29 June 2006
♥ making excuses
Maybe I use the world "sellout" too liberally. (Actually, I guess there isn't much I don't do pretty liberally.) But I use it a lot, as far as musicians go. If your band plays at the Pepsi Center in the middle of the summer, I'll call you a sellout. If you do a commercial for Victoria's Secret, Coca-Cola, or any other bigwig corporation, in my book, you are a sellout. Multivolume autobiographies? Sellout. Appearances on American Idol? Sellout. Movie cameos, product endorsement, songs about how America is going to kick everyone else's ass: all stink of sellout.
But here's the thing: there are a few artists in the world from whom I seem wholly unable to detach myself. I managed to walk if off last fall when I saw Bob Dylan cozying up to a lingerie-clad model and muttering something about being classy, something which I found to be profoundly ironic for the star of a new line of Vic's commercials. I'm even beginning to cope with the fact that The Last DJ, Tom Petty's "please-don't-sell-out" album, was, in fact, his sellout album. (In two days I'm going to see him at the Pepsi Center, and I'm hoping he'll do something to dispel my fears.)
Now, indie snob that I am, I find it to be perfectly acceptable when I hear a Belle and Sebastian tune in an indie flick. But a Pixar film?
I loved Over the Hedge. I giggled uncontrollably at all the right parts, and there was even a joke about amphibians, whose ongoing battle with reptilia I happen to feel very strongly about. In fact, I especially enjoyed the soundtrack.
Oh, I said, as the opening credits began to roll, this is Ben Folds! I adore Ben Folds!
Wait, what?
By the end - after hearing a slightly revamped version of "Rockin' the Suburbs" - I was beginning to feel a little queasy.
Doesn't it seem like selling out to change the lyrics of a perfectly anti-establishment song in order to please a few soccer moms? And selling yourself to a major movie production company? And just how much is he making off this movie, anyway?
But then I remembered something: it's Ben Folds. I can't give up on him quite yet.
So I listened to the words.
Compare the original version...
But here's the thing: there are a few artists in the world from whom I seem wholly unable to detach myself. I managed to walk if off last fall when I saw Bob Dylan cozying up to a lingerie-clad model and muttering something about being classy, something which I found to be profoundly ironic for the star of a new line of Vic's commercials. I'm even beginning to cope with the fact that The Last DJ, Tom Petty's "please-don't-sell-out" album, was, in fact, his sellout album. (In two days I'm going to see him at the Pepsi Center, and I'm hoping he'll do something to dispel my fears.)
Now, indie snob that I am, I find it to be perfectly acceptable when I hear a Belle and Sebastian tune in an indie flick. But a Pixar film?
I loved Over the Hedge. I giggled uncontrollably at all the right parts, and there was even a joke about amphibians, whose ongoing battle with reptilia I happen to feel very strongly about. In fact, I especially enjoyed the soundtrack.
Oh, I said, as the opening credits began to roll, this is Ben Folds! I adore Ben Folds!
Wait, what?
By the end - after hearing a slightly revamped version of "Rockin' the Suburbs" - I was beginning to feel a little queasy.
Doesn't it seem like selling out to change the lyrics of a perfectly anti-establishment song in order to please a few soccer moms? And selling yourself to a major movie production company? And just how much is he making off this movie, anyway?
But then I remembered something: it's Ben Folds. I can't give up on him quite yet.
So I listened to the words.
Compare the original version...
Let me tell y'all what it's like
Being male, middle-class and white
It's a bitch, if you don't believe
Listen up to my new CD
(Sha-mon)
I got shit runnin' throught my brain
It's so intense that I can't explain
All alone in my white-boy pain
Shake your booty while the band complains
I'm rockin' the suburbs
Just like Michael Jackson did
I'm rockin' the suburbs
Except that he was talented
I'm rockin' the suburbs
I take the checks and face the facts
As some producer with computers fixes all my shitty tracks
I'm pissed off but I'm too polite
When people break in the McDonald's line
Mom and Dad you made me so uptight
I'm gonna cuss on the mic tonight
I don't know how much I can take
Girl, give me something I can break
I'm rockin' the suburbs
Just like Quiet Riot did
I'm rockin' the suburbs
Except that they were talented
I'm rockin' the suburbs
I take the cheques and face the facts
That some producer with computers fixes all my shitty tracks
In a haze these days
I pull up to the stop light
I can feel that something's not right
I can feel that someone's blasting me with hate
And bass
Sendin' dirty vibes my way
'Cause my great great great great Grandad
Made someones' great great great great Grandaddies slaves
It wasn't my idea
It wasn't my idea
Never was my idea
I just drove to the store
For some Preparation-H
Y'all don't know what it's like
Being male, middle-class and white
Y'all don't know what it's like
Being male, middle-class and white
Y'all don't know what it's like
Being male, middle-class and white
Y'all don't know what it's like
Being male, middle class and white
It gets me real pissed off, it makes me wanna say
It gets me real pissed off and it makes me wanna say
It gets me real pissed off and it makes me wanna say
FUCK!
Just like Jon Bon Jovi did
I'm rockin' the suburbs
Except that he was talented
I'm rockin' the suburbs
I take the cheques and face the facts
That some producer with computers fixes all my shitty tracks
These days
Yeah yeah
I'm rockin' the suburbs
Yeah yeah
I'm rockin' the suburbs
Yeah yeah
You'd better look out, because I'm gonna say 'Fuck'
You'd better look out, because I'm gonna say 'Fuck'
You'd better look out, because I'm gonna say 'Fuck'
You'd better look out, because I'm gonna say 'Fuck'
...to the Over the Hedge remix.
Let me tell y'all what it's like
Watching Idol on a Friday night
In a house built safe and sound
On Indian burial grounds
(Sha-mon)
We drive our cars everyday
To and from work both ways
So we make just enough to pay
To drive our cars to work each day
We're rocking the suburbs
Around the block just one more time
We're rocking the suburbs
Cause I can't tell which house is mine
We're rocking the suburbs
We part the shades and face the facts
They got better looking Fescue
Right across the cul de sac
Hotwheels take rising stars
Get rich quick seminars
Soap opera magazines
40,000-watt nativity scenes
Don't freak about the smoke alarm
Mom left the TV dinner on
Yet we're rocking the suburbs
From Family Feud to Chevy Chase
We're rocking the suburbs
We numb the muscles in our face
We're rocking the suburbs
Feed the dog and mow the lawn
Watching mommy balance the checks
While daddy juggles credit cards
We're rocking the suburbs
Everything we need is here
We're rocking the suburbs
But it wasn't here last year
We're rocking the suburbs
You'll never know when we are gone
Because the timer lights come on
And turn the cricket noises on each night
Yeah, yeah, we're rocking the suburbs
Yeah, yeah, we're rocking the suburbs
Watching Idol on a Friday night
In a house built safe and sound
On Indian burial grounds
(Sha-mon)
We drive our cars everyday
To and from work both ways
So we make just enough to pay
To drive our cars to work each day
We're rocking the suburbs
Around the block just one more time
We're rocking the suburbs
Cause I can't tell which house is mine
We're rocking the suburbs
We part the shades and face the facts
They got better looking Fescue
Right across the cul de sac
Hotwheels take rising stars
Get rich quick seminars
Soap opera magazines
40,000-watt nativity scenes
Don't freak about the smoke alarm
Mom left the TV dinner on
Yet we're rocking the suburbs
From Family Feud to Chevy Chase
We're rocking the suburbs
We numb the muscles in our face
We're rocking the suburbs
Feed the dog and mow the lawn
Watching mommy balance the checks
While daddy juggles credit cards
We're rocking the suburbs
Everything we need is here
We're rocking the suburbs
But it wasn't here last year
We're rocking the suburbs
You'll never know when we are gone
Because the timer lights come on
And turn the cricket noises on each night
Yeah, yeah, we're rocking the suburbs
Yeah, yeah, we're rocking the suburbs
They sound the same, except the kid-friendly version replaces its use of "fuck" with some help from William Shatner. Seriously.
I was a little disappointed every time I tried to sing along and found myself hollering about Quiet Riot while Mr. Folds sang about not being able to tell which house was his.
And then it hit me: you're not selling out if the songs you rewrite still have the same meaning.
It's still pretty anti-establishment; the biting sarcasm is still there. It's not just a slightly diluted version of its former profanity-ridden self.
So I guess I'm okay with it. If he wanted to do a soundtrack, he picked an excellent movie to record it for. If a younger generation wants to experience the joys of Ben Folds without having their mommies confiscate their stereos, I guess I can't, in all fairness, deny them that.
Bob Dylan can't exactly use the same excuse.
I was a little disappointed every time I tried to sing along and found myself hollering about Quiet Riot while Mr. Folds sang about not being able to tell which house was his.
And then it hit me: you're not selling out if the songs you rewrite still have the same meaning.
It's still pretty anti-establishment; the biting sarcasm is still there. It's not just a slightly diluted version of its former profanity-ridden self.
So I guess I'm okay with it. If he wanted to do a soundtrack, he picked an excellent movie to record it for. If a younger generation wants to experience the joys of Ben Folds without having their mommies confiscate their stereos, I guess I can't, in all fairness, deny them that.
Bob Dylan can't exactly use the same excuse.
6/29/2006
28 June 2006
♥ an ode to helen thomas
Seeing your own name in print is a pretty exciting experience. I imagine it gets to be less novel the more you see it, though I've seen my name in the by-line of many an article and I still get that little flush-of-the-cheek every time I do.
I watched Helen Thomas on the Daily Show with Jon Stewart tonight. I've always admired her grit - she asks the kinds of questions at press conferences that she knows will earn her the cold shoulder - but when I really became interested in her as a journalist was on the eve of March 21, 2006, when Thomas stuck it to the man:
I guess my point here isn't that George Bush is an imbecile. We already know he's hardly literate enough to survive a press conference. We already know he's unfit to be the leader of the free world - he wasn't even elected! - and that he's made some of the costliest, most irresponsible decisions in the history of the United States, and we know that the competition in that area is pretty stiff.
My point here is that this is what journalism is about to me. It's about asking the questions that no one else is willing to. It's about writing - or saying - what you believe, no matter who disagrees with you. It's about not waiting in the shadows while you watch our civil liberties be squandered away; it's about making some noise when your phones are being tapped and your bank accounts are being watched.
We need a few more voters to stop sending text messages to American Idol and start hitting the polls to vote for something that really matters.
We need a few more grassroots campaigns.
We need a few more marches and rallies.
We need a few more responsible journalists.
Let's take our country back.
I watched Helen Thomas on the Daily Show with Jon Stewart tonight. I've always admired her grit - she asks the kinds of questions at press conferences that she knows will earn her the cold shoulder - but when I really became interested in her as a journalist was on the eve of March 21, 2006, when Thomas stuck it to the man:
HELEN THOMAS: I'd like to ask you, Mr. President, your decision to invade Iraq has caused the deaths of thousands of Americans and Iraqis, wounds of Americans and Iraqis for a lifetime. Every reason given, publicly at least, has turned out not to be true. My question is, why did you really want to go to war? From the moment you stepped into the White House, from your Cabinet -- your Cabinet officers, intelligence people, and so forth -- what was your real reason? You have said it wasn't oil -- quest for oil, it hasn't been Israel, or anything else. What was it?
PRESIDENT GEORGE W. BUSH: I think your premise, in all due respect to your question and to you as a lifelong journalist, is that, you know, I didn't want war. To assume I wanted war is just flat wrong, Helen, in all due respect --
THOMAS: Everything --
BUSH: Hold on for a second, please.
THOMAS: -- everything I've heard --
BUSH: Excuse me, excuse me. No president wants war. Everything you may have heard is that, but it's just simply not true. My attitude about the defense of this country changed on September the 11th. We -- when we got attacked, I vowed then and there to use every asset at my disposal to protect the American people. Our foreign policy changed on that day, Helen. You know, we used to think we were secure because of oceans and previous diplomacy, but we realized on September the 11th, 2001, that killers could destroy innocent life. And I'm never going to forget it. And I'm never going to forget the vow I made to the American people that we will do everything in our power to protect our people.
Part of that meant to make sure that we didn't allow people to provide safe haven to an enemy. And that's why I went into Iraq -- hold on for a second --
THOMAS: They didn't do anything to you or to our country.
BUSH: Look -- excuse me for a second, please. Excuse me for a second. They did. The Taliban provided safe haven for al-Qaeda. That's where al-Qaeda trained --
THOMAS: I'm talking about Iraq --
BUSH: Helen, excuse me. That's where -- Afghanistan provided safe haven for al-Qaeda. That's where they trained. That's where they plotted. That's where they planned the attacks that killed thousands of innocent Americans.
I also saw a threat in Iraq. I was hoping to solve this problem diplomatically. That's why I went to the Security Council; that's why it was important to pass 1441, which was unanimously passed. And the world said, ‘Disarm, disclose, or face serious consequences’ --
THOMAS: -- go to war --
BUSH: -- and therefore, we worked with the world, we worked to make sure that Saddam Hussein heard the message of the world. And when he chose to deny inspectors, when he chose not to disclose, then I had the difficult decision to make to remove him. And we did, and the world is safer for it.
Transcript courtesy of DemocracyNow.org
I guess my point here isn't that George Bush is an imbecile. We already know he's hardly literate enough to survive a press conference. We already know he's unfit to be the leader of the free world - he wasn't even elected! - and that he's made some of the costliest, most irresponsible decisions in the history of the United States, and we know that the competition in that area is pretty stiff.
My point here is that this is what journalism is about to me. It's about asking the questions that no one else is willing to. It's about writing - or saying - what you believe, no matter who disagrees with you. It's about not waiting in the shadows while you watch our civil liberties be squandered away; it's about making some noise when your phones are being tapped and your bank accounts are being watched.
We need a few more voters to stop sending text messages to American Idol and start hitting the polls to vote for something that really matters.
We need a few more grassroots campaigns.
We need a few more marches and rallies.
We need a few more responsible journalists.
Let's take our country back.
6/28/2006
21 June 2006
♥ an inconvenient lack of new movies
Apparently there are not enough animators in the world to make enough movies to sustain Tor and me for a couple of months at a time, so last night we answered our collective social conscience and went to see An Inconvenient Truth. Unfortunately, Mr. Gore was preaching to the choir, as the only people who are probably going to see his movie are already a bunch of bleeding-heart liberals (such as yours truly, apparently) who already know that we need to curb global warming.
Actually, I'm such a treehugging hippie that I almost cried as Gore explained that global warming would eventually bring about the rapid extinction of many species, including the polar bear. As he outlined the reasons for the death of our furry white friends - a lack of ice is a major concern, as bears will have to swim 80 or more miles to actual land-based ice, which they often don't find in time to keep them from drowning, a cute animated polar bear appeared on the screen and swam to a little chunk of floating ice, which he pawed at rather adorably and then looked somewhat dismayed when it broke up and melted away. I seriously almost cried. Okay, fine. I cried.
Anyway, me being a bleeding-heart liberal is beside the point. I'm sure you're all sick of what-is-this-world-coming-to posts, but I just can't help myself on this particular issue.
So we're sitting in the theatre, waiting for our little socially conscious indie flick to begin, and the previews start. As usual, they were all for remakes of movies, sequels to movies, and / or books-into-movies. There were no movies that I have not already seen or read.
This observation prompted Tor and me to begin our ritualistic pre-movie conversation, which goes something like this:
Me: "Are they EVER going to just make a NEW movie?"
Tor: "No, honey. We go through this every time we see a movie."
Every time.
Anyway, there was an actual point to this post. The point was, I had something of an epiphany.
It was one of those moments where you realize that humanity is circling the drain. I saw a preview for World Trade Center, a new Nicholas Cage flick in which he plays a member of the NYPD. The movie takes place on September 11, 2001, and the plot involves shamelessly exploiting a horribly tragic event for the sake of raking in some big box-office profits.
I couldn't believe my eyes as I watched the preview. At first I thought maybe it would turn out to be some kind of ridiculous hoax, and at the end Michael Moore would march out and say to the audience (yeah, all 6 of us), "Wasn't that disgusting? Aren't you glad no one has the kind of gall to ACTUALLY make a movie like that?"
My answer, had he stepped out of the shadows, would have been yes to both.
But he didn't. It just kept going and going, until the tagline finally blinked its way onto the newly-soiled movie screen: "The world saw evil that day. Two men saw something else."
Seriously?
Pearl Harbor was based on the events of December 7, 1941, during which Japanese forces conducted an air raid on the U.S. Naval base from which the movie gets its title in Hawaii. The movie won 8 prestigious awards, including an Oscar for its special effects.
And even if it's not about terrorists, Titanic was based on a similarly catastophic event and won 87 awards, 11 of which were Oscars.
So I think it's safe to say that this exploitative piece of cinematic garbage will find itself swimming in piles of cash, and possibly even win awards for what will more than likely be something of a train wreck, the sort of scene which people can't keep themselves away from even when they are utterly horrified.
At least the makers of Titanic and Pearl Harbor were able to hold off for half a century or more. In the cases of Flight 93 and World Trade Center, however, the producers couldn't even keep their greedy paws off for five years.
The point I'm trying to make, I guess, is that the events of that day are not to be used as a cash cow. I hate saying "the terrorists," (I find invariably that I sound terrifyingly similar to our theif-in-chief) but I'm going to here anyway. I think that's what they're expecting. They - the terrorists - have this view of Westerners, Americans especially, that we do nothing but produce waste and wallow in our own laziness, selfishness, dishonesty, and greed.
Obviously, starting a war on false pretenses wasn't a great start to disproving these sentiments. The fact that we're still dawdling around in the Middle East with no apparent goal or exit strategy doesn't exactly speak to our vast intellect, either. We never have found Osama bin Laden; our answer to Saddam Hussein was to keep him around in his boxers eating Doritoes for six months. When "coalition" forces dropped two 500-pound bombs on al Qaeda's number one man, the media didn't treat it like a tragic necessity, but an exciting event worth celebrating and, in the epitome of revolting barbarianism, plastered photos of his corpse all over the news under the headline "We got him!"
We haven't exactly proved ourselves thus far. Of course killing people is wrong; what kind of hippie would I be to deny it? I believe, as much as any upstanding citizen, that anyone who uses the deaths of innocent civilians to make a point is seriously warped. But I think we can't just sit back anymore and act like it's someone else's fault that the rest of the world hates us.
Not profitting by the thousands of unnecessary deaths would be a good start. I don't think I'll ever get through Moonstruck again.
Actually, I'm such a treehugging hippie that I almost cried as Gore explained that global warming would eventually bring about the rapid extinction of many species, including the polar bear. As he outlined the reasons for the death of our furry white friends - a lack of ice is a major concern, as bears will have to swim 80 or more miles to actual land-based ice, which they often don't find in time to keep them from drowning, a cute animated polar bear appeared on the screen and swam to a little chunk of floating ice, which he pawed at rather adorably and then looked somewhat dismayed when it broke up and melted away. I seriously almost cried. Okay, fine. I cried.
Anyway, me being a bleeding-heart liberal is beside the point. I'm sure you're all sick of what-is-this-world-coming-to posts, but I just can't help myself on this particular issue.
So we're sitting in the theatre, waiting for our little socially conscious indie flick to begin, and the previews start. As usual, they were all for remakes of movies, sequels to movies, and / or books-into-movies. There were no movies that I have not already seen or read.
This observation prompted Tor and me to begin our ritualistic pre-movie conversation, which goes something like this:
Me: "Are they EVER going to just make a NEW movie?"
Tor: "No, honey. We go through this every time we see a movie."
Every time.
Anyway, there was an actual point to this post. The point was, I had something of an epiphany.
It was one of those moments where you realize that humanity is circling the drain. I saw a preview for World Trade Center, a new Nicholas Cage flick in which he plays a member of the NYPD. The movie takes place on September 11, 2001, and the plot involves shamelessly exploiting a horribly tragic event for the sake of raking in some big box-office profits.
I couldn't believe my eyes as I watched the preview. At first I thought maybe it would turn out to be some kind of ridiculous hoax, and at the end Michael Moore would march out and say to the audience (yeah, all 6 of us), "Wasn't that disgusting? Aren't you glad no one has the kind of gall to ACTUALLY make a movie like that?"
My answer, had he stepped out of the shadows, would have been yes to both.
But he didn't. It just kept going and going, until the tagline finally blinked its way onto the newly-soiled movie screen: "The world saw evil that day. Two men saw something else."
Seriously?
Pearl Harbor was based on the events of December 7, 1941, during which Japanese forces conducted an air raid on the U.S. Naval base from which the movie gets its title in Hawaii. The movie won 8 prestigious awards, including an Oscar for its special effects.
And even if it's not about terrorists, Titanic was based on a similarly catastophic event and won 87 awards, 11 of which were Oscars.
So I think it's safe to say that this exploitative piece of cinematic garbage will find itself swimming in piles of cash, and possibly even win awards for what will more than likely be something of a train wreck, the sort of scene which people can't keep themselves away from even when they are utterly horrified.
At least the makers of Titanic and Pearl Harbor were able to hold off for half a century or more. In the cases of Flight 93 and World Trade Center, however, the producers couldn't even keep their greedy paws off for five years.
The point I'm trying to make, I guess, is that the events of that day are not to be used as a cash cow. I hate saying "the terrorists," (I find invariably that I sound terrifyingly similar to our theif-in-chief) but I'm going to here anyway. I think that's what they're expecting. They - the terrorists - have this view of Westerners, Americans especially, that we do nothing but produce waste and wallow in our own laziness, selfishness, dishonesty, and greed.
Obviously, starting a war on false pretenses wasn't a great start to disproving these sentiments. The fact that we're still dawdling around in the Middle East with no apparent goal or exit strategy doesn't exactly speak to our vast intellect, either. We never have found Osama bin Laden; our answer to Saddam Hussein was to keep him around in his boxers eating Doritoes for six months. When "coalition" forces dropped two 500-pound bombs on al Qaeda's number one man, the media didn't treat it like a tragic necessity, but an exciting event worth celebrating and, in the epitome of revolting barbarianism, plastered photos of his corpse all over the news under the headline "We got him!"
We haven't exactly proved ourselves thus far. Of course killing people is wrong; what kind of hippie would I be to deny it? I believe, as much as any upstanding citizen, that anyone who uses the deaths of innocent civilians to make a point is seriously warped. But I think we can't just sit back anymore and act like it's someone else's fault that the rest of the world hates us.
Not profitting by the thousands of unnecessary deaths would be a good start. I don't think I'll ever get through Moonstruck again.
6/21/2006
19 June 2006
♥ fern gully
Lately I've been thinking that maybe cartoons are the only movies worth watching. Everything else is full of violence and exploitation, things which - by principal - I'm against. Animated features, on the other end, tend to have at least a couple of morally upstanding characters, a relatively conceivable plot, and, in the end, a meaningful lesson to be taught.
Imagine my dismay, then, when I stood atop a hill in what used to be miles and miles of open space and saw that where there used to be a quiet creekside trail, there was now a sidewalk. What used to be home to dozens of cute furry creatures is now the site of million-dollar homes, the likes of which would house eight or more families in any country but America.
It was pretty disheartening, in the middle of my run, to discover that Fern Gully - a favorite cartoon of mine - was unfolding right in my middle-of-nowhere backyard. Okay, there were no fairies or smog monsters named Hexxus, but the principle remains: suburbia is coming to BFE.
A few workers on their lunch break waved at me genially, unaware that they were destroying what was once a pristine wildlife habitat in the name of growth and expansion. Other than that and a few awkward glances from supervisors whose job it probably was to tell me to stay away (I was running with my rather gigantic doberman, who, even with his floppy ears, causes the idea of approaching me to be unappealing at best), no one noticed as I stood, breathless, in the middle of the constuction site.
Where do Westerners - no, people - get off? Who do we think we are, ravaging a beautiful landscape to make way for more Burger Kings and swimming pools? No one's living there, they said, let's build some houses.
But they didn't stop to think that someone was living there.
An entire ecosystem was living there, complete with a pond teeming with aquatic creatures, a thickly wooded area virtually overflowing with wildlife, and a skyfull of endangered predatory birds. They were here first. They've been here for hundreds, maybe thousands of years. You think your grandparents worked hard? Try being an endangered species of jackrabbit or a colony of rare beetles. House payments are the least of your worries, as you're struggling to survive.
Call me a hippie, a treehugger, a hopelessly naive idealist. Call me whatever you want, say I'm exaggerating or being melodramatic, but this matters. We don't need another mundane suburban community just like all the others before it. We don't need any more urban sprawl. We don't need to be supersized, we don't need to live in little boxes made of ticky tacky (points for you if you are now humming that song to yourself), we don't need all this stuff. We all have too much stuff.
We need to stop thinking so much about whether we can, and start thinking a hell of a lot more about whether we should.
Imagine my dismay, then, when I stood atop a hill in what used to be miles and miles of open space and saw that where there used to be a quiet creekside trail, there was now a sidewalk. What used to be home to dozens of cute furry creatures is now the site of million-dollar homes, the likes of which would house eight or more families in any country but America.
It was pretty disheartening, in the middle of my run, to discover that Fern Gully - a favorite cartoon of mine - was unfolding right in my middle-of-nowhere backyard. Okay, there were no fairies or smog monsters named Hexxus, but the principle remains: suburbia is coming to BFE.
A few workers on their lunch break waved at me genially, unaware that they were destroying what was once a pristine wildlife habitat in the name of growth and expansion. Other than that and a few awkward glances from supervisors whose job it probably was to tell me to stay away (I was running with my rather gigantic doberman, who, even with his floppy ears, causes the idea of approaching me to be unappealing at best), no one noticed as I stood, breathless, in the middle of the constuction site.
Where do Westerners - no, people - get off? Who do we think we are, ravaging a beautiful landscape to make way for more Burger Kings and swimming pools? No one's living there, they said, let's build some houses.
But they didn't stop to think that someone was living there.
An entire ecosystem was living there, complete with a pond teeming with aquatic creatures, a thickly wooded area virtually overflowing with wildlife, and a skyfull of endangered predatory birds. They were here first. They've been here for hundreds, maybe thousands of years. You think your grandparents worked hard? Try being an endangered species of jackrabbit or a colony of rare beetles. House payments are the least of your worries, as you're struggling to survive.
Call me a hippie, a treehugger, a hopelessly naive idealist. Call me whatever you want, say I'm exaggerating or being melodramatic, but this matters. We don't need another mundane suburban community just like all the others before it. We don't need any more urban sprawl. We don't need to be supersized, we don't need to live in little boxes made of ticky tacky (points for you if you are now humming that song to yourself), we don't need all this stuff. We all have too much stuff.
We need to stop thinking so much about whether we can, and start thinking a hell of a lot more about whether we should.
6/19/2006
16 June 2006
♥ hate is a strong word
And yet, I have no problem saying that I hate Ann Coulter. I hate her. There is absolutely no way around it. I hate her so much that I would actually find some kind of creepy sadistic pleasure from yanking her eyeballs so far out of their sockets that she actually witnesses her own vicious beating. That's how much I hate her.
It's not because she says horrible things like that she's never seen anyone "enjoying their husbands' deaths" as much as these women who were widowed by terrorists. It's not because she has some kind of irritating pathological aversion to checking her facts. It's not even because she's a complete idiot who has absolutely no idea what she's babbling about and thinks that it's insulting to call someone a liberal. Because as much as I fundamentally disagree with her - I'd even go so far as to say that she's wrong - I value my right to free speech as much as anything else in this world, and I'd die defending mine, Ann Coulter's, or anyone else's.
It's because she actually seems to think, by some stretch of the imagination, that she writes well.
I can almost never stay awake past the ten o'clock news, but the other night I noticed in the paper (underneath an article about Ann Coulter that made me feel positively wrathful) that the guests on Leno that night would be The Queen of Darkness herself and none other than George Carlin. So, obviously, I couldn't resist. I was hoping he'd just go apeshit and kill her.
He didn't. He just kind of sat there, taking it like a gentlemen, while she spewed her hateful poison and lies all over Leno's nice upholsterey.
She started by bringing up some joke he'd told in his monologue the other night - something about Ann Coulter being worried about Dorothy's house dropping on her - and said, in the most positively self-righteous voice imaginable, "The way I see it, I'm Dorothy, and I just dropped my house on the mainstream media!" I wanted to vomit.
The mainstream media?! The problem with the mainstream media is people like Ann Coulter. It's her, and Bill O'Reilly, and Brit Hume, and Rush Limbaugh, and Sean Hannity, and any other neo-con pundit you can think of. Of course, I can't just blame it all on Focus on the Family. (Though I would like to suggest that they focus on their own damn families and keep their large, in Reverend Dobson's case, noses out of everyone else's. Maybe he'll have some standing about what makes a wholesome family in my book when his sexual harassment suit has been settled. Haha, just kidding.) We can't all look at everything from a strictly liberal perspective. Because then, duh, we'd have world peace, and then what excuse would we have to pillage Middle Eastern oil?
Anyway. She kept babbling about how this was her least edited book (clearly) and once she even had the gall to allow Leno to read a particularly offensive passage from her newest shitrag, Godless: The Church of Liberalism, on the basis that she "loves to hear her words." Yeah. Okay. And the thing that really pissed me off - and only a little bit because it was true - was that when Leno asked her if she cared that the only thing she can ever do right is piss people off (not in those exact words), she gets this smug little look on her face and goes, "Well, I think that's debatable, as my book is the #1 bestseller in the country right now." (This only goes to prove the old adage that "There's no such thing as bad publicity." No, wait, that wasn't the one I was thinking of. It was ANN COULTER IS A MORON. )
If I may:
GAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
Sorry. The fact that I actually found myself shrieking at the TV while I watched it made me feel the need to yell at unsuspecting readers on my website.
Anyway, there's not much I can say about Ann Coulter that I haven't already. It's really chic right now to hate her, which I guess I should be glad about.
The only good thing about Ann Coulter is that she reminds me that as dumb as anyone is, we all have the right to say something about it, though if the administration she supports gets their way, it will be 1984 and we won't have that luxury.
We need more people who will stand up to George Bush's ugly little face and question his motives. We need fewer followers and more leaders. We need more Helen Thomases in this world. We need fewer Ann Coulters.
It's not because she says horrible things like that she's never seen anyone "enjoying their husbands' deaths" as much as these women who were widowed by terrorists. It's not because she has some kind of irritating pathological aversion to checking her facts. It's not even because she's a complete idiot who has absolutely no idea what she's babbling about and thinks that it's insulting to call someone a liberal. Because as much as I fundamentally disagree with her - I'd even go so far as to say that she's wrong - I value my right to free speech as much as anything else in this world, and I'd die defending mine, Ann Coulter's, or anyone else's.
It's because she actually seems to think, by some stretch of the imagination, that she writes well.
I can almost never stay awake past the ten o'clock news, but the other night I noticed in the paper (underneath an article about Ann Coulter that made me feel positively wrathful) that the guests on Leno that night would be The Queen of Darkness herself and none other than George Carlin. So, obviously, I couldn't resist. I was hoping he'd just go apeshit and kill her.
He didn't. He just kind of sat there, taking it like a gentlemen, while she spewed her hateful poison and lies all over Leno's nice upholsterey.
She started by bringing up some joke he'd told in his monologue the other night - something about Ann Coulter being worried about Dorothy's house dropping on her - and said, in the most positively self-righteous voice imaginable, "The way I see it, I'm Dorothy, and I just dropped my house on the mainstream media!" I wanted to vomit.
The mainstream media?! The problem with the mainstream media is people like Ann Coulter. It's her, and Bill O'Reilly, and Brit Hume, and Rush Limbaugh, and Sean Hannity, and any other neo-con pundit you can think of. Of course, I can't just blame it all on Focus on the Family. (Though I would like to suggest that they focus on their own damn families and keep their large, in Reverend Dobson's case, noses out of everyone else's. Maybe he'll have some standing about what makes a wholesome family in my book when his sexual harassment suit has been settled. Haha, just kidding.) We can't all look at everything from a strictly liberal perspective. Because then, duh, we'd have world peace, and then what excuse would we have to pillage Middle Eastern oil?
Anyway. She kept babbling about how this was her least edited book (clearly) and once she even had the gall to allow Leno to read a particularly offensive passage from her newest shitrag, Godless: The Church of Liberalism, on the basis that she "loves to hear her words." Yeah. Okay. And the thing that really pissed me off - and only a little bit because it was true - was that when Leno asked her if she cared that the only thing she can ever do right is piss people off (not in those exact words), she gets this smug little look on her face and goes, "Well, I think that's debatable, as my book is the #1 bestseller in the country right now." (This only goes to prove the old adage that "There's no such thing as bad publicity." No, wait, that wasn't the one I was thinking of. It was ANN COULTER IS A MORON. )
If I may:
GAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
Sorry. The fact that I actually found myself shrieking at the TV while I watched it made me feel the need to yell at unsuspecting readers on my website.
Anyway, there's not much I can say about Ann Coulter that I haven't already. It's really chic right now to hate her, which I guess I should be glad about.
The only good thing about Ann Coulter is that she reminds me that as dumb as anyone is, we all have the right to say something about it, though if the administration she supports gets their way, it will be 1984 and we won't have that luxury.
We need more people who will stand up to George Bush's ugly little face and question his motives. We need fewer followers and more leaders. We need more Helen Thomases in this world. We need fewer Ann Coulters.
6/16/2006
07 June 2006
♥ a musing on love
My friends have always defined who I am, how I think of myself. I have a lot of close friends, but I think it's safe to say that there's one person - and she knows who she is - who is rather an extension of my being. Even if she hates Tom Petty, even if she's dated two-thirds of the band which I consider to be something of, well, the antichrist, even if sometimes we fight like sisters, I know that we are, in every way, connected. We were thrown into the same G/T classes by fate, but we chose to be friends, and I think that's how things will always be. So, as a disclaimer, let me just say that I think I'm something of an authority on friendship love, if you know what I mean. I think I've been about as lucky as they come as far as friends go, because I've got the coolest best friend I could ask for. That said, let me babble a bit about falling-in-love love.
I've always felt like love was when you think about the same person every time a sappy song comes on the radio. That just seems to fit, doesn't it? I don't mean, like, "I think about Nick Lachey every time a love song comes on the mix station because he's got a smokin' bod," I mean like, you think about Cedric or whoever from your physics class and as the singer is singing about how groovy whoever the song is about is, you picture you and Cedric doing whatever they're talking about.
But lately, I've been thinking that maybe love isn't just kissing beneath the milky twilight and following each other into the dark. Maybe it's not just listening to the rhythm of your hearts or seeing one another's true colors. Maybe it's something more than that.
But what do I know about love? I'm not self-righteous enough to believe that I have all the answers; I'm just as inexperienced as the next girl. But I think I'm begining to have an idea about what love is.
Sometimes, when everything seems to have gone wrong, when you look in the mirror and can't believe people didn't laugh at you when you walked down the hall, when you're just starting an essay the night before it's due and you know you're going to get two hours of sleep and look like hell in the morning, when your parents are at the end of their collective rope and ready to ban you from going out till the end of the semester, when everything is so screwed up you don't even know where to begin, love steps in and takes care of you. Or rather, someone does it in the name of love.
Sometimes, when your day makes you question whether you maybe actually could throw yourself those last few steps in front of the subway, someone calls just to tell you how beautiful you are. And there's nothing, absolutely nothing like it in the world.
So what I've realized in the last year, Tor, is that love isn't just getting choked up every time I hear "The Luckiest" or falling asleep next to Cookie Monster every night. It's not just thinking of you every time "Learning to Fly" comes up on shuffle or reading things you've written me over and over. Love is this feeling that, for the first time, has made me not an entirely self-absorbed person.
I think love is when you feel so strongly for someone that you would do anything - absolutely anything - for them. You would give up your most prized possession, you would sacrifice your own happiness to maintain theirs. But everyone says that. The really spectacular thing, the thing that every other Valentine's Day card doesn't say, is that it doesn't feel like a sacrifice, because giving something to that person, seeing them happy, is the most rewarding thing in the world.
I've always felt like love was when you think about the same person every time a sappy song comes on the radio. That just seems to fit, doesn't it? I don't mean, like, "I think about Nick Lachey every time a love song comes on the mix station because he's got a smokin' bod," I mean like, you think about Cedric or whoever from your physics class and as the singer is singing about how groovy whoever the song is about is, you picture you and Cedric doing whatever they're talking about.
But lately, I've been thinking that maybe love isn't just kissing beneath the milky twilight and following each other into the dark. Maybe it's not just listening to the rhythm of your hearts or seeing one another's true colors. Maybe it's something more than that.
But what do I know about love? I'm not self-righteous enough to believe that I have all the answers; I'm just as inexperienced as the next girl. But I think I'm begining to have an idea about what love is.
Sometimes, when everything seems to have gone wrong, when you look in the mirror and can't believe people didn't laugh at you when you walked down the hall, when you're just starting an essay the night before it's due and you know you're going to get two hours of sleep and look like hell in the morning, when your parents are at the end of their collective rope and ready to ban you from going out till the end of the semester, when everything is so screwed up you don't even know where to begin, love steps in and takes care of you. Or rather, someone does it in the name of love.
Sometimes, when your day makes you question whether you maybe actually could throw yourself those last few steps in front of the subway, someone calls just to tell you how beautiful you are. And there's nothing, absolutely nothing like it in the world.
So what I've realized in the last year, Tor, is that love isn't just getting choked up every time I hear "The Luckiest" or falling asleep next to Cookie Monster every night. It's not just thinking of you every time "Learning to Fly" comes up on shuffle or reading things you've written me over and over. Love is this feeling that, for the first time, has made me not an entirely self-absorbed person.
I think love is when you feel so strongly for someone that you would do anything - absolutely anything - for them. You would give up your most prized possession, you would sacrifice your own happiness to maintain theirs. But everyone says that. The really spectacular thing, the thing that every other Valentine's Day card doesn't say, is that it doesn't feel like a sacrifice, because giving something to that person, seeing them happy, is the most rewarding thing in the world.
6/07/2006
