the ocean

All Quiet On The Western Front (Of Illinois)

I took the train back to Quincy last night for the long weekend. There were several things of note about this.  First, the Amtrak employees at Union Station never fail to enrage. I don't know if they get a special training program on how to ignore massive quantities of confused, angry people trying to get their attention while joking with one another about Beyoncé, but they certainly have the skills. Second, a girl on the train was watching The OC season one on her computer, and I don't know that I've ever been more jealous of a human being, except for maybe Tyne Daly, who got to work side by side with Sharon Gless for years. Third, no matter where I sit on the train -- it could be in the handicapped bathroom, it wouldn't matter -- I will always end up behind two people who decide to spend the entire four and a half hour trip "becoming friends." I believe I now have the record for number of people overheard discovering they both live in Lakeview and like going to The Cheesecake Factory. Fourth, our train was actually delayed due to a malfunctioning refrigerator in the snack car. Did you know a properly-functioning snack car is essential to the operation of a locomotive? I hate to think what would have happened if it had been the microwave that gave out. Finally, there is a shocking lack of understanding out there that you don't try to start up a conversation with a person who has earbuds in. Even if that person isn't even really listening to any music, but just wearing earbuds as a device to avoid making small talk with strangers. Man, those things start to hurt after four or five hours or so.

Anyway, I made it! The dog woke me up with a lot of crazed barking at about 6:30 so I got out for a long run before the day got crazy hot. Now I'm checking my mails etc. before I head out for a heavy afternoon of sunglass shopping, followed by a visit to my good friend JC up at St. Anthony's. I'm not going to say that this is the only way to live but, well, I guess I just kind of said it.

Important Media Commentary

I really don't know how I've made it to Thursday without posting about Sunday's VMAs, but here goes. I'll admit that I actually turned them off for a fairly sizable portion, so things like Taylor Swift's reaction shots and, you know, the actual winners of the alleged awards are sort of lost on me. But boy do I have opinions! I guess I should start with the thing that everyone is talking about, Miley Cyrus. I'm kind of blown away that the sexuality seems to be what people are focusing on, as opposed to the fact that it was just plain bad. She really appeared kind of lost up there, as though she had only a few moves programmed into her (stick out tongue, gesticulate wildly, twerk) and had to just keep repeating them at random. It was like watching Small Wonder try to prove she wasn't a little girl any more. Also, how is there not more chatter about Robin Thicke's gut? I mean, you're up there for ninety seconds, Thicke, suck it in.

Lady Gaga I thought was fine. I do feel kind of weird about seeing her actual face sometimes now; she's definitely more of a heavy makeup and costumes kind of gal. And yes, the song does sound a lot like Madonna, but hasn't that really always kind of been her shtick?

Was it just me, or was Justin Timberlake on for like an hour and a half? I mean, he has three albums; he's not fucking Bob Dylan. And it was weird and kind of sad to see all those other N*Sync guys again; they're not all in the best shape of their lives and they looked way too grateful to be on national television for all of thirty seconds. I'm sure Chris Kirkpatrick is trying to shop a reality show based on this exposure right now.

And why was Katy Perry at the Brooklyn Bridge again? Was the traffic too heavy for her to make it all the way in? Or are they just pairing acts with random landmarks now? I can't wait to see Rhianna at Mt. Rushmore or, better yet, J. Lo twenty thousand leagues under the sea.

Sleepless in Chicago

So for some reason I could not get myself to sleep last night. I'm really not sure why; it wasn't like the previous Wednesday when I got myself all keyed up playing Just Dance on the Wii and had too much energy for slumber. I had had a few drinks with friends, but that usually has the opposite effect. And I had watched a few episodes of 7th Heaven, but that should be relaxing, as it is full of positive messages and life affirmations. It was late 7th Heaven, though; maybe not recognizing half of the actors stressed me out. There were seriously like three orphan children I didn't know living with the Camdens. And the Rev was having heart problems; ah, the bitter, bitter ironies.

Anyway, I was up, and there was really only so much Candy Crush that I could play. My TV options were limited as well, since Nick at Nite goes heavily into Full House, which I just can't stomach, and Hallmark hits the Golden Girls pretty hard, which sometimes gives me a headache. I probably should have read for a while, but it just didn't occur to me. Sometimes this Virginia Woolf I'm reading puts me out when I'm riding the train in broad daylight.

Anyway, I finally succumbed somewhere between 3 and 4, only to get up around 7. And I am not smarter when I am on half a night's sleep, I can tell you that.

Late Show

We went to see Elysium last night because the neighbors had warned us they were throwing a party and it was basically the only somewhat palatable movie playing in the right time frame at an acceptable movie theater. It was all right. It was definitely more violent than I had expected, to the extent that I suddenly decided I had to go to the bathroom during one particularly intense scene. I'm pretty sure I missed some plot points as a result, but I never expect science fiction to make a lot of sense to me anyway, so it wasn't a problem. It was pretty interesting to look at, at times, although other parts of it sort of fell back on the standard dystopian future tropes, complete with bombed-out landmarks and oppressive faceless bureaucracies. The acting was kind of meh. I enjoy Matt Damon just fine, but sometimes it feels like he is working really hard to find an emotion of some kind to put out there, and I have no idea what accent Jodi Foster thought that she was doing, or for that matter why. And the whole thing seemed kind of long, although it really wasn't. I guess Lifetime has really primed me to expect my movies to be wrapped up in an hour and forty minutes, excluding commercials. I don't apologize for asking for the best.

Sorry for Being Kind of a Shitty Blogger

I mean, not really, but kind of. I do wish that I were better about making time to write here more regularly. But it's summer, and there are lots of other things to do. If I have to choose between going to the pool and writing about Amanda Bynes' latest exploits (they got the conservatorship, thank god), I'm going to choose the pool (although I'll be thinking of Amanda the whole time, I swear). Also cable television is so consistently rewarding. The We network has been playing Sister Act 2: Back in the Habit on loop all day, and who can possibly compose a sensible English sentence while experiencing a young Lauryn Hill's transformation from juvenile delinquent to choral angel once again like it's the very first time? Oh, and did I mention that I hate my neighbors? They're to blame, too -- it's so loud in here all the time that I can barely even think, much less entertain with my various PG-13 (mild profanity) exploits.

On the other hand, I'm not even really sure that anyone is reading this thing any more, so in a way I'm kind of apologizing to myself for not doing a better job keeping my journal. And to my future biographers, I would guess. This thing could be such a treasure trove of information about my alcohol intake and wearing of costumes.

The Time Has Come, The Walrus Said, To Talk of Many Things

There was a bit of a wide ranging discussion tonight. It began with an oral reading of the transcript of the nerd fight that broke out at my sister's work today (the words "masculine gaze" may or may not have been included), encompassed a high level discussion of whether Miley Cyrus is actually going crazy or just trying to look all hard and shit, and involved the viewing of several Beyoncé videos. In other words, nothing especially out of the ordinary for this household.

Then we got to Jennette McCurdy. Some explanation is required. Just of the existence of Jennette McCurdy, frankly. She was iCarly's sidekick on iCarly. She's blond and somewhat unfortunate, the type of girl who has been able to pass for forty since her mid teens. She tried to have a country music career. Of course. And now that iCarly herself has taken her big face and, I don't know, started a foundation to save Africa or something, they're trying to give McCurdy a spinoff. It's not looking good.

Anyway, her name came up and my sister didn't know who she was, so I insisted that she google her. And when she did, the "popular" search that google wanted to fill in for her was "Jennette McCurdy cankles."

I'm sure this sort of thing happens to Cate Blanchett all the time.

View From The Top

I just realized that we're three episodes in to America's Next Top Model (or ANTM, as busy, important people such as ourselves tend to call it) and I haven't yet commented. This season is, of course, a confusing new world, in that Tyra has only recent realized that male models exist and that she would like to hit on them. So now we have well-defined gentlemen with bad skin and odd, angular faces to go along with the sad, strange female specimens that Tyra routinely digs up for us to gawk at. I was sort of afraid that this would ruin the show, as much of my enjoyment in past years had come from the Mean Girls moments that seemed to stem from having locked fourteen 18-25 year old ladies in a small living space for an extended period of time with limited feeding. But it turns out that the presence of men does not prevent these particular women from wanting to kill each other, and in fact we now have the delightful added element of awkward flirting. Or at least I think it's flirting; some of these people may just be mentally ill.

Anyway, a few notes on this cycle's hopefuls:

Don -- Constantly informs us he's also a rapper, so that's good. And Tyra decided his makeover should cause him to resemble Chris Brown, because is there anyone America loves more than Chris Brown? Good judgment all around here.

Phil -- One additional bonus of having men on the show? The potential for bizarre facial hair, which Phil has elevated to an art. Not sure if Phil is actually on something or just wants us to think he's on something, but either way, it's magical television.

Kanani -- I really just love the name Kanani. I didn't know it was a name before now, but it really works for me.

Mike -- Tyra discovered this guy in a ice cream truck, and who wants to bet she discovered her weight in Dove Bars as well? I think his photos tend to come across like he's a foreign exchange student who doesn't know enough English to ask where the bathroom is, but maybe that's just me.

Nina -- Another one of these "unconventional beauties" Tyra likes to dredge up. I would say that I think her face looks a bit like someone's been sharpening it, but I'm afraid Tyra will send me to one of her reeducation camps.

Jourdan -- First of all, what the fuck is that "u" doing in her name? I'm sure her parents thought it was cute, but it just doomed her to a lifetime of spelling it for customer service representatives. Beyond that, I do think she's pretty, but just like your Aunt Linda, she needs to stop talking about her failed marriage.

Jeremy -- Of course there's always one who leads with the Christianity, as though Jesus is really into rigging the results of televised amateur modeling competitions. You've got to give these guys credit for being ready with their stock reality show characters from day one, though. ANTM has been boiled down to its purest elements over the years.

Marvin -- Really, really, really wants us to know how much he likes the ladies. Which is a lot. Like hardcore. He wants to give it to them so good.

So that's the rundown. Think of it as my gift to you, and of course Tyra.

I have no idea what I'm doing with my face in this picture. It kind of looks like I'm eating my lower lip. Tyra would be so unhappy with me.


We saw a lot of this face from Meg over the weekend. Note the contemporary stained glass in the background, which we think was supposed to look like something, but we could not make heads or tails of it.


The obligatory Buckingham Fountain photos. This is the "wacky" one.


And the bride with her drink on the trolley. We always bring the class.

Scandalized

Besides my sister's wedding, the other big recent event has been the Scandal marathon on BET. I'm late to the party on this one, but I watched the seven episode first season earlier this summer on Netflix and was immediately hooked, only to discover that the second season was not available and would not be until fall. My first reaction was of course to write angry letters to Netflix, ABC, Shonda Rhimes, Kerry Washington, Denzel Washington, and the late George Washington Carver, but that resulted only in the broadening of the existing restraining order held against me by the representatives of the estate of Time Magazine's "Black Leonardo" of 1941. Fortunately, salvation came, as it often does, in the form of BET, which showed a marathon last Saturday and completes it next Saturday. I DVRed the heck of it, even though that meant deleting the episodes of The Office and 30 Rock I had been saving since 2009.

So far, it's (spoiler alert!) amazing. The plot moves really quickly and they have a story of the week every week in addition to the ongoing story lines, so you always get some sense of resolution. There's lots of peppy dialogue and the acting is pretty good, although I will admit I've now had my fill of Kerry Washington staring glumly at things. And BET itself is a fantastic new discovery for me! Did you know they have a show about people who want to be gospel singers, most of whom are not particularly camera ready? And who tend to get very emotional and/or utter ridiculous platitudes? They also have a show called The Game that, as far as I can tell, is about a sassy li'l African-American girl who says "Wait, what?" with an excess of attitude. Also reruns of Everybody Hates Chris, so you know they're a major player in the industry.

Something tells me my 10-11 PM Frasier rerun block is about to get a run for its money.

The Blessed Event

So my sister got married. It was a very nice wedding, if I do say so myself. The quality of the reading was just through the roof. We devised a playlist for the reception that had a sizable late '90s/early '00s section and a minimum of slow songs, and Former Roommate Liz and I did an epic impromptu dance duet to Van Halen's "Jump." (This time it was solicited, which really adds to the fun.) There were cupcakes and cookies and the alcohol flowed freely. And my understanding is that it was legal and binding, so that's a good thing.

My parents were here for several days in the run-up to the wedding. This did not start out ideally, as they managed to arrive in Chicago during rush hour and thus spend an hour sitting in traffic followed by a half hour waiting for the valet at my sister's garage. And then they couldn't get my sister on the phone, causing them to have to sit in the lobby of her building for another fifteen minutes under the watchful gaze of the doorman who looks like former RNC chairman Michael Steele. Oh, and my mother spent the first two days with an upset stomach, while my father developed some problem with his knees that caused him pain when walking. But everything actually turned out really well; they were super friendly and chatty with everyone at the wedding and we even ended up having some extra time to do some sightseeing. Though for the record, a special exhibition at the Art Institute on a weekend is essentially my Vietnam. (I've lived a very sheltered life.)

So anyway, congratulations to the new married couple, and here's hoping they continue to live in the building with the amazing pool.

Train In Vain

Can I just tell you that for a year and two months now I have been walking across the loop after work to get on the Red Line to go to my sister's? And just today I realized that the Orange Line and the Green Line, which both travel directly to my office building, also go to my sister's stop? And are about twice as fast and half as crowded?

Sometimes it really pays to be a genius.

Omissions

In all of my blather about Blue Jasmine yesterday, I forgot the most important part. As I was leaving the movie, I tripped over a giant display for "The Way Way Back" and nearly faceplanted on the floor outside the bathroom. An elderly gentleman nearby actually held out his arms in a misguided attempt to catch me. Fortunately, I regained my footing, but it was perhaps not the most dignified moment I have ever known.

True Blue

I saw Blue Jasmine today. It was a little bit of a wristcutter, but really, really well done. I'd heard a lot of positive things about it; as it turns out, they were all accurate, but oversimplified. It's really hard to describe accurately what Woody Allen has done here. Frankly, it doesn't even much seem like a Woody Allen movie. Half of it is sort of a riff on A Streetcar Named Desire, with the other half made up of flashbacks that essentially show you how the Blanche DuBois character unraveled the way she did. So it's almost an improvement on the classic it's based on, because it provides context for conduct that otherwise would be fairly inexplicable, and certainly unsympathetic. It also helps that Cate Blanchett is astounding; as cringeworthy as some of her behavior is, you actually do feel for her throughout the movie. You understand how successful she has been living with illusions as opposed to reality and why she might continue to live that way, even as it (spoiler alert!) drives her to madness. She actually brings a fair amount of comedy to it, too, even though I watched about half of the movie wincing, with my face in my hands.

So yeah, I recommend it. I still overall prefer the old school funny Woody Allen movies (Sleeper is my jam, yo), but the old man has some fight in him yet.