While hanging out in my office today, noting the lack of balance between the time I spent taking breaks and the time I spent working, I noticed that what was standing between me and my work was a lot of good stuff to read on the internet. Some days, nothing comes through the tubes. Today, well, I couldn't decide which one thing to post about, so I decided to mention some of the best.
First, Chris Jones's profile of Roger Ebert, "Roger Ebert: The Essential Man" in Esquire has received some good press today. And the praise for the profile is well-earned; it draws a compelling picture of Ebert's life since he lost the ability to speak, eat, and drink in 2006. The article touches on Ebert's life with his wife, his home, his day-to-day adaptations to living with the results of the surgeries he underwent to treat his thyroid cancer, his professional life, and his new existence that takes place in writing. I found the profile's discussion of Ebert's relationship with Gene Siskel and Siskel's death and the new, more important role writing has taken in Ebert's life to be the most moving parts of a long piece that never lagged. All in all, Jones's article was a fitting writerly tribute to another writer.
Also worth reading/checking out is Roger Ebert's blog, Roger Ebert's Journal, which is much, much more than a film blog. In fact, it's not really easy to categorize the blog because of the breadth of topics Ebert writes about. As the profile of Ebert in Esquire points out - and as many people knew already - Ebert has been an even more prolific writer in recent years (since he lost the ability to speak) and some of his best, most interesting, and most accessible work is on his blog. You should check it out. You'll be surprised at what you find.
Now, since I'm coming to you live from my couch as I watch Women's Snowboard Cross, I think it's only appropriate to note that a good deal of the writing that caught my attention today related to coverage of the Winter Olympics in Vancouver. First, since watching coverage of the Olympics means watching a variety of human interest stories about the athletes' journeys to the Games, Slate has re-introduced their "Olympics Sap-O-Meter," an interactive feature that allows you to see how many times certain sappy phrases are uttered during the each day's broadcast. There are 35 words being tracked during these Games, and the interactive feature allows you to see how much each word has been used each day and how many times all the sappy words in total. Slate also ran a story today by Edward McClelland, "He Shoots. He Skis: A would-be biathlete tries winter's weirdest sport," in which the author tries his hand at the biathlon. Finally, in response to the strange conditions and mishaps in Vancouver and Bob Costas's hair, Salon ran a piece by Steve Almond, "Nice try Canada. But you're fired." Salon is asking some of their favorite writers to comment on the games, and in this piece, Almond talks a little bit about the athletes but mostly about the misfires and general strangeness of these particular Winter Games.
On an Olympics-related note, does anyone know how old Bob Costas is? Because it appears as though he is not visibly aging.
And now, the English teacher inside of me thinks I've given you enough homework. Happy reading!
Showing posts with label Stuff I Read. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Stuff I Read. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Thursday, January 28, 2010
English, Junior Year
Like many people who survived high school, I read The Catcher in the Rye in English class my junior year. The big life lesson I learned from the book was that that people who protest books are likely to have never read them. On the literary front, I found that I liked Holden Caulfield. He sounded like an actual teenager and not an approximation of an teenager written by an adult. And I've found that many of the students I teach have read and enjoyed The Catcher in the Rye, which is pretty easy to understand. Unlike much of what is assigned in high school English, it's relatable and not Shakespeare**.
The power of The Catcher in the Rye, I think, is in its uniqueness, especially an audience already hardened by texts that seem old-fashioned and feel more like chores than reading***. For a good number of high school students, the novel captures their imaginations in a way that few things in an English classroom (or much of high school, for that matter) do and they feel less alone knowing that on the page Holden is saying much of what they've been thinking about the world. But probably the best thing about The Catcher in the Rye is that it can be a five-year book - something you pick up once every five years and basically discover all over again. The second time I read it, I understood who Holden was and that I wasn't him and I didn't want to be him. But I could sympathize with him, because the things that were going on in Holden's life were making him lose his shit. Unlike the first time I read the book - where I only saw the world through Holden's eyes - the second time I read it I saw the world around him and how he was going to have a lot of trouble in that world. And the power of the novel comes from the effects of both of those readings, which are vital functions of literature in the first place - to make us feel less alone and to help us understand other people. The Catcher in the Rye does both of those things, and continues to do that for generations of readers****.
So, it's no surprise that people were genuinely moved when an author who lives out of the public eye and who hasn't produced anything new in decades passed away. While Salinger doesn't fill our bookshelves, he produced a work that many of us understand, acknowledge to be good, and that many readers feel explain the world at a time when little else manages to do so. Because seriously, most teenagers can't see that Holden's losing it. Because they're feeling a little desperate themselves and Holden's genuine outrage at the world comes as a bit of a comfort. Because a lot of adults are phonies and that becomes pretty clear as one starts to make the move from the kids' table to the adult table.
But enough with the seriousness. While there have been many tributes to J.D. Salinger and his work today, I will offer you the one that I found to be short, direct, and affectionate. Here is "Bunch of Phonies Mourn J.D. Salinger" from The Onion.
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* Pynchon's voice is featured on an episode in the fifteenth season titled "Diatribe of a Mad Housewife" in which Marge writes a romance novel. Pynchon is asked to give a blurb for the book. Also, I think the episode is hilarious, especially as the plot of Marge's romance novel about whaling unfolds.
** My apologies to Shakespeare fans. But, as I've tried to certain parties in the past, Shakespeare in high school is not an enjoyable experience because 1.) Everyone's down on it, 2.) The teachers assume you're not smart enough to get it so they sort of build it up to be something impossible to tackle, 3.) It's not cool, and 4.) For the most part, you only get to read tragedies and honestly, the comedies would probably work better with teenagers.
*** Again, I'm not getting down on Shakespeare (or Arthur Miller, since I was sort of thinking of him too), but King Lear for 17 year-olds? A very rare teenager finds him or herself in that play. And while I'd like to think I was mature, I was definitely not that kid. And I suspect that most kids are not that kid.
****Fun fact: My dad's copy of The Catcher in the Rye from high school is sitting next to my keyboard right now.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Mistaken Identities
Because she so aptly describes the situation of those who have grown up but who are still imagining who they might be when they grow up, I really enjoyed Mindy Kaling's piece in Sunday's edition of The New York Times, "Sculpting a Fantasy of a Family." In fact, I've been trying to figure out what to say about it since then because there's plenty to say on the issue, yet she said it so well. In her essay, Kaling describes an interesting aspect of one's late twenties or early thirties - the fact it is entirely possible to have created a family and the likelihood of being mistaken for one of the adults in charge. Part of what caught my attention in Kaling's piece is the same thing that seems to have caught hortense's fancy in her response to Kaling on Jezebel on Sunday; what gets imaginged is sort of fun and captures a particular moment in a person's life. What gets imagined as part of the future tends to reflect a person's hopes, ambitions, and worldview at a particular moment in time and it can be fun to charge one's progress throughout those stages. It is also interesting to think about the way in which family takes on new forms as we get older and live increasingly independent lives; we value the families we were born into, but we start to shape independent families of our own in many ways as we get older. And part of that process of shaping involves a lot of imagining what one's adult world might look like.
But I could also sympathize with Kaling's essay in another way. Early in her essay, she describes just going along with a valet's assumption that she has a husband and kids to mangage during the holiday season. While she feels slightly guilty about not correcting him, Kaling claims that for a second, she looks at herself as that person. With a good number of people my age and on my radar married with children, I understand the differences between their lives and my own and how the divide that separates our lives isn't that far apart. In fact, I've been known to imagine what people might think of me during a mid-day macaroni and cheese run. I mean, I'm in my late twenties, but young-looking, so it could be for me. Also, I do look mighty hungry on the check-out line. And I'm probably springing for deluxe, which means that I've elevated mac and cheese above the powdered cheese iteration. But it is picky kids food. And if I'm running to the store in the middle of the day for mac and cheese, chances are that my grooming is probably lacking. Who knows where I'm running from and to and who's waiting for me. So the big question is: Who, exactly, do they think the Annie's Organic Mac and Cheese is for?
But I could also sympathize with Kaling's essay in another way. Early in her essay, she describes just going along with a valet's assumption that she has a husband and kids to mangage during the holiday season. While she feels slightly guilty about not correcting him, Kaling claims that for a second, she looks at herself as that person. With a good number of people my age and on my radar married with children, I understand the differences between their lives and my own and how the divide that separates our lives isn't that far apart. In fact, I've been known to imagine what people might think of me during a mid-day macaroni and cheese run. I mean, I'm in my late twenties, but young-looking, so it could be for me. Also, I do look mighty hungry on the check-out line. And I'm probably springing for deluxe, which means that I've elevated mac and cheese above the powdered cheese iteration. But it is picky kids food. And if I'm running to the store in the middle of the day for mac and cheese, chances are that my grooming is probably lacking. Who knows where I'm running from and to and who's waiting for me. So the big question is: Who, exactly, do they think the Annie's Organic Mac and Cheese is for?
Monday, December 7, 2009
Life During Poor Time
During my breakfast and light reading period this morning, I came across the latest installment of Salon's ongoing series "Pinched: Tales From an Economic Downturn" called "I Live in a Van Down by Duke University," which I will admit initially caught my eye because it was this morning's featured main story and because of its titular Chris Farley reference. But aside from my reasons for reading it in the first place, I found the essay brought up a lot of issues that we don't really speak about in America today, like poverty, education, and consumerism. Ken Ilgunas, the author of the piece, engages in a compelling discussion of the real costs of doing the things we value as a culture that are supposed to give us security, like pursuing higher and higher levels of education and the risks of finding unorthodox ways to live while doing them (I particularly liked his humorous digression into his course of action should Duke University catch him living in a van in a campus parking lot. I, too, would like to start wearing all white and inviting undergrads curious in following my ways to have tea with me during a long-term and principled stand against the establishment).
Many of Salon's "Pinched" essays talk about something we generally try to avoid - what happens when you do everything right and everything still goes wrong? But with the current economic situation, we've been forced to ask this question a bit more openly. While I haven't read all of the "Pinched" essays, I recommend Heather Ryan's "Our Cupboard Was Bare," about her experience of having to take her children to the local soup kitchen, and Rosencrans Baldwin's "How I Ended Up Living With My In-Laws," which has a pretty self-explanatory title. For longer works on this topic, I would suggest Barbara Ehrenreich's Bait and Switch: The (Futile) Pursuit of the American Dream.
Many of Salon's "Pinched" essays talk about something we generally try to avoid - what happens when you do everything right and everything still goes wrong? But with the current economic situation, we've been forced to ask this question a bit more openly. While I haven't read all of the "Pinched" essays, I recommend Heather Ryan's "Our Cupboard Was Bare," about her experience of having to take her children to the local soup kitchen, and Rosencrans Baldwin's "How I Ended Up Living With My In-Laws," which has a pretty self-explanatory title. For longer works on this topic, I would suggest Barbara Ehrenreich's Bait and Switch: The (Futile) Pursuit of the American Dream.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Ira Glass Narrates My Dreams
I spent yesterday in the car. I also spent Sunday in the car. While I was physically alone, I aurally (and maybe emotionally) spent the day with Ira Glass and the motley crew that contributes to This American Life. And while I spent the hours between 2 and 4 pm Tuesday afternoon wondering what it says about me that I have an exhaustive knowledge of This American Life and that I socialize with people who can and do exhaustively discuss This American Life, I came home to find that the crew from This American Life is actually everywhere.
Let me prove how I know they're taking over:
1. I saw David Sedaris read live Saturday night in Easton. He was staying in Bethlehem. We were practically neighbors and it made me very, oddly happy.
2. I came home to my TiVoed The Daily Show and found Sarah Vowell promoting the paperback version of The Wordy Shipmates. I have listened to that audio book more than once (ditto for The Partly Cloudy Patriot and Assassination Vacation) and was comforted to learn that someone else gets a kick out of the Puritans and the "city on a hill" references.
3. I started reading Susan Burton and Michael Agger's "Freaky Fortnight" feature on Slate. They've switched roles and jobs for two weeks and are writing about it - she's working at Slate doing his job and he's staying at home doing her job with the kids and nominally freelancing. If you click the link it's worth the read. Due to her work on the radio, I feel a strange sense of completion since most of her stories revolve around her life before her children and family.
4. Every now and again, Dan Savage is everywhere.
5. I actually understand the "thank yous" at the end of each episode.
6. I spend a good number of episodes trying to figure out what the Torey Malatia joke will be.
And the funny thing is, I'm mostly cool with all of this. But, I have to wonder if this also makes me sort of very uncool.
Let me prove how I know they're taking over:
1. I saw David Sedaris read live Saturday night in Easton. He was staying in Bethlehem. We were practically neighbors and it made me very, oddly happy.
2. I came home to my TiVoed The Daily Show and found Sarah Vowell promoting the paperback version of The Wordy Shipmates. I have listened to that audio book more than once (ditto for The Partly Cloudy Patriot and Assassination Vacation) and was comforted to learn that someone else gets a kick out of the Puritans and the "city on a hill" references.
3. I started reading Susan Burton and Michael Agger's "Freaky Fortnight" feature on Slate. They've switched roles and jobs for two weeks and are writing about it - she's working at Slate doing his job and he's staying at home doing her job with the kids and nominally freelancing. If you click the link it's worth the read. Due to her work on the radio, I feel a strange sense of completion since most of her stories revolve around her life before her children and family.
4. Every now and again, Dan Savage is everywhere.
5. I actually understand the "thank yous" at the end of each episode.
6. I spend a good number of episodes trying to figure out what the Torey Malatia joke will be.
And the funny thing is, I'm mostly cool with all of this. But, I have to wonder if this also makes me sort of very uncool.
Monday, September 14, 2009
A Reason for My Morning Reading
Here we go - I found the article on Slate where Dahlia Lithwick explains her book project and sets her parameters - where she's thinking about engaging chick-lit conventions, where she refuses to go, her acknowledgment of the debate between serious and non-serious literature (something near and dear to my own academic heart and my recreational impulses), and her time limit (she goes back to reporting on the Supreme Court beat October 1, so the book ends then whether it's truly finished or not). You can read her description here.
Morning Reading
Since I'm not yet comfortable enough in my new office to hold private dance parties when I don't feel like working, I tend to take to the Internet. This morning, I was spending my time with Dahlia Lithwick's real-time romance novel, Saving Face, on Slate.com. The novel itself is a good read so far (with only two installments down, it's kind of hard to tell, but I already like the characters I've met so far, so that's a good sign) and it's an interesting Internet experiment. Lithwick is writing in one of Slate's short formats, which tends to work well for commentary in general and she's taking reader advice from Facebook. So, in some senses, it's in real-time and collaborative. What's even more interesting is that she gives readers credit where it's due. Little plus signs give us readers' information and suggestions that Lithwick has used to help shape or improve her story. Also, at the end of every post, Lithwick gives us a general idea of where the next installment is going and solicits reader feedback; so, she's got the plot skeleton, but she knows the experiment will be more efficient and the finished product more interesting if many minds help shape the novel.
I'm pretty sure I'm going to join her Facebook page as soon as I'm done writing. I'd like to get more information about the genesis of the project and Lithwick's general vision for what she sees the project doing (or maybe that's the writing teacher in me coming out). The fact is that this romance novel experiment is a well-written, smart, collaborative piece of writing about the love lives and neuroses of professionals in a college town has me somewhat intrigued. So, obviously, I'll be needing to know more about it.
I'm pretty sure I'm going to join her Facebook page as soon as I'm done writing. I'd like to get more information about the genesis of the project and Lithwick's general vision for what she sees the project doing (or maybe that's the writing teacher in me coming out). The fact is that this romance novel experiment is a well-written, smart, collaborative piece of writing about the love lives and neuroses of professionals in a college town has me somewhat intrigued. So, obviously, I'll be needing to know more about it.
Friday, August 28, 2009
A Change of Season
After a while, the start of a new school year rolls in with little fanfare...basically, anything that's assigned is manageable and survivable. And while the beginning of the school year means the end of summer (even while summer's still going on), there a few things to look forward to as the fall begins and things start to pick up in their own, though slightly less carefree and tanned, way. While I'm most certainly a summer person (summer being the only season that I'm not cold all the time), I'm looking forward to change. So, here's a brief list of things I'm looking forward to after having survived my first full week of teaching:
1. The new TV season. I've had hints already with the starts of Man Men and Top Chef, but the beginning of school means that soon my TiVo will be clicking on more frequently to add some new episodes of old favorites. Since I got through the week sharing Liz Lemonisms with the other grad students around the Commons Room, you can tell we're all ready for new things.
2. Fall beers. While I'll miss my light summery beers, I'm ready for some darker, warmer October seasonals as I wind down my weeks.
3. Creamy, cheese-based soups. Sometimes, to go with my beer, sometimes to fill bread bowls, sometimes both.
4. Bethlehem, PA's Celtic Classic. Nothing says Fall to me like Highland Games and a parade of bagpipers. Favorite Saturday of the year.
5. Layering
6. Legitimate rain days and afternoon matinees prompted by the rainy days.
7. A more structured framework for my nightly trashy-novel reading.
8. More devotion to my quest for the best buffalo chicken sandwiches and wraps in my area. Actually, more devotion to sandwiches and finding some good ones in general.
That's all for now, though I might include something very loose about looking forward to another Vermont trip, Halloween, and something about brisker air, too, but I'll leave that for another time.
1. The new TV season. I've had hints already with the starts of Man Men and Top Chef, but the beginning of school means that soon my TiVo will be clicking on more frequently to add some new episodes of old favorites. Since I got through the week sharing Liz Lemonisms with the other grad students around the Commons Room, you can tell we're all ready for new things.
2. Fall beers. While I'll miss my light summery beers, I'm ready for some darker, warmer October seasonals as I wind down my weeks.
3. Creamy, cheese-based soups. Sometimes, to go with my beer, sometimes to fill bread bowls, sometimes both.
4. Bethlehem, PA's Celtic Classic. Nothing says Fall to me like Highland Games and a parade of bagpipers. Favorite Saturday of the year.
5. Layering
6. Legitimate rain days and afternoon matinees prompted by the rainy days.
7. A more structured framework for my nightly trashy-novel reading.
8. More devotion to my quest for the best buffalo chicken sandwiches and wraps in my area. Actually, more devotion to sandwiches and finding some good ones in general.
That's all for now, though I might include something very loose about looking forward to another Vermont trip, Halloween, and something about brisker air, too, but I'll leave that for another time.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Once Upon a Time...
What do we expect when we're watching period dramas?
Part of me thinks that we're drawn to them because we see glimpses of our modern selves developing through the characters that stick with us most. In Pride and Prejudice (and even Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, which I finished this morning), a good number of people want to identify with Elizabeth Bennet. I include myself in this number, and not just because we share a name. In my mind - and I'm sure many others - we share common behavioral traits, worldviews, and the ability to be completely socially awkward. But Elizabeth Bennet gives us hope. She's outspoken, stubborn, independent, and the distant handsome guy in the neighborhood seems to love her (and can't stop loving her) for who she is. Yes, he finds her sort of blah when he first meets her and she's fully aware of his opinion when he expresses it in front of her (and even holds it against him), but rather than go the route of Seventeen magazine, or more locally, her mother, and learn how to change herself so that boys like her, she remains basically who she is and wins Mr. Darcy's heart nonetheless. We ignore the parts about how she'll only love someone superior to herself and those moments when she does rely on male authority and holds Darcy above all others because we want to believe that she is our spunky, modern selves, just written a little before we arrived. And, in some ways, she is. A good number of us are awkward, imperfect, and seem to stumble into someone's affections quite haphazardly. (And while it is easy to look at Bridget Jones and see how one can draw a parallel between the past and the present, I abstain for the moment.)
All this brings me to what we expect from period dramas nearer to our own time. In a Jane Austen novel, we expect our heroine to tame some of her ways - it was olden times, the 19th Century, for goodness sakes! But we want more from our dramas on the cusp of the social movements of the 20th Century. More specifically, I wonder how disappointed people are about the first episode of the third season of Mad Men. I've gone out of town, so I'm two episodes shy of finishing the second season and my season premiere awaits me on my TiVo. While I'm sure I'll have plenty to say soon about the women - because they fascinate me the most - I wonder what viewers think about their choices as we begin the third season. The second season gave us so many glimmers of modernity - Betty asserting herself, Joan's complicated sexual relationship with her fiancé, Peggy being Peggy - that I wonder if modern viewers will be able to accept them if they fail to be as radical as we hope they could be.
The women of Mad Men have moved in the directions the 1960s are pushing each of them and they're striking because those paths are so very dissimilar. But I wonder if we, those of us who love the show and who are beneficiaries of the movements and cultural shifts of previous decades, will have trouble seeing the women we have found so complex and relatable unable to reach what we might think of as their "full potential." They are, after all, bound by their time (and, in other realms, by a faithfulness to the story and the characters as they are drawn) to act in ways that may fall short for those of us who see the other sides of their experiences and who have the luxury of looking back.
Part of me thinks that we're drawn to them because we see glimpses of our modern selves developing through the characters that stick with us most. In Pride and Prejudice (and even Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, which I finished this morning), a good number of people want to identify with Elizabeth Bennet. I include myself in this number, and not just because we share a name. In my mind - and I'm sure many others - we share common behavioral traits, worldviews, and the ability to be completely socially awkward. But Elizabeth Bennet gives us hope. She's outspoken, stubborn, independent, and the distant handsome guy in the neighborhood seems to love her (and can't stop loving her) for who she is. Yes, he finds her sort of blah when he first meets her and she's fully aware of his opinion when he expresses it in front of her (and even holds it against him), but rather than go the route of Seventeen magazine, or more locally, her mother, and learn how to change herself so that boys like her, she remains basically who she is and wins Mr. Darcy's heart nonetheless. We ignore the parts about how she'll only love someone superior to herself and those moments when she does rely on male authority and holds Darcy above all others because we want to believe that she is our spunky, modern selves, just written a little before we arrived. And, in some ways, she is. A good number of us are awkward, imperfect, and seem to stumble into someone's affections quite haphazardly. (And while it is easy to look at Bridget Jones and see how one can draw a parallel between the past and the present, I abstain for the moment.)
All this brings me to what we expect from period dramas nearer to our own time. In a Jane Austen novel, we expect our heroine to tame some of her ways - it was olden times, the 19th Century, for goodness sakes! But we want more from our dramas on the cusp of the social movements of the 20th Century. More specifically, I wonder how disappointed people are about the first episode of the third season of Mad Men. I've gone out of town, so I'm two episodes shy of finishing the second season and my season premiere awaits me on my TiVo. While I'm sure I'll have plenty to say soon about the women - because they fascinate me the most - I wonder what viewers think about their choices as we begin the third season. The second season gave us so many glimmers of modernity - Betty asserting herself, Joan's complicated sexual relationship with her fiancé, Peggy being Peggy - that I wonder if modern viewers will be able to accept them if they fail to be as radical as we hope they could be.
The women of Mad Men have moved in the directions the 1960s are pushing each of them and they're striking because those paths are so very dissimilar. But I wonder if we, those of us who love the show and who are beneficiaries of the movements and cultural shifts of previous decades, will have trouble seeing the women we have found so complex and relatable unable to reach what we might think of as their "full potential." They are, after all, bound by their time (and, in other realms, by a faithfulness to the story and the characters as they are drawn) to act in ways that may fall short for those of us who see the other sides of their experiences and who have the luxury of looking back.
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