Brown-Eyed/Blue-Eyed

All right folks, here's what's been on my mind...

A couple of days ago, I attended an orientation meeting for new and returning substitute teachers in my school district. A lot of things were covered in the meeting, but what stuck with me the most from that day was a video clip of a Dateline special about racism, and a brief incident that occurred shortly afterward that got me a little steamed.

I still need to watch the remainder of the special, but here's the gist of it for anyone who hasn't heard about this: on the evening Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated (April 4th, 1968, for you historical types), a third grade teacher named Jane Elliott decided that it was time to teach her students about discrimination in a more aggressive manner than she had ever done before. On the following day, she asked her students what they thought about how they should treat people of other races (black people, specifically). Many of them said that blacks do not deserve to be treated the same as whites. This discussion went on for a few minutes, without anyone really speaking out against these prejudiced statements. She then informed her students that blue-eyed people were superior to brown-eyed people. "Brown-eyeds" were instructed to wear these black collar things so that they could be identified as brown-eyed from a distance (a la The Star of David). As the day progressed, the blue-eyed children made fun of the brown-eyed children, called them mean names, and mistreated them in general. The brown-eyed children became very mopey and subdued, causing them to perform simple classroom tasks and games much slower than usual, with less satisfactory results. On the second day, Ms. Elliott reversed this experiment (brown eyes were superior this time around). The results were exactly the same, but with the opposite children. On the third day, Ms. Elliott asked her students if they felt that they were being treated reasonably, and they all answered (in unison) with a resounding "NO!" She went on to point out that judging others by the color of their skin is not so different from judging them by the color of their eyes. These students never forgot this lesson.

I obviously can't speak for everyone, but I found myself becoming very emotionally affected by this video. It was saddening, even frightening, to witness ( A ) just how quickly people are willing to jump on a bandwagon just because someone tells them to do so, ( B ) how much of a difference in behavior and performance discrimination causes, and ( C ) how we pass our prejudices on to our children, who claim whatever adults tell them as fact. This experiment did a wonderful job of illustrating everything that is wrong with discrimination, and made it perfectly clear that there's really not a single aspect of it that isn't detrimental to learning and living peacefully.

The video ended, and we were asked to discuss a few key points amongst ourselves. Not two minutes after the video had finished, I overheard another substitute teacher behind me making a comment (in a disapproving tone, mind you) that was something along the lines of, "our school district has been getting very... dark. It's just scary."

Really, folks?

Did you not just watch the same thing I just watched? Honestly, I felt like I had just watched someone drink a bottle of vodka right after an AA meeting. I turned around to see who was speaking, and was dismayed to see that it was, in fact, a woman I've known through the school for years and have always looked up to. I've always strongly believed that the only cure for ignorance is education, but apparently not even 40+ years of education was enough to cure this particular case of ignorance. I understand that she was probably just speaking without really thinking, and that she would probably retract her statement if someone were to confront her about it. But I feel that it is irresponsible of an educator to be in the habit of such carelessness, especially after observing such a prime example of how negatively such statements affect those on the receiving end.

I've given this incident a lot of thought, and I feel like I've begun to understand some important things. In many ways, adults are just big children. Some of them learn to form their own opinions based on logic and common sense, while others stick to their same old archaic views simply because that's what they know, that's what's convenient. You're rarely going to hear someone admit that they are prejudiced. I can't think of too many people who are self-proclaimed bigots. Sometimes we're too wrapped up in our own oblivious comfort zones to realize that we're the problem. It's never us, it's someone else. "Oh, racism is terrible and all, but how typical of that black guy to eat a watermelon covered in hot sauce."

Okay, I'm rambling. I'm going to end this post with a quote that I feel pretty much sums up the moral of this story.

"You must be the change you want to see in the world." -Ghandi

What more can I say? This Ghandi dude knew where it was at.

Fashion Disaster

One of my new year's resolutions was to write on this blog at least once a week. Obviously, that plan has failed miserably thus far. Regardless, here is a new post.

A few days ago, I was flipping through a fairly recent issue of "Entertainment Weekly," and was dismayed to see that Björk is STILL being burned for wearing that swan dress way back in 2000. The last time I complained about this, I didn't have a blog, so I am seizing this opportunity to get all of my feelings out on this issue.

Firstly, I need to say that this isn't about me being a Björk fan. I am, in fact, a Björk fan, but I think I'd still feel the same if the artist in question were, say, Garth Brooks or Ludacris. I don't feel like anyone should ever have to put up with criticisms regarding their clothing. As long as certain body parts are covered, I don't see the use in calling people out on their wardrobe choices just because you would have chosen something different.

Secondly, why are we still talking about this? Didn't this happen an entire decade ago? It is waaaay past time to move on! Did the swan dress make a big statement? Perhaps. Probably. But big statements don't necessarily equal bad statements. Did it hurt anyone? Not that I'm aware of. Did she have the right to wear the thing? Of course. Do we have the right to comment on it? Of course. I just don't understand why so many feel the need to exercise this right to perpetuate negativity and creative oppression.When you go to the Oscars, you can wear whatever you want. You can make the choice to not wear plaid or necklaces with gigantic beads or swan dresses. Or you can choose to step outside the box and wear something interesting and risk public criticism. Either way, that choice should be yours to make without worrying about others think. I'll bet Ms. B. thought she looked very nice when she left her house the evening of the Oscars. Why trash on her?

Björk's swan dress is constantly brought up whenever anyone talks about red carpet fashion disasters. Then Lady GaGa can wear a gigantic plastic iceberg, but she never ends up on a "Worst" list. That's really not a diss on The Lady, but double standards really bother me.

This issue goes beyond celebrity, in my opinion. As far as I'm concerned, there is really no such thing as a fashion faux pas (I hope I spelled that correctly). Who's to say what goes with what? Why should anyone's clothing have to "go" with anything? If I want to wear one plaid slip-on shoe and one black velcro tennis shoe, that's my business. If I like what I'm wearing, who are you to tell me it's atrocious? That's just your opinion, and you are entitled to it, but what good is you telling me that going to do?

I guess what I'm really trying to say here is that with things as subjective as fashion and aesthetics, it seems unnecessary and pretentious to state one's opinion as fact. It's good that we have opinions (negative opinions included) but I don't need to hear you complaining about Drew Barrymore's dress as if wearing it were the same as stabbing a puppy. The same goes for Björk's dress. It's not a bad dress, you just don't like it much. YOU can wear something else.

Ashley Christ, Superstar

I feel like I should start this post with a disclaimer. To anyone who may be easily offended by speculative musings on Jesus and/or religious topics, this is probably the time for you to stop reading this post. I'm not here to push opinions or berate the opinions of others, but I understand that these can be touchy subjects, and I don't want to frustrate anyone. You have been warned. Continue reading at your own risk.

Well, now that that's out of the way, I'll get right down to it. For any readers who don't know me in real life or haven't heard, I have just recently been cast as an Apostle in Andrew Lloyd Webber's "Jesus Christ Superstar" at a local community theatre. At this point in my life, I would not consider myself a religious person by any means, but I can certainly appreciate art with religious implications. My favorite piece of art with religious implications is, without a doubt, "Jesus Christ Superstar," so imagine my happiness when I got cast in a production.

In honor of this exciting event, I've been obsessing over my "JCS" DVDs and soundtrack recordings, which has got me thinking about a lot of things related to the story of Jesus and its impact on our culture. Amidst all of this thinking, a question arose in my mind a couple of days ago: Will the second coming of Christ know he is the second coming of Christ?

I don't necessarily believe that a second coming is even remotely possible or plausible, but I know that there are millions of people who do. So for the purposes of this post, let's just say that the return of Christ is imminent. How will this child know what he is? Will he just divinely know? Will this child have a direct line of communication with God? Will there be human guardians assigned to take care of the child and fill him in on his situation? Will it be kind of like "The Omen," where the Antichrist child gets a special nanny and a pet hellhound to protect him and make sure nothing interferes with his destiny? Or like "Rosemary's Baby," with a whole community chipping in to make sure the child reaches his full potential? Does the second coming of Christ get the same treatment as the spawn of Satan?

Pondering these questions has spawned a whole new series of additional questions. Will the child come about the same way that the first coming of Jesus allegedly did? Will there be immaculate conception involved? Will the child's parents be in the know? Will there be anything special about the sonograms? Does the kid's name have to be Jesus? Could it be something else, like Ozzy or Lyle? Ozzy Christ has kind of a fun ring to it. Will the child even be male? Ashley Christ. Hmmm. Will it even be human? What will its nationality be? Is a Chinese Christ out of the question? What if the child is born with a crack addiction? Is the second coming of Jesus Christ immune to birth defects? What if it dies before it's born? What if it already has, and millions of people are just waiting around for something that isn't going to happen anymore?

Anyway, these are just a few of the many wild and maddening thoughts that keep me up at night. I hope you haven't been scarred too seriously during your descent into this strange, overactive place known as my mind. Have a pleasant day!

"By Grabthar's Hammer!"

When asked, "If you could have any super power imaginable, what would it be?" I usually have trouble settling on just one that would satisfy me. I'm still not totally sure I would be able to pick one, but a particular ability has started to sound pretty nice to me. A lot of little things have been bothering me these past few weeks, and I've been thinking a lot about what would have made these things less bothersome. I eventually reached the conclusion that follows this paragraph.

Wouldn't it be awesome to be able to use your mind to make other people stop doing irritating things? I think it would. Now I'm not sure if this is because I just watched "Carrie" the other day for the first time or if something else planted this thought. I'm not saying I necessarily want to be able to blow people up or burn down a gym full of high schoolers. I would want to be able to stop people from being jerks in the first place, before their actions drive me over the edge and we do actually end up with a textbook case of crispy gym on our hands. Think less "Carrie," more "Matilda." I just think this ability would be all sorts of handy.

Take, for instance, the girl sitting next to me at the play I went to see a couple of weeks back. The play is three acts, and I understand that three acts can start to feel a bit long for some audience members, but not so long that theatre etiquette no longer applies to us. About 3 minutes into Act Three, this girl whips out her cellular device and starts texting. Not just texting, but constantly checking her phone in anticipation of replies. This is very distracting. Not only does the phone glow bright blue in the dark theater, but its buttons also create quite a ruckus. This is not a musical. There is no score to drown out the noise. Is it really so hard to stay off of your phone for half an hour? The rest of us are managing somehow. Bottom line: this is making me grumpy. Do I want to make her head explode? No. Well... maybe a little. But wouldn't it be nice to just mind-control her into putting her distraction away? That way, no nasty looks or words need to be exchanged, the wrong is righted, and I won't have to dwell on it for weeks and then blog about it.

This is just one measly personal example. This power could also be used to (at least temporarily) stop litterbugs, bullies, thieves, mean teachers, mischievous students, cruel parents, people who insist on smoking in your immediate vicinity, rude fast food employees and various other bringers of negativity. I'm not saying I want absolute, constant, life-shattering mind control powers, just the power to change tiny decisions of those around me. Like a Jedi mind trick, I suppose. Like silent, instantaneous hypnosis.

Anyway, as far as super powers go, I feel like this one would have the most practical use and possibly one of the most positive effects on my surroundings. I truly believe the world would be a slightly better place if I possessed this ability. That would just be too awesome.

Also, invisibility.

[Title of Blog]

Last weekend, I had the pleasure of seeing a new(ish) musical at St. Louis Repertory Theatre (shout out to Brother Jake for hooking me up with a ticket). The show was entitled “Title of Show,” and if you haven’t seen it, I highly suggest that you do if you get the chance, especially if you’re a theatre person. It tells the story of four people trying to write a musical about themselves writing a musical, from its early stages to its off-broadway premiere, and some stuff after that. It chronicles the challenges they face in getting their show on its feet, including the hardships their friendships face and the moral and ethical ramifications that come with their project. It’s uproariously funny, wildly inventive, a little bit sad, and touching in ways I never would have expected. This might be premature, but I think I would even go so far as to say it was life-changing. Here’s why…

As I’m sure anyone who’s been reading this blog lately already knows, I’ve been in kind of a slump lately, both creatively and personally. I’ve been trying to figure a lot of things out and be more proactive. I walked into this show with all of these doubts and disappointments hanging over my head like one of those cartoon rainclouds that follows individuals around, but I walked out feeling like I could conquer the world if I felt like it. The show got me thinking about many great things, but firstly and (I think) most importantly, it gave a name to my problem: Vampires.

One character in the show defines a Vampire as “any person or thought or feeling that stands between you and your creative self expression.” Though the show sort of limits this idea of vampirism to the arts, I think it absolutely applies to life as well. I frequently have positive thoughts about my work and my future, but stupid things always get in the way and fog everything up. Now I know those stupid things have been vampires all this time. Now I know to have my stake at the ready.

Another thing in the show that really struck a chord with me was the characters’ declaration that they’d “rather be nine people’s favorite thing than a hundred people’s ninth-favorite thing.” It’s so simple I can’t believe I haven’t heard it before. This show made me realize that the only person I need to please is myself. If what I do makes someone else happy, that’s wonderful. But there are no guarantees, so why bother stressing about it? So what if someone else doesn’t like how I dress, what I make, what I like, how I think, or what I do? You can’t please everyone, so the very least you can hope for is to please the person you have to live with at all times: yourself. So what if you get a job interview but no job? Maybe you’re just not their thing. That’s okay; you can’t be everyone’s thing. They’re a vampire, anyway. Who needs a vampires? Not you. Move on and find something else.

Afer several days of reflection, I’m proud to say that I’ve started killing off my vampires. Since this show revolutionized my way of thinking, I’ve begun writing a children’s musical, I’ve subbed 3 days in a row, and I even have a job interview in a couple days. Things might not go as I hope they will, but there’s always tomorrow.

Morte, vampir morte!

Glass Houses.

In this chaotic mess of people, places, things, events and attitudes known as life, it's easy to get bogged down by the litany of craziness, confusion and negativity that is constantly being spewed our way. But sometimes, perfect moments of clarity emerge from the sludge, helping us to understand things about life that are hard to pin down on our own. I had one such moment today.

Today's story actually begins yesterday. Yesterday, I made an attempt to leave my snow-covered driveway. Long story short: I shoveled a great deal and made a lot of headway before finally getting stuck in a snowdrift at an odd angle and giving up. Later, when I asked my brother to come help me get out, he asked me how in the world I ended up getting the car stuck at such a strange angle, and then laughing at me as if I were a little kid trying to bake a cake using whole eggs, shells included. I didn't complain; I was glad to have help getting out. But still, it got on my nerves.

Even at dinner with my family, the topic of Mabel (my Sable) getting stuck in the driveway came up. They wanted to know how on earth I ended up getting stuck that way. Again with this? Using the rectangular container that holds the Splenda and the Sweet-N-Low, I demonstrated how on earth I ended up getting stuck that way. This time, my brother PLUS both parents got to laugh at my earlier misfortune and apparent inability to handle a car in winter in Missouri.

And then the tables turned a bit. My brother left to go back to college today. Mom, Dad and I followed him out of our neighborhood, as we were headed to an extended family gathering. We rounded the last curve before getting to the main road, and lo and behold, Jake's car was stuck in a snowdrift. In fact, the scenario was practically the same as mine. This time, the parents wanted to know how on earth HE had gotten stuck in the manner he did. So now, I was a part of the group who finagled and pushed HIS car out of the snow. I somehow managed to be the nice brother and keep my "who's laughing now?"s to myself, and I'm very glad I did.

Anyway, this experience taught me that you get what you give. I think that'll be one of my resolutions for 2010. When faced with the choice of ridiculing someone or keeping my yap shut, I will make a conscious effort to keep my yap shut. No one likes to be made fun of, so why not be supportive and encouraging when other people blunder? I'm hardly a spiritual person, but I do believe things that go around have a way of coming around. I've seen it happen.

Don’t throw stones if you live in a glass house. And I’ve got news for you: You live in a glass house. Everyone does. You might think you don't, but you do. Stop throwing stuff.

The Most Horrible Time of the Year

Winter used to be my favorite season. I loved playing in the snow, kicking icicles off of cars, obsessing over Christmas, seeing my favorite relatives, and going to bed anticipating the possibility of a snow day, among other things. I'm not sure when this change happened, but winter means something altogether different to me now. Now I stress about the condition of the roads, complain about the coldness of my house, dread prolonged family visits, miss my friends terribly and dwell on my fears and insecurities. Now winter means being isolated from most sources of happiness. Not even Christmas is the same, now that I've realized I don't really believe in the significance of its origins. Don't get me wrong, I still happily participate in the holiday festivities, but my heart just isn't in it like it used to be.

I remember a time when it was enough to be at home with my family during these winter holidays. That was when I belonged in this house and my biggest problems were deciding how to spend my birthday money and making sure I didn't poke Q-tips too far into my ear. But as I've grown, my problems have multiplied and mutated. I'm 21, a college graduate, virtually jobless, living in my parents' basement. Now I feel like I've become a burden, the guest that won't leave. The Ouija board that will keep coming back, no matter how many times you try to throw it out. I do love my family a great deal, but the time of blissfully ignorant childhood has passed. I constantly crave company that I'm not related to. That's just another confusing, bittersweet part of growing up, I guess.

And I'm just so lonely. I have many friends who are very dear to me, and I know I would die without them, but they can't be with me at all times. I've been doing my best to not bother them. I understand that I am not at the top of very many people's priority list, and that's fine. I just want to be able to hibernate during those gaps between hanging out with people. No matter how nice my visit is, I'll still be going home alone with no one to interact with other than the monsters in my mind.

I know I'm really whining here, but I feel like I need need to explore this melancholy a bit before I try to dissolve it. I'm in the Wallowing Stage. I'm not sure what stage comes next, but hopefully it comes soon. My good buddy iTunes is acting as my nurse at this time. Sooner or later, I'll be back in the mood for upbeat jigs and percussive jams. Until then, my life is tortured strings and dreary pianos. Until I've found new things to love about winter, I need a new favorite season. Spring's on the distant horizon, so why not that?

The Leaky Glass

I think I must have jinxed myself last night. My glass is half-empty again... maybe more than half. The coaster is wet. A leak, perhaps?

Don't misunderstand; my weekend was truly refreshing. But like a good song, the Roman empire and Arrested Development, all good things must come to an end.

I had numerous wonderful conversations, several of them with my friend Henley (formerly known as Steven). It was good to talk about this and that and realize that there are other people who share some of the same feelings and experiences as me. But then on the drive home this afternoon, I had two and a half hours to reflect on a lot of things. In a lot of ways, I feel much more content than I have in a long time. And yet, reflecting on these discussions, I have come to realize that there is a lot about myself and my life that I am not content with.

I am a strong believer in the concept that we are all ultimately in control of our situation. Of course, there are elements we cannot predict or control, but how we cope with these is up to us. If you're not happy, do something about it. If you want a change, make one occur. Everyone has the right to feel unhappy or upset, but that can only last before so long before it becomes one's life. I don't want perpetual unhappiness to become my life.

As much as I would love to deny it, I am not very self-motivated at all. I seem to be waiting on some kind of external boost or something... but that's not going to happen. I need to follow my own advice. I have to initiate the boost. Bizarre though he may be, I think Patrick Wolf said it well: "Let no foot mark your ground / Let no hand hold you down." My own feet are marking my ground, and my own hands are holding me down. I can't let that happen! I hear you, Patrick! I was paying attention!

Looks like I need to find a new glass. I wonder where to look for one? I could also stand to find a new analogy.

RAAH RAAAH RAA-AA-AAHH

Blog. Blog. Bloggity blog, DUMBLEDORE!

I am currently sitting in my dear friend Steven's dorm room, apparently attending an unannounced two-person blogging party. I know as I type this that Steven's post will most likely be substantially more thoughtful and insightful than mine. I don't really have anything specific to say, but I do feel like this is an interesting moment that I would like to record while the opportunity is presenting itself.

As this day draws to a close, I would like to say that this weekend has been quite satisfying. I began some new friendships and strengthened some old ones. I learned the difference between "who" and "whom." I was exposed to some crazy music. I attended a musical. I learned the correct nonsensical syllables in that Lady GaGa song. I tried bruschetta for the first time, and loved it. I witnessed the first snow of the year. I reminisced. I was mesmerized by something called a Panic Mouse. I got yelled at for saying "that" instead of "who." I had meaningful discussions about hopes, dreams, life, lifestyles, tears and fears. And television. Questions have been answered and feelings affirmed. I am, for the most part, content. I know that these things often have a nasty way of falling apart, but for now I'm just enjoying the general wellness of this moment.

As usual, my brain is all over the place and this entry is wrought with frivolity and blather. Sound and fury, signifying nothing. Well, something perhaps, but nothing that is easy for me to define in my current state of mind.

Well, shoot. I thought that Steven might be done composing his entry by the time I finished typing these thoughts. He's concentrating very hard, so I'll be patient and wait for him to finish before starting any conversation. Goodnight folks, and may your glass be half-full.

I Saw The Sign

Hello, blog! It's been much too long.

I don't have anything groundbreakingly interesting to say today, but I did come to a realization that has been on my mind for a couple of hours now. I have to get it out of me or I might go insane.

As I was driving home from watching "Dexter" at my friend's house this evening, I saw one of those yellow "animal crossing" signs. This particular sign featured a horse with a supposedly human rider on its back (shown above).

Now why is it that the silhouette of the horse appears to be quite realistic, while the rider looks like a bathroom sign man? And not even a normal bathroom sign man... This dude is slouching and his arm is crazy-long. I mean here you've got this guy who we're used to seeing on school crossing signs, pedestrian crossing signs and bathroom signs, and it doesn't bother us at all that his head just mysteriously floats over his neckless upper body. When he's on his own or surrounded by other pedestrian lookalikes, nothing seems amiss. But suddenly he's riding Black Beauty, whose head is seemingly very much attached to his/her body, and something just feels wrong. If you looked at the shadow of this horse in real life, it would look like a legit horse, but if you were to look at the humanoid's shadow, you might freak out and call the Ghostbusters or something.

Now that I think about it, all animal crossing signs depict their animals' forms quite accurately. So why is it that we can get away with having freaky decapitated humans on signs, but sign animals have to look like they were traced straight out of Ranger Rick?

I'm going to try my hardest not to dwell on this.

Remember The Time

This entry has been a couple of weeks in the making... I've just needed some time to let my thoughts gather and settle. Yep... It's about Michael Jackson.

Let me go ahead and get this out of the way... It's sad about Billy Mays and Ms. Fawcett as well, but I just wasn't as familiar with them. I'm sure they were great. I would also like to throw in a little side note here before I get rolling. I know this will seem morbid, but I would also like to state here, for anyone who may read this if I should die for any reason, that I would like for Diana Ross' "If We Hold On Together" to be played at my funeral. All right, here we go.

Now, I believe it is very sad when anyone dies. Michael Jackson was a human like all of us, after all. But there's just something so devastating when someone beloved by millions passes away. Yes, he was a strange man with a strange appearance. Yes, he was an entertainer of dynamic proportions. But he was also a sibling, a son, a parent, and a friend. We should respect that about all people, famous and otherwise.

I was somewhat numb to everything people were saying during the days following his death, but I was troubled by the jokes and vulturous discussion of how much money his estate would make, how much of him was made of plastic, etc. And about that plastic thing-- does it really matter what he looked like? Was his odd appearance doing damage to you? Do you need others' approval to have the face you have? I didn't think so.

At first I didn't believe that he was even dead; rumors like that go around all the time and only about an eighth of them turn out to be true. It finally hit me several days later that this was the real deal.Suddenly something dumped a huge mixed bag of all kinds of unexpected emotions on me. I was shocked. I was in denial. I was sad. I was infuriated. I was irritated that so many people acted like they were Jackson's best friend and knew everything about him, and even more irritated by the plastic surgery and pedophilia jokes. I was a little disenchanted by the announcement of the upcoming televised memorial service.

The more I thought about it, the more I made peace with at least the part about the public memorial service. The majority of fans didn't know him in person, but I think we all felt like we did, so public was his private life. And he always talked about how important his fans were to him, and it is clear that he meant a lot to many and made a huge difference in countless people's lives and broke all kinds of barriers, so I don't feel like he would have minded his public getting some kind of closure to his grand career. And I suppose it only seems appropriate, in a way, that a life spent onstage should end onstage. I do still feel, however, that those close to him should be able to mourn him privately if they so choose, without newsfolk pestering them for statements and such. I also think it's a bit of a shame that his children are being thrust into the media so drastically after he spent the last however many years of his life trying to shield them from becoming news stories.

I didn't know the man personally or anything, but I know I have countless treasured memories that came to pass because of Jackson's work. My younger brother idolized him as a performer. I can see little 8-year-old Jake teaching himself to moonwalk with the sequined glove Mom made him. I remember watching Jackson's 2001 televised concert on tape with Jake over and over and over, making fun of the ridiculous "Heal The World" tribute and laughing at the woman in the front row who was so excited when Jackson appeared onstage that she looked like she was going to toss her dinner. I remember watching that concert and seeing Liza Minnelli for the first time, hearing Billy Gilman sing "Ben" and listening to my parents talk about how much they loved "Ben" as a song but not as a movie. I remember the four of us sitting around and trying to figure out what Michael Jackson video was the one where he smashes a car to pieces and then turns into a panther (we had this discussion again last week). "Thriller" was the only record album both of my parents already independently owned when they got married. We didn't really keep up with his tabloid life, but we were certainly fans of his work. To us, he was first and foremost an entertainer. And boy, were we entertained. I resisted for a while, but I have finally caved and joined the billions listening to their favorite MJ tracks as they go about their daily tasks. I can't help it... As much as I could try to deny it, his music has kind of been a big deal to me.

I am not a religious person by any means, but I have to say that I have experienced something almost spiritual through all of this hubbub. When I got home from class today I watched some of the memorial service, and felt very moved by what many had to say. And when Jennifer Hudson sang "Will You Be There," my personal favorite Michael Jackson song, I couldn't help but get a little choked up. When the recording of Michael speaking at the end of the song finally came, my room resembled the Hoover Dam breaking. I hadn't really thought of the song in such a serious context before. I was also very moved by Maya Angelou's poem "We Had Him."

There are people who claim to be glad he's dead, and they have the right to that opinion, but I think that it is most important for us to realize that we are all human, we are all flawed, we will all die, and our lives are all worth something. We don't have to like everyone around us, but everyone deserves respect. It is up to us to make the most of what we have, as we can never know how much time we have left here. We can all start with the man (or woman or whatever) in the mirror.

The Sprout and the Bra

All right, if it wasn't official before, it's official now.

I am sick of commercials.

I'm sure no one really looks forward to commercial breaks on TV (unless the Super Bowl's on), but I've never really consciously thought about it until today.

Well okay, so I guess there are some commercials that I enjoy, like the McDonald's one with the singing fish and that one a few years back with the car falling to the center of the earth. Oh, and Nanerpus. I guess what I'm actually sick of is the fact that commercials like to ruin songs for me.

Several years back, I remember really enjoying the Jewel song "Intuition" (don't judge). I liked it for a solid year or so, and then it popped up in a female razor commercial. Now I have nothing against shaving or hygiene, but I don't need to picture women shaving their legs in a bathtub whenever I hear a song I like. I guess some people might feel the same way about those "Venus" commercials, but I never really cared for that song in the first place. Anyway, that was years ago, before I really had very many opinions.

All right, now flash forward to 2009. I've got opinions out the wazoo, so every little thing bothers me. Back in '08, I fell in love with a song by Joanna Newsom called "The Sprout and the Bean." If I was the type of person who makes annual top 10 lists of favorite songs, this one would definitely have been on mine for 2008. So one day while watching a recorded episode of "The Office," a commercial break occurred. I lifted the remote to fast-forward through it, but I heard "Sprout" playing and was momentarily mystified. Then I realized I was watching a bra commercial. Again, bras are a very important part of our culture, but they are one of the last things I want to think about while I'm listening to this soothing masterpiece.

So I guess I just wish commercials would just start composing their own original music, or at least choose songs I don't love. Or find a song that matches the commercial and doesn't make you feel weird about liking the song. Like that one car commercial from a few years ago with the rose petals and the Dirty Vegas song. I might not think "rose petals and cars" when I hear "Without You," but at least i'm not bombarded with images of female undergarments or leg-shaving.

UPDATE: Let's just go ahead and add Santogold's "Lights Out" to the list. Freaking Budweiser.

Decency, People!

Hello all (at this point, I don’t think anyone is actually reading any of this, but I can pretend)! I recently had the great pleasure of watching my brother in his high school production of the musical “The Scarlet Pimpernel.” Let me start by saying that despite a couple of catastrophic technical mishaps, I loved the show all three times I saw it.

And now for the downside.

The first two nights I was in attendance, the audience was very mature and respectful. But last night, I almost blew a casket. Firstly, someone brought a baby. And we’re not talking a quiet baby. A quite loud baby. It’s one thing to bring a small child into the theater when free babysitting is offered across the hall, but a baby? I can understand not wanting to leave your baby in the hands of a high school girl you don’t know, but honestly – What do you do with your baby when you go to work? I have a feeling you don’t keep him in your desk drawer all day.

But I can’t really blame the baby. At least the baby isn’t really able to control itself. I would think parents would be able to keep themselves under control, but alas, it seems that this is not the case. A family in front of me was obviously related to one of the performers, because every time he was onstage, they would whip out their phones and take videos of him, and shout “That’s my boy!” during applause. And yet this is still not the most unbelievable offense to me. At least they waited until the right moment to make noise.

Several parents were taking pictures during the performance. And not silent phone pictures. At least the phone doesn’t make noise when you press “record.” These people brought their big nice photo cameras, complete with extra-large zoom lenses. Not only do you get that initial sound of the camera beeping as it focuses, but you also get the freakishly loud sound of the shutter in action. It would have been one thing to snap a picture or two during applause when no one is really going to notice, but I guess that wasn’t enough. We have to click loudly during tender dramatic scenes and important plot points. Would you take pictures in a movie theater? I mean, it’s illegal there too, but at least you’re not going to distract Brad Pitt and ruin the moment. And it’s not like I can buy the DVD when it comes out to hear what important details I missed while your shutter was going off in my ear.

I understand that a high school play has a primarily parental audience. I understand that you’re proud of your little performer(s) and you want to remember this night forever. But I would think you would also want to refrain from distracting your kid and ruining the show. I was this close to turning and saying something between scenes, but I didn’t want to turn into “that guy.” But honestly, a part of me really wished I had telekinetic powers like Matilda so I could blow their cameras up with my mind, or that one of the actors would go all Patti LuPone on these people. I talked to Mom about it at intermission, and she said this was how it always was in the audience at our theatre. Rude.

What a sad state of affairs we’re in.

No Song Unsung, No Wine Untasted

All right... This entry will probably be a little different from any so far. Today was pretty calm, but I was just exposed to something that really got me worked up, and I felt I should write about it to get it out of my system before I go to bed.

During my conversation with my mother when she got home from work, Mom told me about this story she saw on the news, and I was intrigued. She just told me to look up this woman's name (Susan Boyle) online and I'd find what she was talking about. So I did as she said and found a clip from "Britain's Got Talent."

So this woman comes out and introduces herself as Susan Boyle, aged 47. This woman is not what most would call physically attractive (even my mother compared her to the bowing lady toward the end of "The Sound of Music"). This woman says she dreams of being a professional singer. The audience snickers and gapes at her with disgust and disapproval. Even the judges give her some pretty ugly looks when she reveals her age and ambitions. The woman hasn't even performed yet, and my heart is just aching at the theater's response to her presence.

Finally, after this dismaying prologue, Ms. Boyle begins to sing. It's "I Dreamed a Dream" from "Les Miserables," and it is absolutely beautiful. As she sings, they show the audience. Jaws are on the floor. She gets a standing ovation after the first few bars. Spontaneous applause erupts throughout the whole song. The audience can't help but get involved, so moving and unexpected is this performance. And as she finished the last heartwrenching notes, tears were streaming down my face as I sat in front of my computer screen.

Now I'm sure the editors of the show have been careful to manipulate me into feeling this way, but this knowledge does not undo the fact that I felt so emotionally invested in this act. This woman has touched my soul, and there's nothing I can do about it. And I thought to myself, "this woman has done such a brave thing in getting up there and doing this."

And then I thought about it. Why should she have to be braver than anyone else? It takes a lot of courage to get up and sing in front of thousands of people (plus countless home viewers) no matter how old you are or what you look like, and we love to encourage performers to do well. And yet this audience seemed to be against this lady from the moment she walked out onstage! Why? Because she wasn't young or young-looking. She wasn't made up all fancy. Her clothes were nothing flashy. She wasn't skinny. She wasn't glamorous. Why should these things matter in a talent competition?

I don't think they should. I'm watching "Britain's Got Talent," not "Britain's Got Hotties." I guess the judges' reactions support my feelings, because all three (even Simon) each gave Susan Boyle a resounding "YES." I just think it's sad that we had to be surprised into realizing that someone who is over 40 and isn't Madonna can actually be a talented performer. I am also reminded of Julia Child, who revolutionized the way our nation thinks about cooking, despite her ungainly personage and unusual way of speaking.

I think every human being has something to offer this world, and we do ourselves a great disservice by focusing only on judging appearances and knocking other people down. Let's do ourselves and the world a huge favor and not do that anymore! And as for Susan Boyle, let's not kill the dream she dreams.

Whew, glad I got that off my chest... Goodnight world!

Leaving On A [Non-Jet] Plane

So I'm at the airport right now, waiting to board my plane back to Kansas City. I've been here for several hours, as my ride could not drop me off later. Anyway, I've been shop-hopping to pass the time for the past hour or so. On a side note, I don't think I've ever seen so many pale, red-haired, freckly people all in one place before. It's kind of creepy, like that one episode of South Park.

But I digress. I've noticed this before, but today is the day I finally say something about it (thanks to the miracle of blogging). I don't get why magazines feel the need to occlude their titles with someone's face. True, I'm probably not going to pick a magazine up if there's not someone on the cover who interests me, but I also like to know what magazine I'm buying. And, being someone who doesn't read magazines very often, it's not like I can just tell what magazine I'm looking at by the corners of a first and last letter visible behind Gerard Butler's noggin.

It's like when you catch a movie on TV, but you miss the beginning. You might enjoy it, but you have no way of knowing what it is because you missed the title.

I guess in the long run, it doesn't even really matter. In most cases, you read things for their content, and not necessarily for their title. Or you should, anyway, I think. You may not know that movie's title, but at least you enjoyed it. Hopefully. Egh, whatever.

Haha, this seven-year-old-looking ginger kid next to me is talking to a handful of change and it's pretty funny... "I'm bigger than you, dime! I'm more valuable than all coins!"

All right... Peace out. It's airplane time!

Upgrade Upheaval.

I’m not sure I understand all this fuss about Blu-Ray. I understand it’s prettier, but no matter how flawlessly crystal-clear a movie is presented to me, I will still always know that I’m watching a movie. I feel much the same way about the recent return of the 3-D movie. It’s different, but I don’t really feel like I’m getting anything extra out of the experience.

And let’s face it, DVD is not really bad quality. True, it’s less crisp, but it’s crisp enough, I’d say. And honestly, how crispy do you need a movie to be? It’s not a Dorito, for crying out loud! And unlike VHS (a truly inferior format, in my opinion), DVD’s quality does not degrade over time. It starts good and it stays good until you scratch it up or break it. Blu-Ray is basically the same, only it costs more and looks 1% better on giant TVs.

I think there comes a point where we’ve gone about as far as we can go and we feel we need to make excuses to market something new. We’ve already made two or three DVD releases of practically every film ever produced, so I guess there’s nowhere to go but up. The same goes for video game systems. Where do we go after the Nintendo 64? Gamecube, 128-bit graphics. That's about as good as it gets, so what's next? The Wii. It's exactly the same, only now you can wave your arms around too.

Until Blu-Ray replaces DVD in all the stores, I for one cannot see myself feeling the need to buy anything on Blu-Ray. I’ve spent the last 10 years gathering my massive DVD collection, and I’m not about to start going through and replacing each movie I own with a SLIGHTLY higher quality version. I did it once when VHS went out, but until something truly mind-blowing comes along to replace DVD, I refuse to jump on this bandwagon.

I think my friend Teri said it best: "It [a good movie] should make you cry and vomit while you’re on a greyhound bus next to a smelly Asian with no teeth and a screaming baby with a crackhead mother. If it can do that, then it’s an amazing movie. Not if freak technology makes it that way in the comfort of your own home."

Amen, Teri. Amen.

A Close Encounter of the Drive-Thru Kind

As I've mentioned before, and as anyone who knows me knows, I am addicted to chicken. So I'm sure it comes as no surprise that as soon as I moved to Orlando and discovered the wonders of Chick-Fil-A (we don't have these in Missouri), I became instantly hooked. It's killing me financially, but I go all the time. It's like sometimes I just wake up as if from a trance and don't know where I've been for the past hour, but I have a Chick-Fil-A bag in my lap and a Diet Dr. Pepper in a styrofoam cup in my cupholder.

Living in central Florida, you see some pretty unusual things and experience a lot of colorful characters. This is not to say that other places don't have interesting people, but the locals certainly seem particularly outlandish here. For me, Chick-Fil-A especially has provided the backdrop for several truly unforgettable encounters. I'm sure some of these folks will come up in later posts, but today I'm focusing on a more subtle observation I made yesterday.

So I'm driving home from Target and I have one of my weird lapses and before I know it, I've ordered a Number 3 Combo and I'm waiting in the drive-through line to pick it up. Chick-Fil-A seems to be especially busy today. It's usually a pretty hoppin' joint, but today, it's just packed. The line is very long. I have a bit of a wait ahead of me.

So I'm sitting there in my car, jamming out to The B-52's, watching people enter and exit the restaurant. Then the employee entrance door opens and a young, slim, black man emerges to take some trash to the dumpster, which is on the other side of the parking lot. (Note: this story has nothing to do with race, but I just thought I'd provide at least a little bit of detail.) Nothing seems unusual here until I notice that this man is wearing a hairnet. Now I understand that it is required of all employees in any restaurant kitchen to wear a hairnet, for reasons I completely agree with. I don't need to pull anyone's hair out of my mouth after chewing a handful of waffle fries. The thing that gets me is that this man is completely bald. Not a single hair on his head, save for his eyebrows, which are generally not covered by hairnets anyway.

Then I think to myself: Why did they make this man wear a hairnet? Were they afraid his hair would escape? Did they think his smooth scalp would flake into the boiling grease? If this is the case, then why aren't all fast food employees required to wear full-body latex suits and masks? This just seems like a harsh formality to me. Here, this guy's already bald, but let's slap a hairnet right on there in case anyone hadn't noticed he has no hair. Let's really play up the "bald" angle. Besides, the net will also cut some of that shine you get from that sleek dome of his.

Now he might have just been wearing it out of respect for policy. Maybe someone called him out on not wearing it earlier. Maybe there's actually a logical health code reason for requiring him to wear it. Maybe it was a fashion statement. I am fairly certain that only he knows for sure, but I know that if I am ever completely bald and working in fast food, I will put up a fight when they tell me to cover my bare scalp. Besides, that's one more hairnet for someone else. In this economy, I'm sure we don't need to be spending money on unnecessary hairnets.

Either way, I wish Chick-Fil-A was still open right now. Hmph.

We Eat What We Like

All right, so while I was home a couple of weeks ago, my friend Annie introduced me to something I have never had before: Star Crunch.

Having been a diabetic child in the 90s, I am relatively unfamiliar with the strange and mysterious world of Little Debbie. I've had the occasional snack from this Debbie person, but nothing all that memorable, I suppose. Until Star Crunch.

So Annie gives me this Star Crunch cookie (?) thing in her car one evening, and I eat it. It is delicious. I decide that when I go back to my house in Florida, I'm going to get some of this stuff for my cabinet. And I do. I enjoy 3 or 4 of these odd chocolate rice crispy cookie things, and then something dawns on me. The name "Star Crunch" makes absolutely no sense. It even seems as though the makers have realized too that the name is nonsense; under "Star Crunch" they have added "Cosmic Snacks!"

I'm sorry, but calling something "cosmic" does not automatically give you the right to name it after a part of the solar system and expect no questions. The food has nothing to do with stars. Its texture does not resemble the stars, its color (brown) is far from starlike, Little Debbie herself is hardly star quality in the figurative sense... Shoot, it's not even shaped like a star. In fact, the only thing on the packaging that has anything to do with stars is the star-shaped "A" in the word "Star." What the hell? Come now, wee Deborah, show me the truth!

This whole ordeal reminds me of Apple Jacks. Don't get me wrong; I love Apple Jacks. Probably my 3rd favorite cereal after Count Chocula and Honey Bunches of Oats with Strawberries. But that's beside the point. I would totally be the dad in those commercials. You know, the downer one who complains about Apple Jacks being poorly named. The one who says, "How can you eat that? They don't taste like apple!" when I think the real concern should be "what in the name of all that is holy is a Jack, and why am I eating it?" But of course the children can just say "Shut up, Dad! We eat what we like!"

It took a long time, but I came to live with that. It might be good enough for Apple Jacks, but not for Star Crunch. Not yet.

Blog The First.

All right. I did it. I'm still unsure why. I don't know if it's because of all the Augusten Burroughs I've been reading, my intensifying internet addiction, some internal need to share my thoughts with the everyone on the world wide web, or pure boredom. I finally did it.

I made a blog.

Now that the deed has been done, I figure I might as well make the most of it. I try to be a glass half-full kind of guy whenever I can, and I'm in a good mood. Let's do this shiz.

My name is Michael and (as of today) I am 20 and a half years old (yes I still have half-birthdays. You know you're jealous). I have an insatiable addiction to Count Chocula and fried chicken. I listen to a ton of music (as I'm sure will come up in future posts) and like anyone else, I enjoy a good book or movie when I find the time to enjoy such things... which is pretty often now that I think about it (yeah, I also have this weird thing about parentheses).

I'm pretty introverted in a lot of ways, but when it comes right down to it, I'm a pretty sociable person. I get lonely easily and need others' company sometimes to stay comfortable with myself. But sometimes it's 1:30am and everyone around is asleep, causing me to do irrational things like binge out on Go-Gurt or (as I'm discovering) create a blog.

I guess I'll wrap this up for tonight. Apparently the Sandman dropped by without stopping to say hello to my face, but somehow found the time to make my eyelids heavy. What a jerk.

Onward and upward. See you later, bloggies.

-M-