Friday, September 30, 2011

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. 

Thursday, September 29, 2011

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. 

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

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. 

Monday, September 12, 2011

Never bathe a dying cat.

Today in my teenage angst, I gave my cat a bath. 

My cat just turned eighteen. Her birthday post can be found here. In all of her eighteen years Penny has done an immaculate job of cleaning herself. As she ages, the effort of cleaning has become too much. So she's stopped. She also seems to have succumbed to Feline Alzheimer's (which is a real thing! read scan this article) and as such is generally confused. She knows who we are, she knows what she wants, but every once in a while she'll stop walking, look around  and has clearly lost her way. 

After an impressive dirt build up we decided it was time to wash her. I imagined her calm demeanor as I scrubbed her clean, her coat returning to its gleam from younger days. Reality rarely holds to our imaginings.

I got home and found Penny sleeping away. I woke her up and was greeted by her smooshy sleep face which you can only fully appreciate if you've seen it as many times as I have. I brushed her and talked to her about her bath. I tend to use a high baby when talking to her. I don't use it when I'm talking to babies. Only Penny; and kittens in general. I mean, come on. Who doesn't? They're kittens. 

I then carried her to the bathroom sink. Her confusion set in. Where am I? What an odd place I have probably never seen before. What am I supposed to be doing here? Then I dumped some water on her. Mean owner. Mean. She didn't cry or scratch. She didn't even squirm out of control; but man was she mad at me. She hated me for most of her - and subsequently my - life, so it wasn't anything new but all the  strides we had made over the past few months were definitely broken. With any luck she won't remember in the morning; thank goodness for that Alzheimers. First time that sentence has ever been uttered. 

The worst part of the whole thing is that I'm not really sure I even cleaned her. I felt so guilty for subjecting her to such trauma that I couldn't bring myself to do a thorough job. So while she's a tiny bit softer, she feels like she has terrible shampoo build up and is a little bit spiky. 

The whole thing is just too sad.