Happy holidays

Well world,
Blogging for these last few months has obviously made an impression on me, because I'm blogging while I'm drunk, now. I've just said goodbye to my physical friends, now I'm saying goodbye to my virtual ones.
I'm leaving for Spain in a bit and I thought I'd send out a message of peace and goodwill to the world. I don't know if I'll have the internet where I'm going - if I do, that's cool, if I don't, it'll probably do me good - but merry Christmas, anyways. Keep checking back here during the holiday season, because I'll probably find a way to keep posting. If I don't, I'll start up again on Jan. 4th when I get home to Portland. If I don't until then, keep letting that eagle soar, America.



Hey, let's pretend that the last 8 years were a joke, ok? That'll be my Christmas present.
Now I have to pack...

What's a-Happenin' Hot Stuff?

I only got a few hours of sleep last night, so when I got home from lectures today I just took some me-time. Tomorrow night I ship out so all I have left to do is study and pack, really. I also went to Top Man today and got a second pair of jeans, cuz I like the other ones I bought and they're only 20 pounds, which is pretty great. While walking around in the rain and the fog I took some farewell pictures of Belfast that I'll put up on Facebook or something. But let's talk about The Happening.
Following the many delights that I found in An American Carol, I thought today I would watch another infamous movie from 2008 that I've been curious about and don't mind seeing on the internet.

Remember when The Sixth Sense came out and suddenly M. Night Shyamalan was the hottest new director with a cult that seemed to form overnight? Then Unbreakable came out and people were like, "That was a bit of a misfire, but he's still young; they can't all be winners." Then Signs came out and it was ok, but seemed a little Christian-y and Mel Gibson-y and the big twist (people were starting to notice a reliance on these twist things) about the aliens' weakness was really stupid? By the time The Village came out all the remaining fans had turned to apologists, though, from what I remember, it was like most of the movies beforehand with a pretty good build-up - it was just the explanation at the end that blew. Then Lady in the Water, which, from what I hear, is really really bad and has water-nymphs in it.
Remember all that? What a long, disappointing trip it's been.

Then Shyamalan came out in 2008 with The Happening, which I had heard was his worst yet. But, like, so bad it's good. I asked myself, "Could M. Night have already turned into a parody of himself?" A few days ago the Christian girl who lives next to me and only enjoys movies like Step Up and Nanny McPhee told me that it was the only horror movie she liked, cuz it made her think. Now I was really intrigued.

Today I spent an hour and a half watching a movie that, though it can't beat An American Carol in the race to be the worst big-budget movie of the past decade, it nips at its heels - though I haven't seen the update to The Wicker Man (mostly because I liked the original more than I like Nick Cage), which sounds like it could give The Happening a run for its money.

The Happening is shockingly, hilariously bad. Not misguided- and ugly-bad like American Carol, but what-was-everyone-thinking-bad. As well as being a former-Shyamalan apologist I'm also a Mark Wahlberg apologist, having really liked him in movies like The Departed and Four Brothers. Unfortunately, here he turns in what can only be classified as a tribute to the spirit of awful cinematic performance. Zooey Deschanel is worshipping right there with him, as they play adults who cherish mood rings and get jealous over dessert-invites and cough-syrup purchases like 8-year-olds.

The twist to the movie, alone, is ridiculously dumb. It comes about 30 minutes into the movie, but if you don't know (*SPOILER*) the movie is about plants giving off fumes that make people kill themselves. This means lots of Mark Wahlberg and co. running from the wind, which is just as silly as it sounds. He also meets a weird horticulturist who's obsessed with hotdogs, a crazy old lady who accuses him of being homicidal for no reason (and has the best non-sinister sinister line in a movie ever when she says "Why are you eyeing my lemon drink?"), a military officer who says things like "cheese and crackers!" instead of swearing in times of national crisis and more.

Thankfully, some youtube heros have put together clips of the very best moments. And oh, they are so, so sweet. I like that two clips claiming to have the best moments from the movie are made up mostly of different equally hilarious parts (except the guy laying down in front of a thresher and Marky Mark's placation of the crazy lady, which made both cuts). The second clip is shittier quality, but worth the watch, if only for Wahlberg singing and the kid in his class saying "global warming."

Cheese and Crackers!

Non-Post

So, while Bennington is letting it's current students out into the freezing Vermont tundra, I'm still here in Belfast. Only two more days after today, then it's on to Francia with mama mia (was that Italian? I don't know what I did there).
I've been spending my time here studying, drinking, saying goodbye and writing blog posts nobody reads.

Other activities:

• Sketching portraits based on people's Facebook photos, which is really just a big image library (if you're creepy).
• Reading my horoscope for 2009, as predicted by The Onion.
• Bulleted lists
• Trying to remember how to say "stabbed to death" in Old English for my test on Wednesday (it's "ofstingan")
• Listening to "Johnny Hit & Run Pauline" a gazillion times, by X, punk's cutest couple this side of Kim and Thurston:




• Discovering that dating is obsolete, courtesy of Mr. Charles Blow (...David Charles Blow??). That means if you haven't been going on dates much recently you're ahead of the curve. Go you! Go me!
  
• Spending all my UK pennies on a blank casette.
• Watching Top Gear and kind of understanding why it's the biggest show in the UK and not just a British Discovery Channel series. Kind of.
• Thinking about how I'm going to get to the airport but not actually planning anything.
  
• Procrastinating.
  

Shoe Me Once, Shame On You. Shoe Me Twice... We Won't Get Shoed Again

I can't stop blogging!
I thought the post I just did about An American Carol would be my only one of the day, but this was too good to pass up. These last three posts have actually been a triptych (in honor of Benjamin Busch) documenting things that are so amazing they need no parody.

When I got home tonight and turned to CNN, I was treated to the information that an Iraqi reporter threw his shoes at George Bush today (apparently "one of the ULTIMATE insults an Arab can make"... besides, you know, blowing you up).



Symbolic actions like this rarely hit the intended mark, in my view. A lot of times somebody making a big scene to call attention to a cause or belief will either interrupt or hinder something that's actually working towards their aim or put off supporters by the sheer callousness. But here, it's really pretty perfect, isn't it? It's not like it interrupted some peace talk that might be actually taking us somewhere - Ol' GW is just over in Iraq to give some face-time while he's counting down his last days. And I don't know how put off any Iraqis could be - even if shoe-throwing is the ULTIMATE insult - considering the even ULTIMATER insult of fucking up a war in their country.

Let's look at what CNN has to say:

The shoe-thrower -- identified as Muntadhar al-Zaidi, an Iraqi journalist with Egypt-based al-Baghdadia television network -- could be heard yelling in Arabic: "This is a farewell ... you dog!"

While pinned on the ground by security personnel, he screamed: "You killed the Iraqis!"

Al-Zaidi was dragged away. While al-Zaidi was still screaming in another room, Bush said: "That was a size 10 shoe he threw at me, you may want to know."

What a great response! "You killed Iraqis!" "Hey, that guy threw a pretty big shoe at me. That could have really hurt! Must have pretty big feet, heh heh."

"So what if the guy threw his shoe at me?" Bush told a reporter in response to a question about the incident.

Yeah, so what? People throw things at him all the time! Maybe nobody told him it was the ULTIMATE insult...

"Let me talk about the guy throwing his shoe. It's one way to gain attention. It's like going to a political rally and having people yell at you. It's like driving down the street and having people not gesturing with all five fingers. ...

"These journalists here were very apologetic. They ... said this doesn't represent the Iraqi people, but that's what happens in free societies where people try to draw attention to themselves."

I bet if they still had a dictatorship nobody would be embarrassing the country like that. Maybe those Taliban guys have a point...




~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Just below on the CNN homepage: McCain Won't Say He'd Back Palin For President.

McCain was pressed on why he can't promise support for the woman who, just months ago, he named as the second best person to lead the nation.

"Have no doubt of my admiration and respect for her and my view of her viability, but at this stage, again ... my corpse is still warm, you know?" he replied.

Yes John, we know.

Blogging An American Carol

So I have a bunch of work to do before I'm ready to take a trip to Spain on Thurs, not the least being my big Old English exam, but some things can wait and others can't. I had to put down The Dream of the Rood to study a different artifact sure to have anthropologists of the future dissecting it for centuries to come. I am, of course, talking about David Zucker's An American Carol, a movie I have been perversely excited to see. Luckily, watch-movies.net has it uploaded so I don't actually have to give anyone money for the joy I am anticipating (which would, incidentally, decrease my joy considerably). What happens when the creator of such comedy classics as Airplane! and The Naked Gun puts together a satire or the Amurrica-hatin', Commie-lovin', baby-abortin', dope-smokin' liberal left joined by a cast dripping with desperation (Gary Coleman, Chris Farley's brother) mixed with senility (Leslie Nielson and the boss from Seinfeld who's now on Family Feud), smugness (Bill O'Reilly, playing himself) and the only social conservatives in Hollywood (John Voight, Kelsey Grammer, Trace Adkins)? I can't wait to find out!


(This cartoon is from a blog raving about the film: "At long last, a Hollywood film that isn't flamingly Moonbatty!"

I'm going to blog about the first fifteen minutes or so, just so I can pretend we're enjoying this together. You can follow along here (I'm using the third link) if you feel so inclined. Or perhaps you think you're above spending your evening watching Gary Coleman play a character named Bacon Stains Malone...?

• It opens on a 4th of July picnic as grandpa Leslie Nielson, surprisingly still vertical, flips USA-burgers for his clan of lily-white children. Then, true to his roots as an American comedy giant, Leslie pegs an old lady in the face with a frisbee. Leslie's back!
• The story of the "Scrooge who hated the 4th of July" begins in Afghanistan, where everyone's named Mohammad Huessein! Hahaha! Their culture's different than ours! For some reason, however, when something goes wrong the leader swears, "Jesus!" Given that it's not played for comedic effect, methinks David Zucker could've done a little bit more research into fundamentalist Muslim culture...



• 4:56 - "Leader," pleads a terrorist, "ever since the Americans came people have hope now, they are voting, women own buisinesses." Mission Accomplished! Wait, does that mean we can leave now? The Taliban (which is apparently made up of three guys) decides they need to find a director to make recruitment videos for them who hates America (which "won't be hard to find in Hollywood," har har; real patriots make movies about frisbees to the face). Enter Chris Farley's brother playing Michael Moore (here, Michael Malone).
  
• 6:33 - How does David Zucker tackle Michael Moore's footage of bringing desperate Americans to Cuba for health care? By showing us what we all really know Cuba is like: dirty, Hispanic commies who execute wheelchair-bound Americans for no reason. When Malone wraps shooting of his movie, Die You American Pigs (seriously) gets back on his raft to leave, all the Cubans rush it to leave their Godforsaken shithole of an island and arrive at America's shining shores.



• 9:05 - Michael Malone snubs some Boy Scouts taking donations for our troops in Iraq. Why? If you hate the war, you hate our troops, duh. He goes and buys Girl Scout cookies instead. Cuz he's fat!!
  
• 10:00 - Malone's 4th of July abolition rally is fronted by a send up on MoveOn.org (here MooveAlong). Zucker unmasks MoveOn for what it really is: an organization run by ignorant teenagers (they don't know who Nixon is - they really must be Commies) and supported by the following embarrassing groups: People Against the American Way, Vegans Against Fur, Manboy Loveboat, Padawami Casino and the Church of Entitlement. I like that Native Americans and vegans rank up there with pedophiles on the conservative hate-scale. (btw, wouldn't Manboy Loveboat make a great band name?)
• 11:40 - Michael Malone eats rat-infested pizzas and buckets of lard. Subtle, Zucker. Bob Cratchet shows up in the form of Michael Malone's country music-lovin', navy-hero nephew. He invites Malone to a Trace Adkins concert (who is, according to this movie, a big country music star all over America except in New York). Does this mean Trace Adkins is Fezziwig??
• 13:50 - Malone's agent: "Apparently Michael, the people who like your movies don't actually go to movies." This must really be a subtle dig at the Academy after they gave Moore that Oscar back in 2003, yet have overlooked such David Zucker gems like Superhero Movie and Scary Movie 4. They probably don't like Trace Adkins either.
• 14:06 - No, it's even better: "I'm an Oscar-winning director," Malone says. "Yeah," counters his agent, "for a documentary," as he makes the jack-off motion with his hand. Does David Zucker go to movies?
• 15:40 - Hey, Paris Hilton's in this! Does she even know that she's being used as a punchline? Does she even care? She's presenting the MooveAlong.org award for best documentary, the Leni Reifenstahl Award. Get it?? GET IT??! "Through the creative manipulation of truth, she was able to influence history, demonstrating the power of film. Although unfortunately resulting in the death of over 60,000,000 people in World War II, her place in any cinematic hall of fame is secure." GET IT? GET IT?????!! David Zucker really doesn't like documentaries, huh?

Holy fucking shit, it just keeps getting better and better. I'd love to blog about it minute by minute, but the real fun comes from watching it not reading about it. Remember in my last blog post how I said one of my favorite things is when parodies are so ridiculous they become parodies of themselves? That's An American Carol in a big way and, suffice to say, it's even better than I could have even imagined.

UPDATE: I just finished watching it and my mouth was seriously open for the last 30 minutes. There is absolutely no way to anticipate things like Dennis Hopper picking off ACLU members with a shotgun while they try to remove the Ten Commandments from a courtroom or Trace Adkins telling Michael Malone that a stadium full of marines listening to modern country was "the real America" (Sarah Palin all over). Everyone has to see this movie.

Odds and Ends

So I've got a real post in the works, but I don't feel like writing it right now, so I'm just going to share some things:

I've gone into detail before on my love of shitty political cartoons that I disagree with. In the midst of a bunch of fawning cartoons about Obama at Slate, there was this:



All the reasons that this cartoon is stupid are so numerous and obvious I won't go into them. I'll just let you soak it in. Really, cartoons that unintentionally mimic The Onion's intentionally awful editorials like the one below make me laugh. I love it when reality outdoes parody for ridiculousness. Also, no matter what, editorial cartoons are never really funny, but they can become transcendentally greatly awful when they apparently come from some paranoid, misanthropic crank who's scared of change and knows his way around a pen. I wish I could see what the artist of the above cartoon would have written about Lincoln's victory if he'd been alive then.



Today I went into city center to pick up some Xmas gifts. I got my mom some earrings and myself some CDs - among them Death Cab For Cutie's Narrow Stairs. I've always been put off by Death Cab's extreme blandness coupled with Ben Gibbard's irritatingly writerly lyrics. It's the same mixture that has always kept me away from the Decemberists as well. I took a writing class once where the teacher talked about how distracting it is to the reader when they can "hear the writing," and that's what I feel about the lyrics of both bands. The lyrics that "She can't relax with his hand on the small of her back/ and as the flashbulbs burst, she holds a smile/ like someone would hold a crying child" are beautiful and evocative but they seem too calculated and unnatural to me. There's a coat of self-satisfaction on the whole thing.

Regardless, I was won over by the feeling and hooks of songs like "Cath..." and "I Will Possess Your Heart." At least, won over enough to plop down a few pounds for a used copy. All that's a backhanded way of saying that a band that I've always rolled my eyes at put out some songs that I think are really affecting. The rest of the album still sounds a bit like the soundtrack to an indie waiting room to me, but, you know...

What does it do for my mixed feelings about the album that Ben Gibbard looks kind of like Rainn Wilson mixed with a Hobbit in this video? I haven't decided yet.



The other CDs I picked up were Exile in Guyville and Portishead's Dummy, two albums that get blessed with the "classic" label a lot but I've never really given much time. I also got Under the Big Black Sun by X, The Ink Spots' Greatest Hits and an album called The Magic Wurlitzer that I was really excited about, but I kind of underestimated the annoyingness of the Wurlitzer as an instrument. It's pretty interminable. But it was cheap and I guess if I ever buy a skating rink and can't hire my own organ player I'm set.

(3) people hate you - A Love Letter to Banner Advertising

There's a new trend in pop windows and banners on websites that can obviously tell where your server is connected. They try and personalize their advertisements in hilariously contrived ways. A favorite of mine are the fake chat windows that pop up with women in bikinis who are so desperate they cut right to the chase: "You're in Belfast, too? Wanna hang out? I'm horny! ;-P"

I just found one that takes a tact I haven't seen before. If I could take screencaps with this PC I would, but I don't know how, so I just have to recreate it here for you:

There's a picture of a heart in an envelope a d a flashing button that says CONTINUE. Above that it reads:

You Have (3) Hate Letters
(2) People have a crush on you from Belfast.
(3) people hate you.

I thought this was so funny that I had to click on it. Predictably, it just directed me to some page asking for my email address. This was too high a price for further satiation of my curiosity. When I tried to close the tab, though, a warning would pop up saying:
IMPORTANT - YOUR CRUSH IS TRYING TO CONTACT YOU AT THIS VERY MOMENT. PRESS OK TO READ YOUR LETTER.

I love the idea of the idly curious loner who holds on to the shred of a possibility that someone is trying to contact him through banner ads. "I have a crush?" this hypothetical person asks himself. "Impossible! ... Or is it?" Maybe it's the sheer force of these pronouncements that leaves these poor pushovers into clicking on these ads; like a misplaced fear of being rude: "My crush must really want me if they're going so far as to advertise to get my attention. Maybe they own a banner ad company. I mean, they probably don't even exist, but if they do... shouldn't I know about it?"

The best part of the above ad is how it hedges its bets. If you're not desperate enough to believe that mysterious crushes are trying to contact you, maybe you're paranoid enough to believe that your enemies are. Maybe both! Show your imaginary enemies what's up by rubbing their noses in the imaginary letters from your imaginary crushes!

I'd love to see a cross-section of the people who actually do click on these ads (the idly curious, like myself, excluded). Even more, I'd like to see a meeting where cyber shysters come up with new ways to hook suckers in 12 words or less. "What if you have to click a button to make Amy Winehouse punch George Bush? And when you knock him out your crush will send you a funny video of a cat falling off a bike? Then we'll sell them car insurance."

~~~~~~~~~~~

In completely unrelated news, I always appreciate it when someone smarter and more articulate than me can argue my views for me so I don't have to hurt my brain trying to do it for myself. That's why I enjoyed seeing Jon Stewart state the case for gay marriage against lovably affable social conservative and bipedal Basset Hound, Mike Huckabee:

The Daily Show With Jon StewartM - Th 11p / 10c

Mike Huckabee Pt. 2

Barack Obama Interview
John McCain Interview

Sarah Palin Video
Funny Election Video

Watch it if you want to feel the same vicarious thrill that I'm feeling. Of course, we all know where arguments pitting logic against faith get us. Still, I like imagining I'm over Jon Stewart's shoulder saying things like "Yeah!" and "So there!"

Dream Journal vol. 3

You know what's more boring than vacation photos? Someone telling you about their dreams. Luckily, my blog has both of these features. I figure it must be like a double-negative making a positive because my blog is the most interesting blog ever.
Nothing new from the past couple of days: I've just been hella-stressed trying to tie up all the loose ends before I leave in a couple of weeks and still enjoy myself. Did you know that I have to write 3 essays over Christmas break? Gag me. One of them is going to be about Great Expectations. I'm expecting it to be greatly boring.
I also have a test in Old English next Wednesday. I just finished cramming some of the grammar and I'm feeling a little bit more confident. I'm at least confident that I'm not a dumbass, because, in cramming I've realized that one of my main stumbling blocks was the sheer amount of grammatical cases we have to memorize. How am I supposed to remember the 16 different case-types the word "they" can take? It's ridiculous!
It's all studying from now on, though. I've just finished translating The Dream of the Rood, an Old English poem about a guy who dreams Jesus' cross comes flying into his room and talks to him. The cross tells him how horrible it was to be the cross that Christ was killed on and how sad it made him. At no point does the dreamer question the authenticity of the flying, talking, sentient, 1000-year-old cross. I guess if you're willing to accept such a thing's existence, it's not a stretch to believe what it has to tell you (especially if what it has to tell you is the same old boring crucifixion story: "They nailed Jesus to me and I was sad! Wah!" - you're a cross!)

My dreams over the last month haven't been about flying religious curios. Than what? Read on...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~I dreamed I was traveling with the cast of Futurama in a black, death-metal mini-bus from Africa to a famine-ravaged Poland. We had been told to leave Africa, where the hyenas were plentiful - a common source of food - by a deceitful, giant snake. At least the leader of our crew somehow obtained one of the snake's serrated fangs. While I was showing it to the crew members at the back of the mini-bus I put it in my mouth and sucked on it, forgetting that it was venomous. Upon remembering this, I spit it onto the row of seats in front of me and determinedly fought off sleep and inevitable death.

The bus wound up at the entrance of my private high school, running over a sign advertising the Eminem concert set to take place that night. Because of this violation, Irish cops in yellow reflective jumpers stopped our bus and we couldn't go any further.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~I dreamed I was a regular at a gambling parlor with Max Bussman. I didn't have the requisite entrance fee so Max spotted me enough pounds to get in, but I had to hold the pile of clothes he was carrying while he did so and I lost one of his socks.
I told him he could have one of mine once we made our way up to his bedroom and I'd scattered the pile of clothes on the floor. I convinced him my socks were clean, but it took some time.

Later, I was using the bathroom in his house when his mom came home to give a piano lesson. I held the curtain over the window that was unfortunately set at eye-level to those sitting on the toilet, giving a direct view out into the driveway. While I was attempting some modesty, his dad came through the hallway where the door was open and noticed his Buddy Holly Greatest Hits CD at my feet and he asked me if I owned it. I told him that no, I had a different greatest hits collection.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Last night in the Dublin hostel I dreamed that the hostel owners took our bags from our room while they were serving us breakfast and there was nothing we could do about it. I also dreamed that I, or a friend, had a flying machine that manuevered the swampy green fields right outside the hostel window.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~I dreamed I woke up in a Washington, DC apartment I was temporarily staying in with Raphaela and a different friend while some sort of festival was in full swing. On adjacent buildings and all through the street people were committing all sorts of naked Mardi Gras-style debauchery. The apartment was even full of people no one knew, most of them drugged up on the floor or patiently sitting on the couch. None of them remembered how they got in.

My friend was gone and all that remained familiar was Raphaela's hungry pet ferret that I finally cornered in a room for it's own safety. I blocked the door with boxes so it couldn't get out. Ferrets can't climb.

I left the people in the apartment and walked down the street wearing a nice sport coat and hoping I'd run into Bill Clinton. After I struck a leisurely pose on a concrete city planter, Bill came by and welcomed me to join him and Hilary in the Capital building. We were on a first name basis.

They had me wait in a little kitchen filled with terrible, rowdy kids and an overwrought babysitter. I tried to give her advice - "Don't back down; stay consistent" - but it didn't help anything. The kids were so out of control I barely constrained myself from slapping on of them or boxing their ears, despite their age. Finally Hilary came to collect me and gave me a VIP All-Access badge to the Capital building: a white heart sticker with cherries inside of it. We then left together to have lunch in George Washington's old office, which had been kept just as he left it. Marveling at the room, Hilary and I ran our hands over all the first president's possessions, especially his lovely mahogany desk.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~I dreamed my mom read my dad an article in the newspaper about Chinese overpopulation and expressed the view that this made her scared I would become the next Charles Manson. I told her that assumption offended me, but I couldn't make her understand why. I said, "As long as I grow up right, I'll be fine."
My dad's solution to growing up right: "Wheat. Oats. Cookies."

~~~~~

Ok Junior Freuds out there: what does it all mean?

America Missed Out

Remember in 2004 when British band The Darkness blew the charts open with their disarming mix of winking over-the-top attitude and a sincere love of Queen? Their subsequent backlash (we were just talking about this, right?) must have come too quickly for their hometown friends Goldie Lookin Chain to break in the US. Or maybe it's because they're like a walking in-joke on British chav culture, which holds no cultural relevance in America.

Either way, Goldie Lookin Chain is an exquisitely stupid rap group who had five exquisitely stupid hits: "Guns Don't Kill People, Rappers Do," "Have Man Half Machine," "Your Mother's Got a Penis," "You Knows I Love You," and the extremely British slag off of Victoria Beckham, "Your Missus is a Nutter."

Just like The Darkness, Goldie Lookin Chain really says more about the people snickering at it than the people it's ostensibly making fun of. I always thought The Darkness made their irritating fans who were too self-conscious to indulge in glam rock without a safe layer of irony look worse than people who aren't embarrassed to listen to Journey or Boston. Likewise, listening to GLC was probably more comfortable to a lot of young British folks than listening to NWA was. Either way, check out this awesomely bad video for "Your Mother's Got a Penis" and imagine seeing this on American MTV.

Katy Perry, How I Hate You

Today I needed to share how angry Katy Perry makes me. I don't know if her 15 minutes is up in the States, but it keeps ticking over here (though it's definitely on a downswing). She reminds me of other artists in the past who I've stood on the sidelines and watched part of the world go ga-ga over (I know anyone reading this isn't included there, but, to prove my point, CNN chose to interview her the other day) just waiting for the inevitable backlash. I was trying to make a mental list of these other artists who were really hot one day only to have all of their fans disowned them the next. Of course, this happens a lot in the "indie" community - usually when a band gets semi-popular - but nobody but the indie community is listening to those bands, so it doesn't count. I was thinking more along the lines of Creed and boy/girl bands (also still strong in the UK), where it felt like the whole world went crazy for a little while before dumping them. What other names am I trying to think of?



Anyway, the point is, Katy Perry is one of those artists - I can tell she's one of them because I can't seem to write about why she's so awful, the reasons seem too glaringly obvious for any right-thinking person. This isn't snobbery, it's common sense. The levels of ignorance and faux-attitude in the first line of "Hot n Cold" speak for themselves, don't they? Don't they, world??

"You change your mind like a girl changes clothes/ Yeah, you PMS like a bitch, I would know."

Nothing could make me angrier than a walking Betty Page-lite miming feminine empowerment, yet undercutting it with retrograding gender stereotypes and calculated sass. How can you hear lyrics like that without seeing the league of middle-aged, male writers who put the song together (Dr. Luke and Max Martin, in this instance)? Isn't it a bit like the white guys at Disney writing James Baskett's Uncle Remus-jive talk in Song of the South? There's condescension just dripping off the thing. The message coming from these lyrics is that women are inherently fickle and bitchy. Because they're not girls, men should be above these traits, but women can't help it.



And it's not that I'm just an overprotective dad, but it disgusts me to see middle schoolers choking down this kind of thing. It's like those shirts little girls buy that say "Spoiled Princess" or whatever, thus reinforcing this Super Sweet 16 attitude; telling little boys and girls that it is appropriate and desirable for girls to be sassy, sexy bitches. I'd rather Jeff Dunham were popular with todays youth.

The bottom line is, that, like Creed before her, I will be happily relieved when Katy Perry falls on her face. I look forward to her lame sophomore release that will cause the Disney Channel Generation to find some new pop tart to worship, while Perry joins Fergie and Avril Lavigne in outdated corporate sex-symbol purgatory (Fergatory?).

HEY KIDS! You don't understand my points? You wanna read an updated opinion on why I hate Katy Perry? You think I'm an old jerk who just doesn't understand and wanna send me some more hate mail? Then bop on over to the new and improved rant and tell me what you think!

Ostrich Nog

Yesterday I ate an ostrich. It gave me mild food poisoning, but was good enough that I'd eat it again. I could have had wild boar or kangaroo, but I had to choose wisely. Maybe some other day...

Tomorrow I'm going to make eggnog for the folks in my flat because they've never had it before. I mentioned it the other day and was met with blank stares. Unfortunately eggnog is not something that sounds good when you describe it (the exact same thing happened around Thanksgiving with pumpkin pie). "So it's raw eggs?" asked one. "No, you add nutmeg... and liquor... it's good." I replied. No one was too enthused. I'll show them! I converted non-believers into eating pumpkin, I can sure make them drink something with liquor. They're Irish and freshmen, after all.

In other news, I saw the greatest video today:

Leave the Christmas Tree Queen Alone!

CNN Headlines of the day:

• Robbers in drag steal $100 million in jewel heist
• Christmas tree queen told: "You're crazy"

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It's been a slowly day. I was interviewed by a girl doing a social-economics class about what it's like being an American in Belfast. It was more of a conversation, though, because whenever I'd say something then she'd tell me about her thoughts on it. And it lasted an hour longer than she said it would. Partly because she talked more than I did. Boring.

I finally saw the Christmas market in city center, which was full of delicious looking food. Santa was supposed to be there, but now I guess he's gone. My plan was/maybe still is to get a picture of him holding up a Christmas greeting to my secret Santa in the house, but now he's skated and I'm not sure where to find him. I guess he's up at the North Pole with the carpenter elves making presents. Like Bratz dolls.

Speaking of Bratz dolls, did you hear that Mattel won a lawsuit and now has the power to make them go away forever? Say what you will about Barbie (and there's plenty to say, the slag) but she's way better than those slutty little preteen freaks with their miniskirts and their excess cranial fluid. Of course, Mattel could just decide to manufacture Bratz on their own. Given how much money they make I wouldn't be surprised. But it would still depress me incredibly. That would mean Mattel would have a monopoly on unrealistic standards for little girls.

Worse than normal Bratz? Bratz Babyz.


Look at this little tramp. A bikini top, a coy little pose and a mouth like a blow-up doll and she can't be three years old. What is the world coming to? What are we teaching our babies?? Is our children learning??

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On a completely different topic, I started watching My So-Called Life this Friday. It's one of many shows that's been on my radar as a show I need to watch, but I know that when I do I'll get totally sucked in, so I've avoided it 'til I have time. Now that my heavy reading's over, I can indulge myself. Other shows like that: The Sopranos, Mad Men, The Wire, The Shield, Deadwood, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Freaks and Geeks/Undeclared (which I watched some of when they were originally on, but were a little close for comfort at the time. I still get cred points, though) and Star Trek: The Next Generation (which was on a lot in the Bow household when I was really young, so I have fond memories of it. I'm curious if those hold up or, like all my other Star Trek reactions, I don't cotton to it).

Anyways, My So-Called Life is nothing short of amazing. As I told Maggie Duffy, I am not in high school anymore and I'm not a female (anymore?) but I still feel a high school girl inside of me reacting like this show defines her whole existence. If you were to split up my personality into stock characters (like a certain Robin Williams movie I've heard is on the horizon) one would be a pre-pubescent boy, one would be an old man and one would be a teenage girl - call her Bowtina (or Boesha). I'm not saying that's all I have going on in there (one's bound to be a 21-year-old male from Oregon) but they crop up a lot. Anyway, Bonica - who is probably the impetus for rebelling against Victorian novels and regressing back to middle school with Twilight when I get home - is totally in love with this show and lives in a blissful world where Jared Leto never got fat and made Chapter 27.
Also, it really reflects my memories of the '90s. Some shows from this same period - like Friends, which is constantly on here - reflect '90s pop-culture, but not actual life. The Friends characters never lived in a world that wasn't two or three disconnects away from reality (have you seen their apartments? And Joey's an actor!). Watching Friends only reminds me of what it was like to be in the '90s watching Friends. My So-Called Life is reminding me of what it was actually like to live then. Wowee wow wow. And I'm only one episode in (so maybe I'm jumping the gun with my praise a little bit).

In other media news, I watched the awful '80s slasher, Pieces today. It was record-setting bad. I wish someone else had been here to watch it with me, but nobody here likes real horror movies. They'll watch things like Saw, which is like saying you like rock music because you listen to Hinder - it doesn't count.
The best scene in Pieces posted below. Please click for an Oscar-worthy performance by a woman playing a tennis-pro/detective(?) She's just discovered the body of another tennis star (topless, naturally) cut up in the locker room (by a chainsaw, naturally).



I also have to watch the BBC version of Tipping the Velvet, which should be interesting. I'm not sure how the censors would even approach a story about cross-dressing homosexual vaudevillian prostitutes. I mean, even the title is a euphemism for cunnilingus! So what I'm really saying is that I was basically assigned to read a book and watch a 3-hour adaptation called Cunnilingus.
I've been imagining what euphemisms possible sequels would have for titles and trying to make up my own. All of them are gross and none are funny enough to repeat here. I like to imagine that, had the book been written using slang from American Victorian culture rather than British it would be called something like Pussy Lickin', which would undoubtedly sell books. Or some made up slang, like Jazzin' the Cat or Washing the Dishes.
What is wrong with me?

Girls Aloud Made Me Made Me Love Them

If you were to ask me which song most defined my Belfast experience it would have to be "The Promise" by Girls Aloud. You should really watch the video while trying not to hate it and simultaneously trying not to love it.



I've heard this song at least a hundred times since I landed here, none of them of my own free will. Unlike that shitty Kid Rock song and all of Katy Perry's songs which refuse to stop being popular here, this Girls Aloud song has entered my ear and begun to control me like the yerks from the Animorphs books. I don't like it or respect it, but it has turned my hatred for it into a grudging affection, even though it sounds like a hybrid of No Doubt with the Spice Girls at their euro-trashiest.
This video is also a good barometer for what the music scene is like here. In a word: shit. But Stockholm Syndrome has set in and I'm beginning to understand my captors and sympathize with them.

Runner ups:
The Saturdays - Up.
This song is a boring version of "Disturbia":



Who Da Funk - Shiny Disco Ball:
You may think this is the trashiest of euro-trash and you wouldn't be wrong. But don't get too snooty, Jack; the atrociously-named Who Da Funk are from the US. I feel dirty by association.

I'm grumpy

I haven't had much time or desire to write here lately, but this morning I slept through my class this morning, so I thought I'd catch up on my real work.
When I started this blog I was planning on steering away from the self-indulgent whinefest model that most take, but today's entry is an exception. Sorry!

The weather here has turned into pure, icy shit and my classes are superlame. I've realized that learning Old English is really hard and that I've neglected to do it. That and it's getting hard to force myself into actually working; my initiative has just gone out the window. Was it naive of me to think that we'd be reading translations of Old English and analyzing them, rather than translating them? Maybe. Either way, it's a shame because analysis takes a backseat to technicalities like syntax and gender. Being an English student, these things should be easy for me, but I'm really only an English student out of convenience - my plan committee wouldn't let me be a "liberal arts focus" because, though they acknowledged that I wasn't flaky some people chose that focus just because they were flaky and... they wanted to treat flakes and non-flakes equally. Or something? Alls I know is that Griff Maloney got the ok to be a liberal arts student and I didn't, so...
All that's fine, though, cuz I sure do like being an English major and readin' and junk. It's just that being out of my comfort zone and learning about verb clauses and the like is a real pain in the ass right now (whhiinne). How can I keep my mind from going somewhere else when this stuff is so boring! Can someone just put it all in a Schoolhouse Rock song or something?

Also frustrating: I finished The Way We Live Now (yay!) only to come to class and find that literally no one else had read it... and it was ok! (boo!) Not like it was ok because I misunderstood the directions, but just that the professor did not care. Are you telling me that I read a 750+ page Victorian novel about speculative capitalism just for shits and giggles? Yup.

Why? Because my Televising the Victorians class is not a class on adaptation (as it was billed) but a fake film studies class for lazy lit students who want to pretend they're film students but they don't want to read or take real film classes. And that includes my professor who throws out terms like mise en scene that he found in his jumbo film terms dictionary. All of the film knowledge this guy has shared with us comes verbatim from this stupid film terms book and not from actual film - which is fine, because my classmates haven't heard of films like Gone With the Wind. Not that they necessarily should, given that this is an English class, but we're not studying books here either, apparently.
So what are we studying? Amateur theories about how prop-placement and shot distance reflects character and motivation. Seriously. "In this shot they're seen together, indicating fellowship, only to be shot in seperate close-ups next, representing a fracturization of their relationship." Argh! No!

Mostly I'm just looking forward to going to Spain with my mom. We're both pretty exhausted and a break will be really nice. I'm definitely ready for the next and last phase of my overseas adventure. My plan is to grin and bear it and just gun through the remaining work I have, but it's a bit like pulling teeth. Which I guess means that my grin won't be that attractive when I'm done. (har har hurrrk) Send me a message and cheer me up!

Hey, while I have your attention, how about this funny video?: