Film Update

I probably should have tacked this on as an update to the last blog, but I had to say that it's no wonder Dave Eggers hasn't published much since his last novel, What is the What (An incredible book). Eggers and his wife, Vendela Vida (whose book, Let the Northen Lights Erase Your Name I'm currently teaching in my composition class) recently co-wrote a movie together, Away We Go.

I've devised a formula to predict whether or not this movie will be worth going to see:

Focus Features distributing the film + Sam Mendes directing + a screenplay by Dave Eggers and Vendela Vida + a cast that includes John Krasinski, Maya Rudolph, Jeff Daniels, Maggie Gyllenhaal, and Allison Janey = The perfect storm for what is now the most anticipated film of 2009.

Trailer available by clicking on title.

Where The Wild Things Are

On Monday I went and saw Salman Rushdie speak, which was a wonderful, informative experience-- one of the few lectures/readings I've attended recently that was higher than my expectations. So I started writing a blog about the event, intermingled with some updated thoughts I've been grappling with about the media/culture phenomena I touched on a while ago, but I've been busy the last few days and haven't been able to finish.

But, I thought people might be interested to see that the trailer for Where The Wild Things Are, directed by Spike Jonze, was just released, and it looks pretty good. Obviously the screenwriters had to take a lot of liberties since the book is short, but as I was watching the credits flash by I thought I saw a name I knew, so I backtracked and sure enough...Dave Eggers cowrote the screenplay with Spike Jonze!

Wouldn't miss it for the world. You can access the trailer on apple's website by clicking on the colored link above, but you have to have quicktime.

Salman Rushdie blog forthcoming.

Here comes the bride. . . and the groom

Breakfast at the Stricklands!! Larisa and Cameron came over to Oxford last Friday to hang out and take care of some official wedding business.
This is a picture before we left to pick out and pick up the groom and groomsmen's wedding attire. We made our way to Cincinnati and after three malls, lots of calls about whose size is what, and a drive to see what is behind Mt. Rumpke the trip was a success!! I am excited to post the pictures later this summer.




Larisa made a BIG brunch for us before we headed out for the mall. I took a picture because it was seriously impressive. Brett and I were super excited about the left over ingredients to try out her fun skillet creation on our own. The bread on the plate is French toast that she made out of like Cinnimon swirled bread.




Anyway it was fun to have Larisa and Cameron stay for the weekend. I am excited for their wedding and can't believe they graduate in like a month! Exciting times!!

-> Larisa and her Matron of Honor. I used to fight that title but I am embracing it now. It used to sound homely but now I really like it.
I may be posting again very soon as I am leaving tomorrow morning to visit a friend! So if Brett posts with another no picture blog I will balance it out soon with more pictures:)

- Angela

My Trip West in Review

Miami was on Spring Break last week, so after teaching my eight o’clock composition class, I jumped into my car and started winding my way out of small town Oxford, (which was in the startling throes of this and this, even as I drove to class at 7:30 am) with Scottsbluff, Nebraska plugged into my Garmin—home of my friend Kyle. The trip took approximately fifteen hours of driving, but I was never off the highway for more than ten minutes (I timed each gas break), and the roads were bare after Lincoln except for truckers.

Road To Kyle's House

Some people might grimace at the prospect of fifteen hours on the road, but I enjoy it. It gives me space to think and listen to music that I normally don’t have the time or inclination to sit through. For example. On the way to Scottsbluff, I listened to every album by Okkervil River, which I consider a strange sort of accomplishment. Since the drive back was to Toledo, OH, instead of Oxford, the trip was going to take longer, and my plan was to listen to every Bruce Springsteen album in chronological order. Almost inconceivable, I know. I thought I could, possibly, be the first to achieve this—until I realized I still don’t own Greetings from Asbury Park, N.J. and my computer didn’t transfer Devils & Dust to my ipod.
An epic feat for another day.

I’m always interested in what music other people choose to listen to, so if you’re like me, here’s a list of complete albums I worked through—indulge. And if you don’t care, skip the list and proceed to my dramatic account of camping in the Black Hills.

Complete Album’s listened to on Drive West

Joe Purdy—You Can Tell Georgia
Joe Purdy—Take My Blanket and Go
David Bowie—Best of 69-74
The Hold Steady—Separation Sunday
The Hold Steady—Almost Killed Me
Bruce Springsteen—Working on a Dream
Bruce Springsteen—Magic
Heartless Bastards—The Mountain
Okkervil River—Black Sheep Boy / Black Sheep Boy Appendix
Okkervil River—Don’t Fall in Love with Everyone You See
Okkervil River—Down the River of Golden Dreams
Okkervil River—The Stage Names
Okkervil River—The Stand-ins
Okkervil River—Stars too Small to Use
Okkervil River—Sleep and Wake-up Songs
Frightened Rabbit—The Midnight Organ Fight

Complete Albums listened to on Return Drive East

Santogold—Santogold
The Rural Alberta Advantage—Hometowns
The Hold Steady—Stay Positive
Neil Young—Tonight’s the Night
Matt Pond P.A.—Several Arrows Later
Black Mountain—In the Future
Bruce Springsteen—We Shall Overcome: The Seeger Sessions
Bruce Springsteen—Born to Run
Bruce Springsteen—Born in the U.S.A.
Bruce Springsteen—Darkness on the Edge of Town
Bruce Springsteen—The River
Bruce Springsteen—Nebraska
Bruce Springsteen—Tunnel of Love
Bruce Springsteen—Magic
Bruce Springsteen—Working on a Dream
Bruce Springsteen—The Rising

Not represented here are the multitude of miscellanious songs I enjoyed; and, I also feel compelled to explain my only major musical failure—when I decided to listen to the best of Van Morrison. For some reason, I couldn’t handle anything after “And it Stoned Me”.

Kyle and I had planned on leaving Nebraska to go camping in the Black Hills outside Deadwood, South Dakota. My arrival, however, brought with it a cold dose of reality.
“I’ve heard there’s still quite a bit of snow up there,” he informed me as we considered camping strategies.
“Man against nature,” I replied.
This discussion reoccurred in various forms as the time to leave drew closer. In truth, I wasn’t really thinking—sometime in college, I learned that I have the interesting ability (power, perhaps? I’ll let you be the judge) to completely disconnect with reality. That’s a blog for another time.
As Kyle and I drove north-east through Wyoming, we passed small clusters of antelope, snow guards (wooden structures used to prevent snow accumulation on the highway), endless expanses of ranch-land, and exactly one other vehicle. The terrain grew rockier, and soon small clusters of pine dotted the landscape out the truck window—as well as large snow drifts.

Road Across Wyoming

After another hour of driving, wedged in by high canyons, we passed a mountain goat staring down at us from a high ledge, and the first road sign buried to the top of the post in snow. I thought I could sense a growing desperation from Kyle.
It was getting dark, and the campgrounds were closed “for the season”, so we drove down a winding dirt road, and eventually following a two-track into the by-then dark forest, which was illuminated enough by the moon, stars, and reflective snow, that we could see a rooty patch of ground not covered in snow.
We set up camp for the night, made a fire, and I ate a can of soup. The air was cold, but there was barely any wind—really, it wasn’t as bad as we had been expecting, and sitting by the fire, the moon visible through a circle of looming pine trees, coyotes moaning in the hills around us (I didn’t want to write “howling in the hills”, but now it sounds like the coyotes were in heat.…be assured, it was only typical coyote howling.), it was actually quite pleasant.

Me, After Setting Up Camp for the Night

(Water froze and Camera Died Shortly After)

Insights on "Church Shopping"

I've become increasingly aware that people seem more comfortable with dichotomies (Something is good or bad, right or wrong-- we like or dislike someone, they're funny or they're not), which I think is problematic for a number of reasons...but that's a blog for another time.

I read this article today (which doesn't mention anything about dichotomies), and thought it was interesting-- it's enigmatic in a refreshing way, discussing a peculiar trait that's arisen in the Christian world (prepare yourself for another slate.com plug, sorry), in a non-christian publication.

The popular media (should I have said "secular?") usually discusses Christianity in very specific avenues, about very specific issues (read: sex scandals, church shootings, christianity portrayed as a "hate group")--this article is remarkable (worth remarking on) because it considers an unsensational issue worth writing about. Perhaps because of the Obamas, who are mentioned in the beginning?

Anyway-- forgive my generalizations and reflexive parenthesis-- the full article is short, but here's an excerpt:

One in seven adults changes churches each year, and another one in six attends a handful of churches on a rotating basis, according to the Barna Group, a marketing research firm that serves churches. Church shopping isn't a matter of merely changing congregations: A survey by the Pew Forum on Religious and Public Life last year indicated that 44 percent of American adults have left their first religious affiliation for another. "Constant movement characterizes the American religious marketplace," a survey summary said.

Adages & Ovations

This man (link) needs to find another calling.

It makes sense that if you’re going to say something, say it in the most effective manner possible, but please—PLEASE—stop opening every speech with a spew of rhetoric. I get the sense that either President Obama or his speechwriter imagine listening to these speeches thirty years down the road, and man, they want them to sound eloquent. The problem, at least in the beginning of the speech, was that nothing was being said. President Obama understands the fear that keeps us up late at night. He understands we’re scared. But things will get better! (Standing ovation)

Things started to heat up towards the middle—President Obama explained that:

1. He’s going to fix the economy
2. He’s going to get affordable healthcare for every American, and what’s more
3. It’s time to cure cancer.
4. Education needs to available to every child, birth to beginning of career.

Does anyone disagree with any of these goals? I very much doubt it, but there was very little concrete presentation; just an unending flow of optimism, laced with a moment of slightly unsettling rhetoric—did anyone else pause when the President declared that if you choose to not pursue higher education, you’re “not quitting on yourself, you’re quitting on America!” Not going to college just progressed from a personal choice to an un-American activity. Sort of reminds me of something… (link)

I will say that I thought it was encouraging to hear there was a line-by-line budget cut in progress, and that Pres. Obama’s committee had already cut enough to save 2.2 trillon over the next decade. Before he gave that information, however, he put in a brief note about the auto bailout that I think was somewhat of a paradox, claiming that “we should not protect them (auto industry) from their bad choices.”
But we did! Why? Because “…the nation that invented the auto industry can’t walk away from it.” Is this really a reason for billions of dollars to be spent? What could that money have done for creating alternative forms of transportation?

Anyway. I thought there were some strong moments in the speech. I’m not sure what “Cold War defense systems” Obama was talking about dismantling (stock piles of A-bombs, H-bombs, and Star Wars type stuff I’m guessing...anyone know?), but it seems reasonable that that stuff has long been useless. Abu Ghraib was undeniably an embarrassment, and our intelligence community has a long, painful history of power abuse (in every sense of the word). Reform is necessary there.

Ups, downs...sifting for actual information shouldn't be as difficult as these speeches are making it…

Immortal Words!

There’s a lot of ideas floating around about what it means to be a writer. Sometimes I think I take the idea a lot less seriously than other people—other writers—that I know. For instance, Saturday night Angela and I were watching the movie Sylvia (Yes, it’s the true story of Sylvia Plath, who turned on her oven and gassed herself, but it was sort of a love story…anyway, we also cooked a romantic dinner together), and there’s a scene in the movie where Sylvia and Ted Hughes go to Hughes’s apartment with two of his friends, and for a good time they take turns reciting poetry with really serious faces, while the other people in the apartment yell “Faster! Faster!”
Yikes. Not cool. Is that supposed to look fun to me, because I’m a poet?
I used to wonder whether I should even call myself a writer or a poet, like it’s some special title that must be earned, and until I’m making loads of money I have to tell people I’m an aspiring writer. (to me, that reads: aspiring money maker)
I spend the majority of my time writing. I’m trying to make a career of it. What else should I call myself?
Anyway, after cutting through some of the bull, it’s hard to figure out whether the media is mirroring writers, or the other way around. I was talking with someone in my program a while back about something another student had written, and the person I was with said something along the lines of: …I don’t know why they’re wasting their time writing that stuff, it’s not immortal, like the words of the great poets.
Again, yikes. Who are the great poets? Is that what we’re suppose to be doing? Cranking out immortal words? Not possible—and if it was, I’m not sure I’d be interested.
I grimace when people make statements like “All art stems from sadness.” (L. Hughes, I think) I think inspiration is a slippery idea, and I haven’t seen it succeed apart from some manner of discipline. And rather than believe that writing is a sort of divine gift, I enjoy telling people that anyone can be taught to write—otherwise, why am I wasting my time teaching a freshman comp. course?
The source of many writer’s instability—because it’s undeniable that the profession has lost more than it’s share to early death—I think stems from a variety of sources: the problematic writing culture we have, other misguided writers, the desire for social status… and, I also think it’s simply a problem that any critical thinkers deal with.
When finding your own way--necessary, in our culture-- you just might start to lose your bearings somewhere in the wilderness.
A shred of the problem I'm beating around the bush about is evidenced by a volume I’m reading right now by Jack Spicer, another early death. The title of the collected works is the same as his dying words, which were “My vocabulary did this to me.”
Maybe. That catchy phrase will certainly inspire a host of fools to drink and write bad poetry, but I wonder how much of Spicer’s problem was vocabulary and how much was due to other factors? Could it have been your vocabulary…and the fact that you were a raging alcoholic? What if Spicer had been a philosopher? A teacher? A pastor?
The power of words I believe in, and even some of the mystery, and admittedly there’s a lot I still don’t understand—the idea of a genius still intrigues me, although I’ve never met one. (I’m more comfortable with the word “brilliant.” I think 99% of the time it’s more accurate.)

More Pop-Culture Musings

I thought B. Springsteen did a great job at the halftime show, but after I read this article today, I have to admit that the writer made some interesting points. Here's an excerpt:

Nothing will ever compete for sheer tone-deafness with Paul McCartney playing a zealous Super Bowl rendition of "Live and Let Die" at the height of the Iraq war. But Springsteen would have put America on its ass—its mind shortly to follow—had he strolled out with a Martin and played "The Wrestler." (And how about a nice "This one's for Danny," aka Danny Federici, the recently deceased keyboardist who was with Bruce for more than 40 years?) The national mood is sober bordering on a galloping panic. Lively as he was, I wouldn't say the Boss did much to either banish or capture it.

Right?And here's the link to the entire article, He Should Have Played "The Wrestler" if you're curious: http://www.slate.com/id/2210287/

The article is from slate.com, which is a really great online magazine (where else would you find an article about season 3 of Friday Night Lights titled Where in tarnation is Jason Street?) Loads of interesting columns on aspects of pop-culture that aren't always given their due in mainstream media, and what's more, Robert Pinsky is the poetry editor and he usually chooses/writes material that appeals to my tastes (and thus, possibly yours as well!).

Pictures forthcoming. Seriously.

New Cold Mountain Review Released

Cold Mountain Review has survived long enough to publish my poem, and I received my two contributor's copies yesterday. Angela and I each pulled one out of the packet, and leafed through at the same pace. Exciting.




http://www.coldmountain.appstate.edu/

I'll never be a critic/The new Springsteen album

A brief preface: Angela has found out I'm posting another pictureless entry, and warned me that pictures are what make blogs fun. There are no pictures below, but I promise that soon-- in the very near future-- there will be pictures posted on this blog of people, in some place, very possibly having the time of their life. That being said...

I recently realized that if I was a professional critic, I would be Peter Travers. Which means I wouldn’t be much of a critic at all. Travers, the film critic for Rolling Stone magazine, likes everything. I’m serious. If you read any of his movie reviews over the holidays, it seems like Pete sat around and tried to concoct unique ways of saying, “I love this movie.” Granted, the 08’ holiday season yielded some above-average films, but I guess many moviegoers and other critics expect a good critic to…well…criticize.

Check out Peter Traver’s take on…
Slumdog Millionaire: “What I feel for this movie isn't just admiration, it's mad love.”
Milk: “If there's a better movie around this year…I sure as hell haven't seen it.
Frost/Nixon: “It shouldn't work at all. But it does work, spectacularly, as a matter of fact.”

I think the last one is hilarious, like he really wants to criticize, but just can't bring himself to do it. Anyway. I’m making fun of Travers, but truthfully, I like him. The guy loves movies, and I imagine he sits down ready to enjoy the film, rather than searching for an opening to destroy it. That’s sort of how I am—I honestly want to like whatever media I’m engaging, which probably slows my inclination to acknowledge (or even notice) flaws/dislikes.

All that being said: The Boss—one of the last bastions of relevant (I’m using that word to discredit new music by Jackson Browne/Rick Springfield/Bob Dylan/John Mellencamp), classic American rock—released his new album Working on a Dream on Tuesday.
It’s got many of the inherent strengths and weaknesses of other Springsteen albums (Not counting those from 1990-1999, which even Springsteen refers to as “lost years”), but I’ll just skip over those and begin w/ a traversesque bottom line: Working on a Dream is brilliant, everything you could want it to be, and rocks all the way from the eight-minute-plus “Outlaw Pete” to the poignant “The Wrestler” bonus track, although technically the album ends on “The Last Carnival”, a poignant song about late band-member Danny Fedirici ,who died of cancer last year.

Working on a Dream is an updated Born to Run and an elevated Magic. It’s Bruce and the E Street Band celebrating what they’re good at—rock music with tinges of country, folk, and classic, and unafraid to ramble on with instrumentals and choruses as long as they please. To kick an abused adjective while it's down—the album is epic.

All those wonderful things being said…you know when an acquaintance is being a bit self-righteous, and you say “Don’t preach at me!” But then that same acquaintance is a pastor, so they’re allowed to talk like that? That’s how I am with Springsteen. I’ll cut the guy endless amounts of lyrical slack, because while what he’s saying sometimes come off as a bit awkward (The way he twists end-words in “Outlaw Pete” just to make some lines rhyme is painful.), he’s been doing his thing for over forty years and can write whatever the hell he wants. At least he's back to writing his old subject matter-- troubled, working class characters, who can't seem to decide whether life is something to be lived or survived. Their dilemmas are our pleasure.