Hot Cookin

Normally I don’t like to admit that I watch American Idol. In fact, when I do watch it I’m usually locked in my bedroom with a blanket over my head. I debated a long time about writing about this, but I figured if I was ever going to blog about American Idol I might as well do it now during the post-AI media storm when my confession can be waved off as another piece of fan-girl blather and not seen as a reliable barometer of my personal taste. Wow. Can I write a run-on sentence or what?

The fact is, I love David Cook. As a friend once put it, I don’t love him like I love peanut butter. I mean, I luuuuuvvvaaaahhh him.

From the first moment Cookie walked in with his faux hawk and argyle sweater I was hooked. It turned out to be a bonus that he could actually sing. And once he sang his emo/rock version of Hello I knew I’d never think about American Idol the same. I guess you could say “He had me at ‘Hello” but I’d like to maintain SOME semblance of dignity here.

But what really gets me? He’s so darn articulate. Every time I see him on a talk show I giggle to myself then sigh in recognition that I will never be that eloquent. I want to use my feminine wiles to trick him into a philosophical conversation that requires a delicate formulation of logic and necessitates explanations of complex ideas. Then I’ll lean back in my chaise lounge and watch him articulate. And yes, you can watch someone articulate. At least I can. I don’t know what your problem is.

Also in my fantasy he’s pacing back and forth in a black tee-shirt and intermittently flashing his crooked half-smile.

Some people would accuse me of rapidly jumping from obsession to obsession, claiming that I’ll be over him in another month. But only idiots with shiny new ‘stangs would actually believe something stupid like that. Unbeknown to most Shia’s likeness still lives on my door, Danny Wallace’s book still lives on my shelf, and Brand New's croonings still live on my ipod. Perhaps the initial intensity wears off a bit, but I never go back on something I truly love. (Good Charlotte I’m still rooting for you! Even if it’s just for old time’s sake.)

So, to sum up: David Cook, I am your Cookie Monster, and I will continue to steal from the Cookie jar, because I know this Cookie will never crumble . . . and various other double entendres Cookie puns.

I have retarded tingles for myself.

I Heart FotC

It's official. If you haven't heard about Flight of the Conchords by NOW you're officially uncool. I can say this with confidence because I've already forced it on most of my friends (aka the only people who read this blog anyway) and if you've somehow managed to dodge out of the line of fire well, we'll just consider you cool by association.

I haven't been this overtly obsessed with something since the first time I saw Little Shop of Horrors and I watched it 12 times in that first week. To this day I still have something of a latent crush on Rick Moranis.

So when I realized that I was spending an average of an hour each day re-watching clips of their show on youtube I knew something needed to be done. Kari and Shawn, I apologize. I didn't mean to go behind your back and purchase the full season on dvd but I couldn't help myself. I saw it on the shelf at the store and it just looked up at me with these big, baleful eyes what was I supposed to do? I'll tell you. I did what any self-respecting person would do: I brought it home, made up a bed with an old blanket in the corner and laid out a piece of newspaper for it to piddle on.

FotC was previously New Zealand's fourth most popular digi-folk parody group, they've now been upstaged by an FotC tribute group, and their HBO show is the story of Bret and Jemaine's quest to expand their solitary American fan into a full-blown fan base. (Because if you put base on the end of it it sounds bigger.)

I have promised Shawn and Kari that I wouldn't watch any episodes without them so thus far I've just been replaying the first 5 over and over again and giggling manically to myself. So far my favorite moments include:

• Jemaine finally getting tired of Bret's nagging and conceding that the reason he's moving out is because Bret eats too loud and it's "deefining"
  
• Bret's helmet that looks like his real hair
  
• Jemaine accusing Bret's girl friend (Cocoa) of trying to break up the band, then slurring "Cocoa, oh no!" to sound like Yoko Ono
  
• Jemaine's face when asked what his rap name is to which he replies "Hip-hopapotamus. But you can call me Jemaine if you like."
• Jemaine swiping his hand across his throat and nodding towards Cocoa indicating that Bret should break up with her and Bret saying "no man, I'm not gonna kill her"

Also, the entirety of this post is much more amusing if you read it in a whiny New Zealand accent. Now, please to enjoy what is possibly my favorite song from the show. Or at least the one that I've had stuck in my head for the last two weeks:

The Seagull

Caution: the laugh factor (laughactor) of this post is virtually zero and it will most likely be interesting to no one but myself. This is instead an opportunity for me to have an English geek-out moment in a forum where I can't be interrupted. Consider yourselves warned. Also, it's long.

Tonight, being Thursday, Ylime and I had our traditional Thursday Therapy. Although admittedly we haven't honored the tradition in several years, it was apparent by our catalogue of homework we should be doing that some therapy was long overdo. In an effort to embark on a journey of artistic discovery, and also to entertain us for a couple of hours, we went to a BYU production of The Seagull by Anton Chekhov.

When I tell you that I have a deep partiality to Russian literature those readers who don't know me very well shouldn't feel left out. Most of the people who DO know me don't realize that either. But as Joni Mitchell is to Emma Thompson in Love Actually, so is Dostoevsky to my cold, English, heart. (or American. Whatever.)

First off, the play was amazing. Emily asked me what I liked about it so much and the only qualified response I can give is that hours later, I'm still stewing over it. Aside from the production being all-around awesome, there was one point the director brought up that still has me thinking.

After the final scene the director asked a question of the audience: is the play was a comedy or tragedy? After immediately rejecting the notion that it had to be labeled as one or the other I began thinking on what it would mean to be both a comedy and a tragedy, and whether the two are really so different after all.

Throughout the play there are moments of heart wrenching sadness, as well as giddy humor. (It has to be noted that a large portion of the humor depends on the enactment of the play, as one audience member recalled seeing an earlier showing completely devoid of laughs.) When I began to contrast these two virtues it occurred to me that each element was completely dependent on the other. In other words I decided that it was impossible to have a true tragedy without comedy and vise verse.

I'm not talking about tragedies like Oedipus Rex or Braveheart where you begin to wonder if the only aim of the film is to rip you heart out and leave it still beating on the living room carpet. What I'm talking about is something much more subtle. When the humor and normality of the events allow the audience to become a part of story (something drastically enhanced by this production in an arena theater) there's a lightheartedness that persuades you that nothing terrible is going to happen. So when you see a main character show up haggard and only half coherent you do not mourn because it's as if her misfortunes have happened to you. You mourn because you remember the funny way that she used to bounce around and the light in her eyes when she mused about art and theater. The pain is much more acute. It's directly related to an experience we may never have, but the dramatic effect it has on the characters is something we come to understand very well.

The Seagull will break your heart. But the impact will be much more lasting when it's contrasted with the small comedic moments of pure delight.

P.S. If I know you, and you're on the production crew, and I didn't loudly say your name and wave hello during intermission don't feel bad. I'm just awkward like that.

Today's Obsession

All right. All right. It's been awhile. ALL RIGHT. I get it. No one even bothers to check anymore because the chances that there will be something new is like . . . less than the number of people who've checked my blog in the last couple weeks. Pretty soon my previous posts are going to be sucked in the black hole created by the lack of interest in my blog. Soaring through wormholes and reappearing out of some vortex they'll appear on the other side of space. I'm not a SciFi nerd. (I like to say quark.)

"So what," you ask mundanely "have you been doing with your ridiculous amount of free time at work?"
"Well," I respond, ignoring the impulse to make a stupid joke about your futile attempt at humour via the juxtaposition of "free time" and "at work", thereby earning your respect and admiration for my superior understanding of social cliche's, "I write a lot of run on sentences."

After much more banter, and several more hilarious and witty retorts by my self, and a few blundered jokes by you, you finally lose your patience and demand to know what I did all day at work, because you KNOW I wasn't working the whole time.

The answer is this my friends. I've discovered a new blog. www.mindyephron.blogspot.com


If any of you are fans of The Office (please say yes!) you'll recognize Mindy as "Kelly" the bimbo-blond-Indian girl who loves pink the color, Pink the person, and basically anything that is awesome. And that's what her blog is. (Awesome, not pink) It's titled "Thing's I've Bought That I Love" and love them she does.

Besides being filled with amazing beauty products (and other stuff) that makes you want to run to the nearest mall, she's also surprisingly funny in that way that professional comedy writers sometimes are. So far my favorite discovery via Mindy is ecreamery.com where you create your own custom ice cream. I created The Pink Panther which is Anise and Black Cherry gelatto with dark chocolate chips. I have no idea if it'll be any good but it sure sounds tempting!

Anyway that's all. Now I'm bored again and I've already read through all the archives . . . on to the next.

Price: $0. It's free!
Cost: By the time I've bought all the stuff I desperately need but didn't know existed before . . . much more than my average paycheck. I think I've got my Christmas list filled out.