Obliquely Christmas III: Final Christmas Music Thoughts (I Promise)

Editor's Note: This is the third and final part of a series (Part One, Part Two)

I was in Times Square on the night that Michael Phelps won his fifth gold medal in Beijing. The city was hectic as usual before the race began, but everything stopped as soon as Phelps strode up to the pool. People on the sidewalk stopped walking. Cars pulled over and the passengers got out and joined the pedestrian onlookers. Every eye in Times Square was fixed on the huge screen overhead. When Phelps touched the wall at the end of the race, the place just erupted. The square was filled with an amazing energy - for four straight minutes, thousands of individuals forgot about whatever was happening in their own lives and celebrated something that everyone could relate to.


(Footage not taken by me, but similar to my experience)

This year I've done a lot of thinking about Christmas music (in case you haven't noticed). A few days before Christmas I awoke to the sound of Burl Ives' "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" leaking faintly through my bedroom wall. Later that day I was at the mall and heard the likes of Brenda Lee singing "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree," Dean Martin singing "Let It Snow," and of course, Bing Crosby singing "White Christmas." You know, the exact same recordings of the exact same Christmas songs that you hear everywhere year after year during the holidays. Against that musical backdrop I suddenly felt something akin to what I felt in Times Square during the Olympics.

I feel like the world has become a very niche-y place. I am reminded of some remarks that President Obama offered at my graduation ceremony at the University of Michigan earlier this year:

Whereas most of America used to get their news from the same three networks over dinner or a few influential papers on Sunday morning, we now have the option to get our information from any number of blogs or websites or cable news shows... If we choose only to expose ourselves to opinions and viewpoints that are in line with our own, studies suggest that we will become more polarized and set in our ways.

He was referring mostly to political insulation, but his comments could also apply to musical insulation. Two of my nephews have little MP3 players and they recently asked me, "What's on your iPod?" I had to think for a minute - hmm, they're not gonna know Regina Spektor or Caetano Veloso or Arcade Fire. Talk about musical insulation. The most universal band I could think of was the Beatles. They said that they thought they had heard of them, but they probably hadn't heard their music.

As universal as the Beatles may be, they can't touch the universality* of something like "Silent Night." So just like I love the way that the Olympics make me feel connected to the whole world, I have come to the realization that underneath the music I have formerly described as "cheesy" there is something very powerful: a spirit of mutual understanding and shared experience seems right in line with the Spirit of Christmas.

*Yes, I'm aware that not everyone in the whole world celebrates Christmas or is fluent in its traditions. Pardon my overgeneralization, but this is an overgeneralizing kind of post.

Obliquely Christmas II: Embracing Wham!

Editor's note: This post is a follow-up to a previous post about Christmas music.

I recently listened to a holiday installment of one of my favorite podcasts, All Songs Considered, where each guest brought in a few favorite Christmas songs to play for each other and the listeners. All Songs Considered usually traffics in the kind of elitist and esoteric music that appeals to overeducated hipsters like myself, and the initial Christmas selections on the podcast reflected that bias. However, fairly early on in the proceedings one of the guests on the show made a most unexpected selection:



This song was greeted by huge groans from all the other guests on the podcast*, and from me too, listening in my car. But after we all suffered through the song, the guy who chose it offered an interesting apology for his selection. He said that oftentimes during the holidays we often find ourselves at gatherings where we're fully expecting to have awkward meetings with certain acquaintances or family members, but we attend just the same because it just wouldn't be Christmas if we didn't see them. Likewise, he argued, there may be a lot of Christmas music that bugs us, but it just wouldn't feel like Christmas without it.

That reasoning really resonated for me, and I feel like since then I've had more of an open mind towards mainstream Christmas music. Yes, Wham! or Mannheim Steamroller, for example, drive me crazy, but it just wouldn't seem like Christmas without them.

* I liked their dissection of the lyrics of "Last Christmas" - George Michael gave his heart to someone and then the recipient gave George Michael's heart away to someone else? That's awkward - does George Michael even know who has his heart anymore? Does the new owner of the heart realize that it originally belonged to George Michael**?

** All this talk of George Michael makes me think of Arrested Development.

P.S. - Congratulations to Cookie Monster for breaking onto SNL last week. There was a much bigger cheer for him than there was when real host Jeff Bridges came out (not that there's anything wrong with Jeff Bridges - I'm looking forward to the Coen Brothers remake of True Grit), so let's hope Cookie Monster can parlay this appearance into a full hosting gig.

A Tale of Two Nights

Last week I lost my house key, so whenever no one was home/awake I had to enter the house through the garage. Last Friday night I was out watching movies with friends and didn't get home until about 1:00 a.m., so when I got home I clicked the garage door opener to get inside the garage. I then turned the handle on the door leading from the garage into the house. Locked. Uh-oh.

After a failed brainstorming session, the only way I could think of for getting inside the house was to get on my cell phone and call my sister's land line and have her come down and open the door. I was really reluctant to wake her up but made the call anyways. No answer. Huh.

There was one door in the garage that wasn't locked - the Hacking's Honda Odyssey. So I climbed inside, rolled my coat into a pillow, and scrunched my body across the back seat. I fell asleep pretty quickly, but at 3:30 I woke up because I was a little cold. I remembered that I had a big blanket in the trunk of my car, so I fetched it and went back to sleep in the back of the minivan. My cell phone's alarm clock went off at 7:30, at which time I called my brother-in-law and asked him to unlock the door for me. "Have you been out here all night?" he asked. Yep, I had. I went upstairs, brushed my teeth and changed into my pajamas, and slept for a few more hours in my bed.

This may sound like it was really irritating, but as the whole saga was playing out I thought it was incredibly funny. After all, it was my fault for losing my key and I knew it would be a funny story to tell afterward. It really wasn't that uncomfortable sleeping in the van (although my knees were a little sore since I had to fold my legs up to fit across the tight seat). As I drifted off to sleep in the van I fondly recalled a night I spent curled up in a similar fashion but under very different circumstances.

*****

When I returned to Brazil in 2008 my flight to São Paulo was delayed for about two hours, so by the time I got through immigration and customs it was already about midnight, and then the bus ride to Campinas took another hour and a half. Although I had arranged for a place to stay in Campinas for the rest of the week, I hadn´t been able to find a definite place to stay that first night. I had a guide book that mentioned several hotels close to the bus station in Campinas, so I figured I could just check into a room as soon as I arrived. However, the "hotels" it listed were actually just houses with the word "Hotel" painted on the outside wall where one could rent a vacant bedroom for a night, and they were all dark and gated up for the night.

So I followed the lead of the many homeless people inside the bus terminal and curled up across three hard plastic seats with my head resting on top of my small bag and my arms wrapped tightly around my large backpack. The building had no doors so it was no warmer in there than it was out on the street, but at least inside there were a few security guards wandering around.

The combination of the hard seats jutting into my back, the anxiety that my bags might disappear, and my shivering from the cold night air kept me from getting any real sleep. I just lay there for hours thinking, "Is this the craziest thing I have ever done in my life?" I scrolled through my brain looking at memories from every era of my life and concluded that if this wasn´t the craziest thing I´d ever done, it was definitely near the top.

*****

So, sleeping on the cushy backseat of a minivan inside of a safe garage wasn't bad at all.

SST: Mysterious Theater

SESAME STREET TUESDAY

If the Three Young Sleuths ever need a mentor, they need look no further than Sherlock Hemlock, the World's Greatest Detective. He and his trusted companion Watson would prove invaluable to them should it turn out that the ever-elusive True Meaning of Christmas is housed inside of a circle, square, or triangle.

Star of the East

Last night was my ward's Christmas dinner and two weeks in advance I was asked to perform a musical number. No prob - I just recycled my Soirée number from two years ago:



However, just two days in advance I was asked to do a second number because someone else on the program dropped out. So I spent an afternoon flipping through my sister's easy piano Christmas songbooks looking for a suitable selection, but most of it was the same old cheesy stuff that drives me crazy. However, one of the books yielded an unexpected surprise: "Star of the East."

This performance is dedicated to the only two people I have ever heard play "Star of the East," my Grandma Tanner and my dad:



P.S. - On the subject of Christmas music, my friend Jess sent me a copy of Sufjan Stevens' "Songs for Christmas" (42 songs in all!) and I absolutely love it. The holiday-themed originals are fun and ambitious, the arrangements of even the most overdone Christmas standards are as fresh and layered as anything on his "Michigan" or "Illinois" albums, and the whole vibe of the collection is joyous and warm. Or as Jess put it in the comments on my "Obliquely Christmas" post, "Sufjan Steven's album=amazing, brilliant and redemptive. redemptive in the sense that it upholds the sanctity of christmas music, while reinventing it and is not as you put it 'schmaltzy'." I highly recommend it and I can envision myself putting it on at Christmastime for years and years to come. I bet even the Three Young Sleuths would love it.

The True Meaning of Christmas

About seven or eight years ago I was invited to a party where I only knew one other person out of a tight-knit group of friends. On that night they indoctrinated me into a game they invented and played at every get-together. The game went like this:

1) One person in the group made up a fake movie title.
2) Everyone in the group wrote a short plot synopsis of the fake movie.
3) Each synopsis was read aloud and the group tried to guess which member of the group had written which synopsis.

It was a fun game and the group of friends all thought of some wildly imaginative fake movie plots, but since I had just met them it was hard for me to guess who had written what, with one exception - this one guy who ended every single synopsis with the phrase "... and three young sleuths discover The True Meaning of Christmas." Without fail. Every round.

A team of rogue botanists race to thwart a deadly race of mutant ferns that threatens to wipe out the entire population of French Guiana, and three young sleuths discover The True Meaning of Christmas.

A world-famous concert violinist suddenly becomes the target of a ruthless gang of pirates when he inherits a priceless Fabergé egg collection, and three young sleuths discover The True Meaning of Christmas.

Ever since then I can't hear the phrase "The True Meaning of Christmas" without chuckling and thinking of those three poor, eternally youthful sleuths (in Sherlock Holmes attire, naturally) who must walk the earth in an everlasting quest for The True Meaning of Christmas. I hope that someday in their travels they cross paths with Linus van Pelt, that they may finally rest from their labors.

New Glasses(es)

Once upon a time, I solicited your help in picking out a new pair of glasses. Remember? The problem with glasses is that, like many goods and services, they cost money, which is in short supply when you're unemployed. So I held out until I found a good deal, courtesy of JC Penney. Said deal actually allowed me to get two pairs for less than the price of one pair of glasses/lenses at other places. For a guy who felt like he wasn't capable of picking out a suitable pair, getting two pairs took a lot of the pressure off. It allowed me to hedge my bets and get a more conservative pair to offset a bolder pair, and to get two different colors. Here are the results:

The first pair is roughly analogous to 'A' from the former post (but silver), which fared well in the poll. The second pair is nearly identical to 'C', which was by far the most divisive pair in the mix (scroll down to the comments section for that post - it's a battleground between the 'C' lovers and haters). Like the haters, I had some reservations about them - that they were too trendy, that they're a very different look for me - but when I tried them on again I just liked them. I slept on it and later took friends to the store with me who supported my decision (I liked the sentiment of my friend Nichole*, who said that they sent a message like "I'm wearing glasses, dangit!")

In case you have forgotten how my previous pair of glasses looked, here is a reminder for comparison's sake:

One thing that both of my new pairs of glasses have going for them is that they lack that "got flattened by a car" quality possessed by my former pair. But maybe the "flattened by a car" look will be hot in the future, so maybe I'll hang on to them.

After wearing naught but contacts every day for over three months, my exhausted eyes were more than ready for a break. However, I've had to adjust to wearing glasses again. When I first put them on they made the world look so flat. I got used to my whole field of vision being sharply in focus and suddenly my peripheral vision was blurry. For the first few days I get a little dizzy every time I turned my head sharply to the left or right. Fortunately, I have gotten over that and I am happily bespectacled once again.

*Happy birthday, Nichole!

SSSN: Sesame Street Saturday Night (Live!)

SESAME STREET SATURDAY NIGHT

This special Sesame Street Saturday Night edition is brought to you by the letter "C." As in "C is for Cookie." Cookie Monster is following in the footsteps of Betty White, who wrestled her way onto Saturday Night Live through a Facebook fan campaign. Like White, Cookie Monster would totally walk away from the experience with an Emmy.

I've never proselytized for an online campaign before, but this is just plain fun and I thought that those of you out there that like my Sesame Street Tuesday posts might want to jump on board. To join the cause, watch the video, then jump on Facebook and like the "Cookie Monster should host Saturday Night Live!" group.



Seeing this clip makes me feel prescient for putting Cookie Monster and SNL veteran Tracy Morgan (aka Tracy Jordan) together to do a sketch in my 30 Rock spec script for my TV Writing class. I knew there was a sketch comedian inside Cookie Monster waiting to burst out.

NERD!

In episode 1F07 of The Simpsons ("The Last Temptation of Homer," for you laymen), Bart has a sudden convergence of health problems that necessitate several changes in his physical appearance - thick glasses to combat lazy eye, orthopedic shoes to correct fallen arches, heavy medicated salve to sooth his itchy scalp. At school the next day Bart doesn't understand why he is suddenly an object of ridicule (Sherri and Terri: "Nice glasses, four-eyes!" Nelson: "Yeah, nice shoes, uh…two-feet."). He catches a glimpse of himself reflected in Milhouse's glasses and gasps, "I'm a nerd!" It then switches to Milhouse's point of view as he sees his own reflection in Bart's glasses and realizes in horror, "So am I!"

Like Milhouse, I never really considered myself a nerd, despite the overwhelming evidence visible to outside observers. However, there comes a point where the body of evidence makes it hard to argue otherwise. I submit to the court several previous blog topics: Setting video game records, Monty Python, Battlestar Galactica, Final Fantasy, dressing up like Buffy characters, origami, Jonathan Coulton, and referring to Simpsons episodes by their production code number. I rest my case.

In many of those selfsame posts I wrote a little disclaimer saying something like, "Yikes, this makes me sound like such a nerd." I just saw myself as a normal, cool guy who on occasion innocently dabbled in a few nerdy pursuits. However, I had a Milhouse-like moment of clarity on Thursday night as I donned my Harry Potter costume before heading out for the midnight showing of the new Potter movie. As I gazed in the mirror to check the magic marker scar on my forhead I thought, "I am almost thirty years old and I'm wearing a costume to a midnight screening of a fantasy movie. There's no other way to spin this, Bri - you're a straight-up nerd."

I had planned to meet up with friends down at the theater before the show, so I drove alone down to the mall around 10:30. The mall was still busy when I got there, with lots of folks hiking across the parking lot with big shopping bags. I have rarely felt so self-conscious in my life as when I emerged from my car, in my flowing cape and novelty glasses, and made the long, lonely walk across the parking lot . I was sure that scads of teenage hooligans were going to pop out from behind a parked car and yell "NERD!" at me.

I felt more comfortable among the costumed masses inside the sanctuary of the theater. I met my friends, some of whom were also dressed up*, and we passed the time until midnight by playing games and answering arcane Harry Potter trivia questions. Good, nerdy fun.

*I'm not implicating anyone else in my nerdhood. I'll leave it to each individual to draw their own conclusions.

On the way out of the theater, no sooner had I parted ways with my friends on route to my car when a woman in a "KATU 2 News"-branded jacket shoved a microphone in my face. She liked my costume and asked me about it. In that very public moment I could no long cage my inner nerd. "Can I just interject that I am nearly thirty years old and I'm dressed up like Harry Potter," I interjected, "Such a nerd, right?"

She interviewed me for a good long two minutes. I had some funny riffs (one about my incongruous beard) and gave her some really good material. The interview consisted of more than just me accepting my nerdiness - as an amateur film scholar, I provided I offered up some thoughtful analysis of the film's themes and technical accomplishments (well, that's kinda nerdy too, isn't it?).

The next day I watched the news at noon and 5 p.m., but the Harry Potter segment never ran. They probably played it on the 5 a.m. news, but I didn't get home from the movie until 3:30 so me getting up to watch it that early was not going to happen. I also have not been able to find the interview on the KATU 2 website or anywhere else on the internet.

That interview may have vanished into the ether, but it still stands as my nerd coming-out moment. Remember that big list of so-called "nerdy" subjects from earlier in the post? Guess what - all that stuff is really awesome. So if a nerd is someone who doesn't suppress his or her enthusiasm for awesome stuff, count me in. I'm a nerd.

P.S. - Nerdy words used in this post: convergence, orthopedic, selfsame, scads, arcane, incongruous, ether.

Scenes from the LA Job Search: The Hip-Hop Mogul

One of the first job ads that I responded to in L.A. was for a call center where they do telephone surveys. You know, the people who call you up all like, "Hello, this is some guy from some place on behalf of some thing. We're not selling anything, but wanted to ask you a few questions about some issue. Would you care to participate?"

I had worked extensively in call centers when I was an undergrad and I wasn't especially thrilled to go back, but this particular ad mentioned that they needed fluent Portuguese speakers to conduct surveys in Portuguese. I thought that sounded fun, plus it paid double the normal rate.

So I applied and got invited to the training session. They told me to dress 'business casual' so I wore a nice button-up shirt and slacks. However, I got there and everyone else was wearing ragged flannel shirts and holey jeans. Plus, I was the only one there without visible tattoos or an eyebrow piercing or two. During the training they had us go around the room and take turns reading from a manual, and half of the people in the room either couldn't read or had to slowly sound out the words. Needless to say, I felt out of place.

At the beginning of the training, they made everyone introduce themselves - name, where you're from, hobbies - and this one kid in the back stands up for his turn. He reminded me of Jeffrey from season three of Project Runway (seen on right) - in a black t-shirt with a swooping neck to better show off his chest and neck tattoos, plus three or four studs on each earlobe. He says his name is Jordan, from L.A., and that he is a professional musician.

During the training they gave us a ten minute break, during which time I thought it would be interesting to talk to Jordan, us both being musicians and all. Below I have transcribed our conversation nearly word for word (well, as accurately as I could remember after three months). And since it happened in L.A., I wrote the scene out in screenplay format.

*****

FADE IN:

EXT. CALL CENTER MAIN ENTRANCE - DAY

BRIAN emerges from the automatic sliding doors into the harsh afternoon sunlight. The entrance is lined by several date palms and there are several concrete benches. Shielding his eyes from the sun, he spies JORDAN leaning against the wall behind a bench, texting. Brian approaches him slowly.

BRIAN
(politely)
Hey. So, it's Jordan, right?

JORDAN
(not looking up from his phone)
Huh? Oh, yeah.

BRIAN
Sorry, but I heard you say in there
that you are a musician?

JORDAN
(still looking at phone)
Yeah, I'm a record producer.

BRIAN
(surprised)
Yeah? That's pretty cool. I do some music too.

JORDAN
(putting away phone)
Yeah? I'm pretty huge. I work with
50 Cent, Diddy, Tupac. I just finished
making some beats for Kanye.

BRIAN
(Dubious)
Oh yeah? I heard his album is dropping
pretty soon? Did you work on that?

JORDAN
Yeah... the beats I gave him are a little too
forward-looking - a little too hot, you know?
It'll probably go unreleased.

BRIAN
Yeah, I know how that goes. So... since you're a
big hip-hop producer, what are you doing at a
call center training session?

JORDAN
You know, my talents keep getting disrespected
by the industry so I'm starting my own
studio and I need to buy all the equipment.

BRIAN
Like what kind of stuff?

JORDAN
Oh, like software. I have mastered over 2,000
music programs and I need to buy all those. Plus
like, amps and stuff.

BRIAN
Whoa. 2,ooo programs sounds expensive.

JORDAN
Yeah it is ai't. And this is one of the few
high-paying jobs that will take 16 year-olds.

BRIAN
(stunned)
Wait, you're 16?

JORDAN
Yeah bro.

BRIAN
Shouldn't you be in school right now?

JORDAN
(incredulous)
Dude, you think I'd have any cred if I went to school?
No man, I was out of there like two years ago.

BRIAN
Yeah. Right. That's deadly.
(checking the time)
Maybe we should get back?

JORDAN
I'll be right there. I'm just gonna
go light up real fast.

BRIAN
(backing away)
Yeah bro, I'll let 'em know you're coming.

Brian crosses away and heads back inside through the sliding glass doors as Jordan pulls out his lighter.

FADE OUT.

*****
Epilogue:

Jordan never came back inside to finish the training, so I'll never know if there was any truth to his claims. It does seem rather doubtful or several reasons, one being that Jordan was only two years old when Tupac was murdered. (However, six Tupac albums have been released posthumously using recorded scraps he left behind, so I suppose he theoretically could have worked on one of those projects.)

As for me, I finished the training, during which time there was no mention of foreign language speakers. Afterwards I asked the supervisor about doing Portuguese calls and he said that when I came in for my first shift they would put me on Portuguese calls. I came in for my first shift and the supervisor didn't know what I was talking about. Long story short, I worked there for three days before learning that there were no Portuguese calls to be made. I was getting paid the normal, crappy rate and they only let me work four hour shifts, which did not justify the long, gas-consuming drive. So, back to the job search.

SST: Let's Sing a Song About J

SESAME STREET TUESDAY

Though I don't regret putting a Road Runner cartoon on my blog, I do feel like it was an SST cop-out. So even though it's an off week, I'm giving you a Sesame Street fix. This clip is a favorite of my sister Emily and she recently pulled it out to teach my four year-old nephew Trevor about the letter J. I had somehow never heard it before, but it's fun and catchy and worth sharing:



Hopefully 'J' will soon stand for 'Job'.

P.S. - When I started writing this post (circa five minutes ago): no rain. Now: much rain. Welcome to the Northwest. But I actually kind of like rain. Snow is my real enemy and it doesn't get snowy here, so I think it will be a nice winter.

P.P.S. - In the time that it took me to find the links for that last paragraph, it stopped raining.

Bri-Yo: Full-Time Uncle

When I left Michigan, I was fond of saying that I was going "Grapes of Wrath" style. That is, I was putting all of my belongings in my car and heading to California in the hopes of finding a job and starting a new life. Well, I can report that my experience ended a lot better than The Grapes of Wrath did (I'm not on the run because I killed a policeman, I didn't resort to getting nourishment from the breastmilk of a mother of a stillborn child, etc.) but it has in fact ended.

When I moved in with my sister and her family in the beginning of August, I only intended to stay for a month or two at the very most, during which time I would secure employment and find an apartment of my own. The L.A. job search turned out to be a lot bleaker than I imagined (I might still blog about some of my more colorful job-hunting misadventures), and after three months I found myself with neither a job nor the means to pay expensive Southern California rent. Meanwhile, little baby Jack is now over two months old and it's about time to move him out of the bassinet in his parents' room and into his own room, a.k.a. the room where I was staying. All in all, it was time to move on.

Fortunately, I have another sister who volunteered to let me temporarily stay with her in Portland, where the job market is a lot more friendly and rent is a lot more reasonable. I've been in Oregon for a week now, and in that short time I've noticed a completely different atmosphere here. Every person I've talked to about my employment situation has given me the names of three or four people I should contact and/or information about some great resource of which I wasn't aware. I did meet some useful people in California (most notably my sister and her husband) but nothing like what I've experienced here so far in just a week. It's encouraging and I'm optimistic that something will come through.

Looking back on my three months in California, it would be very easy to label it an outright failure. I didn't get a job or my own place and I had a notable lack of a social life. However, the lack of activity on the job and social front resulted in a tremendous amount of time spent purely being an uncle.

A shot with all the kids (one in the background) plus sister Amy at Zuma Beach

On my watch as resident full-time uncle I watched Jacob (who just turned 7 last week) play his first season of soccer, start piano lessons, and start the first grade. I probably spent the most time with 4-year old Allison, since she has yet to start school and she doesn't go down for a nap in the afternoon. I saw her start her very first dance classes, and we passed many afternoons singing Primary songs with my guitar ("I Am a Child of God" and "Here Comes the Ox-Cart" are her favorite Primary jams). When I got to Moorpark, 2 1/2-year old Gideon was speaking strictly in two word, but by the time I left he was stringing together big sentences ("Didin's. Fav'rite. Animal. Ghost." was my favorite oft-repeated phrase - read: "Gideon's favorite animal goats.") And of course, I was there for the birth and blessing of baby Jack.

There were a lot of tears when I left, both the kids' and my own, but I told them that they were letting the Hacking Family in Portland have their turn with Bri-Yo (the Omer kids' nickname for me). I feel so blessed to get to know a new set of nephews (no nieces this time), but hopefully this time it won't be my only gig. The kids all just said their bedtime prayers (except Sam, the 4 month-old) and asked that I might get a job, so that's a good start.

Road Runner Tuesday

I'm preempting Sesame Street Tuesday this week in favor of a new favorite I introduced to the Omer kids - Wile E. Coyote and the Road Runner:



This stuff just kills me. The end result (that everything the Coyote tries will backfire) is never in doubt, but I love the endlessly inventive ways that Chuck Jones et al. play around with logic and the laws of physics to hit us with constant surprises. This short contains my all-time favorite Coyote gag: at the 4:33 mark we get this elaborate setup that builds our expectations for an equally elaborate payoff, but instead the punchline is just thrown away and we move on to the next gag, all within a span of about ten seconds. Genius.

It makes me a little sad every time that I discover that my nieces and nephews are completely unaware of something that I consider to be timeless and wonderful, such as Road Runner cartoons. The world is so flooded with content and information that it can be very difficult to dig through it all and uncover something like a sixty year-old cartoon, especially when you're six and you don't even know what to look for. As an uncle, I get a lot of satisfaction out of giving them a little nudge, and that is the same impulse that lead to the establishment of Sesame Street Tuesday in the first place.

However, it's inevitable that some things that are timeless and of high quality will eventually be repackaged in a 21st Century-friendly format (whether the new version is any good is a different question). My sister Emily told me that she took her son Dallin to see Cats & Dogs: The Revenge of Kitty Galore, before which they played a brand new CG Road Runner cartoon*. He was cracking up all during the short, and when he got home afterward he didn't say a word about Cats & Dogs, but couldn't stop talking about the Coyote and the Road Runner. Hopefully that small taste will lead him to the classic 2D originals (which are easier to see now than ever thanks to the internet).

Happy Tuesday - Meep meep!

* It is reported that several other upcoming kids movies (Yogi Bear, Happy Feet 2, The Jetsons**) will have new Road Runner cartoons.
** Yet another example of the old being made new.

Obliquely Christmas

A week before Halloween I wandered into Goodwill and got sucker punched - Premature Christmas Music Attack!!! My two immediate reactions:

1) "Why would Goodwill so brazenly preempt Halloween, since the Halloween costume and decoration season has got to be a bonanza for them?"
2) "Alright Bri, brace yourself for the coming onslaught of cheesy Christmas music."

I'm not a big fan of Christmas music. Not all Christmas music - I think the Christmas songs in the Primary Songbook are wonderful, and I do enjoy singing well done choral arrangements of Christmas carols (especially if the carols are a little off the beaten path). No, I'm talking about the corny, drippy stuff heard in stores and on those corny "Lite FM" stations. I would be just fine if I never heard another pop singer's schmaltzy take on "The Little Drummer Boy," nor the insipid synthesizer adventures of Mannheim Steamroller.

Back in June, as I was crossing items off my Michigan bucket list, I took a day trip up to Frankenmuth to one of Michigan's top tourist attractions: Bronner's Christmas Store. It's the largest Christmas store in the world (think Cabela's, but with all kinds of crazy Christmas decorations) and I knew that by entering therein I would be inundated with cutesy Christmas music, so before the trip I created a musical antidote in the form of a playlist.

Named "Obliquely Christmas," the playlist consists mostly of non-Christmas songs that just happen to make a passing reference to the holiday. For example, The Kinks' song extols the virtues of Australia, where "we'll surf like they do in the USA/we'll fly down to Sydney for a holiday, on sunny Christmas Day." Belle & Sebastian boast that "I don't love anything/not even Christmas." Brazilian singer Seu Jorge throws in the phrase "Feliz Natal" ("Merry Christmas") for no apparent reason.*

*The song "Rebel Rebel" is a bossa nova-style cover of a David Bowie classic, but Bowie's English-language original makes no mention of Christmas.

However, there are a few songs on the playlist that feature Christmas a little more prominently, but have some kind of twist. The Flaming Lips see the holiday as an opportunity to set the animals free at the zoo. Jonathan Coulton's "Chiron Beta Prime" is written in the form of an annual Christmas letter from a family that has been enslaved in a robot work camp on an asteroid.

So for those of you who, like me, cringe whenever entering a drugstore or supermarket during the Christmas season, I present "Obliquely Christmas**":

**Here are two more songs that I couldn't find in the playlist.com library:
• "Rael" - A mini-rock opera by The Who about a holy war in the fictitious kingdom of Rael
• "Seasonal Sweaters" - Marpizan (Homestar Runner's sometime girlfriend) pays tribute to Christmas knitwear

This playlist is currently very small and I'd love to expand it. If you can think of any other obliquely Christmas-related songs to add to it, gimme your suggestions in the comments.

P.S. - I've never heard Sufjan Steven's Christmas album. Any thoughts about it?

SST: Making Apple Cider

SESAME STREET TUESDAY

Don't get me wrong - I love that it was 75 degrees outside yesterday and I never tire of the sight of palm trees. But I feel pangs of nostalgia every time I log on to Facebook and see my Michigan friends all tagged in a photo like this one:

They are participating in one of my favorite Midwestern autumn traditions: the cider mill trip. There are lots of places where you can get fresh apple cider, but as this photo illustrates, there are three key components to a classic Midwest cider mill trip (romanticized ever so slightly):

1) A scenic drive with friends out to a sequestered, barn-red mill situated on the edge of the woods near a lazy stream where laughing children feed the ducks.

2) Apple cider, of course, which is so fresh and pure that it tastes like you are drinking a liquid apple.*

3) Homemade donuts (regular, pumpkin spice, and apple flavored) fried up so fresh that you have to let them cool off in the crisp autumn air before eating them at the picnic tables out under the blazing red and yellow leaves.

Well, if I can't actually go to a cider mill, I'll have to settle for the next best thing - spying on my Michigan friends' cider mill trips on Facebook. Or I could settle for the third best thing - this old Sesame Street clip about how to make apple cider:



*Line borrowed from a similar post by a fellow Michigan expatriate who has experienced similar cider mill pangs.

Jazz Forum

We've almost made it. We just need to hang on until Wednesday.


The 2010-2011 NBA regular season cannot begin soon enough for me. I hardly know what to do with myself during the four-month gap between the NBA Finals and the beginning of the new season. I'm always fascinated by the Utah Jazz, but this season in particular, after such a major roster overhaul (bye-bye Boozer/Korver/Matthews, hello Jefferson/Hayward/Bell), there are so many juicy storylines to follow.

I watched all of the preseason games that were televised and have been really excited by what I've seen, although I'm not putting too much stock in an undefeated preseason - after all, the lowly Memphis Grizzlies were undefeated too. Nevertheless, I saw plenty of promising things in the preseason, such as the sight of Al Jefferson going straight at Pau Gasol without hesitation. After three consecutive playoffs exits resulting from the Jazz getting steamrolled by the three seven-footers on the Lakers' front line, I was pretty stoked about having a player big and strong enough to push back against Gasol, Odom, and Bynum.

Another thing I'm really looking forward to - being a Jazz fan in the Pacific Time Zone. Being a Jazz fan in the Eastern Time Zone is a rough gig. Their nationally televised games usually have a 10:30 ET start time, so you're likely not getting to bed before 1:00 am (especially if you're like me and you like to hear every word that Ernie, Kenny the Jet, and Charles Barkley have to say about the Jazz on the postgame show).

And my favorite off-court Jazz subplot: Will Kirilenko ever find a haircut that works for him? The quest continues this year with the look in the upper left corner:


So, if there are any other Jazz fans out there, what do you think about the Jazz heading into the new season? Which storylines (i.e. "How will the Deron and Big Al tandem work out?" "Will new lottery pick Gordon Hayward contribute anything?" "When's Memo coming back?" "Will the Jerry Sloan darling Jeremy Evans be the latest overlooked Jazz rookie have a breakout season, à la Paul Millsap or Wesley Matthews?" etc.) intrigue you? Leave a comment!

New Dream Blog Post: "Follow Them to the Edge of the Desert"

Check out the latest post on my dream blog: "Follow Them to the Edge of the Desert"

Back in February I had a dream that I wanted to post on my dream blog, so I went ahead and drew up an MS Paint illustration (a pretty dang good one, by my standards at least) and made a rough outline of the text. For some reason I forgot all about it (perhaps it had something to do with all those dissertation recitals and whatnot) and it sat unfinished until today. Better eight months late than never, eh? I find it amusing that my co-star in the dream was known back then as Stephanie Harris, but she has since morphed into Stephanie Frischknecht. She and Adam didn't even start dating until much later than that.

P.S. - In case you were wondering about the title of the post, it comes from Gilmore Girls:



1,000 bonus points if you knew the reference without the explanation.

SST: Capital I

SESAME STREET TUESDAY

My friend Kara suggested this clip, which is one of my favorite Sesame Street songs:



When I was in high school I made a homemade demo recording of this song, featuring me singing the vocals, playing acoustic rhythm guitar, playing an electric guitar solo, and playing a little mandolin lick to begin and end the song. I didn't have any type of multi-track mixing equipment, so I had to get creative with one dinky little cassette recorder, a second cassette player, and two blank cassette tapes:

TAPE 1: Using the cassette recorder, I recorded myself playing the acoustic guitar part for the whole song, sans vocals.

TAPE 2: I put Tape 1 in an adjacent cassette player and pressed play. I then quickly hit record on the cassette recorder, which was loaded with Tape 2. The prerecorded acoustic guitar part started playing in the background and I played the opening mandolin lick on top of it. I then sang the first verse while silently putting down the mandolin and strapping on the electric guitar. After the first verse I played a little electric guitar solo and then sang the second verse while silently putting down the electric guitar and picking up the mandolin, just in time to play the mandolin lick one more time to close out the song. I then hit stop on both cassette players.

Pretty ghetto, right? But I thought the final recording turned out pretty cool and the balance between the prerecorded acoustic guitar and all the other stuff was pretty decent. I never really played it for anybody and now I have no idea where that tape is (it's probably with the lost tape of "The Fugitive 2").

Proof, or: "Oh no you don't, that trampoline is mine!"

About two and a half years ago I visited my sister Julie in Seattle, and one evening the whole family went out to jump on the trampoline. I hadn't been on a trampoline in years, but much to my delight I found I could still do all my old tricks. Whereas my twelve-year-old self could effortlessly spend hours at a time flipping around on the tramp, I unsurprisingly found that my late-twenties body lacked that same stamina and flexibility. After dismounting the tramp, I mused to my brother-in-law Lance, "How much longer do you think I'll be able do my tricks?" His answer was blunt: "Until you're thirty."

Trampolines are very dear to me - I estimate that I spent roughly 70% of my childhood on our trampoline. It was my neighborhood's default social activity and nearly every day (especially during the summer) the doorbell would ring and a gaggle of kids would ask, "Can we jump?" When we were younger we'd just bounce around, get it wet and jump, have sleep-overs on it, or play silly made-up games like 'Apple Scramble' (I can't remember the rules or the gameplay, but it involved rolling around a lot of apples that had fallen our the trees in the backyard).

As we got older it was all about tricks and daredevil feats. We would push the tramp over by the apricot tree and jump down off a branch. When that was no longer a challenge, we jumped off the top of the gazebo. Then off the deck. Then through the kitchen window. That left only one higher place - the roof. We would wait until we had at least an hour-long window of time with no grown-ups around, push the tramp over next to the house, pile up blankets and sleeping bags on the tramp to minimize unpredictable ricocheting, and go nuts. The first jump was rather bracing, but after that it was fun and the landing on the sleeping bags was like a Snuggle commercial. However, one day my mom came home earlier than expected and put an end to our roof jumping because she seemed to think that hurling our bodies off of the roof was a bad idea (go figure).*

Ever since that conversation with Lance I have felt the clock ticking on my trampoline days as I race towards thirty. A few weeks ago I was watching some old home movies of me showing off on the trampoline, but I was young enough that the best tricks I could muster were lame bounces off my back and not-quite front flips. I then panicked: what if I turned thirty and there was no video evidence that I could ever do any trampoline tricks?

So last night I went with my brother-in-law Tom and his kids over to his friend's house, who turned out to be the owner and proprietor of a trampoline. I begged Tom to indulge me and film my once-mad trampoline skillz. So I ask that you too, fair reader, kindly indulge my inner twelve-year-old for 37 seconds and enjoy my trampoline tricks clip. I ran through my repertoire of tricks for a few minutes before taking this video, and you will hear that my nearly thirty-year-old self is huffing and puffing a little as I list off the tricks as I perform them. So for clarity's sake, here's a written rundown:

1. Front flip
2. Backflip
3. Front aerial (front flip with a twist - like a cartwheel without hands)
4. Back aerial (backflip with a twist - you should land facing 180 degrees away from your starting position)
5. Another backflip



I couldn't hit the aerial or the back aerial all night, but the trampoline was on a Sport Court-type surface and it kept shifting around as I jumped, so I blame that.

I was feeling pretty proud of myself until a twelve-year-old spectator usurped my spot on the tramp and did all these physics-defying-sideways-spinning-backflip moves, putting my humble tricks into perspective. But hey, I had fun and I've now got the proof that I wanted, so I can grow old and decrepit in peace.

*Somewhere in my parents' house there is footage of us jumping off the roof, in the form of a short film my neighbors and I made called "The Fugitive 2." Made in the immediate aftermath of "The Fugitive," I starred as a man wrongly accused of killing his dog (turns out it was really the one-armed man). It all led to a standoff with the detective (my neighbor Nic) on the edge of my roof. "I didn't kill my dog!" I yelled. His obvious retort: "I don't care!" I then jumped off the roof to escape. The detective followed suit. We both hit the ground and died. The End.

The way we shot the jump was pretty tricky for a bunch of kids - we had a shot of the jump from roof-level, then we cut to a low-angle shot of me falling from the roof (with the trampoline hidden from sight), and finally we cut to me hitting the ground (from a fall of only a few feet). The same sequence of shots was then repeated for the detective character. The film was only a few minutes long and its whole raison d'être was so we could film ourselves jumping off the roof. I never labeled the tape (for fear that it would get us in trouble) and I have no idea where it's hiding now. Note to self: next time you're in Bountiful, try to find that tape.

P.S. - The subtitle of this post comes from The Simpsons:



"Oh no you don't, that trampoline is mine!" wins the title of "Brian's Most Quoted Simpsons Line" in a landslide. Only "Sure I love you baby, like I love Fresca!" even comes close.

The Tree Adjacent to My Parking Space

New Dream Blog Post: "Tramps Like Us"

After nearly seven months on hiatus, I finally have a new post on my dream blog: "Tramps Like Us." It is pure folly to try to explain away most of the random things that pops up in dreams, but in this case I can say quite authoritatively that it was partly inspired by this clip from the Emmys:



I'm not a big Glee fan, so I don't know why this would snuck into my dream, although I love me some Tina Fey, Jorge Garcia, and Jon Hamm (the latter two both have some pretty rockin' voices). Also, I have no idea why so many of the dreams I've chronicled on my dream blog have scenes set in malls (such as "A Mall and the Night Visitors" and "ZCMI India"). I haven't gone to a mall in years, save for the dollar theater at Briarwood Mall in Ann Arbor, and a vast majority of my dreams are strictly mall-free.

You know, one of my favorite things about writing on my dream blog, besides drawing illustrations in MS Paint, is giving my dreams a title. There's something about a title that makes an amorphous and fleeting thing like a dream feel more concrete and real, like a movie or a short story. Next time you have an interesting dream, try giving it a title - it's fun to think it up, and I guarantee you'll remember the dream better.

SST: Cookie Monster and the Messy Baby

SESAME STREET TUESDAY

I don't want this to turn into an 'All Nephews and Nieces, All the Time!' blog, but they are a big part of my life right now, so bear with me. A few days ago my 2 1/2 year-old nephew Gideon got chocolate all over his face, reminding me of this Sesame Street clip:



Okay - one more nephew-related item. Yesterday my 6 year-old nephew asked what would happen if I were driving without a seatbelt and a cop stopped me:

Me: I guess he'd throw me in jail to rot forever and ever.
Jacob: Would you rather do that, or marry somebody?

Hmmmmmm....

Baby Jack

This is Jack, born on Monday, August 30, 2010 in Thousand Oaks, California.

These are Jack's first hiccups, produced on Sunday, September 5, 2010 in Moorpark, California.

One of My Least Favorite Things About California...

...You can get personalized license plates with a heart symbol. They're everywhere. I do not <3 them.

The Glasses Menagerie

Editor's note: This is a follow-up to my latest post, in which I explain the reason why I need new glasses, just in case you wanted to read that one first.

I first got glasses in January 1999, and though the lenses have changed semi-regularly through the years, I have only had one pair of frames. Those frames were with me through many chapters of my life - my last semester of high school, my mission, my bachelor's and master's degrees, my move to Michigan and my doctorate. For years I had thought about updating my look, but I never had the impetus until now. I'm sad that my poor old frames are gone, but it seems appropriate that the need for new glasses should correspond with the beginning of a new life chapter.*

The idea of mixing things up with a new look is exciting on paper, but in reality, I find choosing a new pair of frames from off of the giant wall o' glasses to be overwhelming. And while I feel like I have a refined sense of taste in many other areas, when it comes to clothes/hair/general appearance, I have always felt like I had a distinct lack of style. The show 'Ambush Makeover' used to come on TV every morning right at the time when I was eating breakfast before my first class and I used to wish that the people from that show would swoop me up and help me get a clue. Whenever I need to buy clothes I try to take a trusted and stylish friend with me to help me pick out something that doesn't look stupid.

While I was trying on a bunch of different styles, I thought about the people I'd like to have with me to help pick out frames and it occurred to me that most of them are followers of my blog. So I'm going to ask for your help:

1) Look at the image below (Blogger won't let me make it any bigger - click on it to open the full size picture in another window) and decide which frames you like (if any).

2) Vote for up to three of your favorites on the poll on the right sidebar of the blog. (Those who use readers to look at my blog, please come to the actual page so you can vote. Thanks.)

3) Leave me a comment explaining which ones you like and why. (Optional, but I'd appreciate it.)


The dude behind the counter gave me a curious look as I shot all these self-takes, so I explained my voting scheme. "I see," he said. "The 'American Idol' approach." More like, 'American Eyewear.' Anyways, I appreciate your input and I will post pictures after the decision has been made and the glasses have been fashioned.

*Emerging Adulthood? I recommend this interesting article from the New York Times.

Santa Monica Double Misfortune

I've spent the last two Saturdays down on Santa Monica Beach with some new friends from the Santa Monica singles ward. And although I had fun both times, in both cases it was slightly mitigated by an odd turn of events.

I got invited to the first beach party after I became Facebook friends with the sister of one of my sister's friends (got it?). However, when I got to the beach on Saturday morning and called her to find out where the party was, she told me that she wasn't coming after all. So I was essentially crashing a beach party full of people I had never met, but when I finally found the group they had been alerted about my arrival and they were all super-welcoming. We played much volleyball and just hung out for hours, and just before leaving I decided that I wanted to take a quick dip in the ocean. So a new friend of mine and I walked down towards the crashing waves, stopping unexpectedly about ten feet before the water due to a sudden flash of pain emanating from my left foot.

My first thought was that I had stepped on a jellyfish or some broken glass, but after dropping to the ground and inspecting my foot I couldn't find any apparent cause for the rush of pain. I had my friend examine my foot and he found buried in between my second and third toes the entire back half of a bee. He pulled it out and then spied the front half the selfsame bee flailing around on the sand. In the vast expanse of coastline stretching up and down Santa Monica, I happened to locate and step in the one square inch with a bee in it.

Back when I was on my mission I got a freak bee sting inside a grocery store when I grabbed a payphone receiver with an unsuspecting bee sitting on it (and had a similar, albeit much more extroverted "where did this blinding flash of pain come from?" moment). My hand swelled up so badly that it looked like an inflated doctor's glove for about two weeks. I was afraid that my foot would swell up similarly, but I reasoned that I was at least an hour drive away from home and since I was mere inches from the ocean it wouldn't hurt to stroll into the water for a minute or two. The icy blast of Pacific Ocean water actually made me forget the pain in my foot, and I stayed in and swam around for a good 20 minutes. After I got out it didn't seem swollen and it wasn't hurting, so I went out to dinner with my new friends and then took a long stroll down around Venice Beach (which I found to be a filthy magnet for the scuzziest people from all corners of the earth) before finally heading home.

However, when I woke up the next morning my second toe (index toe?) was crazy swollen and it really hurt to walk on it. (Later that evening I also had some serious chills and a fever, which may or may not have been related to the bee sting - any doctors out there want to chime in?) I spent most of the week with a subtle limp, but the toe was finally back to normal just in time for the next beach trip.

So last Saturday I rolled down Ocean Park Blvd, turned off on 2nd Street, and slid straight into a rockstar parking spot. I gathered up my beach accoutrements and marched down towards the beach. However, after a few steps I realized that I ought to have put in my contacts before engaging in swimming, volleyball, etc. So I grabbed my contacts from my bag and, using the roof of my car as a makeshift table, made the eyewear switch.

After the drive home I once again gathered up my accoutrements before going inside, but I realized one thing was missing: my glasses. I searched for them in my bag and under the seats of my car, but I knew exactly where I had last left them - on the roof of my car. The next day was Sunday, so I popped in my contacts and went to the local singles ward in Thousand Oaks, but ten minutes into the meeting it occurred to me that if I left right then I would have time to drive the 45 miles to the street where I lost my glasses and still make it on time to attend the ward with my new Santa Monica beach friends.

I knew it was highly unlikely that I would find my glasses at all and even less likely that they would be intact, but these were the very first and only pair of glasses I had ever owned and I wanted some closure with them. So about an hour later I pulled onto 2nd Street and crawled up and down the curb looking for them, like a soldier returning to the battlefield to retrieve the battered corpse of a fallen friend. After about five minutes I found my sad glasses lying in the gutter about twenty feet down from where I had parked, smashed flat with the lenses nowhere to be found.

I went through three stages pretty quickly: amazement that I had actually managed to find them at all, sadness at their pathetic condition, and acceptance, since I had been thinking for years that I should try out a new look after wearing the same frames for almost twelve years.

So what do you think - is Santa Monica Beach the new Sports Night? Will misfortune strike again if I dare return? This is California, after all, and there are plenty of other beaches to choose from.