The State of Things

It's been 10 months since I gave a hoot about this blog, which is sad because during that time, I've discovered lots of new things:

1. Glee jumped the shark two episodes into Season 2. I don't even pretend anymore that I care about that show (now in Season 3). And I feel like if I have to see Jane Lynch in another commercial hawking her wares again, I'll punch her cat in the face.

2. I've watched all three seasons of Parks & Recreation no less than 207 times. It's just that funny.

3. I've also watched all episodes of 30 Rock 1 times. It's not THAT funny, but it's comical and I like Tracy Jordan more and more. And every girl in America has a girl crush on Tina Fey/Liz Lemon and it's not gay.

4. Prior to Christmas, I made a commitment to watch every Christmas movie I own. Like all other commitments, I didn't follow through. But I still managed to quote A Christmas Story on Facebook no less than 406 times. And I managed to make my real Aunt Patricia think I have a fake Aunt Clara, which made all of that idiocy worth it.

5. I've gotten really good at exaggeration.

6. If given the choice between wasting time on Pinterest or Spotify, Spotify wins hands down. Seriously.

7. I've all but stopped going to the movie theater, which makes me sad because I realize my relationship with kettle corn has suffered immensely.

8. I've seen The Help twice now and I still don't love it. I think I have to turn in my "white girl" card.

9. I hated Oprah but now that she's gone, I miss her. And I hate that I miss her. But mostly, I miss her Behind the Scenes show about her show that I hated.

 10. Sister Wives has proven to be my latest train wreck of TV viewing. I can't even explain it, and it pains me to admit it. But there it is. Judge.

Tune in next time when I spend an unholy amount of time talking about my new Apple TV. Wedding announcements are in the mail. We're registered at the iTunes Store.

Five Must-Haves: CDs

I have a ridiculous amount of music on my iPod, so it's hard to pick just one or even a handful of CDs that I absolutely couldn't live without. I'll do my best, though. Here they are, in no specific order:

Come On, Come On, by Mary Chapin Carpenter.
I fell in love with Chapin in the mid-90s when I was working at the Utah Statesman. This CD was always playing in the paste-up room. Chapin's voice was so alto and smooth, and the songs were just what I needed to contain my college angst, even though she wasn't popular as far as college music went. The title song is one of my all-time favorite songs. There's something about it's restrained-ness that just gets me at the core.

Flavors of Entanglement, by Alanis Morrisette.
I listened to this album on repeat when it was first released a few years ago. Even now, it is one of the highest played albums in my iTunes library. It's the perfect blend of Alanis -- a little bit angry, a little bit happy, and a little bit eclectic. Love it. Love her.

Listen Without Prejudice, by George Michael.
Again, another stand-by that I can always listen to, no matter what. It is the best music George ever made. When it was released, he'd shed his pop-music sex god image, but hadn't quite gotten into his weird public display mode yet. Every song on the album is fantastic. I'd still pay money to see him in concert.

Chorus, by Erasure.
This is high school. This is my best friend from high school. This was skipping high school with my best friend. This is by far the best Erasure album, and there have been some terrific albums that have come from our favorite British Pop duo. I can't listen to it enough, even 20 years after it was released. There is something about the opening strains of "Love to Hate You" that makes you want to Facebook stalk the boy you were in love with your junior year.

Any of the three Lord of the Rings soundtracks, by Howard Shore. I know I lumped three CDs into one, but come on. JRR Tolkien intended The Lord of the Rings to be one story, so I'm sure Howard Shore intended the soundtracks to be one album. This is my go-to writing music. I write some of my best help content under its influence. If my readers feel an unconscious urge to carry swords and eat Lembis bread, that's their problem.

College Memories

This was one of my favorite songs my sophomore year of college. It reminds me of Tricia and her monster crush on BJ.

http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/search/songs/?query=BJ%20Don%27t%20Cry

Love me some Moxy Fruvous.

Here's another one:

http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/search/songs/?query=Baby%20Loves%20a%20Bunch%20of%20Authors

Happy sigh.

Really?

When you think of what German composer Harold Faltermeyer looks like, you probably think super thick Coke bottle glasses, peach fuzz on the upper lip, and an ill-fitting button-down shirt. Or else Kip from Napolean Dynamite, right?

Get this. This is Harold Faltermeyer.

Not bad for a guy who made his fortune off a Casio.

Today's Playlist

I may or may not be addicted to the following playlist:

There is something comforting in a good quality soundtrack score -- especially for classic films. How can you not feel happiness when listening to A Summer Place? (PS. Movie theme = Good. Movie = Lame.) And how can you not feel young when listening to Back to Future? How can you not feel brave listening to Dances with Wolves or Star Trek? How can you not feel nerdy listening to Star Wars?

OK, I admit it. I AM listening to this music. A lot lately. And I love it.

I sometimes wonder what listeners in a few generations will think about our movie scores. I wonder how many of them will withstand the test of time, like the music composed by Mozart or Schubert. Will this music be listened to through the ages?

The Books

Summer always makes me think about reading. Maybe that's because growing up, we'd spend weekends at the lake where there was no TV, no mall, barely any working electricity, and no movies. We went to the lake to get away and relax, and a big part of relaxing was reading. We'd read whatever we could get our hands on -- sometimes reading two or three books over the course of two or three days. And we'd read wherever we could find a spot to lounge -- on the bunkbed, sitting on the lumpy couch, in the swing, sprawled on a dusty chaise lounge. But whatever and wherever, we read. And we loved it.

So it's no surprise to me today that summer reminds me of reading. And summertime reminds me of the books I devoured growing up. And it's in tribute to those books that I write today's post.

So what books did I consume those many summers ago?

A Little Princess, by Frances Hodgson Burnett
Follow My Leader, by James B. Garfield
Ginny's Babysitting Business, by Catherine Woolley
Sal Fisher at Girl Scout Camp, by Lillian S. Gardner
Nancy Drew, by Carolyn Keene
Beezus and Ramona, by Bevery Cleary
Ellen Tebbits, by Beverly Cleary
Ramona and Her Father, by Beverly Cleary
Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH, by Tim O'brien
Summer of the Monkeys, by Wilson Rawls
Superfudge, by Judy Blume
Little House on the Prairie series, by Laura Ingalls Wilder
Charlotte's Web, by EB White

This was and is one of my very most favorite young adult books.

Over the course of the years, those books I owned as a kid disappeared to Book Heaven, never to be held or read by me again. So several years ago, when my book nostalgia set in, I started scouring used book stores and online auctions for the books I loved so much. I didn't just want to buy the most recent publication of the book, I wanted the copy that looked like the one I read 20 years ago. After all, the covers of said books influenced me just as much as the contents. Somehow, a 2000 publication of Beverly Cleary wouldn't be as magical as a 1980s-ish publication. You have to admit, I'm right.

So here's to the good old days of lazy weekends in the mountains, curled up with the books that are now prized collections.

American Idol Wrap-Up

This pretty much sums up every emotion I have about American Idol this season:

Mouth-Watering Wants

I have been coveting this 74-track Neil Diamond box set for some time now. I haven't convinced myself to buy it ... just yet ... but it's always there, sending its siren call, "Play Me, Christina. Just Play Me."

Check out the full track listing here.

Reality Realization

I'm a suckah for reality TV. It's true. Not the trashy reality shows about getting drunk and naked in pimped out limos, but the contests and games and voyeurism into celebrity life.

Here are my favorites:

Survivor. I haven't watched this show every season. It tends to become a vain repetition if you try to. But it's still a fun game. I like to imagine myself sleeping on bamboo and eating coconuts and then I remember why I'd rather participate at home. Besides. I can't stand wearing a swimming suit for 2 hours, so what makes me think I could stand running around in one for 30 days? America is grateful for that, I assure you.

Amazing Race. There's something so invigorating about this show. Here you've simply got 10 teams competing against each other in a worldwide scavenger hunt. Love it. It's the perfect blend of suspense, competition, and feel-goodishnes, especially when the good-guy underdogs beat out the expected favorites.

America's Next Top Model. This is my embarassing admission. The less they show Tyra Banks on this show, the more I like it. My favorite seasons are the ones when they have the true weirdos/socially challenged girls on. They take the most awesome pictures. 

American Idol. This show can be interesting, except this season is an absolute SNOOZER. I'm not kidding. Between Kara's incessant prattling and the lackluster talent on stage, I'm not really sure why I keep tuning in.

Tori & Dean. Yes, it's true. I like this one. I couldn't stand 1990s Donna Martin in all of her fake virginal goodness, but Tori Spelling is actually kind of funny, and normal, in a strange sort of way. And Dean reminds me of so many guys I know.

Celebrity Apprentice. It's fun to watch celebrities work hard. What's NOT fun about this show, however, is watching them work hard for 2 hours every Sunday night. No show is worth a 2-hour time slot like this, unless the two hours is devoted solely to Curtis Stone, Australian chef, talk and flex his muscles, preferrably at the same time.

Film: The Boy in the Striped Pajamas

Movies about the Holocaust are vital to remembering what can happen when one person's insane ideology takes root and destroys an entire population.

I can never fully comprehend all that happened during Hitler's reign of terror. I've seen films, read books, watched documentaries, and learned about it in school. But nothing can ever fully and effectively communicate the sheer atrocity of what happened to 6 million Jews. Even harder to comprehend is how nations stood by and watched.

Yesterday, I watched a film that came out a few years ago called The Boy in the Striped Pajamas.

Link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sBdalsgNHsM



It is an absolutely gorgeous -- and terrifying -- film about a high-ranking Nazi soldier who takes his family to the German countryside to oversee a Jewish prison camp. The story is told from the 8-year-old son's perspective. In it, he wanders from home and discovers the camp, which he thinks is a work farm. He can't understand why the little boy, who sits just inside the fence, dresses in striped pajamas and won't come out to play. Slowly, as his friendship grows and as he watches his family disintegrate, he begins to understand what is happening.

It's a poignant film, exposing the naivete that many Germans had concerning what was happening under their leader's regime. Like most Holocaust films, there is no happy ending, but the journey getting there is worth the painful ending. The two little would-be friends do a superb job of acting. So amazing.

Genius? Truly?

I've spent a lot of time with iTunes. By a lot, I mean obscene amounts of time. It provides the soundtrack to my dramatic life in some form or another and has done so since its inception. Yes. I know iTunes in the musical sense. It knows me in the financial sense. We're tight like that. It's how we roll. And rock.

iTunes has a feature called "Genius Recommendations." When you're viewing the store's main page, it displays a list of suggested songs and albums you may be interested in, based on the songs you buy. iTunes does a lot of things right, but its recommendations are so far off the mark, it's laughable.

This was my list of Genius Recommendations this morning:

Let's look at this:

Snoop Dogg. Really? I like hip-hop as much as the next pasty-white Mormon redhead, but Snoop? Fo shizzle to the no.

Megadeth. Hmmm... Again, I like 80s butt rock. I own Monster Ballads and know every word to "Welcome to the Jungle." But I don't like pouring sulfuric acid in my ears, which is what Megadeth is. What, praytell, have I purchased that makes iTunes think I'd enjoy Megadeth?!?

Wedding Music could come in handy ... if the lead singer of Megadeth wanted to marry me.

Let's not even talk about 2 Live Crew. Blasted cop killers. Oh, don't get me started. I remember the early 90s when phrases like "Parental Adviory: Explicit Lyrics" were the kiss of death. But I definitely don't do no Crew.

So, iTunes? I love you. I'll always love you because you're my music sugar daddy. You bring me joy and endless opportunities for making playlists. But please stop bringing me roses when I'd rather you just deliver up gift cards.

Celebrities Are Idiots

I'm attracted to B-list celebrities. I can't help it. So it stands to reason I park my remote control on channels like VH1, which exists solely because they slum those who are a little bit down on their luck -- and a lot down on their own funds.

Every Sunday night, though, I reserve a spot on my DVR for Celebrity Apprentice. And this season seems to be giving us an unparalleled view into the strangeness that is celebrity.

First off, Cyndi Lauper is amazingly normal. Sure, her thoughts wander like a 14-year-old boy's eyes, but she's funny. And sincere. And hard-working. And creative with her hair.

And Darryl Strawberry? He actually made comments to the effect that it was hard work, getting up and going to the set each day to work on projects. He made reference to the rest of us stiffs who do this 52 weeks out of the year, but I can't remember exactly what he said because I was too busy wondering why in the world he was smoking. Is it just me, or is it weird when pro athletes smoke? That would be like me filling my bookcase with picture books. Or like John Mayer giving an interview where he doesn't come across as a pompous pig butt.

My favorite part of each episode is seeing how much make-up Donald Trump's producers can cake on him. This last time around, he looked like he was leaving the board room to go hang with Mr. Burns at the Springfield Nuclear Power Plant.

Here's my one gripe about Celebrity Apprentice. Someone at NBC thinks the show is worthy of a 2-hour time slot. For the love of Pete, nothing could be further from the truth. And the bulk of the frustration for me happens watching The Boardroom scenes where The Donald goads and prods all of the apprentices into throwing each other under the bus. He lives for those moments when a celebrity does or says something that gives him the license he feels he needs to cuss like he's from da hood. It's banality run amok.

But I still watch, because remember, I love a good B-lister, and in my book, there's nothing like watching a group of B-listers cannibalize each other.

This Really Was It

My nephew Adam, who is 7, adores Michael Jackson. And by adore, I mean he obsesses over Michael Jackson. I could describe the myriad ways MJ has infiltrated young Adam's life, but I think it would be adequate to simply tell you that Adam's love for the King of Pop propelled him to jump to his feet-- during the middle of the film, This Is It-- to dance in the aisle along with Michael.

Pause here to imagine my handsome little bespectacled, bird-legged, pale-skinned, red-headed nephew busting a move in an aisle along with Michael on the big screen. Doesn't it just make you feel like all is right with the world?

I never made it to This Is It while it was in the theaters. But in a fit of dizzying boredom, I watched it this past Sunday afternoon.

Oh, Michael Jackson. You were the woman I can never be. The voice, the skinny legs, the hair ...

But really, Michael Jackson, for the first time, the impact of you being gone hit me. There will not be anymore allegations of child abuse, any more strange interviews with news reporters, no more reports of erratic behavior. But more importantly, there won't be any more music. Or dancing. Or performing. And that brings with it a sadness even the staunchest of your detractors must admit to having.

Performing was where Michael seemed to be most comfortable. As I watched this documentary of concert rehearsals and listened to Michael interact with his dancers and production crew, I realized that version of Michael is the one most of us love and appreciate. And probably the version of Michael we're all grateful to hold onto in his death.

He seemed so at ease, so in control of himself -- so unlike the version of Michael we've seen on Oprah or Barbara Walters. It was always so painful watching him deal with his insecurities while using conversation to communicate who he was. But put him on a stage, give him a mic, and turn up "Jam," and it was like 25 years hadn't passed. How could that man who showed such ease as a performer be the same weirdo who dangled his baby over a German hotel balcony?

It was hard to not feel happy while watching This Is It, because that's exactly what was coming through in the performances -- happiness.