http://blogcritics.org/ A sinister cabal of superior bloggers on music, books, film, popular culture, politics, and technology - updated continuously. en Copyright 2005-2007 by the authors Sat, 25 Feb 2006 04:08:01 EST http://backend.userland.com/rss Blogcritics.org custom software http://blogcritics.org/ Phillip WinnSunday, August 26, 2007, marks the switch of all Blogcritics.org article feeds from full-content to short-content. This is the result of several converging factors, and is unfortunately a permanent decision (as permanent as any decision can be on the web, that is). We are aware of all of the reasons that this is a Bad Idea, and we are aware that some of you will be quite upset about having to click on something to read the free content, and we're sorry. Unfortunately, despite great effort, full-content feeds are not currently economically viable. Two other factors are involved: full-content feeds have resulted in an unprecedented level of content theft, with BC content appearing on many websites, usually spam sites, without attribution or permission. This duplicate content causes a cascading set of problems, not the least of which is that search engines generally aren't favorable to duplicate content, and don't always guess correctly. Finally, our RSS advertising partner is strongly in favor of short-content feeds. We hope that you'll continue to subscribe to BC via RSS, and when an article grabs your eye, it's only a click away, still free on the BC website. Thank you for your understanding. Administration0@blogcritics.org Sun, 26 Aug 2007 12:00:00 EDT http://blogcritics.org/archives/2006/02/25/040801.php Lyz BaranowskiDuring a sermon, while I sat defiantly drawing donuts to tease my gnawing hunger, I heard a pastor refer to submission and controlled power. Though I suspect his account may have been tempered to appeal to the objects of his subjugation, the words have never left me, have always bridled in corral of my mind. The definition returned to me while reading Justin Tussing's novel, The Best People in the World. Thomas Mahey, the book's protagonist, embodies the spirit of unassuming power. Additionally, it is in this tenuous land of seemingly warring concepts that the novel emerges.Toward the end of the novel Shiloh Tanager, an anarchist and a savior, explains his name, "Shiloh is a massacre and Tanager is the name of my favorite bird. This describes perfectly how I felt at eighteen." And it describes perfectly how Justin Tussing's novel feels. The book encompasses the ethereal hollowness of the vibrantly colored tragedy of life. It's as if the world is as hard and as resilient as a piece of steel and Tussing has found the dent in that steel and shown us its hard-wrought beauty.In a world still groaning in the hangover of post-modernism, Tussing has written a book of seeking without finding, of possessing in loss and of living through death. The Best People in the World chronicles the journey of Thomas Mahey, a high school student who falls in love with his teacher, Alice, who together with the local vagrant, Shiloh Tanager, set out to press the boundaries of the life they have been given. But the novel is not one of the many clichéd coming-of-age-on-a-road-trip stories currently clogging up the literary pipes. Nor is it a kitschy rendition of the gritty well-documented transition between boy and man. Rather, the novel, though it uses the tropes of adolescent literature (an illicit love affair with an older woman, a homeless man and unfettered freedom), avoids the pitfalls of the banal by keeping the reader constantly at a distance. It achieves this distance by simultaneously inviting readers in and betraying them, offering emptiness when there should be fullness and death where there should be life and miracles in a hopeless world. With a tension that is redolent of Faulkner's love affair between Ike Snopes and his cow, the novel walks a tightrope between the familiar and the taboo. Thomas, a minor, falls in love with his teacher who is eight years his senior and the two develop a relationship. Yet, they see one another every day and their relationship is born of familiarity. Similarly, Shiloh, the familiar character of the slightly insane homeless man, pushes the limits of his social boundaries by finding love in deepest and darkest places of our social taboos.The Best People in the World is Justin Tussing's first novel, though he's no stranger to the world of literature. Tussing is a graduate of the Iowa Writer's Workshop and former Director of the Iowa Young Writers' Studio. Yet, the book possesses none of the manufactured qualities that so easily infect well-trained writers. Though the prose is polished, the story remains elemental and honest.In the beginning of the book, Thomas works with his father at a plant that harnesses the power of the Ohio River for power. While the river supports the town and bequeaths its residents with an identity, the mighty waters are menacing, constantly threatening to wash them away. The novel like the river is a natural force, raw and powerful without ever losing control. Tussing, in an interview with The New Yorker remarked, " I'm fascinated by floods and I'm fascinated by the way people control them." And it is this delicate dance between power and control that Tussing's novel so expertly masters making him a writer to watch. Books44106@blogcritics.org Sat, 25 Feb 2006 04:08:01 EST http://blogcritics.org/archives/2006/01/31/234517.php Lyz BaranowskiSince 1966 the State of the Union address has been followed by a speech from the party opposing the President's.This year, Tim Kaine the Democratic Governor of Virginia drew the short straw. The message of his rebuttal was that there is a better way. While the speech drew high marks from Newt Gingrich, Kaine merely dug deeper the partisan trench that separates American politics. There may be a better way but Democrats are still at loss to show us that way. The nay saying and fault finding so complicit in the Democrat message is just that and nothing more.There also had to be a better person to deliver the message. The Democrats are armed with a coterie of intelligent and polished representatives that seem to get no face time. Where is Obama? Where is Hilary? Why Kaine and his crazy Eyebrow? At the risk of being called shallow, that Eyebrow was off the hook. It was going rogue faster than Ted Kennedy in, well, almost any situation. I've never felt like I was being so seduced by a political speech as I did when Kaine's Eyebrow wiggled with reckless abandon. And there is a special level of hell that I was roped into by giggling when he mentioned the sacrifices of Americans. But honestly, his Eyebrow was shaking like a Polaroid picture. And it didn't help that my ardently Republican husband put his hand up on the television screen to show me Kaine's good side and the the bad Eyebrow side. The Eyebrow was crazier than Dean at the caucuses and look at where craziness got him. So maybe in a few years we could see Kaine's Eyebrow running for the Presidency. It is America after all.Yet, if American Idol has taught us anything it's that if you want to get anywhere you have to meld image with talent. So why is it so hard for the Democrats to learn this lesson? Why promote the William Hungs of politics to such public positions?Or maybe there is a secret power to the Eyebrow we don't realize. Maybe the Eyebrow is here to lead us to the 'better way' Kaine spoke of. Only time will tell, since it will take more than an Eyebrow to bring the Democrats down this next election. Even if the Eyebrow lit a kitten on fire on Christmas Eve, it would seem the Democrats have public opinion in the bag and the Republicans have the rogue Eyebrow of Jack Abramoff and others to thank for that.But in closing I have one question I want America to consider: How can Democrats control the country when they can't control the Eyebrow? Politics43026@blogcritics.org Tue, 31 Jan 2006 23:45:17 EST http://blogcritics.org/archives/2006/01/28/233736.php Lyz BaranowskiIt's late o'clock in the morning; you're eating Cheetos and wiping them on your exposed belly that protrudes over your boxer shorts. If it's a Saturday you just got out of bed and you haven't showered in 42 hours and you don't plan on showering until Monday. If it's a weeknight, you'll probably fall asleep in this position while you hold the phone in your hand wondering whether to finally order Girls Gone Wild.You will inevitably dream that you did.This is the life of the white American male, who spends his waking hours lost in the greasy oblivion of the couch and gazing into his pale reflection and longing for the days of glory. Dreaming of a time when white men, again, will rule the earth, when daily decisions will involve invading country number one or number two instead of Doritos versus Cheetos and when the Micheal Moorian physique will be a status symbol instead of a Dateline special. Well, friends, fathers, brothers, husbands, that time is still a long way off, but until then I give you Jim Gaffigan's live comedy DVD Beyond the Pale.The DVD features Jim in a live performance filmed at the historic Vic Theater in Chicago. Though the DVD also boasts of several dallying bonus features, none are worth mentioning except for "Eat Dinner with Jim" and "Jim's First Stand-up Performance." "Eat Dinner with Jim" shows Gaffigan eating a Hot Pocket and making awkward conversation with you, the viewer. "Jim's First Stand-up Performance" is beautifully raw, awkward and hilarious giving the viewer a peek into the many faceted Jim Gaffigan and how he has evolved over the years.The real gem, however, is the full 70 minutes of live stand-up, which will air on Comedy Central on January 29. While some comedians run and scream around the stage to hold your attention, Gaffigan shuffles and interrupts himself with a still, small voice, his invisible foil. And yet, his shuffle is spellbinding and hilarious. With the perfect mixture of self-effacement and just plain old weirdo-ness, Gaffigan will quick have your potbelly, beer gut jiggling so hard your Cheetos will fall off the couch. His act centers mostly on food and its various forms ("Steak is the tuxedo of meat...and boloney is the retarded cousin.") He also revisits the "Hot Pocket" routine, mixing some of the old jokes ("diarrhea pocket") with new insights.His routine seems to have slowed a little since his last Comedy Central special. However, that should not be taken as a negative. Each syllable is packed with hilarity. Gaffigan's routine is a breath of fresh air, involving very few swear words and about only two hooker jokes, making him a ready family favorite. Gaffigan is Everyman's entertainer. Beyond the Pale is a mixture of memorable, everyday, and laugh-out-loud hilarity that will stick with you while you shop for toilet paper and all throughout your wife's pregnancy. While white men may not be able to jump, or dance, this one sure can make you pee your pants laughing at a cake joke. Gaffigan is one funny white man.If 70 minutes of Gaffigan isn't enough, there's more. Gaffigan is quickly becoming a man about Hollywood. He is a frequent guest of that other champion of whitey McWhiteyness found on Late Night With Conan O'Brien and has been featured on The Late Show With David Letterman. Gaffigan also created and starred in his own sitcom, Welcome to New York, which aired on CBS. This year look for Gaffigan in three movies, Stephanie Daley, The Living Wake and M. Night Shyamalan's. Lady in the Water.Beyond the Pale hits shelves on February 7. Video42881@blogcritics.org Sat, 28 Jan 2006 23:37:36 EST http://blogcritics.org/archives/2006/01/26/190735.php Lyz BaranowskiKanye West, the rapper who just months ago on a Katrina Relief telethon told the world that the President of the United States is the Diet Coke of racism. "George Bush doesn't care about black people," he stated empathetically just a month after he dropped his album Late Registration. He then proceeded to dominate the news. Coincidence? I think not. West told Rolling Stone that being outspoken is the key to his success, "If I was more complacent and let things slide, my life would be easier, but you all wouldn't be as entertained."The outspoken rapper must have decided that between Ted Kennedy and Hilary Clinton, Bush has enough detractors and moved on to the main man himself, J.C; the one and only, Jesus Christ. West posed as Jesus for the cover of Rolling Stone, which drops this Friday. He stated in the article, "In America, they want you to accomplish these great feats, to pull off these David Copperfield-type stunts, you want me to be great, but you don't ever want me to say I'm great?"There is no doubt in anyone's mind that this stunt will draw a firestorm of criticism from Copperfield supporters. "Who does Kanye think he is?" seethed Elizabeth Lenz, a die-hard Copperfield fan. "Copperfield did great things for this country...the whole world even. Kanye is disrespecting his mission and message. He doesn't even have the luscious Copperfieldian mullet!"These kinds of brash comparisons have never boded well for celebrity musicians before. In 1966, John Lennon told the Evening Standard that the Beatles were bigger than Jesus. In response, Christian groups all over the world held bonfires to burn Beatles albums. Radio stations across the South refused to play Beatles songs and the KKK tried unsuccessfully to stop a Beatles show in Memphis. And the American tour that came after that comment was the Beatles last, ending with Lennon's murder.John Lennon's comparison of the Beatles to Jesus and its aftermath is just a small taste of the ire that Kanye will incur from Copperfield fans. "He has no idea," stated Lenz. "He has no idea of our anger." Let's just hope Copperfield fans don't make West disappear in a big magic act with sound, lights and dancers because like prenups, Kanye is just something that we need to have.It would seem that this kind of outrageous behavior is simply on par for celebrities and celebrity-wannabes. The world is still reeling from James Frey's simple "overstatement" of the facts in his book A Million Little Pieces, which gained fame as a pick for Oprah's book club. Oprah, who initially defended Frey on Larry King, has changed her mind as she explains on her show, which airs today.And the tactic, though reprehensible, is quite effective. Frey's book is flying off the shelves as is Kanye's new album. Therefore, because I too want to be successful as a person, I'm telling the world right now that I am the Lindberg baby. You can read all about it in my book Anna Karenina, also a pick for Oprah's book club. Music42792@blogcritics.org Thu, 26 Jan 2006 19:07:35 EST http://blogcritics.org/archives/2006/01/24/174126.php Lyz BaranowskiAs Christians flounder in the world of politics, and with Pat Robertson on TBN and the American Idol clone Gifted to premier in March, they are floundering on television too. So it's a small wonder that the movie End of the Spear has received such negative reviews. Yet, The Chronicles of Narnia, which also contains a Christian message, was positively reviewed and a box office hit. So what was it about End of the Spear that made everyone so mad?The movie chronicles the story of missionary Nate Saint, who along with fellow missionaries seek to reach out to the violent Waodani tribe of the Ecuadorean rainforest, and end the cycle of violence that has brought them to the edge of extinction. However, through a miscommunication leading the Waodani to believe that the missionaries ate one of their family members, they murder them. Undaunted, Rachel Saint, Nate's older sister and Elisabeth Elliot, the wife of a missionary murdered along with Saint, go back to the Waodani to set an example forgiveness and love. The movie ends with a dramatic confrontation between Steve Saint and Mincayani, the Waodani who murdered his father.Criticisms ranging from bad acting, the perpetuation of colonialist ideology, and homophobia have surrounded this movie. Consequently, when I went to see it last night I was expecting the worst. We met my husband's conservative friend, who grew up as the oldest of eight children. The son of a missionary who had spent much of his life in Mexico and was homeschooled, he was everything a Christian Republican should be. So naturally, when we saw him at the ticket counter, I immediately asked him, "John, do you know the controversy about the guy who plays the lead role?"He rolled his eyes. "Yes. He's gay.""Yeah, I know, I heard that groups like the Christian Coalition are mad at the makers of the movie for letting a gay man star in this film.""Why?" he practically shouted. "They chose the best person for the part. Get over it. I bet they had a boy grip who was gay, too, and I heard the director lied once. So what?"I was taken aback by his passionate response. Just a week ago, I had been accused of infringing on his second amendment rights by saying he could never bring a handgun into my house, and now this. It made me seriously question the supposed red/blue divide."Yeah," I noted. "How does getting up in arms about that advance anything good or noble?""Amen," he sighed. "Amen."We went into the movie. I came out an hour later with tears in my eyes. True, the music was pretty awful but better than the music in Kingdom of Heaven, which shrieked and vibrated in my head during the contrived battle scenes. The acting could have been better, no Oscar-worthy performances, but not worth the horror it elicited from critics.The movie is based on a true story and the makers of the film worked closely with the real Steve Saint and the real Waodani people to create the film. The native characters such as Mincayani and Gikita were more developed than the white characters such as Marj Saint and Elisabeth Elliot. Though the key moment of miscommunication could have used more clarity, Mincayani's struggle to understand the message of the missionaries is portrayed sympathetically. He is not the savage warrior "other," he is a man who has been scarred by years of violence and now feels he must be strong and continue the cycle or become a "termite" in the after life. Like the missionaries, what he does, he does for the sake of eternity. Additionally, the missionaries are portrayed as becoming like the natives. They don't pack 'em up and ship them to boarding schools, rather they live with them, learning more about them in the process than the most accomplished of anthropologists. This is no "white man's burden" - this is a story of pain, healing and redemption.If the movie had been about an anthropologist, if God had been taken out of it, the reception from critics would have been more welcoming. True the music and the acting might have come under fire, but the message of non-violence would have been touted as making the film worth renting, at least.It's a difficult line to walk. On one hand, I can understand the anger and frustration directed toward "fundamentalists". I grew up in and around them and the day I voted for a Democrat, it was as if the body of Christ hit the fan. Like my husband's friend, I too am one of eight homeschooled children and I grew-up with children who are the reason many intelligent people reject homeschooling as a viable educational option. And I struggle as a person to live my life above reproach because I know one false step and I'm a hypocrite. One slip into humanity and I'm a judgmental fundamentalist. But I don't resent this; I think this is a trap of Christianity's own making. Our bar is the life of Christ and everyone watches us fall so desperately short in politics and in television. So it's a small wonder that a mediocre movie with an interesting story, would be shunned, not because it's a mediocre movie with an interesting story - I can name several of those movies that have even won Oscars - but because it hits on our rawest sense, our sense of who God is and what he does. So maybe, just maybe, this may be some of the reason for the ire behind the reviews.So see the movie, or don't see the movie. But really, think about why you reject it and why you may like it. It's true, many Christian's reject movies like Brokeback Mountain or Fahrenheit 9/11 without seeing them, but let's not fall into the same trap we accuse others of, rejecting something based on it's "message." And to the Christians who think the movie's rejection is based upon the anti-Christian climate and persecution, think about Narnia. That movie got good reviews because it was good. In the end, End of the Spear is a mediocre movie with an interesting story and sometimes those movies get raised to stardom (War of the Worlds) but more often than not, they get pushed aside. Let's stop complaining about a conspiracy (even if there is one, the ones we label "the liberals" can legitimately make the same case against us) and make movies of quality. Video42705@blogcritics.org Tue, 24 Jan 2006 17:41:26 EST http://blogcritics.org/archives/2006/01/23/121939.php Lyz BaranowskiBleak House is said to be Dickens' greatest work and by "is said," I mean a bunch of guys at Harvard made a list and made it number one. So, because I do what the white guys tell me to, I read it.Now let me tell you a little something about Dickens and me. We don't usually get along. I love his characters and his stories but they are so lost in his ponderous shenanigans that I tend to throw the book across the room several times before finishing it and Bleak House is the most ponderous of them all. But if you can wade through the page long descriptions of a fireplace then you will find a breathtaking array of characters, a true Dickensian treasure. But like running a marathon, it's only useful for bragging rights and professional athletes and it is the one book I would recommend "training" for.Therefore, I have always been of the opinion that Dickens books translate to film more so than most Victorian writers and Bleak House is no exception. This is not because I'm lazy, or a child of the TV generation, who wants nothing more than to kick back and be entertained but rather because the process of translating Dickens to film is like refining a diamond. You take off the ugly rock of paid-by-the-word ruminations and what emerges is a beautiful gem. Though the movie jumps from character to character with reckless abandon, each is played so memorably that you never forget a face. And each face is so emotionally charged that the complexity of the book is spelled out through the innocently determined face of Charley Neckett to the pathetic obsession of Mr. Guppy. Even Mademoiselle Hortense is instantly revealed by the look of parched desperation she gives to the mirror reflection of her mistress, Lady Deadlock. I read a criticism that the actors played their parts too intensely. Yet, I would argue that anything less would render the movie prey to the book's worst of follies, boredom. The show is riveting, which is amazing considering that the show's writers tackled this project with the intention of cutting out as little as possible. "What I wanted to do is get down and dirty with it, make it as real as possible," Justin Chadwick, the director, told The New York Times. And real is exactly what the show becomes. Music and cinematography give Bleak House a modern edge and a contemporary snap, without sacrificing the essential Victorian. Chadwick and the show's writer, Andrew Davies, also imbue the show with something else often lacking from modern television and cinema, that all characters are created equal. Some of Dicken's most memorable and accessible character's are not the protagonists, who are often tediously moral (I'm looking at you, Pip!), rather they are the smaller characters who pop in and out of the story such as Nancy and Fagin in Oliver Twist. Davies and Chadwick hold true to this Dickensonian democracy and it breathes life and complexity into a fascinating bookThough the book is a Gordian knot, the television show is completely accessible and enjoyable. I'm completely willing to give up Family Guy for the next two months of Sundays, and I'm one book snob who loves her Family Guy.Bleak House airs Sunday nights at 8 p.m. central on PBS. Video42649@blogcritics.org Mon, 23 Jan 2006 12:19:39 EST http://blogcritics.org/archives/2006/01/20/211212.php Lyz Baranowski"You can tell who the fatties will be by how long they linger over their Cheetos," said Edna to no one in particular. I paused; my hand holding a Cheeto en route to my mouth hovered in mid air."But, they're only 3 years old," I protested.Edna huffed and the other nursery workers played Play-Doh in silence. This is ridiculous, I thought, looking at the last three children sitting with me at the table. Anna, was a quiet cherub of a girl, who often spent the nursery time in a chair looking at a book or cautiously watching the raucous play of the others. Admittedly, this worried me. Any three year-old who whiled away an hour holding her little chin in her chubby hands contemplating the world before her with a composed gravity, that at 23 I still hadn't been able to contain, sent off serial killer warnings in my head. But Anna was gentle. If a doll was carelessly tossed aside or shoved in the plastic Fisher-Price oven, Anna would leave her chair, pick up the doll, and sit it next to her chair. Anna could be a "fattie" in the future, I guess. Sam was licking Cheeto residue off his napkin and then frantically pointing to the pieces of napkin on his tongue lisping, "Helwp! Hewlp!" "You're on your own buddy," I told him. He frowned and wiped his tongue with his shirt and repeated the process. Sam's prospects for a future of obesity were slim, considering that if he made a habit out of eating paper, his colon would clean him out.Sidney and I were dueling with Cheetos, a game that Edna glowered at with a passive-aggressive disapproval that only a true Midwesterner can muster. This rage is different from the huffing and puffing of a slighted Southerner, the verbal impaling of a Yankee or the condescending "What-Evur" head flip and eye-roll combination from the West Coast. This is a kind of subtle unspoken anger that fills the room and freezes everything in its grasp, without a glare, without a huff or a puff, without a word ever being spoken. It's just all of a sudden there, and it's a Berlin wall of importance that no great communicator can ever bring down. I was used to it. So I continued to duel Sidney, a vibrant little blonde, who had the ability to bounce off of and around any natural or man-made material. Sidney was no "fattie." The other thirteen had run off to throw blocks at one another and knock over towers clearly not built to code. To me they were all the same, tiny little bundles of sass who frequently demanded to know why I didn't have any kids with pluck and brashness that outdid both my mother and my mother-in-law. ("What, don't you know how to make 'em?" my mother demanded one Christmas.)Edna 's prophecy hung in the air as the "fatties" and I left our Cheeto mess and headed for the two-foot high slide. My workout time, though healthy for my body, is like junk food for my mind. It's my time to indulge in the delicious crunch of celebrity gossip and sex tips, which according to my mom, I need. "Why America Hates Fat Women! See the story on page 106." The article title was perfectly positioned to the left of a famous American stick insect who seduced me with her pointy clavicle from the cover. Okay, I thought, page 106. I hopped on the elliptical and flipped through the magazine. There were pink charts and graphs, measuring how prejudiced American's were against fat people. In one poll, 79% of Americans reported that they would not use an overweight personal trainer. What, that low? I questioned, sweat beginning to mat my bangs to my forehead. I increased the resistance and pounded away. A woman next to me lowered her resistance and sighed. Not going to get skinny like that, I chastised her in my mind. And then I felt ashamed. Was I prejudiced? I certainly wouldn't go to an overweight personal trainer. It would be like asking a dentist to fix your plumbing. Right?Weighing in at 130 on a 5' 8" frame, my physique was somewhere between Oprah and Uma. The summer after I had mono, my weight climbed to almost 150, my all time high. After my then-boyfriend proposed, I had an impetus to drop the weight. Forget the wedding dress, I was going to have sex for the first time. I needed to look good. I transformed myself from nerdish, booky type to nerdish runner type. Though I shed very few pounds, fat transformed to muscle and my size 8 slowly slipped down to a size 4. I felt amazing. Then I found out my size was 3 times smaller than the average American woman. My sisters, all vibrant buxom women, began to poke fun at me. My mom even declared that if I got smaller she would never talk to me again. My whole life I had derided "skinnies," with distain. In college my friends and I fantazised about cramming collegiate tanorexics full of Twinkies and Ho-Hos. Was I now the subject of this distain? Worried, I made my husband buy me a Big Mac."Want a diet coke?" he asked, holding my paper cup in front of the fountain. "No!" I shouted. "Make it a real one!"I supplemented healthy lifestyle with unhealthy food. I explained my theory to a friend: "It's so when people see me eat, they will see me eating real food and find comfort in the thought that I'll get fat eventually, as opposed to seeing me eat a salad and wanting to put me on an I.V. full of KFC gravy.""Why would you do that?" she asked."It's because I know how judgmental I am and I'm afraid of that judgment being turned on me if I exceed or drop below average," I confessed."Well, you won't help anyone by being unstable and insecure."Her words were lost on me as I watched a slim, gorgeous blonde come sailing into the coffee shop. Trollop, I thought.As America grows fatter and fatter, we grow increasingly insecure. Our insecurity breeds polarization - "fatties" versus "skinnies." Each has a party line and an icon: Uma, Oprah. The factions clash and no one wins. We just retreat to our bathrooms to binge or purge. Dove's Campaign for Real Beauty is refreshing but only heightens the image wars and rocks our already shaky ground of self-esteem leading us to label 3 year-olds as "fatties." It's a control issue. We seek to steady ourselves by grabbing onto our mirror image and distorting it until we are completely unrecognizable. I wish we could stop obsessing about it. Stop letting it infiltrate into every aspect of our lives until our consumption consumes us and we spiral. Just enjoy the sip of Coke as it bubbles down our throats. Revel in the sweet tang of roasted carrots and smile as we hit the showers after some good hard work. Be happy when we look in the mirror. But that isn't what I just did in this essay; I obsessed while wishing I wasn't. You can eat that irony with a spoon. It only has 2 net carbs and 3 grams of saturated fat. Tastes42537@blogcritics.org Fri, 20 Jan 2006 21:12:12 EST http://blogcritics.org/archives/2006/01/11/205359.php Lyz BaranowskiThough I'm snobby with literature, preferring Churchill to Klosterman, I make up for it with a love of smutty television. I am addicted to shows like "House," (the only show that can make fun of a little girl with cancer and make you laugh.) And whenever I'm depressed a good glimpse of Farrah Fawcett murdering her children on Lifetime usually cheers me up. But what happens when the two collide? Television plot meets literature. It's certainly not a new concept, since aught one readers and watchers have consumed a dizzying cycle of book-to-television, television-to-book such as He's Just Not That Into You, America (The Book) and the new television series "Bones."Even books not directly tied to a television show are beginning to show symptoms of this teleliterature revolution. Sue Grafton, Nicholas Sparks and Dean Koontz all swab their books with the tricks and trades of the television industry, such as multiple one-dimensional characters, increasingly violent and sex driven plots, flashbacks, close-ups, commercials and resolving serious moral issues with trite childhood flashbacks or convenient plot twists. This avoidance can be traced back to Henry Winkler. As the Fonz, Winkler was the ladies man who kept himself palatable by never overtly bedding the ladies. Similarly, as executive producer of "MacGyver," Winkler created a good ole' boy who managed to kill and woo without, well, killing and wooing.One of the more recent victims of teleliterature is Adrenaline by new author and anesthesiologist, John Benedict. The book cover proclaims that murder is the ultimate rush and if that's so then be prepared for the tsunami of carnage waiting for you in this medical thriller. Adrenaline chronicles the mysterious deaths of patients at the hands of confused anesthesiologists. During this time the hospital is contemplating a merger, the protagonist, Doug Landry, is contemplating adultery, the obligatory innocent intern is trying to find his lost mother and the evil department head is reflecting on the nurses he sexually abused over the years. "Karen, Karen" he murmurs contemplating his favorite victim. It's a perfect mixture of "E.R." and "Grey's Anatomy" with, of course, a dash of "CSI" (who doesn't add a dash of that delicious spice these days?).The story line is cleverly arched. The murders hardly seem like murders to the reader caught in the emotional swell of unfaithful husbands and drug abusing doctors. The story unfortunately climaxes in a heavy-handed shoot out. Just as the violence is nearing an end the villain reemerges hysterical, laughing and shooting behind a bulletproof shield. However, like television, it tactfully sidesteps moral dilemmas. The doctor never consummates his adulterous desire, the doctor who is abusing drugs dies in a non drug related incident before his friend can tell the supervisors and the lecherous villain gets his in a particularly non-vigilante sort of way.But all this death, sex and general mayhem is fun. Adrenaline lightly trips from page to page, exhilarating its readers but not consuming them, evoking imagination without introspection and entertainment with no strings attached. When it's all over you feel as if you've eaten a whole bag of chips with nothing to show but greasy fingers.So does this teleliterature make good literature? Well, no not in the traditional sense of the word good it barely even makes a good book. However, if what you want from a book is the same as what you want from a television show with the added bonus of impressing the opposite sex with your literacy, then yes, I suppose teleliterature has its value. And let's be honest, sometimes that's all we want. Books42144@blogcritics.org Wed, 11 Jan 2006 20:53:59 EST http://blogcritics.org/archives/2006/01/06/171807.php Lyz BaranowskiBetween Jack Abramoff, Tom Delay and Pat Robertson it's not easy to believe in Christians anymore.It's a tangled web we weave when first we practice to believe. Because unlike any other faith, Christianity offers redemption through grace, the goodness of God and the sacrifice of Christ, rather than the goodness of our own lives. And yet, the caveat is added that once you are a Christian you ought to live like you're earning that place in heaven. So there is a constant back and forth, we sin but we're saved. But if we're saved we ought to act like we never sin. And so, we white wash our sepulchers with the calm joviality of Tom Sawyer painting a fence.It's no wonder Gandhi famously pronounced that he would have been a Christian if he hadn't met so many of them.I was sitting in a living room of a family I know, respect and love. "Would you vote for Hilary Clinton? Do you really like her?" A member of the family asked me. Not wanting to ruin the evening but not wanting to lie, I responding by joking, "She's not bad. Contrary to popular belief she doesn't have the number 666 tattooed on her forehead." I received a few nervous laughs before I was reproached."No matter what she says, I don't believe she's a Christian."Wham, bam, thank you Lord. Right then and there her soul was judged.In his book What's So Amazing About Grace?, Phillip Yancey recounts a story about Hillary Clinton being invited to a Bible study. After bracing herself for the usual barrage of criticism, Hilary entered the Bible study only to be met with an apology. We're sorry for the way other people have been treating you and judging you, was the message the women sent to the much-maligned first Lady. And it's the message I want to send now.Christians are people, normal, awful ugly people. We try to do right, we screw up and bam we have inquisitions, crusades and witch trials of all variety. So we try again and inevitably we fail again. Christians both justified the slave trade and pushed for abolition. Christians both ignored Hitler's actions and attempted to end his reign of terror. Whenever there has been a side or an opinion, there has been a Christian to support it or deny it, use it for gain or ignore it and feed the poor. Christians are supposed to be the messengers of God here on earth but like a prepubescent game of telephone we screw up the message and it comes out something like, "Spongebob is gay." But please, don't shoot us messengers, just put us in jail for a while.I so badly want to condemn all the corruption that I see around me among Christians. But I'm just as bad; I guess that's why I turned to Jesus in the first place. So all I can ask is that you see that we are trying just like you. We are working just like you and sometimes we get it wrong and sometimes we get it right. But the point is to never stop trying. Culture41919@blogcritics.org Fri, 6 Jan 2006 17:18:07 EST http://blogcritics.org/archives/2005/12/20/101529.php Lyz BaranowskiMy philosophy toward books is a lot like my philosophy toward friends and music: I'm biased toward the old. Which is why I'm probably the only twenty-something in America who listens to James Taylor and Emmylou Harris and likes it. Which is why I don't write music reviews.Recently, I moved to a new town in a new state, away from friends and family. Although, I have done this several times in my life, I will never get used to it. The new is always jarring; a volatile mix of excitement and disappointment. In these times I find something old and cling to it. That something old becomes my place to stand while my world moves. In the middle of high school I moved from a small Midwestern town to a major metropolitan area, from a class of 100 to a class of almost 800. Rather than enduring the humiliation of eating lunch standing up (you had to have friends to co-opt a table and chairs), I escaped to the library and read Lucy Maud Montgomery's The Story Girl. I read it six times in four months. By the end of that time I had a place to stand and a place to sit and eat lunch, but every time I brush my hand across the cover of that book I remember the beauty it gave my vulnerability.As we move into a new year, full of changes, deaths, births, new books, new music, new celebrity couples and breakups here are two recommendations for a literary place to stand while your world moves.1. The Essays of EB White: In the intricate details of simple life, EB White unearths beauty and meaning. I am not much of an animal person but White's depictions of geese, raccoons and farm living are humorous and important. They take us away from the clinking and clunking of our worlds, equip us with wisdom and wit and send us back refreshed and ready. White was an essayist for the New Yorker long before he wrote his children's books and it is within non-fiction that we see this man's great soul and find ours restored.2. The Autobiography of GK Chesterton: The man was fat before it was fashionable. Witty before the art was lost. A one man literary band, who offers humor and a no nonsense approach to life. I stumbled across this book in my new library and like finding an old friend in a new place I snatched him up and took him out to lunch. The conversation started slowly, it was hard to reaqquaint myself with his depth of style. I had to reread a few paragraphs before I was able to grasp his meaning. But it was worth it. It's nice to have a conversation that doesn't center around casserole (excuse me, hot dish) or when my husband and I are going to have a baby (answer: never, they smell like poop). His comments on life and the modern world are surprisingly very relevant. In particular, his comments on children and the lost art of imagination cast a new spell over the Harry Potter controversy.Too often books we make books distant esoteric shores, which ought to always be discussed with difficult vocab and raised pinkies. But really, the good ones are friends; you hug them and cry (The Book of Laughter and Forgetting), you kiss them and laugh (The Hamlet) or you yell at them in frustration (Charles Dickens!). They're our family.Have you rediscovered a classic or has a book become a good friend during a lonely time? I would love to hear about it. Books41268@blogcritics.org Tue, 20 Dec 2005 10:15:29 EST