Rocks and Religion

Dick Solomon is a god. An alien god.

I really mean John Lithgow, not Dick Solomon. And by god I really mean comic genius, which after a week of official couch potato-dom I am fully equipped to attest to. 3^rd Rock from the Sun has prevented me from going crazy in my flu-ridden state. For years I had basically forgotten this gem existed, until channel-surfing last week I stumbled upon the Sci-Fi station. Just two minutes into one of the first ever episodes I was reminded why John Lithgow fully deserved his three Emmy’s. It’s one of the few examples of when overacting has worked; exaggeration is the name of the game for these four aliens who’ve been sent to earth in human form to study human behaviour.

Of course, they themselves end up becoming humanised, forming relationships and attachments to their new planet. They make some shrewd observations along the way about the human need to bond, to feel important and to find a purpose.

Alright, so pretending 3^rd Rock is deep is a bit of a stretch, but this lazy, hazy week has taught me one thing about myself – I love being a goofy westerner. I love that we make these silly shows for no other reason than pure entertainment. Check out this clip of Dick’s brain malfunction: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PHjaHlex5ZY

On my television travels this week I’ve also unearthed a largely unwatched treat called Carnivale, starring Nick Stahl (of Terminator 3 fame). I’ve only seen the first two episodes so far and already I’m mystified, hooked… and slightly put out. Just once I’d like to see religious people not portrayed by Hollywood as paranoid and psychotic. As though every person with a cross around their neck is pursued in dreams by Satan’s minions, just one psychotic religious experience away from trying to cleanse the great unwashed masses with a healthy dose of a) exorcism, b) a forced underwater-minute as a faux-baptism, or c) plague. (We’re due a good plague, right? First stop: the Playboy mansion.) Just once I’d like to see a normal-amount of religious conviction displayed in Hollywood, (but not more of the sickly sweet 7^th Heaven).

Does this need a title?

My head is pounding and not even Sudafed is fixing it. I have this nasty cold – all the better to enjoy the primary coverage with. I’d just like to see the back of the Clinton’s. The Democrats know how it feels to be sick of one family monopolizing politics (I almost hope Jeb Bush runs for President in 2012 – I can just imagine the  Michael Moore rants already. Actually, I can’t since I never listen to a word he says. It all runs into a stream of ‘blah, blah, hypocrite, blah’).

So, enough with the dynasties already! For November 2008, I say bring on the fresh meat, whether it be Obama or McCain – so long as it’s not a second Clinton.

Great, all that ranting is making my sinus-imploding head pound harder. And that was just a mini rant. Imagine what would happen if I wrote a proper essay about this. Thanks, Hillary.

Maybe I’ll skip the primary coverage and just watch some more Gilmore Girls.

The 51st State of Rock, and Geriatric Warfare

So this week I purchased the ultimate road trip soundtrack. It’s a new double CD out over here, called American Heartbeat, subtitled ‘A pulsating 80s rock collection’. Just my thing; I’m a total mullet rock aficionado. In fact, anything 80s is music gold to me – Blondie, Benatar, Bowie (what’s with the B’s?), Madonna, Michael Jackson (in his musical prime).

Discovering some of my favourite tunes on there – Heat of the Moment, Black Betty, Rosanna, Carry on Wayward Son (I’m too old to care about sounding cool about my music choices, I likes what I like and that’s that) – I snatched it up and went home. Images of driving a Cadillac across the desert singing along at the top of voice, looking fabulous in wide sunglasses and tanned skin, flashed through my mind.

When I got home I looked more closely, and discovered to my horror that the CD contained some songs from – shock! – the 70s.

Worse, not all of the beating hearts were actually American. Billy Idol was on there for Pete’s (Frampton’s) sake! (Yes I know Peter Frampton was born in England, but he’s now an American citizen. And he wasn’t even on this CD so it’s not like it matters.)

Other non-Americans include Air Supply, Yes, Whitesnake, and Bad Company, all of whom are Brits. There’s also Bachman-Turner Overdrive making an appearance, an Australian band.

So the point of all this is to say – who does the research for these compilations? I’m now questioning every compilation CD I’ve ever bought. All the Greatest Hits I’ve accumulated over the years – who’s to say they actually represent the greatest hits of their respective hit-makers? I can’t tell you all the number I’ve times I’ve bought a Greatest Hits compilation and been disappointed at the bland collection of so-called hits. I’m now curious to research if they’re really just a collection of the greatest B-sides of all time. There I was, naively believing the title of Greatest Hits. Is nothing sacred? What a fool I’ve been.

Having said that, American Heartbeats is pretty good if you’re a bit of a 80s rock dork like me (plus some 70s, but to everyone born in the 80s it doesn’t make a big difference).

From mullets, shoulder pads and leg warmers, to geriatrics. This week my 95-year-old grandmother, who has lived a somewhat sheltered, violent-less life, was beaten up. By a fellow OAP. I kid you all not.

She was in an argument with a man in her care home (they wind each other up something crazy, and if she weren’t senile and he weren’t a woman-hitting bully I’d say they totally fancy each other; after all, the best romances start with mutual dislike and verbal sparring that masks a fizzling attraction). He lost his patience and slugged her.

All I can assume is that he was a wife beater back in his day; I find it hard to believe an old man just suddenly becomes a woman-hitter after a gentlemanly lifetime. Still, it’s all good fodder for a story (I claim copyright as of right now…).

Calliope: Voice of the Writers

Sunbeams and hail storms

Hail is falling. It looks like snow, to warm the heart, but I’m informed it’s hail and the dark misery falls heavy like an anvil through my once-hopeful heart. It’s April – was our brief ray of sunshine signalling the beginning of spring merely a cruel joke from the weather gods?

Luckily, a clap of thunder brings some much needed levity as the entire office makes a jumping movement in their seats, followed by a swift ‘ooh!’ of excitement. Everyone loves thunder, even those who are scared of it.

Welcome to the schizophrenic weather of Britain. When I woke it had been sunny and cold. When I boarded my train to Marylebone it had been sunny and warm. The thunderstorm was just before lunch time. When I left the office at half five it was cloudy and raining. When I took my seat at Marylebone to go home, it was sunny and warm again. The sunset was clear and stunning.

At least we don’t get tornadoes or earthquakes.

It feels the right time for a weather rant. As everyone who has ever travelled to the UK knows, we Brits love our weather talk. The weather changes approximately every half an hour, so when conversation is slipping into a lull and we’re grasping at the “what happened on Eastenders last night” straws (which I don’t watch, so, much like my dislike of coffee, leaves me on the fringes of society) there’s always something to talk about. A quick “goodness gracious me, I can’t believe it has just begun raining!” will revive any dying conversation. Which is a relief for me, since the latest rape, murder, incest, or laundry crisis on Albert Square doesn’t do much to excite my interest.

I stayed in last night and watched Stormchasers. This was the last episode of a series apparently, and it followed the adventures of a group of tornado groupies in Kansas in a heavy duty tank-like vehicle. They were trying to get the tank into the eye of a twister, to film it and develop better tornado warning systems.

Alas, it wasn’t as exciting as the 1996 film Twister, which I’ve seen countless times because I’m fascinated by tornadoes (possibly from my Wizard of Oz obsession – see my bio on here to read more about that oddity…). The documentary was a bit of an anti-climax, mainly due to sloppy filmmaking giving more camera time to the middle aged men sitting inside the tank than to the amazing visuals going on outside in the corn fields.

There really isn’t anywhere in the States without any danger of extreme weather. On the east coast there’s the hurricane threat, in the middle the twister danger, and on the west there’s fear of the next big earthquake. Britain is pretty safe, which is why it’s so frustrating that whenever there’s the lightest dusting of snow our entire public transport systems shut down. We just can’t cope with extremes. Our slight variations (sun-rain-sun-rain-hail-rain) keep us on our toes and office workers nationwide remain engaged in conversation. Americans accept whatever weather they have that season and get on with it but have the constant threat of something menacing around the corner.

So I love Britain for its enduring ability to make another day of rain into a conversational centrepiece and I love America for actually having interesting weather occasionally. I’m no fair weather Britican (cue smiting from the humour gods followed by months of hail).

This is from The Britican Perspective over at Calliope which is releasing its second issue tomorrow (April 15th) – complete with the first chapters of the novel race, poetry, short stories, essays and a new literary review section. The site is undergoing some changes and we’re soon to move to our own brand spankin’ new site!

Wednesday night distractions

It grieves me deeply to hear that my favourite commercial has apparently been banned (I hear conflicting reports on this, some say banned, others say complaints have been made but it’s not yet been pulled). Whatever the truth, if this singing dog is banished from the tube I will be displeased, as it is the only thing that makes frustrating advert breaks worth sitting through. So in honour of quaking jack russells everywhere (I own one – they do this naturally! No animal cruelty involved!) here is a link to the best advert in years:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Mz5LhMrcU0

I finally have Delta Goodrem’s third album Delta. It’s not as interesting as her sophomore album Mistaken Identity which was filled with some rousing numbers charting her move into adulthood following her brush with cancer. Delta is a mellower experience; less about growing up and facing a harsh world, and more about falling in love again and dealing with her parents’ divorce. Here is the gorgeous video for single Believe Again. I adore her voice, and am so glad she’s still coming out with good material after more than five years in the biz (no rehab, whirlwind marriages, or going commando for her).

What is wrong with some girls?

I call myself a moderate feminist, but this makes me embarrassed to be a woman. Read my earlier piece on raunch culture to get a fuller flavour of how angry this makes me, but I honestly wonder what is wrong with these girls who are desperate for fame without substance (except the illegal kind, of course) and who will do anything to get noticed, just barely stopping short of prostituting their bodies for fame.

Girls, take note: Being a sexual object does NOT get you the respect of men (or other women). It does not make you empowered. It does not make a mockery of horny, salivating males. It merely makes you look desperate, shallow, vain, and cheap.

PS. I apologise for giving Chanelle more publicity than she deserves (which is clearly none).

Phew

What a busy week! I had four exams spread out over Wednesday and Thursday to complete my time at the London School of Journalism; and on the Thursday I made my first appearance in a national newspaper! I had a film review printed in The Independent.

New editorial columns have been included on Calliope: Voice of the Writers.

Serious work is also underway on moving the magazine to our own domain, where it will have interactive forums, guest blogs, and book reviews.

The Great Novel Race of 2008 is set to start April 15 also. If you have the first chapter of a novel ready, send it to us at contact.calliope [at] yahoo.com. To read more about the race: http://calliope.jimdo.com/the_great_novel_race_of_2008.php