Encyclopedia Brown!

I've been realizing recently that I have an almost encyclopedic memory for all things American Idol. (Yeah, I know...that again. What can I say, it's my favorite show) If a contestant during the current season sings a particular song I know if it has ever been done before on Idol, and by whom, and when (and what they were wearing, and what the judges thought...)

For example, Matt Giraud sang 'My Funny Valentine' this season for Top 5 week, which had the Rat Pack theme. Melinda Doolittle also sang it during the semifinals in season 6, as did Constantine Maroulis for Broadway week back in season 4.

Adam Lambert's scintillating performance of 'Satisfaction' during the seminfinals this year? Bo Bice also sang it during season 4, Top 3 week, and it was Paula's "Judge's Pick" for him. (He wore a yellow shirt, I believe)

How about Heart's 'Alone'? Carrie Underwood claimed it as hers the second week of the finals in season 4 (the theme was Billboard #1 hits); Ramiel Mulaby attempted it season 7 the week before she was finally eliminated, and Allison Iraheta did just as awesome with it as Carrie, if not better, this year for her semifinal performance.

The ubiquitous 'All By Myself'? LaToya London tackled it during the semis in season 3 to great acclaim (though I thought it was just so-so) and wearing all white; Gina Glockson did alright with it during the semis in season 6, and Asia'h Epperson tried it during the season 7 semis (again, wearing white). My advice? Stop singing the song during the semifinals!

Bon Jovi, you ask? There was a Bon Jovi week during season 6 in which Bon Jovi was also the mentor; Blake Lewis pulled ahead of the pack, for a minute anyway, with his reinvention of 'You Give Love a Bad Name;' Jordin Sparks, the eventual winner, sang 'Livin' on a Prayer,' which the judges roundly dismissed; David Cook, season 7's winner, later auditioned with the song.

Whitney Houston? Who hasn't done Whitney? Jasmine Trias made it to the top 12 (sadly) season 3 by singing 'Run to You;' Kat McPhee sang 'I Have Nothing' during Love Song week (top 6) in season 5, wearing a gorgeous yellow dress with a dangerously high slit; Asia'h Epperson sang 'I Wanna Dance With Somebody' during the season 7 semis (her last performance, which the judges hated and I loved); Syesha Mercado, later that season, sang 'I Will Always Love You' during Dolly Parton week, and - same season - Chikezie Eze sang 'All the (Woman) That I Need' not once, but twice (as an audition song as as his final semifinal performance, which got him into the Top 12).

It goes beyond that weird feat, though. There have been four female and four male winners; three African-American and five Caucasian (although I qualify it usually by reminding people that Jordin is mixed); all of them were single when they won except Kris and all of those singles are still single except for Ruben who was married last year. The only winner with children was Fantasia, and when people seemed to have a problem with that I reminded them that all the way at the beginning, in season 1, Nikki McKibbin had a four-year-old son and made it to top 3. The oldest winner was Taylor Hicks at 29; the youngest, Jordin Sparks at just barely 17.

There have been 4 male-female Top 2s, 3 male-male, and 1 female-female. Only once has there been an all-male Top 3 and that was this year. It would have been last year but Syesha outlasted Jason Castro; it would have been season 5 but Kat oulasted Chris Daughtry. There have been 3 female-female-male Top 3s - seasons 1, 4, and 6, and only one all-female Top 3 - season 3 (and they actually had the only all-female Top 4, also)

I could go into guest mentors and Bottom 3 statistics and audition cities but you may effectively want to kill yourself, so I'll stop. I just wanted to mention my cool and totally worthless talent. :-)

'Rain can douse even the worst fire,' said the child.

"Who can argue with a man who has the voice of the Unnamed God speaking exclusively in his ear? Not I. I have never heard such a voice. I have only heard the echo that still reverberates, once the Unnamed God stopped speaking and the world took up with itself."

~ Mother Maunt, Son of a Witch


(photo courtesy of foxnews.com)

'Ask and ye shall receive,' the child cried.

"I do believe it is possible to create, even without ever writing a word or painting a picture, by simply molding one's inner life. And that too is a deed."

~ Etty Hillesum


(photo of autumn clematis courtesy of www.outbacknurseries.com)

A small wish.

I was thinking today, while cleaning, how much there is in me that needs to be written. Should I not have any commitments at all, I could write for weeks, months, and there would still be more. But because of the world outside it all has to stay inside, until the moments when I'm not tired, not hassled, not burnt out.

Perhaps it's wishful thinking, but sometimes I wonder if all humble human creation does live somewhere else, another place to which we will one day be privvy. I want to make things live.

And if human artistic creation is not giving life, then perhaps it goes toward the meaning of everything, the tying up of every loose end so that we will have contributed to the lasting order of things, to the obliteration of chaos.

And sometimes, I just want to write.

It's a problem I have.

So, I'm still pondering Wicked.

(Pondering = overanalyzing, picking to shreds, tearing leaf by leaf till there's nothing left)

I've gotten caught up reading like every single review of it on Amazon, and by far I'm not the only one wondering why so many hanging plot threads. (I especially enjoyed this review and this one, but again, read at your own risk if you plan on reading Wicked in the future)

I think Maguire was caught up in some kind of postmodern experiment. Two reasons why:

1) Art imitating life. When, in anyone's life, do we get all the answers? When do we ever have it all figured out? To leave so many questions - to have minor characters overstay their welcome and major figures vanish forever - to never grasp the meaning of life, the nature of good and evil - to die a pointless death - that, Maguire is saying, is life. Many readers will hate his depiction because we don't want chaos from a story, we want order. We want a major life that makes sense in the end, with a well-written denoument. We don't, in the end, truly want reality.

2) It would be quite a postmodern thing, simply, to wait and see the reaction of readers to a plot that continually dies, continually jumps in time, continually leaves resolution unrealized. Not unlike the artist who puts a black dot on a white canvas and says 'Art!' It's more about the participant's reaction than anything else.

I find myself defending Maguire because I still remember my reaction to his flawed novel, and I found many of the characters and setting fascinating. However, I still hate the unanswered.

Okay, break's over.

An appeal for universal canine healthcare.

Scene outside of a gym. Two people with dogs. One dog tries to play with the other.

Woman with dog: Um, I don't think...

Man with dog: Oh, it's alright, he's perfectly harmless.

Woman with dog: Sir, your dog has blood dripping from its eyes.

Dream myself awake.

On Thursday night I dreamt that I was in my car with a coworker, and she was in the driver's seat. It was nighttime and we sat parked at the edge of a forest, watching the sky above the trees. The moon was full, and it began to rise and set out of synch with real time; rising and setting, rising and setting, though the night itself never changed. It moved so fast that eventually there were two moons in the sky. It was like the old quantum physics visual, where you leave a room and see yourself entering the same room, but from behind.

Then lightning began, above the moon's arc, flashing in an endless, raging storm of bolts. Then a blue shower of fireworks exploded. The sky was out of control. The moon then took over, swelling to such an immense size that it blotted out nearly everything else. (I've had other dreams about the moon doing this, so enormous that the city below it is bathed in white)

Then I woke up.

As I was driving to work, though no rain was forecast, I looked above the trees and saw a bolt of lightning streak down.

A student told me about a nest she found, not snug in the cradling branches of a tree but resting against the side of her family's house, three baby birds inside, shiny and new, no mother in sight.

I came to an intersection and found a blind man crossing, slowly, tentatively. In every direction sat a waiting car, yet I was the only one who could turn and go on my way.

Dreaming, waking, seek and ye shall find.

Any questions? Comments? Concerns? Requests?

By far, the best comedic quote from the X-Files series:

"Alright, so we're looking for a white male, age seventeen to thirty-four, with or without a beard, maybe a tattoo, who's impotent."

Mirror, Mirror.

Another two days, another Gregory Maguire book accomplished.

What is happening to me?!?! I'm devouring fiction.

Mirror, Mirror is a retelling of the Snow White lore, so meticulously and beautifully conceived that losing oneself in a book becomes a real act, not merely a cliche.

In exquisite Renaissance Italy, Bianca de Nevada resides in a village atop a paradise of hills with her widowed father, Vicente, and a colorful cast of local characters. The cook, Primavera, is blasphemous and wise; Fra Ludovico is pious and meek but brave in his own way. The details of not only setting but time are so lovingly rendered, so masterfully conceived that the plot itself drags a bit in several places; but for myself, I was so enthralled at entering this world, wonky pacing didn't matter much.

Again, all the essential elements of the fairy tale are here - dwarves, poisoned apples, glass coffins; this time, Maguire relents and draws upon a bit of magic here and there to achieve his ends. Additionally we have not a wicked stepmother but Lucrezia Borgia herself as the jealous in power, as well as a quest for eternal fruit plucked long ago from the Tree of Knowledge.

And you'll know way more about early sixteenth-century Italian politcs than you ever wanted to by the end. ;)

This book is quite different than Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister; Maguire used a different type of prose, and the heavy use of themes present in the Cinderella tale were edged out here, I believe, in favor of plot and detail. But even for its imperfections (Maguire tends to lavish in fabulous prose for too long of a stretch, and likes to plant a startling word in the most innocent of places), I was still fascinated. Enchanted. Bewitched. I recommend it, but only for adults.

Next stop: Wicked.



They might have used their mirror as an escape hatch, to ask it the single correct question, the only question a mirror ever cares about: not who did I used to be, nor who am I now, but who am I to become?

Wow! Ugly people have value, too!

You've probably heard of (and heard) the newest singing sensation, Susan Boyle from Britain's Got Talent. She's in her late forties, has never been kissed, and is decidedly un-pretty by contemporary standards. But she sings - forgive the cliche - like an angel.

I'm always amused, in a kind of ticked-off way, when people's mouths turn into O's and they point in wordless shock at someone who has more than a fair share of talent but is not 'beautiful.' Clearly, women bear the brunt of this surprise, since men are usually more vaunted for what they can do, and what kind of person they are, than what they look like.

Why is it that we still equate beauty with virtue, talent, morality, and ugliness with corruption and worthlessness? We will never be the 'enlightened' world we assume we should be in the 21st century, as long as we can't wrap our tiny brains around the fact that people are not objects. It is impossible for our facades, our appearances, our decaying bodies to accurately represent the maturity of our souls, the many trials we are set to, the endless moments in which we change for the better or the worse and then back again.

(Why do we retain this malfunction? Is it survivalist prejudice, sexual attraction, lower-order thinking? Or - for more adventurous minds - do we keep the memory of another time and place in the deepst parts of ourselves, a time and place in which what one saw was what one got, and we can't shake this memory, to our own misfortune?)

Nobody lays awake at night because an ugly couch is neglected. And far too often, no one cares when someone is judged, withheld, robbed of opportunity because they don't supernaturally embody holiness and light.

Susan Boyle is decidedly un-pretty by standards put in place when humanity on this earth first sprang. That her voice is such a shock to the masses says to me that those standards may very well be our legacy until the last of us takes their final breath.