At Tech, pursuant to all that I've noticed about the population and related behaviors, there's something fishy about the weekends. Either people shut themselves in their rooms or flee campus like Abaddon himself brought the keys to the Pit of Fire and unleashed it upon the Kessler Campanile. (There is something shady about that place...) In downtown Athens, this is not the case. People are out, walking around, doing things, and not wearing a perpetual "the world is out to screw me" frown.
I was later assured that no, it's not some sort of fantastical paradise, just an extension of the UGA bubble. That's in much the same way, for instance, that Atlantic Station or the Howell Mill Kroger seems like an extension of the Tech bubble at times. (Tangent: that Howell Mill Kroger has been very, very good to me, on at least three occasions. They carry Stewart's Key Lime, for goodness' sake.) Essentially, it's yet another "grass is greener" case. But I do need to go back sometime.
My reason for being in Athens in the first place was to go to a concert by the band Stars. They're a bit on the obscure side, so I'll try to elucidate their music a bit. They're Canadian, and they describe their own music as "indie rock", but if you really want to pick and call it "indie pop" you wouldn't be off-base either. The first description of their music I heard was "like the Postal Service" which isn't incorrect, but I think a more apt description is "like the Postal Service, but a bit less electronic." Or, if you wanted to go further on a limb, "a bit like Rilo Kiley but less folksy." Even "sort of like Metric but a lot more melodic." If you can get those three to converge into a consistent sound, that's Stars. Last.fm also lists similar bands to be The New Pornographers and the Most Serene Republic, both bands that I have heard of and would probably like but am unfamiliar with.
One thing I feel like I need to bring up even before the concert itself: timing. Given "doors open at 8 pm" and "two opening bands", Matt logic would go something like this. Give people half an hour to straggle in, and for the opening bands to get their crap together. Start playing at 8:30, allot half an hour for each band, stop at 9:30. Allow 30 minutes for a set change (in my opinion, those things never need to take longer than 15 minutes, but I'll be generous here). No reason Stars should start playing any later than 10. Matt logic would have been incorrect. My intrepid band of concertgoers rolls in at 10:40 or so, and we still have to wait a few minutes to hear the main attraction. (That said, our timing was downright impeccable.) Perhaps this is too harsh, but I'd really like it if bands gave a reasonable approximation of their start time, not some wishful thinking to get everyone milling about for the better part of an hour.
The concert itself didn't disappoint. Like every show, it had its strong and weak points. One of the less-than-stellar (ha! pun!) points of the concert was the tendency to turn backs to the audience at otherwise-impressive technical moments. Big guitar solo? Better hide my guitar. Crucial riff on some synthesizer? Can't make eye contact with the people listening to it. That's not unique to Stars--it happens at just about every concert I've been to recently. And it's sort of irritating.
Some Stars fans would add another weak point was "anything that came off the most recent album". I've had that one since it came out (okay, since I got to the US after it came out), and I wrote a largely positive review of it. Yet several people I've talked to that have been Stars fans for a while disliked it. Why the negativity?
First, I believe that Heart and Set Yourself on Fire are sort of similar in character (the two albums before the most recent), and that Set Yourself on Fire and In Our Bedroom After the War are sort of similar too. If you're a Stars fan who's been listening to the early stuff since 2005, and this comes along in mid-2007, it's probably tougher to reconcile than for someone like me.
Second, the album contains a lot of what I've started calling "tofu songs". That is, they're neither remarkably good nor bad on their own. Instead, they take on the flavor of the rest of the album. And the rest of the album is gimmicky in parts. "Genova Heights", "Life 2", "Personal", "Barricade", and the title track all have some amount of gimmick to them. If you don't buy into the gimmick, you're probably going to hate these songs. Then, even give the strength of the truly good songs, the filler "tofu" is going to seem that much worse.
And finally, something I touched on back in August, the track placement is bad. You hear "The Night Starts Here" and "Take Me to the Riot" and think "yes, this is good music." Then, when the rest of the album fails to deliver to that standard, you naturally get disappointed.
While a lot of Stars' unique sound comes from the female vocalist Amy Millan, it's clear that the real showmanship comes from the male frontman Torquil Campbell (hey, he's Canadian). He was the one behind all the audience interaction, the one really getting us into the act. Even more impressively, he showed talent in both tenor and falsetto ranges, in addition to key harmonica, the mini Korg that so plagued Stars all night, and even the trumpet. I'd always assumed that the trumpet licks were studio jobs, and maybe on the CDs they were. But when Campbell pulled out a trumpet and did a surprisingly credible job, that pretty much made the concert for me.
Add that to a chance to break the Tech bubble (albeit entering the UGA one) and some excellent company, and it ended up being a great time. And as always after a concert, I have some awful amalgamation of the collective works of Stars stuck in my head.
Another concert alert: Eisley is headlining a tour, and they're coming to Atlanta. I'm not missing this one. But exactly one of three hundred-something people whom I'm friends with on Facebook proclaims to like them.... it's going to be a tough sell to get people to come along.
Currently listening: "What I'm Trying to Say," Stars, and "Listen," Chicago
Monday, March 24, 2008
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Ecce gratum!
The spring break post has turned into a fortunate tradition... I finally have the time to collect a few thoughts, sit down, and shape them into something hopefully readable. This one is brought on by my third-favorite Wikipedia article as of late.
My favorite article is the one about A Dance with Dragons, the fifth installment in George R.R. Martin's brilliant epic fantasy series. (I've already commented and theorized on this brilliant series, in a reaction to the fourth book.) It reports progress in slow, measured trickles, taunting fans with its promises of some far-off release date. (September 30?)
The second-favorite honors at this point go to the article about Death Cab's upcoming album. It's safe to say that I'm... skeptical about this release. Combine Death Cab with words and phrases like "lunar" and "dissonant" and "sludgy slow metal" and I can't help but get a really unpleasant picture. Isn't Death Cab suppose to be sensitive, genuine, and, yes, emo? If we get something that ends up sounding like 1960s band music, I don't care how wonderful the art-music community thinks it is, I'm not going to enjoy it.
But the third-favorite, the one this post owes its inspiration to, details the saga of the end of the Wheel of Time, Robert Jordan's seminal work in the same epic fantasy genre that Martin has become the current master of. The Wheel of Time used to be really, really good. It was, up until the third book. I've said before that edit a few details of the end of The Dragon Reborn (and perhaps beef up the already-exciting climax of The Great Hunt a bit) and you have the best fantasy trilogy ever written, solidly beating even Lord of the Rings. But Jordan didn't stop there.
The series continued to be excellent through the sixth, perhaps seventh, book. By that time, though, Jordan was in over his head. It was clear that there wouldn't be any nice ending--it would take twelve, maybe thirteen books before this could wrap itself up. That would be just fine, provided that the second half of the series was any good. That provision didn't necessarily carry through.
By book ten, the series was so bogged down in itself that we got things like pages upon pages dedicated to buying fabric. Really, Robert Jordan? (If you're into this sort of thing, look up the Wikipedia plot summary for Crossroads of Twilight, book number 10. It's literally a few paragraphs long.) But I was willing to stick with it, along with probably thousands upon thousands of other fans. I've been at this since 2000 (and some, the ones who have been with it since the very beginning, have been at this since 1990), and damned if I'm going to let crappy books 7-11 get in the way of knowing how all this business eventually resolves.
Then Mr. Jordan got amyloidosis.
I have a tough time bashing Jordan's series, given that the man has since passed away. One of his final resolves with respect to the monster of a series that he created was that the series absolutely would end with book number 12. No more stretching things out, no more books-long political intrigue, no more "signs that really, the last battle is totally upon us this time!" Instead, we were promised answers and resolutions and nice things like that that generally go along with ending a series.
Is all that in jeopardy now that that series no longer has an author? Happily, no. For as my third-favorite Wikipedia article reports, one Brandon Sanderson has been chosen by Tor Books (The Wheel of Time's publisher) to finish the series. He's going to use Jordan's notes, dispatches from Jordan's communications with his wife, and his own fantasy author's intuition to craft A Memory of Light into a coherent novel that's supposed to wrap up two decades.
Mr. Sanderson's first order of business is to re-read the first eleven books. Sounds like a fine idea. But it's making we wary, or at least his blog-posted reactions to the books are making me wary. I would assert that in his position as quasi-ghostwriter, Sanderson's primary responsibility is to be true to what Jordan would have wanted. Maintain his plot, his characterizations, and also his style. Sanderson's research appears to be pointing him in this direction. But his second responsibility is impartiality. He ought to be evaluating the first eleven books objectively, seeing what devices and settings worked, and what didn't. Taking Jordan's mistakes and triumphs in the same breath, and synthesizing them all into a book that reflects all of it.
Instead, Sanderson comes across as nothing more than a Jordan apologist at best and a sycophant at worst. Where a disappointed fan would say "Book 8 was bad because..." an unbiased critic would say "Book 8 was paced differently from the rest of the series, which literarily would have worked better if..." Mr. Sanderson, on the other hand, makes comments like "Well, I really don't think book 8 was bad at all! Here, you see Jordan's masterful handling of..."
As a caveat, I haven't read any of Sanderson's other books. Maybe I should. Maybe I will this summer, when I have little else to do. But from an author who doesn't realize that there were problems with books 7-11, I'm not sure whether or not to be excited by book 12.
Currently listening: "Fortune plango vulnera" from Carmina Burana
My favorite article is the one about A Dance with Dragons, the fifth installment in George R.R. Martin's brilliant epic fantasy series. (I've already commented and theorized on this brilliant series, in a reaction to the fourth book.) It reports progress in slow, measured trickles, taunting fans with its promises of some far-off release date. (September 30?)
The second-favorite honors at this point go to the article about Death Cab's upcoming album. It's safe to say that I'm... skeptical about this release. Combine Death Cab with words and phrases like "lunar" and "dissonant" and "sludgy slow metal" and I can't help but get a really unpleasant picture. Isn't Death Cab suppose to be sensitive, genuine, and, yes, emo? If we get something that ends up sounding like 1960s band music, I don't care how wonderful the art-music community thinks it is, I'm not going to enjoy it.
But the third-favorite, the one this post owes its inspiration to, details the saga of the end of the Wheel of Time, Robert Jordan's seminal work in the same epic fantasy genre that Martin has become the current master of. The Wheel of Time used to be really, really good. It was, up until the third book. I've said before that edit a few details of the end of The Dragon Reborn (and perhaps beef up the already-exciting climax of The Great Hunt a bit) and you have the best fantasy trilogy ever written, solidly beating even Lord of the Rings. But Jordan didn't stop there.
The series continued to be excellent through the sixth, perhaps seventh, book. By that time, though, Jordan was in over his head. It was clear that there wouldn't be any nice ending--it would take twelve, maybe thirteen books before this could wrap itself up. That would be just fine, provided that the second half of the series was any good. That provision didn't necessarily carry through.
By book ten, the series was so bogged down in itself that we got things like pages upon pages dedicated to buying fabric. Really, Robert Jordan? (If you're into this sort of thing, look up the Wikipedia plot summary for Crossroads of Twilight, book number 10. It's literally a few paragraphs long.) But I was willing to stick with it, along with probably thousands upon thousands of other fans. I've been at this since 2000 (and some, the ones who have been with it since the very beginning, have been at this since 1990), and damned if I'm going to let crappy books 7-11 get in the way of knowing how all this business eventually resolves.
Then Mr. Jordan got amyloidosis.
I have a tough time bashing Jordan's series, given that the man has since passed away. One of his final resolves with respect to the monster of a series that he created was that the series absolutely would end with book number 12. No more stretching things out, no more books-long political intrigue, no more "signs that really, the last battle is totally upon us this time!" Instead, we were promised answers and resolutions and nice things like that that generally go along with ending a series.
Is all that in jeopardy now that that series no longer has an author? Happily, no. For as my third-favorite Wikipedia article reports, one Brandon Sanderson has been chosen by Tor Books (The Wheel of Time's publisher) to finish the series. He's going to use Jordan's notes, dispatches from Jordan's communications with his wife, and his own fantasy author's intuition to craft A Memory of Light into a coherent novel that's supposed to wrap up two decades.
Mr. Sanderson's first order of business is to re-read the first eleven books. Sounds like a fine idea. But it's making we wary, or at least his blog-posted reactions to the books are making me wary. I would assert that in his position as quasi-ghostwriter, Sanderson's primary responsibility is to be true to what Jordan would have wanted. Maintain his plot, his characterizations, and also his style. Sanderson's research appears to be pointing him in this direction. But his second responsibility is impartiality. He ought to be evaluating the first eleven books objectively, seeing what devices and settings worked, and what didn't. Taking Jordan's mistakes and triumphs in the same breath, and synthesizing them all into a book that reflects all of it.
Instead, Sanderson comes across as nothing more than a Jordan apologist at best and a sycophant at worst. Where a disappointed fan would say "Book 8 was bad because..." an unbiased critic would say "Book 8 was paced differently from the rest of the series, which literarily would have worked better if..." Mr. Sanderson, on the other hand, makes comments like "Well, I really don't think book 8 was bad at all! Here, you see Jordan's masterful handling of..."
As a caveat, I haven't read any of Sanderson's other books. Maybe I should. Maybe I will this summer, when I have little else to do. But from an author who doesn't realize that there were problems with books 7-11, I'm not sure whether or not to be excited by book 12.
Currently listening: "Fortune plango vulnera" from Carmina Burana
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
Georgia Tech in Two Microcosms
Recently, I had the pleasure of judging some high schoolers at a Science Olympiad competition. Luckily, I got an interesting event, in which the kids made robots and used remote controls to pick up things and drop them in boxes. It was very OM, very reminiscent of weirdly creative problem solving and contraptions, and an entire years' work dissolved in a left wheel's detachment at just the wrong time. (OM never had competitors yell obscenities when that happened, though, at least not my elementary school teams.)
And seeing this from the other side now, it's also a remarkable microcosm of kids that are destined for Georgia Tech. A sort of Yellow Jacket funnel, if you will. All of the dramatis personae were there. You had the cocky Asian kid, the one who six days out of the week resents his overbearing parents for making him keep at his studies so hard, but come Science Olympiad time on the seventh day, he comes to accept his burden to boss around all the lesser competitors.
The uber-geek, who can give you a ten minute thesis about how his robot works, or launch into a nuanced debate about how to beat the expert levels on Guitar Hero. But at the same time, he is so withdrawn from conventional social interaction that he finds it difficult to ask you when the competition starts.
The Abercrombie-wearing white kid, who seems just a little apathetic, a little jaded, and far out of place in this world of obsessive love for physics. Perhaps it's a secret passion of his, having to hide his scientific excursions from his beer-guzzling friends and provide an excuse why this weekend is a bad one to go to the lake house and chill. Far more likely, he's here just for the extra credit.
Two girls.
All of these people will probably get accepted into Georgia Tech. "Wow!" says some admissions officer. "A 700 SAT math! And he was involved in Science Olympiad back in high school. He will make a fantastic aerospace engineer." Probably he will. But what this admissions person fails to see (surprising, in the day of student body diversity) is that this only encourages the homogeneity that already pervades this campus. The very fact that an average Tech student can enter this subculture and see not just hints but strong streaks of his own community in them... Tech's stereotypes are self-perpetuating.
The other situation, merely a day after the Olympiad, was an event called Connect with Tech came through. CWT is officially the program that you can be invited to if you're reasonably good at high school, so you can see Tech and Tech in turn can recruit you. More significantly, CWT is known throughout housing staff as the one day besides holidays when the dining hall serves edible food. (Lately, that's been more of a myth than an actual truth, but at least it's something to get excited about.) This group of people was completely different than the Science Olympiad kids.
The cute and now sort of average girl, who's into theater and maybe a couple of generic service clubs in her high school. Little does she know (or maybe well does she know) that by virtue of being female and at all extroverted, she's about to become ridiculously sororitied up.
The apathetic dude without a shred of charisma or conversational ability who's used to getting good grades because high school is so damn easy. But when he gets to Tech, he'll suddenly find that school can indeed be tough. The only question that remains for him is whether he'll notice he's failing under all the pot he'll smoke.
The guy who's actually a decent human being, who you'd feel comfortable hanging out with and becoming friends with, but who takes one look at Tech, and decides against it. The rigor, the reputations... and all the odd people.
With no foreseeable end to any of it.
Currently listening: Billy the Kid, Aaron Copland
And seeing this from the other side now, it's also a remarkable microcosm of kids that are destined for Georgia Tech. A sort of Yellow Jacket funnel, if you will. All of the dramatis personae were there. You had the cocky Asian kid, the one who six days out of the week resents his overbearing parents for making him keep at his studies so hard, but come Science Olympiad time on the seventh day, he comes to accept his burden to boss around all the lesser competitors.
The uber-geek, who can give you a ten minute thesis about how his robot works, or launch into a nuanced debate about how to beat the expert levels on Guitar Hero. But at the same time, he is so withdrawn from conventional social interaction that he finds it difficult to ask you when the competition starts.
The Abercrombie-wearing white kid, who seems just a little apathetic, a little jaded, and far out of place in this world of obsessive love for physics. Perhaps it's a secret passion of his, having to hide his scientific excursions from his beer-guzzling friends and provide an excuse why this weekend is a bad one to go to the lake house and chill. Far more likely, he's here just for the extra credit.
Two girls.
All of these people will probably get accepted into Georgia Tech. "Wow!" says some admissions officer. "A 700 SAT math! And he was involved in Science Olympiad back in high school. He will make a fantastic aerospace engineer." Probably he will. But what this admissions person fails to see (surprising, in the day of student body diversity) is that this only encourages the homogeneity that already pervades this campus. The very fact that an average Tech student can enter this subculture and see not just hints but strong streaks of his own community in them... Tech's stereotypes are self-perpetuating.
The other situation, merely a day after the Olympiad, was an event called Connect with Tech came through. CWT is officially the program that you can be invited to if you're reasonably good at high school, so you can see Tech and Tech in turn can recruit you. More significantly, CWT is known throughout housing staff as the one day besides holidays when the dining hall serves edible food. (Lately, that's been more of a myth than an actual truth, but at least it's something to get excited about.) This group of people was completely different than the Science Olympiad kids.
The cute and now sort of average girl, who's into theater and maybe a couple of generic service clubs in her high school. Little does she know (or maybe well does she know) that by virtue of being female and at all extroverted, she's about to become ridiculously sororitied up.
The apathetic dude without a shred of charisma or conversational ability who's used to getting good grades because high school is so damn easy. But when he gets to Tech, he'll suddenly find that school can indeed be tough. The only question that remains for him is whether he'll notice he's failing under all the pot he'll smoke.
The guy who's actually a decent human being, who you'd feel comfortable hanging out with and becoming friends with, but who takes one look at Tech, and decides against it. The rigor, the reputations... and all the odd people.
With no foreseeable end to any of it.
Currently listening: Billy the Kid, Aaron Copland
Sunday, February 10, 2008
If it has half the cast of Arrested Development...
then it has to be good, right? Juno shows us that's clearly true.
Review and Analysis: Juno and Little Miss Sunshine
So Juno doesn't actually have half the cast of television's best comedy of the decade. But it has two, and that's good enough for me. Although, before getting too deep into the discussion, imagine a universe where Juno's father is played by Jeffrey Tambor, who played George (and Oscar) Bluth, and tell me it wouldn't be wonderful.
Oddly, for all the character permutations present in the movie, the Arrested Development reunion of Michael Cera and Jason Bateman never actually showed up. The character permutations that did show up were very good. Orson Scott Card, an author to whom a big part of the inspiration credit for this blog goes, once told a trick for effective characterization. Good characters necessarily become exponentially more complex as the number of characters increases. With only two, you have to write two personalities, and define how the two of them interact. With three, you have three personalities, three sets of interactions, plus any modifications to the interactions if the three of them ever showed up as a group. Some set theorist could probably define this mathematically for large numbers of characters; Card maintains it's a bad choice to include more characters than definable interactions.
And honestly, think of the best literature and movies and television shows. Either they're incredibly complex to the point where using Card's definition rule would merely bog things down, or they truly do focus on a completely defined network of characters. House, at least for the first three seasons, had essentially six characters. You could always describe the relationship between, say, House and Wilson; between Cuddy and Foreman; between Chase and Cameron. One of the reasons that Alien was so classic wasn't necessarily its command of science fiction, but the fact that it had only eight characters, most of whom had distinct relationships to each other. The list could go on.
Ultimately, the Card relationships are impressive in Juno--and something approaching perfection in Little Miss Sunshine, which I'll hit on again later. I'm not sure why it makes so much sense to review these two movies together, except that I read somehow that they were connected in an AJC article a month ago. I think that Movie People could probably explain some better reasons they're connected.
After doing my homework, Wikipedia reports that both are the products of Fox Searchlight.
Another similarity I can immediately identify is that, in the Garden State vein, they're both Soundtrack Movies. That is, they're movies whose soundtracks that people can actually reasonably want to buy, and whose music lends character to the movie rather than just providing background noise. One of the guys I watched Juno with remarked that "this soundtrack is supposed to be like living in Zach Braff's earwax." Of course. Because every work of art in this genre has to be incestuously related to each other, and if I like one of them, I must like them all. But that's a discussion for a different day.
The soundtrack for Little Miss Sunshine was pleasantly Sufjan-ed up, but otherwise not especially remarkable. My dad hit the nail on the head when he described Juno's as "trying a little too hard". Juno tries too hard in a lot of respects. It makes a lot of minor missteps. And yet, I think that's almost intentional. Juno herself says to Bleeker that he's cool and he "doesn't have to try hard". He responds "I try really hard." That could just as easily be an admission, or a wink and a nudge to the audience trying to tie a massive motif together.
Juno herself is the ultimate in trying too hard. Whether it's the writers trying too hard to make her an indie kid, or intentionally going over the top and establishing her character as one that tries too hard to be an indie kid (I prefer to think it's the latter), she's crafted to seem halfway between exquisitely organic and meticulously assembled. Sure, everyone knows someone who uses the same idiosyncratic turns of phrase that she does, that wears Slinky shirts like she does, that guzzles 52-oz blueberry slushies, that has a penchant for obscure 70s punk and slasher movies, that speaks with the same consistently sarcastic timbre. But is there anyone who's that intensely individual... does a Juno actually exist, or is she an amalgamation of every trait held in high regard by a certain demographic? I maintain that nobody is really quite like Juno, and that forcing every one of these attributes into her makes her seem a little alien, something where the whole is not greater or less than the sum of the parts, merely a little off.
She is the sort of character who can make you develop an instant crush on Ellen Page, or who can instantly make you enter super-movie-critic mode, and talk about things like "motifs" and "character relationships" and "traits". But whatever way you look at it, this a movie about trying too hard. The characters, the characterizations, the movie itself. Happily, all of them, especially the movie itself, prevail in the end. Juno takes stale ideas and plots--things like Growing Up Versus Childhood, and Responsibility Versus What Feels Right--and makes them into a story that's not only coherent but engaging. The resolution of those themes is well done, with each supporting character (Bleeker, Mark, Vanessa) not exactly developing as the movie goes on: each remains essentially a static character. The truly interesting approach here is that they seem to be developing, but that's really an illusion, more of a function of Juno's perception of them as they react to her situation than any actual divergence in character. It's an interesting cinematic device, and it works beautifully given what else is going on in the movie.
Ultimately, Juno is excellent, a movie that actually delivers comedy, drama, and characters you care about. It's highly recommended, and punctuated by a wonderful performance from Ellen Page, and nearly equally good showings from Jason Bateman, Michael Cera, and Jennifer Garner. However, if you could choose just one movie to see, it would have to be Little Miss Sunshine.
Most movies, when I'm done with them, I sort of nod, and think okay, that was fun. A select few, like Juno, I actually recommend as something that's entertaining and worth seeing. After I finished Little Miss Sunshine, I had one thing to say: "what a wonderful movie."
I mean it. If you can only see one movie over the next (arbitrary length of time) make it Little Miss Sunshine. The first thing I noticed about this movie, and the thing that inspired my Card analysis of Juno, was that every single one of the characters interacts with every single other character remarkably. Grandpa has a character that shines through all his interactions. But that interaction changes subtly (yet believably) when he talks to Olive, or to either of her parents.
The quirks that pervade Juno's character are here distilled and selectively inserted into every character in the movie. Dwayne? You swear you knew a guy like that in college. Frank? If that guy doesn't show up to your family reunion, that's the exception rather than the norm. Every moment following these characters, and every moment delicately probing the unique relationship that each character has with the next, is nothing short of delightful. And the climax of the movie, with Olive dancing to "Superfreak" and drawing the ire of every other pageant-goer? Anton Chekhov wishes he could write irony that brilliant.
Currently listening: "Just Give Me the Damn Sepak Tekraw Ball," from the Onion News Network podcast
Review and Analysis: Juno and Little Miss Sunshine
So Juno doesn't actually have half the cast of television's best comedy of the decade. But it has two, and that's good enough for me. Although, before getting too deep into the discussion, imagine a universe where Juno's father is played by Jeffrey Tambor, who played George (and Oscar) Bluth, and tell me it wouldn't be wonderful.
Oddly, for all the character permutations present in the movie, the Arrested Development reunion of Michael Cera and Jason Bateman never actually showed up. The character permutations that did show up were very good. Orson Scott Card, an author to whom a big part of the inspiration credit for this blog goes, once told a trick for effective characterization. Good characters necessarily become exponentially more complex as the number of characters increases. With only two, you have to write two personalities, and define how the two of them interact. With three, you have three personalities, three sets of interactions, plus any modifications to the interactions if the three of them ever showed up as a group. Some set theorist could probably define this mathematically for large numbers of characters; Card maintains it's a bad choice to include more characters than definable interactions.
And honestly, think of the best literature and movies and television shows. Either they're incredibly complex to the point where using Card's definition rule would merely bog things down, or they truly do focus on a completely defined network of characters. House, at least for the first three seasons, had essentially six characters. You could always describe the relationship between, say, House and Wilson; between Cuddy and Foreman; between Chase and Cameron. One of the reasons that Alien was so classic wasn't necessarily its command of science fiction, but the fact that it had only eight characters, most of whom had distinct relationships to each other. The list could go on.
Ultimately, the Card relationships are impressive in Juno--and something approaching perfection in Little Miss Sunshine, which I'll hit on again later. I'm not sure why it makes so much sense to review these two movies together, except that I read somehow that they were connected in an AJC article a month ago. I think that Movie People could probably explain some better reasons they're connected.
After doing my homework, Wikipedia reports that both are the products of Fox Searchlight.
Another similarity I can immediately identify is that, in the Garden State vein, they're both Soundtrack Movies. That is, they're movies whose soundtracks that people can actually reasonably want to buy, and whose music lends character to the movie rather than just providing background noise. One of the guys I watched Juno with remarked that "this soundtrack is supposed to be like living in Zach Braff's earwax." Of course. Because every work of art in this genre has to be incestuously related to each other, and if I like one of them, I must like them all. But that's a discussion for a different day.
The soundtrack for Little Miss Sunshine was pleasantly Sufjan-ed up, but otherwise not especially remarkable. My dad hit the nail on the head when he described Juno's as "trying a little too hard". Juno tries too hard in a lot of respects. It makes a lot of minor missteps. And yet, I think that's almost intentional. Juno herself says to Bleeker that he's cool and he "doesn't have to try hard". He responds "I try really hard." That could just as easily be an admission, or a wink and a nudge to the audience trying to tie a massive motif together.
Juno herself is the ultimate in trying too hard. Whether it's the writers trying too hard to make her an indie kid, or intentionally going over the top and establishing her character as one that tries too hard to be an indie kid (I prefer to think it's the latter), she's crafted to seem halfway between exquisitely organic and meticulously assembled. Sure, everyone knows someone who uses the same idiosyncratic turns of phrase that she does, that wears Slinky shirts like she does, that guzzles 52-oz blueberry slushies, that has a penchant for obscure 70s punk and slasher movies, that speaks with the same consistently sarcastic timbre. But is there anyone who's that intensely individual... does a Juno actually exist, or is she an amalgamation of every trait held in high regard by a certain demographic? I maintain that nobody is really quite like Juno, and that forcing every one of these attributes into her makes her seem a little alien, something where the whole is not greater or less than the sum of the parts, merely a little off.
She is the sort of character who can make you develop an instant crush on Ellen Page, or who can instantly make you enter super-movie-critic mode, and talk about things like "motifs" and "character relationships" and "traits". But whatever way you look at it, this a movie about trying too hard. The characters, the characterizations, the movie itself. Happily, all of them, especially the movie itself, prevail in the end. Juno takes stale ideas and plots--things like Growing Up Versus Childhood, and Responsibility Versus What Feels Right--and makes them into a story that's not only coherent but engaging. The resolution of those themes is well done, with each supporting character (Bleeker, Mark, Vanessa) not exactly developing as the movie goes on: each remains essentially a static character. The truly interesting approach here is that they seem to be developing, but that's really an illusion, more of a function of Juno's perception of them as they react to her situation than any actual divergence in character. It's an interesting cinematic device, and it works beautifully given what else is going on in the movie.
Ultimately, Juno is excellent, a movie that actually delivers comedy, drama, and characters you care about. It's highly recommended, and punctuated by a wonderful performance from Ellen Page, and nearly equally good showings from Jason Bateman, Michael Cera, and Jennifer Garner. However, if you could choose just one movie to see, it would have to be Little Miss Sunshine.
Most movies, when I'm done with them, I sort of nod, and think okay, that was fun. A select few, like Juno, I actually recommend as something that's entertaining and worth seeing. After I finished Little Miss Sunshine, I had one thing to say: "what a wonderful movie."
I mean it. If you can only see one movie over the next (arbitrary length of time) make it Little Miss Sunshine. The first thing I noticed about this movie, and the thing that inspired my Card analysis of Juno, was that every single one of the characters interacts with every single other character remarkably. Grandpa has a character that shines through all his interactions. But that interaction changes subtly (yet believably) when he talks to Olive, or to either of her parents.
The quirks that pervade Juno's character are here distilled and selectively inserted into every character in the movie. Dwayne? You swear you knew a guy like that in college. Frank? If that guy doesn't show up to your family reunion, that's the exception rather than the norm. Every moment following these characters, and every moment delicately probing the unique relationship that each character has with the next, is nothing short of delightful. And the climax of the movie, with Olive dancing to "Superfreak" and drawing the ire of every other pageant-goer? Anton Chekhov wishes he could write irony that brilliant.
Currently listening: "Just Give Me the Damn Sepak Tekraw Ball," from the Onion News Network podcast
Saturday, February 02, 2008
Transition States (and a game review, too)
One theme that runs throughout discussions of college is change. Learning to learn. Figuring out where you actually want to go with your life. "Finding yourself" (and we all know how I feel about that). Experimentation, if that's your cup of tea. I don't doubt that certain people change; many of my friends certainly have. But I sort of don't know that I've changed much at all since I started school. Granted, I can now watch House and get the meaning of "allosteric inhibitor" or watch the French station on GTCN and catch about every tenth word, but that seems like a pure function of learning, not of personality development.
I recently clicked on the wrong button in Gmail, one that sent me hurtling back to summer 2005 (that strange, strange time between high school and college), and I decided to read some of my correspondence from that era. My writing style is essentially the same. The things I talk about are the same--at least the topics are; the amount of experience I can draw on is something like fifteen percent greater now. The only major change, as far as I can tell, is the people I talk to now.
I think everyone I'm friends with or who may read Isoceleria is, by this point, out of high school. They're out of high school to varying degrees, ranging from less than a year to decades. Think back to your Summer 2005 (whether it be summer 2007 or summer 1976 or anywhere in between) and try and recall your promises to keep in touch with high school friends. How many of them did you contact once you got to college? How many of them did you see again? How many did you actually make a continuous effort through college (and beyond) to stay in touch with? Two and a half years into college, I can say that there are less than ten people from high school I talk to regularly--and that number would probably be even lower if a few of them didn't go to my college.
The best way to measure anything--anything--relating to college is Facebook. That place is a data miner's dream, something that people like my dad can only dream about having unmitigated access to. You can gauge across people--popular culture, or counter culture; when projects are due and tests are scheduled. Or you can find out very important things about an individual person--a relationship just isn't "official" until it's on Facebook, after all. Looking at who sends me messages, it's shifted gradually over the last few year from people I knew from high school to people I know from college.
And now, friends and acquaintances are threatening to do things like "get a job" and "go to grad school". What's going to happen to college friendships once that happens? Does it all dry up, except for a select few, like high school friendships mostly seemed to do? I'm not sure if that's a bad thing (it doesn't seem like a good thing; the best thing we can hope for is neutral).
One major change that I definitely have noticed, and that definitely does seem like a good thing, is that I'm a lot more confident in my personal aesthetic. I know what I think looks good, sounds good, tastes good, is worth spending time on. As a corollary, I'm increasingly impressed with (or attracted to, in a select few cases) people who also have strongly defined aesthetics, and impatient with people who don't have them.
That hasn't changed me from liking good video gaming, though. The usual cycle of "let's all play World of Warcraft" is back in full swing, so I've retreated to some games of my own.
Review: The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess
I'm one of those Nintendo fanboys who believes that Twilight Princess's predecessor, Ocarina of Time, was brilliant, possibly the best video game ever. Twilight Princess might just surpass it. I'm not done with it--probably about a third to halfway, knowing Zelda games--and I'm already this impressed.
Twilight Princess relies on the Zelda mainstays of sequential dungeoneering, progressive item upgrades, delightfully frustrating item collection side-quests, and a strangely dressed man with pointy elf ears saving a mystical princess. So I won't go into those details.
Where Twilight Princess really shines, though, is in its storyline. The one knock on Ocarina of Time--the part that made people give it A's instead of A+'s--was that the downtime between dungeons was clearly the throwaway part of the game, merely designed as a linear railroad until the next part of the Item Collection Main Quest. In Twilight Princess, however, there are things like plot twists. Important NPCs with memorable character traits. Epic mounted combat. Even a bit of intrigue. Add all of that to everything good about Ocarina of Time, don't make the Oblivion mistake of getting rid of good things from the original game, and you have something truly spectacular.
Currently listening: The Execution of All Things, Rilo Kiley
I recently clicked on the wrong button in Gmail, one that sent me hurtling back to summer 2005 (that strange, strange time between high school and college), and I decided to read some of my correspondence from that era. My writing style is essentially the same. The things I talk about are the same--at least the topics are; the amount of experience I can draw on is something like fifteen percent greater now. The only major change, as far as I can tell, is the people I talk to now.
I think everyone I'm friends with or who may read Isoceleria is, by this point, out of high school. They're out of high school to varying degrees, ranging from less than a year to decades. Think back to your Summer 2005 (whether it be summer 2007 or summer 1976 or anywhere in between) and try and recall your promises to keep in touch with high school friends. How many of them did you contact once you got to college? How many of them did you see again? How many did you actually make a continuous effort through college (and beyond) to stay in touch with? Two and a half years into college, I can say that there are less than ten people from high school I talk to regularly--and that number would probably be even lower if a few of them didn't go to my college.
The best way to measure anything--anything--relating to college is Facebook. That place is a data miner's dream, something that people like my dad can only dream about having unmitigated access to. You can gauge across people--popular culture, or counter culture; when projects are due and tests are scheduled. Or you can find out very important things about an individual person--a relationship just isn't "official" until it's on Facebook, after all. Looking at who sends me messages, it's shifted gradually over the last few year from people I knew from high school to people I know from college.
And now, friends and acquaintances are threatening to do things like "get a job" and "go to grad school". What's going to happen to college friendships once that happens? Does it all dry up, except for a select few, like high school friendships mostly seemed to do? I'm not sure if that's a bad thing (it doesn't seem like a good thing; the best thing we can hope for is neutral).
One major change that I definitely have noticed, and that definitely does seem like a good thing, is that I'm a lot more confident in my personal aesthetic. I know what I think looks good, sounds good, tastes good, is worth spending time on. As a corollary, I'm increasingly impressed with (or attracted to, in a select few cases) people who also have strongly defined aesthetics, and impatient with people who don't have them.
That hasn't changed me from liking good video gaming, though. The usual cycle of "let's all play World of Warcraft" is back in full swing, so I've retreated to some games of my own.
Review: The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess
I'm one of those Nintendo fanboys who believes that Twilight Princess's predecessor, Ocarina of Time, was brilliant, possibly the best video game ever. Twilight Princess might just surpass it. I'm not done with it--probably about a third to halfway, knowing Zelda games--and I'm already this impressed.
Twilight Princess relies on the Zelda mainstays of sequential dungeoneering, progressive item upgrades, delightfully frustrating item collection side-quests, and a strangely dressed man with pointy elf ears saving a mystical princess. So I won't go into those details.
Where Twilight Princess really shines, though, is in its storyline. The one knock on Ocarina of Time--the part that made people give it A's instead of A+'s--was that the downtime between dungeons was clearly the throwaway part of the game, merely designed as a linear railroad until the next part of the Item Collection Main Quest. In Twilight Princess, however, there are things like plot twists. Important NPCs with memorable character traits. Epic mounted combat. Even a bit of intrigue. Add all of that to everything good about Ocarina of Time, don't make the Oblivion mistake of getting rid of good things from the original game, and you have something truly spectacular.
Currently listening: The Execution of All Things, Rilo Kiley
Monday, January 21, 2008
We All Strike On
A couple of years ago, I probably would have make a comment on how surprisingly good television is lately. We were looking at a universe where, every night, there was a virtual certainty of running into CSI, a CSI spinoff, or a CSI clone. And how do you say no to that? (I suppose pretty easily, if you're not into CSI.) The pre-strike universe lent itself well to my tastes in television: quasi-intellectual suspenses that put the focus squarely on the action, or the mystery, or the intrigue rather than petty inter-character relationships. That doesn't mean they're stagnant two-dimensional characters, and that doesn't mean there's no development. It just means that the writers are clever enough to put those personalities to use in the midst of something worth following.
That "something worth following", just a few years beforehand, was drivel: the reality television boom of the early 2000's. Remember that? Those paleolithic days of dating shows, or dating shows in the city, or dating shows on the beach, or dating shows in Europe? (The similarities of those permutations to those of my supposed television halcyon are of course irrelevant.) That's not even to mention a veritable waste land of sometimes goofy, sometimes sappy "dromedies" of which Friends is the most recognizable and watchable example. That's saying something. (Recently, I decided to give it a chance and watch some of the show, around half of the first season. It wasn't all that bad, but there is much better out there.)
Now maybe that's not everybody's cup of tea. Perhaps you are into complex, character-y dramas. Maybe they're set on the stages of television sketch comedy production. Maybe they're about attractive suburbanite moms. Maybe it's some crap about people screwing each other in a hospital. Maybe it's a bunch of people stranded from a plane crash on some weird deserted (or not-so-deserted) island. (...okay, so Lost actually is really good.) Point is, if you're into that sort of thing, it was out there, at least until a few months ago. Honestly, I think there was something out there for anyone, at least anyone who was looking. Nearly every would-be critic agreed that things were better than they were at the beginning of the decade, whatever they preferred. Even reality TV holdouts couldn't complain, as electronic Darwinism had taken its toll on the worst and kept the last bad (eg, The Amazing Race).
I turn to three examples to exhibit how dreadfully dependent Hollywood has been on the writers. I first feel like I need to admit that I have watched all of these shows, and I'm not too proud to watch them again, at some point. Deal or No Deal was around even when Jay Leno was allowed by contract to make notes on cards (he's not, as of January 2008), and it's the least objectionable of what currently passes for watchable television. In case you haven't heard of this one, it centers around someone picking a number at random, computing probability so simple a high school statistics student could figure it out, and essentially seeing how greedy (or merely bad at mathematics) the contestant is. Despite Howie Mandel and twenty-something provocatively-clad models clutching numbers, the show realizes it faces a big problem here. There is no variation. On nearly every other show that gives out free money, there's some device to vary the scheme. Perhaps it's trivia questions, or contestant interaction, or a contrived physical competition.
Deal or No Deal, though, is faced with the same expected-value problem every time the show airs. And until people decide to start writing again, it's minor tweaks in concept, or additions of extra cash, or reliance on the short attention span of the general populace, to keep the same old thing afloat.
For sheer absurdity value, it's tough to beat American Gladiators. That one's become a weekly favorite in the dorm, not because it's actually a good show, but to make fun of how absolutely ridiculous it is. Six-foot, five-inch dudes who call themselves "Wolf" and toss hundred-pound swinging weights at muscled guys in Spandex? Swimming under real live flames? Hundred mile an hour Nerf cannons? How can you possibly go wrong? The real puzzle is trying to figure out who greenlit bringing this show back, fifteen years later. Truly, our desperation from having no writing can't get any lower than this, right?
Or so you might think, unless you're lucky enough to catch a glimpse of MTV's The X Effect. Premise: take a couple that used to be together, but is now broken up. Both the guy and girl have long since moved on and found themselves new significant others. Now, take the two exes, put them in the same hotel room for a weekend, and surprise! Turns out they still have feelings for each other! Why not let their current partners watch and get jealous? Seriously, MTV? Breaking up otherwise happy couples by throwing in some potent "ex" catalyst?
A girl I know wrote an article in Georgia Tech's local fishwrapper The Technique about the writer's strike opening up all sorts of lovely political discussion, prompting people to watch C-Span and discuss issues. Maybe so. I've personally heard more discussion of how that one dude totally knocked Titan off the platform in Joust yesterday.
I live in fear of seeing what's going to happen to American mainstream culture once the writer's strike hits movie theaters.
Currently listening: "Empty", Metric
That "something worth following", just a few years beforehand, was drivel: the reality television boom of the early 2000's. Remember that? Those paleolithic days of dating shows, or dating shows in the city, or dating shows on the beach, or dating shows in Europe? (The similarities of those permutations to those of my supposed television halcyon are of course irrelevant.) That's not even to mention a veritable waste land of sometimes goofy, sometimes sappy "dromedies" of which Friends is the most recognizable and watchable example. That's saying something. (Recently, I decided to give it a chance and watch some of the show, around half of the first season. It wasn't all that bad, but there is much better out there.)
Now maybe that's not everybody's cup of tea. Perhaps you are into complex, character-y dramas. Maybe they're set on the stages of television sketch comedy production. Maybe they're about attractive suburbanite moms. Maybe it's some crap about people screwing each other in a hospital. Maybe it's a bunch of people stranded from a plane crash on some weird deserted (or not-so-deserted) island. (...okay, so Lost actually is really good.) Point is, if you're into that sort of thing, it was out there, at least until a few months ago. Honestly, I think there was something out there for anyone, at least anyone who was looking. Nearly every would-be critic agreed that things were better than they were at the beginning of the decade, whatever they preferred. Even reality TV holdouts couldn't complain, as electronic Darwinism had taken its toll on the worst and kept the last bad (eg, The Amazing Race).
I turn to three examples to exhibit how dreadfully dependent Hollywood has been on the writers. I first feel like I need to admit that I have watched all of these shows, and I'm not too proud to watch them again, at some point. Deal or No Deal was around even when Jay Leno was allowed by contract to make notes on cards (he's not, as of January 2008), and it's the least objectionable of what currently passes for watchable television. In case you haven't heard of this one, it centers around someone picking a number at random, computing probability so simple a high school statistics student could figure it out, and essentially seeing how greedy (or merely bad at mathematics) the contestant is. Despite Howie Mandel and twenty-something provocatively-clad models clutching numbers, the show realizes it faces a big problem here. There is no variation. On nearly every other show that gives out free money, there's some device to vary the scheme. Perhaps it's trivia questions, or contestant interaction, or a contrived physical competition.
Deal or No Deal, though, is faced with the same expected-value problem every time the show airs. And until people decide to start writing again, it's minor tweaks in concept, or additions of extra cash, or reliance on the short attention span of the general populace, to keep the same old thing afloat.
For sheer absurdity value, it's tough to beat American Gladiators. That one's become a weekly favorite in the dorm, not because it's actually a good show, but to make fun of how absolutely ridiculous it is. Six-foot, five-inch dudes who call themselves "Wolf" and toss hundred-pound swinging weights at muscled guys in Spandex? Swimming under real live flames? Hundred mile an hour Nerf cannons? How can you possibly go wrong? The real puzzle is trying to figure out who greenlit bringing this show back, fifteen years later. Truly, our desperation from having no writing can't get any lower than this, right?
Or so you might think, unless you're lucky enough to catch a glimpse of MTV's The X Effect. Premise: take a couple that used to be together, but is now broken up. Both the guy and girl have long since moved on and found themselves new significant others. Now, take the two exes, put them in the same hotel room for a weekend, and surprise! Turns out they still have feelings for each other! Why not let their current partners watch and get jealous? Seriously, MTV? Breaking up otherwise happy couples by throwing in some potent "ex" catalyst?
A girl I know wrote an article in Georgia Tech's local fishwrapper The Technique about the writer's strike opening up all sorts of lovely political discussion, prompting people to watch C-Span and discuss issues. Maybe so. I've personally heard more discussion of how that one dude totally knocked Titan off the platform in Joust yesterday.
I live in fear of seeing what's going to happen to American mainstream culture once the writer's strike hits movie theaters.
Currently listening: "Empty", Metric
Sunday, January 06, 2008
Stoning Adulterers and Killing Magicians
Review and Discussion: The Year of Living Biblically
So I've gotten to do this strange thing lately, which I haven't had the time for in several months, and that's "read a book". Among what I got for Christmas was The Year of Living Biblically by A.J. Jacobs (author of another book about reading the entire encyclopedia, cover-to-cover, which I'll certainly be picking up as soon as I can). In a double attempt to 1) pay homage to his crazy Uncle Gil, who in his second spurt of ultra-Orthodox Judaism has decided to tie tassels to all his clothing, and 2) give an agnostic New York moderate-liberal "ha! gotcha!" to fundamentalist Jew or Christian who would claim to follow every mandate of their holy text to the letter.
Two main themes arise in Jacobs' book: first, that it's actually impossible to follow every word literally, and second, that even for a non-believer, the Bible contains moral teachings that can be worthwhile to follow.
For anyone in modern times trying to interpret every word of every sentence as true and literal, several conflicts show up. These might be conflicts between different parts of the Bible itself, or situational circumstances that essentially mandate a conflict. (How many times has "keeping holy the Sabbath" conflicted with, say, "honor thy father and mother"?)
Then there are the clearly old-fashioned laws, like the ones about sacrificing, who it's okay to stone, and what you're allowed to do to and with your slave under various circumstances. Most of these rules don't have any place anymore... but where's the religious justification of that? If the Bible is the literal word of God, why should the workings of man abolish your duty to abide by those laws?
Literalist Jews and literalist Christians have different answers to that. Jews say that most of the laws they no longer follow (for instance, those nasty bits about animal sacrifice) are because they were only designed to be observed at the Temple in Jerusalem. With that temple no longer around, the Jews aren't bound by those rules anymore. As for Christians, with Jesus' death and resurrection came discarding the so-called "ritual laws" (which encompass sacrifice, not eating shellfish, not wearing mixed linen/cotten clothing, etc.). The tricky thing is, Christians are still supposed to abide by the "moral laws" (such as respecting your elders, etc.). What counts as "moral" versus "ritual" law? Well, there's yet more interpretation, because it's not like Jesus ever made a list.
But whether moral or ritual, whether abolished by the temple's destruction or not, Jacobs follows them all. At least, all of the ones that aren't downright illegal by modern standards. And through them, he actually starts to live Biblically, as opposed to merely according to the rules of the Bible. He's not sure whether to attribute this to cognitive dissonance theory, which in part says that if you act as if something is true, you begin to believe it's true. Maybe it's that, and maybe it's a genuine effect, through studying the teachings of God, to become closer to God.
In the end, Jacobs isn't quite sure what he learned, and I think that's sort of the point of the book. The lengths that Jacobs goes to understand the exact message behind everything described in the Bible are astounding, and if you're a religious person anyway, you probably believe that this isn't the sort of thing that can merely be reduced to a set of words. He settles on the Jeffersonian belief that the Bible contains a worthwhile set of moral guidelines, but can't pull himself toward belief in a personal, interactive God.
Most Jews and Christians would retort that this is the very crux of living Biblically.
Despite this apparent fatal flaw, Jacobs' book is fascinating, and highly recommended. His discussion of almost all of the prominent Biblical issues is balanced and thorough. Furthermore, he tries very hard to understand cultural, historical, and societal contexts of all the Biblical laws, and explain to the reader exactly why that rule existed. The thing Jacobs does best is avoid bias, acknowledging the possibility of truth and "rightness" in every possibility he encounters.
Interestingly, that lack of bias that Jacobs is able to pull off so effortlessly shows that it really does take an agnostic to write a book this Biblical. A fundamentalist evangelical would take a different perspective as a Hasid, and both points of view would be vastly different from a mainline Protestant, or Catholic, or Reform Jew. Jacobs is able to take his lack of perspective--something that any of those religious groups would criticize--and turn it into something utterly spiritual anyway.
Currently listening: Drastic Fantastic, KT Tunstall
So I've gotten to do this strange thing lately, which I haven't had the time for in several months, and that's "read a book". Among what I got for Christmas was The Year of Living Biblically by A.J. Jacobs (author of another book about reading the entire encyclopedia, cover-to-cover, which I'll certainly be picking up as soon as I can). In a double attempt to 1) pay homage to his crazy Uncle Gil, who in his second spurt of ultra-Orthodox Judaism has decided to tie tassels to all his clothing, and 2) give an agnostic New York moderate-liberal "ha! gotcha!" to fundamentalist Jew or Christian who would claim to follow every mandate of their holy text to the letter.
Two main themes arise in Jacobs' book: first, that it's actually impossible to follow every word literally, and second, that even for a non-believer, the Bible contains moral teachings that can be worthwhile to follow.
For anyone in modern times trying to interpret every word of every sentence as true and literal, several conflicts show up. These might be conflicts between different parts of the Bible itself, or situational circumstances that essentially mandate a conflict. (How many times has "keeping holy the Sabbath" conflicted with, say, "honor thy father and mother"?)
Then there are the clearly old-fashioned laws, like the ones about sacrificing, who it's okay to stone, and what you're allowed to do to and with your slave under various circumstances. Most of these rules don't have any place anymore... but where's the religious justification of that? If the Bible is the literal word of God, why should the workings of man abolish your duty to abide by those laws?
Literalist Jews and literalist Christians have different answers to that. Jews say that most of the laws they no longer follow (for instance, those nasty bits about animal sacrifice) are because they were only designed to be observed at the Temple in Jerusalem. With that temple no longer around, the Jews aren't bound by those rules anymore. As for Christians, with Jesus' death and resurrection came discarding the so-called "ritual laws" (which encompass sacrifice, not eating shellfish, not wearing mixed linen/cotten clothing, etc.). The tricky thing is, Christians are still supposed to abide by the "moral laws" (such as respecting your elders, etc.). What counts as "moral" versus "ritual" law? Well, there's yet more interpretation, because it's not like Jesus ever made a list.
But whether moral or ritual, whether abolished by the temple's destruction or not, Jacobs follows them all. At least, all of the ones that aren't downright illegal by modern standards. And through them, he actually starts to live Biblically, as opposed to merely according to the rules of the Bible. He's not sure whether to attribute this to cognitive dissonance theory, which in part says that if you act as if something is true, you begin to believe it's true. Maybe it's that, and maybe it's a genuine effect, through studying the teachings of God, to become closer to God.
In the end, Jacobs isn't quite sure what he learned, and I think that's sort of the point of the book. The lengths that Jacobs goes to understand the exact message behind everything described in the Bible are astounding, and if you're a religious person anyway, you probably believe that this isn't the sort of thing that can merely be reduced to a set of words. He settles on the Jeffersonian belief that the Bible contains a worthwhile set of moral guidelines, but can't pull himself toward belief in a personal, interactive God.
Most Jews and Christians would retort that this is the very crux of living Biblically.
Despite this apparent fatal flaw, Jacobs' book is fascinating, and highly recommended. His discussion of almost all of the prominent Biblical issues is balanced and thorough. Furthermore, he tries very hard to understand cultural, historical, and societal contexts of all the Biblical laws, and explain to the reader exactly why that rule existed. The thing Jacobs does best is avoid bias, acknowledging the possibility of truth and "rightness" in every possibility he encounters.
Interestingly, that lack of bias that Jacobs is able to pull off so effortlessly shows that it really does take an agnostic to write a book this Biblical. A fundamentalist evangelical would take a different perspective as a Hasid, and both points of view would be vastly different from a mainline Protestant, or Catholic, or Reform Jew. Jacobs is able to take his lack of perspective--something that any of those religious groups would criticize--and turn it into something utterly spiritual anyway.
Currently listening: Drastic Fantastic, KT Tunstall
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
Holiday Spirit, part II: Cinema
To wrap up the holiday season, it seems appropriate to discuss the movies. After all, that's where Isoceleria got its start, and that's when you have a much better chance than the rest of the year to see me in a movie theater.
Before I forget, when in the hell did cheesy little Carmike 12 in Snellville start thinking it was a good choice to charge $10 to see a movie? That's as much as or more than much nicer theaters, like the ones at Atlantic Station ($10, but $9 for a student) or Stonecrest Mall ($9.50).
Holiday-season movies tend to fall into one of three camps: 1) Holiday movies, 2) Oscar-y movies, and 3) Movies that really wish they could be Oscar-y. Holiday movies I'm generally sort of skeptical of, as there's no way they can really compete with what's become the holy trinity of Christmas movies: Christmas Vacation, A Christmas Story, and of course It's a Wonderful Life. Those movies are wonderful enough to merit their own discussion, which I sort of missed the boat on this year. (December 2008, here I come.)
Oscar-y movies, on the other hand, are ones specifically designed to rake in awards. For whatever reason, there's a perception that these movies are only allowed to be released in the month of December. Think of the movies that advertise themselves with phrases like "Nominated for n Golden Globes!" and the higher n is, the higher propensity it has for association with this category. These movies aren't necessarily bad, but they seems to have a sort of "popular opinion be damned, we're going to pander to what the critics have expressed they're looking for this awards season."
And the "movies that really wish they could be Oscar-y" category turns out to be the one that I often find myself exposed to come late December. I've said it before, that I'm not so much a movie person as a movie-neutral person with movie-person friends. And when I'm hanging out with those people, as I have time to do every late December, it usually turns out that that means going to see one of these movies.
Review: I Am Legend
I respect Will Smith a lot as an actor. Maybe not so much as a rapper--I think the world wouldn't necessarily be worse off for having missed out on getting jiggy with anything. But the man can act. Recently, The Pursuit of Happyness was entertaining if not brilliant, and a welcomed sink of two hours out of an eight hour trans-Atlantic flight. Interestingly, he's really created a name for himself as a science fiction actor: Men in Black, I, Robot, and now I Am Legend.
The general consensus concerning this movie is "it was really good until the zombies showed up." Sure, I'll go along with that. But making that observation would be like saying that Star Wars was really good until the Jedi showed up. First, it doesn't take long at all for them to enter the movie, and secondly (and more seriously), they're such an integral part of the story that getting rid of them is essentially stripping the setting of its originality. Jedi define Star Wars the same way that zombies define I Am Legend. And that's sort of unfortunate.
On the surface, this movie is science fiction. Problem is, there's hardly any science mixed in with the fiction. The prologue to the movie explained the proximate cause of humanity's downfall with a tantalizing bit of genetics and immunology. As someone with more than a passing interest (three quarters of the way to a degree, in fact) in the life sciences, to me, this was one of the most intriguing parts of the movie. I was really hoping for the plausible-sounding science to be a continuing motif throughout the movie, and instead we get a single minute of Will Smith synopsis about two thirds of the way in. I understand that the thread of science is one of the least important parts of "science fiction" to a lot of people out there, but is it too much to ask to pay lipservice to it for more than a sliver of the film?
Devoid of its scientific content, I Am Legend is, at its core, still a zombie movie. Will Smith hides from the zombies. Then he kicks some zombie ass. Then things start to go downhill. Then he discovers a magical cure for zombie-ism! Then zombies invade, and he dies. Something we've seen how many dozen times already? I Am Legend had a golden opportunity to distinguish itself that it never really took. Bottom line: if you're really into zombie action movies, this isn't an awful movie. I just can't promise that you'll get anything out of it.
Caveat to everything I just said: this applies strictly to the movie. I haven't read the book. I gather that, like virtually every book-come-movie, the book is measurably better. I can't verify that's true. I think it probably makes sense that it is. One supposedly significant change is that in the book, the evil monster creatures are closer to vampires than zombies. To me, that's no big deal. But hey, maybe there might even be science in the book, and that probably isn't a big deal to some people either.
Review: Alien Versus Predator: Requiem
Or: "Because the first one was so good that they really needed a sequel, right?"
Recently, my friend Nick asked me if I'd seen the first AvP movie. Yes, I have. He told me he'd watched it on TV, and that there was probably some content editing going on to make the film less comprehensible than it should have been. I assured him that it was almost certainly exactly as comprehensible as it would have been, should he have seen it in the theater.
The answer to "did we really need a sequel?" is absolutely no, we did not. This is one of those movies that just begs for the Mystery Science Theater treatment. Character development is nil. Scientific intrigue, where it at least showed potential in I Am Legend is more of the same ridiculousness. Even the title doesn't make any sense: who is it who's getting laid to rest, anyway?
Not that you were necessarily expecting character development, or science, or... sense from this movie. You were probably expecting lots of stuff blowing up, and heads getting blown off, and a movie that you don't at all have to take seriously. And that's exactly what you're going to get.
Currently listening: "Here It Goes Again," OK Go (via our friends at Rock Band)
Before I forget, when in the hell did cheesy little Carmike 12 in Snellville start thinking it was a good choice to charge $10 to see a movie? That's as much as or more than much nicer theaters, like the ones at Atlantic Station ($10, but $9 for a student) or Stonecrest Mall ($9.50).
Holiday-season movies tend to fall into one of three camps: 1) Holiday movies, 2) Oscar-y movies, and 3) Movies that really wish they could be Oscar-y. Holiday movies I'm generally sort of skeptical of, as there's no way they can really compete with what's become the holy trinity of Christmas movies: Christmas Vacation, A Christmas Story, and of course It's a Wonderful Life. Those movies are wonderful enough to merit their own discussion, which I sort of missed the boat on this year. (December 2008, here I come.)
Oscar-y movies, on the other hand, are ones specifically designed to rake in awards. For whatever reason, there's a perception that these movies are only allowed to be released in the month of December. Think of the movies that advertise themselves with phrases like "Nominated for n Golden Globes!" and the higher n is, the higher propensity it has for association with this category. These movies aren't necessarily bad, but they seems to have a sort of "popular opinion be damned, we're going to pander to what the critics have expressed they're looking for this awards season."
And the "movies that really wish they could be Oscar-y" category turns out to be the one that I often find myself exposed to come late December. I've said it before, that I'm not so much a movie person as a movie-neutral person with movie-person friends. And when I'm hanging out with those people, as I have time to do every late December, it usually turns out that that means going to see one of these movies.
Review: I Am Legend
I respect Will Smith a lot as an actor. Maybe not so much as a rapper--I think the world wouldn't necessarily be worse off for having missed out on getting jiggy with anything. But the man can act. Recently, The Pursuit of Happyness was entertaining if not brilliant, and a welcomed sink of two hours out of an eight hour trans-Atlantic flight. Interestingly, he's really created a name for himself as a science fiction actor: Men in Black, I, Robot, and now I Am Legend.
The general consensus concerning this movie is "it was really good until the zombies showed up." Sure, I'll go along with that. But making that observation would be like saying that Star Wars was really good until the Jedi showed up. First, it doesn't take long at all for them to enter the movie, and secondly (and more seriously), they're such an integral part of the story that getting rid of them is essentially stripping the setting of its originality. Jedi define Star Wars the same way that zombies define I Am Legend. And that's sort of unfortunate.
On the surface, this movie is science fiction. Problem is, there's hardly any science mixed in with the fiction. The prologue to the movie explained the proximate cause of humanity's downfall with a tantalizing bit of genetics and immunology. As someone with more than a passing interest (three quarters of the way to a degree, in fact) in the life sciences, to me, this was one of the most intriguing parts of the movie. I was really hoping for the plausible-sounding science to be a continuing motif throughout the movie, and instead we get a single minute of Will Smith synopsis about two thirds of the way in. I understand that the thread of science is one of the least important parts of "science fiction" to a lot of people out there, but is it too much to ask to pay lipservice to it for more than a sliver of the film?
Devoid of its scientific content, I Am Legend is, at its core, still a zombie movie. Will Smith hides from the zombies. Then he kicks some zombie ass. Then things start to go downhill. Then he discovers a magical cure for zombie-ism! Then zombies invade, and he dies. Something we've seen how many dozen times already? I Am Legend had a golden opportunity to distinguish itself that it never really took. Bottom line: if you're really into zombie action movies, this isn't an awful movie. I just can't promise that you'll get anything out of it.
Caveat to everything I just said: this applies strictly to the movie. I haven't read the book. I gather that, like virtually every book-come-movie, the book is measurably better. I can't verify that's true. I think it probably makes sense that it is. One supposedly significant change is that in the book, the evil monster creatures are closer to vampires than zombies. To me, that's no big deal. But hey, maybe there might even be science in the book, and that probably isn't a big deal to some people either.
Review: Alien Versus Predator: Requiem
Or: "Because the first one was so good that they really needed a sequel, right?"
Recently, my friend Nick asked me if I'd seen the first AvP movie. Yes, I have. He told me he'd watched it on TV, and that there was probably some content editing going on to make the film less comprehensible than it should have been. I assured him that it was almost certainly exactly as comprehensible as it would have been, should he have seen it in the theater.
The answer to "did we really need a sequel?" is absolutely no, we did not. This is one of those movies that just begs for the Mystery Science Theater treatment. Character development is nil. Scientific intrigue, where it at least showed potential in I Am Legend is more of the same ridiculousness. Even the title doesn't make any sense: who is it who's getting laid to rest, anyway?
Not that you were necessarily expecting character development, or science, or... sense from this movie. You were probably expecting lots of stuff blowing up, and heads getting blown off, and a movie that you don't at all have to take seriously. And that's exactly what you're going to get.
Currently listening: "Here It Goes Again," OK Go (via our friends at Rock Band)
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
If I'm too good to discuss hubris...
An interesting trend that I'm noticing as I move through the collegiate ranks is the transition from the closed to the open universe: from what are essentially solved problems to problems that are actually worth trying to find the answer to. The biggest area where this is showing up is of course research, but also in other classes; it's nice to get the occasional Transport problem where I'm allowed to remember that what I do just might be applicable to something. Take an optimization problem, for instance: the focus isn't so much on "getting the answer right," mostly because there isn't a right answer. There is, however, a right method, and that's what's being tested.
One class that I might have the opportunity to take next year is something about "undergrad thesis writing." Very much the "unsolved problem" approach--there's clearly a right and wrong way to write a thesis, at the same time as there's no right or wrong thesis. I looked at a sample syllabus online, and it included a revolutionary lesson plan: discussion. I didn't think you were actually allowed to do that at Tech, until I remembered I had something similar back in good old English II.
Maybe you're not allowed to have these "discussions" outside of LCC classes.
LCC, of course, is the school that offers mandatory English classes, the thesis writing class, and various artsy film classes that I'm not sure anyone actually has time to take. It stands for "Literature, Communication, and Culture," and hosts the much-maligned STAC ("Science, Technology, and Culture") degree. That said, an LCC class was one of only a few occasions in my educational history--until recent advanced engineering classes--where the "closed problem" approach was avoided entirely. There were no tests. There were quizzes, to make sure we were actually keeping up with our reading, that counted for relatively little of the final grade. Then there were papers, where we developed ideas and wrote about them, drawing off examples from the books.
In other words, I had learn-discuss-prove you understand.
Contract that to earlier English classes, which were more like learn-memorize-okay, did you memorize well enough? The best part of English, of literature, heck, of the entirety of liberal arts, is the ability to scrutinize a problem and discuss it both subjectively and objectively. This is the one field in all of academia where "what you think" is actually valid. (Try expressing a personal opinion in engineering, or economics, or law.) Too many English classes discard this concept entirely. It would be like treating fluid mechanics without calculus, or ethics without Aristotle.
Take high school lit staple The Odyssey. Fine book. Immense cultural and historical significance. Plenty of material for discussion, except that it's presented as a solved problem. "Children," a thousand high school teachers might be saying in unison, "this is hubris."
"Is that going to be on the test?"
A much better method would, of course, expect students to understand the role of hubris in the context of Ancient Greek society and religious beliefs, and write an essay on it with things like citations to the text. Is that too much to ask of students, particularly ones in high school?
And is thinking having "hubris" shoved down one's throat in itself hubris?
"Children, this is irony. Yes, it's going to be on the test."
Currently listening: Songs for Christmas, Sufjan Stevens
One class that I might have the opportunity to take next year is something about "undergrad thesis writing." Very much the "unsolved problem" approach--there's clearly a right and wrong way to write a thesis, at the same time as there's no right or wrong thesis. I looked at a sample syllabus online, and it included a revolutionary lesson plan: discussion. I didn't think you were actually allowed to do that at Tech, until I remembered I had something similar back in good old English II.
Maybe you're not allowed to have these "discussions" outside of LCC classes.
LCC, of course, is the school that offers mandatory English classes, the thesis writing class, and various artsy film classes that I'm not sure anyone actually has time to take. It stands for "Literature, Communication, and Culture," and hosts the much-maligned STAC ("Science, Technology, and Culture") degree. That said, an LCC class was one of only a few occasions in my educational history--until recent advanced engineering classes--where the "closed problem" approach was avoided entirely. There were no tests. There were quizzes, to make sure we were actually keeping up with our reading, that counted for relatively little of the final grade. Then there were papers, where we developed ideas and wrote about them, drawing off examples from the books.
In other words, I had learn-discuss-prove you understand.
Contract that to earlier English classes, which were more like learn-memorize-okay, did you memorize well enough? The best part of English, of literature, heck, of the entirety of liberal arts, is the ability to scrutinize a problem and discuss it both subjectively and objectively. This is the one field in all of academia where "what you think" is actually valid. (Try expressing a personal opinion in engineering, or economics, or law.) Too many English classes discard this concept entirely. It would be like treating fluid mechanics without calculus, or ethics without Aristotle.
Take high school lit staple The Odyssey. Fine book. Immense cultural and historical significance. Plenty of material for discussion, except that it's presented as a solved problem. "Children," a thousand high school teachers might be saying in unison, "this is hubris."
"Is that going to be on the test?"
A much better method would, of course, expect students to understand the role of hubris in the context of Ancient Greek society and religious beliefs, and write an essay on it with things like citations to the text. Is that too much to ask of students, particularly ones in high school?
And is thinking having "hubris" shoved down one's throat in itself hubris?
"Children, this is irony. Yes, it's going to be on the test."
Currently listening: Songs for Christmas, Sufjan Stevens
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Webcomedy
I'm an xkcd man myself.
A couple wise friends--former residents, actually--once told me that there's a webcomic out there for anyone. Doesn't matter who you are, what you're into, what your style of humor is. If you're on the internet, there will be at least something that you can throw your support behind. Or fifteen somethings, if you're a few friends of mine.
My immediate reaction to most webcomics is that, while they're generally amusing in most cases, they're also not something that I'm going to expend effort to inspect every day in most cases. Several have distinguished themselves to my friends and colleagues as "awesome" and things that they think I'd "really enjoy if you gave it a chance." Probably true. The thing is, I don't necessarily want to have to give something that much of a chance. I want to be stricken, right away, with "wow, this is legitimately funny, I will make a concerted effort to keep reading this comic three/five/seven times a week from now on."
It's odd, too, because most of these webcomics deal with topics and inside humor that anyone who knows me halfway would think I'd be rolling in laughter over. RPG jokes? Video game jokes? I should be all about that sort of thing, right? In general. I think the main sticking points are these. First, I was never really into comics, as such, especially ones with recurring storylines. I much prefer my comics to be witty one-panelers, in the general style of Rhymes with Orange, or Non Sequitur at its funniest. (I don't care much for graphic novels at all. Nothing against them, really, just not my style. And I've yet to see a film adaptation of one that I've enjoyed in the least. Exempli gratia, 300.) I can take some week-spanning stories in my comics, but anything that requires me to follow something like a plot over many weeks has lost my attention. It's no longer comedic; it's become a chore.
And many of these webcomics touted as "hilarious" by my friends require that same sort of dedication. It's why I don't like WoW, except maybe on a much smaller scale: if you miss one day, you can't really enjoy the next without some make-up work. For example, I generally like the Order of the Stick that I've seen. It makes for an entertaining and generally amusing read. But it's often long, has a lot of words, and requires explicit knowledge of all the characters and past several comics to understand why it's funny. I actually really admire something that relies on contextual character interactions to drive humor. But that seems more like a novel than a comic.
Second thing I'm less than enthusiastic about is some manner of implied knowledge of all things esoteric that the webcomic author deems it necessary that I know about. Take this recent Penny Arcade. It relies on you knowing not only what Kane and Lynch is but also Jeff Gerstmann and his review. Perhaps I'm simply not the target audience for this comic, then, but I find it hard to believe that half the people exhorting me to read Penny Arcade got the joke either. (As for Mr. Gerstmann, the review isn't all that scathing, at least compared to half the user comments.)
I mentioned earlier that I like xkcd. There are a few things about it I do not like so much. It's "1337" week of comics was perhaps the least funny I've ever seen xkcd, because it combined both of my gripes over webcomics: a story that I'm supposed to follow, and supposition that I know who Richard Stallman is. Here's the thing: that strip was immensely successful to the xkcd hardcore. They know who Stallman is, and probably have lararia to him next to their computers. (I read the Wikipedia about him, and rolled my eyes more than anything.) Oddly, though I'd consider myself a fan of xkcd, I like it the least when it's truest to its most loyal audience.
Still plenty of science jokes to go around, though, like in the latest one. No knowledge of idealistic internet-rights movements implied here, just good old fashioned making fun of physics.
Currently listening: Messiah, Handel
A couple wise friends--former residents, actually--once told me that there's a webcomic out there for anyone. Doesn't matter who you are, what you're into, what your style of humor is. If you're on the internet, there will be at least something that you can throw your support behind. Or fifteen somethings, if you're a few friends of mine.
My immediate reaction to most webcomics is that, while they're generally amusing in most cases, they're also not something that I'm going to expend effort to inspect every day in most cases. Several have distinguished themselves to my friends and colleagues as "awesome" and things that they think I'd "really enjoy if you gave it a chance." Probably true. The thing is, I don't necessarily want to have to give something that much of a chance. I want to be stricken, right away, with "wow, this is legitimately funny, I will make a concerted effort to keep reading this comic three/five/seven times a week from now on."
It's odd, too, because most of these webcomics deal with topics and inside humor that anyone who knows me halfway would think I'd be rolling in laughter over. RPG jokes? Video game jokes? I should be all about that sort of thing, right? In general. I think the main sticking points are these. First, I was never really into comics, as such, especially ones with recurring storylines. I much prefer my comics to be witty one-panelers, in the general style of Rhymes with Orange, or Non Sequitur at its funniest. (I don't care much for graphic novels at all. Nothing against them, really, just not my style. And I've yet to see a film adaptation of one that I've enjoyed in the least. Exempli gratia, 300.) I can take some week-spanning stories in my comics, but anything that requires me to follow something like a plot over many weeks has lost my attention. It's no longer comedic; it's become a chore.
And many of these webcomics touted as "hilarious" by my friends require that same sort of dedication. It's why I don't like WoW, except maybe on a much smaller scale: if you miss one day, you can't really enjoy the next without some make-up work. For example, I generally like the Order of the Stick that I've seen. It makes for an entertaining and generally amusing read. But it's often long, has a lot of words, and requires explicit knowledge of all the characters and past several comics to understand why it's funny. I actually really admire something that relies on contextual character interactions to drive humor. But that seems more like a novel than a comic.
Second thing I'm less than enthusiastic about is some manner of implied knowledge of all things esoteric that the webcomic author deems it necessary that I know about. Take this recent Penny Arcade. It relies on you knowing not only what Kane and Lynch is but also Jeff Gerstmann and his review. Perhaps I'm simply not the target audience for this comic, then, but I find it hard to believe that half the people exhorting me to read Penny Arcade got the joke either. (As for Mr. Gerstmann, the review isn't all that scathing, at least compared to half the user comments.)
I mentioned earlier that I like xkcd. There are a few things about it I do not like so much. It's "1337" week of comics was perhaps the least funny I've ever seen xkcd, because it combined both of my gripes over webcomics: a story that I'm supposed to follow, and supposition that I know who Richard Stallman is. Here's the thing: that strip was immensely successful to the xkcd hardcore. They know who Stallman is, and probably have lararia to him next to their computers. (I read the Wikipedia about him, and rolled my eyes more than anything.) Oddly, though I'd consider myself a fan of xkcd, I like it the least when it's truest to its most loyal audience.
Still plenty of science jokes to go around, though, like in the latest one. No knowledge of idealistic internet-rights movements implied here, just good old fashioned making fun of physics.
Currently listening: Messiah, Handel
Monday, December 03, 2007
Oh, ES&T Elevator, Why Do You Confuse Up With Down?
In the category of "Things Georgia Tech really ought to be good at, seeing as how it's an engineering school..."
Generally, when one pushes the "up" button on an elevator, one expects the elevator to in fact go up. Not so in the ES&T (aka Ford, or Environmental Science, or CHBE building). For the ES&T elevators lack the usual discrimination that most elevator-users have come to expect from their machines. I swear, that thing is programmed somehow to sweep all the floors that I'm not standing on, pick up passengers, drop them off if convenient, and finally show up to my floor. But wait! That's only to find that the elevator is headed to L2, and not 2 or anywhere else that might be construed as "up" like I asked.
I've mentioned this one before, but it continually perplexes me how poor Tech's water situation is. This has nothing to do with the drought that's plaguing northern Georgia at the moments. In fact, by all considerations, you wouldn't even know that drought existed while you were sitting on Tech campus. After all, what's a faucet that leaks, a shower that won't turn off, and another shower that takes about three minutes to heat up?
Oh, only thousands of gallons of water. I don't know why a shower can go from working one day, and having the handle spin impotently on its stem the next day, with no discernible way to shut off the stream of water that it's wasting. Not to mention the heat. I have never heard of this happening before, but I've had the pleasure of having Glenn's hot water line break over the past couple of weeks. Literally. I didn't know pipes did this. Maybe only in eighty year old dormitories.
On the topic of making things hot and cold, Facilities assures us that we "have the power to control energy costs." A charming little magnet that each resident has the chance to swipe annually during Opening (what a non-housing person would call moving in) tells us that we need to keep the temperature around 68 during the winter.
Truly, that's a wonderful idea. If only our HVAC units didn't insist on radiating heat when it was 60 degrees outside, maybe we would in fact have the power to control energy costs.
Currently listening: "Sonne," Rammstein
Generally, when one pushes the "up" button on an elevator, one expects the elevator to in fact go up. Not so in the ES&T (aka Ford, or Environmental Science, or CHBE building). For the ES&T elevators lack the usual discrimination that most elevator-users have come to expect from their machines. I swear, that thing is programmed somehow to sweep all the floors that I'm not standing on, pick up passengers, drop them off if convenient, and finally show up to my floor. But wait! That's only to find that the elevator is headed to L2, and not 2 or anywhere else that might be construed as "up" like I asked.
I've mentioned this one before, but it continually perplexes me how poor Tech's water situation is. This has nothing to do with the drought that's plaguing northern Georgia at the moments. In fact, by all considerations, you wouldn't even know that drought existed while you were sitting on Tech campus. After all, what's a faucet that leaks, a shower that won't turn off, and another shower that takes about three minutes to heat up?
Oh, only thousands of gallons of water. I don't know why a shower can go from working one day, and having the handle spin impotently on its stem the next day, with no discernible way to shut off the stream of water that it's wasting. Not to mention the heat. I have never heard of this happening before, but I've had the pleasure of having Glenn's hot water line break over the past couple of weeks. Literally. I didn't know pipes did this. Maybe only in eighty year old dormitories.
On the topic of making things hot and cold, Facilities assures us that we "have the power to control energy costs." A charming little magnet that each resident has the chance to swipe annually during Opening (what a non-housing person would call moving in) tells us that we need to keep the temperature around 68 during the winter.
Truly, that's a wonderful idea. If only our HVAC units didn't insist on radiating heat when it was 60 degrees outside, maybe we would in fact have the power to control energy costs.
Currently listening: "Sonne," Rammstein
Monday, November 12, 2007
Holiday Spirit, part I: Preconsumerism
For a few years, I've sworn, mostly by myself, that the "holiday" season was encroaching on my autumn. This was not a popular opinion. "No," some might say, "stores have always put Christmas stuff in stores this early." Or "What's wrong with it? It's getting chilly out, might as well celebrate." Finally, though, the Fish Wrapper (Atlanta Journal-Constitution for those of you keeping score at home and unfamiliar with my uncle Jim's pejorative) has sided with me. See the cover story from last Wednesday. Rather, have seen the article, as using Douglas Adams' time-travel vernacular seems appropriate here.
Is it really a bad thing? Mostly, yes. The only reason that we care about a special occasion is that it's special in the first place. Artificially extending that sort of dilutes the "speciality" of it. People don't celebrate birth months, or birth weeks, it's birthdays. Retailers are interested in expanding on their most lucrative month of the year, by stretching it into two months. Problem is, that doesn't actually work. People are going to buy at three times: 1) when the season starts, out of a burst of enthusiasm, 2) Black Friday, if only out of tradition, and 3) right before whatever holiday you're interested in buying for, out of last-minute desperation.
At the same time, I don't necessarily want to start hearing Jingle Bells on November 3, when it's still like 60 something degrees outside. I'm not exactly sure why I have this admittedly traditionalist view of the holiday, but the point is, I'd like my Christmas confined to after Thanksgiving. That said... Starbucks holiday drinks are out, which mandates an immediate trip to the local coffee house.
Brief Commentary: Macbeth
DramaTech's production of "the Scottish play" (as it's known in paranoid, superstitious theater circles) was truly excellent. A few missed deliveries and muffled lines against imaginatively choreographed swordfights, an impeccable Lady Macbeth, and an awesome guy with no hair and a footlong beard providing percussive accompaniment throughout? Well done, DramaTech. You've won my ticket purchase for all the rest of the shows you do, from now on.
Oh, and as Zach correctly pointed out, that one Wyrd Sister was totally hot.
Critique: "Orange Juice: With Additional Fiber and Vitamins"
The few motivated friends who are bored enough to read about me for ten minutes and still find themselves wanting can now experience the joys of "Orange Juice: With Additional Fiber and Vitamins."
Cinematic genius, by the way. The suspense at 1:15! Who could the mysterious figure be, who creeps in the foreground by the fridge, with accompanying icy overtones? What is this mysteriously skeleton-shirted girl's motive? Perhaps we shall never know. A superficial critique of the situation after watching the ending says that it involves hand-drawing, but the more observant viewer will notice the nuanced change in mood, pace, and movement that she exhibits in her latter appearance, suggesting something far more mysterious--sinister? or merely secretive?
The contented sigh at 3:09--does it foreshadow a startling turn of events, in which our hero shall never enjoy his juice this deeply again? Or it is it more of an existentialist nod, wherein the protagonist experiences a sort of Zen of citrus that is in itself nutritious and enlightening? A bitingly oblique social commentary from a repressed capitalist, who knows that the most satisfying outcome can only come from his own mixing efforts? Of course, the postmodernist's trademark at the end, allowing the tightly wound sequence of events simply to unlace and free itself from artificial constraints of "plot" that plague other forms of storytelling.
Says my roommate Hershel, "I'm intrigued. Captivated really. Yearning for more. There must be more!" Hopefully, hopefully.
Currently listening: "Mohammed," the Dandy Warhols
Is it really a bad thing? Mostly, yes. The only reason that we care about a special occasion is that it's special in the first place. Artificially extending that sort of dilutes the "speciality" of it. People don't celebrate birth months, or birth weeks, it's birthdays. Retailers are interested in expanding on their most lucrative month of the year, by stretching it into two months. Problem is, that doesn't actually work. People are going to buy at three times: 1) when the season starts, out of a burst of enthusiasm, 2) Black Friday, if only out of tradition, and 3) right before whatever holiday you're interested in buying for, out of last-minute desperation.
At the same time, I don't necessarily want to start hearing Jingle Bells on November 3, when it's still like 60 something degrees outside. I'm not exactly sure why I have this admittedly traditionalist view of the holiday, but the point is, I'd like my Christmas confined to after Thanksgiving. That said... Starbucks holiday drinks are out, which mandates an immediate trip to the local coffee house.
Brief Commentary: Macbeth
DramaTech's production of "the Scottish play" (as it's known in paranoid, superstitious theater circles) was truly excellent. A few missed deliveries and muffled lines against imaginatively choreographed swordfights, an impeccable Lady Macbeth, and an awesome guy with no hair and a footlong beard providing percussive accompaniment throughout? Well done, DramaTech. You've won my ticket purchase for all the rest of the shows you do, from now on.
Oh, and as Zach correctly pointed out, that one Wyrd Sister was totally hot.
Critique: "Orange Juice: With Additional Fiber and Vitamins"
The few motivated friends who are bored enough to read about me for ten minutes and still find themselves wanting can now experience the joys of "Orange Juice: With Additional Fiber and Vitamins."
Cinematic genius, by the way. The suspense at 1:15! Who could the mysterious figure be, who creeps in the foreground by the fridge, with accompanying icy overtones? What is this mysteriously skeleton-shirted girl's motive? Perhaps we shall never know. A superficial critique of the situation after watching the ending says that it involves hand-drawing, but the more observant viewer will notice the nuanced change in mood, pace, and movement that she exhibits in her latter appearance, suggesting something far more mysterious--sinister? or merely secretive?
The contented sigh at 3:09--does it foreshadow a startling turn of events, in which our hero shall never enjoy his juice this deeply again? Or it is it more of an existentialist nod, wherein the protagonist experiences a sort of Zen of citrus that is in itself nutritious and enlightening? A bitingly oblique social commentary from a repressed capitalist, who knows that the most satisfying outcome can only come from his own mixing efforts? Of course, the postmodernist's trademark at the end, allowing the tightly wound sequence of events simply to unlace and free itself from artificial constraints of "plot" that plague other forms of storytelling.
Says my roommate Hershel, "I'm intrigued. Captivated really. Yearning for more. There must be more!" Hopefully, hopefully.
Currently listening: "Mohammed," the Dandy Warhols
Friday, October 19, 2007
In the Vein of Conundrua and Concerts
On the heels of probably the second-best concert I've had the pleasure of seeing come two more that have slight (but non-negligible) chances of surpassing it. Now I have to decide where (if anywhere) best to put my $20. Both are at the Tabernacle, a fine place to see a show, so no hiding behind venue: these two will have to duke it out on strength of musicianship alone.
The first features Mae, Anberlin, and a headlining Motion City Soundtrack. Most concerts I've been to have had a warm-up act or two, lesser bands to get everyone pumped for the big event. Not so with this one: while Motion City Soundtrack might get top billing, Mae and Anberlin stand to bring as much to the concert as Motion City. Personally, I see Mae as a much bigger draw than Motion City Soundtrack anyway. And what of Anberlin?
I have virtually no familiarity with their music. I see them often enough linked to Mae and Motion City Soundtrack and The Academy Is. Post-punk, some might say, or pop-rock; the sort of music that, a hundred bands over, defined my generation's high school years. Now most of them are losing ground, ensuring that one the very best remain. (Mae, interestingly, has become this sort of band; more on that in a bit.) So at first glance, this is the sort of band that I should probably like.
The trick here, as any apostle of social music (be it Last.fm, Pandora, or another) is loath to admit is that connection does not imply similarity. This Web 2.0 reinterpretation of the statistician's mantra "correlation does not imply causation" holds true across IPv4. This applies whether it's books, other works of art, or even friends. Just because you share 26 friends with someone on Facebook doesn't mean you're going to like the guy at all. And with music? Put the Decemberists, Death Cab, the Shins, and Rilo Kiley into your chosen social music amalgamator, and out pop the Postal Service, Neutral Milk Hotel, and Bright Eyes as sure as night follows the day.
The Postal Service, certainly. Death Cab and the Postal Service are always related, inextricably so, by their same lead singer. Neutral Milk Hotel works too, for sheer power of off-kilter intellectuality. Bright Eyes? By this point, we've gone from a strong base of indie rock with touches of folk sprinkled throughout, to some guy who emos it up, half-enunciating and half-whining in a high pitched voice. (It's almost as bad as Radiohead, but a lot less popular.) Moral of the story regarding Anberlin, they may be in the same vein as other bands I enjoy, or they may be an elaborate musical doppelganger. I won't have time to ascertain which in the next two weeks.
Saving ostensibly-the-best for last, let's talk about Motion City Soundtrack next. Motion City is what I think of as a second-tier band. Perhaps I've gotten a little engineery being at Georgia Tech for so long, but I've got a descriptive and hopefully useful way of quantifying band preference. (This is not my first foray into quantification.)
First tier bands are ones that, for lack of a less cheesy way of saying it, define your aesthetics. For these bands, you hear a song, and immediately identify the artist, the album, the title, and the melody if not all of the words. You call these bands your "favorite bands" when SocialNetworkingSpace.com prompts you for favorite music, and your playlist data backs up that claim. You wouldn't miss a concert from these guys for the world. Except for maybe lack of money or opportunity. It's the thought that counts.
Second tier bands are ones that you like and own some of their music, though it's unlikely their playcounts have broken through to triple digits yet. Maybe you put them on for a nice change of pace, maybe you used to be a lot more into them and are keeping some nostalgia around. Either way, you wouldn't be averse to seeing these guys in concert, but are also unwilling to shell out $20 for the privilege.
Then there are things like third tier, which you only tolerate because of convenience. You roommate volunteers to take out the trash more if you play this band, or your cute lab partner is into them and besides, you need some music to "study" by. They're probably way overrated. You would do a concert, only if it were free, or if the cute lab partner dragged you along.
And like I said, Motion City Sountrack is not on that upper tier for me. The biggest reason, I think, is that all of their music sounds the same. It's not a bad all the same, to be sure. Before Even if it Kills Me came out, I couldn't distinguish between their two albums. Now, I can't distinguish between three. And not much has changed. Mae, however, has.
Two years ago, I would have jumped, probably literally, at the chance to see Mae live. "Suspension"? "Anything"? "Someone Else's Arms"? To be fair to Destination: Beautiful, "Sun"? "All Deliberate Speed"? Any and all of that would make for a downright fabulous concert. But it's clear that is not an Everglow concert or a Destination: Beautiful concert. It's a Singularity concert, through and through.
Now Singularity and I have our differences. Some of them are legitimate weaknesses; some of them are my fault for thinking this album could possibly approach The Everglow in sheer brilliance. To review, I didn't dislike Singularity. It's far from an awful CD when judged on its own merit rather than by association with my favorite CD ever. Recall that I even made a comparison to none other than Motion City Soundtrack, a band that I have a generally (if mildly) positive opinion of.
Oh, wait.
My biggest criticism of Motion City Soundtrack is that all of their music is basically the same. And if this is a Mae tour showcasing their CD that sounds like Motion City Soundtrack, it's like hearing the same stuff over and over again for an hour.
What it comes down to is this: everything else being essentially neutral, my decision is whether to spend $20 for the possibility (granted, a reasonably good one for most of them) of seeing about five songs.
And the second? This is Mute Math and Eisley. Mute Math for me is like Anberlin: probably reasonably similar to bands I like. Bit of a different niche: Copeland, Lovedrug, etc. But the same issue: I have no idea if they're a Postal Service, or a Bright Eyes. So this concert's merit is sitting entirely on Eisley.
Eisley is, of course, my New Favorite Band. You know the indie kids in high school, how they'd proclaim a New Favorite Band every week? First it was Ben Folds Five, the the Juliana Theory, then Death Cab for Cutie, and so on. (Some people still do this.) I'm in the infatuation stage right now, where seeing them live would mean more to me now than it might ever again. (It also doesn't hurt that I have a crush on the entire female half of the band.) Mmm, Sherri DuPree singing "Invasion" live.
In the end, can I turn toward the over-simple and call it "Someone Else's Arms" versus "Invasion"? Maybe I could get grandiloquent and claim it was the old versus the new, memories from late high school against experiments and discoveries from college? Nah. It's more "who wants to go see Mae with me?" versus "who wants to go see Eisley with me?".
Anyone have any input?
Currently listening: Parachute, Guster
The first features Mae, Anberlin, and a headlining Motion City Soundtrack. Most concerts I've been to have had a warm-up act or two, lesser bands to get everyone pumped for the big event. Not so with this one: while Motion City Soundtrack might get top billing, Mae and Anberlin stand to bring as much to the concert as Motion City. Personally, I see Mae as a much bigger draw than Motion City Soundtrack anyway. And what of Anberlin?
I have virtually no familiarity with their music. I see them often enough linked to Mae and Motion City Soundtrack and The Academy Is. Post-punk, some might say, or pop-rock; the sort of music that, a hundred bands over, defined my generation's high school years. Now most of them are losing ground, ensuring that one the very best remain. (Mae, interestingly, has become this sort of band; more on that in a bit.) So at first glance, this is the sort of band that I should probably like.
The trick here, as any apostle of social music (be it Last.fm, Pandora, or another) is loath to admit is that connection does not imply similarity. This Web 2.0 reinterpretation of the statistician's mantra "correlation does not imply causation" holds true across IPv4. This applies whether it's books, other works of art, or even friends. Just because you share 26 friends with someone on Facebook doesn't mean you're going to like the guy at all. And with music? Put the Decemberists, Death Cab, the Shins, and Rilo Kiley into your chosen social music amalgamator, and out pop the Postal Service, Neutral Milk Hotel, and Bright Eyes as sure as night follows the day.
The Postal Service, certainly. Death Cab and the Postal Service are always related, inextricably so, by their same lead singer. Neutral Milk Hotel works too, for sheer power of off-kilter intellectuality. Bright Eyes? By this point, we've gone from a strong base of indie rock with touches of folk sprinkled throughout, to some guy who emos it up, half-enunciating and half-whining in a high pitched voice. (It's almost as bad as Radiohead, but a lot less popular.) Moral of the story regarding Anberlin, they may be in the same vein as other bands I enjoy, or they may be an elaborate musical doppelganger. I won't have time to ascertain which in the next two weeks.
Saving ostensibly-the-best for last, let's talk about Motion City Soundtrack next. Motion City is what I think of as a second-tier band. Perhaps I've gotten a little engineery being at Georgia Tech for so long, but I've got a descriptive and hopefully useful way of quantifying band preference. (This is not my first foray into quantification.)
First tier bands are ones that, for lack of a less cheesy way of saying it, define your aesthetics. For these bands, you hear a song, and immediately identify the artist, the album, the title, and the melody if not all of the words. You call these bands your "favorite bands" when SocialNetworkingSpace.com prompts you for favorite music, and your playlist data backs up that claim. You wouldn't miss a concert from these guys for the world. Except for maybe lack of money or opportunity. It's the thought that counts.
Second tier bands are ones that you like and own some of their music, though it's unlikely their playcounts have broken through to triple digits yet. Maybe you put them on for a nice change of pace, maybe you used to be a lot more into them and are keeping some nostalgia around. Either way, you wouldn't be averse to seeing these guys in concert, but are also unwilling to shell out $20 for the privilege.
Then there are things like third tier, which you only tolerate because of convenience. You roommate volunteers to take out the trash more if you play this band, or your cute lab partner is into them and besides, you need some music to "study" by. They're probably way overrated. You would do a concert, only if it were free, or if the cute lab partner dragged you along.
And like I said, Motion City Sountrack is not on that upper tier for me. The biggest reason, I think, is that all of their music sounds the same. It's not a bad all the same, to be sure. Before Even if it Kills Me came out, I couldn't distinguish between their two albums. Now, I can't distinguish between three. And not much has changed. Mae, however, has.
Two years ago, I would have jumped, probably literally, at the chance to see Mae live. "Suspension"? "Anything"? "Someone Else's Arms"? To be fair to Destination: Beautiful, "Sun"? "All Deliberate Speed"? Any and all of that would make for a downright fabulous concert. But it's clear that is not an Everglow concert or a Destination: Beautiful concert. It's a Singularity concert, through and through.
Now Singularity and I have our differences. Some of them are legitimate weaknesses; some of them are my fault for thinking this album could possibly approach The Everglow in sheer brilliance. To review, I didn't dislike Singularity. It's far from an awful CD when judged on its own merit rather than by association with my favorite CD ever. Recall that I even made a comparison to none other than Motion City Soundtrack, a band that I have a generally (if mildly) positive opinion of.
Oh, wait.
My biggest criticism of Motion City Soundtrack is that all of their music is basically the same. And if this is a Mae tour showcasing their CD that sounds like Motion City Soundtrack, it's like hearing the same stuff over and over again for an hour.
What it comes down to is this: everything else being essentially neutral, my decision is whether to spend $20 for the possibility (granted, a reasonably good one for most of them) of seeing about five songs.
And the second? This is Mute Math and Eisley. Mute Math for me is like Anberlin: probably reasonably similar to bands I like. Bit of a different niche: Copeland, Lovedrug, etc. But the same issue: I have no idea if they're a Postal Service, or a Bright Eyes. So this concert's merit is sitting entirely on Eisley.
Eisley is, of course, my New Favorite Band. You know the indie kids in high school, how they'd proclaim a New Favorite Band every week? First it was Ben Folds Five, the the Juliana Theory, then Death Cab for Cutie, and so on. (Some people still do this.) I'm in the infatuation stage right now, where seeing them live would mean more to me now than it might ever again. (It also doesn't hurt that I have a crush on the entire female half of the band.) Mmm, Sherri DuPree singing "Invasion" live.
In the end, can I turn toward the over-simple and call it "Someone Else's Arms" versus "Invasion"? Maybe I could get grandiloquent and claim it was the old versus the new, memories from late high school against experiments and discoveries from college? Nah. It's more "who wants to go see Mae with me?" versus "who wants to go see Eisley with me?".
Anyone have any input?
Currently listening: Parachute, Guster
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Believe Me Natalie
I've thought a bit about my recent commentary on Garden State and I realized something pretty important. You know, fair enough: if Natalie Portman told me something would change my life, I'd be paying pretty close attention to it. I don't think, necessarily, that Garden State would be a bad movie. Looking at the Wikipedia summary, it looks sort of interesting.
The biggest issue I have with thinking about motivating myself to watch it, though, is Zach Braff. I can't think of this guy without thinking first of Scrubs. For most fans of Garden State (and even probably lots of fans of the Shins) that's far from a bad thing. However, once you see someone with ridiculous antlers strapped to his head staring into the headlights of an oncoming car, it's hard to exorcise that image.
"But Scrubs is funny!" Well, yeah, half the time it is. Dr. Cox and the janitor and Turk are all wonderful characters. And then, someone gets the idea to take a mallet to anything approaching comedic subtlety and give us "deer in the headlights." Thanks. (And besides, if I wanted a good medical drama, I'd watch House anyway.)
Several years ago, before I really knew who Zach Braff was, and before I had any idea at all who the Shins were, I had a conversation with my friend Patrick where he mentioned having seen Garden State. His assertion? Zach Braff wrote a script, casted, directed, and did all the grunt work that comes with movie making for the sole purpose of being able to kiss Natalie Portman. Patrick may be on to something here. If there's any kernel of truth to Patrick's conspiracy theory about Braff's true motives behind Garden State, then forget Scrubs. I respect this man.
Currently listening: Futures, Jimmy Eat World (for comparison, for the still-upcoming review)
The biggest issue I have with thinking about motivating myself to watch it, though, is Zach Braff. I can't think of this guy without thinking first of Scrubs. For most fans of Garden State (and even probably lots of fans of the Shins) that's far from a bad thing. However, once you see someone with ridiculous antlers strapped to his head staring into the headlights of an oncoming car, it's hard to exorcise that image.
"But Scrubs is funny!" Well, yeah, half the time it is. Dr. Cox and the janitor and Turk are all wonderful characters. And then, someone gets the idea to take a mallet to anything approaching comedic subtlety and give us "deer in the headlights." Thanks. (And besides, if I wanted a good medical drama, I'd watch House anyway.)
Several years ago, before I really knew who Zach Braff was, and before I had any idea at all who the Shins were, I had a conversation with my friend Patrick where he mentioned having seen Garden State. His assertion? Zach Braff wrote a script, casted, directed, and did all the grunt work that comes with movie making for the sole purpose of being able to kiss Natalie Portman. Patrick may be on to something here. If there's any kernel of truth to Patrick's conspiracy theory about Braff's true motives behind Garden State, then forget Scrubs. I respect this man.
Currently listening: Futures, Jimmy Eat World (for comparison, for the still-upcoming review)
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
The Dodo's Conundrum
Review: The Shins, live
A lesser band would not have merited this quick a turnaround from concert to review. That expediency generally stays in the purview of Journalists and Radio People; that is, they who get paid to write this sort of thing. I am not one of those lucky few. So the fact that I'm writing with journalist-speed should serve as a testament to how good the show was. And it better have been damn good, for the $40 the ticket cost after wondrous enhancements like "handling."
Actually, let's talk about prices for a moment. This was not the most expensive public performance I've ever been to; that honor goes to seeing The Producers on Broadway. Nor, do I think, is it the most expensive concert I've been to; tickets for the family-traditional Christmas with the ASO are surely at least $40. If that much money was a bit of a sticker shock for me, only my prior concert-going experience is to blame. Take the Decemberists, for instance. That show was every bit as good musically as the Shins concert (and even better from an audience-involvement perspective) but a lot cheaper. Throwdown and Zao weighed in at a measly $12. (Big surprise there.)
And yet, grossly overrated bands like Dave Matthews can pull in ticket prices that have three digits to them. Exactly how they're able to pull that off is far beyond me. But it gives a nice perspective that at least my favorite bands aren't such tall orders compared to some.
You know a show is good when you can positively remark on the lighting, of all things. From the moment LEDs blinked on and off in time to the beginning of "Sleeping Lessons," you could sense portents of amazement. When the veil dropped at exactly the right time later in the song to show the palm tree/amoeba creatures from the cover of Wincing the Night Away, things picked up and never backed down.
Comments on the set list: starting out with "Sleeping Lessons" was the right move. Ending with "Phantom Limb" was also a good choice, and really ending with "So Says I" ensured the the energy stayed through the entire show. Hershel's commentary on "Phantom Limb" still holds true: "I don't understand 'Pam Berry.' Why can't I just get to 'Phantom Limb' 57 seconds sooner?" Interestingly, it's as if Mercer is aware of this criticism; I doubt tonight's version of "Pam Berry" took more than 40 seconds of my "Phantom Limb" anticipatory time. From the new album, it would have been impossible to get away with not playing "Australia" and "Turn on Me" and "Sea Legs," and thankfully they did, as those plus "Phantom Limb" are probably the best to come out of Wincing the Night Away. Add "Girl Sailor" and the ever-depressing "A Comet Appears" and you've covered most of the recent album. I could have done with "Split Needles" too but I won't complain.
Aside from "So Says I," a lot of old stuff was covered too. "Gone for Good" and "Kissing the Lipless" and "Saint Simon" were excellent. We also got various other tracks from both Chutes too Narrow and Oh, Inverted World, none of which I have an issue with. Through this, I've realized that there really isn't a Shins song that I don't like.
That said, something needs to be done about "New Slang."
It's not a bad song; like I said, I don't think there's such a thing as a bad Shins song. Compared to most of the rest, though, and certainly to the better half of Wincing the Night Away, I really don't see what the big deal about it is. But, of course, Natalie Portman's character in Garden State thinks it'll "change your life" so of course it must be the best thing in the Shins' collective portfolio. I'm just not indie enough to have come to the Shins through Garden State. In fact, I haven't even seen the movie. A saving grace: the Shins don't seem to have that problem of Garden State groupies leaving the fandom en masse because too many other people started liking the band.
And let's hope that means the Shins will continue to give concerts of this magnitude for a long time.
Currently listening: Chase this Light, Jimmy Eat World (review coming soon?)
A lesser band would not have merited this quick a turnaround from concert to review. That expediency generally stays in the purview of Journalists and Radio People; that is, they who get paid to write this sort of thing. I am not one of those lucky few. So the fact that I'm writing with journalist-speed should serve as a testament to how good the show was. And it better have been damn good, for the $40 the ticket cost after wondrous enhancements like "handling."
Actually, let's talk about prices for a moment. This was not the most expensive public performance I've ever been to; that honor goes to seeing The Producers on Broadway. Nor, do I think, is it the most expensive concert I've been to; tickets for the family-traditional Christmas with the ASO are surely at least $40. If that much money was a bit of a sticker shock for me, only my prior concert-going experience is to blame. Take the Decemberists, for instance. That show was every bit as good musically as the Shins concert (and even better from an audience-involvement perspective) but a lot cheaper. Throwdown and Zao weighed in at a measly $12. (Big surprise there.)
And yet, grossly overrated bands like Dave Matthews can pull in ticket prices that have three digits to them. Exactly how they're able to pull that off is far beyond me. But it gives a nice perspective that at least my favorite bands aren't such tall orders compared to some.
You know a show is good when you can positively remark on the lighting, of all things. From the moment LEDs blinked on and off in time to the beginning of "Sleeping Lessons," you could sense portents of amazement. When the veil dropped at exactly the right time later in the song to show the palm tree/amoeba creatures from the cover of Wincing the Night Away, things picked up and never backed down.
Comments on the set list: starting out with "Sleeping Lessons" was the right move. Ending with "Phantom Limb" was also a good choice, and really ending with "So Says I" ensured the the energy stayed through the entire show. Hershel's commentary on "Phantom Limb" still holds true: "I don't understand 'Pam Berry.' Why can't I just get to 'Phantom Limb' 57 seconds sooner?" Interestingly, it's as if Mercer is aware of this criticism; I doubt tonight's version of "Pam Berry" took more than 40 seconds of my "Phantom Limb" anticipatory time. From the new album, it would have been impossible to get away with not playing "Australia" and "Turn on Me" and "Sea Legs," and thankfully they did, as those plus "Phantom Limb" are probably the best to come out of Wincing the Night Away. Add "Girl Sailor" and the ever-depressing "A Comet Appears" and you've covered most of the recent album. I could have done with "Split Needles" too but I won't complain.
Aside from "So Says I," a lot of old stuff was covered too. "Gone for Good" and "Kissing the Lipless" and "Saint Simon" were excellent. We also got various other tracks from both Chutes too Narrow and Oh, Inverted World, none of which I have an issue with. Through this, I've realized that there really isn't a Shins song that I don't like.
That said, something needs to be done about "New Slang."
It's not a bad song; like I said, I don't think there's such a thing as a bad Shins song. Compared to most of the rest, though, and certainly to the better half of Wincing the Night Away, I really don't see what the big deal about it is. But, of course, Natalie Portman's character in Garden State thinks it'll "change your life" so of course it must be the best thing in the Shins' collective portfolio. I'm just not indie enough to have come to the Shins through Garden State. In fact, I haven't even seen the movie. A saving grace: the Shins don't seem to have that problem of Garden State groupies leaving the fandom en masse because too many other people started liking the band.
And let's hope that means the Shins will continue to give concerts of this magnitude for a long time.
Currently listening: Chase this Light, Jimmy Eat World (review coming soon?)
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
Words that I Hate
You know how buzzwords insinuate themselves throughout society? In science: biocompatibility; in technology: convergence; in current events: whatever talking point Congress has today. Most of these are tolerable. A few are inexcusable.
My biggest gripe lately is "sustainability". 39,500,000 Google results. For comparison, that classic computer entertainment "solitaire" brings in a mere 22,600,000 results. Wikipedia gives a definition telling me that "Sustainability is a characteristic of a process or state that can be maintained at a certain level indefinitely." Thanks! In chemical engineering land, we call that "steady-state." Then we get into the "environmental" implications of this invented term, having to do with maintaining climate levels and the rest. Without delving into ecopolitics, do we really need a term for that? "Oh, look, we want the environment to keep going." "I'd rather have a source of energy than not." It's sort of like the Darfur example I'm so fond of: just as there really isn't anyone who likes genocide, there's nobody who actually wants the system they're buying into to break down suddenly. Nobody wants their environment to be non-sustainable. And yet? "Sustainability" has become a sine qua non for researchers and industrialists.
It's time we realized that nothing is the new anything. "(blank) is the new black" originated from the mystifying world of fashion, which might be why I'm biased against it in the first place. As long as it was confined to catwalks and flamboyant Parisians, I could ignore whichever permutation of old color-new color correlation was being promoted at the time. It's not that I necessarily liked it, but I could write it off as a vagary of that particular scene. Things are different when it goes into mainstream culture. I just saw--get this--a car product TV commercial that proclaimed "orange is the new fast." That doesn't even make any sense.
Tantamount to heresy in Web 2.0 is the notion that "tagging" is anything but messianic social revolution. Feel free to brand me a heretic, in that case. I use and really, really like the music library network Last.fm. It gives me an idea of what I listen to, it lets me know what concerts are coming up for bands that I like, and it recommends artists that I may never have heard of. That said, I do not care which bands you have seen live. I do not care if you think some music is "female vocalist" as opposed to "singer-songwriter." And I sure as hell will never understand the difference between "indie," "indie rock," "indie pop," "rock," and "pop." I will never understand this difference on the basis of legitimate authority... so why do you assume I will care what some random fan categorizes music as?
Finally, and sort of linked to the notion of "sustainability" is "footprint". Back in my day, a footprint was something you left when you walked in he mud. As I learned more about architecture and how cities worked (mostly through strategy games, to tell the truth), I learned that this word is also properly applied to how much physical space a structure is going to take up. It is not, however, proper as a metaphor to describe your effect on the environment. Carbon does not leave a footprint. It diffuses.
Currently listening: "Invasion," Eisley
My biggest gripe lately is "sustainability". 39,500,000 Google results. For comparison, that classic computer entertainment "solitaire" brings in a mere 22,600,000 results. Wikipedia gives a definition telling me that "Sustainability is a characteristic of a process or state that can be maintained at a certain level indefinitely." Thanks! In chemical engineering land, we call that "steady-state." Then we get into the "environmental" implications of this invented term, having to do with maintaining climate levels and the rest. Without delving into ecopolitics, do we really need a term for that? "Oh, look, we want the environment to keep going." "I'd rather have a source of energy than not." It's sort of like the Darfur example I'm so fond of: just as there really isn't anyone who likes genocide, there's nobody who actually wants the system they're buying into to break down suddenly. Nobody wants their environment to be non-sustainable. And yet? "Sustainability" has become a sine qua non for researchers and industrialists.
It's time we realized that nothing is the new anything. "(blank) is the new black" originated from the mystifying world of fashion, which might be why I'm biased against it in the first place. As long as it was confined to catwalks and flamboyant Parisians, I could ignore whichever permutation of old color-new color correlation was being promoted at the time. It's not that I necessarily liked it, but I could write it off as a vagary of that particular scene. Things are different when it goes into mainstream culture. I just saw--get this--a car product TV commercial that proclaimed "orange is the new fast." That doesn't even make any sense.
Tantamount to heresy in Web 2.0 is the notion that "tagging" is anything but messianic social revolution. Feel free to brand me a heretic, in that case. I use and really, really like the music library network Last.fm. It gives me an idea of what I listen to, it lets me know what concerts are coming up for bands that I like, and it recommends artists that I may never have heard of. That said, I do not care which bands you have seen live. I do not care if you think some music is "female vocalist" as opposed to "singer-songwriter." And I sure as hell will never understand the difference between "indie," "indie rock," "indie pop," "rock," and "pop." I will never understand this difference on the basis of legitimate authority... so why do you assume I will care what some random fan categorizes music as?
Finally, and sort of linked to the notion of "sustainability" is "footprint". Back in my day, a footprint was something you left when you walked in he mud. As I learned more about architecture and how cities worked (mostly through strategy games, to tell the truth), I learned that this word is also properly applied to how much physical space a structure is going to take up. It is not, however, proper as a metaphor to describe your effect on the environment. Carbon does not leave a footprint. It diffuses.
Currently listening: "Invasion," Eisley
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
To Sleep, Perchance to Dream?
My dreams suck.
Really, really suck.
I'm not talking like "creepy" or "nightmare" or "why did I eat all that pizza ten minutes before I went to sleep" suck. I mean mundane suck. Here's an example of a normal person dream:
"So I was driving my new Maserati down the block, right, past my old high school, and things are pretty sweet. Like all my friends are there asking for a ride, and I'd give it to them, right, but then I see some shadow. And I look up and see this massive alien flying saucer! Well, I'm thinking, holy crap, there's aliens here, but that's not even the freaky part. I see the little ramp thing from the bottom of the flying saucer open, and guess who I see? My old Latin teacher! And just as I'm about to walk up and talk to him, that's when I wake up."
And now, here's a dream that I might have had in its place:
"For whatever reason, I was in the Publix in Centerville, and I was, uh, buying groceries. I was with my friend Brian, I think. Then nothing happened for a while. Then Brian wasn't there anymore. Okay, then, um, I'm not grocery shopping anymore, but I'm at my house, playing Mario Kart."
Here's an example of a recent dream I actually had: I was at my desk, checking my email. I get an email from Gina, my grad student, telling me when I should be in the lab.
Pretty exciting, right? Oh yeah, all of that actually happened and does at least once or twice a week. The only thing remotely out of the ordinary about it was that it wasn't my current desk, it was my old one from last year. If you fancy yourself a dream interpreter, suck on that one for a while.
A slightly more interesting one: Brittain was serving corn dogs for lunch. And guess what was for lunch that day?
Currently listening: Room Noises, Eisley
Really, really suck.
I'm not talking like "creepy" or "nightmare" or "why did I eat all that pizza ten minutes before I went to sleep" suck. I mean mundane suck. Here's an example of a normal person dream:
"So I was driving my new Maserati down the block, right, past my old high school, and things are pretty sweet. Like all my friends are there asking for a ride, and I'd give it to them, right, but then I see some shadow. And I look up and see this massive alien flying saucer! Well, I'm thinking, holy crap, there's aliens here, but that's not even the freaky part. I see the little ramp thing from the bottom of the flying saucer open, and guess who I see? My old Latin teacher! And just as I'm about to walk up and talk to him, that's when I wake up."
And now, here's a dream that I might have had in its place:
"For whatever reason, I was in the Publix in Centerville, and I was, uh, buying groceries. I was with my friend Brian, I think. Then nothing happened for a while. Then Brian wasn't there anymore. Okay, then, um, I'm not grocery shopping anymore, but I'm at my house, playing Mario Kart."
Here's an example of a recent dream I actually had: I was at my desk, checking my email. I get an email from Gina, my grad student, telling me when I should be in the lab.
Pretty exciting, right? Oh yeah, all of that actually happened and does at least once or twice a week. The only thing remotely out of the ordinary about it was that it wasn't my current desk, it was my old one from last year. If you fancy yourself a dream interpreter, suck on that one for a while.
A slightly more interesting one: Brittain was serving corn dogs for lunch. And guess what was for lunch that day?
Currently listening: Room Noises, Eisley
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Triptych
Review: Singularity be Mae
Inevitably, delays plague "products that I want." Sometimes it's a simple matter of a few days, like a store not having the Game Boy Color in stock yet; sometimes it's an as-yet infinite delay like the case of Mother 3 coming out in America. Singularity had a relatively reasonable delay of a couple of months from the first "announced" release date of June 2007. Truthfully, it's almost good that it was delayed like that, because otherwise I would have had to speculate as to the music's quality while I was in France rather than listen to it as it came out.
If you're not familiar with my feelings toward Mae, let me preface this review by saying that The Everglow is probably my favorite album ever. It's hard to say why. Musically, it's nearly flawless but lacks the sterility that a technically superior performance often sadly carries with it. There are heartfelt emotions, and the total-album organization and presentation is incredible. I don't know of a single other collection of songs, save possibly Green Day's American Idiot, that just works as an album as well as The Everglow does. Even better, Mae isn't politically preachy!
Critically, Mae has done all right. Popular opinion was pretty much uniform for their first album, Destination: Beautiful. A solid indie rock album, though perhaps not brilliant; well-crafted songs even though the production fidelity was a little shaky at times; nothing revolutionary but very positive and enjoyable all the same. The Everglow had more contrast in opinion, ranging from people who feel the same way as I do about it to those who condemn it as "Disney rock." Those people are probably the same ones who think that something that is easy to understand can't possibly have artistic value, that something dark and disturbed is automatically more genuinely emotional than one that dares to be happy or optimistic.
Then what of Singularity? Nobody really seems to know, I don't think. People are ambivalent to the point of not posting reviews of the album. It's no The Everglow, but I wasn't realistically expecting it to be. Nor did it really need to be, because doing that same thing again would be redundant at best and a complete cop-out at worst. The one thing that's sure is that it takes a completely different approach than either of the previous albums. Asking which of the two Singularity is more similar to is sort of like asking if angel food cake is more similar to lasagna or caesar salad. They're all in the vague general category of "food," and there are a lot of good things about all of them, but drawing similarities just doesn't make sense.
I think the most obvious comment to make about the new album is a stylistic one: everything seems harder, faster, louder on Singularity. Instead of comparisons to emo bands, the more apt comparison is to post-punk "alternative"; Motion City Soundtrack immediately springs to mind as a stylistic similarity; Something Corporate and maybe even Guster are audible in parts. And that's not necessarily a bad thing. The downside of this is that everything that Mae delicately, beautifully constructed for The Everlow is pretty much gone. A critique of The Everglow said, probably disparagingly, that Mae won't do anything that a music theory class wouldn't approve of. And you know what? All that music theory made their music sound really good. Now you have chord progressions, transitions, and instrumentations that sound a lot more dissonant in places. It's not inherently bad, but from time to time, I caught myself wincing and wondering what the rationale could possibly be for putting in that minor sixth.
A far more serious flaw is Mae's possible "lack of new ideas." I'm used to lyrical mastery form Mae, willing to forgive them if they slip into mere excellence. Contrast "when the lights first came upon us/and we saw The Everglow./And the moment's magic swept us away/and the young man's dream/was almost seen so plain" with "we'll get through anything/are you, are you falling for me/like I'm oh I'm falling for you" and tell me which one is better. Singularity does have its lyrical bright spots, though. "Telescopes" contains at least a triple entendre, talking about "subjects," "objects," and "predicates" in reference to either grammar or actual telescopes, or a conversation, which is very clever writing.
Bottom line is there's not enough of that. I'm not going to delete Singularity or anything drastic like that. I'll probably keep listening to it every once in a while. But looking at my top 25 played tracks in iTunes, twelve of them are tracks from The Everglow. I don't exactly see Singularity making it into there.
Currently listening: The Four Seasons, Canadian Brass version
Inevitably, delays plague "products that I want." Sometimes it's a simple matter of a few days, like a store not having the Game Boy Color in stock yet; sometimes it's an as-yet infinite delay like the case of Mother 3 coming out in America. Singularity had a relatively reasonable delay of a couple of months from the first "announced" release date of June 2007. Truthfully, it's almost good that it was delayed like that, because otherwise I would have had to speculate as to the music's quality while I was in France rather than listen to it as it came out.
If you're not familiar with my feelings toward Mae, let me preface this review by saying that The Everglow is probably my favorite album ever. It's hard to say why. Musically, it's nearly flawless but lacks the sterility that a technically superior performance often sadly carries with it. There are heartfelt emotions, and the total-album organization and presentation is incredible. I don't know of a single other collection of songs, save possibly Green Day's American Idiot, that just works as an album as well as The Everglow does. Even better, Mae isn't politically preachy!
Critically, Mae has done all right. Popular opinion was pretty much uniform for their first album, Destination: Beautiful. A solid indie rock album, though perhaps not brilliant; well-crafted songs even though the production fidelity was a little shaky at times; nothing revolutionary but very positive and enjoyable all the same. The Everglow had more contrast in opinion, ranging from people who feel the same way as I do about it to those who condemn it as "Disney rock." Those people are probably the same ones who think that something that is easy to understand can't possibly have artistic value, that something dark and disturbed is automatically more genuinely emotional than one that dares to be happy or optimistic.
Then what of Singularity? Nobody really seems to know, I don't think. People are ambivalent to the point of not posting reviews of the album. It's no The Everglow, but I wasn't realistically expecting it to be. Nor did it really need to be, because doing that same thing again would be redundant at best and a complete cop-out at worst. The one thing that's sure is that it takes a completely different approach than either of the previous albums. Asking which of the two Singularity is more similar to is sort of like asking if angel food cake is more similar to lasagna or caesar salad. They're all in the vague general category of "food," and there are a lot of good things about all of them, but drawing similarities just doesn't make sense.
I think the most obvious comment to make about the new album is a stylistic one: everything seems harder, faster, louder on Singularity. Instead of comparisons to emo bands, the more apt comparison is to post-punk "alternative"; Motion City Soundtrack immediately springs to mind as a stylistic similarity; Something Corporate and maybe even Guster are audible in parts. And that's not necessarily a bad thing. The downside of this is that everything that Mae delicately, beautifully constructed for The Everlow is pretty much gone. A critique of The Everglow said, probably disparagingly, that Mae won't do anything that a music theory class wouldn't approve of. And you know what? All that music theory made their music sound really good. Now you have chord progressions, transitions, and instrumentations that sound a lot more dissonant in places. It's not inherently bad, but from time to time, I caught myself wincing and wondering what the rationale could possibly be for putting in that minor sixth.
A far more serious flaw is Mae's possible "lack of new ideas." I'm used to lyrical mastery form Mae, willing to forgive them if they slip into mere excellence. Contrast "when the lights first came upon us/and we saw The Everglow./And the moment's magic swept us away/and the young man's dream/was almost seen so plain" with "we'll get through anything/are you, are you falling for me/like I'm oh I'm falling for you" and tell me which one is better. Singularity does have its lyrical bright spots, though. "Telescopes" contains at least a triple entendre, talking about "subjects," "objects," and "predicates" in reference to either grammar or actual telescopes, or a conversation, which is very clever writing.
Bottom line is there's not enough of that. I'm not going to delete Singularity or anything drastic like that. I'll probably keep listening to it every once in a while. But looking at my top 25 played tracks in iTunes, twelve of them are tracks from The Everglow. I don't exactly see Singularity making it into there.
Currently listening: The Four Seasons, Canadian Brass version
Monday, August 20, 2007
J'aime le bifteck
Or: my roommate Hershel's approach to the entirety of the French language. Mine is more along the lines of "j'aime les croissants" but I think either is equally valid.
Now here's an amusing anecdote, drawn from somewhere in the Stygian marsh. Before the trek to the City of Dis (alternately known as the Swann Modern Languages building), the petitioner is confronted with the Placement Test. Now, generally, a placement test when taking a language makes sense. If you had a really slack high school teacher who only taught you how to count to fifty in your first semester of French as opposed to the more standard seventy, then you might not want to jump into the strenuous demands of "count to one thousand" that French II springs at you. If, on the other hand, your most recent French experience consisted of writing a nuanced thesis on the competing influences of Abusrdist versus Existentialist thought in Albert Camus' L'Etranger then French II might not be the best choice either.
That said, the "multiple choice" format for said placement test may well be the worst idea I've heard in a long time. First off, a multiple choice test examines only one skill (reading) when in fact there are four that go toward determining fluency. This test format utterly ignores the ability to write French, or to speak or comprehend spoken French. Reading is the easiest one of these skills to develop because you get things like context clues. Take a test question I ran into. The question presented me with several paragraphs of French, which to me seemed like "word word word-with-funny-accents, 'he is going to,' word word more funny accents." The question asked me "What did the boys do with the watch?" and it's funny, because except for that question I wouldn't have known a watch was involved at all. So I started to do a little creative guessing: I recognized the words for "earth" and "gardener," and one of the answer choices involved "soil." The thing is, I'm pretty darn sure I got that question right. And so it went.
A question asks "what verb means the same thing as 'to make the paintings'?" I didn't think "peinter" sounded good, so I went with "peindre." A quick Babelfish query after the test was over confirmed that one. I've never had a formal education of what food names were, but damned if I didn't go to Cora every week and learn "pomme" and "artichaut" and "chou" for "apple," "artichoke," and "cabbage" by some sort of advertisement-osmosis.
Apparently that osmosis worked better than I'd ever imagined. Or my good Qi chose a strange time to manifest itself. Possibly both; I'll never know. What I do know is that based on no evidence of ability to write, speak, comprehend, or interpret French, I'm apparently good enough to skip French II.
Currently listening: "Hold On," KT Tunstall (via our friends at YouTube)
Now here's an amusing anecdote, drawn from somewhere in the Stygian marsh. Before the trek to the City of Dis (alternately known as the Swann Modern Languages building), the petitioner is confronted with the Placement Test. Now, generally, a placement test when taking a language makes sense. If you had a really slack high school teacher who only taught you how to count to fifty in your first semester of French as opposed to the more standard seventy, then you might not want to jump into the strenuous demands of "count to one thousand" that French II springs at you. If, on the other hand, your most recent French experience consisted of writing a nuanced thesis on the competing influences of Abusrdist versus Existentialist thought in Albert Camus' L'Etranger then French II might not be the best choice either.
That said, the "multiple choice" format for said placement test may well be the worst idea I've heard in a long time. First off, a multiple choice test examines only one skill (reading) when in fact there are four that go toward determining fluency. This test format utterly ignores the ability to write French, or to speak or comprehend spoken French. Reading is the easiest one of these skills to develop because you get things like context clues. Take a test question I ran into. The question presented me with several paragraphs of French, which to me seemed like "word word word-with-funny-accents, 'he is going to,' word word more funny accents." The question asked me "What did the boys do with the watch?" and it's funny, because except for that question I wouldn't have known a watch was involved at all. So I started to do a little creative guessing: I recognized the words for "earth" and "gardener," and one of the answer choices involved "soil." The thing is, I'm pretty darn sure I got that question right. And so it went.
A question asks "what verb means the same thing as 'to make the paintings'?" I didn't think "peinter" sounded good, so I went with "peindre." A quick Babelfish query after the test was over confirmed that one. I've never had a formal education of what food names were, but damned if I didn't go to Cora every week and learn "pomme" and "artichaut" and "chou" for "apple," "artichoke," and "cabbage" by some sort of advertisement-osmosis.
Apparently that osmosis worked better than I'd ever imagined. Or my good Qi chose a strange time to manifest itself. Possibly both; I'll never know. What I do know is that based on no evidence of ability to write, speak, comprehend, or interpret French, I'm apparently good enough to skip French II.
Currently listening: "Hold On," KT Tunstall (via our friends at YouTube)
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Discussion of Europe, Part 3: Where to Go
If you're going to be abroad for two and a half months, like I was, you probably don't need a great deal of direction regarding where to go. Chances are you won't be spending upwards of half your time in Metz, France in that case either--and you're better off for it. Nothing against Metz, really. It's a fine town: plenty of history, one of the best cities to experience Lorraine culture, and all in all a decent place to spend a few hours in a train layover. The Moselle's Obligatory River Shot compares to some of the finest in Europe, like the Rhone or the Saone. That said, Metz falls short in two key areas.
The first is "having anything to do after 8 pm." This includes getting anything to eat anywhere except for maybe the kebab shop. (Of course, even if that restaurant is still open, you'll pay eighteen Euros for the pleasure of eating there.) Apparently there's a couple of clubs hidden somewhere if you're into that sort of thing, but some of my classmates who are into that sort of thing didn't seem too impressed with the local nightlife in any case. You can always see whatever big American movies are out with varying degrees of success in their French dubbing. Word of caution: it's better to see a movie that you don't really have to think about what's going on. Pirates 3 was not a good choice in this regard. The bus schedule even ceases running normally after 9 pm, when you'll have to rely on the once per hour "Route tardif" to get anywhere at all.
Metz's only other shortcoming is "having anything to do at all in the Technopole." You hear "college campus" and you think it's going to be like Tech's. Spread out and too much car traffic, an unacceptable amount of construction most of the time--but otherwise peaceful and attractive. Green space, places to buy food and necessities in walking distance, amenities and at least some sort of solidarity-building locations, traditions, etc. There's really none of that. College campus here means you're in a dorm (which is actually a little nicer than Tech dorms) in walking distance to your one academic/administrative/student services building. And in between? Road. Offices. Urban bus service. More offices. You can go to the grocery store, certainly, but it'll take 20 minutes to walk there, then you have to walk back with your junk.
Where to, then, if not Metz? First off, you know I'm no big fan of France. Overrated in almost every regard, you can get just about everything that you can get in France elsewhere in Europe except 1) cheaper and 2) with better service. A major concern when going to Europe, of course, is willingness either to speak English or to navigate their way through your broken attempts at the local language. Now you might be conversational in German, or approaching fluency in Spanish, and that's really impressive. If you're going to say that you have the same level of mastery of Dutch or Catalan, I'm going to go ahead and call BS on that. People use English as a sort of mutually agreed upon mediation language. Take the Viennese tower I visited. The German-speaking man who was handing out information on the tower and the Korean man who'd brought his son finally settled on an informational flyer in English. Or the Italian train conductor who was trying to negotiate with the Russian man about his passport? English again.
English proficiency is generally very good in Germanic countries, or in countries where Germanic languages are spoken. Maybe that's due to linguistic similarity, maybe to straight-up cultural differences; I'm not sure. But it's very easy to communicate in English in Germany and Austria, and not too bad in Switzerland and the Netherlands (or Dutch-speaking Belgium). Spain and Italy fall a little behind, but communication is still generally possible. Even people who don't speak a word of English (like the owners of those wonderful "little granny hotels") really try to get across what they're trying to say.
Now that you're able to talk to the locals, what's worth visiting? A country-by-country guide:
In Spain, one of my travel guides said trying to choose between Madrid and Barcelona is like trying to choose between London and Paris. This is apparently a more difficult choice for the author of this book than for me. I'd compare it more to trying to choose either New York or Chicago. Both are wonderful cities, both are worth a visit, and honestly I think it's better to shortchange them both by spending half your time in each than to miss either. Madrid is Spain. Bullfights, sangria, and flamenco, and everything else you could think Don Quixote missed out on while he was jousting against windmills. Barcelona is something completely different: artistic, independent, and modern. Apparently it has a great club/bar scene too. Both are culturally phenomenal.
On any trip to Europe, London is not to be missed. I was in London for longer than any other single city (except Metz, of course), and here is a list of things I didn't get to do that I'd still like to.
and even here, I'm probably forgetting things. London is a remarkable city, with especially easy public transportation, and English generally spoken. Even though it has a funny accent.
In Germany, I think Munich is essential. Bavaria in general is great--and that's not just the inherent Catholic bias I have. Pretzels, check. Sausage, check. Cuckoo clocks, check. Dirndls, check. Magnificent palaces, check. Depressing concentration camp sites and other World War II memorabilia, check. Beer... you've got no idea. And unlike most other countries' beer (especially America's), it's actually worth putting in your mouth.
I've already discoursed on Rome. Go there. The only danger in visiting Rome is that Roman ruins across the rest of the world seem a lot less impressive. Naples is sort of dirty and obnoxious, too urban for my tastes. Two huge saving graces: the best pizza you will ever taste, and Pompeii, which is the quintessential Roman ruin. Switzerland is really pretty, though too Protestant for my tastes. I mean, 20 foot statue of John Calvin in the middle of town square in Geneva? That's a little much.
Finally, towns that I would have really liked to go to, and would very much like to visit on a later European excursion: Dublin, Edinburgh, Amsterdam, Prague, Florence, Venice, Berlin, Budapest. We'll see if that ever materializes.
Currently listening: Singularity, Mae. Review soon to follow.
The first is "having anything to do after 8 pm." This includes getting anything to eat anywhere except for maybe the kebab shop. (Of course, even if that restaurant is still open, you'll pay eighteen Euros for the pleasure of eating there.) Apparently there's a couple of clubs hidden somewhere if you're into that sort of thing, but some of my classmates who are into that sort of thing didn't seem too impressed with the local nightlife in any case. You can always see whatever big American movies are out with varying degrees of success in their French dubbing. Word of caution: it's better to see a movie that you don't really have to think about what's going on. Pirates 3 was not a good choice in this regard. The bus schedule even ceases running normally after 9 pm, when you'll have to rely on the once per hour "Route tardif" to get anywhere at all.
Metz's only other shortcoming is "having anything to do at all in the Technopole." You hear "college campus" and you think it's going to be like Tech's. Spread out and too much car traffic, an unacceptable amount of construction most of the time--but otherwise peaceful and attractive. Green space, places to buy food and necessities in walking distance, amenities and at least some sort of solidarity-building locations, traditions, etc. There's really none of that. College campus here means you're in a dorm (which is actually a little nicer than Tech dorms) in walking distance to your one academic/administrative/student services building. And in between? Road. Offices. Urban bus service. More offices. You can go to the grocery store, certainly, but it'll take 20 minutes to walk there, then you have to walk back with your junk.
Where to, then, if not Metz? First off, you know I'm no big fan of France. Overrated in almost every regard, you can get just about everything that you can get in France elsewhere in Europe except 1) cheaper and 2) with better service. A major concern when going to Europe, of course, is willingness either to speak English or to navigate their way through your broken attempts at the local language. Now you might be conversational in German, or approaching fluency in Spanish, and that's really impressive. If you're going to say that you have the same level of mastery of Dutch or Catalan, I'm going to go ahead and call BS on that. People use English as a sort of mutually agreed upon mediation language. Take the Viennese tower I visited. The German-speaking man who was handing out information on the tower and the Korean man who'd brought his son finally settled on an informational flyer in English. Or the Italian train conductor who was trying to negotiate with the Russian man about his passport? English again.
English proficiency is generally very good in Germanic countries, or in countries where Germanic languages are spoken. Maybe that's due to linguistic similarity, maybe to straight-up cultural differences; I'm not sure. But it's very easy to communicate in English in Germany and Austria, and not too bad in Switzerland and the Netherlands (or Dutch-speaking Belgium). Spain and Italy fall a little behind, but communication is still generally possible. Even people who don't speak a word of English (like the owners of those wonderful "little granny hotels") really try to get across what they're trying to say.
Now that you're able to talk to the locals, what's worth visiting? A country-by-country guide:
In Spain, one of my travel guides said trying to choose between Madrid and Barcelona is like trying to choose between London and Paris. This is apparently a more difficult choice for the author of this book than for me. I'd compare it more to trying to choose either New York or Chicago. Both are wonderful cities, both are worth a visit, and honestly I think it's better to shortchange them both by spending half your time in each than to miss either. Madrid is Spain. Bullfights, sangria, and flamenco, and everything else you could think Don Quixote missed out on while he was jousting against windmills. Barcelona is something completely different: artistic, independent, and modern. Apparently it has a great club/bar scene too. Both are culturally phenomenal.
On any trip to Europe, London is not to be missed. I was in London for longer than any other single city (except Metz, of course), and here is a list of things I didn't get to do that I'd still like to.
- Go inside the Tower
- National Gallery
- Harrod's
- Afternoon tea
- Other half of the British Museum
- London Eye
- Some boat thing down the Thames
- Globe Theater
- See a play (the theater district rivals or maybe even surpasses New York's)
- Go into Westminster Abbey
- Observe Parliament
and even here, I'm probably forgetting things. London is a remarkable city, with especially easy public transportation, and English generally spoken. Even though it has a funny accent.
In Germany, I think Munich is essential. Bavaria in general is great--and that's not just the inherent Catholic bias I have. Pretzels, check. Sausage, check. Cuckoo clocks, check. Dirndls, check. Magnificent palaces, check. Depressing concentration camp sites and other World War II memorabilia, check. Beer... you've got no idea. And unlike most other countries' beer (especially America's), it's actually worth putting in your mouth.
I've already discoursed on Rome. Go there. The only danger in visiting Rome is that Roman ruins across the rest of the world seem a lot less impressive. Naples is sort of dirty and obnoxious, too urban for my tastes. Two huge saving graces: the best pizza you will ever taste, and Pompeii, which is the quintessential Roman ruin. Switzerland is really pretty, though too Protestant for my tastes. I mean, 20 foot statue of John Calvin in the middle of town square in Geneva? That's a little much.
Finally, towns that I would have really liked to go to, and would very much like to visit on a later European excursion: Dublin, Edinburgh, Amsterdam, Prague, Florence, Venice, Berlin, Budapest. We'll see if that ever materializes.
Currently listening: Singularity, Mae. Review soon to follow.
Thursday, August 09, 2007
Interlude
Review: In Our Bedroom After the War
Taking a break from the discussion of Europe for the time being--don't worry, it'll be back in full force discussing things like why London is better than Paris, and some specific commentary on the GTL program--I'd like to review the new Stars CD. If you don't know Stars (not "The Stars" interestingly enough, given the preponderance of similar bands whose names start with "The") you really ought to. Think a little Postal Service but less electronic, a little Rilo Kiley but less folksy, perhaps a dash of the Arcade Fire or Sufjan Stevens? Now move it north across the border, and you've got the best thing to come out of Canada since... well... it's good music.
Upon listening to this album for the first time, I committed a cardinal sin of music review: doing something else besides listening to the music. That's right: I reduced In Our Bedroom to background noise while I was conducting room inventories. (Most of the towel racks were actually there!) And it's not deserving of such a fate, really. So I resolved to change things the second time I listened to it. And what ended up happening? Door decorations and welcome letters, that's what. Frustrated, I vowed to set aside time to listen to this music and do nothing else. Then I started humming "Take Me to the Riot" and "The Night Starts Here" without even realizing it.
This is one of those albums that starts too strong for its own good. The aforementioned songs are excellent, certainly the two highest quality here, and a couple of the best I've heard since Wincing the Night Away came out. After that, the rest of the songs seem to fall a little flat, when they certainly don't deserve that. Final Fantasy fans will be interested to hear that one of the more creative songs on the album is called "The Ghost of Genova Heights"... a reference to Sephiroth's mom? "Personal" is lyrically brilliant, then we get to some songs whose names I can't remember, then the title track ends the album better than any last track I think I have ever heard.
AbsolutePunk.Net loved this album too, maybe even a bit more than I did. The reviewer there said not since Sufjan Stevens' Illinoise had he heard something to magnificent. While the comparison to that great bastion of indie music might be a little unwarranted, the point is made: In Our Bedroom After the War is an excellent collection of music, and not to be missed.
Currently listening (additionally): The Official Lost Podcast, ComicCon edition
Taking a break from the discussion of Europe for the time being--don't worry, it'll be back in full force discussing things like why London is better than Paris, and some specific commentary on the GTL program--I'd like to review the new Stars CD. If you don't know Stars (not "The Stars" interestingly enough, given the preponderance of similar bands whose names start with "The") you really ought to. Think a little Postal Service but less electronic, a little Rilo Kiley but less folksy, perhaps a dash of the Arcade Fire or Sufjan Stevens? Now move it north across the border, and you've got the best thing to come out of Canada since... well... it's good music.
Upon listening to this album for the first time, I committed a cardinal sin of music review: doing something else besides listening to the music. That's right: I reduced In Our Bedroom to background noise while I was conducting room inventories. (Most of the towel racks were actually there!) And it's not deserving of such a fate, really. So I resolved to change things the second time I listened to it. And what ended up happening? Door decorations and welcome letters, that's what. Frustrated, I vowed to set aside time to listen to this music and do nothing else. Then I started humming "Take Me to the Riot" and "The Night Starts Here" without even realizing it.
This is one of those albums that starts too strong for its own good. The aforementioned songs are excellent, certainly the two highest quality here, and a couple of the best I've heard since Wincing the Night Away came out. After that, the rest of the songs seem to fall a little flat, when they certainly don't deserve that. Final Fantasy fans will be interested to hear that one of the more creative songs on the album is called "The Ghost of Genova Heights"... a reference to Sephiroth's mom? "Personal" is lyrically brilliant, then we get to some songs whose names I can't remember, then the title track ends the album better than any last track I think I have ever heard.
AbsolutePunk.Net loved this album too, maybe even a bit more than I did. The reviewer there said not since Sufjan Stevens' Illinoise had he heard something to magnificent. While the comparison to that great bastion of indie music might be a little unwarranted, the point is made: In Our Bedroom After the War is an excellent collection of music, and not to be missed.
Currently listening (additionally): The Official Lost Podcast, ComicCon edition
Monday, August 06, 2007
Discussion of Europe, Part 2: Food
Being something of a culinary adventurer, of course one of the biggest things about Europe was being able to taste various local cuisines in their natural habitat. From fried squid sandwiches on Madrid to a good old pile of sausage in Austria, I certainly got to run a delightful gamut of meals over the last few months. Of course, in all that, one can't discount the prominence of the French hypermarket in the equation. Described by one of our American program coordinators as "Super Wal-Mart multiplied by three," the term "grocery store" doesn't begin to do Cora justice. A few further observations:
Restaurant food is really expensive. I mean, I guess it sort of is in America, too? Not nearly that bad. Let's look at, say, McDonalds. Admittedly, I don't know how much things cost at McDonalds. I don't eat there. That's not a reactionary Morgan Spurlock-eqsue movement, more of a "there isn't one on campus" combined with "I like Burger King better anyway." But there's no way that a Big Mac, medium fries, and medium Coke costs $6.15. That's how much said food cost, in Euros. So if there's no way it costs that many dollars to begin with, factor in the exchange rate to get $8.49? How they get off making me spend an Atlantic Station movie ticket to eat a hamburger, I don't know.
When we're not talking about MacDo (as the French are fond of calling it), stuff gets really pricey, really quickly. Take my lunch in Paris: a sandwich. Eight Euro. And it wasn't anywhere near as good as say a Quizno's sub, which would have cost me the same thing but in dollars.
French food is overrated. "Okay, guys, let's take a hunk of meat, slice it really fancy, and pour some sauce over it. Sweet. That's gonna run you thirteen Euro." And yet, people the world over have the impression that if it's French, it has to be marvelous. When I'm 1) abroad and 2) in a country that does not contain the Eiffel Tower, I don't need to eat at a French restaurant. Look in a travel guide for the best places to eat in most given cities, though, and what do you see? Something that starts with "Le." (Or any of the imaginative variations on "le" such as "la" or "les" or the dreaded "l-apostrophe.")
And what the hell is a Michelin star anyway? If it were up to me, I wouldn't have DeAndray and Bubba Wayne who just changed my tires cooking me food. I pretty much see it as "okay, now we can serve you less food and charge you more money for it, provided we serve it creatively." To quote the Wikipedia article on the subject, "the inspectors use secret criteria, unknown to even the most experienced chefs" and "As the Michelin Guide is published by a French company, some international food critics have denounced the rating system as inherently biased toward French cuisine." Shocking.
As with many things in Europe, the Germans have it right. Plate of sausages and sauerkraut for seven Euro? Wiener Schnitzel and weird potato ball things for nine? Good choices all around. Austrian cooking is basically the same level of deliciousness and cheapness. Bavarian is a slight variation on the theme, with the addition of the "großebretzel" or "giant pretzel." This is about a foot in diameter, and you won't spend more than three Euros for it.
A trip to Europe turns out to be a great time to drink some alcohol. Now I'm not exactly a partier. I don't think I've ever been per se "drunk." But unlike anything else you might want to ingest, the booze in Europe is surprisingly cheap. And it's really, really good. I never had an American beer that I liked. And I only had one or two European beers that I didn't like. The Hofbrauhaus is amazing. French wine is amazing. Belgian beer, Spanish sangria, the list goes on and on.
And finally, the grocery store is totally bizarre. You think you've seen weird things at your friendly neighborhood Publix? You haven't seen anything until you've browsed a French store. Walking down the meat section, you see the familiar labels of "porc" and "boeuf" and "poulet" (chicken). Then... wait a second, surely you can't buy horse here? But there it was, "cheval." The juice selection was incredible, but there wasn't a jar of peanut butter in sight. Baguettes? As far as the eye can see.
Currently listening: "Rocknroll," Lovedrug
Restaurant food is really expensive. I mean, I guess it sort of is in America, too? Not nearly that bad. Let's look at, say, McDonalds. Admittedly, I don't know how much things cost at McDonalds. I don't eat there. That's not a reactionary Morgan Spurlock-eqsue movement, more of a "there isn't one on campus" combined with "I like Burger King better anyway." But there's no way that a Big Mac, medium fries, and medium Coke costs $6.15. That's how much said food cost, in Euros. So if there's no way it costs that many dollars to begin with, factor in the exchange rate to get $8.49? How they get off making me spend an Atlantic Station movie ticket to eat a hamburger, I don't know.
When we're not talking about MacDo (as the French are fond of calling it), stuff gets really pricey, really quickly. Take my lunch in Paris: a sandwich. Eight Euro. And it wasn't anywhere near as good as say a Quizno's sub, which would have cost me the same thing but in dollars.
French food is overrated. "Okay, guys, let's take a hunk of meat, slice it really fancy, and pour some sauce over it. Sweet. That's gonna run you thirteen Euro." And yet, people the world over have the impression that if it's French, it has to be marvelous. When I'm 1) abroad and 2) in a country that does not contain the Eiffel Tower, I don't need to eat at a French restaurant. Look in a travel guide for the best places to eat in most given cities, though, and what do you see? Something that starts with "Le." (Or any of the imaginative variations on "le" such as "la" or "les" or the dreaded "l-apostrophe.")
And what the hell is a Michelin star anyway? If it were up to me, I wouldn't have DeAndray and Bubba Wayne who just changed my tires cooking me food. I pretty much see it as "okay, now we can serve you less food and charge you more money for it, provided we serve it creatively." To quote the Wikipedia article on the subject, "the inspectors use secret criteria, unknown to even the most experienced chefs" and "As the Michelin Guide is published by a French company, some international food critics have denounced the rating system as inherently biased toward French cuisine." Shocking.
As with many things in Europe, the Germans have it right. Plate of sausages and sauerkraut for seven Euro? Wiener Schnitzel and weird potato ball things for nine? Good choices all around. Austrian cooking is basically the same level of deliciousness and cheapness. Bavarian is a slight variation on the theme, with the addition of the "großebretzel" or "giant pretzel." This is about a foot in diameter, and you won't spend more than three Euros for it.
A trip to Europe turns out to be a great time to drink some alcohol. Now I'm not exactly a partier. I don't think I've ever been per se "drunk." But unlike anything else you might want to ingest, the booze in Europe is surprisingly cheap. And it's really, really good. I never had an American beer that I liked. And I only had one or two European beers that I didn't like. The Hofbrauhaus is amazing. French wine is amazing. Belgian beer, Spanish sangria, the list goes on and on.
And finally, the grocery store is totally bizarre. You think you've seen weird things at your friendly neighborhood Publix? You haven't seen anything until you've browsed a French store. Walking down the meat section, you see the familiar labels of "porc" and "boeuf" and "poulet" (chicken). Then... wait a second, surely you can't buy horse here? But there it was, "cheval." The juice selection was incredible, but there wasn't a jar of peanut butter in sight. Baguettes? As far as the eye can see.
Currently listening: "Rocknroll," Lovedrug
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