You are full of interesting and piquant things to watch, listen to, and interact with. Some of your entertaining wares become viral, and legitimately so. Take for example "Gangnam Style", which at the time of this post has over 700,000,000 views. It's hilarious, catchy, and there's no reason you shouldn't like it (except for the fact it's popular - but that would be far too hipster).
However, there are other things to listen to out there. Like "Elephants" by Blaudzun, a Dutch singer and his band. Admittedly, there is not much comparison between "Gangnam Style" and "Elephant," one being Korean pop and the other being indie folk-style music. But "Elephants" has its merits, including a diverse set of instrumentation, including electric violin and trumpet, harmony, and an off-key voice which adds a plaintive, honest longing to this song.
So, listen to this, not that! Then decide for yourself.
It was my birthday over the weekend. Though it is past, in honor of the day, I am directing you to "Birthday Poem" by Paisley Rekdal. It is fitting, because it is a poem, it was my birthday, and I had a poem published last week.
Last week was a good one--published on Tuesday, a job interview (local, temporary, nothing special) on Wednesday, with an offer. Hamlet, Stones in their Pockets, and Les Miserables on Thursday and Friday. Friends and potato latkes with applesauce on Saturday. A long, lazy Sunday.
I can't get this song, "Anna Sun" by Walk the Moon, out of my head. I can't get enough of it. There is something so attractive about it. It is filled with longing, with a sense that these kids may not be on top but will never give up, that somehow life is more vibrant and worth living because it's all they've got, that they're also striving for something better.
Then there's the refrain, of "Oh, Anna Sun". Who is she? Well, there is a professor at Kenyon College named Anna Sun; it appears the band members went to Kenyon, so that's how they heard about her. But in a remark made by Professor Anna Sun of Kenyon College, Sun said that the song was not about her and that the band asked permission to use her name because they thought her name sounded cool. So, if not about Professor Sun, then about whom?
Or rather, what? It seems hard to argue otherwise that Anna Sun is a symbol, as evidenced by the door at the end of the video that has "Anna Sun" inscribed on it. Like the corn god in Willa Cather's O Pioneers!, Anna Sun is something to be wished for but never actually obtained, and I'm not sure as the symbol even comes in the form of a woman. During the course of the song, they say, "Live my life without station wagon rides," "Coming up for air," and "Wait for summertime". These snatches of lyrics are reminiscent of childhood--riding in the jumpseat of an old Volvo station wagon, spending all day at the pool, living a different life in summer than during the other times of the year. It's about childhood, the expectation of summertime, and the adult longing for warmth and sunlight that one has after cold, dark winters.
And indeed we see the inner child of the lead singer as they play in the field. Childhood is evoked in the finger-face painting and the girls-vs-boys dynamic, and so is play.
The song itself has a few problems, and the video is even more problematic. (I miss college, which is why I just used that word.) It's about as racially diverse as a small town in Nebraska -- there was one woman of Asian descent at 1:04. However, I should not be too harsh, because Kenyon is in a small Ohio town. They do reinforce some gender norms, like the man kissing an ecstatic woman around 1:00, and when they gather the men against the women in the fields towards the end of the video. Also, using face paint and dressing up as "Indian" is somewhat culturally insensitive; however, with face paint and feathers in our hair is often how we are first taught as children to conceptualize "Indian".
Despite these flaws, though, I still like the video. I love the dance session in the underground cave. I love that the lead singer lipsyncs badly, that the video until 2:40 is all shot in one continuous scene, that you can go back and watch the video again and pick up on new things (the two guys slapping each other to the right of the fireplace at 1:08, the guy dancing with a leaf blower at 1:20, how cheesy and wonderful the windmill-arms are in the dance session, the guy with the Lakers shirt and the glittery eyelashes).
This song, for me, is about nostalgia but not letting nostalgia overwhelm us, of living in the present and loving it, of looking to the future with as much joy as we remember the best of our past.
Thanks, Walk the Moon, for "Anna Sun".
Note: Lead singer's name is Nicholas Petricca, and Walk the Moon's Wikipedia page confirms what I've said -- but I had to discover what the song meant to me by myself.
So I've been anxiously checking my email and this one website for an update to break the news to you all, but I can't wait any more.
Today my poem "Brimful" was published by egg poetry! Again, the poem is not available just yet on egg's website, but I am hopeful that it will be up by tomorrow. And to celebrate and give you all, loyal followers, a place to find my poetry, my very own poetry blog (maybe in the future it will be more site, less blog, but that is to be determined).
In other news, I just barely found this site called Pure Francis. I haven't looked at much of its poetry yet, but the tone of the "About" section is genius. Pinky, are you thinking what I'm thinking...?
If the title didn't give it away, I'm going to be talking about loquats! Do you remember about four months ago, when I first wrote about planting them? Well, they sprouted about mid-August. After about a month, when I woefully mentioned the fact they had not sprouted to my mother, she told me here was still a chance but not to get my hopes up. Oh ye of little faith. Three of them have peeked their little heads up, and they are most beautiful and glorious.
It liiiiiiiiiiiives!
And as it turns out, loquats are quite hardy. I've neglected them more than a plant-parent should, leaving them in the sun and watering them every other day, if I can even remember that. I do make up for it, though, because when I water them I tell them how much I love them (and I mean what I say; that's the important part of raising a plant, I think). If we eat any fruit, I'll bury the skins or rinds in the potting soil. I think my lavishments makes a difference, but then again loquats do really well in southern California, which is 1) very sunny and 2) not the moistest place. So perhaps my success in gardening is more an act of serendipity than any actual skill on my part, but I will enjoy my accomplishments nonetheless.
What's more impressive is the fact that two of my loquats were successfully transplanted into a second pot. And they're not dead yet! At least they don't look it. The first sprout is about 4.5", and the other two hovering around 3"; "teh interwebs" suggest not transplanting loquats until they're 7", but I couldn't wait.
... and I continue to wait, getting up and checking my professional email only to find an inbox full of read messages. Confirmations that my email, resume attached, has been received for a job they've probably already filled but haven't bothered taking down from the internet.
The two-week anniversary been reached for some of these applications. Today is when I get to start pestering some of the HR departments to ask if they've had a chance to read my application package.
This is posted in irony. It's also a wonderful picture by Bryan Konietzko, co-creator of the "Avatar: The Last Airbender" series, which you should watch and whose merchandise you should buy.
I have this cat, a timid little siamese-esque thing in gray-on-white. She has blue eyes that stare at you, but they don't quite seem to see you. Or, they see you and something else just over your shoulder. She meows loudly and plays energetically, but only when she thinks no one is around. Putting her paws on the front window, she'll stare outside all day, craning to get a better look at the world. And at night, she'll sit in front of the entryway window and look at the moon. She's so little against that window, and so distant, gazing at things that only she can see.
I wonder what she sees; it's obvious she sees more than the rest of us with her sky-like eyes. I wonder if she thinks she'll ever get where she wants to go, of if just looking is enough. I wonder how much I am like the blue-eyed cat, gazing at things.
I had already booted down my computer for the night when I remembered a request from earlier in the day by my sister, K. She "demanded" a new blog post, sending her request with a smiley face. There must be something in the airwaves, because I almost wrote a blog post last night.
Over the summer, I've written a number of Poe,s, and I'm preparing to send some to various publications. I haven't read many poetry or literary magazines, and I need to be familiar with the magazines I send these little pieces of my creative self to. So that's been my task the last week, and I found this little gem of a repository of travel poetry and prose last night. Go ahead, click the link.
I've already sent one poem out to egg poetry, an unassuming site that sends you one thoughtful poem each Tuesday. I signed up for it with my tongue somewhat in my cheek, thinking I would at best delete the weekly missive with all of the other junk mail of invitations for singles-only Hawaiian cruises, reminders of the pitiful state of our economy, and notifications of how long I have to get 30 days free of _________ (insert your own annoying spammer! My favorites include: Premium Spotify, Premium LinkedIn, and memberships to Gold's Gym). At worst, I would unsubscribe and make a clean break of it.
Well, I got my first poem, "Fresh Air and Ritual". It was intriguing, funny, fresh. I found myself looking forward to opening my email in the morning, and I was most delighted when the next week came and I got my second poem. It wasn't quite as good as the first poem -- it seems like nothing ever is as good the second time -- and I found myself drumming the keys the following Tuesday, vearly mormimg, annoyed that Egg hadn't sent me my poem promptly. Their poem. Our collected poem, because by the time a poem gets from the author to a distributor to a reader, isn't it all of ours? Anyway, it has become one of the few emails I receive that I actually check. Barring emails from friends and family members (do people still send emails to friends and family?), it's the only email I consistently check.
How about that for something new?
Soon-to-be-poetry. I may have also used this image before.
And if you know of any good literary magazines that accept poetry -- barring something like Poetry, which is too fancy for me just yet -- please do let me know.
Being unemployed -- again, as a cousin recently put it, being in "recovery" from the last semester of college -- has given me ample time to putter, think, read, and write. I've been doing a lot of puttering in the garden, but as we have reached the height of July and the summer months, I've been seeking refuge in refrigerated areas. This means letting my type-A part of my personality come out to play: I've gotten my hands on the stuff gathering dust in the garage, and I'm working on categorizing and inventoring all the stuff in my house. Sounds like fun, right? Well, actually I've been enjoying it, but...
To balance my itch for order, I've also invited my creative side out to play, and I've been writing some poetry today and listening to music and dancing. Every day is pretty much an excuse for my own personal dance party (wouldn't have it any other way -- jumping around, singing off-key, and scaring the bejeebies out of the cats is not conducive to a house without solitude), but today was a special occasion because of yet another Amazon.com free sampler. Free Native American flute music? Why yes, I will download these! Although I haven't quite got the rhythm down for an all-out dance party.... Yet.
Aaah, paean to my vanity.
So, if you haven't done so already, go get some Native American flute music.
I've had some spare time this summer, which I have spent in the yard gardening.
I planted five loquat seeds last Thursday; they have yet to sprout. They can take anywhere between one and four months to sprout. If they sprout, they will never be grand and glorious trees like the first loquat tree I saw: it was the towering, 40-foot tree outside of my dorm. In the last weeks of my last year at college when the loquats were ripe, I could snag a loquat or two on my way to class. The skin and flesh are fuzzy and soft like that of an apricot, but so much sweeter and juicier. In the center of each fruit are dark, hard seeds that need to be planted right away.
I had brought home some loquats with me from college with the intention of giving them away and sharing their sweet goodness. However, no one seemed to want them. Perhaps I didn't ask around enough. They sat on my desk for a month, pruning and becoming wrinkled. At last, I needed to get rid of them, and yet I wanted more loquats, so I planted them.
We'll see what shall grow.
Monday, May 21, 2012
I'm cleaning out my room in my parents' home. I'm giving a lot of stuff away, but I'm throwing a lot of stuff away, too. When I do deep-cleans like this, I realize that I have some tendencies pack rats have, and I like to squirrel things away in random corners.
I've accumulated a lot of religiously-themed bits of paper, pictures, writings, pamphlets, and bookmarks. Every time I recycle a bookmark with Jesus' face on it, I feel as if I'm committing some act of high sacrilege and sealing my fate in some form of fiery furnace.
But, Jesus-faced bookmark, if I haven't used you in the past 10 years, do you honestly think I'm going to start using you now? I'm recycling the piece of paper, not the religious idea/belief...
Yes, there is an image of the bookmark on teh interwebs.
And yes, I still feel guilty.
Excuse me, now I must go and take out the recycling.
The thesis is done and turned in, and so that means that it is time for Lizzle to take back the blogosphere. At times, I've used this blog to fit a variety of purposes (unfortunately, none of them are remotely professional and can be used on a resume, which is a pity, indeed), from a mini-travelogue to a journal of thoughts and experiments. In the foreseeable future -- i.e. the next two weeks -- this blog will serve as a journal and a job-hunt diary.
This isn't really related to anything.
But before I get into all that, I must make the disclaimer that a good family member encouraged me to restart the blog. I have interesting things to note (such as, in the midst of cleaning my room, I found two copies of Parzival, a 12th-century epic German poem -- how did they get there?), but there are some things that I don't want all of you oh-so-many readers to know about. So I'm going to be circumspect, while still putting out some content.
Watching the latest episodes of Sherlock really puts a damper in getting other things done, such as cleaning one's room or sending out various thank-you notes for graduation accumulations.
Goodreads keeps on making me friends with people I have not consented to being friends with on their website. Facebook is behind all of this -- I am friends with them on Facebook, therefore Goodreads must think they can assign me as a book-buddy to anyone they desire. They will be hearing from my settings very shortly.
There is too much stuff in my room. I recently found an old chapstick that expired in 2004. I also found an invitation to a ceilidh in November 2010 in Edinburgh. I remember that ceilidh.
I like moaning piteously at things. Particularly at night.
Computers are anathema to productivity. I have a lot of things I could be doing, and yet if there is a computer on and within 50 feet of me, I'm on it. Somehow I find myself on Facebook, or on Gmail, or on webcomics. This is never a problem with blogging. Ever.Music and iPods have put a damper on how productively I think. Listening to music is like watching tv for me, but without actually having to watch tv. It babysits my brain instead of letting it function on its own like that of a capable adult's. I can have really interesting conversations in my head, not unlike the first dozen exchanges in this transcript from the Big Bang Theory.
Gasp. Wow, it's been a difficult process to find myself here, writing this, now. I don't even know what to think, my mind feels numb. I've just been in a thesis-editing hole. Extraneous functions have been pared down to a minimum - no Facebook, no Gunnerkrigg Court, no webcomics, no Attack of the Cute or even Cake Wreaks (okay, well, maybe Cake Wreaks). And that goes for many social interactions, too. And yet I find myself here, writing a blog post.
I think I've come to the realization that I almost did it - I almost got away from the internet for recreational use (Oh, OED Online, I could never get away from you. Or Pandora's "Baroque" station. Or Gotye and the Bee Gee's on Youtube.), and here I am feeling something vapid and whiny about how one chooses to spend one's time and how to find value.
All I wanted to do was tell someone that I found a way to work "witch which" into my thesis.
Brother: "How did George Takei end up the center of the digital universe?"
Me: "Because he's George Takei. He posts really amusing images/memes that must be shared. I will get on Facebook just to see if he's posted anything new. True, he does not create these tropes, but he has a largish sphere of influence, so that makes him like an Erasmus of the internet. That's funny, because Erasmus was like the internet of the 15th century. How times have changed."
"George Takei is now the tropic center of Facebook. We orbit him like little tiny satellites around a shining (non-sparkling) sun as he collects and sends forth amusements. They must be shared." -- myself on Wednesday
Friend I: "I do. I watched the pilot, and I thought, 'This is stupid.' Then half an hour later I had a craving to watch the next episode."
Me: "Agreed. It's my guilty pleasure. I watch it, and then I think, 'I have to balance this out with a respectable show. I'm going to go watch "Battlestar Galactica."'"
*No, I did not have a schizophrenic conversation with myself.
I have made it in life! To a certain degree anyway. A fellow student in my poetry writing class said that one of the lines I wrote could be put on a refrigerator magnet: "among siblings, one is always a child."
Whoo for freshly-minted aphorisms, or possible koans.
I have a a pair of black ballet slippers, and if you just look at the toes, they look like hooves. Every time I slip them on while wearing long pants, I look down at my legs and think, "I'm a centaur! Hi-ho, awaaaaaaay!!!" Then I remember. I am not a centaur.
If I have done nothing else during this break, I have read. Nothing too fancy, but it has been a delight to devour books of my own choosing, at my own pace, at my own level of difficulty. Not that I don't enjoy struggling with the prose of Henry James or the ideological complexities of Ralph Ellison, but fluff (which comprises much of the books that I completed) has its place. As the Sister has done over at Vie Lyonnaise, I'm including my own list of the books I've read over the break.
Completed: Eternal Man - Truman G. Madsen The Turn of the Screw - Henry James Abarat - Clive Barker Days of Magic, Nights of War - Clive Barker Absolute Midnight - Clive Barker Ella Enchanted - Gail Carson Levine assorted Edgar Allan Poe short stories assorted articles from the "Edgar Allan Poe Review"
Started: A Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez Embassytown - China Mieville Night's Master - Tanith Lee
To-read: Rough Stone Rolling - Richard Bushman Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith The Omnivore's Dilemma - Michael Pollan
In other news, Avi, if you're out there reading this, know that I have been listening to "Morally Sound," and I adore it. I make my home-friends listen to it, and in turn it makes me everything I always wanted to be: the cool kid with (at least, comparatively) the most obscure music.
