Sometimes, you love something so much, and it is a very popular thing, and you know it's illogical that you should love it and other people should not be able to, but sometimes, you just know that you love it in a special way that is better than anyone else. Sometimes you just know.
The Walking Dead is a massively popular television show, and I resent that, because I like it more and better than anyone. There is graphic violence and gore galore, and I just know that's why so many people like it, but not me. It is one of the most hopeful and humanistic stories on television and it has reminded me so many times to withhold judgment on people without knowing their stories, and to believe in people's capacity to change and become better. Sometimes worse too. But to see the travails of this band of post-apocalypse as they struggle with walkers (a.k.a. zombies), but to a greater degree, with their fellow humans...that is the brutality and the beauty of this terrible and terrific show.
And I like it more than anyone does.
Kings of Leon are a massively popular band, and I resent that, because I like them more and better than anyone. Their countrified gritty rock and roll almost never loses its heart as it meanders around the big city and tries out the big lights and sexy glam of various genres; jamming soulful and emotionally brutal and beautiful lyrics into stadium-sized intimate pieces of four-minute magic. Other people just wait for the big choruses that probably got played nine billion times a week on every radio station. Not me. The Face. Back Down South. True Love Ways. Cold Desert. Wait for Me. I know them, and two dozen other timeless tracks to score the peaks and valleys of life, and they have soundtracked a hundred walks I've made on my mountain on dark lonely nights when I needed to be alone with someone, and they were there for me.
I definitely like them better than anyone else does.
There's people too; people who are loved and liked by many, and that's the hardest, because I pay attention to the nuances and the beats; the little moments and the collected eclecticisms that shadow by everyone else, and they are filed in my head in a growing living sculpture of love at the beauty that is a unique person, and it doesn't matter if everyone likes them...
I like them, better than anyone else does.
Oh, the competitive life.
Showing posts with label television. Show all posts
Showing posts with label television. Show all posts
4.25.2019
11.02.2018
THE WEEK BEHIND : Duplass, Sedaris, Norsemen.
Things that are uncountable:
The number of times a week Donald J. Trump lies, throws somebody under the bus, empty-brags, or embarasses the office of the Presidency.
The number of times a week our youngest son commits an act with great forethought and deliberation while simultaneously announcing what he's doing with a repeated series of "Uh-oh. Uh-oh. Uh-oh..."
Accidents happen.
Speaking of accidents: serendipity was a spelling word on our daughter's test today. So it seemed like we should watch the trailer for the 2001 Kate Beckinsale / John Cusack rom-com. So we did.
Cocaine green.
What does your child salivate over for a snack? Let me tell you about our two boys: separated by six and a half years, united in their hilarious addiction to frozen peas for a snack. Yeah. Frozen peas. The green crack snack.
Halloween happened.
A cowgirl. A teenager trying to act all cool. A panda. Or a cow. Hard to tell.
They made a sugar fortune and have enjoyed little of the bounty; fortunately we do not have a security system effective enough to keep me out of their hard-worked for treasures.
Ejvindr has spent the last two days organizing his candy into various buckets, backpacks, and bags. Over. And over and over and over. It has not been communicated to him that there's candy inside these brightly wrapped little objects. Also, learning what candy is has not been part of his education yet, so he is playing with something and has no idea what's actually inside. If he only knew. I have forbade the children, under penalty of throwing away all candy and frozen peas, that he is not to learn the identity of his toys (i.e. candy). Yet. Not yet. The floodgates will open someday. But not yet.
Also, my little sister the older made some pretty nifty costumes for her fam. Straight from How to Train Your Dragon. Pretty cool, pretty crafty.
Standard time.
The clock changes this weekend. Standard time, I think. Fall back?
Phone numbers have seven digits because - at least in the days when people needed to remember phone numbers - seven is the number of digits that most people can carry in their short- to mid-term memory. That's doable. Know what's hard?
Remembering one thing when there's a total of two options. Like : just take a left at the stop sign.
You start second-guessing yourself. I don't take a left, right? Right is right. Not left, right.
All of a sudden a simple thing becomes extraordinarily complicated. Such is my life. Complicating simple tasks and simplifying complex ideas.
My mom, two books
Several months ago, my mom gave me two books within a couple weeks of each other.
One is called Like Brothers. It's by the Duplass brothers, who really are brothers and filmmakers. It is inspiring and wonderful and these brothers love each other so much, like I love mine.
The other is called Calypso. It's by David Sedaris, one of my favorite writers, and it is dark and hilarious and he writes about his husband and family and all the love and frustration he has in his interactions with them. Also, he talks about American phrases he loathes, such as : it is what it is.
She gave them to me because she thought I'd like them. She has a knack for that. Giving books that somehow are there when I need them. I needed these ones.
Things I hate
Walking across a kitchen floor in my bare feet and stepping in breakfast cereal that some idiot has spilled.
Things I hate more than that
Walking across a kitchen floor in my socks and stepping in sticky rice that some idiot has spilled.
Things that weren't horrible
A) I didn't tip my riding mower over when I made a poor decision to take it diagonally across a hill.
B) A cloud of particular interest flew by around 11am.
C) My dad called last night and said this:
Joey, find the show Norsemen on Netflix. Just watch fifteen minutes. I think you'll be glad.
I did so, because he's my dad. And I could tell it would make him happy to know that I'd checked it out. So I did. I watched it, as did Becca, until she fell asleep.
I laughed so good. One of the funniest first-episodes of a show I'd seen. He was so right. I can't wait to watch it with him.
The phrase "Python-esque humor" in television is a little like saying "Beatle-esque sounding" in music. It's so diluted it means little anymore. The reality is, we should agree that pretty much all good pop music and rock and roll owes a debt to the Beatles, in the same manner that pretty much all droll and properly-offending television programmes owe a debt to Terry Gilliam, John Cleese, and the crew.
Norsemen, after one half hour episode, has the Python spirit. Its own tone, its own thing for sure, but a proper entrant in the well-done, played-straight classic telly shows.
D) Becca made a really savory, chunky, spicy soup for Friday supper.
E. Magdelana has been baking up a storm. Pumpkin bread, pumpkin muffins, all sorts of delicacies.
Things I got worked up about this week and might have given long monologues on as a result
I worked this week, on my work days - and nights - in the dungeon.
Because that's where I work. It gets cold, and I saw a lot of rain through my dirty cracked window at the top of our mountain.
Listened to a bunch of Chvrches and a lot of Liszt this week.
We are alive, and there is love. We have love, we have loud music, and we have a lot of art supplies. And each other. So another week in the life ledger.
My little sister, the littlest.
She sent me a text this week in response to something I wrote, and her response included these two lines:
"...reading what you write feels like another way to breathe."
and
"I love how sparingly you use commas."
I love, I love it, I love her and I love that she observes and articulates what she observes. It matters.
It means so much to have someone acknowledge and respond to what you do when you do something that you care about.
The number of times a week Donald J. Trump lies, throws somebody under the bus, empty-brags, or embarasses the office of the Presidency.
The number of times a week our youngest son commits an act with great forethought and deliberation while simultaneously announcing what he's doing with a repeated series of "Uh-oh. Uh-oh. Uh-oh..."
Accidents happen.
Speaking of accidents: serendipity was a spelling word on our daughter's test today. So it seemed like we should watch the trailer for the 2001 Kate Beckinsale / John Cusack rom-com. So we did.
Cocaine green.
What does your child salivate over for a snack? Let me tell you about our two boys: separated by six and a half years, united in their hilarious addiction to frozen peas for a snack. Yeah. Frozen peas. The green crack snack.
Halloween happened.
A cowgirl. A teenager trying to act all cool. A panda. Or a cow. Hard to tell.
They made a sugar fortune and have enjoyed little of the bounty; fortunately we do not have a security system effective enough to keep me out of their hard-worked for treasures.
Ejvindr has spent the last two days organizing his candy into various buckets, backpacks, and bags. Over. And over and over and over. It has not been communicated to him that there's candy inside these brightly wrapped little objects. Also, learning what candy is has not been part of his education yet, so he is playing with something and has no idea what's actually inside. If he only knew. I have forbade the children, under penalty of throwing away all candy and frozen peas, that he is not to learn the identity of his toys (i.e. candy). Yet. Not yet. The floodgates will open someday. But not yet.
Also, my little sister the older made some pretty nifty costumes for her fam. Straight from How to Train Your Dragon. Pretty cool, pretty crafty.
Standard time.
The clock changes this weekend. Standard time, I think. Fall back?
Phone numbers have seven digits because - at least in the days when people needed to remember phone numbers - seven is the number of digits that most people can carry in their short- to mid-term memory. That's doable. Know what's hard?
Remembering one thing when there's a total of two options. Like : just take a left at the stop sign.
You start second-guessing yourself. I don't take a left, right? Right is right. Not left, right.
All of a sudden a simple thing becomes extraordinarily complicated. Such is my life. Complicating simple tasks and simplifying complex ideas.
My mom, two books
Several months ago, my mom gave me two books within a couple weeks of each other.
One is called Like Brothers. It's by the Duplass brothers, who really are brothers and filmmakers. It is inspiring and wonderful and these brothers love each other so much, like I love mine.
The other is called Calypso. It's by David Sedaris, one of my favorite writers, and it is dark and hilarious and he writes about his husband and family and all the love and frustration he has in his interactions with them. Also, he talks about American phrases he loathes, such as : it is what it is.
She gave them to me because she thought I'd like them. She has a knack for that. Giving books that somehow are there when I need them. I needed these ones.
Things I hate
Walking across a kitchen floor in my bare feet and stepping in breakfast cereal that some idiot has spilled.
Things I hate more than that
Walking across a kitchen floor in my socks and stepping in sticky rice that some idiot has spilled.
Things that weren't horrible
A) I didn't tip my riding mower over when I made a poor decision to take it diagonally across a hill.
B) A cloud of particular interest flew by around 11am.
C) My dad called last night and said this:
Joey, find the show Norsemen on Netflix. Just watch fifteen minutes. I think you'll be glad.
I did so, because he's my dad. And I could tell it would make him happy to know that I'd checked it out. So I did. I watched it, as did Becca, until she fell asleep.
I laughed so good. One of the funniest first-episodes of a show I'd seen. He was so right. I can't wait to watch it with him.
The phrase "Python-esque humor" in television is a little like saying "Beatle-esque sounding" in music. It's so diluted it means little anymore. The reality is, we should agree that pretty much all good pop music and rock and roll owes a debt to the Beatles, in the same manner that pretty much all droll and properly-offending television programmes owe a debt to Terry Gilliam, John Cleese, and the crew.
Norsemen, after one half hour episode, has the Python spirit. Its own tone, its own thing for sure, but a proper entrant in the well-done, played-straight classic telly shows.
D) Becca made a really savory, chunky, spicy soup for Friday supper.
E. Magdelana has been baking up a storm. Pumpkin bread, pumpkin muffins, all sorts of delicacies.
Things I got worked up about this week and might have given long monologues on as a result
- The Renaissance. Yeah, the one that started in northern Europe in the 1400s and was a big factor in the ensuing Age of Exploration, for better or worse. Probably worse for the 80-90% of indigenous populations that were wiped out as a result.
- How much more I like Hungarian composer Franz Liszt than Hungarian composer Bela Bartok.
- Prime factorization. I got into a bit of a competition with Magdelana as I got engrossed in one of her lessons. Addicting. Quick: prime factorization of 27. A: 3x3x3 Ready for the next one? Try 428.
- Primogeniture. The concept of wealth and land being passed to the oldest son and its impact on Spain and other European countries as they ran out of land and needed to find more somewhere...hello, Americas!
- There's other stuff. I get worked up a lot these days. For example, I got worked up during the last two innings of one of the World Series games. That was the only baseball I watched all year, but true to form, Johannes, that precious angelic long-haired lad, wanted to know why I was so obsessed with baseball and why it was more important than tucking him in.
"I guess you'd rather watch your baseball than lay by me,"
he said as he trudged off to bed.
What a masterful guilt trip. I typically loathe them, but you gotta give props where they're due.
Again: two innings of the World Series. I think the Sox beat the Dodgers.
I worked this week, on my work days - and nights - in the dungeon.
Because that's where I work. It gets cold, and I saw a lot of rain through my dirty cracked window at the top of our mountain.
Listened to a bunch of Chvrches and a lot of Liszt this week.
We are alive, and there is love. We have love, we have loud music, and we have a lot of art supplies. And each other. So another week in the life ledger.
My little sister, the littlest.
She sent me a text this week in response to something I wrote, and her response included these two lines:
"...reading what you write feels like another way to breathe."
and
"I love how sparingly you use commas."
I love, I love it, I love her and I love that she observes and articulates what she observes. It matters.
It means so much to have someone acknowledge and respond to what you do when you do something that you care about.
8.22.2018
PEDESTALS ARE DANGEROUS.
I rarely rewatch things.* Especially television. But I finished rewatching Big Little Lies a few nights ago. This time with Becca. And it held up a second time. HBO's masterful seven-episode series about a murder in an upscale coastal California town touches on so many themes and dynamics that are most notably centered around a group of moms and their relationships with their children and husbands.
Hilarious, disturbing, spellbinding, suspenseful, and killer dialogue. Revolving around women, it also features a supporting cast of men who shine some uncomfortable light on character traits and attitudes indigenous to my gender. Uncomfortable, but also enlightening and entertaining.
The one big suspension of belief that must be taken...I think: parents, talk to and with your children.
There's an idea running throughout of parents simply accepting that their six-year old children won't tell them something (a key plot point). It's a recurring idea; and unfortunately mirrors a lot of real life these days. The idea that we should be - or it's normal to be - scared of our children; that it's somehow our job to entertain them at all points and to help gain and preserve social status with their peers and that to respect them means that they get to do (almost) whatever they want...an idea that they get from...where?
Yes. Us.
I'm not scared of children. I'm not scared of saying No to children. I respect and dialog with children from the time they're born. I don't and won't talk down to them.
But I will not be cowed or scared of them.
That is the sad reality displayed frequently on BLL. A reality that kids are often running the show and it's our job to be at beck and call, to wait on hand and foot, to quickly forgive their lapses of conscience, character, behavior, and point the finger elsewhere; to put them on a pedestal.
Toys don't belong in glass cases.
And children don't belong on pedestals.
They're human beings. Human beings with agency. Which means they make mistakes and we help them learn from them and move on. With kindness, with love, with respect.
And human beings, period, don't belong on pedestals.
Becca and I tell our kids, over and over:
You don't need to be perfect.
Forget perfection.
We expect two things from you when you're learning or doing something new and challenging:
1. We expect that you will bring your best
2. We expect you to improve in a linear fashion. Steady improvement.
We help them in encouraging and positive ways...and also constructive and challenging ways. And we give them the gift of knowing that while they're children, we are running the show. We will listen, will answer any and every question the best we can, given that they are asked in respectful and relevant ways, and we will love them with all of our being. All.
So when something comes along that might affect our young child's safety, we do not accept the answer:
"I can't talk about it. I can't tell you. I promised I wouldn't tell."
Nope.
We talk. We hold conversation. We dialogue. Every day. About little, little things, over and over, so when the occasional big and tough conversations come along, we have a pattern and foundation for how to talk.
Endless conversation, endless questions from us to them and them to us and Becca to me and me to her and all of us to each other. We have set a roadmap of neo-Socratic discourse that is our course, for better or for worse.
As they get older, there will be a time for secrets; that is part of breaking away and creating a separate identity.
But ideally, no place for lies. Big or little.
In the meantime, we talk. With each other.
We do the best we can, parents across the world, to keep our children safe. To give them a life that is first of all, has safety and love, and second of all, is filled with curiosity, joy, and a core understanding that they don't exist to be served. Part of their existence is to fill their part of the world with goodness, with love, and with their special skills and talents and interests.
To recognize there is a bigger world out there than their little group of friends and acquaintances and that they have a mandate, as a human being, to help look out for each other.
That should be our aim.
___
*the are approximately two exceptions:
1) the long list of films we have been rewatching over time with our children, as certain ones become age-appropriate and relevant (i.e. no Pulp Fiction...yet),
and
2) rewatching for educational value when I'm working on curriculum and pulling examples from cinema or art for students to learn from,
and
3) rewatching for bonding, for example, a viewing of MacGruber with my brothers,
or
4) certain films just because they're super good for rewatching, such as Hugo.
Hilarious, disturbing, spellbinding, suspenseful, and killer dialogue. Revolving around women, it also features a supporting cast of men who shine some uncomfortable light on character traits and attitudes indigenous to my gender. Uncomfortable, but also enlightening and entertaining.
The one big suspension of belief that must be taken...I think: parents, talk to and with your children.
There's an idea running throughout of parents simply accepting that their six-year old children won't tell them something (a key plot point). It's a recurring idea; and unfortunately mirrors a lot of real life these days. The idea that we should be - or it's normal to be - scared of our children; that it's somehow our job to entertain them at all points and to help gain and preserve social status with their peers and that to respect them means that they get to do (almost) whatever they want...an idea that they get from...where?
Yes. Us.
source: www.vanityfair.com
I'm not scared of children. I'm not scared of saying No to children. I respect and dialog with children from the time they're born. I don't and won't talk down to them.
But I will not be cowed or scared of them.
That is the sad reality displayed frequently on BLL. A reality that kids are often running the show and it's our job to be at beck and call, to wait on hand and foot, to quickly forgive their lapses of conscience, character, behavior, and point the finger elsewhere; to put them on a pedestal.
Toys don't belong in glass cases.
And children don't belong on pedestals.
They're human beings. Human beings with agency. Which means they make mistakes and we help them learn from them and move on. With kindness, with love, with respect.
And human beings, period, don't belong on pedestals.
Becca and I tell our kids, over and over:
You don't need to be perfect.
Forget perfection.
We expect two things from you when you're learning or doing something new and challenging:
1. We expect that you will bring your best
2. We expect you to improve in a linear fashion. Steady improvement.
We help them in encouraging and positive ways...and also constructive and challenging ways. And we give them the gift of knowing that while they're children, we are running the show. We will listen, will answer any and every question the best we can, given that they are asked in respectful and relevant ways, and we will love them with all of our being. All.
So when something comes along that might affect our young child's safety, we do not accept the answer:
"I can't talk about it. I can't tell you. I promised I wouldn't tell."
Nope.
We talk. We hold conversation. We dialogue. Every day. About little, little things, over and over, so when the occasional big and tough conversations come along, we have a pattern and foundation for how to talk.
Endless conversation, endless questions from us to them and them to us and Becca to me and me to her and all of us to each other. We have set a roadmap of neo-Socratic discourse that is our course, for better or for worse.
As they get older, there will be a time for secrets; that is part of breaking away and creating a separate identity.
But ideally, no place for lies. Big or little.
In the meantime, we talk. With each other.
We do the best we can, parents across the world, to keep our children safe. To give them a life that is first of all, has safety and love, and second of all, is filled with curiosity, joy, and a core understanding that they don't exist to be served. Part of their existence is to fill their part of the world with goodness, with love, and with their special skills and talents and interests.
To recognize there is a bigger world out there than their little group of friends and acquaintances and that they have a mandate, as a human being, to help look out for each other.
That should be our aim.
___
*the are approximately two exceptions:
1) the long list of films we have been rewatching over time with our children, as certain ones become age-appropriate and relevant (i.e. no Pulp Fiction...yet),
and
2) rewatching for educational value when I'm working on curriculum and pulling examples from cinema or art for students to learn from,
and
3) rewatching for bonding, for example, a viewing of MacGruber with my brothers,
or
4) certain films just because they're super good for rewatching, such as Hugo.
10.20.2016
RUN TO THE HILLS (THEY'RE ALIVE WITH THE SOUND!).
Is The Walking Dead pretty intense?
he casually asked.
Umm...
I thought carefully, trying to ascertain the question in the context of last night's Presidential debate.
Yes. It's pretty intense. Why?
It just seems like it would be pretty intense.
he said.
Does it have a bad ending?
I don't know.
I said.
I haven't seen the ending.
Are there a lot of doctors in it?
he asked.
Well...
I responded, memory stumbling.
Yeah. I think there's some doctors in it. Or some people trying to find solutions to the...problems.
Oh.
he said.
What's the problem about? Are a bunch of people sick, and that's why there's doctors?
Yeah.
I said.
A bunch of people got badly infected with a virus, and the people who were left came from very different backgrounds and didn't always get along, but they had to try and figure out how to get along with each other so they could help each other and try to maybe help others. It's kind of about people learning to get along with each other.
Oh.
he said.
Is that kind of virus real?
No, not necessarily,
I said.
Not that kind, but there are definitely bad viruses out there, and sometimes bad people are trying to figure out how to weaponize viruses, and good people, like a lot of scientists and doctors, are trying to figure out how to help cure viruses and other types of infections and illnesses. Are you interested in becoming a doctor?
No.
he said.
I just thought there must be a lot of doctors because of all the blood and stuff.
What blood?
I asked.
And just out of curiosity, what do you know about The Walking Dead?
I saw it at Powell's Books,
he explained.
There was a book on the shelf with a picture of a person with blood on their face and they were smashing through a window and it said The Walking Dead.
Definitely something for a doctor to help out with,
I said.
And hey! We haven't seen The Sound of Music in a long time...let's watch it soon!
Okay.
he said.
Daddy?
Yeah?
I said.
What's Breaking Bad about?*
____
*he did not say this. I was trying to write an ending and decided to unapologetically fictionalize this line in. It doesn't really work, does it?
he casually asked.
Umm...
I thought carefully, trying to ascertain the question in the context of last night's Presidential debate.
Yes. It's pretty intense. Why?
It just seems like it would be pretty intense.
he said.
Does it have a bad ending?
I don't know.
I said.
I haven't seen the ending.
Are there a lot of doctors in it?
he asked.
Well...
I responded, memory stumbling.
Yeah. I think there's some doctors in it. Or some people trying to find solutions to the...problems.
Oh.
he said.
What's the problem about? Are a bunch of people sick, and that's why there's doctors?
Yeah.
I said.
A bunch of people got badly infected with a virus, and the people who were left came from very different backgrounds and didn't always get along, but they had to try and figure out how to get along with each other so they could help each other and try to maybe help others. It's kind of about people learning to get along with each other.
Oh.
he said.
Is that kind of virus real?
No, not necessarily,
I said.
Not that kind, but there are definitely bad viruses out there, and sometimes bad people are trying to figure out how to weaponize viruses, and good people, like a lot of scientists and doctors, are trying to figure out how to help cure viruses and other types of infections and illnesses. Are you interested in becoming a doctor?
No.
he said.
I just thought there must be a lot of doctors because of all the blood and stuff.
What blood?
I asked.
And just out of curiosity, what do you know about The Walking Dead?
I saw it at Powell's Books,
he explained.
There was a book on the shelf with a picture of a person with blood on their face and they were smashing through a window and it said The Walking Dead.
Definitely something for a doctor to help out with,
I said.
And hey! We haven't seen The Sound of Music in a long time...let's watch it soon!
Okay.
he said.
Daddy?
Yeah?
I said.
What's Breaking Bad about?*
____
*he did not say this. I was trying to write an ending and decided to unapologetically fictionalize this line in. It doesn't really work, does it?
11.05.2014
YES YES YES YES YES YES (SERIES OF FORTUNATE EVENTS LEADS A SECRET SERIES TO NETFLIX).
Oh my goodness oh my goodness oh my goodness yes.
YES!
(now do it right, please. maybe...hire the crew over from Sherlock?...)
http://variety.com/…/netflix-to-produce-original-series-ba…/
YES!
(now do it right, please. maybe...hire the crew over from Sherlock?...)
http://variety.com/…/netflix-to-produce-original-series-ba…/
Lemony Snicket rocks, as does Daniel Handler.
8.11.2014
OVERHEARD, AND FAREWELL, ROBIN WILLIAMS.
Post by Joseph Long.
OVERHEARD.
(television spoiler ahead).
I strained to hear the woman as she alternated between her phone and her friend next to her:
"I watched the finale of Secret Life of the American Teenager last night. It was horrible. I hated it so much. In the end, she left her four-year old son so she could go back to school. I was so mad. I can't believe they can even put that on TV. I can't believe I even watched that show."
NOTE: I went to Wikipedia and it appears that it was not only the season 5 closer, but
the Series finale. So, that's one more show I can cross off my Never Need to See Now That I Know the Ending List. Whew. And I was debating starting either that or The Wire next...
7.13.2014
1988, COMING AT YOU AGAIN.
Daddy?
he asked.
Can we please watch Bill Cosby tonight?
Hold on.
I said.
We need to finish Family Ties first.
Still one of the best 1-2 punches of television ever.
he asked.
Can we please watch Bill Cosby tonight?
Hold on.
I said.
We need to finish Family Ties first.
Still one of the best 1-2 punches of television ever.
4.21.2013
Something Doesn't Seem Quite Right Here
Can you guys bring us breakfast in bed?
- recent request from our daughter to us, on behalf of her and her brother.
____
Fearless.
I'm sure there's plenty of entertaining cartoons on television these days. But I have difficulty believing that any of them could top the simple brilliance, satiric adventures, and witty writing of The Rocky & Bullwinkle Show, and its classic characters and supporting features.
A personal favourite: Fractured Fairy Tales, which despite being half a century old, still feels post-modern and edgy. Start with "Rapunzel."
Love.
- recent request from our daughter to us, on behalf of her and her brother.
____
Fearless.
I'm sure there's plenty of entertaining cartoons on television these days. But I have difficulty believing that any of them could top the simple brilliance, satiric adventures, and witty writing of The Rocky & Bullwinkle Show, and its classic characters and supporting features.
A personal favourite: Fractured Fairy Tales, which despite being half a century old, still feels post-modern and edgy. Start with "Rapunzel."
Love.
SEA OF SOLDIER BEES.
I was reading a wonderful adaptation of Hans Christian Anderson's "The Steadfast Tin Soldier" to the children this evening.* Becca was doing dishes, so I left the music going quietly to provide her a soundtrack beyond that of my droning voice.
Frequently, when you're scoring a film, the idea is that you don't have music with vocals going on at the same time as dialogue, because then the music tends to compete with, rather than complement the dialogue on-screen.
.jpg)
It so happened that we had been listening to Sea of Bees, the one-woman band composed of a woman called Jules, and, as you remember, continued to play as I read. Before I race off on a Kerouac-ian wordfest stretching into paragraphs of exultant exuberance over the brilliance of her beautiful, folksily-cinematic arrangements, I will simply conjecture that if you love:
Bob Dylan,
Be Good Tanyas,
Bon Iver,
or
Blonde Redhead
that there is a good chance you will fall in love with her harmony, hooks, and dynamic authenticity.
We continued through the tale of the Steadfast Tin Soldier and his love for the little dancer, and the buzz of SOB's "Wizbot" and "Gnomes" felt like the perfect accidental pairing of story with music and I almost got a little choked up when her voice started to break on the chorus of "Skinnybone" as I simultaneously read my children the apparent acceptance of the Soldier to his fate, as he is thrown -
- won't ruin the story. It's a good one.
Skinnybone / Wizbot
Songs for the Ravens
2010
Frequently, when you're scoring a film, the idea is that you don't have music with vocals going on at the same time as dialogue, because then the music tends to compete with, rather than complement the dialogue on-screen.
.jpg)
It so happened that we had been listening to Sea of Bees, the one-woman band composed of a woman called Jules, and, as you remember, continued to play as I read. Before I race off on a Kerouac-ian wordfest stretching into paragraphs of exultant exuberance over the brilliance of her beautiful, folksily-cinematic arrangements, I will simply conjecture that if you love:
Bob Dylan,
Be Good Tanyas,
Bon Iver,
or
Blonde Redhead
that there is a good chance you will fall in love with her harmony, hooks, and dynamic authenticity.
We continued through the tale of the Steadfast Tin Soldier and his love for the little dancer, and the buzz of SOB's "Wizbot" and "Gnomes" felt like the perfect accidental pairing of story with music and I almost got a little choked up when her voice started to break on the chorus of "Skinnybone" as I simultaneously read my children the apparent acceptance of the Soldier to his fate, as he is thrown -
- won't ruin the story. It's a good one.
Sea of Bees is a magnificent musical artist, and a lovely human being, based on my one conversation with her.
Happy Sunday night, all :)
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Sea-Of-Bees/197401657346?fref=ts
*retold by Portland author Cynthia Rylant
I'm sure there's plenty of entertaining cartoons on television these days. But I have difficulty believing that any of them could top the simple brilliance, satiric adventures, and witty writing of The Rocky & Bullwinkle Show, and its classic characters and supporting features.
A personal favourite: Fractured Fairy Tales, which despite being half a century old, still feels post-modern and edgy. Start with "Rapunzel."
Love.
RECOMMENDATIONS
Sea of BeesHappy Sunday night, all :)
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Sea-Of-Bees/197401657346?fref=ts
*retold by Portland author Cynthia Rylant
I'm sure there's plenty of entertaining cartoons on television these days. But I have difficulty believing that any of them could top the simple brilliance, satiric adventures, and witty writing of The Rocky & Bullwinkle Show, and its classic characters and supporting features.
A personal favourite: Fractured Fairy Tales, which despite being half a century old, still feels post-modern and edgy. Start with "Rapunzel."
Love.
RECOMMENDATIONS
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- Wendy Meier My sibling and I became fans of Rocky & Bullwinkle when we were in college, and now it's so fun to share the show with the resident 8-year-old. There's so much to love, including Bullwinkle's Minnesota origins, the dog Mr. Peabody and his boy Sherman who time travel, and especially Edward Everett Horton narrating the Fractured Fairy Tales. I agree wholeheartedly with your recommendation.6 hours ago · Unlike · 1
Skinnybone / Wizbot
Songs for the Ravens
2010
4.01.2013
My Favourite Completely Non-Contextual Question of the Day from My Five-Year Old
Daddy, I think I would really like Downton Abbey...can I watch it with you guys?
I thought: Hmm. As far as learning how to use words with razor precision and banter with the elegance of a vintage Rolls-Royce...you couldn't do much better than Maggie Smith and gang...
3.25.2013
Tobias Fünke is on My Mind
I haven't even watched an episode of Arrested Development in three years, yet I spontaneously start chuckling - sometimes even laughing, giggling, or chortling - simply thinking about the mayhem that is the Bluth family.
Today, I have been thinking about Tobias a lot.
I feel a sort of community with every other AR fan out there. I don't know you, but if you are laughing right now thinking about Tobias Fünke, then I probably love you, at least a little.
 |
| source: http://www.justpressplay.net/images/stories/davidcrossad.jpg |
****
1.02.2013
THIS IS A CAUTIONARY TALE, PART I : FOR MOMS.
I watched quietly as my arterial blood centrifuged in the blender, having just exited my body through the tip of my left middle finger, wandering what the dying thought of Robespierre, inventor of the guillotine, might have been in the googasecond before the blade descended upon his own neck.
I also (in a dull flash) realised that a future life of fighting and battling Evil could be too painful for me, given that it was currently just fragments of my favourite finger now swirling around with chunks of chopped apple, and also we might have to toss out the pie.
My Mom, after the fact, as I held my throbbing, stitched-up finger mummified in gauze: I just wish it could have been me instead.
Me, at seven, agreeing completely.
In between sobs: I forgive you, Mom.
She squeezed me tight: It was my fault. I should have been right there with you while you were chopping apples.
I just wanted to help you make pie! I choked between hacking coughs as the pain refused to numb. Why did you let me help? Why did you let me do something dangerous?
I'm so sorry Joey, she said again quietly. Were you pushing the apples down into the chute using the safety attachment like I showed you?
Of course I was! I screamed respectfully. I know you told me to use the safety attachment, but you only told me five times…WHY DIDN'T YOU REMIND ME AGAIN! This didn't have to happen! Why did you let it happen, Mom, why did you let me help you when you knew that if I didn't listen to you then I could get injured badly?"
I'm so sorry, she said over and over, and kept holding me tight, probably to lessen her own guilt.
I was thinking today that it would make a great little film, with seven-year old Me as the protagonist and the villain being…well, it's obvious. There's a great scene of redemption at the end, when she begs forgiveness over and over, and I finally grant it. I don't know who would play me, but if Martin Short has any grandkids than I think one of them could be perfect, regardless of gender. And I think Kate Beckinsale would play my Mom at 30, because she has a good amount of fierceness, scowling, and a little kindness that comes out here and there.
And then I was thinking about one of my guilty pleasures, Kate's 2001 rom-com with John Cusack, Serendipity, which is a lovely story, although filled with questionable relational advice, and I remembered the wonderful ice skating scenes in Central Park, and how effectively they used St. Germaine's stunning, acid-y jazz electronic track Rose Rouge,
(over and over and over and over)
I am really glad my Mom wasn't playing that song on the way to the hospital, because then my enjoyment of the Greatest Song Ever would be associated with a horrific event, instead of being tied into a beautiful fairy tale romance of strangers falling in love during a New York City winter.
So I guess a couple things I learned:
My scarred finger is beginning to throb, which it does when the weather gets very cold, which reminds me that the roof could be getting icy, so it's probably not safe for the kids to be building forts up there anymore as it approaches nightfall. See? Effective parenting is about pre-emptive safety measures. Good-bye.
****
St. Germaine
Rose Rouge
Tourist
2000
I also (in a dull flash) realised that a future life of fighting and battling Evil could be too painful for me, given that it was currently just fragments of my favourite finger now swirling around with chunks of chopped apple, and also we might have to toss out the pie.
My Mom, after the fact, as I held my throbbing, stitched-up finger mummified in gauze: I just wish it could have been me instead.
Me, at seven, agreeing completely.
In between sobs: I forgive you, Mom.
She squeezed me tight: It was my fault. I should have been right there with you while you were chopping apples.
I just wanted to help you make pie! I choked between hacking coughs as the pain refused to numb. Why did you let me help? Why did you let me do something dangerous?
I'm so sorry Joey, she said again quietly. Were you pushing the apples down into the chute using the safety attachment like I showed you?
Of course I was! I screamed respectfully. I know you told me to use the safety attachment, but you only told me five times…WHY DIDN'T YOU REMIND ME AGAIN! This didn't have to happen! Why did you let it happen, Mom, why did you let me help you when you knew that if I didn't listen to you then I could get injured badly?"
I'm so sorry, she said over and over, and kept holding me tight, probably to lessen her own guilt.
I was thinking today that it would make a great little film, with seven-year old Me as the protagonist and the villain being…well, it's obvious. There's a great scene of redemption at the end, when she begs forgiveness over and over, and I finally grant it. I don't know who would play me, but if Martin Short has any grandkids than I think one of them could be perfect, regardless of gender. And I think Kate Beckinsale would play my Mom at 30, because she has a good amount of fierceness, scowling, and a little kindness that comes out here and there.
And then I was thinking about one of my guilty pleasures, Kate's 2001 rom-com with John Cusack, Serendipity, which is a lovely story, although filled with questionable relational advice, and I remembered the wonderful ice skating scenes in Central Park, and how effectively they used St. Germaine's stunning, acid-y jazz electronic track Rose Rouge,
I want you to get together /
put your hands together one time
(over and over and over and over)
I am really glad my Mom wasn't playing that song on the way to the hospital, because then my enjoyment of the Greatest Song Ever would be associated with a horrific event, instead of being tied into a beautiful fairy tale romance of strangers falling in love during a New York City winter.
So I guess a couple things I learned:
1) don't invent things that could someday be turned on you,2) milk an injury for all you can,3) try to forgive people, even when they don't prevent you from hurting yourself, and4) even though my Mom didn't protect me, or effectively teach me how to obey one-hundred percent of the time, we made it through those failures and are friends, and now, I am the parent who is teaching my own young children how to bake…and this time I will do it the right way, and make sure that no one ever, EVER gets hurt on my watch, thus blaming me for unsafe parenting.
5) if something really bad starts to happen, then make sure you're not listening to something you like a lot, otherwise your memory of that song could forever be tarnished. It's true. No more Bryan Adams for me, but that's another story.
My scarred finger is beginning to throb, which it does when the weather gets very cold, which reminds me that the roof could be getting icy, so it's probably not safe for the kids to be building forts up there anymore as it approaches nightfall. See? Effective parenting is about pre-emptive safety measures. Good-bye.
****
St. Germaine
Rose Rouge
Tourist
2000
10.18.2012
They're Not Alive, and They're Walking (Good Thing I'm in a Hot Air Balloon).
The following is a post from my friend's wall. When I say "my friend," I mean that I have met him exactly one time, and think he is a fine fellow (the brother of my cousin's significant other :) I was chuckling away on the computer as we bantered about The Walking Dead. Thank you, Jen, for having a cool brother.
____
Wolfgang Rickwalt
If they were to put you in The Walking Dead as a new character, what would your character be like?
Link Leave a comment if you feel like it...and thanks for stopping by. Have a magical and delightful day!"
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