#its messy. somehow my messy art is th best

[fernsensei]

violence

[bastardtetsu]

critical thinking | ch①

pairing: kuroo tetsuro x gn!reader

genre: college au, enemies to lovers, tsundere!reader, slow burn

wc: 1.9k

warnings: swearing, being a theatre major 

※ mlist | ● ② ③ ④

you knew it was a dumb bitch move to procrastinate on your science requirement.

trying to schedule gen-eds around the demanding requirements of your theatre degree was already a nightmare, and your aversion to maths and sciences makes it even more difficult to find classes that both fit in your schedule AND don’t make you want to actively drop out of school. you weren’t sure why you thought putting off your one and only science credit until your final semester was going to solve any of that. so, you couldn’t be shocked when your only option to graduate on time ended up being 9am chemistry 1. on a monday, no less.

the first class is just as bad as you expect. the lecture drags on for ages, and as much as you will your sleepy morning brain to wrap your head around the concepts being thrown at you, no amount of caffeine, color-coded notes, or mental gymnastics can ford the river of brain-muddling frustration standing between you and a passing grade - the one you need to graduate.

panic begins to set in as you visualize all the hard work you put into your degree rendered useless, all because of a class that doesn’t even have to do with your field of study. who decided there had to be a science requirement anyway? i don’t need fucking chemistry to get a theatre degree??

“if you’re having trouble with anything,” your professor announces, bringing your attention back to the lecture that's finally wrapping up, “the tutoring center on campus is a great resource. i also hold office hours at the times listed on the syllabus. that’s our time for today folks, have a good week.���

you check the syllabus - all of the professor’s office hours conflict with your other classes, of course. asking your classmates is out of the question, seeing as you’re the lone arts major in a sea of STEM and pre-med. as annoying as it is to have to add another item to your schedule, tutoring seems like the only option if you want any hope of graduating. luckily you have some time before your next class, so you pack up your things and head for the tutoring center.

you pray that a decent chem tutor is available during any of your limited free time as you approach the lady at the desk of the tutoring office. she informs you of several with hours later in the week, none of which align with your schedule, and one who is available for the next hour. you figure tutoring right after class isn’t a bad deal - especially considering it’s your only option. the woman gives you a classroom number and a name - kuroo tetsuro - and you set out.

it doesn’t take you long to find the right classroom, but you aren’t prepared for the sight that is waiting for you there. a strong jawline and a mess of black hair that appears to stick up on its own catch your eye first as he taps away at his phone screen, his bored slouch doing nothing to hide his imposing height.

“um... hi, kuroo?” you say tentatively. his eyes glance up from his phone, slightly startled.

“oh, hey,” he responds, sitting up a bit, “you here for tutoring?”

“i am,” you reply with a half smile, “y/n.”

“kuroo. nice to meet you, y/n,” he pulls out the chair next to him as an invitation, “what year are you?”

“i’m a senior,” you say as you make your way over and sit down, “i’m in chem 1.” he definitely seems taller up close, even sitting down.

“chem 1? as a senior?” he asks derisively, his lips curling into a smirk. embarrassment and annoyance shoot through your chest.

“i’m a theatre major, alright,” you respond dryly, “i’m just trying to get my science credit and go.”

“left it ‘til the last minute, huh?” that smirk is still on his face.

“yeah, not my best decision,” you reply, trying not to let your annoyance seep through, “but i’m just trying to pass this class so i can graduate.”

“well, hopefully i can help with that,” he says smugly, “i may be a lowly business major, but i’m pretty good with chem if i do say so myself.”

a business major. of course. you’re familiar with the future capitalist machinery of the business school from your limited experience with the frat parties they so densely populated. needless to say, the impression was not good.

“so what do you need help with?”

“um...” you pondered, “all of it?” he snickered.

“you’re gonna have to be more specific if you wanna get anywhere.” his tone is dripping with amusement. is he trying to piss you off?

“ugh,” you let out an exasperated grunt, suddenly averse to showing any kind of weakness to this jerk. you pull out your notebook and flip to the page where you had attempted to take notes earlier. “this stuff.”

he leans over to take a look at your notes, and as his eyes scan the page you suddenly notice his smell - some fancy-smelling cologne with like, sandalwood or some shit - and his strong but elegant bone structure. i could cut myself on those cheekbones, you think.

“these notes are terrible.”

annnndddd he ruined it.

“well i can’t exactly take good notes if i have no clue what’s going on,” you counter, “isn’t that what you’re supposed to help me with?”

“i can try,” he says with an amused grin, “but I’ve never seen someone struggle this much with the basics on day one.”

now, you could put up with a lot of shit, but the one thing you cannot stand is being condescended to. especially not by some egotistical capitalist fucker who barely knows you.

“look,” you say pointedly, holding back the urge to throat punch him right then and there, “i’m really busy, and i just wanna pass this class, so if you could help me without being a dick about it i’d really appreciate it.”

“aw, but where’s the fun in that?”

his lips twist back into that patronizing smirk - he’s definitely trying to get a rise out of you.

“fuck off,” you say with a roll of your eyes, refusing to take his bait, “are you gonna teach me chemistry or not?”

he chuckles quietly again, thoroughly entertained. “sure. only because I’m so kind, and i could use the challenge.”

you scoff, but hold yourself back from retorting. you don’t want to give him the satisfaction.

at first, it’s excruciating. you loathe this douchey business bro getting off on being condescending while explaining chemistry to you like you don’t understand anything - which, to be fair, you don’t. but that somehow makes you resent him more.

granted, once you actually get down to business, kuroo is actually a pretty good tutor. he’s not actively annoying when he’s actually trying to teach you something, and he’s surprisingly patient and good at breaking things down. dude is smart, there’s no denying that.

nevertheless, even when he’s not being snarky, every correction he makes seems to fluster you more. you hate looking stupid in front of others, and something about kuroo seems to amplify that feeling by a thousand. you blame his attitude.

as you fumble trying to wrap your head around the unfamiliar numbers, symbols, & formulas, you’re simultaneously attempting to maintain a shred of dignity in front of this man who clearly thinks of you as the dumbest bitch on the planet. and the more you struggle, the more you worry he’s right.

“seeeee? i told you it wasn’t that hard!” he hums as you finish off another homework question you’d been struggling with. he can’t seem to praise you without being patronizing as fuck, either. you look up from your page momentarily to shoot him a glare.

frustration and embarrassment simmer inside of you with each of his snide remarks, but you hold yourself together and divert the attention back to studying each time. the restraint it takes not to deck him right in his pretty face is honestly deserving of a nobel peace prize.

“not bad,” he muses as you finally finish off the last of your homework, “and it only took you two and a half hours!”

“i’m floored,” you deadpan. your brain is too exhausted to formulate a more clever comeback. then you suddenly realize - “hang on... has it actually been two and a half hours? i thought you were only available for one??”

“technically,” he shrugs, “that’s when my tutoring hours end. but I wasn’t doing anything after, and you seemed like you needed the extra help.” that shitty smile is back. you can feel your blood boiling, but at the same time that... is actually pretty nice of him?

“ah... th-thanks,” you mumble, still resistant to showing any signs of weakness - much less gratitude - to the messy-haired prick.

“so, should i expect you back next week?” his stare reminds you of a cat sizing up its prey.

“uh... maybe,” you say. you honestly don’t have an answer yet. “i have to run though, i’ve got another class to get to.”

“don’t be a stranger,” he grins, “you’re gonna need a lot of help if you wanna graduate.”

you shoot him another glare as you swing your bag over your shoulder.

“i’ll think about it.”

he's still smirking at you as you walk out the door.

—

as much as you’d like to deny it, there’s not much to think about. none of the other chem tutors are available when you are, and there’s no way you’re passing the class without the extra help. and, as insufferable as he is, kuroo did help you get through your entire first week of homework successfully.

of course, you still resent having to rely on some nasty ass, pompous business major to mansplain chemistry to you every week so you can graduate. well, technically it’s not mansplaining since you don’t actually know anything about chemistry. and you technically also asked him to do it. but god, does he have to be such a dick about it??

it’s just an hour or two once a week, you reassure yourself, you can put up with it.

this is easier said than done, of course. the following monday, you begrudgingly approach the same classroom, empty except for one (1) chickenhead douchebag, who promptly stares you down with the most shiteating smile you’ve ever seen.

“oya oya~ look who decided to come back!” he croons.

“don’t flatter yourself, it’s not like I had much of a choice,” you respond flatly. why is he still looking at me with that dumb expression?

“true, there’s no way you’re passing on your own.”

“listen,” you reply pointedly, “some people have better things to do than worry about how many neutrons are on hydrogen or whatever”

“hydrogen doesn’t have any neutrons.”

“COOL!!!! i just want to graduate!!”

“well then you’re gonna need to know that hydrogen doesn’t have any neutr-”

“ALRIGHT, i got it,” you huff, “can you just… help me figure out this balancing equations shit? WITHOUT being an asshole about it?”

“hmm… sorry, i can only accept one request at a time.”

this is gonna be a long fucking semester.

a/n: eeeeee this is the first time i’ve actually wholeheartedly attempted to write a fic in lord knows how long (possibly ever?? idk them memories repressed) and my first time posting my own writing so i hope y’all like it !! everybody who’s ready to see me trash talk k*roo t*tsuro say way ho

[adorablele]

what would your moots be like if they were an aesthetic?

ANON I FINALLY DID IT. yes, I sat on this ask for a million years because I didn’t know any aesthetics and I still don’t know many aesthetics but I managed to get help (this is all thanks to leyna who gave me a whole bunch). so when I originally did this, I had a scenario in mind because I wanted to do it like how those people on uquiz do (like choose an aesthetic and it’s a scenario filled with imagery) but I don’t think the scenario captured the aesthetic well so feel free to skip over it an just go to my bulleted explanation lol. however, I’d like to mention that the explanation may not be the best as to why I gave that moot that aesthetic. ANYWAYS I DID IT AND NOW I HAVE THREE OTHER ASKS ABOUT MY MOOTS THAT I WILL SIT ON FOR LIKE TWO MORE MONTHS.

this was very long and has details no one asked for. and I didn’t proofread this so if there are spelling errors or just errors in general, sorry.

@nzeeten allie - minimalist 

A sneeze echoed against the walls of your attic. You brushed away the dust on the box, smiling faintly at the little scribbles on top of the lid. Opening it caused memories to roll down your cheek. A lump lodged its way in your throat and you couldn’t help the melancholy swell in your heart. Your phone rang. There were unfinished papers littered on your desk. Your laptop screen started to fade to sleep, work not saved. It didn’t matter to you. You didn’t pay attention to the weight of adult responsibilities, not when your younger self smiled at you.

ngl allie gives me these really mature vibes, and who knows, maybe it stems from the fact that she wants a be a ‘kickas*’ lawyer. the overall mood of this scenario is nostalgia but in no way shape or form do I feel nostalgic when I’m with allie. she’s very fun and chill and amazing and outstanding and i love her- anyways, somehow the nostalgic vibe fit with minimalistic aesthetic? like I pictured an apartment with very simplistic features but you can tell what that person cares about through the pictures or the items that they keep. hmm I’d see some polaroids in her moodboard if she had one; maybe a single rose (in the middle) surrounded by different thorns that have little memories in each one? 

@sleepingrenjun cherry - baddie (new moot that I hope she considers me a moot too dkslaf)

Even after everything, you still went back to business. There wasn’t a care in the world as you glanced back down at your screen, files scattered on your desk and fingers tapping away at the keyboard. There wasn’t a care in the world as a pack of cigarettes were thrown back onto your desk and loud slam of the door. There wasn’t a care in the world when you returned to an empty bed, one meal, and one toothbrush. You sat out on your balcony and stared at the unlit cigarette in your hand. You felt no urge breathe in its toxic fumes, a voice in the back of your head scolding you for even touching the death stick. Tears streamed down your face and you raised one brow, smiling slightly. ‘what a shame,’ you whispered, looking up at the stars. maybe there was a little care in the world. 

so maybe this is based off of my most recent tag. it popped into my mind when I thought of cherry. this most likely stemmed from breathe me and idk if it quite fits with the baddie aesthetic...anywayssss I was aiming for a heartbreaker vibe! because cherry breaking hearts out here with her fics 🤧 kind of a lonely lifestyle of a very successful business person who doesn’t care about anything but their business (they actually do care a lot which [spoiler alert] is why mc doesn’t smoke in the end). heartbreaker gave me a baddie aesthetic. 

@passionfruithyuck clarie- soft grunge, dark academia

No one visited the library. You didn’t understand why. This age old building was still in pristine condition, exuding out elegance like no other. The tables were lonely and the chairs were cold. The bowl full of mints never lessened, the counter always empty. Time was all but a concept once you invested yourself in the shelves that were still polished with youth. Each book had its own personality, each page filled with questions, answers, secrets. No one ever visited the library, and you didn’t understand why. 

uhm yeah so a pristine hidden gem of a library came to mind. this, I think, stemmed from the fact that she know12s multiple languages (so a lot of knowledge) and it’s an honor that she’s my moot (a hidden gem). clarie, to me, is lowkey bada** which is why she’s soft grunge. if she had a moodbard, I think there would be some pastel and books (maybe some idaf pictures).

@renjunwrites denise - cottagecore 

You always passed by the quaint little flower shop whenever you were on your way home from work. Every now and then you would see someone exit, but most of the time it stayed empty. In need of a bouquet, you visited the store. Vases full of flowers furnished the tables, some unmatched as they littered the counter. The petals looked delicate, so delicate you were afraid that your breath would shatter them. Each step you took padded softly against the walls, no sound other than you, no one other than you. Simply you and the flowers.

that blurb is 🤮 I’m sorry I’m bad at explaining things omg. I honestly pictured an empty, neat but messy, flowershop when I thought of denise. she has this delicateness (missing renjunlite, can’t lie) to her like flower petals. I also get a vibe that she’s an organized mess, hence the mismatched flowers (because it’s a beautiful mess). 

@jisvngy dahler - plant mom aesthetic

It was another day at school. Another day filled with ‘the bell doesn’t dismiss you, I do’. Another day filled with the scratching of pencils and shuffling of paper. Another day filled with slumped backs, bored eyes, and the slow ticking clock. It was also another day for secret notes, hidden jokes, loud lunches and knowing looks with your friends. Your friends. They broke your day dreaming, made you laugh, copied your answers, stole your pencils, distracted you during presentations, all mundane things. Mundane things that you would never forget.

ngl I feel like I would become friends with dahler through school and she would honestly be one of the reasons why I look forward to school. you may be wondering how this associates to plant mom but okay hear me out. this scenario is kind of like everyday life, you know? like small things. plants are in our everyday life, whether or not we grow or acknowledge them. uhm yeah so connect those two and yay an aesthetic for dahler! would picture some succulents in her moodboard.

@jeonginks eiko - e-girl, fantasy academia

you were always told to never take things from the forest. you were never told why, so you thought there was no harm to taking a rock because, well, it was only a rock. it was a pretty little rock lying near the clear stream of water that glimmered under the rays of the sun. the green leaves above swayed gently with the wind; it was peaceful here, you thought to yourself as you slowly started to walk back home, the rock heavy in your hand. with each step, the trees seemed taller, the sun seemed dimmer and the river sounded quite loud despite you being miles away from it. suddenly, you couldn’t move, grounded by the roots on the ground. the rock started to burn in your hand, so you threw down, only for the searing to continue. you screamed as marks were carved into the palm of your hand. from behind you, a voice laughed, ‘weren’t you told not to take things that aren’t yours.’

is fantasy academia a thing? if not then just fantasy. e-girl goes with her fashion sense (if I’m assuming correctly cause your boots) but uhm fantasy because of her writing. go on her page and you’ll see so many people call her writing magical. so with that in mind, this scenario popped up. now she could be the rock, or she could be the river, or perhaps the trees, or quite possibly, the voice,, who knows, I don’t know, that’s for sure. her moodboard would be filled with nature.

@haechaaaaaaanssi janna - mermaid/fantasy, medieval 

The fire crackled, ashes gracefully flying out from the orange hue and up into the darkness of the sky. Your marshmallow sat on the paper plate, your stick abandoned next to it. You weren’t around the bonfire, no, you were along the shoreline. The chatter of your friends was distant, much quieter than the sea. It was calling you. The waves beckoned you in, pulling you farther and farther away from shore. The sand wasn’t grainy anymore, it was softer, mushier. The full moon shone above you, a spotlight you didn’t ask for. You kept walking, entranced by the sound. What was that sound? Goosebumps rose to your arm, the water swishing at your waist. What was that sound? It was like the tick of a clock, the whoosh of the waves, the whisper of the wind, but that’s not what you were looking for. What was that sound? You were neck deep until you remembered, you didn’t know how to swim, but it’s okay. You found the answer to your question. 

okay i’m not saying that janna is a siren (who knows maybe she is)! this isn’t what i’m trying to say lmao. it’s just the fact that her work is so angsty and immediately popped into my mind when I thought of an aesthetic for her; somehow it led to fantasy/mermaid? like the ocean is mellow, beautiful and elegant but sometimes can be very powerful, loud and boisterous. in other words, janna can be exquisite and sometimes a mess. would see (obviously) the ocean in her moodboard, maybe a campfire or the night sky. 

@jensungf leyna - art mom/vintage

You struggled to yawn with a toothbrush slumped between your lips, arms up and above your head as the muscles tensed and the bones cracked. Your face was dazed with drowsiness and you languidly continued with your morning routine. But there was always something that made your mornings brighter. That something was the bakery down the street. Each time you stepped through the door, your nose was flooded with the sweet aroma of pastries. The taste of the treats were sweeter, always balancing out the bitterness of coffee on your tongue. You always stared at the crumbs of comfort on your plate, fascinated how it hugged you better than anyone you’ve met.

okay so maybe I should’ve put bakery as her aesthetic? but idk if that’s an aesthetic sooo,, but I can see her as an art mom aesthetic mixed with a little vintage. if she had a moodboard, possibly some fairy lights or some pictures of a really chill looking bakery, can’t not include sweet treats either.

@glossyjaems louna - skater, neon

Laughter filled the air, cracks of the bendable glowsticks echoing in the night. You twirled the one on your wrist, the green liquid neon against your skin. Mischief sighed with each step your friends took as they neared the metal fence. Your heart was pounding, hands clampy and eyes wavering at the faded red sign. It glared at you, ‘keep out’ it warned. That didn’t stop your friends, ‘and it shouldn’t stop you,’ they told you. The what ifs swirled on your tongue and rolled the eyes of your friends. ‘It’s going to be fine’ they reassured, and they offered you a hand. ‘Let’s live in the moment, yeah?��

ultimately really fun vibes. I pictured the recklessness of youth and dream’s go era when I thought of louna. would see like spray painting or maybe neon lights or glowsticks in her moodboard. 

@the32ndbeat // @juyeonzz qiu - vintage, dark academia 

You watched as people skied down the slope. Your hands wrapped around the warm mug of hot chocolate, the little pillows of marshmallows replicating the hills of snow outside. It wasn’t long until you heard the loud clamors of your friends as they made their way towards you. A smile found its way onto your lips as they bickered over whose snowman was the best. ‘Guys,’ you announced, causing everyone to quiet down, ‘clearly, it’s mine.’ back were the overlapping voices. You leaned back in your chair, eyes glossing over each of their faces. How funny that the impromptu road trip took you here. 

originally I was thinking summer vibes and the beach, but I already used the beach so why not the mountains? where there’s snow! cuz sledding and building snowmen with your friends is very fun. I know that this doesn’t really have anything to do with qiu’s aesthetic but when I thought of vintage, I got a lot of free-spirited, really chill vibes that I associated with road trips and friends. a lodge in the mountains and hot chocolate reminded me of dark academia somehow? yeah I don’t know how my brain works either. but anyways, I see books and hot chocolate in her moodboard if she were to have one.

@neocitybynight sunny - glam

Life was busy in hollywood. The snap of the director, the brushes of makeup artists, the tears of actors, the flashing of cameras, the questions of reporters, the tailors of dresses. At the end of the day, you always returned to your apartment on the highest floor. Barefaced, you change into an old oversized t-shirt, soft music floating to your ears as you think about your schedule tomorrow. The kettle starts to whistle, the boiling liquid warming the tea bag in your cup. The sun had retired, reminding everyone that the real stars weren’t on TV but in the sky. Though, cars still drifted the streets, lights still remained on, people were still awake. You opened up your book, a sigh falling between your lips as the drink soothes your throat. You glance once more out the window at the bustling city before falling into the world of your book. Life was busy in hollywood. 

yeah so this was what I imagined, I don’t know if that’s an aesthetic but I associated it with glam. like I also imagine those 90′s heartthrob edits if you were to make a moodboard for her. you could also fit in dark academia.

[beforethebridge]

Book Review: Chuck Klosterman – But What If We’re Wrong?

Chuck Klosterman – But What If We’re Wrong?

5/20/2019

“It’s impossible to understand the world of today until today has become tomorrow.” – Chuck Klosterman

One of my final mental inhibitors to getting a tattoo in an exposed area of my body is reaching a comfortable place about how I’ll explain its meaning to the different types of people in my life. The not-too-personal two sentence explanation for co-workers, the way-too-personal description for my best friends, and the messy, always evolving reality behind the decision that I’ll mostly keep to myself. In explaining my new forearm tattoo to a co-worker, I landed on a quick catalog of associations: philosophical skepticism, Anthony Bourdain, and suspending judgment (“epoché”). My standard quick description, added to the borrowed line “all I know is that I know nothing, and I’m not even sure about that,” struck a chord – he lent me his Chuck Klosterman book about questioning everything, the nature of history, and what the view of today will look like from tomorrow.

I burned through Chuck Klosterman’s But What if We’re Wrong? on a beach vacation (wrecking it with ocean water, sand, and blood somehow?), enjoying his commentary on how a range of core scientific principles and pop culture mainstays will be viewed in later decades and centuries. He prefers to think about big questions on the nature of history through the practical lens of personal conversation. Indeed, reading the book at times felt like a somewhat suffocating bar conversation with someone determined to prove themselves. But some sharp editing and self-restraint by the author seems to have distilled this book down to the most absorbing parts.

Klosterman’s strength is writing about how academic understanding of the collective, subjective societal significance attributed to pop culture evolves over time. Klosterman writes:

“Our sense of subjective reality is simultaneously based on an acceptance of abstract fallibility (“Who is to say what constitutes good art?”) and a casual certitude that we’re right about exclusive assertions that feel like facts (“The Wire represents the apex of television”).”

I found this tone in his analysis of subjective realities particularly attractive, jiving well with my recent embrace of the “epoché” lifestyle. Essentially, Klosterman argues that while the public tends to recognize that movies, television, music, and other forms of art and entertainment can subsist and thrive within their distinct audiences without having to take on some wider cultural relevance, critics and commentators often resort to superlatives to stimulate interest, conversation, and clicks. This contributes to an individual and societal pressure to conform to absorbing the entertainment highlighted by empowered voices (celebrities of various statures, Twitter trends and their curators, and critics published on influential publications and sites), or otherwise risk the cultural moment leaving you behind. Content is published at an alarming and overwhelming rate in 2019, incentivizing entertainment customers to distil their choices through their trusted filters. But how does this translate to future-historical understanding of what culture matters to us right now?

Klosterman wonders what entertainment will be presented by college lecturers centuries from now as emblematic of our current time period. For example, he settles on Chuck Berry (for “rock & roll” music) and Rosanne (for television sitcoms) as two emblems of 20th century culture, failing of course to predict or consider our current reexamination of Berry’s place in history in light of his documented abuse of underage girls and Rosanne Barr’s racist rantings (both fitting developments to follow a book conscious of the fallibility of predicting the future).

 For what it’s worth, a Google search for “rock and roll music” on 5/20/2019 results in a YouTube video of Chuck Berry performing “Rock & Roll Music,” along with a suggested search for The Beatles, Led Zeppelin, The Rolling Stones, and Queen. A search for “television sitcoms” currently yields a list of shows like Modern Family, Parks and Recreation, How I Met Your Mother, and, indeed, Roseanne, among a few dozen others. Klosterman asserts his choices because someone must, he argues, and because it makes for fun bar conversation (he seems self-aware about how parts of his book might remind some readers of their more eye-rolling dates). He’s not wrong, but maybe there’s an alternative to individual persuasion in rolling-up culture for future dissection. 

Luckily for those lecturers and their students, the Internet has enabled an industry of entertainment opinion amalgamation through ratings aggregator websites across popular artforms. I imagine archived versions of these websites might simplify the process of determining what entertainment is revered in its time, with necessary demographic bracketing of user populations per each site. For example, in music, users on RateYourMusic.com currently hold Radiohead’s OK Computer as the top-rated album of all time, while SputnikMusic.com users lend that honor to Pink Floyd’s Wish You Were Here (I don’t know much about the comparative userbases of these sites, but I would suspect them both to skew young, white, and male.) Earlier this year, I found Reddit posts where users sorted through ratings websites like these to form amalgamated rankings of 2018’s best music releases, and I’m sure this has been done across all different brackets of time, genre, and format, as well as across all other popular forms of entertainment (including ratings of those ratings websites themselves, in a sort of fivethirtyeight.com meta-analysis).

Letterboxd.com is an example site for movies, or rather for film watchers who find their identity in film viewing (and in calling it “film”) enough to rate and track their views, where Twin Peaks: The Return (2017), Planet Earth II (2016), and The Godfather (1972) currently hold the top ratings spots. This perhaps highlights the utility of nuanced categorization when considering these questions (what constitutes a feature film, a short film, a television show, a documentary, etc., and how should they be compared?). Critical opinions are widely aggregated as well, often compared alongside user ratings, as with sites like MetaCritic.com.

Do these opinion aggregators represent the best resources for those seeking to understand what entertainment connected with or represented most thoroughly our society in our time? Whose opinions are being aggregated, and whose are being left out of these ratings sites and their aggregators? Do these sites undervalue certain demographics (elderly, poor, those otherwise not “extremely online”) in ways that would create blind spots for our future assessors? Do these ratings reveal more about society than sheer viewership volume numbers, like Nielson ratings, Billboard charts, and other audience measurements? I don’t have the cultural awareness or critical experience to dive too deeply into these questions, but Klosterman’s But What if We’re Wrong? suggests ways of thinking that might help sort through the overwhelming entertainment of the present. I wouldn’t suggest to sociologists how to pursue their research, but if there are academics out there thinking and writing about opinion aggregators, I’d love to read up.

“The world happens as it happens, but we construct what we remember and what we forget. And people will eventually do that for us, too.” 

[imaginemycroftholmes]

Mycroft Submission Form

I saw the new updated form and had to try it out.

Name: Melissa

Nationality: American

Age: 22

Personality Type: INFP/ENFP (I switch back and forth depending on the day/weather)

Level of Education: 4 years of College, still working on my Bachelors for Animal Health Science

Best Subject: Art, History, Psychology/Social Studies, English

Worst Subject: Chemistry (Any science class really) and Math (was my best subject, until they added the alphabet to the numbers)

Favorite Subject: Art, Karate, Textiles and Home Economics

5 Hobbies (if applicable): Drawing, playing video games, cooking (lots of steak and lamb), baking (cookies are a specialty), sewing and watching TV

Favorite Genre of Music/Movies/Books: Movies: Anything but horror/suspense, Music: Mostly Country but pretty eclectic (no jazz/screamo/or other heavy metal), and Books: I dare say that I don’t read. Like at all, but I love the original Grimm Fairytales.

Last song you listened to on repeat: “Unsteady” by X Ambassadors

Last phrase you said to another living person: “I got burned by Holy Water once while at the Vatican.”

How many blankets do you sleep with: Just 1, my “Clown” blanket (but really it’s a crying opera singer holding a rose, that’s been in the family for 30+ years. I do sleep with like 6-7 pillows though)

7 note worthy skills: Loyal, Altruistic, Kind, Compassionate, quiet (yes I consider this a good trait), very open-minded, and strong (physically I mean, mentally is up for debate)

7 noticeable sins: I’ll admit I’m lazy, somewhat immature (I swear a lot and my favorite is the F word), I do procrastinate, I am food aggressive, a wee bit selfish and show no mercy to backstabbers, bullies or people who just annoy me (a kick to the groin, a harsh, tear-inducing insult, a dark secret exposed or get them in trouble with a teacher.)

Allergies/impairments/illnesses: I have what I’d like to call illness-induced asthma, and I am near sighted and have to wear glasses, but no allergies at all.

Level of Intelligence on a scale of 1 to 5: 4 (Just above average, but I’m no Einstein)

Level of Fitness on a scale of 1 to 5: 1-2 (currently dieting and exercising, but I love food too much)

Level of Attractiveness on a scale of 1 to 5: I think 2, but everyone else says 4 (liars).

Feline, canine or both: Canine (loyal) and Feline (keep to myself)

Confidence Level on a scale from 1 to 5: 2-3 (1 on bad days, but hardly ever higher than a 3)

Position in the Family (oldest, youngest, middle): Only child, so oldest (I never had to share my toys!)

Eye Color: Brown (Always wanted blue eyes or green)

Hair Color and Length: Long, brown, wavy hair (I hate it. Get’s frizzy in dry/humid weather and gets burning how in the summer, but I can’t cut cause I don’t look good with short hair)

Height: 5’ 2” (Short. So very short, but have so many tall friends)

Combat level on a scale 1 to 5: 2 (currently in Karate)

Your normal dress: A pair of worn blue jeans, a loose fitting T-shirt, a Zip-up Hoodie, a good pair of socks and an old pair of running shoes (with insoles cause I have no arch)

How well you take rejection on a scale of 1 to 5: 5 (I’ve been rejected numerous times)

Languages known: English, currently learning Esperanto and Spanish

Cleanliness of your bathroom on a scale of 1 to 5: 4, would be a 5 but I have a roommate who’s messy

How big is your circle of friends on a scale of 1 to 5: 2, not fond of big groups.

How would you rate your mental health on a scale of 1 to 5: 3-4 (I can get depressed easily on bad days)

Opinions on the current Holmes family members (Siger Holmes, Violet Holmes, Sherlock Holmes and Eurus Holmes): Sherlock is cool and I like his intelligence, his violin sills, and he’s pretty good looking, despite him being a bit, well rude or too honest. As for Siger and Violet, I haven’t met them or got to know them but I’m sure they’re lovely (if they’re your parents, I’m sorry for not realizing that, I’d just like to say that they are what I would want for grandparents, they are so sweet, I love them.) Eurus, I feel that she had so much potential, but I really don’t know how to feel about her. On one hand I am just as impressed with her intelligence and skills as I am with Sherlock, but I’m also pretty terrified of her.

Please bold the following below that applies toward your submission:

Friendship (You will be smothered with gifts but will ask for nothing in return)

Mentorship (Need time to learn, but can I will get the idea)

Relationship (If you’re up for it, then I’ll give it a try)

Partnership (So like be the John to your Sherlock?)

The Question portion:

Please note that you do not have to submit the pictures within your submission (save the puzzle) but you must answer them honestly and do so without cheating.

1)

The angle of C looks to be 45 degrees, while A and B ~15 and ~30 degrees. There’s no attempt at math on this one, just looking at the pictures, I can assume the angles A and B add up to C.

2) Solve the puzzle:

First off I love Sudoku, I play it whenever I get the chance. Couldn’t figure out how to write on the pic so: (This one was a good one, had to really sit and work on it for a like an hour)

            812       753       649

            943       682       175

            675       491       283

            154       237       896

            369       845       721

            287       169       534

            521       974       368

            438       526       917

            796       318       452

3)

Don’t know, and Cheryl is being really “extra” as the kids say now, by not saying what her birthday is, I would have not given her a gift.

4)

Shoot Mr. White. I don’t know but he hits his shots all the time I’d at least try and hit him.

5)

Change the first plus sign into a 4 (545 + 5 + 5 = 555) 

6)

He can’t reach the button for the 10th floor in the elevator so he has wait till there are more people to press the button for him.

7)

Seen this one too. You pick two switches to turn on, one stays off, after waiting a bit, pick one of the switches that is on and then go into the room. If the light is on then it’s the switch still on, if off, touch the bulb, cold=the switch that was always off, warm=the one that was on then turned off.

8)

Don’t care. These gods sound like dicks.

9)

Why can’t he just go to Mary’s house and give her the ring? John is lazy and illogical, that is my deduction. I don’t know.

10)

Flip it upside down and it’s 87. Seen this one before too.

11)

I don’t know! This is the kind of riddle that makes me want to hit the creator in the face. Hints would be nice too.

12)

Alex is screwed. He jumps, he dead. He somehow survives, he’s burned or he starves, he dead.

13)

A. Anne could be married or not. If she is married and looking at George then yes, a married person is looking at an unmarried person, but if she’s not married the its still yes, cause Jack is married.

14)

Nope. Math was not my best subject.

15)

1? No clue.

16)

This type of math I can do, n=10. (10^2 - 10 - 90 = 0)

17)

Vince did it but I’d say “you’re all paying for the new window, I don’t care who broke it.”

18) Where does the English horn (Cor Anglais) come from? I’m assuming not England. Cor Anglais is French, but I doubt it’s from France. I don’t know.

19) What is brass composed of? Copper and Zinc

20) Who was the FIRST great artist that contributed to the Italian Renaissance? Masaccio. Thanks Art History!

21)

No.

22)

Don’t know but I known that I wouldn’t be at that party.

23)

How about nope

24) Is the dress blue and black or white and gold?

Blue and Black and I never want to here about this dress again. I hate dresses and I hated this meme when it came out on the news.

25)

I had to read this damn thing like 6 times, but I figured it out! There is no letter “e” in the entire thing. Kind of cool given that “e” is the most common letter used in the English language.

(I liked this submission form. It’s defiantly more challenging and has to do with a lot more problem solving than the last one. I like puzzles and some of these really made me think.)

Mycroft’s answer:

Melissa, I must say that I have heard many odd phrases in my lifetime both directly and in passing but never something akin to ‘I got burned with Holy Water once while at the Vatican' even with faulty translations at best. I would assume their would be a good story in correlation with that statement? I find it refreshing that you can take rejection so well despite stating that this is a regular occurrence for you. It takes a lot of time and practice for something like that not to effect you anymore and in the few times that I have been on the brunt end it does still carry a sting for me. But in private mind you as I cannot have my competitors or coworkers see me in a state of disarray. While I cannot say with any true glee that I have always been for the sciences ( my heart has always been on external things that tend to change more rapidly and could be controlled at a faster rate) than what concerns the inner workings of the human body much less than that of an animal however, I do have some know how about avian species and reptiles as Sherlock was wont to play with them. I am quite pleased that you attempted the puzzle and even more so that it is correct. My only issue is that if I took you up on a partnership is that you cannot be vindictive toward clients in a direct way. As a partnership with me would include dealing with some rather self-centered diplomats or government officials I'm afraid that in any instance of 'wrong doing' we would simply grin and bear it until the proper time comes to exploit it for personal gain. You can't exactly run the world if you burn too many bridges and make far too many enemies and you can see that with Mr. Moriarty's circles as well.  You may not be too fond of the partnership considering on how  big these meetings tend to run but rest assured we do need more  Esperanto speakers. Just remember that in public everything must be clean and pristine which includes talk, work and the like but in private I will find no complaints from me. 

Friendship: 8.6/10

Mentorship: 8.1/10

Relationship: 6.79/10

Partnership: 7.56/10

[taeyongtime]

r.e.m.ember

genre: dream eater!au

group & member: NCT’s Ten

word count: ~3.2k

a/n: this right here lowkey for ten’s plus one @taeyxong 

[dream I]

The key slowly turns in a clockwise fashion, his nimble fingers tucking the silver object back to its pocket in his jacket once the door creaks open. His footsteps echo in the long hallway despite walking on his bare feet, eyes narrowed against the white light that greets him once his entry is complete.

“Interesting.”

There is nothing around him, only the span white space that never seems to end. Not even another creature or imagination of a creature crosses his path as he makes a lap around the area, confirming that he had entered a most unusual space for the night. His body leans against what seems to be a wall or some other structure that can support his back, fingers tapping thoughtfully against the solid surface in thought. What to do, oh what to do.

“A dream without a dream,” Ten muses, reaching into the breast pocket of his black jacket and taking out a black ink pen, “Is nothing but an empty canvas left open to the imaginations of dreamers and their reality.”

—

“Back already?”

The door closes behind him and Ten sighs as he greets the gatekeeper at the Entry. “There was nothing, Johnny.”

“Nothing?” the tall figure echoes, frowning at the thought. “Was it just your door?”

“Perhaps. But I did get to draw in the white space, so that was fun.”

“You know you can’t eat what you draw.”

Ten laughs, a chime that rings off the gates that separate the doors and the dreamers. “I had fun regardless.”

“What’d you draw?”

“A tree,” he answers, closing his eyes as he recalls the image of inked leaves scattering down by his feet. “Some of the branches dangled low enough for me to touch with my fingertips and the whole thing glistened with silver pearls.” Reaching into the single pocket sewn at the left side of his garment, Ten beams at the black leaf nestled inside and hands it off to Johnny. “It was beautiful, Johnny. I only wish I was tall enough to reach one of the pearls.”

“Well, maybe someday,” his friend laughs, tucking the leaf behind his ear. “Thank you for the gift.”

“Good night.”

“Maybe I’ll see you in the morning.”

—

[reality I]

You wake rather alert on this fine Saturday morning, the needle of the hour hand on your clock barely past the 6th increment as you sit in bed. Last night had been peculiar, your dreams rather empty for once as you recall seeing a large span of white space. Just white space, nothing more and nothing less besides the omnipotence that was your unconscious roaming against the white walls. Corridor. Shapeless hollow, if you will.

“But there was…” Your eyes close and there it is, the flickering image of what looked like a tree rooted in the center of it all. A tree the color of black ink, with branches hanging low and dropping inked leaves all around the base as the top shimmered silver. You’d certainly never seen a tree like that before, especially not one that glowed with a platinum finish, and inspiration buzzed at your fingertips as you force yourself up and out of bed.

“Yes. Yes, it could work.”

You quickly brush your teeth and make yourself some toast for breakfast, slathering a healthy amount of strawberry jam onto the crisp bread and holding it in your mouth as you grab your paints from the shelf next to the fridge. A full set of watercolors and the small portable easel good enough to start with, you delicately hold the sweet toast in between your teeth as you head downstairs to the basement that served as your art studio. Placing down your colors and easel, you finish the rest of the toast in a few bites and roll your sleeves up, making sure to tie your hair into a bun for ease as you locate your battered sketchpad at the upper left of your worktable.

“Okay,” you mutter, flipping to a blank page and twirling one of your sketch pencils in between your fingers. “It was something like…” A few quick strokes make their mark on the page and you pause, eyes gleaming at the box of oil pastels next to the ruler and some lone markers that hadn’t made their way back into their original box.

“This will do.”

You fish the silver oil pastel out of its spot next to its darker gray companion and dot your sketch, the finished pencil-sketched tree sparkling with silver resemblance to the platinum finish you had seen in your dream.

“Metallica. I can work with that.”

Ripping out the sketch and setting it on the small easel you had brought down, you opened the lid to your watercolors and groan at forgetting to get a cup of water, having to make a second trip up at the unintentional blunder.  

—

[dream II]

The early morning brings Ten to the Entry again, giving Johnny a friendly nod as the gatekeeper let him in, silver key already in hand as he approaches his designated door. Shabbier than most and not as nice-looking as some of the others here, it was still the door assigned to him when he first qualified as a dreamer and he knew it would only be a matter of time before he got a new key to unlock a new door. Not that he didn’t like his current door. Yesterday’s spectacle was unprecedented and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t curious about the white space and the dreamless dream.

The door clicks open and he steps in, twirling the silver key in his fingers as he enters the dream, pleasantly surprised to see the tree he had drawn yesterday as a greeting.

“Why, hello.” He tiptoes and plucks an inked leaf from the branch, blowing it to his left while the rest of the tree looms overhead. “Didn’t think I’d see you again.”

Exchanging the key for his pen, he scribbles over the trunk of the tree and it melts, forming into a pool of rippling black ink despite the lack of movement within the liquid substance. 

Or maybe…

Ten backs up when a hand abruptly reaches out from the surface of the ink pool, and without a second thought he grabs hold and begins to pull, eyes widened in surprise at seeing the figure wheezing by his feet.

—

[reality + dream]

You gulp in large breaths of air and shriek at seeing him. “Who are you?”

“Wild,” Ten murmurs, still staring at you until you manage to get yourself up. “This has never happened before.” He licks his lips in anticipation and you take a step back, the soles of your feet touching the pool of ink again.

“Oh.”

He extends a hand and you cautiously take it, letting yourself be pulled to safety as the pool begins to shrink until not even a droplet of water remains.

“Did you do that?”

Ten shakes his head. “This is your dream, not mine.”

“My dream,” you echo. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Anything here is within your control.”

“So I can make you disappear then?”

Ten snorts at the question. “No, you can’t.”

“But you said it’s my dream.”

“Yes, but there are still some things that operate out of your immediate control.” He takes out his black pen, uncapping it and pausing in thought before using it to draw a glass cube into view.

“I created this,” he begins. “Just because this is your dream doesn’t mean you can erase what I’ve made.”

You tap at the glass, surprised at the sturdiness underneath your fingertips. “This could be a good tank.”

Water starts to fill up the moment those words leave your mouth, churning into a rosy pink color.

“This is your dream,” Ten repeats. “You can’t take away what I’ve made, but you can certainly add to it if you’d like.”

“I want two fishes,” you begin excitedly. “Goldfish… no, maybe koi. I’ve always loved how pretty they are.”

Two koi fishes the color of mottled orange, white, and black appear in the glass tank soon after, their mouths a gaping ‘O’ shape as they make lazy laps around the confinement of their home. Small air bubbles rise to the surface, and you stare with renowned interest at the branch of flowers that hovers over the water’s edge.

“One for you,” Ten offers. “They like the flowers.”

You take the offered branch and hold it over the tank, a smile lighting up your face as the larger of the two koi swims up to your branch and begins to nibble at the budding blossom closest to the water.

“Cute.”

—

[reality II]

Having nodded off, the sensation of cold droplets on your skin bring you out of slumber and back to reality, the shout at black paint smeared across your thighs a sight for sore eyes. Somehow you had knocked over water into your paints—specifically the black inks—water mixing with the colored additive to form the dark river that was still spilling endlessly onto the floor of your studio.

“Fuck.”

Mopping it up with an old rag, you wring out the water in the old basin next to the water heater and leave it tossed inside, shifting your attention to the black smears on your skin. Being messy was a given in the realm of art, nothing to throw a fit over when you had to get your thoughts on canvas before Inspiration took them away again.

“But first,” you muse as you gaze returns to the water heater. “A trip to the pet store to look at some koi.”

—

[dream III]

“I met with my dreamer, Johnny.”

The gatekeeper scoffs. “There aren’t supposed to be any face-to-face interactions.”

Ten nods in acknowledgement but presses on. “It really happened. Creation blossoming at my fingertips and…” He licks his lips at the memory. “Delicious. It was the best tasting dream I’ve had in a long while.”

“Is your key defective?”

“You’re just jealous.” Ten pushes past Johnny and stops before his door. “See you later.”

“Mmm.”

Twisting the knob, Ten opens the door and steps into the passage leading into his dreamer’s dream, shivering at the nippy breeze that greets him once the door closes.

“That’s a first.”

Heavy rain is pouring by the time he steps into the dream, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth as the wind picks up, almost howling in the backdrop of the falling water. Feeling his head getting soaked and droplets seeping in through his clothes, Ten reaches into his jacket pocket and draws an umbrella for himself, opening it and leaning against the walls of the dream. The rain doesn’t look like it’ll be stopping anytime soon, and hopefully it doesn’t continue this way when melancholy was the last thing he wanted after the excitement and delight at the dreams nights before.

He doesn’t know how long he fell asleep underneath the umbrella, only that his tongue was now ridden with the taste of frustration and sorrow. Nightmares were the worst dreams to sit through and the worst to eat.

—

[reality III] 

You should have expected this after turning in your completed watercolor portraits of the silver tree and koi tank in your dreams.

Inspiration leaving as quickly as she came, your brain remained fuzzy as you tried to brainstorm another idea for the art contest your teacher had entered you in without your consent. It was made worse when the medium for the contest was charcoal, something you had little experience in when your area of expertise had always been watercolor. Sure, she had pulled you aside for supplementary sessions to practice working with it and you did fine with simple strokes and shading, but when it was time for you to use your creativity for your own piece… no. Your brain just does the thing where it shuts down at the thought of creating something new and the deadline was only one week away. Seven days to complete and submit a charcoal sketch that didn’t look like shit because you were better than that.

“I hateeeee this,” you groan, grabbing tufts of your hair in frustration. “I don’t even watercolor so how do I charcoal?”

The package of charcoal still unopened after buying them the craft store earlier this week, you finally reach for it and pull off the plastic packaging, staring at the black art tools with disdain in your eyes. Flipping open to a fresh page in your sketchbook, you take one of the charcoal sticks out of the case and make a diagonal line down the paper, building on top of it with consecutive lines and rubbing out the edges with a soft eraser.

“No no.” You tear the page out and scrunch it into a ball, tossing it to the side. “Not good.”

Two hours pass before you know it and the mountain of paper balls littered around the floor is a sight to behold, scrapped idea after scrapped idea mockingly making their presence known to the frustrated artist. You debate taking a quick nap to recharge, but lately you haven’t been sleeping very well, your dreams morphing into dark and dreary moods of rainy spells and loud noises that jolt you awake not long after closing your eyes. So different from the carefree exchanges from before with that curious—

“Maybe I’ll see him again,” you muse, falling face-first on the middle of your sketchbook. “Maybe he can help.”

—

[reality + dream]

You open your eyes to a spell of heavy rain, water droplets soaking you wet from head-to-toe until you remembered to pull the hood of your paint-splattered hoodie over your head. Walking quickly, you search for any sign of another life but all you see is darkness. The only things you hear are the steady pitter-pattering rain and your own footsteps as you continue onward. Your dreams have never been this dark before, and fear was beginning to gain hold of your frail wits until you spot the shadow of what looked to be a building three feet away. Eager at the hopes of meeting someone—anyone—underneath the roof in the rain, you pick up your feet and make a run for it, the smile on your face dissipating at the lack of presence besides your own.

“I thought he’d be here,” you grumble, taking a seat on the cool tiles of the pavilion and eyeing the candlesticks on each corner. “Wish there was warmth so I wouldn’t be freezing in this rain.”

“This is your dream, remember? Anything here is within your control.”

Each of the four corners light up with a newly lit candle flame and the figure from your dreams earlier waves awkwardly as he takes a seat across from you.

“It’s been raining a lot lately.”

“Ah, well…” You pick your words carefully. “An artist has her moments.”

“Are you working on something?”

You begin to tell him about your charcoal dilemma and he listens attentively, nodding every so often and tilting his head, the glint of his multiple ear piercings catching glimmers from the candle flame.

“Hey, I never got your name,” you speak up, staring at him curiously. “Or do you even have one?”

“Oh, I’ve got one. It’s Ten.”

“You have ten names?”

A burst of giggles and you duck your head in embarrassment after realizing your mistake.

“That was cute,” Ten laughs.

“Your face,” you begin, “It’s… artistic.”

“Really?”

“May I… Can I draw a picture of you?”

A sketchbook and pencil materialize onto your lap and he nods his head in permission before you begin. His features were easy to sketch, definitively recognizable even in pencil, and as you add the finishing touches his nose, the pencil sketch shows itself in your mind in potential charcoal. The shadings could be improved and there were lines that could be shorter and others blending into the neckline but… it had potential. Your contest entry was salvable.

“Thoughts?”

You hold up the pencil sketch of him and Ten’s eyes widen in delight. “That looks just like me!”

“I need to make this in charcoal, do you think this can be reproduced in charcoal?”

“I never doubted your artistic ability at all.”

The grin on your face spreads to each side of your cheeks. “Then I’ll bring this back so I can start immediately!”

“You’ve forgotten this is a dream,” he reminds you, chuckling as two of the candles become extinguished by the sudden breeze that blows in, no sound of the storm from earlier. “I’ll be pleasantly surprised if you can even remember any of this once you wake up.”

“But… it’s my dream. I’m quite good at remembering dreams.”

“Not if I eat it first.” Ten stares at you with a soft gaze and smiles. “I’m getting a new key, so I probably won’t ever meet you in your dreams again.”

“Eat,” you echo, thoroughly confused. “Key…?”

“Best of luck in your future endeavors and never stop believing in yourself, alright?”

“Wait, Ten… what are you—”

—

[reality IV]

You wake, cold sweat running down the back of your neck as you sit up. The charcoal sketch you had slept on now smudged, you touch at your face and grimace at the black stains on your fingertips.

“Oh shit!”

Your reflection exactly as you predicted, you turn on the tap by the crusty basin and wash off the smudges on your face. Staring at the cracked mirror above head, you close your eyes and try to remember the dream you had while you were asleep.

“Come on, come on.” Your nose scrunches in an attempt to speed up the recall process, but nothing comes to mind. Nothing definitively workable, at least.

“Okay,” you mutter, gritting your teeth. “Okay, fuck this, I’ll make use of these lines… darker here… lighter there… pencil and charcoal…”

❀

The envelope comes in the mailbox three months later, the association that had sponsored the art contest you participated in warmly informing you of your win and simultaneously giving you the location of the art museum that had your winning drawing on display. Not caring much for the trophy that you were supposed to pick up by the end of the week, you hurriedly get dressed into more appropriate clothes to wear out and arrive at the museum in approximately thirty minutes, inclined to tell the staff you deserved free admission to view your own work but paying proper fare for ticket entry anyway. You take a map from the information kiosk and locate the correct exhibit, taking the elevator three floors up until you hit the corner designated for the winners of the contest under the group that were the very ones who sponsored this very museum—fitting that they would place winning work in their own sponsored institution.

“That’s beautiful.”

You turn around, face paling at the sight of the young man staring at the charcoal drawing. His lean figure is an uncanny resemblance to the subject of your drawing, down to the sharp nose, angled jaw, long neck, and remaining limbs that hold up the rest of the lithe body.

“You look familiar,” you begin carefully. “But I can’t remember where I’ve seen your face before.”

He shrugs, grinning as he tilts his head curiously at you. “I don’t know. Maybe we’ve met each other once upon a dream.”

[thesnhuup]

Pop Picks – January 3, 2019

January 3, 2019

What I’m listening to:

My listening choices usually refer to music, but this time I’m going with Malcolm Gladwell’s Revisionist History podcast on genius and the song Hallelujah. It tells the story of Leonard Cohen’s much-covered song Hallelujah and uses it as a lens on kinds of genius and creativity. Along the way, he brings in Picasso and Cézanne, Elvis Costello, and more. Gladwell is a good storyteller and if you love pop music, as I do, and Hallelujah, as I do (and you should), you’ll enjoy this podcast. We tend to celebrate the genius who seems inspired in the moment, creating new work like lightning strikes, but this podcast has me appreciating incremental creativity in a new way. It’s compelling and fun at the same time.

What I’m reading:

Just read Clay Christensen’s new book, The Prosperity Paradox: How Innovation Can Lift Nations Out of Poverty. This was an advance copy, so soon available. Clay is an old friend and a huge influence on how we have grown SNHU and our approach to innovation. This book is so compelling, because we know attempts at development have so often been a failure and it is often puzzling to understand why some countries with desperate poverty and huge challenges somehow come to thrive (think S. Korea, Singapore, 19th C. America), while others languish. Clay offers a fresh way of thinking about development through the lens of his research on innovation and it is compelling. I bet this book gets a lot of attention, as most of his work does. I also suspect that many in the development community will hate it, as it calls into question the approach and enormous investments we have made in an attempt to lift countries out of poverty. A provocative read and, as always, Clay is a good storyteller.

What I’m watching:

Just watched Leave No Trace and should have guessed that it was directed by Debra Granik. She did Winter’s Bone, the extraordinary movie that launched Jennifer Lawrence’s career. Similarly, this movie features an amazing young actor, Thomasin McKenzie, and visits lives lived on the margins. In this case, a veteran suffering PTSD, and his 13-year-old daughter. The movie is patient, is visually lush, and justly earned 100% on Rotten Tomatoes (I have a rule to never watch anything under 82%). Everything in this film is under control and beautifully understated (aside from the visuals) – confident acting, confident directing, and so humane. I love the lack of flashbacks, the lack of sensationalism – the movie trusts the viewer, rare in this age of bombast. A lovely film.

Archive

December 4, 2018

What I’m listening to:

Spending a week in New Zealand, we had endless laughs listening to the Kiwi band, Flight of the Conchords. Lots of comedic bands are funny, but the music is only okay or worse. These guys are funny – hysterical really – and the music is great. They have an uncanny ability to parody almost any style. In both New Zealand and Australia, we found a wry sense of humor that was just delightful and no better captured than with this duo. You don’t have to be in New Zealand to enjoy them.

What I’m reading:

I don’t often reread. For two reasons: A) I have so many books on my “still to be read” pile that it seems daunting to also reread books I loved before, and B) it’s because I loved them once that I’m a little afraid to read them again. That said, I was recently asked to list my favorite book of all time and I answered Leo Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina. But I don’t really know if that’s still true (and it’s an impossible question anyway – favorite book? On what day? In what mood?), so I’m rereading it and it feels like being with an old friend. It has one of my very favorite scenes ever: the card game between Levin and Kitty that leads to the proposal and his joyous walking the streets all night.

What I’m watching:

Blindspotting is billed as a buddy-comedy. Wow does that undersell it and the drama is often gripping. I loved Daveed Diggs in Hamilton, didn’t like his character in Black-ish, and think he is transcendent in this film he co-wrote with Rafael Casal, his co-star.  The film is a love song to Oakland in many ways, but also a gut-wrenching indictment of police brutality, systemic racism and bias, and gentrification. The film has the freshness and raw visceral impact of Spike Lee’s Do the Right Thing. A great soundtrack, genre mixing, and energy make it one of my favorite movies of 2018.

October 15, 2018

What I’m listening to:

We had the opportunity to see our favorite band, The National, live in Dallas two weeks ago. Just after watching Mistaken for Strangers, the documentary sort of about the band. So we’ve spent a lot of time going back into their earlier work, listening to songs we don’t know well, and reaffirming that their musicality, smarts, and sound are both original and astoundingly good. They did not disappoint in concert and it is a good thing their tour ended, as we might just spend all of our time and money following them around. Matt Berninger is a genius and his lead vocals kill me (and because they are in my range, I can actually sing along!). Their arrangements are profoundly good and go right to whatever brain/heart wiring that pulls one in and doesn’t let them go.

What I’m reading:

Who is Richard Powers and why have I only discovered him now, with his 12th book? Overstory is profoundly good, a book that is essential and powerful and makes me look at my everyday world in new ways. In short, a dizzying example of how powerful can be narrative in the hands of a master storyteller. I hesitate to say it’s the best environmental novel I’ve ever read (it is), because that would put this book in a category. It is surely about the natural world, but it is as much about we humans. It’s monumental and elegiac and wondrous at all once. Cancel your day’s schedule and read it now. Then plant a tree. A lot of them.

What I’m watching:

Bo Burnham wrote and directed Eighth Grade and Elsie Fisher is nothing less than amazing as its star (what’s with these new child actors; see Florida Project). It’s funny and painful and touching. It’s also the single best film treatment that I have seen of what it means to grow up in a social media shaped world. It’s a reminder that growing up is hard. Maybe harder now in a world of relentless, layered digital pressure to curate perfect lives that are far removed from the natural messy worlds and selves we actually inhabit. It’s a well-deserved 98% on Rotten Tomatoes and I wonder who dinged it for the missing 2%.

September 7, 2018

What I’m listening to:

With a cover pointing back to the Beastie Boys’ 1986 Licensed to Ill, Eminem’s quietly released Kamikaze is not my usual taste, but I’ve always admired him for his “all out there” willingness to be personal, to call people out, and his sheer genius with language. I thought Daveed Diggs could rap fast, but Eminem is supersonic at moments, and still finds room for melody. Love that he includes Joyner Lucas, whose “I’m Not Racist” gets added to the growing list of simply amazing music videos commenting on race in America. There are endless reasons why I am the least likely Eminem fan, but when no one is around to make fun of me, I’ll put it on again.

What I’m reading:

Lesley Blume’s Everyone Behaves Badly, which is the story behind Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises and his time in 1920s Paris (oh, what a time – see Midnight in Paris if you haven’t already). Of course, Blume disabuses my romantic ideas of that time and place and everyone is sort of (or profoundly so) a jerk, especially…no spoiler here…Hemingway. That said, it is a compelling read and coming off the Henry James inspired prose of Mrs. Osmond, it made me appreciate more how groundbreaking was Hemingway’s modern prose style. Like his contemporary Picasso, he reinvented the art and it can be easy to forget, these decades later, how profound was the change and its impact. And it has bullfights.

What I’m watching:

Chloé Zhao’s The Rider is just exceptional. It’s filmed on the Pine Ridge Reservation, which provides a stunning landscape, and it feels like a classic western reinvented for our times. The main characters are played by the real-life people who inspired this narrative (but feels like a documentary) film. Brady Jandreau, playing himself really, owns the screen. It’s about manhood, honor codes, loss, and resilience – rendered in sensitive, nuanced, and heartfelt ways. It feels like it could be about large swaths of America today. Really powerful.

August 16, 2018

What I’m listening to:

In my Spotify Daily Mix was Percy Sledge’s When A Man Loves A Woman, one of the world’s greatest love songs. Go online and read the story of how the song was discovered and recorded. There are competing accounts, but Sledge said he improvised it after a bad breakup. It has that kind of aching spontaneity. It is another hit from Muscle Shoals, Alabama, one of the GREAT music hotbeds, along with Detroit, Nashville, and Memphis. Our February Board meeting is in Alabama and I may finally have to do the pilgrimage road trip to Muscle Shoals and then Memphis, dropping in for Sunday services at the church where Rev. Al Green still preaches and sings. If the music is all like this, I will be saved.

What I’m reading:

John Banville’s Mrs. Osmond, his homage to literary idol Henry James and an imagined sequel to James’ 1881 masterpiece Portrait of a Lady. Go online and read the first paragraph of Chapter 25. He is…profoundly good. Makes me want to never write again, since anything I attempt will feel like some other, lowly activity in comparison to his mastery of language, image, syntax. This is slow reading, every sentence to be savored.

What I’m watching:

I’ve always respected Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg, but we just watched the documentary RGB. It is over-the-top great and she is now one of my heroes. A superwoman in many ways and the documentary is really well done. There are lots of scenes of her speaking to crowds and the way young women, especially law students, look at her is touching.  And you can’t help but fall in love with her now late husband Marty. See this movie and be reminded of how important is the Law.

July 23, 2018

What I’m listening to:

Spotify’s Summer Acoustic playlist has been on repeat quite a lot. What a fun way to listen to artists new to me, including The Paper Kites, Hollow Coves, and Fleet Foxes, as well as old favorites like Leon Bridges and Jose Gonzalez. Pretty chill when dialing back to a summer pace, dining on the screen porch or reading a book.

What I’m reading:

Bryan Stevenson’s Just Mercy. Founder of the Equal Justice Initiative, Stevenson tells of the racial injustice (and the war on the poor our judicial system perpetuates as well) that he discovered as a young graduate from Harvard Law School and his fight to address it. It is in turn heartbreaking, enraging, and inspiring. It is also about mercy and empathy and justice that reads like a novel. Brilliant.

What I’m watching:

Fauda. We watched season one of this Israeli thriller. It was much discussed in Israel because while it focuses on an ex-special agent who comes out of retirement to track down a Palestinian terrorist, it was willing to reveal the complexity, richness, and emotions of Palestinian lives. And the occasional brutality of the Israelis. Pretty controversial stuff in Israel. Lior Raz plays Doron, the main character, and is compelling and tough and often hard to like. He’s a mess. As is the world in which he has to operate. We really liked it, and also felt guilty because while it may have been brave in its treatment of Palestinians within the Israeli context, it falls back into some tired tropes and ultimately falls short on this front.

    June 11, 2018

What I’m listening to:

Like everyone else, I’m listening to Pusha T drop the mic on Drake. Okay, not really, but do I get some points for even knowing that? We all walk around with songs that immediately bring us back to a time or a place. Songs are time machines. We are coming up on Father’s Day. My own dad passed away on Father’s Day back in 1994 and I remembering dutifully getting through the wake and funeral and being strong throughout. Then, sitting alone in our kitchen, Don Henley’s The End of the Innocence came on and I lost it. When you lose a parent for the first time (most of us have two after all) we lose our innocence and in that passage, we suddenly feel adult in a new way (no matter how old we are), a longing for our own childhood, and a need to forgive and be forgiven. Listen to the lyrics and you’ll understand. As Wordsworth reminds us in In Memoriam, there are seasons to our grief and, all these years later, this song no longer hits me in the gut, but does transport me back with loving memories of my father. I’ll play it Father’s Day.

What I’m reading:

The Fifth Season, by N. K. Jemisin. I am not a reader of fantasy or sci-fi, though I understand they can be powerful vehicles for addressing the very real challenges of the world in which we actually live. I’m not sure I know of a more vivid and gripping illustration of that fact than N. K. Jemisin’s Hugo Award winning novel The Fifth Season, first in her Broken Earth trilogy. It is astounding. It is the fantasy parallel to The Underground Railroad, my favorite recent read, a depiction of subjugation, power, casual violence, and a broken world in which our hero(s) struggle, suffer mightily, and still, somehow, give us hope. It is a tour de force book. How can someone be this good a writer? The first 30 pages pained me (always with this genre, one must learn a new, constructed world, and all of its operating physics and systems of order), and then I could not put it down. I panicked as I neared the end, not wanting to finish the book, and quickly ordered the Obelisk Gate, the second novel in the trilogy, and I can tell you now that I’ll be spending some goodly portion of my weekend in Jemisin’s other world.

What I’m watching:

The NBA Finals and perhaps the best basketball player of this generation. I’ve come to deeply respect LeBron James as a person, a force for social good, and now as an extraordinary player at the peak of his powers. His superhuman play during the NBA playoffs now ranks with the all-time greats, Larry Bird, Magic Johnson, MJ, Kobe, and the demi-god that was Bill Russell. That his Cavs lost in a 4-game sweep is no surprise. It was a mediocre team being carried on the wide shoulders of James (and matched against one of the greatest teams ever, the Warriors, and the Harry Potter of basketball, Steph Curry) and, in some strange way, his greatness is amplified by the contrast with the rest of his team. It was a great run.

May 24, 2018

What I’m listening to:

I’ve always liked Alicia Keys and admired her social activism, but I am hooked on her last album Here. This feels like an album finally commensurate with her anger, activism, hope, and grit. More R&B and Hip Hop than is typical for her, I think this album moves into an echelon inhabited by a Marvin Gaye’s What’s Going On or Beyonce’s Formation. Social activism and outrage rarely make great novels, but they often fuel great popular music. Here is a terrific example.

What I’m reading:

Colson Whitehead’s Underground Railroad may be close to a flawless novel. Winner of the 2017 Pulitzer, it chronicles the lives of two runaway slaves, Cora and Caeser, as they try to escape the hell of plantation life in Georgia.  It is an often searing novel and Cora is one of the great heroes of American literature. I would make this mandatory reading in every high school in America, especially in light of the absurd revisionist narratives of “happy and well cared for” slaves. This is a genuinely great novel, one of the best I’ve read, the magical realism and conflating of time periods lifts it to another realm of social commentary, relevance, and a blazing indictment of America’s Original Sin, for which we remain unabsolved.

What I’m watching:

I thought I knew about The Pentagon Papers, but The Post, a real-life political thriller from Steven Spielberg taught me a lot, features some of our greatest actors, and is so timely given the assault on our democratic institutions and with a presidency out of control. It is a reminder that a free and fearless press is a powerful part of our democracy, always among the first targets of despots everywhere. The story revolves around the legendary Post owner and D.C. doyenne, Katharine Graham. I had the opportunity to see her son, Don Graham, right after he saw the film, and he raved about Meryl Streep’s portrayal of his mother. Liked it a lot more than I expected.

April 27, 2018

What I’m listening to:

I mentioned John Prine in a recent post and then on the heels of that mention, he has released a new album, The Tree of Forgiveness, his first new album in ten years. Prine is beloved by other singer songwriters and often praised by the inscrutable God that is Bob Dylan.  Indeed, Prine was frequently said to be the “next Bob Dylan” in the early part of his career, though he instead carved out his own respectable career and voice, if never with the dizzying success of Dylan. The new album reflects a man in his 70s, a cancer survivor, who reflects on life and its end, but with the good humor and empathy that are hallmarks of Prine’s music. “When I Get To Heaven” is a rollicking, fun vision of what comes next and a pure delight. A charming, warm, and often terrific album.

What I’m reading:

I recently read Min Jin Lee’s Pachinko, on many people’s Top Ten lists for last year and for good reason. It is sprawling, multi-generational, and based in the world of Japanese occupied Korea and then in the Korean immigrant’s world of Oaska, so our key characters become “tweeners,” accepted in neither world. It’s often unspeakably sad, and yet there is resiliency and love. There is also intimacy, despite the time and geographic span of the novel. It’s breathtakingly good and like all good novels, transporting.

What I’m watching:

I adore Guillermo del Toro’s 2006 film, Pan’s Labyrinth, and while I’m not sure his Shape of Water is better, it is a worthy follow up to the earlier masterpiece (and more of a commercial success). Lots of critics dislike the film, but I’m okay with a simple retelling of a Beauty and the Beast love story, as predictable as it might be. The acting is terrific, it is visually stunning, and there are layers of pain as well as social and political commentary (the setting is the US during the Cold War) and, no real spoiler here, the real monsters are humans, the military officer who sees over the captured aquatic creature. It is hauntingly beautiful and its depiction of hatred to those who are different or “other” is painfully resonant with the time in which we live. Put this on your “must see” list.

March 18, 2018

What I’m listening to:

Sitting on a plane for hours (and many more to go; geez, Australia is far away) is a great opportunity to listen to new music and to revisit old favorites. This time, it is Lucy Dacus and her album Historians, the new sophomore release from a 22-year old indie artist that writes with relatable, real-life lyrics. Just on a second listen and while she insists this isn’t a break up record (as we know, 50% of all great songs are break up songs), it is full of loss and pain. Worth the listen so far. For the way back machine, it’s John Prine and In Spite of Ourselves (that title track is one of the great love songs of all time), a collection of duets with some of his “favorite girl singers” as he once described them. I have a crush on Iris Dement (for a really righteously angry song try her Wasteland of the Free), but there is also EmmyLou Harris, the incomparable Dolores Keane, and Lucinda Williams. Very different albums, both wonderful.

What I’m reading:

Jane Mayer’s New Yorker piece on Christopher Steele presents little that is new, but she pulls it together in a terrific and coherent whole that is illuminating and troubling at the same time. Not only for what is happening, but for the complicity of the far right in trying to discredit that which should be setting off alarm bells everywhere. Bob Mueller may be the most important defender of the democracy at this time. A must read.

What I’m watching:

Homeland is killing it this season and is prescient, hauntingly so. Russian election interference, a Bannon-style hate radio demagogue, alienated and gun toting militia types, and a president out of control. It’s fabulous, even if it feels awfully close to the evening news. 

March 8, 2018

What I’m listening to:

We have a family challenge to compile our Top 100 songs. It is painful. Only 100? No more than three songs by one artist? Wait, why is M.I.A.’s “Paper Planes” on my list? Should it just be The Clash from whom she samples? Can I admit to guilty pleasure songs? Hey, it’s my list and I can put anything I want on it. So I’m listening to the list while I work and the song playing right now is Tom Petty’s “The Wild One, Forever,” a B-side single that was never a hit and that remains my favorite Petty song. Also, “Evangeline” by Los Lobos. It evokes a night many years ago, with friends at Pearl Street in Northampton, MA, when everyone danced well past 1AM in a hot, sweaty, packed club and the band was a revelation. Maybe the best music night of our lives and a reminder that one’s 100 Favorite Songs list is as much about what you were doing and where you were in your life when those songs were playing as it is about the music. It’s not a list. It’s a soundtrack for this journey.

What I’m reading:

Patricia Lockwood’s Priestdaddy was in the NY Times top ten books of 2017 list and it is easy to see why. Lockwood brings remarkable and often surprising imagery, metaphor, and language to her prose memoir and it actually threw me off at first. It then all became clear when someone told me she is a poet. The book is laugh aloud funny, which masks (or makes safer anyway) some pretty dark territory. Anyone who grew up Catholic, whether lapsed or not, will resonate with her story. She can’t resist a bawdy anecdote and her family provides some of the most memorable characters possible, especially her father, her sister, and her mother, who I came to adore. Best thing I’ve read in ages.

What I’m watching:

The Florida Project, a profoundly good movie on so many levels. Start with the central character, six-year old (at the time of the filming) Brooklynn Prince, who owns – I mean really owns – the screen. This is pure acting genius and at that age? Astounding. Almost as astounding is Bria Vinaite, who plays her mother. She was discovered on Instagram and had never acted before this role, which she did with just three weeks of acting lessons. She is utterly convincing and the tension between the child’s absolute wonder and joy in the world with her mother’s struggle to provide, to be a mother, is heartwarming and heartbreaking all at once. Willem Dafoe rightly received an Oscar nomination for his supporting role. This is a terrific movie.

February 12, 2018

What I’m listening to:

So, I have a lot of friends of age (I know you’re thinking 40s, but I just turned 60) who are frozen in whatever era of music they enjoyed in college or maybe even in their thirties. There are lots of times when I reach back into the catalog, since music is one of those really powerful and transporting senses that can take you through time (smell is the other one, though often underappreciated for that power). Hell, I just bought a turntable and now spending time in vintage vinyl shops. But I’m trying to take a lesson from Pat, who revels in new music and can as easily talk about North African rap music and the latest National album as Meet the Beatles, her first ever album. So, I’ve been listening to Kendrick Lamar’s Grammy winning Damn. While it may not be the first thing I’ll reach for on a winter night in Maine, by the fire, I was taken with it. It’s layered, political, and weirdly sensitive and misogynist at the same time, and it feels fresh and authentic and smart at the same time, with music that often pulled me from what I was doing. In short, everything music should do. I’m not a bit cooler for listening to Damn, but when I followed it with Steely Dan, I felt like I was listening to Lawrence Welk. A good sign, I think.

What I’m reading:

I am reading Walter Isaacson’s new biography of Leonardo da Vinci. I’m not usually a reader of biographies, but I’ve always been taken with Leonardo. Isaacson does not disappoint (does he ever?), and his subject is at once more human and accessible and more awe-inspiring in Isaacson’s capable hands. Gay, left-handed, vegetarian, incapable of finishing things, a wonderful conversationalist, kind, and perhaps the most relentlessly curious human being who has ever lived. Like his biographies of Steve Jobs and Albert Einstein, Isaacson’s project here is to show that genius lives at the intersection of science and art, of rationality and creativity. Highly recommend it.

What I’m watching:

We watched the This Is Us post-Super Bowl episode, the one where Jack finally buys the farm. I really want to hate this show. It is melodramatic and manipulative, with characters that mostly never change or grow, and it hooks me every damn time we watch it. The episode last Sunday was a tear jerker, a double whammy intended to render into a blubbering, tissue-crumbling pathetic mess anyone who has lost a parent or who is a parent. Sterling K. Brown, Ron Cephas Jones, the surprising Mandy Moore, and Milo Ventimiglia are hard not to love and last season’s episode that had only Brown and Cephas going to Memphis was the show at its best (they are by far the two best actors). Last week was the show at its best worst. In other words, I want to hate it, but I love it. If you haven’t seen it, don’t binge watch it. You’ll need therapy and insulin.

January 15, 2018

What I’m listening to:

Drive-By Truckers. Chris Stapleton has me on an unusual (for me) country theme and I discovered these guys to my great delight. They’ve been around, with some 11 albums, but the newest one is fascinating. It’s a deep dive into Southern alienation and the white working-class world often associated with our current president. I admire the willingness to lay bare, in kick ass rock songs, the complexities and pain at work among people we too quickly place into overly simple categories. These guys are brave, bold, and thoughtful as hell, while producing songs I didn’t expect to like, but that I keep playing. And they are coming to NH.

What I’m reading:

A textual analog to Drive-By Truckers by Chris Stapleton in many ways is Tony Horowitz’s 1998 Pulitzer Prize winning Confederates in the Attic. Ostensibly about the Civil War and the South’s ongoing attachment to it, it is prescient and speaks eloquently to the times in which we live (where every southern state but Virginia voted for President Trump). Often hilarious, it too surfaces complexities and nuance that escape a more recent, and widely acclaimed, book like Hillbilly Elegy. As a Civil War fan, it was also astonishing in many instances, especially when it blows apart long-held “truths” about the war, such as the degree to which Sherman burned down the south (he did not). Like D-B Truckers, Horowitz loves the South and the people he encounters, even as he grapples with its myths of victimhood and exceptionalism (and racism, which may be no more than the racism in the north, but of a different kind). Everyone should read this book and I’m embarrassed I’m so late to it.

What I’m watching:

David Letterman has a new Netflix show called “My Next Guest Needs No Introduction” and we watched the first episode, in which Letterman interviewed Barack Obama. It was extraordinary (if you don’t have Netflix, get it just to watch this show); not only because we were reminded of Obama’s smarts, grace, and humanity (and humor), but because we saw a side of Letterman we didn’t know existed. His personal reflections on Selma were raw and powerful, almost painful. He will do five more episodes with “extraordinary individuals” and if they are anything like the first, this might be the very best work of his career and one of the best things on television.

December 22, 2017

What I’m reading:

Just finished Sunjeev Sahota’s Year of the Runaways, a painful inside look at the plight of illegal Indian immigrant workers in Britain. It was shortlisted for 2015 Man Booker Prize and its transporting, often to a dark and painful universe, and it is impossible not to think about the American version of this story and the terrible way we treat the undocumented in our own country, especially now.

What I’m watching:

Season II of The Crown is even better than Season I. Elizabeth’s character is becoming more three-dimensional, the modern world is catching up with tradition-bound Britain, and Cold War politics offer more context and tension than we saw in Season I. Claire Foy, in her last season, is just terrific – one arched eye brow can send a message.

What I’m listening to:

A lot of Christmas music, but needing a break from the schmaltz, I’ve discovered Over the Rhine and their Christmas album, Snow Angels. God, these guys are good.

  November 14, 2017

What I’m watching:

Guiltily, I watch the Patriots play every weekend, often building my schedule and plans around seeing the game. Why the guilt? I don’t know how morally defensible is football anymore, as we now know the severe damage it does to the players. We can’t pretend it’s all okay anymore. Is this our version of late decadent Rome, watching mostly young Black men take a terrible toll on each other for our mere entertainment?

What I’m reading:

Recently finished J.G. Ballard’s 2000 novel Super-Cannes, a powerful depiction of a corporate-tech ex-pat community taken over by a kind of psychopathology, in which all social norms and responsibilities are surrendered to residents of the new world community. Kept thinking about Silicon Valley when reading it. Pretty dark, dystopian view of the modern world and centered around a mass killing, troublingly prescient.

What I’m listening to:

Was never really a Lorde fan, only knowing her catchy (and smarter than you might first guess) pop hit “Royals” from her debut album. But her new album, Melodrama, is terrific and it doesn’t feel quite right to call this “pop.” There is something way more substantial going on with Lorde and I can see why many critics put this album at the top of their Best in 2017 list. Count me in as a huge fan.

  November 3, 2017

What I’m reading: Just finished Celeste Ng’s Little Fires Everywhere, her breathtakingly good second novel. How is someone so young so wise? Her writing is near perfection and I read the book in two days, setting my alarm for 4:30AM so I could finish it before work.

What I’m watching: We just binge watched season two of Stranger Things and it was worth it just to watch Millie Bobbie Brown, the transcendent young actor who plays Eleven. The series is a delightful mash up of every great eighties horror genre you can imagine and while pretty dark, an absolute joy to watch.

What I’m listening to: I’m not a lover of country music (to say the least), but I love Chris Stapleton. His “The Last Thing I Needed, First Thing This Morning” is heartbreakingly good and reminds me of the old school country that played in my house as a kid. He has a new album and I can’t wait, but his From A Room: Volume 1 is on repeat for now.

  September 26, 2017

What I’m reading:

Just finished George Saunder’s Lincoln in the Bardo. It took me a while to accept its cadence and sheer weirdness, but loved it in the end. A painful meditation on loss and grief, and a genuinely beautiful exploration of the intersection of life and death, the difficulty of letting go of what was, good and bad, and what never came to be.

What I’m watching:

HBO’s The Deuce. Times Square and the beginning of the porn industry in the 1970s, the setting made me wonder if this was really something I’d want to see. But David Simon is the writer and I’d read a menu if he wrote it. It does not disappoint so far and there is nothing prurient about it.

What I’m listening to:

The National’s new album Sleep Well Beast. I love this band. The opening piano notes of the first song, “Nobody Else Will Be There,” seize me & I’m reminded that no one else in music today matches their arrangement & musicianship. I’m adding “Born to Beg,” “Slow Show,” “I Need My Girl,” and “Runaway” to my list of favorite love songs.

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[cc-hatredisland]

{.Words That Came Too Late.}

As soon as I resurfaced I was greeted by Yuunagi’s merry laughter. I made sure to glare at her but I wasn’t as embarrassed as I thought I’d be thankfully. Seemed like Chiffon’s bitter mumbling took up most of the attention, anyway. She squeezed out her ponytail as if she’d been soaked through and gave her feet a good stomp.

“Bah! I feel like I swallowed a cobweb!”

“Th-that’s why you gotta be careful...”

“At least we have a swimming pool now. It... kinda evens out?”

You sound so unsure, Yuunagi...

“The only thing to do is sate my sense of adventure! It’s the only thing that’ll ease this indignation.”

“Kaede!”

She’s... she actually remembered it. I’m in awe. My voice kinda comes out a little dazed.

“Uh... yeah?“

“We’re going! You’re attending, right? To the first floor!”

There were rooms I wanted to check, too so there was no real reason to say no. If I ran about a bit more, I might shake off some of this dust too. It’s not like I wanted to stay this messy either.

Chiffon lead the charge this time which Hirotsugu seemed particularly relieved about. I followed but I managed to give them both a thumbs-up before I slipped out of the door.

“Good luck!”

And it was back into the hall. God, this damn hall was so long. Halls were long, stairs were long... this free school mansion house was such torture. I doubt that was in Patchnuki’s plans but, man, it did add to the stress. Just a little. We were continuing on our merry way until we heard voices near the stairs.

“Wait! Wait right there!“

That was... Shiratori’s voice. His voice was so booming Chiffon stopped in place. She actually seemed a little intimidated.

“Nagase-kun, I’m telling you to stop right there!“

I hear him descend the stairs in a hurry. His voice is so loud it’s basically impossible not to hear him. If you’re around the area, I guess, anyway. I’m really not sure whether to interrupt it so I just kinda loiter upstairs.

“I... um... don’t want... I... I’m sorry. But... don’t...I d-don’t want to see your face right now.“

He seemed shellshocked but really... nothing seems to stop that guy.

“You have to at least hear me out! It’s important!“

Nagase stops in place but doesn’t bother facing him. Now that she’s actually staying it seems like he’s unsure of what to do next.

“Th... that... while I still believe everything being in the open is better... I have to admit the way I’ve... I could’ve breached things in a finer way. That was my bad! I apologize profusely!"

The quiet that stretched made me skin kinda tingle. I’ve always felt there are good silences and bad ones and this was... definitely not a good one.

“I’m... I’m, um... sorry, too...“

“B-because I’m not, uh... I’m... it’s like... I don’t think I can forgive you so easily...”

She looks really uncomfortable to be there and I’m beginning to feel bad even hearing it. But turning away now just feels weird. And I’m nosy.

“You didn’t... uh, um... I’m not sure how to put this but it’s not like... you really lost anything, right? I mean, you know, credibility! Faith. That kinda... floaty thing. But... ‘you don’t deserve to be here’. ‘You cheated’. Those are things, um... I think... I’m sure, that uh, some people might be thinking. B-because I... stole. Because of what you said.“

“I think it’s... easy to say things are better in the open, but, um... is that really true? I definitely think that sometimes you don’t have to know the full story. Because, um, if anything, doesn’t think make me more of a target?”

“It doesn’t! Don’t be ridiculous! Nagase-kun, nobody else will die! I’m going to see to that. And you got here on your own talent, surely! I refuse to believe you don’t belong here! ”

“B-but you can’t, right? You couldn’t get people to go to your meeting thingy... so, I’m... the thinking is that... you can’t stop this either. And... and... and... and it’s my life! It’s not really your business! W-when you act like you’re helping all you do is drive us further apart.”

“And I’m... and I’m scared to be around someone like that. Someone who can callously just... out someone’s secret like that... I’m scared of you, S-Shiratori-san.”

“There’s... there’s no need for that. If it’d help, I can tell you my own secret! If... if it’d get you to trust me, then--!”

“Sorry... I’m so sorry... I just... I just don’t think... it doesn’t work like that, Shiratori-san... you don’t... ’get’ people to trust. I think... um... I think you trust people to trust. I-it’s not really your choice... you have to believe in them... and... in wanting to expose everyone’s secrets, I think, um... all that really did was... like... it showed that you really don’t trust anyone, right? S... so I can’t... you can’t want trust if you won’t trust yourself...”

“Yuu-chan didn’t... judge me at all. She didn’t ask... she said... ‘Chi-chan must’ve had her reasons’. And it... and it made me so happy.“

“Forgive me for, um... for like... this part, but... aren’t you only here because you were told to reflect on it? Yuu-chan and K-Kumatani-san gave you, they like, you know, they were on your case. So you went and did this, but... if you’re only reflecting because they told you to, I don’t really think it’s reflecting.”

“No, but! Look -- listen! We’re strong enough to support each other! I believe in us! Definitely, definitely, definitely! But you have to be willing to give us a shot! I had every intention of telling everyone my secret as well. I just ... needed some good will first. If we all shared what was on our minds, what we kept hidden, we could allay our own fears! Fear is what causes accidents! If we believe in each other, nobody else needs to get hurt! I’m sure of it! I know I... I go too far sometimes! But I’m trying to make amends. Nagase-kun, please! Believe me, I’m trying.”

“B-but! But Shiratori-san, it’s... I’m sorry... I’m sorry! I’ll try but I need some space. And... and I still think... you need to think this through a little more. Because nobody will ever follow the lead of someone who won’t respect others. T-that’s the truth. In reality and fiction. Don’t... don’t push this. Please... don’t make me doubt you more than I do...”

Nagase’s inward body language said a lot. Through the whole conversation, she’d barely made eye contact. She... really was scared and I wasn’t sure I could blame her. It’d happened so fast and... people had died so soon after I hadn’t really considered her feelings and that made me feel like a real shitty person. To have a secret like that just blurted out... I hadn’t put much thought into it but I’m sure others had.

‘She doesn’t deserve to be here’... I couldn’t guarantee that thought hadn’t passed through someone’s head even if it hadn’t crossed mine.

With one last muttered sorry, Nagase inched away from Shiratori before sprinting away, best she could. Shiratori made a vague effort to stop her but his energy seemed to die on him half-way.

“Why... why can’t I do this right?! I’m trying to help! I’m really trying to help!”

His head kinda drops and he sighs deeply before checking something on his ID and entering a door himself. If I checked my own ID, it seemed like... Nagase had escaped to the Arts Room and Shiratori had entered the AV Room. I sighed too. That drama froze up all my joints somehow... and I wasn’t even a part of it. Seemed like it wasn’t just me who ended up affected, too.

“Th... that was tense! You people are so roundabout!“

“You’re a people too, y’know.”

“Fufu! I’m above you guys, though. Even those weird killing rules don’t apply to me. I wouldn’t demean myself to do such things even if they did.“

Her face actually becomes... dare I say it, thoughtful.

“Hmph. You trip up then wallow and regret all the time. Isn’t that tiring? Idiot Red’s an idiot. If it means something to you, stand with pride and state your case!"

“Don’t think it’s always that simple. I mean, not like you’re getting a warm welcome here from everyone.“

“So? If I cared about your opinions, I’d make concessions. But I don’t; you’re all strangers. If you don’t like me as I am, I’m not going to stretch myself into a shape you like for no reason! And if I did care, I wouldn’t stop until I was forgiven. Living with such heavy regrets sounds so tiring. Lamenting over poor results because it failed once? Such arrogance and cheek! I’d have someone beg 100 times over for wronging me. You all do things in such a confusing fashion - perhaps you’d be happier if you just spat it out directly. Honestly, I can’t figure you elaborate people out.”

“... Directly, huh... sounds... difficult but it’s not like I’m against it.“

Wait, did she just call herself simple?

No, but more seriously... I kinda wanted that too - simplicity. But it’s not that easy... I don’t think so, anyway. I mean, even if you didn’t want to regret something, life could mess you up good and proper and make you. It’s not like you always have a choice. And it’s not like these things are always so clear in the moment.

“Phew! What a topic! It gives me goosebumps - hate it! Hey. I’m bored! Let’s check a door.“

On the bright side, she’s never down for too long. It’s fine. I wanted to take my mind off it, too. All this house gave me was shitty feelings and deep things to think about and I wanted no part of either. It was... a lot easier before this. I could just switch off my mind and go wherever I wanted.

I could escape.

This house was a trap in a lot of ways, I guess. I could feel the atmosphere strangle me sometimes. Try and drown me in its nothing. So I had to keep moving. And trying.

[Next] >> [Previous]

[thesnhuup]

Pop Picks – October 15, 2018

What I’m listening to:

We had the opportunity to see our favorite band, The National, live in Dallas two weeks ago. Just after watching Mistaken for Strangers, the documentary sort of about the band. So we’ve spent a lot of time going back into their earlier work, listening to songs we don’t know well, and reaffirming that their musicality, smarts, and sound are both original and astoundingly good. They did not disappoint in concert and it is a good thing their tour ended, as we might just spend all of our time and money following them around. Matt Berninger is a genius and his lead vocals kill me (and because they are in my range, I can actually sing along!). Their arrangements are profoundly good and go right to whatever brain/heart wiring that pulls one in and doesn’t let them go.

What I’m reading:

Who is Richard Powers and why have I only discovered him now, with his 12th book? Overstory is profoundly good, a book that is essential and powerful and makes me look at my everyday world in new ways. In short, a dizzying example of how powerful can be narrative in the hands of a master storyteller. I hesitate to say it’s the best environmental novel I’ve ever read (it is), because that would put this book in a category. It is surely about the natural world, but it is as much about we humans. It’s monumental and elegiac and wondrous at all once. Cancel your day’s schedule and read it now. Then plant a tree. A lot of them.

What I’m watching:

Bo Burnham wrote and directed Eighth Grade and Elsie Fisher is nothing less than amazing as its star (what’s with these new child actors; see Florida Project). It’s funny and painful and touching. It’s also the single best film treatment that I have seen of what it means to grow up in a social media shaped world. It’s a reminder that growing up is hard. Maybe harder now in a world of relentless, layered digital pressure to curate perfect lives that are far removed from the natural messy worlds and selves we actually inhabit. It’s a well-deserved 98% on Rotten Tomatoes and I wonder who dinged it for the missing 2%.

  Archive

September 7, 2018

What I’m listening to:

With a cover pointing back to the Beastie Boys’ 1986 Licensed to Ill, Eminem’s quietly released Kamikaze is not my usual taste, but I’ve always admired him for his “all out there” willingness to be personal, to call people out, and his sheer genius with language. I thought Daveed Diggs could rap fast, but Eminem is supersonic at moments, and still finds room for melody. Love that he includes Joyner Lucas, whose “I’m Not Racist” gets added to the growing list of simply amazing music videos commenting on race in America. There are endless reasons why I am the least likely Eminem fan, but when no one is around to make fun of me, I’ll put it on again.

What I’m reading:

Lesley Blume’s Everyone Behaves Badly, which is the story behind Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises and his time in 1920s Paris (oh, what a time – see Midnight in Paris if you haven’t already). Of course, Blume disabuses my romantic ideas of that time and place and everyone is sort of (or profoundly so) a jerk, especially…no spoiler here…Hemingway. That said, it is a compelling read and coming off the Henry James inspired prose of Mrs. Osmond, it made me appreciate more how groundbreaking was Hemingway’s modern prose style. Like his contemporary Picasso, he reinvented the art and it can be easy to forget, these decades later, how profound was the change and its impact. And it has bullfights.

What I’m watching:

Chloé Zhao’s The Rider is just exceptional. It’s filmed on the Pine Ridge Reservation, which provides a stunning landscape, and it feels like a classic western reinvented for our times. The main characters are played by the real-life people who inspired this narrative (but feels like a documentary) film. Brady Jandreau, playing himself really, owns the screen. It’s about manhood, honor codes, loss, and resilience – rendered in sensitive, nuanced, and heartfelt ways. It feels like it could be about large swaths of America today. Really powerful.

August 16, 2018

What I’m listening to:

In my Spotify Daily Mix was Percy Sledge’s When A Man Loves A Woman, one of the world’s greatest love songs. Go online and read the story of how the song was discovered and recorded. There are competing accounts, but Sledge said he improvised it after a bad breakup. It has that kind of aching spontaneity. It is another hit from Muscle Shoals, Alabama, one of the GREAT music hotbeds, along with Detroit, Nashville, and Memphis. Our February Board meeting is in Alabama and I may finally have to do the pilgrimage road trip to Muscle Shoals and then Memphis, dropping in for Sunday services at the church where Rev. Al Green still preaches and sings. If the music is all like this, I will be saved.

What I’m reading:

John Banville’s Mrs. Osmond, his homage to literary idol Henry James and an imagined sequel to James’ 1881 masterpiece Portrait of a Lady. Go online and read the first paragraph of Chapter 25. He is…profoundly good. Makes me want to never write again, since anything I attempt will feel like some other, lowly activity in comparison to his mastery of language, image, syntax. This is slow reading, every sentence to be savored.

What I’m watching:

I’ve always respected Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg, but we just watched the documentary RGB. It is over-the-top great and she is now one of my heroes. A superwoman in many ways and the documentary is really well done. There are lots of scenes of her speaking to crowds and the way young women, especially law students, look at her is touching.  And you can’t help but fall in love with her now late husband Marty. See this movie and be reminded of how important is the Law.

July 23, 2018

What I’m listening to:

Spotify’s Summer Acoustic playlist has been on repeat quite a lot. What a fun way to listen to artists new to me, including The Paper Kites, Hollow Coves, and Fleet Foxes, as well as old favorites like Leon Bridges and Jose Gonzalez. Pretty chill when dialing back to a summer pace, dining on the screen porch or reading a book.

What I’m reading:

Bryan Stevenson’s Just Mercy. Founder of the Equal Justice Initiative, Stevenson tells of the racial injustice (and the war on the poor our judicial system perpetuates as well) that he discovered as a young graduate from Harvard Law School and his fight to address it. It is in turn heartbreaking, enraging, and inspiring. It is also about mercy and empathy and justice that reads like a novel. Brilliant.

What I’m watching:

Fauda. We watched season one of this Israeli thriller. It was much discussed in Israel because while it focuses on an ex-special agent who comes out of retirement to track down a Palestinian terrorist, it was willing to reveal the complexity, richness, and emotions of Palestinian lives. And the occasional brutality of the Israelis. Pretty controversial stuff in Israel. Lior Raz plays Doron, the main character, and is compelling and tough and often hard to like. He’s a mess. As is the world in which he has to operate. We really liked it, and also felt guilty because while it may have been brave in its treatment of Palestinians within the Israeli context, it falls back into some tired tropes and ultimately falls short on this front.

    June 11, 2018

What I’m listening to:

Like everyone else, I’m listening to Pusha T drop the mic on Drake. Okay, not really, but do I get some points for even knowing that? We all walk around with songs that immediately bring us back to a time or a place. Songs are time machines. We are coming up on Father’s Day. My own dad passed away on Father’s Day back in 1994 and I remembering dutifully getting through the wake and funeral and being strong throughout. Then, sitting alone in our kitchen, Don Henley’s The End of the Innocence came on and I lost it. When you lose a parent for the first time (most of us have two after all) we lose our innocence and in that passage, we suddenly feel adult in a new way (no matter how old we are), a longing for our own childhood, and a need to forgive and be forgiven. Listen to the lyrics and you’ll understand. As Wordsworth reminds us in In Memoriam, there are seasons to our grief and, all these years later, this song no longer hits me in the gut, but does transport me back with loving memories of my father. I’ll play it Father’s Day.

What I’m reading:

The Fifth Season, by N. K. Jemisin. I am not a reader of fantasy or sci-fi, though I understand they can be powerful vehicles for addressing the very real challenges of the world in which we actually live. I’m not sure I know of a more vivid and gripping illustration of that fact than N. K. Jemisin’s Hugo Award winning novel The Fifth Season, first in her Broken Earth trilogy. It is astounding. It is the fantasy parallel to The Underground Railroad, my favorite recent read, a depiction of subjugation, power, casual violence, and a broken world in which our hero(s) struggle, suffer mightily, and still, somehow, give us hope. It is a tour de force book. How can someone be this good a writer? The first 30 pages pained me (always with this genre, one must learn a new, constructed world, and all of its operating physics and systems of order), and then I could not put it down. I panicked as I neared the end, not wanting to finish the book, and quickly ordered the Obelisk Gate, the second novel in the trilogy, and I can tell you now that I’ll be spending some goodly portion of my weekend in Jemisin’s other world.

What I’m watching:

The NBA Finals and perhaps the best basketball player of this generation. I’ve come to deeply respect LeBron James as a person, a force for social good, and now as an extraordinary player at the peak of his powers. His superhuman play during the NBA playoffs now ranks with the all-time greats, Larry Bird, Magic Johnson, MJ, Kobe, and the demi-god that was Bill Russell. That his Cavs lost in a 4-game sweep is no surprise. It was a mediocre team being carried on the wide shoulders of James (and matched against one of the greatest teams ever, the Warriors, and the Harry Potter of basketball, Steph Curry) and, in some strange way, his greatness is amplified by the contrast with the rest of his team. It was a great run.

May 24, 2018

What I’m listening to:

I’ve always liked Alicia Keys and admired her social activism, but I am hooked on her last album Here. This feels like an album finally commensurate with her anger, activism, hope, and grit. More R&B and Hip Hop than is typical for her, I think this album moves into an echelon inhabited by a Marvin Gaye’s What’s Going On or Beyonce’s Formation. Social activism and outrage rarely make great novels, but they often fuel great popular music. Here is a terrific example.

What I’m reading:

Colson Whitehead’s Underground Railroad may be close to a flawless novel. Winner of the 2017 Pulitzer, it chronicles the lives of two runaway slaves, Cora and Caeser, as they try to escape the hell of plantation life in Georgia.  It is an often searing novel and Cora is one of the great heroes of American literature. I would make this mandatory reading in every high school in America, especially in light of the absurd revisionist narratives of “happy and well cared for” slaves. This is a genuinely great novel, one of the best I’ve read, the magical realism and conflating of time periods lifts it to another realm of social commentary, relevance, and a blazing indictment of America’s Original Sin, for which we remain unabsolved.

What I’m watching:

I thought I knew about The Pentagon Papers, but The Post, a real-life political thriller from Steven Spielberg taught me a lot, features some of our greatest actors, and is so timely given the assault on our democratic institutions and with a presidency out of control. It is a reminder that a free and fearless press is a powerful part of our democracy, always among the first targets of despots everywhere. The story revolves around the legendary Post owner and D.C. doyenne, Katharine Graham. I had the opportunity to see her son, Don Graham, right after he saw the film, and he raved about Meryl Streep’s portrayal of his mother. Liked it a lot more than I expected.

April 27, 2018

What I’m listening to:

I mentioned John Prine in a recent post and then on the heels of that mention, he has released a new album, The Tree of Forgiveness, his first new album in ten years. Prine is beloved by other singer songwriters and often praised by the inscrutable God that is Bob Dylan.  Indeed, Prine was frequently said to be the “next Bob Dylan” in the early part of his career, though he instead carved out his own respectable career and voice, if never with the dizzying success of Dylan. The new album reflects a man in his 70s, a cancer survivor, who reflects on life and its end, but with the good humor and empathy that are hallmarks of Prine’s music. “When I Get To Heaven” is a rollicking, fun vision of what comes next and a pure delight. A charming, warm, and often terrific album.

What I’m reading:

I recently read Min Jin Lee’s Pachinko, on many people’s Top Ten lists for last year and for good reason. It is sprawling, multi-generational, and based in the world of Japanese occupied Korea and then in the Korean immigrant’s world of Oaska, so our key characters become “tweeners,” accepted in neither world. It’s often unspeakably sad, and yet there is resiliency and love. There is also intimacy, despite the time and geographic span of the novel. It’s breathtakingly good and like all good novels, transporting.

What I’m watching:

I adore Guillermo del Toro’s 2006 film, Pan’s Labyrinth, and while I’m not sure his Shape of Water is better, it is a worthy follow up to the earlier masterpiece (and more of a commercial success). Lots of critics dislike the film, but I’m okay with a simple retelling of a Beauty and the Beast love story, as predictable as it might be. The acting is terrific, it is visually stunning, and there are layers of pain as well as social and political commentary (the setting is the US during the Cold War) and, no real spoiler here, the real monsters are humans, the military officer who sees over the captured aquatic creature. It is hauntingly beautiful and its depiction of hatred to those who are different or “other” is painfully resonant with the time in which we live. Put this on your “must see” list.

March 18, 2018

What I’m listening to:

Sitting on a plane for hours (and many more to go; geez, Australia is far away) is a great opportunity to listen to new music and to revisit old favorites. This time, it is Lucy Dacus and her album Historians, the new sophomore release from a 22-year old indie artist that writes with relatable, real-life lyrics. Just on a second listen and while she insists this isn’t a break up record (as we know, 50% of all great songs are break up songs), it is full of loss and pain. Worth the listen so far. For the way back machine, it’s John Prine and In Spite of Ourselves (that title track is one of the great love songs of all time), a collection of duets with some of his “favorite girl singers” as he once described them. I have a crush on Iris Dement (for a really righteously angry song try her Wasteland of the Free), but there is also EmmyLou Harris, the incomparable Dolores Keane, and Lucinda Williams. Very different albums, both wonderful.

What I’m reading:

Jane Mayer’s New Yorker piece on Christopher Steele presents little that is new, but she pulls it together in a terrific and coherent whole that is illuminating and troubling at the same time. Not only for what is happening, but for the complicity of the far right in trying to discredit that which should be setting off alarm bells everywhere. Bob Mueller may be the most important defender of the democracy at this time. A must read.

What I’m watching:

Homeland is killing it this season and is prescient, hauntingly so. Russian election interference, a Bannon-style hate radio demagogue, alienated and gun toting militia types, and a president out of control. It’s fabulous, even if it feels awfully close to the evening news. 

March 8, 2018

What I’m listening to:

We have a family challenge to compile our Top 100 songs. It is painful. Only 100? No more than three songs by one artist? Wait, why is M.I.A.’s “Paper Planes” on my list? Should it just be The Clash from whom she samples? Can I admit to guilty pleasure songs? Hey, it’s my list and I can put anything I want on it. So I’m listening to the list while I work and the song playing right now is Tom Petty’s “The Wild One, Forever,” a B-side single that was never a hit and that remains my favorite Petty song. Also, “Evangeline” by Los Lobos. It evokes a night many years ago, with friends at Pearl Street in Northampton, MA, when everyone danced well past 1AM in a hot, sweaty, packed club and the band was a revelation. Maybe the best music night of our lives and a reminder that one’s 100 Favorite Songs list is as much about what you were doing and where you were in your life when those songs were playing as it is about the music. It’s not a list. It’s a soundtrack for this journey.

What I’m reading:

Patricia Lockwood’s Priestdaddy was in the NY Times top ten books of 2017 list and it is easy to see why. Lockwood brings remarkable and often surprising imagery, metaphor, and language to her prose memoir and it actually threw me off at first. It then all became clear when someone told me she is a poet. The book is laugh aloud funny, which masks (or makes safer anyway) some pretty dark territory. Anyone who grew up Catholic, whether lapsed or not, will resonate with her story. She can’t resist a bawdy anecdote and her family provides some of the most memorable characters possible, especially her father, her sister, and her mother, who I came to adore. Best thing I’ve read in ages.

What I’m watching:

The Florida Project, a profoundly good movie on so many levels. Start with the central character, six-year old (at the time of the filming) Brooklynn Prince, who owns – I mean really owns – the screen. This is pure acting genius and at that age? Astounding. Almost as astounding is Bria Vinaite, who plays her mother. She was discovered on Instagram and had never acted before this role, which she did with just three weeks of acting lessons. She is utterly convincing and the tension between the child’s absolute wonder and joy in the world with her mother’s struggle to provide, to be a mother, is heartwarming and heartbreaking all at once. Willem Dafoe rightly received an Oscar nomination for his supporting role. This is a terrific movie.

February 12, 2018

What I’m listening to:

So, I have a lot of friends of age (I know you’re thinking 40s, but I just turned 60) who are frozen in whatever era of music they enjoyed in college or maybe even in their thirties. There are lots of times when I reach back into the catalog, since music is one of those really powerful and transporting senses that can take you through time (smell is the other one, though often underappreciated for that power). Hell, I just bought a turntable and now spending time in vintage vinyl shops. But I’m trying to take a lesson from Pat, who revels in new music and can as easily talk about North African rap music and the latest National album as Meet the Beatles, her first ever album. So, I’ve been listening to Kendrick Lamar’s Grammy winning Damn. While it may not be the first thing I’ll reach for on a winter night in Maine, by the fire, I was taken with it. It’s layered, political, and weirdly sensitive and misogynist at the same time, and it feels fresh and authentic and smart at the same time, with music that often pulled me from what I was doing. In short, everything music should do. I’m not a bit cooler for listening to Damn, but when I followed it with Steely Dan, I felt like I was listening to Lawrence Welk. A good sign, I think.

What I’m reading:

I am reading Walter Isaacson’s new biography of Leonardo da Vinci. I’m not usually a reader of biographies, but I’ve always been taken with Leonardo. Isaacson does not disappoint (does he ever?), and his subject is at once more human and accessible and more awe-inspiring in Isaacson’s capable hands. Gay, left-handed, vegetarian, incapable of finishing things, a wonderful conversationalist, kind, and perhaps the most relentlessly curious human being who has ever lived. Like his biographies of Steve Jobs and Albert Einstein, Isaacson’s project here is to show that genius lives at the intersection of science and art, of rationality and creativity. Highly recommend it.

What I’m watching:

We watched the This Is Us post-Super Bowl episode, the one where Jack finally buys the farm. I really want to hate this show. It is melodramatic and manipulative, with characters that mostly never change or grow, and it hooks me every damn time we watch it. The episode last Sunday was a tear jerker, a double whammy intended to render into a blubbering, tissue-crumbling pathetic mess anyone who has lost a parent or who is a parent. Sterling K. Brown, Ron Cephas Jones, the surprising Mandy Moore, and Milo Ventimiglia are hard not to love and last season’s episode that had only Brown and Cephas going to Memphis was the show at its best (they are by far the two best actors). Last week was the show at its best worst. In other words, I want to hate it, but I love it. If you haven’t seen it, don’t binge watch it. You’ll need therapy and insulin.

January 15, 2018

What I’m listening to:

Drive-By Truckers. Chris Stapleton has me on an unusual (for me) country theme and I discovered these guys to my great delight. They’ve been around, with some 11 albums, but the newest one is fascinating. It’s a deep dive into Southern alienation and the white working-class world often associated with our current president. I admire the willingness to lay bare, in kick ass rock songs, the complexities and pain at work among people we too quickly place into overly simple categories. These guys are brave, bold, and thoughtful as hell, while producing songs I didn’t expect to like, but that I keep playing. And they are coming to NH.

What I’m reading:

A textual analog to Drive-By Truckers by Chris Stapleton in many ways is Tony Horowitz’s 1998 Pulitzer Prize winning Confederates in the Attic. Ostensibly about the Civil War and the South’s ongoing attachment to it, it is prescient and speaks eloquently to the times in which we live (where every southern state but Virginia voted for President Trump). Often hilarious, it too surfaces complexities and nuance that escape a more recent, and widely acclaimed, book like Hillbilly Elegy. As a Civil War fan, it was also astonishing in many instances, especially when it blows apart long-held “truths” about the war, such as the degree to which Sherman burned down the south (he did not). Like D-B Truckers, Horowitz loves the South and the people he encounters, even as he grapples with its myths of victimhood and exceptionalism (and racism, which may be no more than the racism in the north, but of a different kind). Everyone should read this book and I’m embarrassed I’m so late to it.

What I’m watching:

David Letterman has a new Netflix show called “My Next Guest Needs No Introduction” and we watched the first episode, in which Letterman interviewed Barack Obama. It was extraordinary (if you don’t have Netflix, get it just to watch this show); not only because we were reminded of Obama’s smarts, grace, and humanity (and humor), but because we saw a side of Letterman we didn’t know existed. His personal reflections on Selma were raw and powerful, almost painful. He will do five more episodes with “extraordinary individuals” and if they are anything like the first, this might be the very best work of his career and one of the best things on television.

December 22, 2017

What I’m reading:

Just finished Sunjeev Sahota’s Year of the Runaways, a painful inside look at the plight of illegal Indian immigrant workers in Britain. It was shortlisted for 2015 Man Booker Prize and its transporting, often to a dark and painful universe, and it is impossible not to think about the American version of this story and the terrible way we treat the undocumented in our own country, especially now.

What I’m watching:

Season II of The Crown is even better than Season I. Elizabeth’s character is becoming more three-dimensional, the modern world is catching up with tradition-bound Britain, and Cold War politics offer more context and tension than we saw in Season I. Claire Foy, in her last season, is just terrific – one arched eye brow can send a message.

What I’m listening to:

A lot of Christmas music, but needing a break from the schmaltz, I’ve discovered Over the Rhine and their Christmas album, Snow Angels. God, these guys are good.

  November 14, 2017

What I’m watching:

Guiltily, I watch the Patriots play every weekend, often building my schedule and plans around seeing the game. Why the guilt? I don’t know how morally defensible is football anymore, as we now know the severe damage it does to the players. We can’t pretend it’s all okay anymore. Is this our version of late decadent Rome, watching mostly young Black men take a terrible toll on each other for our mere entertainment?

What I’m reading:

Recently finished J.G. Ballard’s 2000 novel Super-Cannes, a powerful depiction of a corporate-tech ex-pat community taken over by a kind of psychopathology, in which all social norms and responsibilities are surrendered to residents of the new world community. Kept thinking about Silicon Valley when reading it. Pretty dark, dystopian view of the modern world and centered around a mass killing, troublingly prescient.

What I’m listening to:

Was never really a Lorde fan, only knowing her catchy (and smarter than you might first guess) pop hit “Royals” from her debut album. But her new album, Melodrama, is terrific and it doesn’t feel quite right to call this “pop.” There is something way more substantial going on with Lorde and I can see why many critics put this album at the top of their Best in 2017 list. Count me in as a huge fan.

  November 3, 2017

What I’m reading: Just finished Celeste Ng’s Little Fires Everywhere, her breathtakingly good second novel. How is someone so young so wise? Her writing is near perfection and I read the book in two days, setting my alarm for 4:30AM so I could finish it before work.

What I’m watching: We just binge watched season two of Stranger Things and it was worth it just to watch Millie Bobbie Brown, the transcendent young actor who plays Eleven. The series is a delightful mash up of every great eighties horror genre you can imagine and while pretty dark, an absolute joy to watch.

What I’m listening to: I’m not a lover of country music (to say the least), but I love Chris Stapleton. His “The Last Thing I Needed, First Thing This Morning” is heartbreakingly good and reminds me of the old school country that played in my house as a kid. He has a new album and I can’t wait, but his From A Room: Volume 1 is on repeat for now.

  September 26, 2017

What I’m reading:

Just finished George Saunder’s Lincoln in the Bardo. It took me a while to accept its cadence and sheer weirdness, but loved it in the end. A painful meditation on loss and grief, and a genuinely beautiful exploration of the intersection of life and death, the difficulty of letting go of what was, good and bad, and what never came to be.

What I’m watching:

HBO’s The Deuce. Times Square and the beginning of the porn industry in the 1970s, the setting made me wonder if this was really something I’d want to see. But David Simon is the writer and I’d read a menu if he wrote it. It does not disappoint so far and there is nothing prurient about it.

What I’m listening to:

The National’s new album Sleep Well Beast. I love this band. The opening piano notes of the first song, “Nobody Else Will Be There,” seize me & I’m reminded that no one else in music today matches their arrangement & musicianship. I’m adding “Born to Beg,” “Slow Show,” “I Need My Girl,” and “Runaway” to my list of favorite love songs.

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