Sad Day

Every breakup party I have attended since high school wouldn’t have been the same without Heath.

 

Oklahoma- OK?

There is a funny episode of How I Met Your Mother that is all about re-thinking previously held opinions. One of the main characters, Ted, discovers that he has a fondness for an old shirt, food item, even an old girlfriend that he had disliked in past years.

This happens to me all the time. It’s a great day when a hated shirt in the closet becomes the perfect complement to a new pair of pants, or when an old song pops up on my iTunes shuffle and I re-discover it all over again. Today I realized that my opinion has changed regarding the genre of the movie-musical.

Previous Opinion: I hate musicals.

With the exception of Sound of Music and My Fair Lady, I really could never stand them. The worst ones, usually set in the American West, featured calico-clad girls and men in suspenders breaking into song in the middle of a cotton field, among other awful pioneer cliches.

Updated Opinion: I love musicals, but I still do not like old musicals.

I thought through the musicals that have been made in the last ten years: Moulin Rouge, Phantom of the Opera, Chicago, Hairspray, even Enchanted, to an extent–I have enjoyed them all! It’s fun to be surprised to learn that good actors are sometimes also good singers and good dancers (I’m not referring to “crossover artists” like J.Lo or Jessica Simpson- I think that those girls are lame and I’m not revising my opinion here).

I’ve gotten to the point where I look for movie-watching experiences that are fun and mindless- no thought-provoking, high drama for me. By Friday night, I’m ready for some mental cheesecake. The modern movie-musical is often just what I’m looking for.

 

Iowa Schmiowa

Although for all of our sake, I usually refrain from political commentary on this light-hearted and rarely controversial blog site, I decided to make an exception today due to the fact that we are in an election year and today was the very important first step in the process of electing a new American President. I am going to give you…wait for it…the official Cum Grano Salis position on all things political.

1. All political candidates are liars and flatterers. The few candidates who may actually posess principles will more than likely be corrupted by the intoxication of power within a month of taking office, and if, by some fluke, they actually try to accomplish anything they had promised to do, they will be thwarted by Congress and the bureaucratic red tape of the American political system.

2. Any Republican loser who wins the nomination would be less horrible than Hillary Clinton.

3. Of the Republican losers, Mike Huckabee is my least favorite because he taking advantage of evangelicals. I am equally unimpressed with evangelicals who are going along with it.

Now you can forego all political commentary between now and November and vote for the guy with the nicest tie on Election Day.

 

Going Dark

So I loaned my cell phone charger to my sister on Monday, thinking that my phone could hold its charge for a week until Laura was scheduled to come and visit me again. Wrong! My phone began its “low battery” beeping on Tuesday. We do not have a land line and Stephen was out of town, so I found myself in radio silence for several days. It was weird.

First of all, I found myself resorting to antiquated means of survival and communication, such as using the phone book to look up numbers and using the office phone at work. I had no way of telling time, except for looking at the clock, and I actually had to set a battery-powered alarm clock to wake up in the morning. When I wanted to dash off a quick text message, I had to go to the inconvenience of signing into my Yahoo! account and composing an e-mail. It was as impractical as sending a telegraph.

Convenience aside, not having a cell phone left me with lots of practical concerns for my safety as well. What if I had had car trouble? What if I got stuck in traffic and was running late to work? What if I had a really important question for my mom en route to the grocery store? I’d be up a creek! Also there was the looming threat of needing emergency aid when I was home alone. As a precaution, I told my co-worker friend that I was phone-less for the night, so that if I did not show up for work the next morning, she could send someone to come to my house and wake me up, or discover my body. (This comment was followed by a quick and desperate prayer that I would not be killed while taking a shower. I would be so humiliated to be found in this condition I promise I would feel the embarassment even post mortem.)

The ironic thing is, I hate the telephone. I do not like making phone calls; I don’t even like getting them, unless it’s someone I know well. Consequently, I do not get calls often. And yet I have missed my phone. It will set my heart at rest to have my fully-charged cell phone back in my pocket so that I can not receive calls in peace.

 

Reflections On Lost

Stephen and I are on the hunt for a good new TV show to get into. We can beat the Friends characters to every punch line on every episode of every season, and we’re caught up on 24 until all of Season 6 is released. We don’t want to watch anything that’s currently showing, because we want to be able to watch as many episodes as we want, at any given time, without any commercial interruption.

On Friday night, after being grossly underwhelmed by the selection of New Releases at Hastings, we decided to rent the first disc of Lost, Season 1.

Stephen loved it. I was so scared by the pilot episode that I ended up curled up on the couch, watching the last three-quarters of it through tiny slits between my fingers. The whole show premise is bad enough: 48 people are stranded on a remote island after a horrific plane crash. Within a few minutes, it becomes clear that some of the people on the plane are scary all in themselves, there are unidentified, giant wild animals inhabiting the island, and it is suggested that maybe other people have been stranded and died there before.

In the scariest scene of the pilot, a girl named Kate finds herself running through the jungle, chased by some unseen monster that has just chewed up another character and strung his bloody remains in the treetops. I tried to explain to Stephen how much I felt her panic. “I would rather drop dead than be that afraid.”

Stephen said I was a coward.

I did agree to finish off the disc, and to suspend my judgment of the show until I had seen more of it. It did mellow out a little bit, and the mysteries surrounding the characters themselves have me curious enough to continue on to disc 2.

The thing that I do like about horrific shows like Lost and 24 is that they give me a comforting perspective on my own problems:

• Maybe I’m hungry, but at least I don’t have to pilfer through dead people’s pockets looking for something to eat.
• Maybe this hotel room is kind of dingy, but at least weaponized nerve gas is not coming into my room through the air conditioning.
• Maybe my shoes hurt my feet, but at least I am not having to sew up my own gaping wound with a thread from someone’s travel sewing kit and a needle sterilized by a travel-sized bottle of vodka.
• Maybe my needy students were especially emotionally taxing today, but at least I didn’t have to shoot my boss in the head to avoid giving away my undercover position as a member of a terrorist network.

Of course, after last Friday, I have had to add plane wreckage and uninhabited jungles to my list of fear-for-my-life locations (you know, gas stations, stopped traffic, red lights on deserted country roads; basically anywhere where my axles might get severed)…but that’s another story.

 

Back in the Game

I have always been a big Caedmon’s fan, and I’ve always taken it for granted that everything they put out in stores would be great.

A recent Google search of music review and CC fan pages made me aware that I seem to be one of few fans who still feels this way, after the past several albums which apparently have been poorly received.

However, Overdressed brings back Derek Webb, as everyone who has been within 10 feet of this CD already knows. It’s a great project that has brought fans both loyal and disenfranchised back together in love and adoration of what I consider to be the greatest band still recording Christian music.

Buy it.

 

Watch Cable, Learn Stuff

There is a strong belief that comes to light especially in the idle days of summer, and that is the idea that television numbs the mind and wastes precious hours. I would like to offer another perspective.

As you know, I have had access to cable for the past two weeks in our temporary digs, and I have taken full advantage of this opportunity to increase my knowledge on many subjects. Here is what I would not have known if it weren’t for the tube:

A pencil skirt is a must-have in any working woman’s wardrobe.

You can’t get an epidural if you arrive at the hospital already dilated past a certain point.

It is a big deal that Victoria Beckham is moving to L.A.

Natural births are overrated. Drugs are good.

There are at least three new Sonic commercials out.

Christian Slater is one of the forty sexiest people in the entire world.

Most people who pluck their own eyebrows are doing it wrong.

Kate Hudson’s brother Wyatt plays hockey for a team in Vancouver.

The proper way of using an eyelash curler is to squeeze it close to your eyelid, pump once, pull out a little, pump again, and pump a third time on the very tip of the lashes.

Joe Kennedy was exceedingly ambitious.

The Oreo was not the first chocolate and cream sandwich cookie introduced in the U.S.

One expert believes that J.K. Rowling is going to kill off Fred and George Weasley in the final book. Another predicts that Harry will die.

Fascinating facts like that, my friends, are what you won’t read in your local paper.

 

Lydia Asked for It

Here…watch this until I get something new put up. I’m planning to be inspired tomorrow.

 

Webby Thoughts

We’ve had the opportunity for some cooler-than-usual activities lately, ranging from a Shakespeare play in a beautiful intimate venue to a rocking outdoor concert courtesy of Baylor BYX. Sandwiched in the middle of this was a last-minute concert that we attended in Common Grounds, which is a tiny little house-turned coffee shop adjoining campus.

Anyway, the featured artist is Derek Webb, who I have loved ever since his Caedmon’s Call days. Now that he works alone, his music controversial enough to make me feel very hip and edgy when I listen to it. His lyrics are very thoughtful, though, and I appreciate the challenge of his ideas even when I don’t completely agree with his conclusions.

Knowing that Common Grounds would be packed if only thirty people showed up, Stephen and I decided to bring some books and the computer and we camped out about four hours before the show (we actually only meant to be three hours early, but I had been mistaken about the actual starting time). It was pretty exciting, because from my seat I could see when Derek Webb got there and listen to the sound checks. I admit, only a little bit sheepishly, that I am fascinated by celebrities, and it thrilled me that DW had to walk right past me to get to the bathroom and also that I walked close enough to his guitars to read his phone number on the luggage tag. (I didn’t write it down or remember it, I promise.)

Anyway, once the whole thing started, we were within spitting distance from the mic. There were lots of people crowded in around us, and after a couple of songs I was reminded of my least favorite kind of concert patron: the wannabe band member. This person knows every song word for word, and sings along with the artist at full volume. I think that the underlying desire of this fan is for the artist to hear his or her beautiful music and invite said fan to come sing on stage, and maybe even to come along for the rest of the tour. Unfortunately, this was not this fan’s lucky day, despite his best efforts.

The whole thing got started late and ran even later, but the experience was worth the groggy eyes and general crankiness the next day. Concerts are fun!

 

The 100th Post: the Josh Report

The first time I went to see Josh Groban, I was overwhelmed not only by his swoony voice, which is just as magnificent in person as it is on the CD, but also by his rather awkward and…okay, dorky…sense of humor. He seemed very much like a regular guy who had not yet mastered the art of stage presence. He talked too fast, used a circus-announcer voice to introduce his band members, and his expressions and jokes, which might have been funny among close friends at summer camp, fell very flat.

Last night I attended my second Josh concert at the American Airlines Center in Dallas. He sang a lot of new songs from his AWAKE CD, which I happen to really love, so I was happy. And here was the shocking news: he was funny! There was still a hint of dorkiness about him, but I almost didn’t notice it because I was so busy laughing with him, not at him.

I was actually a little disappointed. I had been looking forward to talented-yet-awkward Josh. This was just a smooth guy with a great voice. What a letdown…until…

…there was a long instrumental song where Josh disappeared for a few minutes, and then he showed back up onstage wearing a long sleeved t-shirt and a black vest. Not the cool puffy kind, or a sporty fleece kind, but a regular old, suede-y black vest with a cinching clasp in the back. It was completely uncool!

It took me a while to pinpoint why this was so important to me. Here’s my hypothesis: It is much more fun to be a fan of a person who seems to be genuinely likeable, the kind of person who would be fun to chat with at Starbucks. If Josh Groban had the voice of an angel and was also a debonair conversationalist, he would be absolutely unapproachable. If he was all of these things and arrogant on top of it, no one would want to approach him anyway.

I probably say this because I’m a little bit of a dork myself, but Josh Groban’s awkwardness is part of his appeal. It makes him seem like a normal person. If we were ever hanging out and singing, he he would be much more awesome than me. But then, I could answer, “Well, maybe I can’t sing, but at least I’m not wearing a suede vest,” and then we’d be even.

So, anyway. The concert report is that we had an incredible time, and it was entirely worth getting in late on a work night. And if Josh Groban ever did invite me to be his friend, it would still be cool with me.