3.31.2007
STILL the best thing no one else knows about
If you like this, do a search on YouTube for "Flight of the Conchords."
http://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=flight+of+the+conchords&search=Search
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flight_of_the_conchords
3.27.2007
Springtime for Hitler
Okay, the title of this is a little misleading. I fell asleep while watching the original The Producers and my great love for Will Ferrell was not enough to outweigh my deep distrust of Matthew Broderick, so I did not see the remake either. For those of you who are at a complete loss, "Springtime for Hitler" is the name of the play that the Producers put on in hopes that it will fail horribly (apparently this will actually make them money [I don't really know, like I said I fell asleep ] ).
Unfortunately, this has nothing to do with Hitler.
But the Springtime part-- that I can work with.
When you were a kid, the very first day of class would consist mostly of "get to know you" type games and information sheets filled out and handed into the teacher (before recess). This is, of course, unless you had a hellspawn teacher, then sometimes you actually had homework on the first day.
C'mon lady.
It's the first day.
And I'm eleven.
So these information sheets were always the same: write your name, parents/guardians' names, address, other identifying things, and answer some fun questions that make me look like I care about the little things in your life (though I do not) such as: What is your favorite color? What is your favorite food? What is your favorite candy? What is your favorite season?
These questions varied very little from first or second grade (when we were actually able to write on our own) all the way through high school. My answers generally changed through the years (color: green... then black and red [I think I was goth before goth was goth]; food: Italian... then Mexican; candy: Reeses' peanut butter cups... then Reeses' peanut butter cups...hmm... I guess they didn't ALL change).
One answer that always stayed the same was "season: fall." There was so much about the fall that I loved. The brisk wind that made you wear a jacket. The vivid oranges, reds, and yellows. The sounds of waves of freshly fallen leaves rolling on the ground. The smell. The smell. As I've written before, I've always been a sucker for a good smell. And the smells of autumn win. Everytime. Burning leaves, hay rides, bonfires. . . The whole season is a sensory overload.
But.
But I think I have to change my answer now. Not that I'm filling out info cards any more, but you know, just in case. These things come up in conversations sometimes. And, uh, sometimes you have to write about them in essays (essays? Is that what these are considered? I don't really write about "today I did this, and then I did this" so I don't really think they're considered blogs. Plus, "blogging" is SoOoOo 2004. Pshaw).
My new answer? Spring. The thing about Fall is it's a little depressing. If you laid out the year like a person's life, fall would constitute the "staying in a hospice" section of the time line. Everything is dying a slow death. It always seems so much shorter than you'd like. After the first cool breezes felt on your skin, before you can take it all in the trees are all bare and the frozen corpse of the world is hidden somewhere under a blanket of snow.
There are things about winter that are nice. Fresh snowfall is breathtaking. Christmas is during the winter, and it wouldn't be nearly as magical if it were, say, July 25. Snow days off from school are always a great thing (not an issue for me, anymore). Sledding is fun (or so I've heard, I've never done it [yes, yes, I was a very deprived child] ). But beyond all these, winter is dreary.
Look outside during the winter. What colors do you see?
Brown and gray.
That's it.
Brown, naked trees, brown snow at the side of the road, and everything else is gray. The sky is gray, the clouds are gray, the snow is gray(okay, light gray). Beyond a simple color issue, there's something about winter that is just dreadful. It's even been medically documented. There's such a thing as "Seasonal Affective Disorder" (also humorously known as SAD) where those with this affliction suffer from bouts of depression during the long, dreary winter months. And honestly, you can't really blame them. There's rarely enough sun to close your eyes and point your face towards the sun, soaking in the warmth and energy coming from the Big Guy in the Sky (the omnipresence of God shows that this term cannot mean Him, so we're using it to describe the sun.) This is something that I like to take every opportunity to do, usually immediately upon coming outside from a long stretch of inside living.
That's what I love about the spring. There something I can't quite describe about it. It's like the world is reborn. The scents of freshly budding spring flowers blow with the wind. The air is buzzing with energy, and the sun is again pumping beautiful beams of golden light. Everything has been waiting for this moment.
I don't really like to be hot. Not really. I hate to sweat. I'm a big guy, and it happens without a whole lot of effort. The sweltering heat of the summer is nothing like the warming, invigorating heat of the spring. Okay, here in the Midwest it can get pretty hot in the spring, but it just gets that much hotter in the summer. So what we're talking about here is moderation. Just enough heat to get the blood pumping and thaw everything that's been frozen since November, but not enough to boil it in it's own bodily fluids. That's a pleasant thought. Not really where I was planning on going with this.
So, to recap, not much Hitler and a whole lot of Springtime philosophizing.
I'm going outside to face the sun.
Unfortunately, this has nothing to do with Hitler.
But the Springtime part-- that I can work with.
When you were a kid, the very first day of class would consist mostly of "get to know you" type games and information sheets filled out and handed into the teacher (before recess). This is, of course, unless you had a hellspawn teacher, then sometimes you actually had homework on the first day.
C'mon lady.
It's the first day.
And I'm eleven.
So these information sheets were always the same: write your name, parents/guardians' names, address, other identifying things, and answer some fun questions that make me look like I care about the little things in your life (though I do not) such as: What is your favorite color? What is your favorite food? What is your favorite candy? What is your favorite season?
These questions varied very little from first or second grade (when we were actually able to write on our own) all the way through high school. My answers generally changed through the years (color: green... then black and red [I think I was goth before goth was goth]; food: Italian... then Mexican; candy: Reeses' peanut butter cups... then Reeses' peanut butter cups...hmm... I guess they didn't ALL change).
One answer that always stayed the same was "season: fall." There was so much about the fall that I loved. The brisk wind that made you wear a jacket. The vivid oranges, reds, and yellows. The sounds of waves of freshly fallen leaves rolling on the ground. The smell. The smell. As I've written before, I've always been a sucker for a good smell. And the smells of autumn win. Everytime. Burning leaves, hay rides, bonfires. . . The whole season is a sensory overload.
But.
But I think I have to change my answer now. Not that I'm filling out info cards any more, but you know, just in case. These things come up in conversations sometimes. And, uh, sometimes you have to write about them in essays (essays? Is that what these are considered? I don't really write about "today I did this, and then I did this" so I don't really think they're considered blogs. Plus, "blogging" is SoOoOo 2004. Pshaw).
My new answer? Spring. The thing about Fall is it's a little depressing. If you laid out the year like a person's life, fall would constitute the "staying in a hospice" section of the time line. Everything is dying a slow death. It always seems so much shorter than you'd like. After the first cool breezes felt on your skin, before you can take it all in the trees are all bare and the frozen corpse of the world is hidden somewhere under a blanket of snow.
There are things about winter that are nice. Fresh snowfall is breathtaking. Christmas is during the winter, and it wouldn't be nearly as magical if it were, say, July 25. Snow days off from school are always a great thing (not an issue for me, anymore). Sledding is fun (or so I've heard, I've never done it [yes, yes, I was a very deprived child] ). But beyond all these, winter is dreary.
Look outside during the winter. What colors do you see?
Brown and gray.
That's it.
Brown, naked trees, brown snow at the side of the road, and everything else is gray. The sky is gray, the clouds are gray, the snow is gray(okay, light gray). Beyond a simple color issue, there's something about winter that is just dreadful. It's even been medically documented. There's such a thing as "Seasonal Affective Disorder" (also humorously known as SAD) where those with this affliction suffer from bouts of depression during the long, dreary winter months. And honestly, you can't really blame them. There's rarely enough sun to close your eyes and point your face towards the sun, soaking in the warmth and energy coming from the Big Guy in the Sky (the omnipresence of God shows that this term cannot mean Him, so we're using it to describe the sun.) This is something that I like to take every opportunity to do, usually immediately upon coming outside from a long stretch of inside living.
That's what I love about the spring. There something I can't quite describe about it. It's like the world is reborn. The scents of freshly budding spring flowers blow with the wind. The air is buzzing with energy, and the sun is again pumping beautiful beams of golden light. Everything has been waiting for this moment.
I don't really like to be hot. Not really. I hate to sweat. I'm a big guy, and it happens without a whole lot of effort. The sweltering heat of the summer is nothing like the warming, invigorating heat of the spring. Okay, here in the Midwest it can get pretty hot in the spring, but it just gets that much hotter in the summer. So what we're talking about here is moderation. Just enough heat to get the blood pumping and thaw everything that's been frozen since November, but not enough to boil it in it's own bodily fluids. That's a pleasant thought. Not really where I was planning on going with this.
So, to recap, not much Hitler and a whole lot of Springtime philosophizing.
I'm going outside to face the sun.
3.05.2007
Lost Lost?
There have been a couple of shows that I have watched in marathon form. 24. Scrubs. And also Lost. At the beginning of the second season, we (my roommate and I) got the first season DVD and watched them through. It's a funny thing watching those kind of shows with another person. If you were doing it alone, you could knock out a couple of episodes and then go do something more productive. But when you're watching with another person who is as pulled-into the series as you are, you finish one episode, look at each other, give a small nodding grin, and hit play on the next episode.
The first season of Lost was great. There was a lot of well done twists and turns. The second season slowed down significantly. Despite having an island full of people, the first 6 episodes of the season (that is, the entire "fall" season)was about only three of the characters. Somehow, I just didn't care about that particular storyline, so it was quite agonizing for me. But since I've invested so much time and energy into the show, I kept watching.
I watched an episode of Attack of the Show (a digital media show on G4 [the video game channel] )and the host opened the show by saying that he finally felt justified in deleting the Lost season pass from his Tivo after last week's episode. For those of you not versed in Tivo lore, this means that he will no longer record Lost, and essentially he will therefore no longer watch it.
It's like in Castaway where Tom Hanks lets his oars drift away in the end after Wilson floats off.
I hadn't watched the episode yet, so I immediately stopped the show for fear of hearing something that I didn't want to hear. I watched the show on my own Tivo and I must say . . . I am tempted to do the same.
Here's what happened (don't worry about spoilers):
The big guy, Hugo, found a VW minibus on the island.
The end.
Okay, they told some more of his back story. but this was all that was in the episode. Nothing added to the story line. No character development (maybe a smidgen for Hugo). Nothing.
The worst part is they decided to push it and then pop the clutch to get it running. This seems all nice and nice (though a bit melodramatic) but there's one problem with it.
They did the exact same thing on Little Miss Sunshine.
You know, the movie that just won a ton of Oscars a few weeks ago.
It's one thing to say "hey, we're going to drag this out as long as possible and never really come to a conclusion. I think we'll add a lot of tangents and superfluous story lines to pad out the episode numbers."
But it's another to say "I know it's pretty obvious, but we're going to do that one thing from that big indie movie. C'mon we need something to show hope. They did it and it was hopeful. Let's do it too."
I know I could use the free time that comes with not watching Lost, but who'd want to actually do that?
FUN FACT: I just wrote two blogs in a row. Okay, that doesn't count. I can't touch clay pottery. or anything ceramic. It's like nails on a chalkboard. ::shudder::
MUSIC SNOB: Stay by Lisa Loeb
The first season of Lost was great. There was a lot of well done twists and turns. The second season slowed down significantly. Despite having an island full of people, the first 6 episodes of the season (that is, the entire "fall" season)was about only three of the characters. Somehow, I just didn't care about that particular storyline, so it was quite agonizing for me. But since I've invested so much time and energy into the show, I kept watching.
I watched an episode of Attack of the Show (a digital media show on G4 [the video game channel] )and the host opened the show by saying that he finally felt justified in deleting the Lost season pass from his Tivo after last week's episode. For those of you not versed in Tivo lore, this means that he will no longer record Lost, and essentially he will therefore no longer watch it.
It's like in Castaway where Tom Hanks lets his oars drift away in the end after Wilson floats off.
I hadn't watched the episode yet, so I immediately stopped the show for fear of hearing something that I didn't want to hear. I watched the show on my own Tivo and I must say . . . I am tempted to do the same.
Here's what happened (don't worry about spoilers):
The big guy, Hugo, found a VW minibus on the island.
The end.
Okay, they told some more of his back story. but this was all that was in the episode. Nothing added to the story line. No character development (maybe a smidgen for Hugo). Nothing.
The worst part is they decided to push it and then pop the clutch to get it running. This seems all nice and nice (though a bit melodramatic) but there's one problem with it.
They did the exact same thing on Little Miss Sunshine.
You know, the movie that just won a ton of Oscars a few weeks ago.
It's one thing to say "hey, we're going to drag this out as long as possible and never really come to a conclusion. I think we'll add a lot of tangents and superfluous story lines to pad out the episode numbers."
But it's another to say "I know it's pretty obvious, but we're going to do that one thing from that big indie movie. C'mon we need something to show hope. They did it and it was hopeful. Let's do it too."
I know I could use the free time that comes with not watching Lost, but who'd want to actually do that?
FUN FACT: I just wrote two blogs in a row. Okay, that doesn't count. I can't touch clay pottery. or anything ceramic. It's like nails on a chalkboard. ::shudder::
MUSIC SNOB: Stay by Lisa Loeb
Camp Candy
YouTube is a beautiful thing. It's quite shocking how much things like Myspace and YouTube have blown up (not plastic-explosives kind of blown up) in the past year. I set up a myspace account just because Xanga had become quite droll (apparently many more people had made the migration before I had). I found a couple of friends on there, but for several months i had little more than a few things in the "About me" category and a picture of myself. Then everyone and their brother got a myspace, and suddenly it's this thriving internet community.
YouTube's story is pretty similar.
I'm not here to give a written history on the now corporate giants YouTube and Myspace, so I'll move on.
I made a YouTube account in order to group a couple of videos together I didn't want to forget about (I guess I didn't want to just Bookmark them [yes, bookmark not favorite, Firefox is how I roll, dawg] ). I didn't expect to keep it, so I put in the first thing I though of as a name: Yoyobratch (Fake ultra-white ghetto Aaron strikes again [Yoyo as in "yo yo, wut up, dawg" and not "I love Duncan Yo-yos"). After continually adding videos, I came to a conclusion:
I was stuck as yoyobratch.
[An aside: as I am writing this I am eating a few cool ranch Doritos (the best chips created by man)and drinking orange juice. It is a startlingly great combo.]
I stumbled upon a video of the intro sequence for an old cartoon I watched as a young kid. It was called Camp Candy and, as the name suggests, it's about a summer camp run by none other than John Candy himself (pre-death John Candy [post-death John Candy wouldn't have worked out as well {though it was animated, so it would have been possible} ] ). This was one of the shows that I got up for on Saturday morning.
To be honest, as I flip through the channels on any given Saturday morning (not that that happens much [ever] ) I can't imagine anything offered to be worth getting up for on a Saturday morning. But back in my day there was quality children's programming. Like John Candy running an animated kids camp. Or the NES System's animated commercial Captain N: The Game Master.
Okay. So it wasn't amazing then either. But when I heard the intro music, oh man. I was instantly and magically 7 years old again, sitting on our old blue couch with crusties in my eyes and a Ghostbuster toy in each hand. My mom is in the kitchen, knowing not to speak to me until I was ready (I, uh, wasn't much of a conversationalist in the mornings. My only response would be "Don't look at me! Don't talk at me!") The couch cushions are sitting vertically against the couch and I am sitting on the springs in a makeshift fort. In front of me is some sort of remote control box.
Now that I think about it, this this confuses me. It worked as a remote control but
was connected to the TV with a long wire. . . so it wasn't really remote, more like attached, but with a long wire so you can sit down and use it. I guess an attached, but with a long wire so you can sit down and use it control doesn't have the same ring, so it's considered a remote control. It was about the size of two bricks (and about as heavy) with a slider nob on the front. On one side of the control box was 1, and the other was 34 (back when there were only thirty-some channels, even on cable). If you wanted to watch MTV, you'd slide it to 24 and it changed the channel. Now, I know that even though it was 1989, TV's had actual, legitimate remote controls at the time. Here's my best Jerry Seinfeld impression:
What was the deal with that thing?
I digress. Hearing the minute worth of music and seeing something that I haven't seen for nearly twenty years brings back a flood of memories. And yet none of them are bad. It's easy to forget about the hard stuff , the bad stuff that you have to deal with as a kid. When we grow up, we seem to only let ourselves remember the good things. The candy, games, and fun.
What is it about this that I really miss that much?
Do I miss Camp Candy itself? Probably not, it was a mediocre cartoon. Do I miss the sleepy Saturday mornings? No, I can still do that (though I replace Camp Candy with sleep). Maybe I miss it because I know it's gone. Forever. This moment in time that is seared in my head will never happen again. Even though I may remember it vividly, I will never be 7 again in a makeshift fort and sleepily pondering the oddities of my TV remote control.
Maybe I miss it because I was really, truly happy. I didn't know any better. I hadn't yet figured out that it's a screwed-up world. People were nice and I didn't know that deep down inside, everyone's bent. I knew nothing of murder, terrorism, fraud, child molestation, or domestic abuse. All I knew was Camp Candy.
And it was good.
FUN FACT: I can bend the top joint of six of my fingers (thumbs don't count and pinkies can't). Try it with me. Stick your finger out like you're pointing at someone. Then bend just the very last joint, like your finger is a lower case r.
MUSIC SNOB: Humble Me- Norah Jones
YouTube's story is pretty similar.
I'm not here to give a written history on the now corporate giants YouTube and Myspace, so I'll move on.
I made a YouTube account in order to group a couple of videos together I didn't want to forget about (I guess I didn't want to just Bookmark them [yes, bookmark not favorite, Firefox is how I roll, dawg] ). I didn't expect to keep it, so I put in the first thing I though of as a name: Yoyobratch (Fake ultra-white ghetto Aaron strikes again [Yoyo as in "yo yo, wut up, dawg" and not "I love Duncan Yo-yos"). After continually adding videos, I came to a conclusion:
I was stuck as yoyobratch.
[An aside: as I am writing this I am eating a few cool ranch Doritos (the best chips created by man)and drinking orange juice. It is a startlingly great combo.]
I stumbled upon a video of the intro sequence for an old cartoon I watched as a young kid. It was called Camp Candy and, as the name suggests, it's about a summer camp run by none other than John Candy himself (pre-death John Candy [post-death John Candy wouldn't have worked out as well {though it was animated, so it would have been possible} ] ). This was one of the shows that I got up for on Saturday morning.
To be honest, as I flip through the channels on any given Saturday morning (not that that happens much [ever] ) I can't imagine anything offered to be worth getting up for on a Saturday morning. But back in my day there was quality children's programming. Like John Candy running an animated kids camp. Or the NES System's animated commercial Captain N: The Game Master.
Okay. So it wasn't amazing then either. But when I heard the intro music, oh man. I was instantly and magically 7 years old again, sitting on our old blue couch with crusties in my eyes and a Ghostbuster toy in each hand. My mom is in the kitchen, knowing not to speak to me until I was ready (I, uh, wasn't much of a conversationalist in the mornings. My only response would be "Don't look at me! Don't talk at me!") The couch cushions are sitting vertically against the couch and I am sitting on the springs in a makeshift fort. In front of me is some sort of remote control box.
Now that I think about it, this this confuses me. It worked as a remote control but
was connected to the TV with a long wire. . . so it wasn't really remote, more like attached, but with a long wire so you can sit down and use it. I guess an attached, but with a long wire so you can sit down and use it control doesn't have the same ring, so it's considered a remote control. It was about the size of two bricks (and about as heavy) with a slider nob on the front. On one side of the control box was 1, and the other was 34 (back when there were only thirty-some channels, even on cable). If you wanted to watch MTV, you'd slide it to 24 and it changed the channel. Now, I know that even though it was 1989, TV's had actual, legitimate remote controls at the time. Here's my best Jerry Seinfeld impression:What was the deal with that thing?
I digress. Hearing the minute worth of music and seeing something that I haven't seen for nearly twenty years brings back a flood of memories. And yet none of them are bad. It's easy to forget about the hard stuff , the bad stuff that you have to deal with as a kid. When we grow up, we seem to only let ourselves remember the good things. The candy, games, and fun.
What is it about this that I really miss that much?
Do I miss Camp Candy itself? Probably not, it was a mediocre cartoon. Do I miss the sleepy Saturday mornings? No, I can still do that (though I replace Camp Candy with sleep). Maybe I miss it because I know it's gone. Forever. This moment in time that is seared in my head will never happen again. Even though I may remember it vividly, I will never be 7 again in a makeshift fort and sleepily pondering the oddities of my TV remote control.
Maybe I miss it because I was really, truly happy. I didn't know any better. I hadn't yet figured out that it's a screwed-up world. People were nice and I didn't know that deep down inside, everyone's bent. I knew nothing of murder, terrorism, fraud, child molestation, or domestic abuse. All I knew was Camp Candy.
And it was good.
FUN FACT: I can bend the top joint of six of my fingers (thumbs don't count and pinkies can't). Try it with me. Stick your finger out like you're pointing at someone. Then bend just the very last joint, like your finger is a lower case r.
MUSIC SNOB: Humble Me- Norah Jones
3.03.2007
Late Night Studies with The Bratch
It's always fun to be up so late working on stuff for school/work/etc. that your stomach rumbles and you actually think "I wonder what time McDonald's starts serving breakfast again?"
3.02.2007
Glass. Mayo. What?
It's always when I don't have the time to write that I really, really want to. But I can't.
I just can't.
I get great ideas while I'm busy and tell myself, "I'll remember this, don't worry."
But I don't.
Ever.
Like right now, I'm thinking "If plastic is so cheap, why are things still in glass bottles and jars? Surely the process for making plastic is cheaper than making and handling glass, plus there's the added bonus of producing a 'shatter-proof' product. This is something that we take for granted these days. A dropped jar of mayonnaise is a terrible, terrible thing. So why is it so hard to make them in plastic jars instead of glass? I know, a lot (most?) of mayonnaise jars (I'm sure there are those that see the word "mayonnaise" and cringe in gross queasiness [seeing it three times here must make you roll up into a fetal ball, those of you that hate mayonnaise. Sorry, I said it again. Wait. . . where was I? Oh, a nested parenthetical clause inside a quotation. I'm too convoluted to follow my own self. Five extra bonus points to you for reading this far. Three extra bonus points if you still understand what I'm saying this far in. Okay, back to glass jars] ) are plastic, but there are still those that aren't. Why not make them all plastic?"
This is what I'm thinking instead of working on my last college class.
FUN FACT: Sometimes I go to Wal-Mart and buy a bottle of bubbly. Welch's sparkling grape juice, that is. You know, the stuff you buy for birthdays and New Year's when you want to say "I'm festive, but also a teetotaler." I didn't used to like it, I thought it was cliche as a kid. Now I just get it whenever. It's over 2 bucks for maybe 16 oz. of drink, but it's basically the best grape soda you'll ever drink.
Plus it comes in a GLASS bottle.
MUSIC SNOB: Be Still My Heart- The Postal Service
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qanvfBiY_MY
I just can't.
I get great ideas while I'm busy and tell myself, "I'll remember this, don't worry."
But I don't.
Ever.
Like right now, I'm thinking "If plastic is so cheap, why are things still in glass bottles and jars? Surely the process for making plastic is cheaper than making and handling glass, plus there's the added bonus of producing a 'shatter-proof' product. This is something that we take for granted these days. A dropped jar of mayonnaise is a terrible, terrible thing. So why is it so hard to make them in plastic jars instead of glass? I know, a lot (most?) of mayonnaise jars (I'm sure there are those that see the word "mayonnaise" and cringe in gross queasiness [seeing it three times here must make you roll up into a fetal ball, those of you that hate mayonnaise. Sorry, I said it again. Wait. . . where was I? Oh, a nested parenthetical clause inside a quotation. I'm too convoluted to follow my own self. Five extra bonus points to you for reading this far. Three extra bonus points if you still understand what I'm saying this far in. Okay, back to glass jars] ) are plastic, but there are still those that aren't. Why not make them all plastic?"
This is what I'm thinking instead of working on my last college class.
FUN FACT: Sometimes I go to Wal-Mart and buy a bottle of bubbly. Welch's sparkling grape juice, that is. You know, the stuff you buy for birthdays and New Year's when you want to say "I'm festive, but also a teetotaler." I didn't used to like it, I thought it was cliche as a kid. Now I just get it whenever. It's over 2 bucks for maybe 16 oz. of drink, but it's basically the best grape soda you'll ever drink.
Plus it comes in a GLASS bottle.
MUSIC SNOB: Be Still My Heart- The Postal Service
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qanvfBiY_MY
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
