Interests:Reading, writing, listening to music, spending time with people I care about, language, computers, superhero-type stuff, anything nerdy and/or dorky, Vonnegut, C.S. Lewis. Expertise:Selfishness and ice cream. Occupation:Copy editor Industry:Publishing
Tonight's example: Cutting the peanut-butter sandwich diagonally.
For some reason (perhaps my penchant for proper proportions?), my mind is eased when I cut my sandwich this way, even though I don't care for peanut butter much at all.
A Great Chimichanga from Jupiter, the Bringer of Jollity
Last night, after a day full of doing things that needed to be done (i.e., laundry for Abby and some work/lesson planning for me), we rewarded ourselves with a visit to a "new" Mexican restaurant (new to us, not new). It was fantastic, and we both agreed that the chimichanga we shared was the best we've ever had. We will definitely be visiting La Campaña again.
After that, because yesterday was a beautiful fall day, we walked around downtown Wheaton. While there, we saw an advertisement for the Wheaton College symphony orchestra's presentation of Gustav Holst's The Planets. We found that it was last night and that it started in forty minutes.
Now, to fully understand our joy at seeing this, you have to understand that a month ago, there was a free concert in Millennium Park featuring the Chicago Sinfonietta and a video presentation from the Adler Planetarium. Due to an uncharacteristic traffic jam near the station, we missed the train by seconds, and our hopes were dashed of getting to see the planets live in concert.
Well, it was really a no brainer, particularly because Wheaton College got permission to use the video presentation during their own concert. It was so cool to hear one of my favorite pieces of music live. You could feel the war of Mars, the overwhelming sense of jollity of Jupiter, the somewhat erratic and thunderous magic of Uranus. And the women's chorale joined in for Neptune, which really rounded out the evening. We agreed that this performance was probably a more enjoyable experience than the one at Millennium Park (because we were so close, we could see the video, and we could feel the music).
After the concert, Abby and I were discussing it, and we were amazed at the ability of music to contain so much meaning. We don't know if we've heard a section in Jupiter before used in a moment of heroism in a movie, but we both had a sense that something heroic was going on regardless. The conductor mentioned that The Planets was written during World War I, and those who were in the war commented how accurate Mars was to what they felt on the battlefield. A friend of ours mentioned recently a composer who set theology to music. A survey was conducted recently where this man's music was played for "people on the street," and they were able to identify the theological concept he was representing--some without even being familiar with Christianity.
Kurt Vonnegut once said that every writer would rather be a musician; it's probably true.
To encourage participation in this post, do you have a favorite Holst planet? (Mine's either Jupiter or Uranus.)
No Bell Rings for Me, or Edgar Saw Oprah Sell His Story
It turns out I am not, and probably never will be, in the running for a Nobel Prize. Also hurting my chances is that I haven't written anything to speak of for some time, and it certainly hasn't been published. And if it had been published, Horace Engdahl probably wouldn't have deigned to open the envelope. And if he had...well, we already know how he feels about us insular yankees. Oh well. It is a smarting blow all the same, and it is a better argument than any I've found for moving to Britain (except that I probably wouldn't write there, either—I'd just listen to people's accents, drink tea, and allow my teeth to rot).
In other book news, St. Francis De Sales must be working overtime for David Wroblewski, debut novelist, author of the wildly popular Story of Edgar Sawtelle, and (probably) wealthy, wealthy man. Wroblewski received a handsome advance for his book—a more handsome advance than some who have actively been writing literary fiction on a consistent basis, and certainly a more handsome advance compared to most no-name, first-time novelists. He received perhaps the most gushing review I've ever read, by the notorious blurber Stephen King. Amazon (and others—but mostly Amazon) made it a best seller basically by saying it would become one. And recently, it was announced that his book was selected for Oprah's book club—for which the publisher immediately went back to press for 750,000 more copies.
All this hype is, admittedly, a turn-off for me (as if such a confession is a surprise or detrimental to sales). D. W. has become a literary superstar seemingly overnight, and that gives me more faith in his marketing machine than his talent. (I'll take this time to say that he is probably a talented writer, and I have little basis for this, and if St. Francis ever wanted to help me in this way, I would not turn him down.) But the biggest turn-off is Oprah's insignia. And this book is receiving it so soon after being released that there will be few copies in circulation with the removable sticker rather than the permanent brand, making it much harder to find an acceptable copy to read.
(I noticed a nasty habit developing, mostly starting sentences with conjunctions. But deal with it. And that's not the really nasty habit here.)
The problem is that, as much as I don't like to admit it and with the exception of the weird, new-agey stuff she chooses, Oprah's tastes are a lot like mine. In my attitude toward that, I'm reminded of something Miguel de Unamuno said of his political views: "I belong to a party of one, and if someone else tries to join, I'll leave." I am quick to berate Oprah for her book club, to shy away from the popular, but the truth is, I like exciting stories, just like everyone else. Good stories and compelling characters (should?) resonate across the board. My point is, there are universally good things, and finding a common thread between people is a positive thing. I've mentioned Harry Potter and Twilight before, how they are more of a cultural participation exercise than good literature. Is such a thing so bad? Why do I participate in book clubs? Is it not for a similar experience, so that I can, for the hour or two that the discussion lasts, feel and think something with someone else?
I still do not like Oprah, but is her book club such a bad thing, especially if she can get such a large body of people to read something good?
Last week, I found another one. I discovered that I really like Styx. I say "discovered" because I found out that a number of really good songs (i.e., songs I like) are all performed by one magical band, and that band is Styx.
What I respect about Styx is that the lead singer invests so much energy and enthusiasm in every song, even silly songs (e.g., "Mr. Roboto"). It's their way of turning inanity into grave subject matter that makes Styx good. Not everyone can pull it off. It helps that Dennis DeYoung can sing.
But it's singing about aliens and robots that makes them a guilty pleasure.
Abby and I, in a fit of RIR (that's Random Internet Research for those unfamiliar with the term) following my discovery of love for Styx, found that the lead singer has even written a musical, and it premiered, of all places, in Chicago, and it premiered this year! But we were just a month late, and we'll be kicking ourselves for the rest of our lives that we didn't get tickets.
And speaking of a sweet live show, look at this. It's like musical theater...only cool, because it involves Styx and robots:
I don't consider myself a Harry Potter fan. I've only read one of the books and haven't seen any of the movies. So when I read something like this, I just don't understand. I can try to relate it to a movie that I really wanted to see (for example, The Dark Knight), but even then, I don't think I'd be that upset. (In fact, The Dark Knight's release was moved back, and the feelings it aroused in me were no more than a mild bummer.) You gotta hand it to Harry's fans, though: They are loyal. Fiercely loyal.
A brief aside concerning loyalty to Harry Potter: I remember last year how when the seventh (and supposedly final) Harry Potter book was released, everyone I knew went inside a cave and secretly devoured it as fast as they could, so that on Monday, when they returned to work, school, or wherever else they congregated, they could "recount" (brag about) their loyalty to the series, judged by the length of time or severity of the deprivations involved in finishing it. Twilight fans, it would seem, are similarly loyal (at least if we can judge by Facebook's flair application).
Which brings me to this video clip (HT: Michelle). Normally I think people compare situations they don't like to Hitler far too often. But in this case, it really isn't a comparison to Hitler--it's just a really well-made video, so my normal cringe reflex doesn't apply. I watched this, and while I think Harry Potter fans have gone over the deep end and are over obsessed, I still have to "admire the rascals" for this video.
