bundle manages to hurl large quantities of water out over the crowd in large droplets, and this year the Bishop seemed to take a kind of manic glee in aiming directly for the faces of small children. It looked like an insane Santa Claus bringing gifts, except instead of presents, you got a faceful of water flung in extreme violence. I myself caught the full brunt of one such toss, which nearly drove one of my contact lenses out of my eye. Though my eye did feel very holy afterwards.
That was pretty much it. Not as eventful or mirthful as last year, granted, but still full of its own unique brand of charm. I'll stop here, as my student should be here any moment, and leave you with my yearly Easter condemnation of the Hebraic people. That means you, McJew. See what happens when you mess with the Son of God? You're just lucky Jesus didn't bust out his mad vampire-slaying kung fu. Alleluia, bitch. (God, I'm going to Hell, aren't I?)
First off, this vigil differed from previous years, in that all of my Catholic friends chose to abandon me for lesser masses, due to baby, travel, family, etc., all of which are just excuses that lead down that slippery slope to Protestantism, or as I like to call it, damnation. So there I sat, alone, in my spiffy new jacket, hoping against hope that this mass would be just as amusing as last year, if not quite so heretical (see last April's "Where Was Moses When the Lights Went Out" for details). We began strongly, with a fair showing and a solid lighting of candles, with no small child arsonists this year. Sadly, the seminarian singing the Exsultant this year was not quite so strong as last year's singer, the little man they kept in the closet until Easter. He had a nice tenor, but it was relatively weak, and seemed rather wishy-washy about the ultimate salvation of mankind.
Until the fire alarm went off.
You'd think that Holy Mother Church, in its infinite wisdom, would have realized having hundreds of people holding candles might set off the alarm, and would take preventative steps. You'd be wrong. We stood there, with the lights flashing and the sirens blaring, listening to that one singer. But then, as if inspired by the Divine Himself, our cantor kicked it up a notch from "lame" to "Divine Champion and Herald of Christ's Resurrection." With a nod from the Bishop, he got louder, more self-assured, and infinitely more passionate in his singing. He challenged that fire alarm as if it were Lucifer and he was Piers Plowman, fighting at the Tree of Life. And he won out. Of course, to acknowledge his victory and the ever-present power of Christ, the alarm shut off right when the entire congregation came together for the "Amen." (For you non-Catholics out there, this was after about seven minutes of solo song.) It was as if God truly blessed our mass and silenced our opposition.
From there, the mass itself was much more well-constructed than last year. It was as if the Bishop had read my blog and responded to my critique. The trilling was present, but much less noticeable. The homily was not heretical, nor was it completely tied in with the bashing of the gays and the abortionists, as is his usual idiom. There was a fair amount of generic social critique, but nothing that raised my ire as a free-thinking libertarian ensconsed in a world of crazy liberal academics.
There were only two other main points worthy of notice throughout, as the bishop kept things to a sane 2.5 hours. First, while I acknowledge that it may be part of the ceremony to bless the cross with the incense, I could not help but imagining the Bishop going around and saying, a la Cool Hand Luke, "Holying up the cross here, boss." I nearly lost it when that popped randomly in my head, and stared at my feet resolutely for a minute after the fact. Though I do think that kind of speech would really bring the ceremony home to the common man. "Holying up the bread here, boss." "Transubstantiating the Eucharist here, boss." "Washing my hands here, boss." Etc.
Second, during the baptismal, it is customary for the Bishop to move throughout the church, scattering holy water onto the congregation. Our bishop. though, has not a mitre that holds water, as at my old church, but what is best described as a bundle of reeds tied together, soaked in water. This bundle manages to hurl large quantities of water out over the crowd in large droplets, and this year the Bishop seemed to take a kind of manic glee in aiming directly for the faces of small children. It looked like an insane Santa Claus bringing gifts, except instead of presents, you got a faceful of water flung in extreme violence. I myself caught the full brunt of one such toss, which nearly drove one of my contact lenses out of my eye. Though my eye did feel very holy afterwards.
That was pretty much it. Not as eventful or mirthful as last year, granted, but still full of its own unique brand of charm. I'll stop here, as my student should be here any moment, and leave you with my yearly Easter condemnation of the Hebraic people. That means you, McJew. See what happens when you mess with the Son of God? You're just lucky Jesus didn't bust out his mad vampire-slaying kung fu. Alleluia, bitch. (God, I'm going to Hell, aren't I?)
Saturday, April 07, 2007
Blog! The Musical
After a very lengthy hiatus, I'm back to hit the ground running. Shortly, I plan to post about my recent trip to New York and chronicle the hilarity that ensued. But first, I must fulfill SpeakMemory's request and compile a list of musicals I find awesome. (As a side note, I'm looking for a nickname for her and Renaissance Man's newborn child. My question, to the more literarily-inclined of my brethren and sistren, is which author would you have if you combined Spenser and Nabokov?)
Ok, please note, this list is in no particular order, nor is it exhaustive. It's merely my impressions of shows that people should see, if they get the chance. Also, please note my own bias. I'm aware that there are many older musicals that people consider good. I just don't like them as much. Particularly of the era of Rogers and Hammerstein, whom I acknowledge as innovative for their time, but who don't particularly do anything for me. Also, please note I'm trying to stick to stage musicals here, thus excluding both older fare like the Fred Astaire movies as well as newer things like Disney musicals or Moulin Rouge.
Musicals that are Awesome
1. Anything by Sondheim. You really can't go wrong with the man, but I'll list here two that I've actually seen and enjoyed multiple times.
1a. Into the Woods: This fractured fairy-tale, as penned by the brilliant Stephen Sondheim, tells the combined stories of Cinderella, Jack and the Beanstalk, Little Red Riding Hood, Rapunzel, and various other stock characters in more supporting roles. It centers around the quest of a Baker and his wife to have a child, and weaves between all the traditional stories, so that all are happily ever after by the end of the first act. Then, everything goes to hell. It's a profoundly beautiful piece of work that deals with storytelling, childhood and adulthood, magic beans, runaway cows, and all the issues of modern life. Probably my favorite musical of all time, and my favorite show I was ever a part of.
1b. Assassins: My second Sondheim choice, this play tells the stories of the successful and failed presidential assassins of our time. It questions the nature of what makes an assassin an important figure, the power we read into them through a historical lens, and the motivations of figures we might dismiss as merely crazy. "The Ballad of Booth" is a singularly strong piece, as is "The Gun Song," a four-part harmony, sung at times without instrumentation, that requires perfect timing and tone. Also of note is "Unworthy of Your Love," a duet between the guy who shot Reagan for Jodie Foster and the girl who tried to kill Ford for the love of Charles Manson.
2. The Fantasticks: A particularly simple and stirring play. Boy meets girl. Boy and girl fall in love, in spite of fathers' feud. Fathers actually staging feud to make boy and girl fall in love. Fathers hire man to rape daughter so that son may save her and end feud. Wackiness ensues. Feud ends. And, in act 2, all again goes to hell. This play is beautiful for its simplicity, for its earnestness, and for the openness of emotion that it isn't afraid to deal with. It examines the nature of growth, the necessity of pain, and the foundations of a lasting love. It's one of the most moving love stories I've ever seen set to song. But please avoid the film version, which is soul-suckingly bad.
3. A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum: The single funniest show I've ever seen (well, been in, technically). It's laugh out loud funny. Seriously, words cannot describe how funny this show is. See it.
4. Man of La Mancha: I love this show because it's different from anything else I've seen. The Spanish flair they bring to the tale sets it apart musically in a way I haven't seen duplicated elsewhere. And you can't listen to "The Impossible Dream" without feeling stirred in some way. Plus, it appeals to all the literary junkies out there, though the actual tale has very little to do with Don Quixote the novel.
5. Pippin: Pippin has some catchy songs, an interesting ending twist, and loads of fun. But really, you see it because of all the Fosse choreography. It's stylistic and slick, sensuous and seductive, and there are pyrotechnics in the end.
6. Wicked: Say what you will about Wicked. I can see why some people might have problems with the music. Or the dialogue. Or whatever. It's still one hell of a spectacle, which is half of what a good musical should be. I personally enjoy it, and think that when it's strong, it's insanely strong. The closing number of the first act ("Defying Gravity") alone overcomes most of the detriments of the show.
7a. and 7b. Andrew Lloyd Weber has precisely two good musicals in my mind. Jesus Christ Superstar and Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dream Coat. Superstar has a very distinct sound, and the rock elements of it make up in many ways for Weber's usual shortcoming, that almost all songs are variations on one another. I've seen it multiple times, and enjoyed it every time. Also, the roles of Jesus and Judas are a dream come true for a high tenor. Joseph, in turn, is just fun. You can't not smile while listening to it. It invites you to not have a care in the world while you're watching the show, and it succeeds more often than it fails. Like Fantasticks, it's a simplistic show, and gains strength from that.
Musicals that are Not Quite as Awesome, But Still Worth Seeing
1a. &1b. Les Miserables and Miss Saigon. By the same pair, whose names I don't have in front of me. These shows are constantly hyped, and musical snobs will often disdain them as being too popular (and thus not good). I can see this criticism, and I recognize that there are truly awful parts to them (the choreography of "One Day More" in particular comes to mind). But I've enjoyed them both times I've seen them, and I still occasionally listen to the music. Worth checking out.
2. 1776: John Adams was apparently a badass. And Thomas Jefferson? Nearly didn't write the Declaration of Independence because he was getting it on with Mrs. J. And there's a really cool song where the southern representative accuses the north's complicity in the slave trade. Only seen it once, and I don't have any of the music, but I remember really liking it.
3. Little Shop of Horrors: It's fun, what can I say? Check it out.
4. Rent: I love this musical every time I see it, and I'm torn as to whether or not to put it into the "Awesome" category. But it loses points for being too trendy, a bit too simplistic, and for a truly atrocious movie version. Again, see the snob category. But if you get a chance to see it with a decent cast, definitely do so.
5. Songs for a New World: This doesn't make the "Awesome" list just because it doesn't really have a plot. Or any cohesion. It's more of a collection of songs than a musical. That being said, the songs themselves are entertaining, energetic, and at times very moving. Give it a listen and see if you don't agree.
6. Godspell: I've been in this show twice, and seen it twice more. It's campy, good clean fun. The songs are nice, energetic, and occasionally beautiful. But avoid the movie version, which drains all the fun out of it.
Musicals I've Never Seen, But Whose Music I Enjoy
1. Avenue Q: Told by puppets, it's as if the muppets grew up and lived in New York. The opening number is entitled "What Do You Do With a B.A. in English?" and goes on to meditate upon whose life sucks the most. Also includes such numbers as "The Internet is for Porn," "Everyone's a Little Bit Racist," and "Schadenfreude." Also very stirring are "I Wish I Could Go Back to College" and my personal favorite "There's a Fine, Fine Line." Never seen it, hear it's awesome, and I love the songs.
2. Children of Eden: I still am upset that I didn't see this when it was done at Northwestern. The first act tells the story of the creation of the world, of Adam and Eve, up to the death of Abel and the banishment of Cain. The second act tells the story of Noah and the flood. It deals with fatherhood, children, and the price of freedom and creation. I love the music, and highly recommend it.
3. A New Brain: By the same man who brought us March of the Falsettos and Spelling Bee (I think), it's a musical about a neurotic songwriter who has to have brain surgery. (Also largely autobiographical, so I'm told.) The music is fresh and innovative, and the interplay of "Heart and Music" is particularly intriguing. Probably highest on my "check these out" list whenever I get a chance.
4. Cabaret: I tried to see this when it came to NU, but it was sold out every time I went. Cabaret singers, Nazis, what more do you want?
5. Ragtime: I've never seen it, but I have all the music memorized. I acknowledge the critique that there is very little actual ragtime music in it, but it's very stirring in its own way. Of course, part of that may be coming from my love of the source material, despite the fact that the musical ends on a much happier note.
6. Hairspray: I've only heard a few songs from this, but they were all pretty cool. Not cool enough to make me buy the soundtrack, but enough to make me anticipate the forthcoming movie. Of particular note is the closing number "You Can't Stop the Beat," which is just hands down a great way to end a show.
And with that, I end my lists. I'm sure there are some I'm forgetting, but c'est la vie. True aficionadoes out there will note that my list is somewhat mainstream. I apologize, but I don't get out to much theatre anymore, and most of what I saw at NU was bad dramatic theatre, not musical theatre. So I invite you to correct and augment my list via comments. Particularly those of you out there actually involved in the theatre industry.
Ok, please note, this list is in no particular order, nor is it exhaustive. It's merely my impressions of shows that people should see, if they get the chance. Also, please note my own bias. I'm aware that there are many older musicals that people consider good. I just don't like them as much. Particularly of the era of Rogers and Hammerstein, whom I acknowledge as innovative for their time, but who don't particularly do anything for me. Also, please note I'm trying to stick to stage musicals here, thus excluding both older fare like the Fred Astaire movies as well as newer things like Disney musicals or Moulin Rouge.
Musicals that are Awesome
1. Anything by Sondheim. You really can't go wrong with the man, but I'll list here two that I've actually seen and enjoyed multiple times.
1a. Into the Woods: This fractured fairy-tale, as penned by the brilliant Stephen Sondheim, tells the combined stories of Cinderella, Jack and the Beanstalk, Little Red Riding Hood, Rapunzel, and various other stock characters in more supporting roles. It centers around the quest of a Baker and his wife to have a child, and weaves between all the traditional stories, so that all are happily ever after by the end of the first act. Then, everything goes to hell. It's a profoundly beautiful piece of work that deals with storytelling, childhood and adulthood, magic beans, runaway cows, and all the issues of modern life. Probably my favorite musical of all time, and my favorite show I was ever a part of.
1b. Assassins: My second Sondheim choice, this play tells the stories of the successful and failed presidential assassins of our time. It questions the nature of what makes an assassin an important figure, the power we read into them through a historical lens, and the motivations of figures we might dismiss as merely crazy. "The Ballad of Booth" is a singularly strong piece, as is "The Gun Song," a four-part harmony, sung at times without instrumentation, that requires perfect timing and tone. Also of note is "Unworthy of Your Love," a duet between the guy who shot Reagan for Jodie Foster and the girl who tried to kill Ford for the love of Charles Manson.
2. The Fantasticks: A particularly simple and stirring play. Boy meets girl. Boy and girl fall in love, in spite of fathers' feud. Fathers actually staging feud to make boy and girl fall in love. Fathers hire man to rape daughter so that son may save her and end feud. Wackiness ensues. Feud ends. And, in act 2, all again goes to hell. This play is beautiful for its simplicity, for its earnestness, and for the openness of emotion that it isn't afraid to deal with. It examines the nature of growth, the necessity of pain, and the foundations of a lasting love. It's one of the most moving love stories I've ever seen set to song. But please avoid the film version, which is soul-suckingly bad.
3. A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum: The single funniest show I've ever seen (well, been in, technically). It's laugh out loud funny. Seriously, words cannot describe how funny this show is. See it.
4. Man of La Mancha: I love this show because it's different from anything else I've seen. The Spanish flair they bring to the tale sets it apart musically in a way I haven't seen duplicated elsewhere. And you can't listen to "The Impossible Dream" without feeling stirred in some way. Plus, it appeals to all the literary junkies out there, though the actual tale has very little to do with Don Quixote the novel.
5. Pippin: Pippin has some catchy songs, an interesting ending twist, and loads of fun. But really, you see it because of all the Fosse choreography. It's stylistic and slick, sensuous and seductive, and there are pyrotechnics in the end.
6. Wicked: Say what you will about Wicked. I can see why some people might have problems with the music. Or the dialogue. Or whatever. It's still one hell of a spectacle, which is half of what a good musical should be. I personally enjoy it, and think that when it's strong, it's insanely strong. The closing number of the first act ("Defying Gravity") alone overcomes most of the detriments of the show.
7a. and 7b. Andrew Lloyd Weber has precisely two good musicals in my mind. Jesus Christ Superstar and Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dream Coat. Superstar has a very distinct sound, and the rock elements of it make up in many ways for Weber's usual shortcoming, that almost all songs are variations on one another. I've seen it multiple times, and enjoyed it every time. Also, the roles of Jesus and Judas are a dream come true for a high tenor. Joseph, in turn, is just fun. You can't not smile while listening to it. It invites you to not have a care in the world while you're watching the show, and it succeeds more often than it fails. Like Fantasticks, it's a simplistic show, and gains strength from that.
Musicals that are Not Quite as Awesome, But Still Worth Seeing
1a. &1b. Les Miserables and Miss Saigon. By the same pair, whose names I don't have in front of me. These shows are constantly hyped, and musical snobs will often disdain them as being too popular (and thus not good). I can see this criticism, and I recognize that there are truly awful parts to them (the choreography of "One Day More" in particular comes to mind). But I've enjoyed them both times I've seen them, and I still occasionally listen to the music. Worth checking out.
2. 1776: John Adams was apparently a badass. And Thomas Jefferson? Nearly didn't write the Declaration of Independence because he was getting it on with Mrs. J. And there's a really cool song where the southern representative accuses the north's complicity in the slave trade. Only seen it once, and I don't have any of the music, but I remember really liking it.
3. Little Shop of Horrors: It's fun, what can I say? Check it out.
4. Rent: I love this musical every time I see it, and I'm torn as to whether or not to put it into the "Awesome" category. But it loses points for being too trendy, a bit too simplistic, and for a truly atrocious movie version. Again, see the snob category. But if you get a chance to see it with a decent cast, definitely do so.
5. Songs for a New World: This doesn't make the "Awesome" list just because it doesn't really have a plot. Or any cohesion. It's more of a collection of songs than a musical. That being said, the songs themselves are entertaining, energetic, and at times very moving. Give it a listen and see if you don't agree.
6. Godspell: I've been in this show twice, and seen it twice more. It's campy, good clean fun. The songs are nice, energetic, and occasionally beautiful. But avoid the movie version, which drains all the fun out of it.
Musicals I've Never Seen, But Whose Music I Enjoy
1. Avenue Q: Told by puppets, it's as if the muppets grew up and lived in New York. The opening number is entitled "What Do You Do With a B.A. in English?" and goes on to meditate upon whose life sucks the most. Also includes such numbers as "The Internet is for Porn," "Everyone's a Little Bit Racist," and "Schadenfreude." Also very stirring are "I Wish I Could Go Back to College" and my personal favorite "There's a Fine, Fine Line." Never seen it, hear it's awesome, and I love the songs.
2. Children of Eden: I still am upset that I didn't see this when it was done at Northwestern. The first act tells the story of the creation of the world, of Adam and Eve, up to the death of Abel and the banishment of Cain. The second act tells the story of Noah and the flood. It deals with fatherhood, children, and the price of freedom and creation. I love the music, and highly recommend it.
3. A New Brain: By the same man who brought us March of the Falsettos and Spelling Bee (I think), it's a musical about a neurotic songwriter who has to have brain surgery. (Also largely autobiographical, so I'm told.) The music is fresh and innovative, and the interplay of "Heart and Music" is particularly intriguing. Probably highest on my "check these out" list whenever I get a chance.
4. Cabaret: I tried to see this when it came to NU, but it was sold out every time I went. Cabaret singers, Nazis, what more do you want?
5. Ragtime: I've never seen it, but I have all the music memorized. I acknowledge the critique that there is very little actual ragtime music in it, but it's very stirring in its own way. Of course, part of that may be coming from my love of the source material, despite the fact that the musical ends on a much happier note.
6. Hairspray: I've only heard a few songs from this, but they were all pretty cool. Not cool enough to make me buy the soundtrack, but enough to make me anticipate the forthcoming movie. Of particular note is the closing number "You Can't Stop the Beat," which is just hands down a great way to end a show.
And with that, I end my lists. I'm sure there are some I'm forgetting, but c'est la vie. True aficionadoes out there will note that my list is somewhat mainstream. I apologize, but I don't get out to much theatre anymore, and most of what I saw at NU was bad dramatic theatre, not musical theatre. So I invite you to correct and augment my list via comments. Particularly those of you out there actually involved in the theatre industry.
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Better to View in Hell, then Read in Heav'n
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.)
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, 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.
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