Monday, May 16, 2011

My Morning Manifesto

One of the most dangerous, unanticipated consequences of our novelty-obsessed consumer culture is the discouragement of sincerity. You see it in teenagers all the time-- they like something, but are too self-conscious to admit it, fearing the judgment of peers and idols. Years of conditioning-- social, familial, internal-- wear us down. A young artist is criticized, discouraged, called impractical. A young dancer is told he looks "gay." A child finds a passion, dives in, and finds only isolation when he/she refuses to follow the trends, bend with the wind. 

"What are the other girls wearing?"
"Why are you so obsessed with this strange music?"
"Only nerds actually LIKE math."

As early as Kindergarten, we're given cues as to what is acceptable to embrace. This isn't just gender conditioning, and it's not just a matter of parenting. Even with parents who encourage creativity and praise passion, children (and adults) are still subject to the phenomenon that is a general distrust of enthusiasm. Many times, it's peer-group pressure, and the desire to fit in. We tame our desires (sometimes destroy them) so as not to seem spazzy, geeky, giddy or gullible. Honest love is sneered at and chided sarcastically-- encouragement sometimes given, but only guardedly. 

We are a nation trying to keep our cool, and we lose all warmth because of it. 

Conformity is mistaken for success. Self-suppression is mistaken for dignity. Saddest of all, apathy is mistaken for attractiveness-- those who care the least are often admired the most. We perpetuate these myths through our systematic discouragement of true individuality. Once a country founded in individualistic fervor, we have devolved into a mere group of consumer categories. Our schools acknowledge only the generic concept of "child," and teach only that which is focus-group approved and market-tested. We measure intelligence with fill-in-the-bubble; we balk at the idea that intellect is highly variable, malleable, and mostly immeasurable. We have surrendered the ability to self-define along with the ability to self-discipline. 

In our quest for a softer standard of living, we have sold or given away all that is truly valuable-- our food supply, our self-reliance, our communal spirit. This is no ONE generation's fault-- we cannot blame Boomers anymore than they may criticize "kids today." Love has been bred/bled out of us slowly, much too slowly to accuse only a small minority. It is EVERYONE'S fault, myself not discluded. Dostoyevsky called sarcasm "the last refuge of modest and chaste-souled people when the privacy of their soul is coarsely and intrusively invaded"-- and that was 150 years ago. How many sincere souls have been invaded since? How much light has been snuffed out? More importantly, why have we continued to allow ourselves to be deceived by the false realities of these "invaders"? 

I propose a rennaissance of true-heartedness. Let loose the shackles of snark, of impassivity, of sardonicism. Be skeptical when necessary, but never cynical. Cynicism implies a broader knowledge than any one man is capable of-- you do not know, you CANNOT know; cynicism is egotism, as is boredom. If you're bored, it's your fault. WAKE UP. Pay attention. There is a world of beauty and possibility outside every door, even in our trailer parks and ghettos. If you're bored, you're doing it wrong. If you're apathetic, you're failing at life. If you're too busy spitting up half-formed judgments of others' honest efforts to make an effort yourself, you're a traitor to truth, and you've just willingly handed over your destiny to destruction. 

Time to take it back.


Friday, March 25, 2011

On Death

You know, the thing that comes after life. The negative space that gives mortality its mass. The fade.

Maybe you've seen it up close. Maybe recently, maybe not. Maybe you've never seen it, not really-- just heard it, vaguely approaching in muffled rhythm, threatening to ruin a perfectly good year or two or seventy.

Maybe none of the above. Maybe it's YOUR turn. Well, you know,

damn.

That sucks. I'm sorry to hear that. Nothing will ever be the same without you, whoever you are. You'll have to let me know how it is; I can think of a few people that would be prime candidates for possession, should you need a break from the choir music/torture/nothingness/everythingness/virgins/etc. If that sounds unpleasant (would you REALLY want to be trapped in Anne Coulter's body for any length of time? Oh, stop giggling and/or gagging), we could always do a "Ghostwriter" thing and invest in some ABC fridge magnets and letter blocks:

TOO MANY RACISTS


NOT REALLY VIRGINS


STAY GOLD PONYBOY


BUT I'D PREFER LIBERTY


OHM


OWCH


BEETLEJUICE



You know, have fun with it. I'll be here. Take your time, of course! And if you don't make it down(/up/around/amidst/beyond), I'll understand. I mean, why bother coming back when you've got infinite bliss/everyone who's ever lived/ultimate enlightenment/the abyss/burning shackles/ahem, virgins keeping you company. Whatever.

I get it.

You know what? Fine, be that way. I thought we were bros, but no, just... whatever. See if I wear black to your funeral. See if I don't write an epic epitaph and play that song you love. See if I don't love you anyway. But damn, dude. Really?

Why don't you just stay, instead? We've got all that stuff here! Well, not ALL of it, but cable! And jetskis! And that new yogurt place just opened!

Don't go. Just hold your horses. Slow your roll.

We've never seen anyone quite like you, and we'll really just miss you like hell. Let's go see a sunrise or something. Tour Yosemite. Volunteer somewhere. Have a nice meal. Maybe go to confession.

I know I haven't been very good at being there lately, but it's not because I don't care. Everyone gets stuck sometimes, and I'm one of the ones that can use a push in the right direction every now and then. It's no excuse, but I mean no offense by it. I like you. I really do.

So hey, just stick around awhile. You. All of you. It might get a little crowded if you really do stick around, but we'll figure something out. Get bunk-beds or something. Shop in bulk.

Sunday, February 13, 2011

"I Ain't Got Nobody": a Study on a Standard

I've always lived in a musical house. From childhoods spent listening too long to the morning radio alarm in the mornings before school (and spending too long watching late night music videos the night before), to countless live shows of every stripe and size, to having the great privilege of knowing so many talented performers-- I simply can't think of another art form that has wound itself so finely into very fibers of my daily existence.

Yet I can't play an instrument. I sing, but not exceptionally well. I dance, which is probably just as intense in its own way-- but I don't always want to dance. I also have no real formal music training/education, though I certainly feel as though I've sought out and absorbed a lot of information about it just by virtue of being an appreciator; I like music, so I want to know more about it. And when I dig deeper, it brings some human quirk (or some broader comment on life in general) into sharp relief. Example:

1925 - Bessie Smith

Bessie Smith wasn't the first person to sing this song (written in 1914 by one Spencer Williams, sez Wiki), but she brings a fire to it that only the Empress could tend. The recording isn't the greatest quality here, but something in her voice transcends the pop and crackle, seemingly by embracing it. You can tell that this girl-- who grew up in  poverty, surrounded by death and abandonment-- had known the meaning of "nobody." An orphan by age 9, she began performing with an older brother to keep the family afloat, singing for her supper in Chattanooga just a little over a century ago.

Her brother left without a word in 1904 to perform with a traveling troupe, then returned 8 years later to recruit her (just as a dancer at first). Soon, Smith began to climb her way up to fame with just the power of her voice and the force of her personality. Once she finally inherited a lead singer spot from mentor Ma Rainey, she began to assert herself as an unapologetic diva (some might say sociopath) and fearless life-liver. She once chased away the KKK in the middle of a packed show in the South, then continued singing once the unfriendly ghosts had been effectively exorcised. Her estranged husband refused to give her a headstone after her accidental death in 1937, and she didn't get one until Janis Joplin paid to have it done in 1970. She's been inducted into too many halls of fame to mention, idolized and imitated by too many vocalists to list, and pictured on a U.S. postage stamp. A life in many ways tragic, but somehow ultimately triumphant-- a theme that would follow the song through its many interpretations.


1956 - Louis Prima


I remember watching Disney's "The Jungle Book" as a very young child and getting kind of angry when the songs were over-- not because the rest of the movie was bad, but the music was SO GOOD. On a lark, I downloaded Louis Prima's (King Louie's) song "I Wanna Be Like You" a few years ago... and felt the same way. Recently, I've taken to listening to Prima's "Just a Gigolo/I Ain't Got Nobody" pairing in the shower. A coupling originally devised by Prima's sax player Sam Butera, it swings, it's silly, and it can be a gleeful kind of cathartic. Basically, it's impossible to feel sorry for yourself when you're listening to that horn section. You can tell he was smiling when he sang it, but even this bouncy, bubbling interpretation has a soul (just listen to the girl in the background who overtakes him on the "nobody"-- AWESOME).

A first-generation American (his parents were from Sicily), Prima attended Jesuit school in his hometown of New Orleans until being kicked out for misbehavior as a teenager. As a child, he learned the violin, but it would be the trumpet and his Louis Armstrong-inspired scat singing that defined him as a performer. A serial philanderer and divorcee, Prima was perhaps more intimately familiar with the "Gigolo" half of this medley, but he sure sells every bit of it. Three years after this song became a hit, Prima won a Grammy for another classic, "That Old Black Magic." Last year, on the 100th anniversary of his birthday, he was honored with a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, and as the poster artist for the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival.

He died in 1975 from complications due to a brain stem tumor. His tombstone reads: "When the end comes, I know, they'll all say 'just a gigolo' as life goes on without me. Lovingly, your little family..."


1985 - David Lee Roth

There's ~2 minutes of filler at the beginning (and a LOT of spandex); you have been warned. I'll be honest, I hadn't seen this video in a decade or so, and I only did so now because I figured it was the version most of you would be familiar with, and it would have been disingenuous of me to critique it based on my own shoddy recall of Pop-Up Video. Having said that, I 'm at once relieved and unsurprised that I wasn't missing out on anything by not having Roth's ridiculous hair and even more ridiculous mugging in my life.

This video came out the year I was born, and I know because of VH1 that most of the sets he crashes are from well-known peers' music videos released around the same time. Michael Jackson, Cyndi Lauper, Billy Idol-- those are just the ones I remember, and I'm not going to watch the damn thing again just to fill out the list. My first thought was "pop culture references with live-action spoofing and an ego disproportionate to talent-- is this the 80's Eminem?" But looking back, that may be selling Eminem short.

The bottom line is: Roth may have had his share of troubles, even in his heyday. Drugs, women, difficult career decisions-- his personal life was less charmed than his impish, womanizing persona let on-- but his version is so slick it's practically plastic. He struts and pouts and glistens, but his words lack the introspection of Bessie Smith and the sincerity of Louis Prima. He mutes the density of the melody in favor of smarm and self-service, nearly removing the instrumentality entirely so we have nothing to focus on BUT him. Bessie may have been a bit of a bitch, but she knew she wasn't the only one in the band. Plus, when this song and video became a huge hit, he refused to pay Sam Butera royalties for coming up with the Prima-led version of the song, or even simply credit him with the arrangement.

...

Now, I know at the beginning of this, I made it seem like there was some deeper understanding to glean from the three different versions of this song that I chose to single out for this impromptu essay. I still believe that to be true, but I don't want to limit the potential for new perspectives. Some things to consider: how can a song be so different from generation to generation, yet consistently yield a hit? Am I being too hard on Roth-- is there something I'm missing about his version that makes other people prefer it above all others? Is this a statement about what Americans value in their music, and in their musicians? Did people really dress like that in the 80's (I know, I know... but SERIOUSLY)? And what about now-- is there anyone that could breathe some fresh air into the piece, just in time for its first centennial?

These are all questions.

Thursday, January 20, 2011

Cheesy Turkey Pillows

These aren't an all-the-time dinner, but they're easy and delicious. If you don't eat meat, I bet you could put some beans in 'em or something instead of turkey. Maybe I'll post a pic later if I can get up the energy to make some (still kinda sickly).


Ingredients:

  • 1 can crescent rolls (or other dough, home-made if you're feeling sassy)
  • 1 package turkey (any size will work, you won't use it all)
  • 2 slices of your favorite cheese (or similar amount of grated)
  • Optional: sliced onion (raw or cooked), broccoli (cooked), sauce or other accoutrement 

Directions:

  • Preheat oven to required temperature
  • Unroll crescent roll dough into 4 rectangle-shaped pieces --2 triangles each
  • Smush the diagonal line between the triangles to make one continuous rectangle
  • Fill bottom half of the rectangle with 1/2 slice of cheese, a few thin layers of shredded turkey, and any other ingredients you wish.
  • Smush the top half of the rectangle over the bottom and pinch the pillow closed
  • Repeat for remaining dough (should total 4 pillows)
  • Bake for approximately 5 minutes longer than the stated estimate, as the toppings tend to delay adequate browning
  • Nom. 

Saturday, January 15, 2011

I would totally play the washboard if I had a pair of those sweet monster gloves.

I don't think I would have believed you if you told my 15-year-old self that in 10 years, my Saturday nights would involve sewing scarves and listening to bluegrass. Maybe if I were sewing skulls on the scarves and on some strange Gonzo-billy spirit journey... of course, who's to say that's NOT what I'm doing? XD

Point is, it's pretty alright with me. Things aren't so frantic anymore, so tense and unpredictable. I'm still surprised every day, but it isn't Shock and Awe. I know that life brings enough of that on its own, and I don't have to go invitin' it. Better to just anticipate it, build my house from brick and learn to sew.

I think my silly old angst was only ever a hormonal, contrarian reaction to childhood and adulthood alike. Around 6th grade, all my friends started talking about how they couldn't wait to be grown-ups, while adulthood just seemed like a long slog through work, parenthood, financial responsibility and chores. I guess I'm not qualified to comment on the accuracy of those assumptions since I don't exactly belong in the majority of those categories, but I certainly don't view them with the same dread that I used to. A lot has changed, but  change has become a reliable constant.

If I had any advice to give someone in that in-between time right now, my recommendation would be two-fold:

1) Learn how to dance
2) Never forget how to laugh at yourself (this especially comes in handy while working on #1)

A good starting point (and an explanation of the title of this blog):

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3kYW6yFoCBI

Saturday, January 8, 2011

Things I'm loving right now:

  • Pearl snaps on flannel shirts
  • The Ben Miller Band
  • Louie getting renewed
  • Keebler naturally flavored lemon cookies
  • Blankets
  • Catsnuggles
  • Clean laundry (thanks mom[s])
  • This recipe for "Pop Up Pancakes" which was ridiculously easy and ended up like strawberry-banana funnel cake. Nomnomnom. 

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

Looking for notes, comments, questions and suggestions!

So, this is my resume. Copy/paste screwed up the formatting, so the weird blurriness is due to a screencap/jpg workaround. So no, that's not your vision, it's actually pretty messed up. XD



And yes, I do change the content based on the job I'm applying for; this is the general employment/clerical position template I usually start from.