Mark Twain's met his match

Ever since I read Mark Twain's The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, my mind has rattled itself trying to figure out how a story that starts and progresses so well can finish is such an unsatisfying fashion. It's a great novel sure, but there comes a certain point about three-quarters in where you know it's all downhill from here. I thought it was kind of unique in that respect. And then I watched the series finale of Battlestar Galactica.

That being said, it is one of the best TV shows I've ever seen. Just... beware of the last five minutes.

Overheard on the internet.

i would kill for a chocolate chip cookie right now

who would you kill?

a chocolate man

i would eat him to death

A change might come

I'm thinking about changing the name - and therefore the website address - of the blog. The Kinetic Android handle has been with me for a while, but I've been toying with the idea of renaming it something like "Mountain/Molehill: Adventures in Overthinking." It probably describes the kinds of post I make more aptly, don't you think?

I'll entertain other name suggestions and/or pleas not to change things for a week or so.

Fire metaphors

A friend on facebook put a quote in her status message as food for thought.

Love is friendship caught on fire.

A quick Google search reveals the apparent originator of those words might have come from a man known for his great thinking, Bruce Lee. That point aside, there's something about people using fire as a metaphor for inspiration that I find interesting. Obviously, it's used as a representation of determination, drive and passion. When the subjects of the documentary film Jesus Camp called their organization "Kids on Fire," it's a title of motivation. Fire is a source of power, light and warmth. Who wouldn't want to be compared to that?

But isn't fire also a force of destruction? How many times a year does the news report on people who've lost their homes and all their possessions in wildfires? Therefore, I had to ask my friend who posted the quote, whether the quote really meant something different; if love is a friendship that's on fire, could a friendship be consumed and ultimately destroyed by love?

I can think of a few occasions in my life that certainly would apply to that kind of interpretation.

Late to the game: Lykke Li

Last year, Lykke Li appeared on the internet and registered in my brain as some kind of Swedish version of Feist. Not being one of Feist's biggest fans, I tended to disregard her debut, Youth Novels. I'm making up for it now most definitely, especially the incredible tease of a love song, "Little Bit." Also worth checking out is the video for her song "I'm Good, I'm Gone."

Mountain/Molehill: Media consumption, aggregation and social networks

Today, I decided to put an end to the annoying messages that were starting to trickle in from my Flixster account. I have been using the movie-review application on Facebook for well over a year now, and in doing so, I had an account on the website itself. The problem is, along with the features I had no interest in like movie-taste compatibility tests and quizzes, the site came with it's own team of fake members who like to email random dudes and ask for their email address for more spam messages and maybe a virus.

We've all been there - assuming we've all had a Myspace at one point in our lives. Which reminds me, I should check it and maybe even close it. A salacious looking profile picture with an equally salacious handle will randomly leave a comment or message about how our tastes are so similar and that we'd make a great couple. Give me you email and I'll send a picture and more email about me.

Well I said no thanks to that and, acting on a momentary impulse, closed my account. Of course my facebook application would not be affected I thought. Whoops-a-daisy. Now my collection of short movie reviews is gone. 

Part of me feels upset because as an amateur critic, I took those kind of websites pretty seriously, if only for allowing me to consider a kind of rating or soundbite of thought instead of just letting whatever I saw wash over me, never to be considered again. Also, having a timeline of when I saw particular movies or read particular books helped tell a little story of what I was interested in for the fleeting moment, and subtly nagged me to keep consuming. 

But there's the rub. Now I think if I can just quit all those websites, I will be unburdened by certain reminders to keep consuming. It could make watching movies and reading books the joyful experience they can be, without the added chore of making sure I logged in some kind of opinion somewhere in the vast ocean of the internet. Aside from some good friends, how many people really consider what is written? I don't read other people's reviews on those websites. Why would they read mine? (I'm aware that the same could be said for this blog...)

I had a similar epiphany years ago when I made an effort to listen to every relevant new music release that came out. Of course I fell behind and I acquired music that STILL hasn't been listened to. And it became a chore trying to get through it all. When something you absolutely love to do becomes a chore, then it might be time to rethink how you approach it. 

A cautionary tale...

Names have been changed to protect the innocent. Celebrity voices impersonated.

[Female friend over iChat]

andyyyy

[My boyfriend] is mad at me. help!

I was at this stupid party last night where I was the only person without a fiance/husband/wife.

Everyone was paired up.

So I texted [my boyfriend] to tell him this.

and he joked that it was probably a swinger's party.

and I said, "I wish. [Guy I mentioned I thought was cute a long time ago] is here."

Boyfriend did not find this funny. Moral of the story - ladies, find a man with a sense of humor. There's no reason a perfectly good zinger like that should go unappreciated.

Distracted: More memes.

For a nifty look at how both (relevant) sides of the American political spectrum have used memes and a little media manipulation recently, check out this story originally played on NPR's On the Media.

Mountain/Molehill: Overcoming gender at open mic

I've been playing guitar for about 13 years, but I'm not sure my musical talents would show it. When I was younger and just starting to contort my hands into power chords, I probably thought that by this point, I would have memorized all of Jimmy Page's solos and became a rock star already, and that Korn and Limp Bizkit would still be my favorite bands.

But at any rate, I can at least say that playing music for so long has given me a good ear for figuring out how to play things. I've got a pretty good sense of relative pitch. The best way I can describe this talent is from an episode of my dorm days at NIU; someone had the Garden State soundtrack (remember that?) on and I made a goal to try and figure out the chord progressions to "Caring is Creepy" by the Shins before the song ended. And my success led to days and days of sweet college ladies spending the night in my room... *sigh*...

At any rate, picking up songs on guitar easily has morphed into my own brand of fandom, wherein I hear a song I really like, play it a handful of times on repeat and then reach for the guitar to see if I can play the song myself, and then go to my nearest Open Mic night, to play the same couple of originals I've had in notebooks from high school with the cover song, the one I really want to play sandwiched in between.

Perhaps part of this is an extension of those daydreams I'd have while listening to rock music, where I'd put myself in the band, filling in on guitar or vocals or drums... or bass, if it had a really sweet part. All the best songs are the ones I can easily see myself tearing through with an imaginary band I keep meaning to physically organize in the real world, but never do. But another part is an idea that if I ever got married and started a family, it'd be fun and unique to play indie songs of the early millennium as lullabies.

Anyway, the point of this blog is that I've come across a long-standing problem with my whole covering-my-favorites formula - crossing the gender line. Lately I've been obsessing over To Bring You My Love by PJ Harvey and I'd love to release that obsession towards some apathetic-yet-polite coffee house crowd. But Harvey's best songs are all defiantly feminine, and I worry that if I performed, say "Send His Love to Me," or "C'mon Billy," an audience would either think I'm being ironic - "Oh hahaha, he's doing a lady's song!" - or get hung-up on the whole "Wait a minute, is he gay?" question and you know, not enjoy the song.

Changing the lyrics to suit a male singer are not an option. With few exceptions (oh, sweet "Tainted Love") I've cringed when I heard this done, like when the Cowboy Junkies covered "Run for Your Life" on that Rubber Soul tribute album, or that little known Phil Spector cover from Beach Boys, "Then I Kissed Her." So there will be no "Send HER Love to Me," anytime soon.

I think the biggest hang-up is that I want to convey a sincere appreciation for the songs I like that happen to be written from a female perspective. But as a 6' 3" bearded dude, it probably won't be looked on as such.

---

Post-script: Why don't I just unleash my PJ Harvey obsession on the apathetic-but-polite blog readers?

"C'mon Billy" video (1995)

Before I came around to the album that features this song, I would tell my friends that her song "Rid of Me" scared me as much as it kind of turned me on. Harvey's just an expert of straddling fences like that, and the video shows her being a seductress, heartbroken, insane, and strangest of all, normal.

"To Bring You My Love" (Live at Big Day Out Festival, 2003)

Are there more women like her in the world? Are they single?

Special thanks and full disclosure go to an ex-girlfriend (who I'm not sure would want to be named on the blog, so I'll just leave it at that) who's own admiration of PJ Harvey led to mine.

Pitchfork bringing the lols

Say what you will about Pitchfork Media's all-too-present grip on independent music and their slippery sense of journalism; I wish I could write a lead like this. (via)

When Woody Allen tried to tackle tabloid culture in Celebrity, he spectacularly fell on his face. But as many film scholars have pointed out, Woody Allen is not the bassist from Interpol. Clearly, that was the problem.

Artistic interpretations of the author.

Because that picture on the side couldn't possibly be enough.

From Katie

Foppish

From Ben,

It's true.

From my boss, Sue.

Oh hamburgers

From Jessie

It reads: "Reunited and it hurts so good!"

Andy: "Yeah, you guessed it. I jump rope"

Jessie: "Wow!"