I don't know what's gotten into me, but here's another mix. For this one, I searched for songs that had vocals that radiate hopelessness. It's pretty depressing, but good.
This is a new mix I put together made up of songs whose titles fulfill the formula (x and y). In listening to it, it's interesting to see that a simple formula creates many different kinds of x and y relationships. Some pairs are things which go together as pairs (cf, "Maps and Legends," "Gin and Juice"), others are things that are combustable (cf, "Paper and Fire," "Secrets and Lies") and some I interpret to be sequential relationships (cf, "Bought and Sold," "[expletive] and Run"). Strangely, three of the songs include "fire." Hmm.
As an interesting contrast to School of Dreams, I read In the Deep Heart's Core, by Michael Johnston.
Johnston went to the Mississippi Delta, to Greenville, Mississippi, to teach English at a black high school. The first section or so of the book is about his acclimating both to the town and to the new challenges of the financially-strapped school. After reading about such an elite school in School of Dreams, it was a bit jarring to read about teachers who happily gave passes to students to leave their classes because they weren't "really do anything" to go to other classrooms or classes. I saw shades of my high school in the ludicrous lunch times, constant card playing in elective classes, and heavily restricted bathroom access. That said, the magnitude of the poverty in Greenville was sobering, and Johnston is pretty good about conveying that without patronizing his subjects or pandering to his readers.
There are times where the book is a bit self-congratulatory, yet we learn very little about the narrator himself. Other than occasionally commenting on being tired, and commenting about things that were challenging v. rewarding, we don't find out much about how Johnston himself was affected by the experience. He ends the book explaining how much the Delta means to him, and how much he learned there, yet the Afterword makes it clear that after his Teach for America stint was up, he and his Mississippi-native wife moved to his native Colorado. I think his intention was to make the school and its students the stars of the book, and it works well, but I couldn't quelch my curiosity to know more about him. I think this was exacerbated by the fact that at the time of the novel, he was the same age I am now, so it was natural to relate to him.
One annoying thing about the book (and this was the first edition paperback version), was that it was very poorly edited. There were inconsistencies in spelling some of the names, and at one point, I read a paragraph, and then the very next paragraph was the same as the one before, except clearly edited to be tighter, better language. Very disconcerting and vexing.
All things considered, In the Deep Heart's Core was a glimpse into education in the Delta, but lacked the cohesiveness of another fish-out-of-water-in-Mississippi book I read recently, Confederacy of Silence.
After getting with 80+ instances of comment spam today, I finally sucked it up and upgraded movable type and installed MT blacklist which was easy to do, and now I am so thrilled. Take that, comment spam.
Plane Insanity, by Elliott Hester, is basically a memoir of his time spent as a flight attendant. It's a light, quick read, built on anecdotes grouped (roughly) together by theme. It's at times interesting and occasionally shocking. However, after becoming hooked on the tv show Airline, the book seems to lack oomph with the accompanying visuals. There's an unrelenting drive to Hester's book, one story right after another just boomboomboom with no overarching thread (to be fair, it doesn't claim to be anything mroe than anecdotes strung together). I found it a little tiresome. I think instead of reading it straight through as I did, I'd have enjoyed it more in small doses. It could certainly learn from Debra Ginsberg's Waiting, which manages to craft anecdotes in a more sustaining way.
Check out this little movie. It's awesome.
Link is via the marvelous freakgirl.
I just completed The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time. I was skeptical about it; I'm not entirely sure why, but I really enjoyed it. It reminded me of one of my favorite young adult books (who am I kidding--one of my favorite books, period), I Am the Cheese. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time is in the voice of an autistic young man, though he never uses the term to describe himself. It's a great read, without pandering to its protagonist or the reader.
I finally plowed through some of the reality stuff that had piled up on the TiFaux:
The Apprentice: I have to say, the only guy who's really struck me as potentially competent is Bill. The women? I just don't even know what to say about them. They sadden me. Jessie might be okay. And, ol' Sam is finally gone. Googling him, I found this article which makes him seem well-liked while at Colgate University. Either that, or he was voted to speak at the senior luncheon because people wanted to see if he'd implode.
The Bachelorette: Early favorites of mine: Todd, Chad, and Rick, even though I appear to be the only person who likes Rick even a tiny bit. I think Ian is a lock for the final two, though.
Real World/Road Rules Challenge: Road Rules once again proves they are insufferable. That's the bottom line.
I had the opportunity to see Spike Lee speak at Ohio State on Wednesday, which was a pretty cool experience. He spoke for about ninety minutes on a variety of topics. I found that I agreed with him quite a bit when it came to film, but very little when it came to athletics/sports. Without a doubt, Spike Lee hates the film Cold Mountain. I haven't read the book, and I certainly haven't seen the movie (historical epics are not my bag, baby), but he really got fired up talking about the lack of any people of color in a Civil War film.
He also praised musical artists like India.Arie and Alicia Keys as antidotes to a lot of hip hop, and spoke about recent . He straight up laughed when talking about the State of the Union speech, specifically "No Child Left Behind," which was heartwarming. He said he didn't believe a word of the address.
The one bone I'd pick with Mr. Lee is that he spent a good half hour at the beginning of his talk applauding the students in attendance for getting an education, and discussing how important his education was to his life. Then, at the end of the talk, he brought Maurice Clarett to the stage. Clarett is an Ohio State football player who was suspended by the NCAA for a rules violation this year, and who has been shrouded in academic scandal. Lee brought him onto the stage to applaud him for taking a courageous stand to sue the NFL to allow him to play in their league even though he does not meet the required age. Now, one can fall on whatever side of the Clarett situation one may choose, but if Clarett successfully leaves Ohio State for the NFL, he won't have gotten the education Mr. Lee was touting earlier in the evening. I realize that Lee may see football as Clarett's vocation and that he is as prepared as he needs to be for his career, but I doubt Lee would deny the validity of education for education's sake. The glorification of such a dubious figure as Clarett struck me as pretty disingenuous, and left a bad taste in my mouth at the end of the remarkable experience of hearing a gifted filmmaker of our time speak.
Very little sounds better to me than this headline, Buckeyes Can't Stop Hoosiers. It's hard to be a Hoosier fan in this Buckeye town, but in a season where both teams are struggling, it's nice to get some bragging rights, at least for a while.
You know, if I wanted to watch people mangle popular hits of the last fifty years, I'd travel around the country going to high school talent shows. I just don't understand the attraction of American Idol. I am kind of baffled by its success. So much of it is filler (it makes the Bachelor look like "don't blink or you'll miss something" television), and, really, watching the same people sing week after week, with the filler increasing each week is not gratifying in the long term. Plus, there's something absolutely, fundamentally, atomically wrong with a singing competition that's judged by Paula Abdul.
Back in October, I read Louis Sachar's book Holes and this weekend had the opportunity to watch the feature film. Sachar wrote the screenplay, which excellently corresponded with the book. Shia LaBeouf was splendid as Stanley, and Tim Blake Nelson made an excellent Pedansky. I thought that Jon Voight was a little muggy as Mr. Sir, and Sigourney Weaver was good, but appeared to have stolen Susan Sarandon's Thelma and Louise hair. Even though it was a Disney flick, it was dark enough to be true to the mood of the original. It's nice to see a family movie that's a faithful interpretation of an excellent book.
I finished reading School of Dreams, by Edward Humes, this weekend. It's a nonfiction account of a year at Whitney High School, in Cerritos, California, one of the top public high school in the country. I was struck by a variety of things, but namely the fact that the school is hugely successful by doing things that aren't necessarily in vogue right now in education (eg, sticking to a traditional college-prep curriculum). Students tended to have a ton of affection for their curriculum, even when it was kicking their butts. It reminded me of discussions we'd have at Bryn Mawr, where we'd end up begrudgingly admitting that we saw the benefit in the strict set of core requirements. The book as a whole is a pretty serious indictment of "No Child Left Behind," and the strongest statements made in criticism of new testing initiatives and new technology initiatives are made by students themselves. A pretty fascinating read, especially for people like me who have an interest in public education.
Desperate for something easy to comprehend, and likely to entertain, The Italian Job was rented on Friday. It was far more fun than I expected. I loved Seth Green's character, who was geeky and generally absurd, and made me laugh aloud several times. I've decided I really enjoy a good heist movie (cf: Ocean's 11, Bandits), and I've always guiltily enjoyed Mark Wahlberg, since the days when he was just "Donnie's brother." Finally, it was great to watch a quick-moving action movie that was rated PG-13 instead of R. Sometimes it's nice to sit back and know that there won't be excessive gore or violence.
I'm not a big fan of practical jokes that are painful or humiliating. This, however, is awesome. Clever, well-executed, and absolutely stunning in its magnitude.
When I saw that this arm of the "Best American" series existed, I knew right away that I'd enjoy it. I received both the 2002 and 2003 editions for Christmas, and just finished reading 2002, the first book I've finished in 2004.
There is a wide variety of pieces in the collection. My favorites were the nonfiction pieces, especially those by journalists. Some of the short stories were good, but the collection as a whole did have some duds, the worst of which was "Hubcap Diamondstar Halo." There was a little more teen angsty stuff in there than I might have liked, but he collection is geared to readers under twenty-five (whew! just made it!), so that accounts for some of the high school-related stuff. All told, a really, really fun read, and I plan to save the 2003 collection for later this year when I need a pick-me-up.
I'm a sports fan, and I'm an especially big baseball fan (and college basketball fan, but my team sucks so hard this season, I'm kind of in mourning). I feel like one of the biggest turnarounds I've ever felt myself make is regarding my thoughts on Pete Rose. Years ago, when he was first banned from baseball and in the subsequent years, I thought, "Why not let him in the Hall of Fame? His numbers and statistics are Hall of Fame worthy." Then, I grew up a bit, and understood more about what his gambling on baseball meant. I realized that he didn't just screw up, he screwed up and lied about it, tarnishing the integrity of the game, and was arrogant in doing so. Now, he admits that, yes, he gambled on baseball, and expects fans and those in baseball to forgive him, in a clearly manipulated move designed to sell more books, and he does so at a time that steals the spotlight from my first favorite baseball player ever, Paul Molitor. Bah. Peter Gammons, my favorite baseball writer, makes it all very clear.
Fat Girls and Lawn Chairs is a collection of essays and anecdotes by Cheryl Peck. It's a breezy, quick read, ideal for a vacation day or several evenings before bed.
I found it to be worth my time, but uneven. The essays can be ascribed to four categories. There are funny family stories, poignant family stories, stories about being a minority (gay, overweight), and stories about her cats. The most successful essays are the poignant family stories; they strike a nerve and seem to come from a very sincere place. The funny family stories are all pretty innocuous, but not laugh-out-loud funny, in the way, oh, David Sedaris' are. Her stories about being a "fat girl" and about being a lesbian vary from uninteresting to charming, although I think the the "fat girl" essays work better. The cat essays, well, they made me want to tear my hair out. There are two types of people in this world, in my opinion: those who love cats, and those who hate them, and I fall into the latter category. Little anecdotal essays about cats certainly don't entertain me, because I don't give a rip about the cute inner thoughts of anyone's cat. I suspect that those who love cats will always think that their cats are cuter than those of someone else, leaving such cat anecdotes to fall on uninterested ears. I think that Peck has a lot to say from an interesting perspective about a lot of things, and the collection is earnest and well-written, and a fun read, but were I her editor, I'd have cut all the cat stories. The collection ends on a very poignant note, and I felt a little empty at the end, thinking, "but I want to know more about that."
Everyone said, "It's so fun!" They said, "Johnny Depp is great!" They emphasized, "It's so much better than I expected!"
I shouldn't have listened! By the end of the movie, I was miserable. It was an hour too long. For 90 minutes, I thought, "Well, this is decent for a popcorn throwaway movie" and then the popcorn was gone and it wouldn't let me throw it away because it just. kept. going. Until the 2 hour 25 minute mark.
And, also, I'm sorry, but flitting around and constantly swaying one's head does not a tour de force make. I like Johnny Depp just fine, and think he's a good actor (I think I'm one of only a couple people who both saw and liked Blow), but he didn't do anything special here beyond the effeminate gestures and a sort of "this movie is stupid so I'm hamming it up" twinkle in his eye. Bah.