I’ve been so slack. Unwatched on our DVR right now: the second seasons of “Tough Love” and “Tool Academy.” How could I have been so lax? That darn dissertation proposal has kept me from my regular dosage of trashy reality TV.
I did catch “Hoarders” last night, though. You may remember that one of the graduate students in my Persuasive Writing wrote a paper trying to convince me to stop watching “Hoarders.” The argument: The people need help instead of a starring role in gawker TV. So I should stop providing an audience.
Fat chance, Elisa.
If a woman is going to reveal to the nation that she has been living in four-foot-high stacks of used adult diapers because her plumbing has been broken for two years, then I’m going to watch (in horror, of course). Goats ate the back wall of a house to get at the trash inside? Let me get my popcorn.
In exchange for letting us gasp at their lives, the hoarders do get help from the show. Yes, it may be limited and come at a price, but it is more than they had before. And I think the show is raising a consciousness that some “pack rats” may actually have a bigger problem.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some TV to watch — while I clean out that hall closet …
Classes have ended, and thus my schedule has completely reverted to my seemingly natural, nocturnal state. What is going on with that? I am so comfortable at night, for the most obvious of psychological reasons, but I learned during conversation that the habit is generally emergent in those who are single. Several couples I’ve spoken to hop right on into bed around beddy-bye time and they wake like “normal” people adhering to normal hours of living. In any case, my nights are now occupied with studying for my first ever, accumulative exam. Accumulative means I have to re-study a bunch of material I’ve already studied, in conjunction with newer material. Pile it on, Teach. This is why I like the modern day art of film-making, because good film-makers sometimes inspire people to adjust their psychologies and fight. Not that studying for a mass accumulation of computer science material equates fighting, but this sounded like a good, analogous concept for a moment there.
I have a masterpiece of literature that I am bent on getting written, and follows directly after the book I am about to finish, though the plots have nothing to do with each other. What I want to say by this is that at one time, I didn’t write; I played piano and guitar…excessively. I went through such a traumatic situation with music: at age 27, I played Bach’s Brandenburgs from memory and I played Mozart for fellow students before class; I played and played till I fell asleep at the piano sometimes (hence the spilled matter on the music I was writing there). I did this all the while struggling to find a home and lingering around the campus until told to go away. I was faced with such financial problems at the college back then, and I was in such physical and psychological distress, that I was thunderstruck for the most part. After being essentially forced to drop out, and even further, being literally self/non-self-exiled, I began to lose out on piano time. After a while, the accuracy dissipated, and my fingers began to miss the notes until one day, after having worked at a janitorial job that led me to absolutely nowhere, I realized I had forgotten much of my piano playing skills. I was soooo….well, take a guess. I began keeping a journal, and I began working in a different context with some county folk of the likes that were unheard of from where I came from; perfect strangers helping me, and I found some pieces to pick up. But too little too late was the adage for me, and I found I had drifted a stretch too far from music, as sad as I was about this. Now, after all this time–years and years–I am exposed to the opportunity of working with piano, and my heart is torn; I can’t do the jack of all trades, and I have writing that needs to get done–a specifically important piece–so I hope my music instructor doesn’t suggest I major in music now when she realizes how much I know. My mind, my heart, my soul, is being stretched by all this, but at least I am able to contend much better these days with the emotions that come from the wellspring inside.
Ever watch a movie with headphones on? Great experience; sound teams bust their asses off on soundtracks, and Caligari is no exception as I learned last night. I am the inward gothic as everyone must know, and the Caligari is among the kings of goth film, but I like my faithful readers to know that my mind is vividly in tact with all forms of story-telling art, with special attention to the kind that inspires.
Even though I gave her a mediocre score on her literary skills that had my mind a little jarbled when I read Second Glance, I like to give writers all the credit they truly deserve with respect for their trade. My opinion of Picoult’s writing is excessively subjective, but I admire the intensity of her ability to cut forth sheer, gripping plots that leave none unscathed, and the movie version of My Sister’s Keeper is one among probably most of her books that do the gripping. I’m not even proud that I was able to hold back my watery eyes, though I felt them wanting to burst, but beyond that, the movie, the story, is one that falls in line with the will to think of others under the most painful circumstances (though most Picoult readers probably already know this by now). Me, I didn’t, but now I do. I have a collection of inspiring films that sit on a dedicated shelf to such, and I am thinking this movie may find its way onto that shelf. The story is one that viewers should not only say bravo to Jodi and the film-makers, but thank you as well. See what inspiration is all about when watching My Sister’s Keeper.
I’ve got a lot of finals to do, hopefully I can get back sooner than I actually may.
Ok, not really much to explain here. I put a new video on my channel and you can watch it here.
I’m not exactly happy with the result. It was supposed to be a longer lasting project with a lot more footage doing the whole song. But after a while I noticed how much material I would need and that the song gets pretty boring after the first minute. That’s why I decided to make a cut here and call it done even though it’s not really.
I found this keeper on the tournament grounds. I must say, this had me laughing for quite a good bit. I even stayed and watched him joust. I never got the chance to inspect him to see -exactly- what he was wearing since he didn’t stand still for a moment, but I did manage to catch these screens.
And for those looking for just a little more detail:
I’m not sure why, but most priests I know are really unsympathetic about pets. Maybe it’s because many of them come from other countries where things like healthcare and food are at premiums, and therefore a dead rabbit sounds more like supper to them than something to mourn about…
Anyway, apparently I’m getting a reputation as a Scrooge, which is not the case — I quite enjoy Christmas; I just don’t like celebrating it in mid-August. So with that in mind I thought I’d actually be helpful for once and offer up, IMHO, the best Christmas music around. The fact that the brick wall in my backyard is literally covered in snow up to about a foot from the top (OK, it’s drifted, but that’s still a lot of the white stuff) has me in a Christmasy mood, I guess.
So, the best of Christmas music…
Best traditional album: I’m a huge fan of Josh Groban, which is bizarre if you know my stance on opera, which is that it’s headache inducing caterwauling that takes a lot of talent. Josh Groban’s Noel offers what is without the best of Christmas music in a classical sense. If you want something calming and holiday-esque to throw on the stereo while you lounge by the fire, Noel is perfect.
Best classic album: You can extol Bing Crosby and Nat King Cole all you like, but for me the best Christmas music was always Boney M. It’s upbeat enough for any occasion, and the best part is that you’ll have a hard time finding someone who can’t get into the campy but somehow traditional magic of a Boney M Christmas. If you want to mess with them, throw the Rasputin song in there somewhere about halfway through.
Best eclectic album: Jewel: A Holiday Collection. I was never a massive Jewel fan and we haven’t heard much from her since she tried to go all Brittany Spears, so it might seem strange to include her in a list of the best Christmas music. But this album contains something for everyone, from the operatic Ave Maria to the hardcore gospel rendition of Go Tell It On The Mountain to the jazzy acapella Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. Not many people will like every song on the album but you’ll be hard pressed not to like some.
Best nontraditional album: If you want a slightly less traditional Christmas album with the same holiday spirit as the classics, you’ll love Jars of Clay’s Christmas Songs. With the exceptions of The Little Drummer Boy and God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen, both of which they do with a rocky pop edge, this album consists of either original material or lesser known Christmas songs like Gabriel’s Message. And as always, Jars of Clay are fantastic musicians.
Best overall: Want the best Christmas music period? Check out Third Day’s Christmas Offerings. This album offers a great mix of traditional carols interpreted in new ways, not to mention some great originals (one of the best being Born in Bethlehem, which alternates between a simple, almost childish melody and a strong rock rhythm in the chorus). This is a great album, somehow mellow, introspective, upbeat, and fun all at once.
There you have it — Scrooge no longer, I have chosen the best Christmas music ever! :p
I’m not sure why, but most priests I know are really unsympathetic about pets. Maybe it’s because many of them come from other countries where things like healthcare and food are at premiums, and therefore a dead rabbit sounds more like supper to them than something to mourn about…