Guilty Pleasures

1. "We Belong Together" by Mariah Carey. I love this song and I don't care who knows it. Ooh, especially the freakout part where she starts screaming, and you wonder whether or not she's going to have to go on another "exhaustion"-induced "hiatus." I've never liked Mariah at all, but this is just great.

2. Hot Pockets. I actually don't buy these independently, but when I'm at home I eat them compulsively. Along with String Cheese and Banquet Chicken Pot Pies. Those are all listworthy as well.

3. Dick. That Kirsen Dunst movie. I love it. Actually, I think I may go out and buy it. Is this even a guilty pleasure? I actually think it's a great movie. Hmm, maybe I should put another Kirsten Dunst movie on for good measure. Bring It On. Yes, that is sufficiently awful. Even sadder is the fact that I've sat through this movie in Spanish. Actually I've also seen Dick in Spanish. Weird. Oh, and I also watched the direct-to-video sequel to Bring It On (Bring it On Again) with Bighead. Give me a break. It was on basic cable, it was raining out, and we were bored.

4. Newsweeklies. I know it's so tragically uncool to like Newsweek and Time. So so middlebrow. New Yorker this, The Nation that. Please. Who has time anymore. I mean it's a magazine. They're all middlebrow. Just ask Dwight MacDonald. I'm really just a news junkie. I could easily Sunday morning talk shows on this list too, like This Week (my favorite) and Meet the Press on this list too. Actually, I like This Week but never watch it. It's on too damn early. So I have to settle for Little Russ because he comes on an hour and a half after George [Insert Greek Name Ending in Opoulos Here]. I actually don't really like Meet the Press, but I settle because there's no way in hell I'm getting up at 9 on a Sunday.

5. Blogging. Obviously.

6. I don't really have any guilty pleasure books like The Da Vinci Code. I figure if I'm gonna put in the time to actually read a book I might as well read a really good one. So I haven't really read any bad books that I really enjoy. I'll just say "How to Eat Fried Worms" because I noticed last night that they made a movie about it, and I remember really liking that book in 4th grade. I was shocked to remember this title because it had been completely stowed away in the nether regions of my brain.

7. Norman Rockwell. Completely written off for so long. There's nothing wrong with blatant Americana, though. Also, that painting of the little black girl being escorted into an integrated school is heartbreaking. "The Problem We All Live With." Go ahead, click. It won't make you less intelligent, I promise. Now then. Isn't that a great painting? You think the photographs are more powerful? If so, you're only half right. Without him, there very well may not have been an Andy Warhol. I can't really think of other guilty pleasure visual artists. If I liked Rubens, I'd put him up here, but I can't stand him. I just like the way he paints the grease on fatty flesh. Chagall? Nah. Beautiful use of color.

I think that's about it. I tried to include as many genres/media/whatever as possible. I hit a brick wall.

The Summer of...

I mentioned last year how my summers seem to be themed artistically. Normally I pick out some artist to be the soundtrack of my summer and I stick by it. Sometimes there's a tie and it's hard to decide. Sometimes nothing really grabs me, so I have to make an effort. This time it was easy. This was in every way the summer of...
Sleater-Kinney

It makes perfect sense. I tend to like bands that have broken up or are past their prime. It's an exercise in masochism. So of course immediately after hearing of their impending hiatus/breakup, I decided to revisit their work. I never got The Woods at all. The Fox was so dissonant that it made me think the whole album was contrary. Now I absolutely love it. I've revisited One Beat, and have moved on to Dig Me Out. Did I get to see one of their farewell shows? No. Of course not. I probably could have made it to Lollapalooza, but even for me that would require too much of an effort and waste of money. It would easily have trumped the time I drove to Detroit twice to see the Stooges (there was the blackout, so the first show was canceled). Oh yeah, and I got a nasty traffic ticket on the first voyage. Yikes.

Beyond that, this is also the Summer of the Picaresque. I reread Huck Finn, and keeping in fashion, it is now my favorite book. Of course before that Beloved was my favorite book. Basically the last good book I read becomes my favorite. I think this may actually hold, though. I do love Beloved, but I'm not sure it ever really knocked out American Pastoral. Is that really my favorite? Hmmm. I'm thinking, and...yes, I think it is. Well, maybe Gatsby actually. It has a psychic grip on me. And of course it all comes from being a Midwesterner uprooted and transplanted on the East Coast. I think that chip is what makes the shoulders so big. Then why are mine so narrow? But anyway. I'm restarting Augie March for the third time. I really do enjoy it, but I just get sidetracked by other, slimmer volumes that pique my interest. Hmm, pique-->picaro-->picaresque. How about that? Well, the point is that once I'm done with this and moved into my new place, I'm going to start El Quijote. Wow. Good for me. I'd like to start it before Sept. 21 so that it can actually be the Summer of the Picaresque. There's really no way that I'm going to finish both Augie March and Quijote, but I'd like to get the final one started. Wish me luck. Who am I talking to? No one actually reads this.

His Sweat Has Made the Blind Man See: Thoughts on His Airness

I just watched an interview of Michael Jordan on 60 Minutes. There are few things in this world that bring me as much joy as watching Michael Jordan. I can't explain it (but I'll try).

I think that for just about every kid growing up in Chicagoland during the 1990s, there is no one that matches his mythical stature. Talking about sports last year with my friend during the White Sox' amazing championship run, we discussed how we can't really watch the NBA anymore. Sure March Madness is good for a few moments every year, but I find basketball to be a little boring. Too much scoring. It's the opposite of soccer. But we both agreed that Michael Jordan transcended basketball. For me, he's even beyond sports. When Jordan was playing, you couldn't keep your eyes off of him. Watching highlight reels during the 60 Minutes interview I found myself repeatedly smiling or laughing in amazement as he flew through the air.

There's an article in the Times this week about Roger Federer and how watching him can sometimes be a religious experience. I'm more of a Nadal fan myself, but I understand the idea in relation to Jordan. Even in replays of shots made ten years ago, I think Michael Jordan retains the ability to move something deep inside of you. I could watch the man cook eggs. Just watching him talk for twenty minutes moved me to write this entry. I'll probably cry when he dies. Until he rises again on the third day.

Blow Up the Past

That was the title of my thesis. My advisor just asked me that question so that he could put it on his cv. It also accurately describes this weekend. In three short days, I met up with friends from college and home for a really great weekend. I went to New York for Bighead's birthday. We had a great time with that crew, and the Drake was there as well, so it was good to see her before she heads off to St. Paul for the school year. Tonight I also saw two of my four freshman year roommates. The whole weekend was one big nostalgia trip. In high school, one of our teachers said that she'd never seen people so young reminisce as much as my friends and I did. Well, this weekend wasn't so much reminiscing, but it was totally catching up with some people that I don't see nearly as much as I like to. Bittersweet. I guess this is the big sacrifice you make when you fly the coop and make friends with people from very different backgrounds for four short years. Everyone continues to spread themselves widely, devouring portions of the nation. Sure, we're all pretty much still on the east coast, but it's disconcerting none the less. Am I being a little melodramatic? Sure. But it's still difficult to become great friends with people that you know you may not see all the time. I think this is one of the defining aspects of modern living. People traveled far and wide before and made quick friends that they also quickly lost touch with. But they never traveled so much. And making superficial contact with people through instant messaging, email, or cellphones was not possible. So you maintain these tenuous contacts. And every once in a while, you see them, and it's all the same. But then you separate again. Ah well. It's too late for me to be articulate, but you get the gist. It's nice to maintain contact with people you don't see very often, but in many ways it makes the pain of constant separation that much more acute. Enough. I'm being sentimental. Deal with it. It was a very strange weekend.