I'll admit it, this Amanda Knox thing has got me a bit wigged. I haven't been following the trial very closely, so I don't know what kind of evidence she was convicted on, but I can't help but feel a sense of "there but for the grace of God..." when reading about her accounts. Not so much because the drug and orgy aspect, but because she was an American student studying abroad and may, in fact, be innocent. Who knows? The idea of getting in legal trouble in a country not my own terrifies me, so good thing Gawker posted this handy list of ways to avoid such a predicament.
Words to live by.
Showing posts with label articles. Show all posts
Showing posts with label articles. Show all posts
Monday, December 7, 2009
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Low and High
Two things I felt were worth sharing this morning:
1) I admit it, I've read the Twilight books. Yes, yes, all four. And no, I don't get a pass for the fact that a) they were my sister's and b) by the time I was 20 pages into the fourth I was making audible sounds of pain, the terrible plot and name "Renesme" still burned into my brain and haunting my dreams. And I really, really don't get a pass for having rented the film on iTunes while packing for America. I gave them legal tender, and thus helped enable this terrifying juggernaut of teenage angst and pining. No amount of regret can reclaim those two hours of my life or two dollars of my wallet, and I feel that in itself is punishment enough...I have said it many times, and will say it many times more-- the way the "Twilight Saga" makes me feel is identical to the sensation you get when you are hooking up with someone and then you realize you don't really want to be any more. Awkward, embarrassed, shameful, a little unclean, palpably uncomfortable and longing for selective memory loss. You can walk away from the encounter, but the flashbacks live on.
So I felt a little better once I read A. V. Club's Twilight edition of their I Watched This on Purpose feature. It helped explain to me things I didn't even fully understand myself about why I actually went through with the whole crushing experience. It didn't give me that time or money back, and it didn't restore my dignity, but I think it has helped give me the tools to move on and put this whole incident behind me.
2) You know what also helps clear away my rueful haze? Reflecting on things that are NOT terrible. Like Sherlock Holmes. The real Sherlock Holmes of Conan Doyle's books, though. I will reserve my judgement on this whole Downey-Law-Ritchie thing, but I CAN say that, even if the movie is terrible, it's still going to make Holmes a very popular cat this season, and that's cool. Because then you get things like Londonist's map of Holmes' London. Seriously, these people are more obsessive than even I am, and that's why I love them.
1) I admit it, I've read the Twilight books. Yes, yes, all four. And no, I don't get a pass for the fact that a) they were my sister's and b) by the time I was 20 pages into the fourth I was making audible sounds of pain, the terrible plot and name "Renesme" still burned into my brain and haunting my dreams. And I really, really don't get a pass for having rented the film on iTunes while packing for America. I gave them legal tender, and thus helped enable this terrifying juggernaut of teenage angst and pining. No amount of regret can reclaim those two hours of my life or two dollars of my wallet, and I feel that in itself is punishment enough...I have said it many times, and will say it many times more-- the way the "Twilight Saga" makes me feel is identical to the sensation you get when you are hooking up with someone and then you realize you don't really want to be any more. Awkward, embarrassed, shameful, a little unclean, palpably uncomfortable and longing for selective memory loss. You can walk away from the encounter, but the flashbacks live on.
So I felt a little better once I read A. V. Club's Twilight edition of their I Watched This on Purpose feature. It helped explain to me things I didn't even fully understand myself about why I actually went through with the whole crushing experience. It didn't give me that time or money back, and it didn't restore my dignity, but I think it has helped give me the tools to move on and put this whole incident behind me.
2) You know what also helps clear away my rueful haze? Reflecting on things that are NOT terrible. Like Sherlock Holmes. The real Sherlock Holmes of Conan Doyle's books, though. I will reserve my judgement on this whole Downey-Law-Ritchie thing, but I CAN say that, even if the movie is terrible, it's still going to make Holmes a very popular cat this season, and that's cool. Because then you get things like Londonist's map of Holmes' London. Seriously, these people are more obsessive than even I am, and that's why I love them.
Friday, November 6, 2009
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
I Read Vanity Fair So You Don't Have To (And Other Stories)
If this were a conversation, rather than a blog post, it would be continuously and spontaneously interrupted by my bursting out with random lyrics from Taylor Swift's 'Love Story' since that song is now inexplicably embedded in my brain. Luckily for you, it IS a blog post and I don't have the energy or investment to interject my thoughts with typed out lyrics. Consider yourselves blessed.
While Alec, and others of a higher intellectual capacity than myself, go to New Yorker for their high-falutin' magazine needs, I have developed a deep love for the one-rung-lower Vanity Fair. I've always had some sort of affection for the 'zine, mostly built around its stunning photographs of Hollywood stars and the true crime writings of Dominic Dunne, but I've recently found myself reading it cover to cover and enjoying every bit of it. The most recent issue is especially good, which is why I'm now going to indulge in a little recap and reflection.
What's a Culture Snob to Do? by James Wolcott Possibly my favorite article of the issue was the first one I read, a look by Wolcott at how the digitization of things like books and music is changing how we define ourselves and how we telegraph that definition to others. His first example is the New York City subway as travelling library, where you can judge those reading Twilight and simultaneously show off your Strand purchased copy of The Sound and the Fury (or whatever it is that passe for intellectual these days). An on-again-off-again New Yorker myself, I 100% understand where he's coming from. I often would take stock of my fellow passengers and their reading material while on the 6 and, yes, I also developed insta-crushes on any male in my age bracket caught reading something I deemed crush-worthy (which, if you know me, is almost anything...reading is sexy, guys, keep doing it). Seeing someone read a book you just finished or completely love, even if you don't talk, is a way of making an insta-connection in a city (and, increasingly, a world) where it's easy and acceptable to cut yourself off. Likewise, brandishing a tome of your own is a way of inviting conversation, albeit a somewhat passive aggressive way. It's putting a little bit of yourself out there, and I like that.
Wolcott goes on to examine music and DVDs. Here, again, I am guilty. Despite owning everything as an MP3, I try and eventually grab all of my music in hard copy form as well, mostly because I like the way they look and I like a scan of my music collection says about me as a person. In this case, it's less about conveying that message to others, since I don't think anyone (save my mother or my sister searching for a pilfered CD) has ever seen my music in its non-computerized form, but I like it. Ditto with DVDs. As egotistical as it is, I like surrounding myself with reflections of myself. In moments of doubt I can look around me and say "Well, I don't know what I'm doing with my life, but I do know I'm the kind of person who has both "The Royal Tenenbaums" AND "The Care Bears Movie," and so I think I'm doing okay." It's totally weird and doesn't make any difference in the long run, but I like it.
Which is Wolcott's point. What would give me that feeling if I didn't have these collections of things as touch stones? In myself? In some higher, more cerebral way would I still be able to define myself? They are interesting questions, and, having had only a few hours to process them, I don't have the answers yet. But I will enjoy puzzling.
No, Prime Minister by Christopher Hitchens A two-page sketch of the "Nixonian" monster British Prime Minister Gordon Brown has become. I admit, my Anglophilia has not quite gone so far as to absorb their politics (I'm only now engaging with ours on any real level), but it was illuminating insofar as that I had no idea he was so nutty.
Politico's Washington Coup by Michael Wolff Politico became my gold-standard website for election coverage last fall. I mourn the loss of the GOP/Dem blogs now that the campaigns are done, but I still check in occasionally to see what's going on down the street, so I enjoyed the look at how Politico both came and continues to be. The ultra-specific/ultra-general dichotomy between Politico and large media outlets like The Washington Post is interesting and makes me regret even more the failure of TIME magazine's experiment in personalized news (sadly, the name of that publication has already slipped my memory).
I worry about the death of print anything, in part because of the issue presented by Wolcott, but also because I just genuinely prefer words on a page rather than words on a screen. It was reassuring, then, to find out the Poltico website gave birth to the publication as opposed to vice-versa, but I still worry. The sheer immediacy is what makes the website and the blogosphere exciting, and, because of that immediacy, information is parsed out in bite-sized morsels. If you're working a temp job, that's invaluable for entertainment and time-killing reasons, but in the real world? Does that help or hurt? Not sure. Furthermore, the accusation that Politico feeds into insider-only atmosphere of Washington is valid. The campaign was different because everything led back to two (or four) main players, but now the site has become are more obtuse, for better or worse.
The Last Days of Heath by Bruce Weber I'm still upset by the death of Heath Ledger. Nothing in this article is really new or ground breaking, save maybe for further insight into his last movie, but it does remind you that we lost someone of incredible promise.
Of course, there's a part of me that questions why we still need to be talking about it, or why any celebrity's death garners the attention it gets. I didn't know this man in any way and any further discussion seems to border on voyeurism. As a co-worker of mine just pointed out RE: The Michael Jackson memorial, he was a talented guy, but what about the seven soldiers killed in Afghanistan yesterday? Why don't we hear about them? Why do I know Heath Ledger's massage schedule but not their names?
And yet, I read the article. So I guess there's the answer right there.
It Came From Wasilla by Todd S. Purdum This is it! The one! The profile of everyone's favorite bat-shit crazy wingnut pitbull in lipstick we've all been hearin' tell about, you betcha! And...I don't know that we learn anything new, though there was this delightful tidbit:
Also illuminating was the fact that she basically blew off any kind of interview or debate prep they attempted to give her and she basically doesn't seemed engaged with any issue whatsoever.
In case you haven't picked up on it, I am not a Palin fan. To speak truth, I loathe the woman. Loathe. The site of her brings with it a rising of bile and (occasionally) an audible sound of disgust mixed with strangled rage. Her nomination acceptance speech brought tears to my eyes that not only did I share citizenship with this woman, but I lived in country with people who thought her fantastic. If I ever wound up in the same room as her, I would have to leave. I see her as a real-live Dolores Umbridge only so much worse and it is my fervent prayer her stepping down from the governor's office means she she can crawl back into her polar-bear-pelt-lined cave of ignorance and self righteousness and never bother us again. But, alas, I fear it is not to be.
I often preach hearing out the other side and trying to see the best in people, but that woman drives me to a place no other being can.
...oh, but the article...yeah. It's good. Go read it.
//
And I haven't even gotten to my responses on Julia Child, the Tim Burton "Alice" photos or the 1930's film portfolio! Do you see why I love this magazine? It's fantastic.
There were also some musings on health care reform I was going to get into (I can sense your disappointment from here), but I feel I'm already pushing the limits of your patience and attention span. Best to quite while I'm only slightly behind. Besides, there's a whole three days more of temp job excitement. Can't waste all my insights now, can I?
Oh, and in case you were wondering...I did in fact finish I am Charlotte Simmons yesterday. It did nothing to change my overall feelings towards the book and only wound up irritating me more. It seemed Wolfe suffered from "I have to get this finished so I will wrap it up without any real detail" disease (much as I am doing now) and while I appreciated him giving her life some ambiguity, the whole thing was too nicely wrapped up to leave me satisfied.
So. That's that.
While Alec, and others of a higher intellectual capacity than myself, go to New Yorker for their high-falutin' magazine needs, I have developed a deep love for the one-rung-lower Vanity Fair. I've always had some sort of affection for the 'zine, mostly built around its stunning photographs of Hollywood stars and the true crime writings of Dominic Dunne, but I've recently found myself reading it cover to cover and enjoying every bit of it. The most recent issue is especially good, which is why I'm now going to indulge in a little recap and reflection.
What's a Culture Snob to Do? by James Wolcott Possibly my favorite article of the issue was the first one I read, a look by Wolcott at how the digitization of things like books and music is changing how we define ourselves and how we telegraph that definition to others. His first example is the New York City subway as travelling library, where you can judge those reading Twilight and simultaneously show off your Strand purchased copy of The Sound and the Fury (or whatever it is that passe for intellectual these days). An on-again-off-again New Yorker myself, I 100% understand where he's coming from. I often would take stock of my fellow passengers and their reading material while on the 6 and, yes, I also developed insta-crushes on any male in my age bracket caught reading something I deemed crush-worthy (which, if you know me, is almost anything...reading is sexy, guys, keep doing it). Seeing someone read a book you just finished or completely love, even if you don't talk, is a way of making an insta-connection in a city (and, increasingly, a world) where it's easy and acceptable to cut yourself off. Likewise, brandishing a tome of your own is a way of inviting conversation, albeit a somewhat passive aggressive way. It's putting a little bit of yourself out there, and I like that.
Wolcott goes on to examine music and DVDs. Here, again, I am guilty. Despite owning everything as an MP3, I try and eventually grab all of my music in hard copy form as well, mostly because I like the way they look and I like a scan of my music collection says about me as a person. In this case, it's less about conveying that message to others, since I don't think anyone (save my mother or my sister searching for a pilfered CD) has ever seen my music in its non-computerized form, but I like it. Ditto with DVDs. As egotistical as it is, I like surrounding myself with reflections of myself. In moments of doubt I can look around me and say "Well, I don't know what I'm doing with my life, but I do know I'm the kind of person who has both "The Royal Tenenbaums" AND "The Care Bears Movie," and so I think I'm doing okay." It's totally weird and doesn't make any difference in the long run, but I like it.
Which is Wolcott's point. What would give me that feeling if I didn't have these collections of things as touch stones? In myself? In some higher, more cerebral way would I still be able to define myself? They are interesting questions, and, having had only a few hours to process them, I don't have the answers yet. But I will enjoy puzzling.
No, Prime Minister by Christopher Hitchens A two-page sketch of the "Nixonian" monster British Prime Minister Gordon Brown has become. I admit, my Anglophilia has not quite gone so far as to absorb their politics (I'm only now engaging with ours on any real level), but it was illuminating insofar as that I had no idea he was so nutty.
Politico's Washington Coup by Michael Wolff Politico became my gold-standard website for election coverage last fall. I mourn the loss of the GOP/Dem blogs now that the campaigns are done, but I still check in occasionally to see what's going on down the street, so I enjoyed the look at how Politico both came and continues to be. The ultra-specific/ultra-general dichotomy between Politico and large media outlets like The Washington Post is interesting and makes me regret even more the failure of TIME magazine's experiment in personalized news (sadly, the name of that publication has already slipped my memory).
I worry about the death of print anything, in part because of the issue presented by Wolcott, but also because I just genuinely prefer words on a page rather than words on a screen. It was reassuring, then, to find out the Poltico website gave birth to the publication as opposed to vice-versa, but I still worry. The sheer immediacy is what makes the website and the blogosphere exciting, and, because of that immediacy, information is parsed out in bite-sized morsels. If you're working a temp job, that's invaluable for entertainment and time-killing reasons, but in the real world? Does that help or hurt? Not sure. Furthermore, the accusation that Politico feeds into insider-only atmosphere of Washington is valid. The campaign was different because everything led back to two (or four) main players, but now the site has become are more obtuse, for better or worse.
The Last Days of Heath by Bruce Weber I'm still upset by the death of Heath Ledger. Nothing in this article is really new or ground breaking, save maybe for further insight into his last movie, but it does remind you that we lost someone of incredible promise.
Of course, there's a part of me that questions why we still need to be talking about it, or why any celebrity's death garners the attention it gets. I didn't know this man in any way and any further discussion seems to border on voyeurism. As a co-worker of mine just pointed out RE: The Michael Jackson memorial, he was a talented guy, but what about the seven soldiers killed in Afghanistan yesterday? Why don't we hear about them? Why do I know Heath Ledger's massage schedule but not their names?
And yet, I read the article. So I guess there's the answer right there.
It Came From Wasilla by Todd S. Purdum This is it! The one! The profile of everyone's favorite bat-shit crazy wingnut pitbull in lipstick we've all been hearin' tell about, you betcha! And...I don't know that we learn anything new, though there was this delightful tidbit:
More than once in my travels in Alaska, people brought up, without prompting,
the question of Palin's extravagant self-regard. Several told me, independently
of one another, that they had consulted the definition of "narcissistic
personality disorder' in the Diagnostic Manual of Mental
Disorders...and thought it fit her perfectly.When Trig was born, Palin
wrote an e-mail letter to friends and relatives, describing the belated news of
her pregnancy and detailing Trig's condition; she wrote the -mail not in her her
own name, but in God's, and signed it "Trig's Creator, Your Heavenly Father."
Also illuminating was the fact that she basically blew off any kind of interview or debate prep they attempted to give her and she basically doesn't seemed engaged with any issue whatsoever.
In case you haven't picked up on it, I am not a Palin fan. To speak truth, I loathe the woman. Loathe. The site of her brings with it a rising of bile and (occasionally) an audible sound of disgust mixed with strangled rage. Her nomination acceptance speech brought tears to my eyes that not only did I share citizenship with this woman, but I lived in country with people who thought her fantastic. If I ever wound up in the same room as her, I would have to leave. I see her as a real-live Dolores Umbridge only so much worse and it is my fervent prayer her stepping down from the governor's office means she she can crawl back into her polar-bear-pelt-lined cave of ignorance and self righteousness and never bother us again. But, alas, I fear it is not to be.
I often preach hearing out the other side and trying to see the best in people, but that woman drives me to a place no other being can.
...oh, but the article...yeah. It's good. Go read it.
//
And I haven't even gotten to my responses on Julia Child, the Tim Burton "Alice" photos or the 1930's film portfolio! Do you see why I love this magazine? It's fantastic.
There were also some musings on health care reform I was going to get into (I can sense your disappointment from here), but I feel I'm already pushing the limits of your patience and attention span. Best to quite while I'm only slightly behind. Besides, there's a whole three days more of temp job excitement. Can't waste all my insights now, can I?
Oh, and in case you were wondering...I did in fact finish I am Charlotte Simmons yesterday. It did nothing to change my overall feelings towards the book and only wound up irritating me more. It seemed Wolfe suffered from "I have to get this finished so I will wrap it up without any real detail" disease (much as I am doing now) and while I appreciated him giving her life some ambiguity, the whole thing was too nicely wrapped up to leave me satisfied.
So. That's that.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Somebody Gets It!
(Okay, so before I talk about what I meant to talk about...how am I only just discovering Slate? Where have I been? It seems like someone went "hey, let's write about everything emma loves and/or wonders about and put those articles in one place." Infinite kudos to Carrie for leading me here.)
I am a TV junkie. I'm not proud of it, but I admit it freely. My already crack-like habit was ratcheted up while I was in England, when streaming American TV over breakfast became a closely held ritual that simultaneously kept me entertained, provided a bit of home comfort and (on days when I watched House or Grey's Anatomy) severely curbed my appetite. besides the medical dramas, I'm also a crime addict. NCIS, CSI (but only Las Vegas or Miami...New York is worthless), Law & Order: SVU and Numb3rs are all must watch for me. Add to the mix the latest Joss Whedon offering, Dollhouse, and you can see how my week is quickly eaten up.
But even with that embarrassingly long of shows, I still need more. Which brings me to the most shameful element of my TV obsession: reality TV. I adore it. There are very few reality TV shows that I won't watch and quickly become obsessed with (those few exceptions include American Idol, anything involving Tila Tequila or Flavor Flav and the mind-numbing uselessness that is The Hills). AMNT? Check. Project Runway? You got it. Rock of Love? More! So You Think You Can Dance? Bring it on. Top Chef? Hell's Kitchen? The Biggest Loser? Charm School? If it involves food, dancing, fashion or former lead singers of Poison, I dare you to try and keep me away. Even the ones I don't follow religiously are able to suck me in for an episode or two should they come across my channel surfing.
But the mother of all of these trashy, low-brow guilty pleasure is any iteration of The Real World/Road Rules Challenge. I absolutely adore them, have watched them for years, know way too much about every player and just can't stop. Even my former roommates, Jacey and Jo, who would happily settle down to the Sunday night line-up of My Fair Brady and Scott Baio is 45 and Single couldn't bring themselves to watch an hour of self-obsessed 20-somethings tackle each other in Gladiator-like challenges before drinking themselves into oblivion.
Which is is why I was so happy to read this article from Slate. I am not alone!
Now, to go find some reruns...
I am a TV junkie. I'm not proud of it, but I admit it freely. My already crack-like habit was ratcheted up while I was in England, when streaming American TV over breakfast became a closely held ritual that simultaneously kept me entertained, provided a bit of home comfort and (on days when I watched House or Grey's Anatomy) severely curbed my appetite. besides the medical dramas, I'm also a crime addict. NCIS, CSI (but only Las Vegas or Miami...New York is worthless), Law & Order: SVU and Numb3rs are all must watch for me. Add to the mix the latest Joss Whedon offering, Dollhouse, and you can see how my week is quickly eaten up.
But even with that embarrassingly long of shows, I still need more. Which brings me to the most shameful element of my TV obsession: reality TV. I adore it. There are very few reality TV shows that I won't watch and quickly become obsessed with (those few exceptions include American Idol, anything involving Tila Tequila or Flavor Flav and the mind-numbing uselessness that is The Hills). AMNT? Check. Project Runway? You got it. Rock of Love? More! So You Think You Can Dance? Bring it on. Top Chef? Hell's Kitchen? The Biggest Loser? Charm School? If it involves food, dancing, fashion or former lead singers of Poison, I dare you to try and keep me away. Even the ones I don't follow religiously are able to suck me in for an episode or two should they come across my channel surfing.
But the mother of all of these trashy, low-brow guilty pleasure is any iteration of The Real World/Road Rules Challenge. I absolutely adore them, have watched them for years, know way too much about every player and just can't stop. Even my former roommates, Jacey and Jo, who would happily settle down to the Sunday night line-up of My Fair Brady and Scott Baio is 45 and Single couldn't bring themselves to watch an hour of self-obsessed 20-somethings tackle each other in Gladiator-like challenges before drinking themselves into oblivion.
Which is is why I was so happy to read this article from Slate. I am not alone!
Now, to go find some reruns...
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Speak the Speech
Via Carrie, an article from Slate on Shakespeare in the Park and how to speak Shakespeare, as recommended by Barry Edelstein.
I, of course, have a fond attachment for Shakespeare in the Park, having been lucky enough to work at the Public Theater for a year (and to be returning for the gala next week!), but I have uneasy feelings about it being pretty much THE place for Shakespeare in New York (and consequentially, the US), based mostly on the productions I've seen lacking an understanding of Shakespeare's text. This might be something that changes over time, now that Barry's there, but he was there for Hamlet and non of my mixed feelings were evened out.
Also, it must be acknowledged that, while Barry Edelstein is probably a genius and someone likely to be added to my pantheon of idols once I get around to reading his book (Edward Hall, the Zeus of my Shakespearean Olympus, is also mentioned in the article), I'm also pretty sure he once knowingly locked me out of a building. Evidence is circumstantial, but until his name is positively cleared, I always regard him with a single raised eyebrow.
I, of course, have a fond attachment for Shakespeare in the Park, having been lucky enough to work at the Public Theater for a year (and to be returning for the gala next week!), but I have uneasy feelings about it being pretty much THE place for Shakespeare in New York (and consequentially, the US), based mostly on the productions I've seen lacking an understanding of Shakespeare's text. This might be something that changes over time, now that Barry's there, but he was there for Hamlet and non of my mixed feelings were evened out.
Also, it must be acknowledged that, while Barry Edelstein is probably a genius and someone likely to be added to my pantheon of idols once I get around to reading his book (Edward Hall, the Zeus of my Shakespearean Olympus, is also mentioned in the article), I'm also pretty sure he once knowingly locked me out of a building. Evidence is circumstantial, but until his name is positively cleared, I always regard him with a single raised eyebrow.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Off the Page
Via The Atlantic, an article on the problems with adapting the Harry Potter books for the big screen.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
