The Cop Back IN and other thoughts - spoiler alert bachelor

Hi hi. So yesterday's post may have even technically happened today and was, by the standards of most, a real rush job. It was also, by the standards of most, probably a far more readable, appropriately lengthed blog post than the crockpot is accustomed to providing.
The truth is I had already fallen asleep somewhere shortly after Michael Buble revealed himself to be Michael Buble surrounded by sexy back up singers, rather than one of a group of three Canadian Mounties, during Canada's closing ceremonies blow out (those who've read my quiet happy pleasures list from Sunday will note "obvious disguises" was a list item, and I was pleased by Buble accordingly). I didn't even make it to see the smashcut to Jerry Seinfeld's show "The Marriage Ref" that so rocked the airwaves in apparent desperation to hold Olympic audience. Gary Bryan, one of my favorite radio personalities in L.A. because he's on the Oldies station and he's pretty sharp with his zingers, even if they're terrible, went on to say this morning that they were being asked to talk about the marriage ref show. Like, basically apologized (codedly) for not making more fun of NBC's pulling the plug on the Olympics to switch over to what will amount to be like, hm, a combination of past tv shows like match game, the dating game, and hollywood squares reworked into a tonight show format with a dash of america's funniest home videos and wife swap (why that's enough disparate mixed identities to be suitable for a fish crockpot!).

Ok-sidebar of sidebars. I just went to try to find an image of Buble (failed) and went to Yahoo!'s homepage to discover an article summarizing The Bachelor finale. Not having watched, but having read an US Weekly article enough to care about the outcome, I clicked on the link. I present, for your review, the following excerpt:

Each woman also got to enjoy a final date with the Bachelor, who insisted even as he picked out engagement rings that he still hadn't arrived at a decision. Vienna joined Jake for a dip in a mud bath (she wrote "I love you" on his muddy bare chest) before sharing champagne in a rocky pool. Later, Tenley and Jake shared an afternoon off the St. Lucia coast on a boat, and Jake hurt Tenley's feelings by doubting their physical connection. (He apologized in her suite later, and they celebrated with champagne in bed.)

This is absurd in so many wonderful ways, but I think I love it most because it's presenting absurd items totally matter of factly. Things I love here:

• Lucia, a woman's name describing a geographic location in the above, not a person, is the most obvious woman's proper name in the above paragraph. Second is Vienna, which is a name of a geographical location (yes, I know about me, yes). A distant third is Tenley, which sounds more like a measure of distance or currency that would be used in dialogue from a pirate movie or epic - i.e. "I'll wager tenley that your man won't survive one day in the galley of Dread Captain Snagglebeard, with skin so fair and an obvious lack of discretion when it comes to keeping his mouth shut," or "My good man, surely you jest! The enchanted cape of Myrrensbaugh must be a good tenley from here as sure as it's a league! On my good name I say this to thee!" suggested retort: "Well if you're so sure, why not wager a tenley on our not making it there before the next full moon! And I shall count the gold coins you pay me under its milky ghost beams right here upon our safe and early return!"
• This pilot is shopping for engagement rings without knowing who he's going to give the ring to for a lifetime commitment. Folks, if I'm being chosen as someone's life mate and perfect complement by virtue of a coin toss, what does that really say about me? "Ah! This is so romantic! It was heads! And I'm heads over tails in love with this guy!!!! FOREVER." An engagement ring! Indicating intention to marry! I mean, if a pilot left an airport still being "up in the air" as it were regarding his decision on where to land the plane (forever), I don't think that pilot would be flying much. And, if you're against granting homosexual people the right to marry, but you actively watch the Bachelor, please compose a 500 word minimum essay on the sanctity of marriage and how it is not something that can just be used and abused and perverted by those in society who don't value it as sacred. Please cite interactions of the Bachelor and his harem whenever possible.
• The use of parentheses to give more intense details about the specifics of the bachelor's interactions. As if MUD BATH on rocks weren't enough of an image to truly express the emotions shared by these contestants while they luxuriated in such surroundings, we're parenthetically told "she wrote 'i love you' on his muddy bare chest." Ohhhh ohh ok. I thought for a minute there that they were just in a really cheesy, sexually charged set for a reality t.v. show that could not possibly involve real emotion and rather showcased their physical hotness and fantasies of happily ever after, but now that we've clarified she (WROTE I LOVE YOU ON HIM IN MUD) I can see this truly IS an emotionally gripping experience for all contestants. This description reminds me of several emotionally gripping scenes in the movie Avatar. (I see you...Yep. I'm watching. And I bought you an engagement ring.) And then there's the "Jake hurt Tenley's feelings by doubting their physical connection. (He apologized in her suite later, and they celebrated with champagne in bed.)" So you're saying Jake used and abused feelings to get physically connected to someone? Like, is "champagne in bed" a metaphor here? Did he say I don't think you'll do me, then she was upset by it, then he apologized for being mad she wasn't going to put out, so then she put out? Again, this is something only viewing the show would really let me know, and well, that's just not something I can commit to right now (though I did buy an engagement ring and will choose between The Bachelor and Extreme Makeover Home Edition one of these days).
  

Anyway - sidebar over. In hopes of explaining why I was glad to barely wake up enough to post an entry last night after spending the part of the day when I would have been blogging watching the USA/Canada hockey final (yeah, you saw what order I put those in), I diverted into discussing discussion of a reality show. Why I am glad I chose hockey over blogging yesterday - that game was amazing (the game was decided in overtime, after several skaters wrote "I love my homeland" with their skates on ice) and one for the ages that epitomizes why I love sports (though I doubt our physical connection). This game has received tons of media attention as being one for the ages, perhaps an appropriate use of epic when describing its import to this Olympic games, the sport of hockey, and the country of Canada. But this game was edge of your seat crazy the whole way through, and involved several plot points that are often found in sports movies throughout the ages. It would almost be impossible to write a better script for the final game than the one that was played (perhaps a vital distinction between Olympic sport and the Bachelor). From the elation of the winners to the absolute dismay of the losers, the game was as real and raw as you can get, and it was one of those moments where I was so glad to have watched from start to finish rather than just catching the highlights on Sportscenter.
I would have had nothing to say in a blog that would have been as awesome as the game was, especially when watching with others who also thought it was just that amazing (even on Tivo!).
So, yes, I apologize for copping out in writing yesterday, but I don't really mean it because I'm happy I did and opted to experience a great moment in sports and Olympic history. Probably like Tracy Morgan, I won't really apologize for Cop Out, even if I know it's bad (really, will a Cop Out poster or obvious joke appear in his dressing room in a 30 rock episode? because I would like that to happen).

Anyway, kudos again to a very fun Olympiad, from at least a tenley's length away from Vancouver. We'll see everyone again in four!

Things that are Awesome- the actual cop out

I have to compliment Canada here, producing a great closing ceremony situation, and taking their work in Vancouver in stride on the international scene.
I watched the gold medal hockey game with friends this evening. Yes, we'd tivo'ed the game, but wow was I glad someone else was there to watch with me. Without other people to be amazed, I might be left talking about it out loud for days.
This occurred following my viewing of L.A. Confidential last night. Afterward, my reaction was, "How has no one insisted I see this movie?" I thought it was awesome. The interwoven storylines of three main characters lead to all three, at some point, having to confront/confess/cope with who they really are as people - making decisions of charcter for each one. Super. I don't think I can think of another movie recently that combines both thrill and suspense with actual character development across the board to the point of crisis.
One thing - I'm currently not trying to think of ways to contradict myself = lazy journalism there.
That will bite me in the butt. But that will have to be tomorrow.

Canada, thank you for such fantastic Olympic games. You are a neighbor and friend - as gracious as you are generous.

Thanks!

Quiet Saturday's Happy List

Last night I was in a bar where the dj played Mr. Roboto by Styx. Those who crocked last year may remember my enjoyment of that song, among several others. Hearing the song in public somehow ended up being a very fun, communal enjoyment of a song that is, by in-large, kind of ridiculous. But in the best way. It constituted a public simple pleasure. Today is a very strange, rainy rain kind of day that has put me in an odd mood. Not sure why. It has not rained on my parade, but rather made me glad to not be participating in a parade. But I'm kind of thinking of things that provide simple delight. Like the sound of rain on a window, for example, even more so when you're warm and dry inside.
So, I've decided to make a list. And yes, that does make today's crockpot a listy-gimmick, but I'm ok with it.
Yes.

Perfectly cooked bacon
Donuts
Waves in the ocean
Waves at sporting events
Socks and towels straight from the dryer
The cherry on top
A good pun
A bad pun
Freckles on noses from the sun
Knowing you're wearing your favorite pair of underwear
A just ripe banana
Honeysuckle
Free samples
Postcards
Seeing the geometric shape of a snowflake when it lands before it melts
Roller coaster downs
Swingset ups
The sound of music
The Sound of Music
Brass
Hats
Obvious disguises
Seeing baby animals next to full-sized animals
Newly sharpened pencils/ A new box of crayons
An old man with a pipe
Children trying to do something intently and seriously
Chimney smells in winter air
The Rockettes
Cookie batter left on the mixing bowl
Water
Wobbly butterflies
Swirly Super-balls
Badminton
Woodpeckers
Leaves
Whistling
Shoes that make noise
Beer foam
Kites
Canoes
Winnebagos
Crossword puzzle completion
Gum bubble-blowing
Band-aids
Lightning bugs
A good thunderstorm
Knock-knock jokes
Honeydew
Naps
Champagne
Drive-thru car washes
Smell of cut-grass and the sound of a push mower
Squaredancing
Just making a yellow light
The horizon
Chirstmas lights
Buttons
Polka-dots
Wingtips
A dog in your lap
Trees
A good book
Accents
Blue Sky
Connect Four
The last bit of the trip before you get where you're going

A Paperback Writer Dulls the Novelty

Happy Friday, Crockers. This one could not get here fast enough to suit me, I must say. But now that it is - rejoicing! After having dinner at the time at which it is served in the old folks home (not that there's anything wrong with that) and watching three episodes of the Law and Order marathon I DVR'ed when I was out of town in make your own marathon style, I am shocked to find myself considering turning off the Olympics in search of other pursuits! Crocking among them! And leaving my young old folks home!
So it is. A perception of this evening shifted, but welcomed.

I am finding that not to be the case in all things, which is no surprise as I most often always hate change. For example, discovering my rent is being raised - unwelcome change. My grocery store no longer stocks Dannon Coffee flavored yogurt - unwelcome change. Hayden Pantierrerereeeree is a redhead? well, actually I don't care about that one.

Anyway, I picked up a book on the two-week check out shelf of the library that I assumed was Paul McCartney's autobiography or memoir of some kind. Wrong! Paul McCartney: A Life by Peter A. Carlin is in fact a biography, so named because it is BY somebody else. (That's official).
Despite glossy photos in the center of the book, I am having real trouble getting into it at all, much less through it. I'm still in England for the most part. Like, we're pretty huge around town and we have our signature look and Brian Epstein and we JUST got to America and are surprised to see how that's going. But I find I'm not liking the book because it's making me like the Beatles less. Nearly all of them! (I mean, who has anything bad to say about George?) And I prefer to join the rest of Americans in just disliking Yoko when it comes to Beatle-ness.

In all fairness, some of my negative feelings come from my dislike of the fake present tense. I am sure there's an actual grammar rule tense that describes what it's written in other than "fake present," but I find it very infuriating to read a biography told in a style that makes it seem like Peter A. Carlin was there, and not merely speculating on mood, reaction, and facts and occurrences based on reports, many of them from those whose "first-hand"edness probably happened some forty drug-addled years ago. Things like, "Paul couldn't be bothered by John's impertinent pout and demand for attention - this was his night to shine, and he was going to, by God."
Like, huh? You weren't there! So that somehow gets on my nerves - impossible omniscient. I think that's the style of this biography. Impossible emotional omniscient.

But what is in fact more worrisome than the style to my overall enjoyment of a life story I am, in fact, quite interested in knowing is that the characterizations do not match entirely with the characterizations of each Beatle persona I have in my mind. And yes, they are nuanced. Yep, I bet they fought and did some of the drugs and were hugely into a lot of things. But, as those who've followed the crockpot's departure into my own speculation about Paul McCartney and his current life with Michael Jackson might guess, I really prefer to keep it a little happier around the edges. Paul, Michael, and Prince, doing normal things - that's what I would like to see.
We'll see if I make it through. I think I at least want to make it to the Linda McCartney part. We'll see. And speaking of crockpot departures, remind me I have to get back to that showdown with Prince and Paul and Michael!

Frustrated Incorporated!

Remember that Soul Asylum song? I think it was like, their "comeback" of sorts onto the music scene. I may have even used the terms in previous posts. Much like Boner, it sounds familiar to my writing. Speaking of Soul Asylum, where are they now? Don't you feel like their lead singer could have been on the Adam Duritz or Billy Corgan person of interest, particularly to hot young pop culturally relevant people for dating, list of over-achievers from bands in rumored relationships? I do. That was a horrible sentence. I don't even know if it's a sentence. But I feel like Soul Asylum guy could have dated way hotter than his league with ease. He was that white guy with dreads who seemed SO DISAFFECTED and outsidered! What a persona to use for lady action.

Speaking of comebacks of a sort, Cyndi Lauper is going to be on The Apprentice. Ever since that was announced, I've noticed a sudden increase in air play for her songs. I'm certain that's not a coincidence, but it's certainly a boon for Cyndi Lauper fans (me). Lately a lot of air time for "All Through the Night" has made me very happy. Check it out. Also, check out her legs! Man! I don't remember those from the 80s. She-bop, indeed. Anyway, I think the lyrics to this song are quite beautiful on the whole, and when I catch it on the radio I usually enjoy some poignant car singing. I'm kind of not sure why she's doing The Apprentice, frankly. Particularly given my new love of the Sundance and Logo channels in their programming. I think Cyndi could be a star there, even serving in the Sharon Osbourne role for a show, but maybe she wanted to keep it mainstream? Don't know. But Cyndi, welcome back. Always glad to see you, Time after time.

I'm still at my desk, stewing in my own frustration (girls just wanna have fun!, after all), wondering if it's possible to give oneself a stress toothache in addition to a stress headache. I don't know, but why can I feel one side of my face throb while the other sits gummin' away as usual. Dunno dunno. But from forehead to jaw to tooth, something's not right with the left. I guess it's my left? Your right? Is that a term like stage right? Face right? Again, don't know.

Today I had a doctor's appointment that even included a blood draw. The lab for labwork - blood, urine, x-ray - was downstairs. I ended up in the small corner of the world of a blood technician who introduced herself to me by saying she'd be "my vampire" for the day. Given vampire popularity of late, that's quite a claim to make to a stranger! But, given her skill at actually extracting blood from veins by way of pokey things, I suppose it was apt.

Not an off-handed joke for her, however. This lady had formally and officially found her corner of the world - her domain, her space to be herself in the workplace and do her thing and do it well. Originally, when I arrived at the lab after the sterile doctors' office confines, I was shocked by the blaring music of the Clash. Um, huh? You're going to watch me bleed? Band-aids and The Cure - great. There were also Halloween decorations, skulls in particular, adorning things. It was upon seeing the blood technician that I realized that all of the batty accoutrement was intentional, not horribly out of season. This chick loved her goth stuff.

The thing was, her aesthetic crossed many many versions of pop subculture. The music, the clothes, the hair, the decor - it was a little bit all over the place, but the message, in the interdisciplinary genre combine of "outsiderness", was clear - I am NOT playing by the rules (except where mandated by law in the handling of hematological fluids). She chose the label goth. Do I think some goths would fight her and accuse her of wannabe-in it? Yes.
(did the image of a goth-cage-match just excite me? a bit. but it's won by like, out-emo-ing somemone).

I could not guesstimate an age, even based on context clues that she had a child who was old enough to be sent "upstate" to be raised to avoid gang activity. She said that her family was the goth family on the street of gangbangers. My image of a goth family, aside from the original Aadamses, is probably formed by memories of episodes of Wife Swap where a family self-identified as "the goth family." She looked more than happy to be a part of such a label. And, with her Snookie-length, jet black hair, which was crusted into hm...Edward Scissorhandsesque knots near the roots, she was happy as could be. And yep - bang. In, stuck, bleeding, out. She was good. At the time I was like, man I don't think I'd want to work in my own goth blood basement office. But right now, I very much see the genius there, curled around the orange and black skeleton garland tenderly resting on the "Notice of Insurance Policy Implications" signage.

I have no idea what my equivalent corner of the world would be.
I doubt it would be goth, even though the Aadams Family showed at the beginning of every episode - it's a snap.

Amazing comes in many forms

Sometimes universities host programs, lectures, conferences, and other free stuffs that are spectacular and, when even more extraordinary, free.

Last night I was able to watch two hours of virtuosic tap dancing for absolutely no cost.

Savion Glover (pictured left), Marshall Davis, Jr., and Maurice Chestnut performed "Bare Soundz," a two-hour tap blitz that was designed to create music in its execution rather than to be performed to music. These three gentlemen used their feet. For hours. At unimaginable speeds. And they sounded like drums. Drums big, drums small, drums metal, drums canvas, drumsticks. As well as: an idling engine, a revving engine, a helicopter, and jazz. Yep, they were all in there. And yes, it was fantastic!

I first became familiar with Savion Glover during his stint on Sesame Street. He is, in my memory, Elmo's first friend. Elmo and Gina and Savion all seemed to hang out. I was dubious of Gina, as I was a Maria loyalist, especially when it was someone was eating sandwiches in Mr. Hooper's store, and Elmo was never my favorite. Sure, could this be a by-product of my not being 2 years old? Yes. But who refers to themselves in the third person like that and isn't annoying? And why was he always so upbeat? Grover, Oscar, Big Bird, Snuffy - these characters were nuanced in their emotional range. Sometimes they all needed hugs. Oscar is, by name, a grouch. Elmo just likes hugs. Sure, this could also be a carry over from my loyalty to the Sesame Street of my childhood. Elmo was not on my Sesame Street. Maybe I don't like change (I hate change), but I sort of don't like Elmo (please don't tell my niece). Now Elmo's friend Savion, on the other hand, that guy seemed cool. He danced! And how.

Glover, Davis, and Chestnut, in addition to dancing for what seemed like four hours, not two, also moved their feet at the speed of hummingbirds' wings. My eye literally could not catch the movements between front, back, side and side. It was, in addition to very entertaining, awe-inspiring. WHAT THE?! That was my reaction. Head shaking, disbelieving - What the?!?! Because how do you learn to make your feet move that quickly that often that many times in a row without your feet snapping off at the joint? How many hours a day do you practice? And how do you ever get them to rest, especially if they are trained to follow and revel in, a beat?

I am a sucker for watching people do things really, really well in ways I cannot dream of doing. The Olympics, for example, is of such interest (I believe the first entry of this Lent explains) because I cannot fathom doing what the athletes are doing. Ever. With the body I have. On this Earth, with its current gravitational restrictions. Bare Soundz was the same situation. I was spell-bound and in awe. How can you do that? How can you move like that? How can you be that good?

My friend Krista and I both thought that Savion Glover's posture was downright puppet-like. He held is arms jauntily aloft at both sides but limp, as if they were held up by strings waiting to be moved by a puppet-master.

Do I believe his arms were thoroughly engaged in the dancing he was doing? Yes.
Do I have any clue how the physiology of his movements worked to make it possible? No. But I'm so far from having any idea that I'm even more impressed.
The other thing that was both captivating and confusing was that the dancers really appeared to have scrawny, wiry legs. Where was the power center? What was being used most? Like speedskaters have quads that are the size of medium-sized dogs, so too do most elite athletes have very telling physiques depending on which muscles they use most and develop well beyond the average Joe wearing spandex. But the tap dancers seemed to be all sinew. Perhaps that is part of what it takes? Being mostly muscle fiber, but not too much of it?

Whatever made him go-go-go, Savion Glover and friends (Maurice and Marshall - not Gina and Elmo) were absolutely mind-boggling in their tap abilities. Quite a feat by quite some feet.

Unlike Lavar Burton

You are going to have to take my word for it. I need to phone it in and take a pass on the usual wordy mcwordsalot this evening. I am tired. So tired in fact, that today I have: taken a nap so sound I needed an alarm to wake me while in the backseat of my car, selected eye glasses frames for glasses I was not intending to buy in 10 minutes - selecting the first pair I tried on, and I turned down free food!!! This last one is definitely the most obvious, but the second to last one - if you know me, that's the equivalent of me accepting an engagement proposal on a first, blind date. Don't believe me? Ask my mother, who suffered through years of watching me selecting pairs of school shoes that had to adorn my feet every day. High and low were the searches, and ruined were the knee joints of the poor employees who had to wait on me, having to get up and down to foot level so many times for me to try on nearly every shoe in the store before taking at least 25 minutes, once the field was narrowed down to favorites, to decide on one pair of shoes. Don't believe my own mother? Ask anyone who had to watch me order from a menu from ages 5 - hm....probably present, but i'll say 19. Torturously long waits for the rest of the table while I agonized over choices. At like, McDonald's too. Everywhere. So choosing an item that involves personal taste and appearance and is something I only replace like, once every three years? Highly unlikely that that would happen quickly. I'm a commitment-phobe about such things. Maybe all things? But to do so in record time - really, something is going on. Something is in my body involving oppressive tiredness that cannot be ignored, in spite of the fact that I just went to see a completely amazing show I would like to discuss. I can't right now! I can't write now!
It's as though someone has unplugged my power source, and I'm getting the message that I either need to switch to adapter power or I'll automatically power down, losing unsaved information.

All I can do is double scoop tomorrow's rambles. Probably a treat for no one, and my apologies for being so lame, but again, something beyond my powers is at work here. Might not even brush my teeth.