Tumblr.

Today in my teenage angst, I created a Tumblr account.

I have never been against Tumblr. But I have, over the past few years, developed a distinct opinion of Tumblr. Tumblr, is not blogging. Tumblr is posting. Tumblr can be but is not widely used as a place to share your own thoughts and creativity. Tumblr is however, a place to show your personality through posts of pictures, videos, quotes, etc. Posting is not blogging. This does not, however, make it any. It is something in its own right; distinct and removed.

So anyway, in order to expand my presence on the internet even further, I created a Tumblr account. If you're not aware, I have Twitter and YouTube channels. If you're a subscriber, sweet. If not, click away! Tumblr takes less work, thought and energy than the rest of these however, and is instead just fun. So find me at todayinmyteenageangst.tumblr.com and we can be best friends.

Have the best day!

I might hold the record for using the word Tumblr the most number of times in one blog post. Nine. I used it nine times.

Rousseau.

Today in my teenage angst, I love Danielle Rousseau. Was anyone a Lost watcher? My sister was. She cried at the finale and when she got a kitten she named her after one of her favorite/obscure characters. Here's a link to Danielle Rousseau's character on Wikipedia if you weren't a lost watcher and would like to be clued in.

This is Rousseau.

She is pretty funny. I tend to think cats are funnier than they are but really, who doesn't. This one is a sniffer and a licker. My sister got her from the Humane Society. Rousseau was in segregated, with the other overly hyper kittens, in the detention room and when my sister walked in she trotted over, clawed up my sister's leg, put her little baby paws on Beth's cheeks and sniffed her lips. To this day, if you pick her up, the first thing she'll do is sniff your lips. She also really likes to play on our stairs and stick her head through the railing. Sometimes when she's really hyper she'll alternate sticking her head through the railing and licking the wall paper. She's a weirdo. 

She really likes this basket. Last year she fit nicely inside. This year it was a hilarious and obvious struggle. But she made it. And posed for a picture. Thank goodness.

This is us. That's all. 

Yesterday, amidst the hustle and bustle of Christmas morning she had a pretty good time with the bags and the wrapping paper and the ribbons and bows. We shot this very short video because it was funny. And who doesn't bless the time Whip My Hair came into their lives. 

Lowana.

Today in my teenage angst, I declare myself as Lowana's biggest fan. This is my friend Lowana Porter and her husband Steve. She also goes by Lowana Wallace but that's when she's being a rock star. I came to know Lowana when I was eighteen, through her music. Her first album consists of epic songs of piano and voice, penned by her hand. At a certain point in my life, these songs were more than affective and changed my perspective of the world. A couple years later I began to attend the college that she was employed at. It was a little like working at the coffee shop your favorite movie actor frequents. You see him and serve him and try to stay cool but all the while you're secretly fawning in admiration. A couple years after that, my mom became her boss. A step in the right direction. Then I got a job next to her desk. Because my mom is awesome, we would mostly talk about her. Then we started talking about school. Then I told her I knew all her songs and secretly loved her. She was awkwardly flattered but didn't dwell on it. 

Over the past three years we've become really good friends. We have a lot in common. We love Wes Anderson, Feist and CBC Radio. We like to drink wine and watch Seinfeld and talk about the frustrating complexities of what God has called us to do.

This is Lowana's little boy Felix Ignatius. Lowana and Steve have awesome tastes in baby names. He is about as awesome as his mom with a lot of his dad's awesome mixed in. He's another big part of our relationship. Or at least he has been for the past year as that's how old he is. He just had his first picture taken with Santa. It's awesome. The best part about Lowana and Felix is the reality of their relationship. Lowana's graciously allowed me to see the difficulties of motherhood while also enabling me to be a part of the joy of God's creation in Felix. This is a pretty big gift that I hope to take with me into my own motherhood someday. 

Like I said, Lowana is a rockstar. She has two albums. They are amazing. One is songs based on her life and spiritual experiences. Her musicality had incredible depth, as does her lyricism. Then she put out a Christmas album which is a compilation of fun arrangements of Christmas carols and hymns. Both of the albums are available on cdbaby and iTunes. Click for the First album and the Christmas album. I highly recommend them. And if you got iTunes gift cards for Christmas like I did, you're all set! 

At the beginning of December, Lowana did a concert and some guys made a video. My friend Chris engineered this. He has some pretty mad skills. Here's this video. It's so fun. I love it. AND, Lowana, I love you. Thanks for being so wonderful. 

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Calendar.

Today in my teenage angst, it is Christmas Day. We slept in until nine. A feat we've been working towards but failing to achieve. We spread out the morning and now it's 2pm and we're unsure where the day has gone. It has been wonderful thus far.

I've always been a calendar person but largely by obligation. I've had some pretty awesome calendars in the past but am only now coming to thoroughly appreciate them. Last year my bestie, Karlie, gave me a calendar of Photomontages created by Thomas Barbey. He's amazing. Find him! Here are some of the photos I've enjoyed throughout the year. While I love them all, I came to this first one and stayed there for four months. 

This was my birthday month! It's out of hand how beautiful it is.

This year my sister blessed me with a calendar of Inuit art. I have a special love for Inuit art with its unique lines and exaggerated qualities. I'd like to understand their point of view but the likelihood of visiting Cape Dorset, in the territory of Nunavut, where these graphic artists can be found, is pretty small. Here are some of the images I'm looking forward to throughout this year.

This is my birthday month!

Christmas cards.

Today in my teenage angst, it's Christmas Eve and I have gotten some pretty rockin Christmas cards. I find that cards are the best way to give people something without buying them a gift. I gave substantially less gifts than ever before and I'm pretty happy about that fact. Not only can I not afford it, but it's just not necessary. 

Anyway. Here are some beautiful cards I've gotten thus far. 

This one is actually a post-card from my friend Deena, who is a fabulous Opera singer in Toronto. She has the busiest life but makes time to write me legit letters and send them in the legit mail. She's the best.

This one is from my friend Shaina. She too is the best. She's the business manager at a coffee-shop/boutique here in Moose Jaw. We have unending things in common and enjoy standing in the store making fun of the product the owner buys. Now I hope only Shaina reads this. 

This one (front and back) is from my bestest friend Karlie. She's a personal trainer, who is also the nicest and was willing to critique my squats and plank pose during our Christmas hang-out yesterday. I wrote last year in my new year's post that I was trying to convince her and her husband to make it their New Year's Resolution to make me an Auntie and they totally pulled through. Karlie is due in March and it has been the absolute best watching her be the best future mom and deal with her pregnancy like its just no big deal.

So here's wishing you the best Chrismtas day tomorrow (or today as you likely won't read this on Christmas eve night). I have pretty strong beliefs about the purpose of Christmas but unabashedly indulge in the commercialized version. The best part about our Christmasses is our family. There's only four of us and it's the absolute best. Tomorrow morning, we'll wake up earlier than anyone actually wants to, open stockings, eat breakfast, meditate on Christ, his birth and sacrifice, and then open our presents. Tonight we had Christmas dinner, played Scattegories and Racko and are about to fall asleep at 8.30. There's nothing wrong with that but we'd all like to sleep at least till eight tomorrow.

Anyway, I hope your holidays are as good as mine.
Love to all.

If you'd like to know more about Christ, his birth and sacrifice and the history of Christmas, e-mail me at todayinmyteenageangst@gmail.com and I would be ecstatic to answer your questions.

Dogs.

Today in my teenage angst, I am a dog person. I've had eighteen cats over my life. Not all of them for long, but all of them beloved. When I was six we moved from the big city to a farm that had two dogs. We didn't actually farm, we just kept up the house; and took care of the dogs. I didn't really like or dislike the dogs they were just there. I didn't really pay them much attention.

My best friend lived on a ranch growing up and had several border collies to help in herding cows. I grew accustomed to these babies but did not love them. Cats. Only cats.


In my twenty-second summer, my boss asked me to house sit. I was all for it. Then she added dog-sitting to the docket. I said yes but I did not, in fact, have a clue how to dog sit, especially for their two hundred pound Bullmastiff named Molly.

This thing is the sweetest I have known. Bulldogs, of all varieties, are seriously emotional. They feel what you feel before you feel it. I saw this in her as pathetic and too adorable to handle. I loved that week with her and considered afterward, officially a dog person. 

Now I can't look at a dog without squealing a little and wanting to pet it. This almost cost me a hand a few months ago at the library. I came across this video on Nova's blog and died. Is there anything better than a dog hanging out a vehicle window? Not after this video there isn't.

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It's getting closer.

Today in my teenage angst I watched a little boy trail after his mom in the library saying the following in several variations: "Mom, let's pretend its Christmas just for one present."

When I was little, the days leading up to Christmas killed me. I'd said previously that my parents never perpetuated Santa and this included putting the presents under the tree up to a week in advance. We would paw and wonder and occasionally my sister would trick me - the ever abiding youngest - into peaking into a gift back or lifting a corner of unsecured wrapping. The guilt that followed is probably one of the reasons I have an anxiety disorder. Older siblings are not tops.

Today being the 22nd, the presents are under the tree and my reaction, though still excited, is marginal in comparison. I simply can't think about the presents when sleep is so much closer. I'm done work now until tuesday and all I want is to sleep and have the liberty to sleep some more whenever I want. When you're young, life experience is also young. The excitement of Christmas morning is often too much to handle. As time goes on, as it has for me, many simpler things stand in the way of that anticipation. And that's okay.

There are people however - Mike Thompson - who give us something to laugh at and enjoy and watch amidst our sleepiness.

Office Party.

Today in my teenage angst, my mom is hosting her office Christmas party at our house. My mom works incredibly hard at her job and is equally good at it. Beyond that she puts incredible amounts of time and effort into extra things like this. So much so that it sometimes sounds like we're getting ready for a wedding. Or something. Cause I'm pretty single. So.

I'm pretty tired since school ended and as I lay upstairs trying to take a nap, the following noises and sensations accompanied me: voices speaking, coffee beans, the coffee grinder, bells, voices shouting, being too hot, the dishwasher being emptied, my own hunger pains, general banging, being too cold. I didn't sleep very well. On the upside, there is ridiculous measure of high quality/fat food coming. Just the comfort this tired one needs. Christmas time, if nothing else, is a time to gratefully accept all the comfort food set before you.

Elvis Lives.

I love anagrams. I think they're so fun. I am not, though, enough of an abstract thinker to make them up for myself. SO! You can imagine how excited I was when I found this book!

Jon Agee is a very creative children's writer. This is a diamond in a field of unparalleled gems. 

Here are some of my favorites.

Donezo.

Today in my teenage angst, I wrote my last final of the semester. It was one of those where the prof outlines exactly what she expects so your grade rests on your preparation. I had prepared pretty darn well so it was a slam dunk. All yesterday I was referring to the exam as a slam dunk. Is that dated reference? Do they even call it a slam dunk anymore? It's like how they used to call it spiking in volleyball but now its just hitting.

Anyway. Now it's onto relaxation, reading off my juvenile fiction list and a lot of laying. I simply love laying.

Happy Christmas everyone. The war is over. Well mine is. I don't know about yours. I hope yours is too.

Also. I lost a follower. It was my first. It still stings.

Me and Patti Lupone.

Today in my teenage angst, my father and I sang the whole of Don't Cry for Me Argentina together. Top to bottom.

I am the luckiest.

'Nuff said.

Exam week: as seen on TV.

Today in my teenage angst I wrote a final exam worth 75% of my grade. Eww. There is only one word for that grade scale: outrageous. Lucky for me I worked out that I could get only a 46% on the exam and still pass the course. If I got a 66% on the exam I would get a 65% in the course making it transferrable. That's the dream folks.

I love 'As Seen on TV' products. I have Shamwows, I have a Slap-Chop (which by the way works terribly. Pampered Chef - if you're interested - makes an excellent slap-chop type utensil that actually does what the slap-chop advertised) and I have always longed for a Chia Pet.

My sister sent me this link the other day. Click through for a laugh. My absolute favorite is the FlowBee.

Songs of Santa.

Today in my teenage angst, I continue to marvel that I never believed in Santa.

People don't believe me when I tell them that. But here's the scientific truth. Santa wasn't introduced to me at a young enough age that I would have identified his image with Christmas. Because of this, by the time I was at the point of understanding concrete concepts, I knew that it was not a good nature but none the less obese man who brought the excitement of Christmas morning, but my parents. Furthermore, most of the children shoved into mall-santa's arms have so much stranger anxiety, there is zero joy to be found in the act. It's just terrifying.

Thank goodness I say, for my santa-less upbringing. Our household tradition is one of great strength. We wake up when we wake up. It usually ends up being earlier than anyone has planned. We drink coffee, we open our stockings. We make and eat breakfast. Then we gather, turn on some christmas music and read the story of Christ's birth; first from the Gospel of Matthew, and then from the Gospel of Luke. My father always reads. Last year because of his thyroid surgery he couldn't read because he couldn't speak. It was one of the saddest things ever. My parents cried a lot that day. Beth and I are apparently stone.

I wrote on Christmas three years ago and every year I go back to that post and its truth is confirmed for me. Have a look.  Also take a look at Nova's first post on Scary Santa Saturday. It is as hilarious as it is terrifying. Another reason I'm relieved I was never introduced to Santa.

Christmas Party.

Today in my teenage angst, I hosted my first staff Christmas party. Sixteen people came. It lasted two and a half hours. I got three hugs; from fairly significant people I might add.

The library is a weird place. It's part of a union, which automatically ensures seniority battles. There's really not that much to do, so if personalities clash, it's in a concentrated setting. Plus, at our library, at least, there's a lot of history. People base a lot on a lot that's in the past. That might annoy the badingas out of me but I've been there less than a year, so I don't really know what I'm talking about. Either way, there's a lot of animosity.

 I came to understand, through a number of conversations leading up to the party, that a lot was riding on its success.  The staff of our public library hadn't spent time together outside of the obligatory retirement party for several years. Closing in on a decade. So this party was either going to bring a much needed bond to our staff, or things were going to stay the same forever. So when I started planning the party, it was met with understandable resistance. I didn't give up. It's not my personality. I planned and took polls on the desired make-up of the party and had so many conversations about it I hated the party before it even came.

So it came and it was fabulous. I sat there and stared at everybody, so nervously wanting everybody to be overtly having a good time. I quickly realized that wasn't going to do any good. So I started talking to the only spouse that came. That solved the problem. The pizza game, we ate, we played games, we wrapped things up. The head librarian hugged me. Everyone was psyched we had done it. Well they weren't psyched as much as pleased.

I'm so grateful. I'm so relieved. My deepest hope and prayer for the library is that they would love each other and be legitimately interested in each other's well being. I really think this might have played a part.

Techno.

Today in my teenage angst, I had the best convo with a friend. He's the student body president at the college I graduated from a couple years ago and he has a new girlfriend. I am so excited for them. They are so wonderfully matched. And you know when your friends start dating and you know right away how perfect this relationship is? I'm so happy about this. I am so happy about this. 

So anyway I wanted to talk to him about it and we always have these really amazing conversations when we run into each other and God ordained it that we would see each other today. We ended up talking for a half hour. I was so blessed after and so grateful that there are still people willing to invest time and energy in conversation.

Boxers.

Today in my teenage angst, men's boxers accompanied me to work.

We're in an awkward temperature stage at the library. It's too cold outside to have the AC on but the unseasonably warm temperatures (those being anything above zero) are making the heat inside the library unbearable. So I bore my legs at work. I wore a skirt so it wouldn't seem so out of place. But not wearing tights underneath makes me feel like I'm always about to inadvertently expose myself to the unsuspecting families in the children's library. So I slapped on a pair of boxers.

Let it be known, men's boxers are a gift from above. They're substantial enough that you can wear them around your house but insubstantial enough that you can wear them under a skirt and it doesn't look like you're wearing two sets of bottoms. I like to flash my boxers at my friends to brag about how cute I look and how simultaneously comfortable I am.

Believe it or not, this is an accomplishment.

King Conan O'Brien

Today in my teenage angst, I found the graphic novel series 'King Conan' and outrageously assumed it was about Conan O'Brien. It's clearly not. 


I really wish it was. 


Oh and this just in. They're making a movie. Further revision: Conan O'Brien is not starring. 

Nerf dart.

Last night in my teenage angst, I found a nerf dart in the library. 


As an alternative to recycling their plastic bags at Safeway or wherever, many patrons bring them to the library. So whenever a tween takes out 32 graphic novels at a time I can say, 'Hey. Want a bag?' 


Tonight as I was handing one of those bags to one of those tweens, I found in it a nerf dart. I couldn't decide if it was awesome, or disgusting. 

Christmas songs . . . just a part of the scam.

Today in my teenage angst I reflected on Christmas. Not the Christmas I celebrate, Christ incarnate sent to  earth to save us from ourselves. But rather the one I see on TV for six weeks beforehand. 


Christmas music has been a part of my life since day one. I know all the words to every carol and hymn. I've seen White Christmas and Holiday Inn over twenty times. I've even made a point of performing the greater half of the White Christmas soundtrack at various points. Because really . . . who doesn't simply adore Irving Berlin.


Unfortunately Christmas music has become another point of the holiday season money making scheme. Fortunately, a lot of really terrible Christmas music has been produced and unbelievably successful and as such has presented me with the ability to make fun of it year after year. 


Wham. I love Wham. I love their cheesy eighties pop lyrics. But this song is just too much. Everyone knows it, but have you seen the video? So good.




Don't Save it All for Christmas Day. This is a favorite of so many. The whole give and not receive thing is a popular message but only really applies to a capitalist economy that prides itself on the exploitation of the masses. Still, it's sincerity is funny. Celine Dion's is my favorite. 




Paul McCartney and the Wings Wonderful Christmas Time. My sister and I take pride in our love of Paul McCarntney's less successful solo career in comparison to John Lennon's. This song takes the cake. I feel like the eighties required the production of bad Christmas songs and that was certainly the case here. The over-synthesized nature of this song is what makes it so great. That and the outrageous casting.




So this season, take joy in the wonder of this season and the lengths we will go to for a buck and some cheap entertainment. 

Scarf

I am a scarf lover. I love them because of their comfort abilities mostly. My winter uniform is scarves and hoodies. Classy I know. But I'm a student so suck it. Sitting in my frigid room writing papers calls for comfort first. Scarves give me that. Because though, my stress begs me to carry my comfort with me, scarves allow me to remain comfortable outside the home without wearing sweatpants.

My friend Sonya-Rose sent me this vid yesterday and man am I grateful.




This girl rules. Today I chose the waterfall (2.07). I'll probably go for the celebrity tomorrow (1.53).

Isn't picnik funny? 

Penny (Part 2)

Today in my teenage angst we lost our only real family pet.

Remember this baby? In August, on her 18th birthday, I posted a tribute.
Penny left us today. Her dehydration and incontinence had become to much for us to justify, not to mention its getting to cold for her to sleep in the garage. So my Dad took a brave and tragic step - one he didn't want to take - and took her to be put down.
We all cried. I'm still on the brink of tears. I have a headache. As resistent as you might be to animals, you can't know another living thing for eighteen years without caring for it.
But we had her. And we loved her. And while we still love her, Nelly Furtado said it best (and first) when she said "all good things have to come to an end." There's a little levity for you.

What a day. I suppose we probably have some books in the kids section at the library on coping with the loss of a pet. I should look those up.

Penny-Jenny, I miss you already.

PS. This is my 200th post. That's not that many for those who are consistent with their blogs but whatever. 200. Go me.

Eggsplosion.

Today in my teenage angst an egg exploded in my face. I hadn't fried eggs in forever. I watch far too much of the Food Network and had convinced myself I could cook the perfect, quintessential fried egg. I was nearly there, about to flip to perfection and it popped. I gasped.

When I was younger the boys in my class would sneak up behind me and slam textbooks by my ear. I jumped, screamed, gave them the exact reaction they wanted. Time took the surprise away as well as my tendency to jump and scream. Now I flinch and gasp.

I gasped. Tiny, hot bits of egg were burning my forehead, eyebrow and spotting up my glasses.

No perfect egg for me today.

Three Blogs.

Today in my teenage angst I thought it my duty to remind my readers and/or make them aware that this is not where my blogging efforts stop! I have three blogs. Well really only two. If you're here you're aware of this one but did you know I have an arts review blog? Probably not. Sometimes I think to myself, you're not even involved in the arts anymore, what voice do you have? Then I think how many hours of my life were spend dwelling in and around the arts and change my answer to, "a darn good one!" 

Coming this week, time willing are reviews of the movie Moneyball and a rave review of Cornerstone Christian School's production of Beauty and the Beast. 

So hop on over to www.evaluativeexpose.blogspot.com. 

Can we all just talk about this puppy?

Never before has anything been so cute, funny and tragic all at the same time. 

Sk8r Boi.

Today in my teenage angst, I was taken back. Avril Lavigne was doing a show in Regina last night and my faves top 40 radio station was obviously all over it. This morning, for the first time in probably about ten years, I heard Sk8r Boi. What a great song.


Let's discuss the differences in and amidst the word great. Lots of people are called great but are by no means good. I'm working on an example but I can't really think of one. I think Catherine the Great was pretty awful, but I can't verify that. Sk8r Boi was a part of that hilarious faux-punk influence that my generation enjoyed in the early 2000's. It was because of Avril and my adolescent identity crisis that led me to adopt dark eyeliner and purple red hair. Good times. 


It is also because of Sk8r Boi that causes me to believe that if you can spell a word with letters, you should. 

Free Stuff is Best Stuff.

Look what I got at the library for free! They were just going to throw it away. So I snagged it. I'm pretty sure it was supposed to go in the book sale pile but no matter, I took it anyhow. It sits in front of me on the desk where I do homework reminding me of past and hopefully future better days. 


Also excuse Photobooth's tendency toward mirror image. 

That killed me.

I'm still drowning in school. My hiatus from BlogCrashers is not permanent. I'm just trying to get my feet under me. I handed in my third paper in three weeks this morning. Most would say, "a paper a week . . . no big deal." But it becomes a bigger deal when one is entirely unaware of being expected to do them until just before their due date. As was my predicament. 


On the plus side, I'm reading Catcher in the Rye for my English class and it was a very pleasurable read. To your left is the copy I own. Isn't it pretty? I'm admittedly not a classics reader. But I need to start differentiating between English classics and American classics. There's a distinct difference between reading about orphans with no food in old English and reading about a socially lost and misunderstood prep school kid wandering around New York in twentieth century vernacular. 


My favorite thing is discovering where phrases or cliches come from. If anyone can tell me where 'three sheets to the wind' stems from or what it refers to (beyond being drunk) I would be grateful. Anyway, I'm pretty sure the use of the word 'killed' in place of 'funny' or 'humorous' comes from here. What an exciting discovery. 

Mouth Breathers.

Today in my teenage angst, I became a mouth breather. 


There is nothing in life that baffles me more than mouth breathers. Whenever I see one, I inevitably stare in wonder and amazement. It's like seeing a wiener dog. You just kind of stare in amazement that they exist. There was a girl in my microeconomics class last year, who was not only a mouth breather but had some sort of gym class right before ours and had worked it out with our professor to come ten minutes late. Every monday, wednesday and friday I marvelled at her reality.


This sounds harsh. I obviously understand that there is a physiological reality for mouth breathers that I can't understand as I have working sinuses, but every time I see a mouth breather all I can think is, close your mouth! 


With the onset of fall and the allergies I seem,  after 24 years, now availed to, my nose is stuffy. Last night as I was shelving in the mysteries, I noticed I was mouth breathing. I became my the center of my own amazement! 


How often in life does that happen? 

Kids hate me.

Today in my teenage angst, I was unwanted. 
The title of this post is a misnomer as children actually love me; and I love them. 


Yesterday afternoon I went to take care of a friend's kids while she went to a benefit. We had a grand time. We did the usual. Paint the nails, read the stories. They entertained themselves for close to an hour personifying Littlest Pet Shop. It was pretty nice. We had dinner, they played 'Store', we cleaned up the basement, we had ice cream, we read more stories, we went to bed. Well they went to bed, I stayed up and did homework. I stayed overnight because my friend wasn't getting home until late. 


When I woke up in the morning I was treated with their usual enthusiasm - which is pretty tame compared to some. Later in the morning, the youngest exclaimed to her mom, "I want Hannah to go home. I don't want Hannah to babysit us anymore. Why is she always here?" I clearly understand that I'm inferior to her mother but I'd like to think I'm an okay substitute. After I'd had my shower I was standing in the dining room watching the girls play, she looked at me and stated "Do your hair." I laughed and said, "Do your hair." She furrowed her brow and replied, "Mom does it!" 


I went with them to church this morning and after as I said goodbye, I got a wonderfully loving hug from her. I know she doesn't hate me, but for that second I felt highly inferior. One of the best thing about kids is that they can make you feel ridiculous one second and the absolute tops the next. 

Here's a little vid of my darling, being her outrageous self. 

A defense of Glee.

Before I launch into my defense of the show Glee, I need to talk about television and the screen in general. The problem with everything we see on screen is that it has the ability to mirror reality in a way that nothing ever had before it. You can do a battle scene on the stage but it likely won't be as effective as it would be on the screen. You can do a love scene on the stage but it likely won't be as moving as it would be on the screen. Experience is much more easily captured and readily presented on the screen than anything else. Because of this, we have come to expect a lot out of it. And we've lost the ability to accept that is a mere reflection of actual experience. Medicine doesn't actually happen the way it does on Grey's Anatomy. High School doesn't actually happen the way it does on Glee. Family systems don't actually happen the way they do on Boy Meets World. It's not real. And while we say we know and understand that, we don't apply it to our viewing experience. 


When asked if art mirrors nature the philosopher Plato said, Yes, and this is the very reason that art is dangerous: it lacks reality, it enflames the emotions, and it is removed from truth. Because of this we must lower our expectations, remove ourselves emotionally and accept television and film for what they are: mere reflections of reality. 


Now. On to my defense. If you know me, you know I love the dramatic. I also love the ironic humor. Glee exaggerates the high school experience and does so with subtly humor, PSA themes and over the top musical numbers that every secretly wishes they could be apart of. 


Furthermore, there is nothing I love better than a good cover. Glee has opened todays generation of middle and high school students to a world of classic rock that they might never have otherwise known. Journey, Fleetwood Mac and Queen are just the start. After the episode 'Rumours' in Season 2, the Fleetwood Mac album of the same title went to #7 in iTunes albums sales. Not to mention I have a Grooveshark playlist with 186 songs on it. Rock on.  


Back to the PSA themes. Remember on Degrassi High when that guy had AIDS and then that girl had an abortion and then that other girl had an eating disorder and other guy committed suicide? I watched every one of those episodes and they were incredibly shaping for my understanding of my adolescent development. Shows like Glee cover issues like drinking, sex and family systems that are crucial for a generation of youth that have no one else they feel comfortable talking too. You might consider that an issue in itself, which it is, but for the time being, Glee is doing a pretty okay job. 


I just think if you're going to hate it for the its influence, you have to hate every other influential teen show that ever was. That includes the O.C., Dawson's Creek, One Tree Hill, Gilmore Girls, 90210, Gossip Girl and Pretty Little Liars. They're all the same. And they aren't funny, don't have music and their PSA themes are too subtly woven in. 


You can't hate it because its unrealistic as that is by definition the essence of television. 

I'm a failure, I'm aware

So leave me alone. 


I was drowning in Playdough Plato, if you didn't see my BlogCrashers episode here, but I'm not anymore. Well almost not anymore. I'm about to revise my little paper and send it off in the morning.


All this to say that if you've been waiting all day for my defense of the show Glee (which I recognize is fairly unlikely as I really hope you all have greater lives than the blogisphere I happen to be a part of), its coming soon. It's in processing. I'm fairly certain my Plato paper helped me coin my actual message, so its worth waiting for. I almost guarantee it. Which isn't a guarantee at all.


In other news, today I found a shower in our break-room at the library. I told the new girl and she said she had found it on her first day. I've been there seven months and had no idea I could have been showering at the public library. What a let down. 

My weekend with Mich.

A word to the wise.

New York Fashion Week

Today in my teenage angst, everyone (almost) in my blogisphere is at New York Fashion Week. I have a hard time imagining a world in which I would take part in Fashion Week of any kind. Not that I don't like or appreciate the Fashion world. I really do. Really really. But something like Fashion week is so far out of my scope I laugh at the thought of my presence. 


And now I go of to my chiropractor appointment in my pj's without having showered, make-uped or, well no, I will brush my teeth. Maybe I don't get invited to NYFW because I'm just a little disgusting.