Mother, may I?

Let's pretend you meet someone: maybe at a party, maybe at work. Let's say you start talking about this and that, and you find out they didn't go to college. Would you start saying things like "Why wouldn't you go to college? You seem smart enough?" Would you wonder about their financial situation or if they could cut it. Perhaps you might think some of these things, but you wouldn't say them out loud. You wouldn't be that rude. If later in the conversation, they commented on something, you wouldn't dismiss them with a "oh, you've never been to college; you wouldn't understand." And yet, people feel they can act this way towards people who haven't been parents.

For some reason, plenty of folks think that commenting on someone's status as a parent is fair game. I take that back: commenting about the fact that someone isn't a a parent is fair game. You'd never say to someone, "You're a parent? Good Lord, that must be some sort of train wreck!" And the assumption seems to be that everyone who chooses to be a parent must be amazing at it, and, frankly, I can't think of anything that everyone is good at.

The decision to be (or not be) a parent is a biggie. There's a lot of factors that go into it. Sometimes these factors are out of your control. I had a friend (yes, really; this is not me, so no sympathetic, off-to-the-side emails are needed) who was trying to have a child for years: lots of IVF and other treatments. It was really tough for her and she was pretty private about it. And yet, I saw coworkers go up to her and just flat out ask her when she was going to start having kids. "Oh, you'd be such a great mother!" And, unless she wanted to tell them about the pain she was going through (emotional and physical), she had to just fake smile and sort of shrug off the question.

There are hundreds of reasons someone might choose to not be a parent, many of them private. Maybe you can't afford it, maybe your partner has a secret drinking problem, maybe you think you might not be good at it. Maybe, like my friend, you are trying but not succeeding. Maybe it's just not your thing. Whatever the reason, it's most likely not something you want to talk about over the water cooler at work in front of semi-strangers. And saying things like, "I don't know what people like you do on Mother's Day" probably isn't helping.

I know that you're just making conversation or being friendly. You don't mean anything nasty by asking these questions. But before you comment on someone's status as a parent, ask yourself if you have a couple of decisions you've made in your life where you'd like to keep the reasons behind that choice private.

Sunrise

This morning when I woke up, the room was filled with orange light. Yesterday, it was a lovely shade of pink. And I thought about how much I love the sunrise.

I am an early girl, one of the dreaded morning people. I feel in the groove at about 7:30 a.m. and I'm crashing by 4-ish. I'm the perky girl at the coffee machine, already trying to have an actual conversation. (Dear world: sorry about that.) Because I like mornings, I do end up seeing the sunrise more often than not.

I'm like a little kid, running out to see it. Even though I've seen so many, I am still awed by the beauty of a sunrise. Yes, a sunset can be lovely, but there is something about the start of the day. A new day making its way into the world. Maybe it's a cliche, but when I see a sunrise, I think of all the potential magic that could happen that day.

I am such a dork, that sometimes when I look at the sunrise, I actually say, "Wow!" Out loud. I will just stop in my tracks and look at the sky. Isn't it amazing to live in a world where something so beautiful can happen every day? Yeah, I know: wow!

Working with my hands

Today I put together five bookcases. It was nothing too difficult; these were bookcases from Ikea, meant to be built fairly easily. I had to pound nails and move heavy boards around and screw things together. I'm sore and I'm sure my back will be screaming tomorrow, but I kind of love doing things like this. I don't often have days where I'm just physically working.

I've put together a bunch of things over these years. I almost always have at least one screw-up. It's usually a board put in the wrong way: I pull the whole thing together and there's a strip of pressboard showing. It's usually no big deal and wouldn't be worth the time to take apart and fix.

These bookcases don't have any obvious problems. Well, the first one I put together had a shelf with the wrong side exposed; luckily it was fairly easy to fix. One of the reasons I finished all the bookcases today is that I was feeling the pattern of putting them together: after the first one, the rest went together a bit easier.

A physical day means not so many deep thoughts. But it feels good to see what you did all day.

A love letter

Dear S,

I know we've been together for a while and I don't appreciate you the way I should. In fact, just yesterday, I forgot you completely. But somehow, my body knew. I could feel it; I just didn't feel right about myself. My stomach was upset, I had no energy. And yet, I dismissed that it was you. I blamed other things, I made excuses. But it was you all along.

Oh, Synthroid, you amaze me. So little, so subtle, but you change me completely. Yesterday I forgot to take you and I was tired and cranky (well, moreso than usual) and my tummy hurt. And then I remembered my forgotten friend. One small dose and within the hour, I was a new person. My head was clearer, my stomach was settled, I actually had some energy.

I know I shouldn't be writing a letter to a drug. It seems somehow trivial or dependent. And yet, I simply can't help it.

I promise to be true. I will stay loyal. Thank you for making me feel complete again. Synthroid, we are made to be together.

Love always,

The inevitable American Idol posting

Can we please set aside the idea that the kids on "American Idol" actually chose their songs? I've mentioned this earlier, but last night's show sort of proved it. There is no way they picked their own songs.

Let's talk about Haley's choice of "You and I" by Lady Gaga. You know it -- oh, wait, it's unreleased! How could anyone know it? And why would Haley ever pick it? If I'm looking to reach out to America and get votes, I'm not going to find a song that no one knows. And how does she even know that song unless it was handed to her by the producers? Was it just kicking around Haley's ipod? I don't have an issue with Iovine handing her a song, but let's not blame Haley for song choice, J-Lo.

The other piece of evidence is Jacob's choice of "Love Hurts." Did you see the exchange?
Iovine: You should totally do "Love Hurts"!
Lusk: I am not a heavy-metal guy.
Iovine: No, no, like Gram Parsons!
Sheryl Crow sings very pretty.
Lusk: Okee-dokee, although that's absolutely nothing like the way I sing.

Lusk obviously had no interest in the song, but it was given to him anyway. Sure, he messed it up, but I wonder how he would have done if he had a song he actually liked.

Personally, I don't have a problem with the producers picking songs, especially for the less-seasoned contestants. I get the feeling that Scotty and Lauren might have run out of their own choices around Week 3. ("No, Lauren, you can't do another Miley song.") They're young, and they need direction. But come clean. In fact, it might be interesting to explain why a particular song was picked and how they want to see these kids develop as artists. Let's not pretend some 16-year-old found some deep cut on an Elton John album that was recorded about 20 years before he was born.

The next book

I am between books and ready to pick the next one. It shouldn't be that difficult. But I am overwhelmed at all the possiblities. There is so much out there, too many choices. In this lovely piece by Linda Holmes, you can't help but realize that you're never going to come close to reading all the books you want to read (go here for details: Too many books!) And do I want to waste my time on a book that is just "meh"?

The wonderful, terrible thing about books is that you can't know until you read it. You can listen to critics, read reviews, look at best-of lists, but until you pick it up and read it, you just can't know. There are some books that grab me and sweep me away with their beauty. I don't want them to end but I can't help but read them as fast as I can to see what comes next. These books inspire and intimidate me. I'd love to write something that touches another person so deeply, but I fear that I don't have that talent or ability quite yet. Books like this are never a waste of time. I want every book to be like this. Unfortunately, this is often not the case.

I read "Catch-22" with all these hopes of greatness: after all, it's on all these "Best Books Ev-ah!" lists. I couldn't hate that book more than I do. I hated it so much that when I finished, I was afraid that I no longer liked reading. I though that, like eating too much dessert of some kind, it was too much, that I was finally sick of it. Sure, I had been reading stacks of books since I was six or so, but this was it. I had hit the wall. I kept thinking it might get better. Surely there was something that made it a great novel. But I never found it.

I usually gut books out until the end. I try to have a 100-page rule, but if I get that far, I can often see the halfway point, and then it should be downhill, so I'll make it to the end. I find myself resenting that book even more ("The Finkler Question": I'm looking at you, but that's for another post). But I want them all to have a level of beauty and/or plot and/or interesting characters. I want them all to be worth the time.

I look at my shelves of unread books. Which one do I choose? Which one will make my heart sing?

The Future!

The other day, I was talking to a friend and we mentioned a song as part of the conversation. After the call, I went to my desk and sent her a picture of that song playing on my ipod. Ha, ha, right? (I am hilarious!) But then I realized, this was The Future! In that short bit of time, I did a bunch of stuff that would have been unthinkable when I was in high school.

The friend I was chatting with was in New Jersey. Long distance! Precious, expensive long distance! Surely you weren't going to be calling long distance just to chat about Paul Simon. Then I went to my desk, not home to sort through a stack of albums or cds, and on this box about the size of a cigarette pack, I could pull up a song (out of over 8000! 8000 songs in this one little box! Holy cow!) Then I took my phone (not much bigger than that box of songs over there) and took a picture of the song playing! This would have blown my high school mind on a few levels:
* That music box is actually telling me what song is playing. From what album and by which artist! I don't have to listen for a while, trying to name that tune. How does it know?
* The phone has no cord. And isn't the size and weight of a brick.
* There is a camera in the phone. A camera mixed with a phone! What kind of craziness is this?

Let's talk about picture taking for a minute. Remember when you had to have film? And it was so expensive! You saved those 24 shots on that roll of film for really important stuff. And you had to use up the whole roll before you dropped it off to get developed (another expense) and wait at least a few days (overnight film development? Who am I? Rockefeller?!) Then you'd get the pictures back, hoping that you got a decent shot. Then, if you wanted to send a picture, you either had to give up the one print you have or pay for a print to be made (another expense and wait). Then you have to send it in the mail to the lucky recipient (who has, no doubt, forgotten that earlier conversation), who would look at the picture and wonder what you were wasting film on. At least postage was cheaper.

Do you realize how almost magical it is to snap a picture with a phone and send it to someone else's phone? To have thousands of songs at your fingertips? To be able to call your friend in New Jersey and not worry about how much it'll cost? It's not the future I imagined as a kid, but it's pretty incredible. And, frankly, I'd rather have the ability to carry around thousands of songs or call a friend where ever she may be, than have a jet pack.

You can try to hold the breeze

I slept through the president telling us that bin Ladnn was killed, having gone to bed before the press conference announcement interrupted my viewing of "The Apprentice" documentaries about very intelligent things. I woke to news of a man's death and celebrations of this killing.

I am not saying that he wasn't evil and that he didn't do a lot of really bad things. No, I don't know of an acceptable alternative punishment. And I do hope that there is a sense of some closure for all of his victims and people affected by his attacks. I just find something distasteful about celebrating anyone's death.

I understand feelings of relief or revenge-completed. But celebrating a death, to me, is crossing a line, no matter who the death is. It takes away from our humanity a bit. There's just something gross about choosing to celebrate the end of anyone's existence. It starts to let you draw a circle around the deaths you can celebrate. Did they kill 100 people? Did they kill 10? Did they cut you off in traffic? Were they just kind of annoying? I know that's an extreme, but I don't want to start making those judgments.

I applaud that it's been done. I hope that, as a nation, we can start moving forward and start fixing other things that are broken. But I will not celebrate that someone has died, no matter the person.

Math problems

Today I cleaned my closet. I may have a few pairs of shoes. And by "may", I mean I do and by "a few", I mean more than 50. It's a little embarrassing. If you know me, you know I'm not exactly fashion-forward. I hate the mall and I'm a big fan of comfort. As I try to decide if I should keep the plaid heels or pink slides, I wonder: how did I end up with so damn many shoes?

It's simple math. I have been roughly the same shoe size for over 25 years. Let's say at a minimum, I buy five pairs a year (two pairs for each season and an impulse pair), that's at least 125 pairs. And, let's be honest, ladies, five pairs is definitely the low end. Even when I'm trying to be good, I just need that next pair.

The thing is, there are so many kinds of shoes to have. Heels, flats, casual shoes, boots, sneakers. And they come in different colors! And different styles! I probably have about 20 pairs of shoes that are black: flats, boots, pointy, kitten heels, sweater boots (yeah, there is such a thing), wintery casual things, sandals, pumps...well, you get the idea. And that's just black shoes. Do I need red boots? No, of course not. But I've got some. And red heels and sneakers and flats...

I love that I've stayed the same size for so many years. The downside is that unless they wear out or are terribly uncomfortable or unfashionable, there's no reason to get rid of them, until I run out of space. Do I wear the brown slides with the animal print very often? Not really. But why would I get rid of them? they're surprisingly comfortable and if I need brown, fun shoes (it happens), I'm good to go. They might need a bit of dusting, but I'm ready to roll.

And then there's the pairs that have been barely worn that I tell myself that I could make work. I know if I could stand a day or two in those shoes, they might loosen up, and they would be in the rotation. I also have the shoes that are supposedly made for walking or comfort that I'm sort  of afraid to wear on any serious walk because they feel a little "rubby" and I've had those blisters before. But if I could get past that rub and fix it...

Most boys don't get it. They have it easy: one pair of work-ish/casual shoes, one pair of sneakers, and a pair of dress shoes in the closet for the three times a year they might have to wear a suit. There are times I'm jealous of that. Then I pull out my floral flats and giggle in delight.

Today the closet is cleaner and I have gotten rid of a few pairs (the pink slides didn't make the cut this time), but most of them, I couldn't bear to let free. I swear, the red patent-leather flats would be amazing if I could just loosen the back a bit.

May Day!

Sometimes I like to give myself little challenges. I have decided to post every day in May. It'll be good for me to get into the habit again. These might not be the deepest posts but my goal is to give you something to read everyday. At least a couple of paragraphs.

So watch this space in May. And bring your friends!

Oh, Pia: American Idol, Part 3

The results show has lead to the dismissal of Pia and weren't we all so shocked? Outrage! Unfair! J-Lo weeping openly! How could this happen? Oh, please, if it wasn't for Lusk lecturing America, how was anyone surprised? (I really did think he was going home, even though he is one of the better performers.)

Despite the hollering and cussing, the judges have no one to blame but themselves, and not because they've already used their save for the year. Everybody is not awesome every week. I know that two of the judges are new, so maybe they need to explain to J-Lo and Steven that every week, someone is going to go home. And if all you give us is, "Baby, you know I love you and, once again, you were amazing," or "Be-bop-a-lu-la, I'm shaking a tree!" we're going to vote for our already established favorites and Casey (because we don't want that to happen again.) I'm not saying you have to tear these kids apart or pit them against each other, but Randy hasn't even used the word "pitchy" in weeks and I just find that hard to believe. Start judging!

Pia may have been one of the best singers this year, but she wasn't the best performer. She was pretty but forgettable. Another one of those female belters which "American Idol" usually loves, but she went away from her strength this week. I believe that if Pia had sung either song she sang the night of the elimination ("I Love Rock n' Roll" or "I'll Stand by You"), she would have made it through. I love "River Deep, Mountain Wide," but it wasn't Pia. Pia needs to belt. it. out. Before she sang a note this week, I said, "Pia's in trouble."

I always wonder how much control the kids have in their song choice. This week was the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. That's a gazillion possibilities! And these were the songs they picked? I imagine song choice often goes like this:
Producers: You can pick any song from the whole catalog of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame!
AI Kid: Wow! Look at all these choices! I'd like to sing "XXXX"!
Producers: Hold on there! We made you a list of three songs.
AI Kid: Um, okay. I pick that one.
Producers: Not that one.
AI Kid: That one?
Producers: Good choice!
(Later that week the judges will tell the kid he made a poor song choice. The kid will have to smile anyway.)

I'll bet the producers thought it would be a good week for Pia to "mix it up." That was not the right thing. Pia wasn't established enough to have an off week. And I don't know what she did to Gwen Stefani to make her dress her the way she did. It was not pretty. Let's sum up: a kind of boring girl best known for Whitney-type ballads performs an up-tempo, wall of sound number dressed like a train wreck and trying to work the stage (even Jennifer made a point of telling her she needs to learn how to move.) And why were we surprised she didn't make it through?

Ryan needs to force the judges a bit. Give us a couple of minutes at the end for each judge to comment on the best of the night and who needs help. Push them into picking a bottom one or two. Someone is going home. You can't cry for all of them, J-Lo.

P.S. Can someone teach Scotty how to hold a microphone? And someone tell Haley to stop holding her head to the side? Thanks.

American Idol, Part 2

Just so you know: I wrote this post once and then blogger stopped saving (it happens: I just copy it and leave the window, then paste over the old version.) Not this time: it only copied the picture, I pasted over all that lovely text, realized that it was deleted, tried to recover, but blogger had already saved. I am cranky. Also note that because of this, this post covers a couple of weeks.

Let's talk about American Idol so far. Are we liking this season? I must admit, I'm liking it better than I thought I would. I tuned in just to see how it might shake down with the new judges and I'm sticking around. You won again, Nigel Lythgoe! Curses!

I like the mix of the new judges. Truly, they could have put anyone in place of Kara and I would have been happier with the judging situation. J-Lo needs to get tougher, but she is getting there. Steven brings a certain amount of random. I could still do without Randy, but he's not trying so hard this year, which makes him better. The best thing about the judges is that they seem to actually listen to each other, nodding at each other's comments. It feels more like a conversation than a group of people waiting to jump in with their opinion, thinking, "Me next! Me next!"

I miss the meanness of Simon, but I don't miss his "you're not pretty enough to make it in the business" comments. That said, the judges need to toughen up. The singers not all amazing every week. Someone is going home. Not every one of these kids is going to have hit records: tell them what they need to know. At this point they all have fans, they have people who will tell them they were awesome, even if they just burp out "The Star Spangled Banner." Give them something they could use. Otherwise, why are you there?

I think it needs some more real criticism by the judges, but I'm afraid they'll bring in someone "mean" next year and that would be a mistake. Three judges is plenty; four judges always felt rushed to me. I think this chemistry is working, they just need to be willing to be honest with some of these kids. They have it in them. I get the feeling that J-Lo isn't all sweetness and light, and Steven just needs to allow himself to be booed a bit. He lets his ego and need to be liked get in the way. Someone should point out to him that they booed Simon all the time, but he was the one they came to see.

More than most years, I think this group has a much better sense of who they are. There's the deep voice country guy, the guy who does gospel-y stuff, the rocker guy who seems pretty sweet, the crazy woman who's gonna try to make everything reggae, the female belter who will only do ballads, etc. On one hand, this is actually a good thing for an artist, but, from an "AI" perspective, it's kind of boring. Sometimes it's fun to watch a kid develop, figure out what they are (or want to be). These kids mostly know (especially the boys), which means you could probably call about half of the songs they were going to do. I really like the one rocker-kid (James), but, of course, on Elton John night, he picked "Saturday Night's Alright for Fighting." It would have been cool to see him nail a ballad. Or make something unexpected rock out. (Note: last night he did pick a ballad -- nice!)

Scotty is the country guy. He's got a good voice but, honestly, he does the same stuff every time. Casey's the guy they saved. He's one of my favorites and I was glad they used the save on him. I truly think he got the bottom last week because people assumed he was safe. And with only 11 people (math warning), you get 12%: you're in the top, 8%: bye-bye! I think these early rounds, a lot of people vote for folks they think might be in trouble. Say I've got 3 people I like: Casey, Scotty, and that scared 16-year-old girl. Casey and Scotty do well but the kid struggles. If I were a voter, I might just throw my votes at the kid, assuming the other two will be fine.

Which brings me to my idea of saving the ones that had an obvious good night or had a bad night but are usually consistent. (Or, like on "So You Think You Can Dance", during the first half of the season, the callers pick the bottom 3, and then the judges decide who goes home.) I'd love if, during the Top 11 or less, the judges each get to save three for the night (maybe they each pick one); Top 10 - 8, save two; Top 7 and 6, save one -- Top 5 is all America! They could even use this sort of thing to help promote it when it gets dull in the middle: "The judges can only save ONE tonight -- the rest is up to you!"

There's not enough crazy going on here, and, possibly, having these types of saves might shake that up a bit. You can't help but wonder who Steven would save. And this might let the kids step outside their box for a bit. Let's say Scotty tries a funkier thing and it just doesn't happen. Can you just see J-Lo going, "oh honey, that was not you, so we're gonna have to save you this week because we need you around." I would have absolutely no problem with that. Well, except I don't really like Scotty.

I still have a lot of the same issues with "American Idol": the show's too long (I'd rather they had a Top-18 and do some double eliminations in the early weeks), it's pretty much decided by tweens so the cute guys go further than they should. But I am pleasantly surprised by this year.

Seeing the colors

I watched "Please Give" today, a lovely, little movie about people and emotions and relationships and all that. It was a great movie, one of those films that you find yourself going over again and again in your head, little bits of scenes coming back to you. (Ahead is not so much a spoiler, but a bit about a scene -- you may not want to read about it if you plan to see the movie.)

The movie takes place in New York City in the fall, and everyone is talking about seeing the colors of the leaves changing. About midway through the movie, Rebecca, her grandmother, her date, and his grandmother drive out of the city to see the autumn leaves. Rebecca's grandmother is a bit, well, cranky. She's 91 and just not having fun anymore. They get to the park where they've been told there would be a wonderful view, and they look out and no one sees much of anything. The whole group is so disappointed. Rebecca's grandmother is looking off towards the park benches and just really upset at the whole thing. The rest of the group makes a slight shift from where they are standing, and they look out and: amazement! They gasp; they go on and on about the beauty. But grandma is still looking in the wrong direction, still mad at the world.

You have to remember that sometimes if you just shift a few steps, you can see something amazing. But if you just keep looking in the wrong direction, it just never gets any better.

Wondering about literature

There are times I wonder about my reading ability. Obviously, I get the words and the sentences and all that, but sometimes I read a book that some would consider a classic, and I just don't get it. Not even a little bit. Which makes me wonder if maybe I just don't have the tools to fully understand certain literature.

I'm not trying to get people to come around and convince me that I am smart or educated or deep. The fact is, I'm not a trained reader. Besides a couple classes in high school and the world's greatest bookclub, I'm mostly self-taught, exploring books on my own, and while there's really nothing wrong with that, it does have limits. (After all, you wouldn't want a self-taught surgeon taking out your gall bladder.) I am trained as a scientist, and although I am sure you could pick up the latest issue of The Journal of Bacteriology and make comments, I'd like to think that I would be able to read it at a different level. We all bring different skill sets and tools to the table.

When I read these so-called classics and I just don't get them (not that this happens all the time, but it does happen), I start to wonder if it's my lack of training  that is getting in the way. I'll read passages full of description and details, and instead of loving the words, I am thinking, "just spit it out, already!" Or I'll miss some symbolism. ("What do you mean that the fish represented his long-lost brother? I didn't even know he had a brother!")

A few years back, I read "Catch-22" and I can't tell you how much I hated it. In fact, as I was reading it, I started to worry. Let me explain. You know how you might love a certain food, but you don't get it as much as you would like. Say there was a certain type of cake you loved, but you only got it for special occasions. But then a bakery who specialized in that cake opened right across the street from you, so you could get it whenever you wanted. So you got that cake once a week, maybe more. Then one day, you went to get a piece and you thought to yourself, "I am really tired of that cake. In fact, I'm not sure I like it anymore." And you really never do want that cake again. What does this have to do with "Catch-22"? When I was reading "Catch-22", I hated it so much, I was actually afraid that I was tired of reading. That, after all these years, this was the breaking point: I no longer even liked reading. (Luckily, this was not the case.)

But I do wonder: what am I missing here? This novel consistently shows up on those "great books" lists, and I simply did not get it at all. Do we really need a book to tell us that war is bad and ridiculous? The characters were all so unlikable and boring. I didn't really notice any great writing or interesting turns-of-phrase. I had to push myself to finish (I kept hoping it would get better or there would be some clever thing that got me in the end, but no such luck.) There is a part of me that thinks maybe I should try again, but then my soul starts weeping.

How much training should one have to have to enjoy "great" literature? Should it need that much explaining? Should it be easy? I won't stop reading and I won't stop pushing myself, but I'm staying away from Joseph Heller.

Hosanna Heysanna Sanna Sanna Ho

Do you have the album that you don't listen to for years, but when you pull out and give it a listen, you just are blown away at how awesome it is? Today I am listening to "Jesus Christ Superstar" and it is blowing. me. away.

This is not a post about criticism of "JSS" -- it's far from perfect. There are the clunkers, it's firmly in the seventies. It's a bit (a bit?!) melodramatic, but I adore it anyway. This post is not about who's the cooler Jesus (hint: not the "Godspell" one.) This is also not about what Andrew Lloyd Webber became (hint: bleh!) This is about stumbling upon things you love.

I love this album like one loves an old friend who stops by after being away for a few years. Admittedly, it's one of those friends who, after a while, you remember why it's been a few years. I'm sure I'll listen to this album for a day or two and then put it away for another couple of years. But when I listen to "JSS", I am pulled into it completely. Do I want to sing along at the top of my lungs, complete with diva poses, in the middle of this coffeehouse? Maybe. (hint: yes. Totally.)

I am listening to this on headphones and I am picking up little things I never heard listening to it on my parents' old victrola. Today I am hearing the sadness in Jesus' voice. He knows he's doomed, but he's not telling anyone. He's marching into town, pushing himself to sing "Hosanna" with a forced joy that isn't there, but he's got to keep the crowd into it. He's tired, everyone is telling him how to do his job, he's literally begging for his life. It's not a good week for the guy. You almost get the feeling that he hands himself over to Pilate to just end all this craziness. He just wants it over.

When I listen to albums I've ignored, I realize I need to dig deeper in my music collection. Tomorrow I'll pull out another album that I've forgotten about. But today, it's back to "What's the buzz..."

P.S. Dear stoned guy singing back-up -- I kind of love you!

Shut up, Phil Collins

A few days ago, Phil Collins announced his retirement from music. To which I say: really? I am not here to bash Phil Collins (as I have done this previously) (although I probably will), nor to question his music choices/"artistic" direction, but I do have to wonder the purpose of this announcement, because I have a few question for Mr. Collins.

What, exactly does he mean by "retiring" from music? I get that the drumming thing is not a good idea these days, but he's probably as well known for being a singer. He is a songwriter. (Now, now, we're not here to bash his work. Please save your comments for the end.) Does this mean he won't sing or write? At all? No tribute concerts for the Queen, no reunion tours? Where is the line? How do you retire from art except not do it anymore? Does this mean no "Happy Birthday" at his kid's parties?

I call bullshit on this statement. If he's any sort of artist, it'll pull him back. If he can walk away from music completely, well, then it's just a job for him, and he needs to get over people bashing him for selling out. Because if he feels nothing grabbing him and getting him to create, even if it's just in his basement, then he did sell out. He did it for the money. There's nothing wrong with that. He made buckets of money, so he knows what we want (or what we wanted in the eighties.) But don't tell me you did it for the love of the music, then just put it on the shelf one day.

Here's another question: didn't he just release an album? (He did: late September this year.) That's less than six months ago. He was that drawn to music less than a year ago that he made a whole album and now he's done? That smells funny. Could this, just possibly, be a grab at publicity/bump in sales or even a bit of a pity party? This just feels like a "if you don't start paying attention to me, I'm taking my ball and going home!" sort of thing. Like he put it out there so that all these newspapers, radio stations, artists, whatever, would be all,"No Phil, no! We can't lose you! You're too important and super relevant with your note-by-note covers of Motown songs!" I'll bet he was a bit shocked when people actually started bashing him. (Note: I just read that this retirement is a "false alarm." I'm sure that he and his publicist are so very happy that they've gotten a few more days of media coverage.)

I really do hate what Phil Collins has become. In the eighties, sure, I was a big fan. Yeah, I always do the drum solo from "In the Air Tonight" -- I'm only human! I have a weird love of pop music. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with doing it for money. Really. If you have the magic for a few years, take what you can. But you have to understand that this run rarely lasts, so just sit on your stack of cash and enjoy yourself. Do things you love, but don't get all upset when the rest of us don't appreciate it. It's okay. But you need to accept that your career peaked over 20 years ago, and you won't be getting the spotlight as much. Just do what you love and count your blessings that you have the money to have this freedom. And, seriously, shut up!

Breaking up with Starbucks

Dear Starbucks,

I know we've been seeing each other for a couple of years, but it’s official: today I’m breaking up with you. I’ve tried to be patient, I thought we could work out our issues, but, frankly, there are other fish in the sea.

There are so many little reasons. I hate to point to the physical, but the truth is that you’re a bit too old. You don’t have outlets for my computer and your set-up is so open, noise just bounces around. I can live with the coffee shop-type noises, but when you have to run the vacuum cleaner for a half hour when I was hoping to get some writing done, I get a bit cranky.

Your slow customer service just confuses me. I see five people running around behind the counter, but there’s only one person who seems to actually be taking orders and serving coffee. Perhaps that long line feeds your ego of being needed but it works my last nerve. 

I’ve had it with the internet that doesn’t seem to work. And when it does, it’s so slow, it takes me back to the days of dial-up. Yes, I like reminiscing about old times as much as the next girl, but there are things I don’t mind moving past. And then to add insult to injury, you’re kicking me off after an hour? That just hurts!

I see so many other beauties around: the local coffee shop, Panera, even Dunkin Donuts. Better food, better service, a dependable internet connection. I'm a simple girl with simple needs. Why should I let you continue to hurt me? No, I will seek out a new place to squat for a few hours and nurse a cup of coffee.

I'll admit that there will most likely be moments of weakness when I come back to you or visit an attractive cousin of yours. I may try to revisit the old times, but I do want to make it clear that it really will never be the same between us. I am seeing other places and I may not come back at all.

Yes, Starbucks, it is time to move on. I will miss your overly hot coffee but we need our space.

Sadly,
Angie

Girl in the Bubble

Maybe I've been lucky. Maybe I've managed to dodge bullets. But it seems as if my friends and family have managed to not have serious problems in their lives. Sure, there have been the blips along the road, but no serious addictions or depressions or anything like that.

At least none that I know about.

I suppose this shows how lucky I've been, at least that's what I always used to tell myself. As I get older,  I'm beginning to believe that I don't hear these stories because people are afraid that I can't handle it or that I won't help. I hate to think that I have that barrier around me. Or that I wasn't strong enough to help you handle some of your burden.

I am seeing, more and more, how much so many people go through. I like to pretend I don't know anyone who has been raped or has serious suicidal thoughts or a secret so deep and awful they can barely say it out loud, but I know that simply can't be true. My problems tend to be of the "I really wanted the black ipod but all they had was the silver, so should I wait until they get the black ones or is the silver one really going to be alright" variety. I'm sure that's a part of it. How could I possibly understand a real problem when mine are so vanilla?

I hope that if someone comes to me, I can be strong for them. I know I can. Maybe I haven't felt what they have or gone through the fires they have, but I will be here for them. I don't want the people I care about to hold me at arms length or protect me. You can show me your flaws or your scars, and I will still love you.

I suppose this is a letter to all of those I haven't been there for. Maybe neither one of us was aware that this was happening. I am so sorry.

To my friends: I am here for you. Absolutely. Without judgment. And I am sorry if you ever felt I couldn't be.

Demanding less

The other day it snowed again up north and, once again, school was closed. Apparently, most of the school systems are out of snow days, so the kids might have to go into the summer. On facebook, moms start writing in, saying they hope the governor swoops in and changes the law. In other words, they actually want their kids to have less school then what they are supposed to have.

This confuses me. Look, I get kids not loving the school year being extended, but when the parents are writing things like "If they make my kids go, I'll keep them home sick," I just don't get it. If the governor was going to cut the music program or one of the sports, I'm sure the parents would be going crazy, but the idea of keeping the mandated number of school days intact is somehow unacceptable. I actually asked some of them to explain and I got the usual "stop and smell the roses" responses. To which, I roll my eyes.

I'm not saying one day makes a difference, but kids interpret things in weird ways. You make a big fuss over a day of school (which is not an *extra* day, but the proper number of days) and the kid might start thinking that there's something acceptable about cutting corners. Or not doing what you're told. Why should they take out the garbage; mommy doesn't follow the rules either! Okay, that's a bit melodramatic and probably too far, but I think it's a bit far to ask the governor to change the law so that your kid gets to stay home an extra day.

When I was teaching, the chair of my department used to say that education was the only service where the consumer demands less. Kids want less homework, easier tests, but they're kids. I like to think that they don't really know better. I'd like to think that if we had it to do again we'd push ourselves more and appreciate the opportunities to learn. But I can see, it's probably not true. And that kind of makes me a bit sad.

You are misplacing your John Hughes love (here's why)

Let me start out by saying this is not about dissing John Hughes. I was a teenager in the '80s; these movies are right up my alley. I remember seeing "Sixteen Candles" with my whole family and we all loved it. To this day, it's one of my favorite John Hughes movies (although not my favorite: I'll tell you in a bit.) There are moments in many of his movies that we all can related to or that just simply make us laugh out loud. But seeing his tribute at the Oscars, I realize I have some issues with the whole "John-Hughes-is-a-god" thing.

Most of my issues with John Hughes come out of "The Breakfast Club" and "Ferris Bueller's Day Off." I liked both of these movies when they came out, but I have big problems with both of them.

First, "Ferris Bueller." Yes, it's charming (but you have to put most of that with Matthew Broderick's performance rather than the story itself). Yes, it's funny (but, be honest, there are places in the movie that kind of drag.) It's really just an okay movie. It's got great moments but, overall: meh. Step back and really look at the movie as a whole. Don't give me a scene or a moment or a funny quote; look at the whole thing. For me, it's a pleasant little movie good for some laughs. And the 40-somethings who are still wanting to be Ferris: please stop. No, seriously. IBecause Ferris, he's a bit self-centered and spoiled. And sure he's fun for one day off on a beautiful spring day in high school, but he'd probably work your last nerve as a coworker.

And now "The Breakfast Club." Look, I know you love it. To you, this is the ultimate teen film; this was your high school. But hear me out for a few minutes. The big idea behind this movie is that we're classified in these boxes and everyone around us (especially the adults) has expectations/sterotypes based on the box we've been put in. And there's this feeling that at the end of the day, these kids learn to see past this. They are above it. And I could almost buy it. Well, except they have "The Brain" write the assigned composition for all of them. And they sell that idea by having the popular, pretty girl bat her eyes at him to do it. "The Criminal" gets "The Princess" to go out with him by convincing her it'll piss of her parents, not because he has something inside of him worth knowing. (And please don't get me started on how he abuses her throughout the film, and she is still somehow attracted to him.) Yes, "The Athlete" will date "The Headcase", but only after she converts herself to be like "The Princess." To me, that's not a very enlightened group of kids. It's not a group of kids I even really want to know.

And then there's the whole "Adults are Stoopid" storyline. This is, of course, in contrast to the enlightened teenagers. Sure, when I was a teenager, I was all "Parents just don't understand!" I get that. And the adults in this movie, as described by the kids, they really do suck. Vernon's awful, and the parents range from self-absorbed to abusive. We don't actually see much of any adult besides Vernon and the janitor (the one "cool" adult in the film), so are the teenagers any better at seeing beyond the surface than the adults are? "When you grow up, your heart dies." Do we really believe that? Do we really look at these kids and think that they are really living while adults are not? I don't see these kids having dreams or desires that they're not able to accomplish because the adults are holding them back.

I just don't like the kids in "The Breakfast Club." Brian and Allison are okay (although I kind of like her more when she's acting all crazy: stealing wallets and making up lies about her affair with her psychiatrist), but Claire and Andrew are jerks (although at least Claire is honest about being a jerk. She's given grief for it, but I always admired her for saying that, come Monday morning, she will probably be ignoring the kids that weren't in her circle.) And Bender is just an abusive asshole.

To me "The Breakfast Club" is a waste because John Hughes steps away from the thing he does the best: family dynamics. Let's go back to "Sixteen Candles." It's got all the stuff to make a great teen comedy: the geek, the good-looking guy who has a good heart as well, the pretty, shallow people, the kid with a vaguely dirty name, the "average" girl who gets the guy in the end: all good stuff. But what elevates it beyond a teen comedy is the family element of the movie. The bratty brother, the crazy grandparents, the self-centered older sister, these are the things that give the movie that added dimension. My favorite scene in "Sixteen Candles" comes near the end when Samantha's father comes to her as she is trying to sleep on the couch. He has realized that they have forgotten her birthday and he wants to apologize. But he also wants to tell her that he knows she's got a good head on her shoulders and how much he loves her. More than anything else he could have bought, this is the best gift she could get on her birthday. Even at the end, when she gets the guy, as she's walking off, she gets her dad's attention so he knows, yes, this is the guy.

Which brings me to my favorite John Hughes movie: "Uncle Buck." No, really. This is the movie that nails that family dynamic thing I love so much. John Candy is Uncle Buck who is called on to babysit for his two neices (16 and 6) and nephew (8, played by a pre-"Home Alone" Macaulay Culkin) when the parents are called away on a medical emergency. They've just moved and they know no one else, so they have to turn to Uncle Buck, despite their misgivings about him. John Candy plays that typical John Candy character: kind of a slob, kind of irresponsible, but, at the core, lovable and trying his hardest. He's not the babysitter that his sister-in-law wants, but she doesn't have any other choice.

The family is the story: a mom and a teenage daughter who are so angry at each other, they don't even remember all of the reasons, two younger siblings who are just trying to keep out of the way, a brother-in-law/uncle who knows that he's not really in anyone's favorite but he'll be trying his best, a father just trying to pull it together.

What elevates this movie above "oh-that-wacky-Uncle-Buck" is that every character has more going on then the surface. Uncle Buck may be the black sheep of the family, but he's trying to be a better guy. He's got a decent job and he's trying to decide what to do about his long-time girlfriend who is waiting for hi to grow up. Tia's not just an angry teenager but also an older sister, Maizy is the cute 6-year-old but she's struggling in school. There's a wonderful scene where the two younger kids wake up to find their parents gone and a strange, large man making something for breakfast. "He's cooking our garbage!" Macauley Caulkin gasps in horror. And Tia, instead of simply pouting and resenting her parents, resenting that they left her with this strange guy and two little kids, reaches for the cereal bowls and just starts to make them breakfast, the kind they know and want. Sure, she's pissed off but she knows how to take care of her siblings and she knows she had to be some sort of stabilizing force. Because that's how families are. We may be annoyed at each other, you might be pissing me off, but I know that you want ketchup with your eggs and you shouldn't be wearing that sweater but borrowing my red one instead.

Buck also sees things that someone in the middle of the family drama might ignore. He sees that Tia is about to make a Very Big Mistake with a boy (named Bug. No, really.) He defends Maizy's behavior at school, with this lovely little speech: "I don't think I want to know a six-year-old who isn't a dreamer, or a sillyheart. And I sure don't want to know one who takes their student career seriously. I don't have a college degree. I don't even have a job. But I know a good kid when I see one. Because they're ALL good kids, until dried-out, brain-dead skags like you drag them down and convince them they're no good. You so much as scowl at my niece, or any other kid in this school, and I hear about it, and I'm coming looking for you!"

At the end of the movie, Buck's grown up a bit. He looks at the family he's been thrown into and starts to think, "hey, maybe I should get one of these for myself." The rest of the family has learned that despite their differences and conflicts, they're a family (including Buck) and that's enough. I realize that it's not much of a plot, but it doesn't matter. You've gotten to know this family, seen it change, and that's all you need. And these characters are real, as are the relationships between them.

John Hughes was a great story-teller, but I get frustrated when people point to his high school movies as evidence of his talent because his best stuff was about families. And that's where my John Hughes love is hanging.

Saturday morning

This morning. It is not as quiet as you would expect: the weather is changing and the wind is blowing back. Maybe the wind doesn't want the weather to go back to winter, but the spring we had the past few days, it's too early. The spring needs to go back to where it belongs: a month or two from now. But the wind blows, causing the house to creak, occasionally hard enough that the kitty and I look at the windows in alarm. "It's not coming in here?" Murray asks. I reassure him and he goes back to sleep.

I am catching up on email, facebook, the sort of thing you do on a Saturday morning. I am typing an email and I keep making the same typo, three, four times. "'of' not 'if'!" I hiss to the keyboard, as if it's his fault. He looks at me smugly. I'm sure it's thinking, "Learn how to type and stop hitting me so hard."

I drink my coffee, I flit between websites. I have three windows open -- I lack the patience to type in each site and wait for it to load. Flit, flit, write, flit. I suppose you've just learn a bit about how my mind works: it jumps around, looking for something to grab its attention, but then on to the next sparkly thing. I am trying to clean out my inbox: catching up on Writer's Almanac, placing orders before the emailed promotion codes expire (although there's always another one, isn't there?)

The sky is so blue this morning. The wind keeps setting off the light with the motion detector. There are two fat doves on my deck, cleaning each other, but the kitty doesn't have the energy to disturb them. He has his eyes on them, but he's too comfortable to go to the window and greet them.

Perfect Saturday.

Dorking out in DC

When I drive to the airport (Reagan National), I pass the Washington Monument and the Jefferson Memorial. And every single time, I catch my breath and go, "Wow!" Every single time. I have to fight the impulse to stop the car and take a picture, like some crazy tourist. "Look, it's the Washington Monument, kids! Take in all that history!" You're probably cooler than me, but I love that I live in a place where stuff like this is all around.

About 20 years ago, shortly after I moved to the Philadelphia area, I went with a friend to a movie downtown. He had grown up in the Philadelphia area, and he drove. We parked on the street, and it turned out we had parked right in front of Independence Hall! Independence Hall! I started completely dorking out, and he just didn't get it. "Independence Hall!" I declared, pointing. He was still confused. I explained further. "Independence Hall!" He shrugged, so I just whispered to myself. "Independence Hall! Wow!"

I thought this excitement would go away. I thought I'd get used to seeing places that some people travel to visit, but it's never gone away. I've lived in the DC area for over 2 years (not to mention the many visits I had before I moved down), and I still want to take a picture every time I see the White House or one of the monuments. Because, you know, they change a lot. And nothing says "I will torture you with pictures" than having the same shot 371 times. ("That's the Washington Monument in, let's see, oh, yes, October 2010. Or maybe June 1998.") So, I fight that impulse, but inside, I am am swooning. Because, guys, it's the Washington Monument!

Note to readers: I've posted twice today, so please scroll down. It's a crazy day!

How to report story on NPR

I used to listen to NPR all the time when I had to drive to work, but now, with walking to work and no commute in the car, I only catch it now and again. Is it me, or does every non-US-based NPR story sound the same? Maybe because I've been away, I'm noticing this more, but it's really bothering me.

Here's a the story on NPR:

• Brief introduction by host of show. 
• Taped story begins with an introduction by feature reporter: usually a sentence about someone specifically affected by events. Pause in the talking.
• Some "atmospheric" sound: gates clanking shut, people at the market, etc. (An aside: when I'm listening in the car and they have those traffic sounds with sirens, it really freaks me out. Does it occur to anyway at NPR that some of us are listening while driving and when we hear a siren, our first reaction is not "wow, that is really adding a lot to this segment on strife in India!"?)
• Reporter starts discussing the actual story.
• Reporter introduces someone actually affected by story.
• The affected person starts talking. This person rarely speaks English. I'm not being an ugly American here. I get that not everyone speaks English. But, really, do I need to hear this guy go on for a while before the translator kicks in? And can't we just have the translator? 
• Reporter continues the story. Unfortunately, as so much time has been spent with "atmosphere", the story is often incomplete. 
• Story ends with no resolution.

I love NPR, I really do. It would be a shame if it went away or if the funding was significantly cut. And maybe it's just me. Maybe other people like when they hear horns honking and a guy going on and on in Egyptian. Maybe they feel it adds flavor. But I just wish they didn't all follow this pattern. I feel like they are spending too much time with style and not enough with the actual news. If you're reporting from the farmer's market in a small town in Africa, I can imagine the sounds and it's a pretty safe bet that anyone being interviewed is talking through a translator. Let's get to the story. And maybe then we'll have time for more information.

Bear with me here

I get that advertising is supposed to get your attention and make you want to act, whether you buy a new car or try a different brand of toothpaste. And, although I never want a webpage plastered with a bunch of ads, I know they need to pay the bills, and the box on the side where yahoo puts an ad when I go to my.yahoo is just about right. Big enough that I don't miss it but, generally, not in the way or bothersome. It often taps into what I've been up to (I get the ebags ads for a few days after I've been on that site trying to find that perfect purse; I get the DC Living Social ads which always feature cupcakes and spa treatments -- smart moves.) However, the other day one popped up that just really got me upset.

I'm at my.yahoo, and up pops this picture of a bear. With a hook in its lip. A hook in its lip! It was not pretty. In fact, it turned my stomach (it didn't help I was reading over lunch). No surprise, it was an ad for an animal rights group (WSPA, to be specific.) Now this is not to say we shouldn't protect our furry friends, but this is not the way to do it. I felt assaulted. It was too far. It was "if you don't buy Girl Scout cookies, you must hate all children!" Which, no, I just don't need to see a gross-out picture of a bear with a hook when I go to check my news and email.

On a purely esthetic point of view, it just was gross. Obviously, yahoo knows a bit about me as the ads are specific on some level, so they know I am an adult, but what if I was letting my nephew use my computer for a bit? This was not appropriate for kids (I know if I had seen this image when I was 7, well, you'd be looking at a week of nightmares.) My.yahoo is my homepage, so I see it all the time. I don't want the bear!

The thing is, that ad kept popping up. I finally wrote in and said that I thought this ad was offensive and that I would never send this group (WSPA, just to remind you) a dime. (I do believe in supporting animal causes: see the bottom of this post for details.) It still pops up and I write in every time. I'm sure I'm on some "Hater of Animals" list, but, for now, this is the battle I'm fighting. No more bear!

I have to say, I'm not sure the bears are helping. I get using puppies and kittens. I actually cry over those commercials with Sarah McLachlan singing. (I know, you're wondering how this is different? In some ways it's not, but maybe I except a certain amount of assault on my senses when I watch tv, and I can always close my eyes until Sarah is done singing.) But bears? Apparently, the WSPA is known for bears (something called bear baiting? Yeah, it's a thing. Henry the Eighth was into it, so right there, you already know it's a bit off.) I'm not saying we shouldn't protect the bears, but I am saying that there's animals closer to home that need our help.

I'm not sure my point in all this. How's this: if you have a few bucks for animals, don't support WSPA but rather, support your local animal shelter. If you don't want to throw the money locally, I have it from a good source that this place does good work: http://monmouthcountyspca.org/support/donate/.

The desperation in the back of the pantry

Sometimes you just want something sweet. I try to keep the sweets I have in the house to a minimum because, yes, I will eat them. Is a stack of graham crackers the healthiest dinner? No, of course, not, but sometimes it's what a body wants. I have found that only one thing will trump the sugar craving: laziness. I generally will not leave the house, even for a sugary treat, which leads to the following pattern:
Tummy: Sugar, please!
Brain: No.
Tummy: Please pleaseplease please
Brain: I said, no.
Tummy: Sugar sugar sugar sugar sugarsugar
Brain (disgusted): Fine, go get some sugar!
After a few moments of searching: Tummy (whining): No sugar in the house!
Brain harrumphs in triumph.

Then I remembered: I had some Poptarts. At least I was pretty sure I did. I'd have to check. Yes! in the back of the cupboard. It wasn't perfection: these were whole grain and not a chocolate variety, but they would do. Into the toaster and time to snack! Tummy says, I win!

The Poptart was oddly unsatisfying. Yes, I do understand that it's just a Poptart, therefore the bar is already pretty low. Even by this standard, the Poptart was not pleasing me. But at least Tummy has stopped shouting for sugar, and now Brain has the extra argument that, clearly, Tummy doesn't really know what it wants. But it still bothered me. Poptart, why did you let me down? There had to be more to this lack of snack satisfaction. Tummy couldn't stand to have Brain win so easily. Let's check the box.

I see the expiration date: "Better by Dec 04 09." No that's not a typo. 09! I didn't think they'd be near that old. For a moment I panicked: I thought that the date was later then when I had moved. Had I actually moved out-of-date Poptarts? No, I moved in August 2009; these were still good when I moved. No, they were "better." I wondered about the use of "better'? Were they really any better a year and a half ago? I doubt it. There's a reason they've lasted this long with Tummy in the house. Nonetheless, we're not going back in time to have that taste test.

I suppose the lesson in all of this is this: if you're getting Poptarts, you should always get the chocolate ones.

There's no suck in success

Are you successful? Do you ever think about it? Do you even have a definition? Do you need a definition? Is it like porn, you'll know it when you see it? I've been discussing this with a friend these past few days, and it's making me ponder.

Obviously, how happy you are with your life is related to how successful you view yourself. But does happiness = success? I don't think it's that simple. There are people I would say are happy but aren't terribly successful and there are some very successful folks who probably could be happier but are choosing to go after a form of success, whether it be money or power. I can't say why I feel that way. It may have to due with my personal definition of success. We can all agree that money alone doesn't equal success but it sure as hell helps one feel more successful.

I think there is an external component to success. I think that might be the difference for me: happiness is more internal and personal, whereas success is partially a reflection from others. The good news is that you get to choose your audience. Maybe you only really care what your friends and family think, maybe you want to be the best in your chosen field, maybe you want to be world-famous! I know writers who would rather have a small, loyal audience who truly gets their work rather than write a "Twilight." This is why a pat on the back at work makes me feel successful while eating a hot fudge sundae makes me happy. Both of these things are good things and I wouldn't take one over the other, but they are different.

There is a certain amount of who-cares to this question. Should you put your life up against some unknown yardstick? Is there a list where you have to check off all those tasks? How much do you need "success" if you feel you are happy? Maybe the minute you start thinking success doesn't matter is when you actually are successful? When you give back the everlasting gobstopper, you get the keys to the whole factory.

Shut up, Ryan Murphy

I suppose you've heard about the whole Kings of Leon/Glee/Ryan Murphy thing. If you haven't, the quick story is that Ryan Murphy wanted to use a Kings of Leon song on "Glee," they said no, and Ryan Murphy went off. Ryan Murphy made it all about his needs. Somehow wanting to control your art became about hating on arts education. Because apparently, watching "Glee" is the only way kids would learn about music and want to pick up an instrument or join a glee club (which may be a bit of a shock all those musicians who existed before May of 2009). And Kings of Leon are "assholes" (classy, Ryan, real classy.)


I understand why Kings of Leon aren't just handing over their songs. Isn't this the point of copyright, to give the artist some control, at least for a while? I'm not sure about the actual contract "Glee" puts out there for songs and how much control the artist has once they've signed them over, but I'm guessing that the song comes before the script is completed, before they know who's singing and in what part of the story. I'm also guessing that the amount of control an artist has is proportional to their fame; in other words, if Madonna demands that Rachel sings a certain song, they agree, but Kings of Leon don't have that sort of power. So if "Glee" decides he wants to use the song for Will to sing about his latest trip to the potty, I'm thinking Kings of Leon would just have to suck it up. And maybe they didn't want to take that risk.


Maybe Kings of Leon have a vision for their songs that does not include an arrangement with four-part harmony and a solo by Artie. Maybe the song has some special meaning and they want to hold it tight to them. Maybe they (gasp!) don't like "Glee" (I certainly have had issues with the show.) The bottom line is that Kings of Leon can do whatever they darn well please with their music and their songs. If they want to just play them in the basement with a few friends listening in, guess what, Ryan? They don't need your blessing. And it doesn't make them "assholes" or haters of music education.


(An aside to Ryan: if you're looking to reach out to that 7-year-old kid, lighten up on some of the sex in the show. I'm not a prude but, seriously, if you're going for the early-grade-school audience, a little less pep-rally masturbation might be in order.)


It's not always about how many people hear the song. Most of us can sing the State Farm jingle: it doesn't mean that it's good music. I'm also guessing that the State Farm jingle hasn't inspired a lot of kids to become musicians. Sometimes exposure does not equal inspiration. As Brian Eno once said, "the first Velvet Underground album only sold 10,000 copies, but everyone who bought it formed a band."

Kings of Leon are not telling Ryan Murphy how to run his show. They're just not letting Ryan use a song, that they created and they care about. Ryan needs to shut about about how Kings of Leon run their band. It's not for him to judge.

I gotta stop pretending who we are

Last night we watched "Speak" which was an interesting movie based on the book of the same name. You can look up the details, but, briefly, it's a story of a girl who is date-raped shortly before starting high school and how she deals (or doesn't) with it. What it stirred in me actually surprised me.

Now, before you worry, nothing like date-rape happened to me. I had a fairly ordinary high school experience, no major traumas there. Last night, I dreamt about high school. I dreamt about being a freshman again. It was one of those dreams that felt so real you wake up confused for a moment, wondering whether you are in "real life" now, or did you just wake up from the real real life. In my dream, I was a freshman again, walking through the halls, watching my fellow students. Those feelings from back then, they were in that dream, as real as they were back then. The upper classmen seemed so much older than me, so mature, so together. I was still a kid, trying to figure things out. They wore their make-up with confidence, they dressed liked they knew what they were doing, not like their moms had picked their clothes. I know now that this wasn't the case, that they probably weren't as together as they looked to me, but back then, I was in awe of them. They were like rockstars to me. They were more important than celebrities. They had their friends, their cliques, their private jokes. I wondered if I'd ever be like that.

Last night, I was there again. It wasn't any specific incident or real memory, but the feel of that first year of high school, it was there, so pure and real. I felt that electric buzz of tension running through me, a constant, like a buzzing you hardly notice until it stops and you notice the quiet, the void it's left. this tension wasn't a bad thing, but it wasn't exactly pleasant. I suppose back then I thought of it as excitement, but the reality was I was afraid. I was afraid that I would be found out. I was trying to reinvent myself,  I was trying to grow up, most of all, I was trying to shred what I was when I was in seventh grade, and I was afraid that someone would see the truth. That someone would pull me back.

I tell myself we all felt that way, but that can't be true. There had to be some who just knew, who were the real cool kids. The kids who had figured out who they were and where they wanted to be and just accepted it. And I got there, on some level. Yeah, I still get those moments where I'm afraid of being exposed, but don't we all? It's just no longer always there. It's just moments, and I can handle those. And I'm glad I'm awake.

This. Is. American. Idol!

I don't want my "American Idol" kinder and gentler. No sir, I do not. I want it in your face. I want the judges to tell the kids that they just aren't cutting it. I don't care about the crazies who are dressed up for airtime and go on fake rants against Simon (or whatever judge they will chose this year [probably J-Lo, as Steven might actually kick your ass]), practically winking at the camera. I want the judges to go off on those kids who sing for Mom and are told by their best friend, "oh, you totally have the best voice and should go on 'American Idol' and then we'd be rich and tour Europe and maybe Brad will ask you out." They need to be told the truth. That it's not easy. That there are thousands of kids which talent out there and most of them will have to be satisfied with being the lead in their high school musical and that will be their "glory days." That it's not simply about showing up.

There is a group of kids (a much larger group than we see on tv because they're not as funny as the crazies) who just expect this fame to be handed to them. That will never happen. You have to work. You have to take lessons and sign up for that mediocre group and play that coffee house and do whatever it takes. Last season on "Project Runway" one of the contestants said to the others, "This is not a hobby." and it isn't, if you do it right. Check out every one of the winners of American Idol: they all had some sort of a music background before the show. They took lessons, they toured with smaller acts. They weren't singing in the shower and then decided one day, "hey, I could do this as a career! Thank goodness that 'American Idol' audition is next week!" They were in there already, looking for whatever break they could find.

I hope that J-Lo gives it to them. Sure, it's easy to make fun of "Jenny from the Block" but the reality is she worked it: she saved for singing and dance lessons, she was a Fly Girl, she took whatever break she could find. I want the judges to ask the kids who are clearly unprepared what they do. What lessons do they take, what bands are they in, how many gigs they had last year? The kids at home have to see it as well. They have to see that you can have dreams but you also need to work for them.

It's one of the things I like about "So You Think You Can Dance." The judges will tell the kids that they're not ready. They will grill the kids who have obviously been only dancing for fun in their basement: what lessons have you taken, how many hours do you practice? But they will also tell the kids  with obvious talent that they should study more and come back the next year. And then again the next year if they're still not ready. If you watch the audition part of the show, they always show people who didn't make it one year and now this next  year, they got further. It's actually quite inspiring. There will be a street dancer who only knew his style last year, coming back after a year of lessons and kicking it on a tango. Even the judges get teary-eyed.

You should have dreams. You should have goals. But no one should expect that you wake up one day with those dreams handed to you, like you just won keys to a car. You have to eat the elephant.

Golden slumbers

Awards season is truly kicking off with the Golden Globes tonight. I like the Globes: you get movies and television and you get that slightly-off European sensibility and the stars get to drink. It's a good mix, pretty much guaranteed to be at least somewhat entertaining. That all said, I'm already exhausted by "Awards Season."

(A side note: it's kind of weird that we watch these, right? We certainly don't watch other industries give themselves prizes. But this is, like, news. We have parties around these shows.)

The problem with the awards season is that it just simply goes on way too long. Oscar nominations aren't even out and I'm already a bit tired of the whole thing. I can only imagine how the actual nominees feel. There's a few groups of nominees: the "of-course-they're-nominated", the group that rounds out the nominations but won't win, the surprise nominee group. Some categories are wide open, which at least makes it interesting, but a lot of the categories have the same group and the same winner. Maybe it might go back and forth between a couple of nominees, but the rest have to sit there, politely clapping and smiling, saying that it's an honor to just be nominated, but knowing that next weekend, it's another dress, another walk down that carpet, another interview that will be forgotten.

It's almost worst for the slamdunk winners. Last year, it was Mo'nique and Jeff Bridges and Christoph Waltz, having to go to every show and pretend that they weren't sure if they'd win or not. They had to be grateful and act a bit surprised and come with another speech that had to be more moving or funnier or deeper than the one they gave at the other ceremony. They had to be sure they didn't forget to thank someone and they had to wear things that wouldn't look awful when their picture was in the papers. And I'm sure there was that dreadful moment where they were just hoping that the big awards wouldn't be when that big upset occurred. "...and the Oscar goes to..." Hold your breath.

I will be watching tonight. I'll be hoping for some upsets and I'll be checking out the dresses. I'll hope for good speeches and interesting winners. But I'll be glad when the Oscars are over and the season is done.

Mop and Glower

When I'm upset, I clean. To be clear, it's not the only thing I do when I'm upset, and I don't have to be upset to clean (although, looking around my house, you might think I'm the happiest person in the world.) But I have found that when I'm upset about something, cleaning up is amazing therapy.

I'm not sure how old I was when I discovered this, but I do remember cleaning my closet in my bedroom in Toledo when I got angry as a kid. When I was too frustrated/mad/full of something to do anything productive, but I had to work off some of the adrenaline or whatever I had that was burning inside of me, I could always just start emptying out my closet. It was a pretty good bet that the shoes were in a pile, unmatched; there would be clothes on the floor from poor hanging jobs; my boxes of toys and other paraphernalia, a earlier attempt at organization, had just become a jumble. No matter, I had fury to burn off -- it was all coming OUT of that closet!

It felt great, just pulling things out. No thinking, just doing. When I was most upset, I had the shoes to toss about, which were pretty resistant to any mood, and then I could go from there. I was rarely bothered by my parents during this: what parent is going to stop their kid from cleaning out their closet? This was my time to get it all out, and it seemed like I had so much in there. My closet ran a little ways off to the side behind the wall, so it was alway surprising how much stuff I pulled out. But there it all was, taking over the floorspace in my room.

It always seemed to work out: that burst of angry energy was always just about the right amount to clear that closet out. And then began the task of putting it all back. Putting everything back gave my mind something else to do about rather than ponder the great wrong that had lead to this empty closet. I had shoes to find and match up, boxes to sort, clothes that needed to be re-ironed or handed down to my sister. I had to decide if I wanted an different system of organization. I had to reread all those letters, assess all those treasures.

I can't say that having a clean closet always offset what I was feeling, but it did make me feel better, looking at my latest attempt at organization. I may have been wronged in a way that no other human being in the history of the world has ever known, but, despite it all, my closet was clean. I could face another day.

I suppose it could be worse. That said, don't judge my mood by the amount of clutter on my desk.