It's My TV….It's My Peanut Butter

Title: The Girl (Original Swedish Title: Flickan) (2009)

Director: Fredrik Edfeldt

Writer: Karin Apphenius

Cinematography: Hoyte Van Hoytrma

I stumbled across this one at my local library.  Having not watched a foreign film in a while, I decided to give it a whirl.  I didn’t really expect much more than a little variety to shake up the string of BBC offerings I’ve been checking out from the library’s DVD section lately.  What I got was a visually beautiful, moving film.

You might notice that I noted the cinematographer above.  That’s because the way this film was beautiful visually.  That’s not to say it was full of sweeping vistas or shiny dance numbers or incredible costumes.  It was the composition of the shots, the way light was captured.  If had a greater experience with visual art, I’d be better at describing it, but the long and short of it is that reading the English subtitles is not the only reason I couldn’t tear my eyes from the screen.

The story follows The Girl (never named), whose parents and brother leave for an African aid mission.  She was supposed to travel with them, but a last minute notification of restrictions due to age (she is 9 and a half) results in The Girl being left at home in the care of a somewhat unstable Aunt Anna.  Singularly unimpressed with this woman-child that she barely knows, The Girl is more than happy when Aunt Anna leaves her alone to go off sailing with a boyfriend.  The Girl begins a summer of freedom.

But, before you start to think this is a summery, Swedish version of Home Alone, be assured, it’s not.  The Girl’s freedom devolves into a loneliness and isolation that comes right up to the borders of madness before a meeting with a stranger pulls her back into society and reality.

And The Girl herself is remarkable.  Little Blanca Engström does a very impressive job of conveying the complex emotions involved in The Girl’s isolation.  She has a unique look with her red hair and skinny form–she stands out in every shot she appears in.  And for such a little girl, she can be intense with just one glance, almost to the point of creepiness.  You really don’t need the subtitles to pick up on the emotions and follow the path of this story.  If this young actress doesn’t do any more movies, we are all losing out, I’m telling you.

By the end of this movie, I had the same kind of feeling I have after reading a really excellent book that I know I’ll never forget even if I never manage to read it again.  Usually I withdraw from foreign films that are too “arty” but in this case, it struck the right chord–stable plot, deep emotion and beautiful shots.  I give it 4.5 out of 5 jars of peanut-butter.

I am not a singer.  No false modesty, I don’t have a good voice and I find it a very frustrating instrument.  I sing along to the radio in the car, but the music is so loud I can’t hear how bad I am, so it’s okay.  When I don’t have something to drown me out, put it to you this way: my cat howls at me.  But, this week I realized that the small shower here at home has these awesome acoustics that are just too good to waste.  Since the piano won’t fit in the shower and it’s not good to get a wood oboe soaking wet, my only way to exercise the sounds of the space is with those pesky vocal chords.  After many attempts to reproduce any number of songs, I have found exactly one song that I can sing even moderately well without the assistance of a radio to drown out my weak points:

“New San Antonio Rose”

This signature song of Bob Wills and the Texas Playboys ought to be familiar to serious country music fans.  If you are interested in rounding out your musical education with the high-points of all the major genres and sub-genres, this song ought to be somewhere on your to-listen list as a grand example of Western swing.  If you are from Texas I suspect that you might be like me where one day you hear this tune playing and you begin singing along, never realizing until that moment that you knew the words…

It was called “New” San Antonio Rose because the “old” version Bob Wills originally put together didn’t have lyrics. With the addition of words, they called it “New San Antonio Rose.”  Allegedly, the tune was, at least in part, developed when Wills decided to play the tune “The Spanish Two-Step” backwards.  FTW?  For shits and giggles I sat down and tried to play something backwards on the piano.  Um.  Fail.  So points to Bob for being some kind of crazy genius with his fiddle.

It’s been covered more times than I can count (I can name at least 5 renditions off the top of my head) by a plethora of artists and in multiple languages.  It helped rocket Bob Wills and the Texas Playboys into the national spotlight back in the day.

In the grand tradition of country-western music (and plenty of other musical genres, but this one gets the most shit for it) it’s about a lost love.  In the grand tradition of Texas, it’s dance-able.  And it’s about Texas.  All these elements have made it a favorite of mine for years.  The shocker was the part about how sing-able it is.  Maybe I should have suspected it with the number of artists who’ve performed the song, but I didn’t.  And I sure didn’t expect it to be the one song that I can maintain in tune start to finish.  Maybe it’s that the spread of the range is just right.  Maybe the tempo makes it easier to control the changes.  I don’t know.  All I know is that I usually sing it through 3 times in the shower–and the cat’s okay with it.

I may have mentioned on this blog before that I get irrationally angry when guys tell me that I’m beautiful. I’ve been told this is because I’m a head case. While I won’t deny that as a factor, the real reasons are this: 1) I’m not. I’m not a dog, but I also don’t turn heads. And I’m fine with this. So while it’s one thing to tell me I look particularly good on a given day or in a given outfit, if you just say it indiscriminately it makes me think you’re a liar. And not even a particularly good one. And you probably want something. 2) I’m really fine with not being beautiful. I accepted my average appearance a long time ago and comforted myself with the fact that I’m possibly smarter than the average human and definitely make better sorbet than the average human. It all balances out. At the end of the day, I’m not sure how important I think looks are. But when you go on and on about my looks, it makes it clear that looks are that important to you. Which is a turn off. 3) Frankly, it makes for very boring conversation.

The other factor, which I’m not sure I was totally aware of until today, is that most guys don’t know how to deliver a compliment like this. I realized this when a colleague managed to pay me such a compliment today without pissing me off. Here’s how he did it:

Dude: [relevant conversation about our department]

Me: [responds to question about course requirements]

Dude: [mentions theoretical concept he’s dealing with]

Me: [responds with how it relates to my research]

Dude: By the way, your hair is beautiful. [return to stimulating academic conversation]

See what he did there? Made a specific, relevant, believable comment (I’ll admit it was a good hair day. And I have purple streaks in my hair. All folklorists love purple), but did not allow the conversation to turn shallow. Did not go on and on as if he feels like my self-esteem hangs or should hang on how he feels about my appearance. Did not, make it sound as though it’s the only thing he noticed or valued about me.

Now before anyone thinks I’m turning in my membership card to the permanently single women’s club, I’m fairly certain he’s not actually interested. And I’m not sure I would be if he was. But I will admit to you right now, that one little comment, thrown in there over the course of normal, grad student conversation kind of made my day. And it was kind of hot. Not gonna lie.

That, ladies and gentlemen, is how you tell a woman she’s beautiful.

Would we have coffee with…Erma Bombeck?

Cammy:  A resounding YES.  Bombeck was held out as the benchmark for humorous newspaper writing by my journalism teacher (who didn’t generally encourage us to write humor in her class, but had no problem with us reading and appreciating it).  Reading her column was the first time I really realized that people wrote funny shit for adults, too.  Before there were “Mommy Bloggers” venting about the housewife life, there was Bombeck.  Not only did she write about the absurdities of suburban moms and their families, she wrote it in a way that anyone could snarf their Dr. Pepper over.  It’s been more than 10 years since I first read one of her books (When You Look Like Your Passport Photo, It’s Time To Go Home), but I still recall clutching at my sides laughing.  For that alone, I owe her a thank you cup of joe. I’d like her take on the Mom blog phenomenon mentioned above–I have to imagine she’d have something humorous to say about that one.  I think it would be interesting to get her take on women and humor in general (more than once I’ve heard that women can’t be as funny as men–something that women like Bombeck render totall untrue).  And if nothing else, I once read she was twice as funny in person as she was on paper, so as long as I’m careful when I take a sip, this should be a riot.

Kristy: Sure. I’ll shamefully confess that although I’d heard her name for years, I didn’t really know who she was until tonight. But you know I like people that bring the funny, and a quick google search for quotes reveals that this woman could indeed bring the funny. So while I lack Cammy’s passion for journalism, I share her passion for spending time with smart funny people. Like Cammy, I’d also like to hear her thoughts on the “Mommy Blogger” phenomenon. I’d also like to ask her about her forays into television, even though they were largely unsuccessful. Perhaps even more to the point, I’d be interested to know what she thinks about the dearth of female writers in television, particularly on comedy shows. Is this just social prejudice or something else? Does she think there’s any thing that can be done to help? I will also be careful when I sip my coffee.

Well if Cammy gets to post about Downton Abbey when it’s her Sunday to post, I feel it’s only fair I can do the same. After all, I recommended the series to her. And my mind can be just as one tracked as hers.

As a friend of mine just posted on Facebook, this show will give me high blood pressure before all is said and done. Ay ay ay.

Isobel was annoying the crap out of me last week, but I can’t help but feel a little bad for her at the start of this one now that she has suddenly become redundant. Still, running off to France when there’s, you know, a war there, seems a bit extreme. And more than a bit passive aggressive. Who knew she was Southern?

I can’t quite make up my mind about Edith these days. She’s gone from object of pity to bitch to homewrecker to … almost too damn good to be likeable. Either she’s fickle or I am. But as Lady Violet would say, I’m a woman, so I’m allowed.

Lord Grantham seems to be playing the role I expected Bates to play this season—all frustrated and feeling useless.  I just want to hug him.

Mary… well she’s just so darn British and high class. I both love her for the stupid things she does and want to throttle her for them. But she’s growing, I guess.

Speaking of growing up… Sibyl. Let’s be honest about something. Sixteen year old me desperately wants to be Lady Sibyl. She lives in a big house, has fabulous clothes, gets to act morally superior and has an Irish revolutionary in love with her. She even has the cool mythological name. Come on! What more could you want? So… yes, I get why other people find her annoying. Sixteen year old me was rather annoying too. And sixteen year old me requires that I love her.

On the topic of Branson, I’m increasingly less certain of his death. William’s too. Not that I’m convinced either will survive at this point, but I’m mentally readjusting the odds.

Bates and Anna fill me with simultaneous squees and dread. Vera’s clearly not done yet.

I’m sure a lot of people are going to hate the little lapse into musical, but it filled me with joy like few moments on television have.  Can this show get any more delicious?

As a result of my slow, but steady, progress organizing the basement, I wound up identifying a few extra computer parts, allowing me to fix up my Mom’s old desktop.  I’ve been contemplating setting up a PC to connect to the TV.  Who says you need Hulu Plus to watch Hulu on the TV?

Being, well, me, I was also keen to set this box up with Linux.  Since my old laptop died, I’ve been Linux-less for quite a while now.  After a bit of searching I opted for a distro I’ve heard good things about, Ubuntu.  The install CD burned, I sat down for a good afternoon of bonding with the PC.

I was both pleasantly surprised and a little saddened.

Back in the dark ages when I was first exposed to Linux, it was a fantastic, powerful operating system with a plethora of tools for a young programmer like me–but installing it was a chore.   This OS was not for the faint of heart, those used to putting in an install CD, choosing OK in the appropriate places and setting the time zone before walking away.  Noooo, you had to know all manner of details about your hardware.  There were obscure drivers to be obtained, hard drives to partition and kernels to be re-compiled.  Our University ACM  (Association of Computing Machines) chapter hosted Saturday “Install Parties” so that the more skilled could help indoctrinate the N00bs.  It was its own form of bonding experience.

So, it was a bit of a shock when Ubuntu went on like butter.  Seriously.  It put the easiest windows install to shame.  I chose a few elements related to the keyboard and the time zone, it chugged a bit, and before I knew it, I was staring at a gorgeous desktop on my TV screen.  Mozilla was installed and launched easily.  Hulu fired right up.  The network allowed me to access my server with no issues.  I pulled over photos which showed up brilliantly on the photo viewer.  Numerous programs and tools were already installed so I could click and begin working in a document, surfing, or pulling up MP3s immediately.  No more booting to a simple command prompt and being forced to go in and tweek the system to boot to a GUI.  No more fighting with the right drivers for my video card.  It was so EASY.  My Mom could have handled this install, and she normally has trouble when she’s prompted to update Adobe Acrobat.

On the one hand, this is great for getting the average user to dabble with Linux.  The initial hurdle involved with getting it installed is no longer a barrier.  You can install in a matter of a half hour and be on your merry computing way.  Honestly, if you have some old hardware and no access to a cheap copy of Window$, download Ubuntu.

On the other hand–the challenge and the fun are gone for a geek like me.  Don’t get me wrong, there’s still plenty of fun to be had whipping out the terminal window and tweaking things (I already tweaked get access to the advanced settings and install screen-savers), but there’s a twinge of sadness that I didn’t get that afternoon of frustration with the balm of triumph and self pride after finally getting it all up, running and just-so.  Sure, there are other distros that still provide a geek challenge (I assume–if Slackware got this easy to install, I think it might be a sign of the apocalypse), but I’m pretty sure that many of them are more like this Ubuntu install, and that makes me just a little nostalgic.

Either way, it’s still an awesome, powerful OS.  And I’m now in possession of both a media center for photos,music and video, AND my favorite C compiler and enough PERL packages to make your eyes bleed.

I realized that I never posted the outcome of the American Gladiator style match between young Anakin Skywalker, Harry Potter, and Gibson from the X-Files. Granted, we never got any response from any of you, so either no one cared or everyone thought the outcome was obvious.

Which it is.

Though he lacks the same powers as his opponents, Gibson spent like an entire season living in a nuclear reactor. Which he survived, but which must have made him radio active. Which means that just being in the arena with him will lead to radiation poisoning. Thereby shortly after the match begins, Harry and Anakin are left weakened, stripped of their powers, but with healthy tans.

And Gibson strolls out to be forgotten like a dangling plot thread once more.

So, I have a shit-ton of things I need to do.  All the stuff I’ve put off while on the project from hell, plus the every-day b.s. of laundry and housework.  So this week, I get the bright idea to start a to-do list.  That’s supposed to be the key to  GTD (Getting Things Done) right?  Right.

I was going to go with a paper list, because while I detest the idea of having to use paper in my work life, in my personal life, I am all about the dead trees.  BUT, then I thought about how much more helpful it might be if I didn’t have to look to the list for what to do.  How about I use the schnaztasticness of my phone?  Surely there’s a widget of a to-do list that has all manner of annoying alarms to remind me to fold socks and take the box with the nativity scene down to the basement, right?

And that’s when the first time vampire was spawned.  There are several different options available for my phone in the line of to-do lists with alarms.  And I didn’t want to choose one that wasn’t spot-on-awesome, right?  So I had to do my research.  Look up ratings.  Download and testdrive.

You’re seeing the minutes ticking away, right?

Finally, I have the ideal candidate.  I feel semi-confident after 2 hours of playing with other options that this is the list-maker for moi.  Perfect.  Now all I had to do was start listing tasks and setting priorities and deadlines.

And that’s when the time vampire had a whole list of babies.

Just figuring out what I had to get done was a lengthy exercise itself.  Then I realized that some of what I listed really had sub-steps involved, and shouldn’t I list each sub-step toward completion?  Of course I should.  Delete the first one and break it down to all 11 steps.  Ah, better!  Now about those priorities.  Clearly folding socks is more important than moving around chairs in the living room.  But where do I put dusting the bookshelf in the living room?  More or less important?  And the deadlines.  Hmmm, do I really think I can get all the laundry done by Tuesday?  Should I set a weekly alarm for that?

5 hours later, I have a very thorough list of things to do.  My phone is happy to display a little icon at me.  Alarm chime merrily from time to time.  I look down at the little screen, frown…..and clear the alarm before going back to the book I was reading.

So much for that plan.

By now anyone connected to the internet has heard about the protest against SOPA (and PIPA).  I’ve refrained from joining the chorus because I have not had a chance to really formulate a well reasoned post about how very bad this bill is.  I try, but then I get pissed, my blood pressure rises and I have to walk away.  I still can’t write anything well reasoned, but time is ticking so I might as well rant.

Short version of why it’s bad?  Both SOPA and PIPA are written so that theywill be easy to abuse.  Very easy.  They’re written so that a shit-ton of stuff falls into the category of bad, and with no real check in the process, websites can be taken down in a flash.

You never want a law that’s written with this kind of broad brush stroke.  Even if your site is taken down for the wrong reasons and you have the best, cleanest defense ever in the history of ever…..you still have to argue it.  That’s the bitch of the law.  Sure you’re innocent until proven guilty and all that shit, but in the end, the cost of a trial (mentally and financially) is a kind of punishment itself.  And the time involved?  If someone wants to damage you, for some people, having their website down for the time it takes to work through the damn system and get it cleared up is enough to spell ruin.

The thing about these bills is…it’s already begun.  SOPA and PIPA is just two more in a line of crap-tastic legislation that impinges on our freedoms of speech and expression in the interest of protecting an obsolete business model.  It started with copyright extensions (every time we get close to Mickey joining the public domain….), then we had the Digital Millennium Copyright Act which put us on the road to PIPA/SOPA….

I  feel like I’ve been a Ranger, watching this coming darkness on the edges of the world, and now it’s finally out in the open so everyone sees what I’ve been watching for years now.  It’s kind of a relief, actually, despite the fact that what’s ahead of us is the equivalent of a Pelennor Fields full of Orc, Southrons and assorted other badies of a Mordor-esque variety.

If these become law, we all become a little less free and, with the exception of a tiny minority of business asshats in the entertainment industry, we don’t get a damn thing out of this.

I guess I don’t need to tell you we’ll be going dark tomorrow, do I?

Would we drink coffee with Johann Gottfried Herder?

Kristy: Well… I spent the morning reading about him for the umpteenth time and historiography really isn’t my thing, so off hand I kind of want to say no. But on the other hand, my academic discipline owes him a huge debt, which means that I owe him a huge debt. Many of his assumptions about the Volk were hugely problematic, but you have to recognize what a huge deal it was at that time for someone to actually see value in their artistic expressions. And I’m particularly interested and impressed by some of his ideas about vernacular languages. Also, it’s hard not to be amused by a guy who was so entranced by reading Ossian that he didn’t notice when the ship he was on nearly sank. (I realize this story is likely apocryphal, rest assured I will ask about it.) So yes, I will share a cup of coffee with the man. I’d be interested to hear how he feels about the present state of ethnology and folklore. I’d like to know how he feels about his legacy–his ideas have led to great things and horrific things. Was it all worth it?

Cammy: Dude, he’s absorbed in all things German which means I would definitely love a chance to pick his brain. It seems like he was trying to boost German self esteem even before they had their current national self esteem problem brought on by the Holocaust. Rather ironic given that his original attempts to bolster some pride in the German language, history and culture was later perverted to justify and support the shit Germany pulled in WWII. Like Kristy, I’d like to have him talk about that one. And, he had a hand in influencing Goethe, which means I owe him coffee since Goethe is to German literature as Shakespeare is to English literature. As far as discussion of Volk, I’m pretty sure I’ll leave that anthropological-folklore-historiography-other-big-academic-words lifting top Kristy, but even then I’m sure I can take something away from listening in.