I'm So Bored

with the vestiges of irony already. This is no longer 1994, but I'm takin' a quick dinner break, and what do I hear but Cake doing one of their "ironic" covers - "Strangers in the Night." Now, I'm not meaning to rag on Cake - I think their eminently okay; it's just that this example (recorded for a concept album soundtrack for a zombie videogame) is just emblematic of a cultural trend that's been bothering me.

My point: isn't it more interesting to perform an "unexpected" cover because it's good, and to invest your interpretation with commensurate enthusiasm, rather than record a lifeless song replete with air quotes that murmur in that most blase of speech accessible only by hipsters "Hey, we're like, doin' a song that your grandparents liked. Bet you didn't expect a cool band like us to perform it."

"Strangers in the Night" is an amazing song with an amazing history (rogue upstart producer for Sinatra sabotages a session in another room in the same studio for another version of the song - a very overeager song publisher is to blame - by removing the tubes from the mixing board), and is very evocative of an unusual cultural crossroads that occurred in the middle sixites, when AM pop radio wasn't segregated into artifically-created genre ghettos like it is today. Listen to "SitN" - do you hear Frank Sinatra wooing Mia Farrow at a mysterious midnight ball? Listen to it in MONO, and crank the hell out of it, and melt away as the majestic strings come in in the middle 8, and thank God that He gave us the gift of music. And then listen to Frank on the outro, the sublime "doobie-doobie doo, do-do-dah-de-dah" (rumor has it that Scooby-Doo was named by an animator mishearing this scatting at the end). If you have a cultural snobbery against Frank Sinatra, you need to grow a pair of ears.

I'm just thoroughly disappointed in you, Cake.

"I'd Like to Thank . . ."

My paper was selected for publication. I found out at my law journal's publication party tonight. My name was the third of three announced, and I was trying so hard not to look disappointed when my name wasn't called.

Study Break!!!

I scored an 85 on this test. Let me know what you get.

http://www.yetanotherdot.com/asp/80s.html

Yay, Wendy!!!

My dear friend Wendy, in a comment to this blog, said in one beautiful sentence what I was trying to say with my rant a few posts ago:

"In an ideal world, I think there would be no 'typical' male or female behavior, and each person would relate to every other person as an individual first."

You mentioned you had a cold, Wendy. Hope you're feeling loads better!

Molly is Fifteen and Haitch Pea and Gee O'Bea

Went to THQ on Friday for Molly's birthday party, which entailed seeing the new Harry Potter flick in a rented screening with Molly's friends and NSU's Harry Potter Literary Society. Molly and Sarah went in their Hermione Granger drag. Sarah looked a lot like Diane Keaton circa Annie Hall. It occurred to me too late that I could have dressed up. With my bushy beard and hair not cut since the summer of 2004, not to mention my, um, biggitude, I would've made a kickass Hagrid.

The movie was good. It makes me want to read the book now. I saw the first two movies, then read the first three books before the third one came out. The only thing I wish they'd added to numero tres was that the four former friends were responsible for creating the map.

A minor criticism of number four is that the movie was really made for people who had read the book. I was so confused throughout most of it. It's ironic that the one of the few times a movie doesn't condescend to the audience by dragging things out and over-explaining, I'm in need of a road map.

On a separate note, Legally Blonde is on in the background. This flick is crackin' me up. The scene where Jennifer Coolidge gets her dog back just played. Reese Witherspoon's nonsensical gibberish of legal-ese - subject matter jurisdiction (the court's ability to hear a case) and habeus corpus (latin for "to have the body" - people who are arrested and held have the right to ask the government why they are being held) - in confronting the man for his dog back had me rolling. It is, however, an ethical violation to present yourself as a lawyer when you do not have a license to practice law.

No, Sexism! Bad Sexism!

Today, in my Law of Professional Sports class, we split into groups according to our "law firms" and had mock negotiations for an NBA contract for a first round draft pick for the NBA. My law firm was representing the draft pick. Part of what we were asking for was time off so he could attend the birth of his child.

Our teacher, the mega awesome Ray Yasser (who literally wrote the book on th' subject), loves to role play. As part of our negotiation exercise, he assumed the role of our client "Pablo," the first round draft pick. Pablo is a simple, easygoing, non-flashy guy. Pablo explained that he wasn't asking to take weeks off to care for a child, but that he really wanted/needed to be there for the actual birth.

In the course of our negotiations, we got to this provision. My law firm side was trying to convey the idea that we needed time off, but that we wouldn't be asking for weeks off. One of the guys on the other side cracked, "This better not be during the playoffs," and his buddy immediately quipped, "Are you willing to induce labor?" I considered this in poor taste, but thought it was kinda funny, as long as they weren't serious. See - that's a big part of my sense of humor - say weird stuff that's off the wall. So, as long as they were kidding, I would find it funny.

The other guys on my side then responded to the joke saying, "He only gets one day off. 24 hours. No more."

I responded by asking, with some incredulity, "So, like, if his wife goes into labor at 3 AM he only gets until 3 AM the following day?" and they said, "Yeah, she's not allowed to be in labor for more than 24 hours."

Just then, a woman from another law firm overheard us and said, "Typical men! I can't believe you" blah, etc. and I immediately turned crimson from embarrassment. I was equally upset at the guys for making those jokes, and for the whole "men think this" thing.

See, I have a BIG problem with the whole women are sensitive/men aren't and all the Mars-Venus crap and this stereotypicality that the culture continually shoves down our throats. It's part of the reason why I can't stand "comedies" like Everybody Loves Raymond, Yes, Dear, According to Jim et al. Although, I mainly can't stand them because they aren't funny. (Somehow, Home Improvement is an exception to this rule for me, mostly because Tim Allen is charming and funny.)

I grew up mostly around women and am very, very comfortable around women. And I'm very comfortable expressing my emotions, for the most part.

Another thing is I hate knee-jerk reactions to taboo words/phrases without considering the reactions behind them. I am, concurrently, very sensitive to context, and won't say things which most people find offensive. But I find the idea of combatting societal ills by shushing people a lazy, uncreative and overly dogmatic way of addressing a problem. We're just painting a new coat on rotting wood if we think this solves anything. My point? If I'm truly a sexist, me not saying stuff about women in labor won't change the fact that I'm sexist. On the other hand, laughing at a joke doesn't make me a sexist.

I wanted to tell everyone to shut the fuck up (again, a rare instance of swear word in blog - apologies), our unwelcome critic included. Of course, I'd have to spend so much time explaining myself for the outburst that I chose to contain it.

So, the moral of the story: if you really want to piss me off, talk about stereotypical differences between the genders (or any social groups for that matter) as if they were the gospel truth.

Geez, I didn't realize how upset I was until I sat down to write this right now.

It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like . . .

Oklahoma has finally, finally, gotten cold. Gas has dipped below $2 a gallon (see Oil Storm and Oil Storm: Part Deux, supra). And I just can't wait for Christmas.

Finals are a few weeks away. Instead of being filled with trepidation, I am ready to get it over with. Studying hardcore for the next few weeks or so. Immigration Law and Sports Law are almost over. I turned my paper in. Both articles editors told me it was "excellent," so I may have a shot in the dark of getting published.

Tonight, I sit in the confines of my apartment, legs propped up, all warm and glowy inside. I'm watching Blast from the Past on TBS. The mighty Ronald Walken!!! Part of me enjoys the frugality of not having upteem kazillion channels and a TiVo (though I would love it if I did). There's something almost old-fashioned, almost romantic, about being at the mercy of edited-for-television movies. Part of me enjoys the idea of a time when television was simpler and everything wasn't readily available at our fingertips. I even have a big soft spot for family TV. I wish we had more variety shows. I always got a kick out of watching Lawrence Welk with my grandma in recent years. And Hee-Haw twenty years before that. Old console TVs you could climb on top of and deliver soliloquies from. You know, that whole trip.

Apparently, My Dad Needs to Mind His Own Business

I had a series of strange dreams last night. Here are a few I remember:

1) My Dad cloned a rock'n'roll band for me, which I found quite distressing. He was only trying to help out, I guess. I chastized him, though, when he mentioned - in front of the clones - that our band had a (not-yet-finalized) gig tomorrow.

"Dad, you know how those clones are! Not that they've heard you say that, they'll show up and play whether they're asked to or not!" Clones, apparently, are very determined and focused on carrying out whatever task they are charged.

In any event, I went to the living room and jammed with the clones to "Seven and Seven Is" by Love. No one was impressed with my singing.

2) I found out that I never graduated from OU. A little problem since I am in law school, which requires an undergraduate degree. While I was contemplating whether I could concurrently finish undergraduate and law school, my Dad decided to take matters into his own hands. He and Wolverine, from the X-Men (rocking the yellow-and-blue spandex, natch), grabbed hold of the reigns behind the neck of my Dad's giant robotic falcon - with a thirty foot wingspan, and soared off into the night sky to "take care of business."

Thanks Dad.

Sneak Peek

Sneak peek at a mash note I'm working on about why I love Dawn of the Dead so much.

"Dawn of the Dead looks like the world looked when I formed my earliest memories. Decades are ill-defined, especially in regards to the middle of the country as compared to the east and west coasts. The film was made in Pittsburgh the year I was born -1978 – but Oklahoma still looked like this when I was four, five, six years old. The flannel shirts, the wood paneling, the vestiges of sixties design and the coming of the functional-mechanical, non-aesthetically-pleasing clunky eighties design. The macramé, the bellbottoms. Turntables, not CD players. Typewriters, not computers. It takes me back to the time of being a kid and living day-to-day with the most primordial fears. What happens when I die? What goes on in the dark, where I can’t see? Who is the monster that lives under my bed? Adults are wise, all-knowing gods when you’re a kid. They reign with seeming justice and infallibility. And Dawn of the Dead puts lie to that notion, explores that sad truth we all learn as we grow up: the world of adults is just the world of kids with just enough power and just enough illusions to be very, very dangerous."