Twas the week before Christmas

Check out this blog post. It turns out that defending the use of torture at Christmas is awfully Grinchy.

Do you remember Knut? Knut was the adorable polar bear at the Berlin Zoo who became an international cuteness sensation by 1. being born in captivity and surviving, 2. doing so just as the internet decided it would devote 50% of space to animals doing cute things in videos. Anyway, Germany revealed itself to be crazy when there were multiple songs about Knut on the charts, and Knut appeared on the cover of Vanity Fair Deutschland. The Berlin Zoo had its most profitable year ever in its 163 year old history, and toy and book companies got in on the action. Knut was an industry unto himself. Okay, but then he grew up, and now is a huge killing-machine who people don’t think is cute anymore. Still, a fraught custody battle rages on between German zoos, and perhaps most disturbingly, Knut is addicted to human attention. He doesn't know that he's a polar bear, and he has become so used to the attention of people that he cries when no one is standing in front of his enclosure watching him. Can you relate? I don’t know if what Knut’s tale offers is merely a grave lesson on our culture of celebrity worship/discarding – the comparison with Britney Spears bears fleshing out - or something more central to our civilization, for example, the (ephemeral) value we place in youth, and beauty. Are youth and beauty the ultimate Ponzi scheme? PARSE THAT!

Good year, you guys. I guess President Bush thought so too? Check out this weird unnecessary thing, a Christmas video message from the Bushes. It is even more weird and unnecessary than you’d think a Christmas video message from the Bushes would be.

Winter Songs: The Chain, a nice group effort. And Second Hand News, for good measure. Sorry they aren’t topical, but you should enjoy them anyhow.

See you next year! Safe, wonderful holidays.

Ye are grown intolerably odious to the whole nation

Bears outloud reading, now that corrupt politicians are shocking us anew with their corruption:

It is high time for me to put an end to your sitting in this place, which you have dishonoured by your contempt of all virtue, and defiled by your practice of every vice; ye are a factious crew, and enemies to all good government; ye are a pack of mercenary wretches, and would like Esau sell your country for a mess of pottage, and like Judas betray your God for a few pieces of money; is there a single virtue now remaining amongst you? Is there one vice you do not possess? Ye have no more religion than my horse; gold is your God; which of you have not barter’d your conscience for bribes? Is there a man amongst you that has the least care for the good of the Commonwealth? Ye sordid prostitutes have you not defil’d this sacred place, and turn’d the Lord’s temple into a den of thieves, by your immoral principles and wicked practices? Ye are grown intolerably odious to the whole nation; you were deputed here by the people to get grievances redress’d, are yourselves become the greatest grievance. Your country therefore calls upon me to cleanse this Augean stable, by putting a final period to your iniquitous proceedings in this House; and which by God’s help, and the strength he has given me, I am now come to do; I command ye therefore, upon the peril of your lives, to depart immediately out of
this place; go, get you out! Make haste! Ye venal slaves be gone! So! Take away that shining bauble there, and lock up the doors. In the name of God, go!

-- Oliver Cromwell (proroguing the Rump Parliament, April 20, 1653)

Over & Over

December is flying by, and I feel that we hit the ground running through the month with last week’s meeting; next week is the annual HRF holiday party already. I have sent out everyone’s amigo assignment so hopefully you are mulling over in depth what to give to your new friend. My understanding is that all that person wants for Christmas is you, or their two front teeth, or they saw mommy kissing santa claus or something. Some of you may be nervous about gift giving, but do not be. This party next week and the shared process of amigo invisible will warm the cockles of everyone’s hearts.

Holiday Songs: A holiday song metaphysically only (or is it just in connotation?) Linus and Lucy. And a search for Vince Guaraldi on brings this treat.

Winter Songs: Over My Head and Over & Over go together well, don’t they? I don’t just understand them, I overstand them. Winter weather may begin to call for a soundtrack less warm that FM, but these are sufficiently icy I think.

Ending Torture & Never Going Back Again

This was our big week! HRF organized and executed a meeting in DC where 12-14 retired Generals and Admirals met with key members of the transition team, Greg Craig (White House Counsel) and Eric Holder (Attorney General, former high school classmate of Gabor), and Mary DeRosa. The meeting was very productive, and the Generals felt they were really listened to. Media coverage of the meeting, including the history of this group, and how Human Rights First facilitated it all, was extensive and positive. Stories posted by AP and Reuters were picked up in a variety of newspapers, including International Herald Tribune, and radio shows, including NPR, and writers from the New York Times and Washington Post also wrote stories on the Generals. The blogosphere was flush with the story, and you may have seen a couple prominent television appearances: Rear Admiral John Hutson spoke on CNN on Wednesday, and last night Major General Paul Eaton made a splash on Countdown with Keith Olbermann. Some quotes:

"Fundamentally, those kinds of techniques are ineffective," said John D. Hutson, a retired Navy rear admiral and former judge advocate general. "If the goal is to gain actionable intelligence, and it is, and if that's important, and it is, then we have to use the techniques that are most effective. Torture is the technique of choice of the lazy, stupid and pseudo-tough."

"We need to remove the stain, and the stain is on us, as well as on our reputation overseas," said retired Vice Adm. Lee Gunn, former Navy inspector general.

"If he'd just put a couple of sentences in his inaugural address, stating the new position, then everything would flow from that," said retired Maj. Gen. Fred Haynes, whose regiment in World War Two raised the American flag on Iwo Jima.

“It is (important that) the new president say up front that the United States is not going to engage in torture or enhanced interrogations,” retired Rear Adm. John Hutson, one of the participants in the meeting, said during an appearance on “CNN Newsroom.” Not only are such techniques generally ineffective, Hutson said, but they also “smear the good name of the United States, domestically and internationally.”

Wow, I’m glad those meetings went well, and we have ended torture [sorry, not yet]. It’s actually such a pleasure to hang out with the generals and admirals, whose humanity is as notable as their accomplishments. These are friends who recognize the importance of logistics to the success of a mission, and also see that those of us managing those details are thoughtful and engaged on these, and many other, issues. Lots of great company this week! (Thanks also to Kevin for being some of it.)

Times are really tough, and since I have no power in this world, I instead turn to the promotion of video clips that make me smile or laugh (sometimes out loud.) Invest in your LOLk! Here’s Dwight’s perfect crime, a monologue that has been cemented in my memory by Liz’s recitation of it.

Autumn Songs: In honor of my week spent in the DC metropolitan area, I give you Silver Spring(s). Shout out to Montgomery County! That is where I am from, but is it home? I tend to think that, rather than the hometown where your parents arbitrarily decided to be when you were born, a decision over which you had no agency, the place where you make your life is home. In any case, Montgomery County is filled with a bleak nostalgia, more or less enjoyable, always weird. Related: Never Going Back Again. Touché, Fleetwood Mac.

preThanksgiving

Three Items:

1. Email me if you wish to participate in Amigo Invisible, whether you can pronounce it or not.
2. TWAHRF – I will NOT be sending out an edition this week, due to the brevity of the week, but save your accomplishments for a holiday bonus edition next week. (And to tide you over, a lovely FM cover of a Beach Boys song, Farmer’s Daughter.)
3. Have a wonderful Thanksgiving! It is a weird and nationalist holiday with false and brutal history, but also very nice! Travel safely!

The Judee Sill of Asylum Training?

This week, I attended a training seminar surrounding asylum claims based on membership in a particular social group, and it was truly a pleasure to hear Anwen speak. I now totally cannot wait for the training on the material support bar. Does being someone who enjoys asylum trainings make me part of a social group?

So, this guy Matt Ridgway has, in 1950, essentially taken over command of the troops in Korea from that hubris-ridden Douglas MacArthur. He’s restored all kinds of confidence and morale in the Eighth Army. I think David Halberstam had a little bit of a crush on Matt Ridgway. And why not? “All lives on a battlefield are equal,” he once said, “and a dead rifleman is as great a loss in the eyes of God as a dead General. The dignity which attaches to the individual is the basis of Western Civilization, and this fact should be remembered by every Commander.” (For more Korean War, The Coldest Winter.)

Autumn Songs: Another Christine McVie hit, Spare Me a Little. Hers is a voice to keep you warm this weekend. And you know what else? Not every song featured here has to be a hidden gem. Here’s an obvious gem, much beloved and rightfully so: Go Your Own Way. Most rousing break up song ever, but it’ll still make you cry if it hits you right (wrong?). Whichever.

Come a Little Bit Closer, David Halberstam

I am (still) reading The Coldest Winter, which is David Halberstam’s history of the Korean War. It’s available now in paperback, which I would recommend because it is a billion pages long, and the hardcover copy I am reading is so heavy that I only carry it with me about half the time. The heft of it is making it as hard to get through as the mountainous terrain of North Korea in the dead of winter! Almost! But seriously, it’s a pleasure and I really love it. Some familiar things that happened during that war: underestimation of the enemy because they weren’t white; allowing domestic politics to determine national security policy; and the folly, sometimes tragic, that comes when your leaders refuse to hear news that contradicts their plans. I’m looking at you, Korean War-era General Macarthur. A passage that rings especially true given ETN’s emphasis on the President’s role as Commander-in-Chief, and thus the importance of clear strong anti-torture directives coming from him:

“The very same men who will fight bravely under one commander will cut and run under another who projects his own fear. Great commanders are not just men gifted in making wise tactical moves, they are men who give out a sense of confidence, that it can be done, that it is their duty and their privilege to fight on that given day. Thus does the strength of any unit ideally feed down, from top to bottom. The commander generates strength in the officers immediately underneath him, and it works all the way down the chain of command.”

Autumn Song: I only discovered this song this week, and yet I cannot imagine my life (or yours) without it. Christine McVie, I wish YOU would come a little bit closer. Seriously, I never thought there’d be a better song called “Come a Little Bit Closer” than that by the venerable Jay and the Americans but this is better than, like, any song, ever, of any title. Really, I don’t even know how to write a bad song, let alone a beautiful one like this.

Autumn Song: I’ve been listening to Neil Young’s 1969 LP “Everybody Knows This is Nowhere” all week, which would be perfect to listen to in someone’s 1969 wood-paneled basement, and while there are many songs I wish to and will share from it, I’ll pick the eponymous one today.

Armistice Day & Entangling Alliances

The United States of America elected Barack Obama for President. You may have heard.

Even though the “elect” part of our work is done, we now must turn our attention to the “ending torture” part – and there’s plenty to be done. Now that you no longer have a historic election to follow in agonizing microscopic detail, you may wish to direct your attention to our blog.

Next Tuesday is Armistice Day, as I like to call Veterans Day, because I am a dork and luddite. And because Mr. Hines, my 11th grade history teacher, made me fall in love with the long term causes of WWI. What a long fuse! Remember Otto von Bismarck? Avoid entangling alliances, he always said but didn’t do. 11/11/2008 (at 11:00 a.m.) is the 90th Anniversary of the armistice between the Germans and Allies at the ‘end’ of WWI. Just don’t call it that in front of the Ottoman Empire or the Russians.

Don’t miss the 19th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall this Sunday, November 9. I remember watching the wall being torn down as a seven-year-old on our small kitchen TV and beholding it with an uncomprehending sense of wonder and hope, not unfamiliar this week as far as shared watershed moments go. No false historical analogy is implied, just feelings. You may wish to start a lively discussion with your family this weekend about the complexities of German Unification (or is it RE-unification? discuss), the symbolic power of walls, the legacy of the “Mauer im Kopf” (wall in the head), and for fun, the failure of the Weimar Republic, which was founded also on November 9.

Autumn Songs: It’s supposed to be 67 degrees today, which is only unsettling if you think about it. Personally, it’s kind of nice to be wearing a t-shirt outside in November. Anyway, like most kinds of weather, this is perfect for listening to FM. Maybe something a little upbeat, like I Don’t Want to Know. And its grammatical counterpart, I know I’m Not Wrong. Willful ignorance and utter self confidence together as usual.

Matthew Bittersweet

I was all alone this week because Sharon was at Guantanamo enjoying warm weather and not enjoying the simulacrum of justice there. Despite the government’s best efforts, Guantanamo is like reverse Vegas: What happens in Guantanamo never stays in Guantanamo, and Sharon’s observations are coming soon to the internet. In a nice twist, I’ll continue to hold down the fort next week when Sharon goes to the actual Vegas, where I’m sure I won’t learn what takes place.

Even though we will have elected to end torture next Tuesday, our work will not be done, so we are busy plotting our next steps. I have posted a couple blogs, including this one, which links to a very very nice article about the forum we held in UVA last week.

Elisa was unable to go to the Matthew Sweet concert, and this led to the disturbing news that many of you are too young to remember the 1990s. Remember plaid? And tapered jeans? What I’m saying is there were a lot of terrible things in the 90s, and one thing that wasn’t was Matthew Sweet, who sang these nice jangly power pop songs, which like all really nice pop songs have a melancholy undercurrent underpinning the exuberant melodies. Remember Girlfriend? Sick of Myself? I’ve Been Waiting? Next thing you’ll tell me is that you don’t remember this song by the Lemonheads. Thanks for being CEO of memory lane, Elisa.

You know what this season is really good for? Walking around outside with a hot cup of coffee. Coffee shops seem so cozy this time of year, and the to-go cup is a fine way to carry that cozyness out into the brisk cold. It is simply so much better than the summer equivalent of sipping something iced through a straw, a scenario in which your drink is way more watery and gone faster than you wanted, and the condensation on the outside of the cup is excessive.

You know what else? My friend Don reports from the IAMS Cat Championship. You’ve got to be kitten me.

Betsy, yesterday Eric commented on you as a manager, and I was glad that was a part of our celebration, because truly we all look at CAH, and we see a family – and you made it so. But I am going to amend Eric’s characterization, and say that in you, your team has a teacher: you have the energy, enthusiasm, empathy, and ability to translate the complicated into the comprehensible, of a great one.

Michael, thank you for being my friend and champion, for letting me into your life, for always having a smile, for listening always, for being the most considerate person in the world. You are our professional savior, but it is your humanity I will miss the most. There’s no one else like you.

Autumn Songs: After all that 90s exuberance, let’s bring down the lights with this song, Landslide, that makes me sad in a beautiful way, and is in some ways more autumnal that all the rousing earth-tonesy 70s hits I have played before.

Post Dinner

Last night’s dinner was fun, right? It’s nice to step back and try to see HRF through the eyes of outsiders, and remember that we are noble. And honestly, it’s nice to socialize with HRF staff. You guys are great. Many of us today may regret how excessively we participated and celebrated last night (we advocated just the right amount), but it was fun.

Next Friday is Halloween, which I sometimes call my favorite holiday. Actually Halloween is a great opening day for holidays season – between now and Jan 2, we have plenty of rituals to keep things interesting, to keep winter from being depressing, and to remind us to call our parents. It is all so much better than February ever is. So, er, Halloween. I am going to suggest – perhaps controversially – that you dress up, and eat candy, and that we all generally acknowledge that this is just the most fun holiday, that it’s not hard to let down our guard and see the world with a child-like sense of wonder, to acknowledge and enact what is good and generous and warm-spirited about humanity. So, costumes? I’m gonna, if I can think of what I’d like to be for a day. This was totally the best part of elementary school. It will make a nice way to say good-bye to our friends Michael and Betsy: Say “I’ll miss you” in costume. I am also going to carve at least a pumpkin or two in the next week: expressing yourself in pumpkin-carving is a great opportunity, and the seeds are delicious to eat. I should note that while Obam-o-lanterns and the like are acceptable, dressing up as a candidate, or Joe the Plumber, is lame.

Autumn Songs: More Tusk, I promised you, so how about the song called Tusk from the album called Tusk. That’s plenty of Tusk. (N.B.: Do not confuse Tusk with the word “tush.”) What’s fun to note about this song is that Lindsey Buckingham indeed arranged for the USC Marching Band to play in it, which makes it sound big and frantic and crazy, and marvelously fun. I wish I was there.

Tusk > New York Cares Day

Tomorrow is New York Cares Day, and I have spent hours this week fretting about it (and minutes actually preparing for it.) Tomorrow I’ll be leading some 60 volunteers (out of a total of 8000 all around the city) in rejuvenating a K-8 school in Brooklyn, painting murals, organizing storage closets, and planting bulbs. Did you know I actually had to do a google image search to remember how the lines on various athletic balls look? I’m an idiot. I may have been terrible in gym class, but I was real awesome at the rest of school. Anyway, this morning I went to the school to make sketches, and a gym-full of sixth and seventh graders were made to thank me in a chirpy chorus. And despite having grown up to be a cool adult person, I felt a lot like a sixth-grade dork just then, intimidated by the crowd. Thank goodness I didn’t have to play kickball with them.

Autumn Songs: The way you can tell that, somewhere beneath my raw enthusiasm for pop music, I am a snob (the good kind) is that my favorite Fleetwood Mac album is Tusk. No question. The mad brilliance of Lindsey Buckingham won me over, the frenetic production choices, the sound of the group falling apart gloriously, excessively, addled, heart wrenching is audible throughout. The story is good too: Rumours blew the minds of everyone, sold more copies than anything, and propelled the band into a level of fame unheard of, and drugs and sex and romantic pairings and untanglings were all the more dramatic with so much money flying around, and being on tour. Having already sold all the records, by the time they were making Tusk, they had carte blanche to do whatever, and followed up the gigantic pop hit with this crazy sprawling double-LP (that’s four whole sides!) that didn’t generate any easy hits, or sell anything like the number of copies Rumours did. You should listen to the whole thing, all in one sitting. In the meantime, a Christine McVie song, maybe the catchiest on the album, and this awesome paranoid Buckingham thing that made me first realize that I totally love that guy and this album. (Ignore the video part of the videos, as always. Spiderman? Weird.) More Tusk coming soon.

Every Sentimental Lady Needs an Old Man

Next Saturday, the 18th, is New York Cares Day, and as a diminishing number of you may remember, this is a thing I do every year. To preface my pitch, New York Cares is a great organization that facilitates volunteering throughout the city. They have projects every day, and the projects require no commitment – it’s a lot like online shopping, but with making the world a better place instead of creating credit card debt and ruining our economy. (I lead a bingo night for seniors and reading with kids at a homeless shelter throughout the year, if ever you want to try it out.) Twice a year, NYCares has a city-wide day of service, in the spring at city parks, and in the fall at schools. Volunteers paint murals, spruce up greenery, organize storage closets, and more, at schools that would otherwise be denied amateur murals. Next Saturday, I will be the site captain at PS 323 K in serious Brooklyn off the 3 train. I’ll be designing murals and directing the frenzy of volunteers. Please join me! Come talk to me or email me next week if you are interested in learning more. I am totally behind schedule, but it’s going to be awesome. This halo I sport sure goes with every outfit.

Nice hike, Kurt et al. Fall is battling summer for most awesome season of 2008. Although someone told me that Columbus Day marks the end of nice weather…

Autumn Songs: Dear everybody here who was alive in the 1970s: How come you never told me about this song, Sentimental Lady? If you didn’t know about it at the time, I forgive you and I’m sorry. It’s totally great! And it sounds the way I imagine 1972 felt, lovely, melancholy, harmonic, californian, un-self-consciously cheesy baroque lyrics. Yes, these lyrics are Too Much. But it’s just so pretty, I can’t get mad at young Fleetwood Mac. In just a few years, most of the folks then in the group would be gone, and Stevie and Lindsay would be catapulting FM to stardom, but here, young FM evoked one of my favorite emotional crises, and revealed that they were Something Special. Every Sentimental Lady needs an Old Man, so here’s a favorite Neil Young song, also autumnal, also everything awesome about the 70s. Why aren’t there more songs about this? Am I crazy? These songs totally go together.

Christine McVie makes carly's cornering fun

Wow, it’s hard to comment delicately these days while working on the non-partisan project of ending torture. I can hear you all now, in the kitchen, recapping last night’s VP debate. I hope you all made wise choices when playing your VP debate drinking games at your apartments on Main Street (drink!) If someone had told you years ago that you’d be excited about a vice presidential debate, wouldn’t you have been confused and concerned that future-you was a huge dork? Dorks we may be, but also total mavericks. 2008 = dramatic!

Sometimes the funnest thing in the world is a watergun fight on pedal boats.

Autumn Songs: I’m sad that the beach is no longer a possible weekend day trip. Just weeks ago, I’d wake up, eat brunch, and go to the beach, without giving it a second thought or a moment’s planning. The temperature is dropping, a nip in the air is picking up, and the trajectory of the season is beginning to feel set in stone. And I miss the warm sense of possibility that comes with summer, and off-hand trips to the beach. October has its own magic, of course, in red wine, pumpkins, changing leaves, soothing breezes, stylish jackets, and a childlike sense of wonder. (Try not to get a cold.) Last week I emphasized the role of Lindsey Buckingham and Stevie Nicks in the career-exploding of Fleetwood Mac. I was right. But! I wouldn’t want to neglect Christine McVie, another vocalist/songwriter in the band, who also wrote a lot of totally awesome FM songs, including this one. She’s so unsung! She makes carly’s cornering fun.

Buckingham Nicks

I did this week all wrong. The first half of the week I had many after work obligations which meant staying out and helping others after work rather than going home and sitting still. Going home and sitting still is the salve for the scars cut by the existential malaise brought on by bourgeois life in 21st century America. Anyway, by yesterday I was a wreck, and the going home and sitting still I did could only begin to combat the fatigue accumulated on Mon/Tues, and I couldn’t muster the will to go out and do the fun stuff I had planned to do all week. Instead, I settled, cocoon-like in my room, and listened to the torrential rain outside, felt the assault of wind and sprinkles through the screen in my window, and felt this song by the Cascades in my veins.

Autumn Songs: Before they joined Fleetwood Mac (a then already long-running hard-working British blues band) Stevie Nicks and Lindsey Buckingham were just two gorgeous hairy kids in love, playing folk songs in California. After recording an LP (Buckingham Nicks) they joined FM, and swiftly revitalized the band’s sound, propelling them all to unparalleled success (with attendant soaring glory and tragic downfall – drugs are bad, kids). Here’s the lovely opening track from that 1973 LP (never released on CD).

A euphemism for Fleetwood Mac

Having a forum where I can weekly share my thoughts puts a lot of pressure on me to actually have thoughts. It also clashes with my general sense that there’s too much talking out there anyway. Maybe it’s the chill in the air, or that school has started again, or major election coverage fatigue, or not understanding the stock market, but I’m tired and have no original commentary to make on anything this week. Instead, look at this fun thing on the internet: it’s a Japanese website, where they recreate album covers using food. Why not? My favorite part so far is this version of Nirvana’s In Utero in rice, followed by this photograph of paper doll versions of the Red Hot Chili Peppers standing vigil over the rice In Utero – mourning the loss of Kurt Cobain presumably – complete with paper doll cut-outs with different outfits. Sorry to make this an entry of “isn’t this crazy thing so crazy?!” …but, isn’t it? Related: informal survey: what is crazier, this or this?

MTM News: Sorry to pummel you with this, but ON THIS DATE in 1970, something dear to my heart premiered and changed the world for the better. (Whoa, and at long last they are set to be releasing seasons 5-7 on DVD.)

Autumn Songs: Yes, autumn is a euphemism for Fleetwood Mac. Here you go. But, also? A song I always rely on when life is hard (often) or I am sad, and last night I parted ways with a drinking buddy feeling a little melancholy. Usually, this song makes things seem like they actually will get easier. (Ultimately entropy means to me that things tend to get more complicated, not easier, but the Five Stairsteps were the First Family of Soul, not the Phirst Phamily of Physics.)

Twin Cities

I think I’ve spread stories of the Twin Cities around quite a bit already; after all, I wrote my last TWAHRF entries in my pajamas from Minneapolis last Friday, before going on a lovely jog around Lake of the Isles. On my running playlist on that occasion was the full version of the Mary Tyler Moore Show theme song, originally a vaguely country song by Sonny Curtis, all of which was convincing me that I was turning the world on with my smile, and taking a nothing day and making it seem worthwhile, all totally perfect in a deeply nerdy and almost shameful kind of way, until the lyrics of the full song not shown on television started playing:

You are most likely to succeed
You have the looks and charms,
And girl, you know, that’s all you need
All the men around adore you
That sexy look will do wonders for you.

And suddenly I felt a little sexually harassed by my iPod, not to mention amused by the utter contradiction between the messages of women’s equality espoused by the TV show I so adore, and these suitably un-subtle 1970s lyrics. I am an anachronism to even be listening to this!

I got back on Sunday and watched both the U.S. Open and the Mets game, which is approximately more sports in one evening than I watched in the first 25 years of my life.

Love bacon, but don’t want it in your waffles? Try this alarm clock that allows you to wake up to the savory aromas of cooking bacon. (I don’t know if this was inspired by The Office, or developed independently, but I vote that it doesn’t matter, just as I don’t care too much if Newton and Leibniz each developed Calculus independently or stood on each other’s shoulders to do so. As long as we have Calculus and bacon, I’m happy.)

Autumn Songs: Is an autumn song series just an excuse to listen to Fleetwood Mac? um, maybe.

You know what the midwest is? Young and restless

I’ve spent very little time in the Midwest (although, for some reason, I keep getting sent there by the international human rights organization where I work), so when I visit I’m genuinely, unironically interested in this vast part of our diverse nation. What Minnesota lacks in flatness, it makes up for in lakes. And, here I saw the mighty 2340-mile Mississippi River for the first time! We shocked some locals by being from New York City. I saw political ads for Al Franken. And a lot of public access channels. And weird late night advertising the benefits of going to chef school. And advertisements paid for by the corn refiners’ association of America telling us that popsicles and other products with high fructose corn syrup are actually totally fine and cool and not unhealthy in moderation. And perhaps most amazingly, I finally got a chance to eat waffles WITH BACON IN THE WAFFLES.

Check out this dork standing in front of the house lived in by 1970s fictional character Mary Richards on the Mary Tyler Moore Show. Rhoda and Phyllis lived there too.

Song: Capturing the melancholy underlying this change in seasons, but at the same time fairly soaring. Autumn song series starting next week.

FB

The song that is carrying me through St Paul logistics planning. You should totally click on that. About Summer Anthems – this is technically my last chance to post one, but I’m way too busy to do so. Look for me to get carried away with another theme, like melancholic season changing autumnal songs. Why are the 1970s SO AUTUMNAL?

A shout out to my latest facebook friend, Michael Posner, and congrats on being married. My news feed told me you were married, a point illustrated with a little pink heart that, well, warmed the cockles of my actual heart. I am trying to think of what to write on your wall. Here is a video illustrating the absurdity of this social networking site, without actually being for or against it. Ambivalence!

If I could watch the Olympics from a hammock slung

Summer Anthem: This strikes me as a fun choice for this crowd, since we too are painfully earnest at times, especially when we search for light in the darkness of insanity, and also when our spirits get so downhearted through troubled times. No, we don’t find anything funny about peace, love and understanding, but this tune sure is catchy.

Summer Anthem: Somewhat lighter (but still, don’t all these happy songs have a deliciously melancholy strain underlying them?) from power pop group Zumpano (New Pornographers’ fans will recognize the voice and song stylings of A.C. Newman) the Party Rages On. The 1990s look better and better in retrospect.

I’m just so into the Olympics lately. I have nothing original to say, but here are my stray observations: they’ve renamed the sport Phelpswimming but that was last week and I’m bored with him now, the Jamaicans are so good at running fast, and Shelly Ann Fraser is adorable! she has braces!, I really like synchronized diving because they are doing the exact same movements AT THE SAME TIME which doesn’t seem like an intuitive idea, beach volleyball is the boringest and they play so much of it, also boring? equestrian events whose boringness is tempered only by the crazy top-hats worn by the competitors. I’ve been tearing up at the following: all the (relatively) older women who’ve been so successful this year, the marathon, the video of the marathon swimmer from South Africa who is an amputee, all the hugging, that time that woman tripped over the hurdle, that time that the Americans fumbled the baton pass during relays twice, pretty much any tear-jerker human interest story they throw at me. I’m not upset about any of the stuff that people are always upset at every four years: the completely nationalist coverage of the events, the disproportionate focus on the glamour events or events where Americans might succeed, that gymnastics training is absurd and cruel and unhealthy. Mostly I just can’t get over how satisfying it is to watch arduous and intense – and often inspiring or unprecedented – athleticism from the comfort of a decidedly stationary position, sinking into the couch, maybe with a beer on hand, or at least some chips. Exertion is so delightful to watch from a vantage of complete relaxation. If I could watch the Olympics from a hammock slung between palm trees in the Caribbean, that’d be ideal. (These awes nytimes.com slideshows will have to do.)

Would-be entrepreneurs take note

Summer Anthem: Lately it feels so much like autumn that all it feels that Neil Young would be appropriate here. But, let’s save that for Autumn Songs, and just try harder for a summery tune. In the spirit of reading about New York City in 1977, let’s include this ditty from ur-Punk visionary Richard Hell (& the Voidoids), title track off their 1977 album: Blank Generation. Or more accurately, ___ Generation. Urban alienation? Yup. Emotional disconnect? In spades. Here’s an anthem for those things, pretty poppy, considering.

I’m going to see my grandparents tomorrow, and I’m probably going to show them my iPhone. They have been successively wowed/baffled by each electronic device I have brought into their Northeast Philly rowhouse, from a seventh grade discman, to a laptop, to a chunky early iPod (I tried to explain how many LPs fit inside this compact block, to little avail.) They still think online is somewhere you queue. And now my phone is from the future. The thing is, they too have been upgrading, technologically speaking. Last year my father and his brother gave them a flat LCD TV, which required them to get that fancy new cable all you people with cable have, with the guide interface and DVR and different aspect ratios for the screen depending on the aspect ratio of the programming, and all this other stuff that feels too complicated for me, and I always thought I was pretty bright. But, Poppop has mastered it, at least enough to watch the Phillies play. I’m just thinking, isn’t it about time for Apple to get into manufacturing geriatric aids? Apple provides the most simple, clean, pleasant interface for their devices, even as the devices do increasingly complicated things. Why haven’t they designed my grandparents’ cable box? Given the shifting demographic makeup of this country, I’m thinking this is a fertile market. And, geriatric aids are all already totally (immorally, really) overpriced. Doesn’t Apple love that? They should be putting out pill dispensers with the rolly-wheel interface, bingo cards with touch screens. I bet they would make a beautiful pen that my Bubba could write with, even when her hand shakes. Imagine how pretty and functional an iHearing aid would be, even with the requisite woeful battery life endemic to Apple products. Would-be entrepreneurs take note, this is a really good idea.

The Mayor Disappoints

Summer Anthem: It’s never a bad idea to link to something Brazilian here. Today’s song, by Jorge Ben, but performed here by Sergio Mendes & Brasil 66, is so summery and, er… tropical. I thought the video to accompany Pais Tropical would be inspiring montages of palm trees, skimpy bikinis at Ipanema, and that crazy color that the ocean is in beautiful places. Instead someone has videotaped her cat stretching in front of a sunny window. Dear the internet, I heart you.

Last night I went to a BBQ at Gracie Mansion, prepared to meet the mayor and be celebrated for my dedicated volunteerism. But then the mayor didn’t show up. And they made us use these outdoor toilets instead of letting us use mansion bathrooms. And I noticed a dearth of young hip people such as myself. Why is that, young hip people of HRF? Do you not love volunteerism? This crowd was full of lifers, volunteer-wise. On the projects I normally do, we do tend to attract a handful of those (you? us?) young people, disillusioned by the post-college work life, folks who show up at bingo, or to paint a mural, to imbue their daily lives with a trace of meaning beyond making copies or sending faxes or answering phones. This contingent was as unfortunately missing from last night’s party as the mayor himself. So lame, Mike. I was sure he would have been excited to meet me. (I am totally taller than him! He’s taller than Dmitry Medvedev, at least.) Anyway, volunteerism comes with all kinds of perks, like parties at Gracie Mansion, free summer bbq food, and the beer flows like wine. This is just how we roll.

Normality

Good point up there in the final bullet under Law and Security – I imagine Gabor and I are the only ones pedantic and awesome enough to know about Harding’s invention of the word “normalcy.” The noun form of normal you were all looking for, America, was “normality.” But, bygones. Just like just about every other cool nerdy thing I know and use to have four-star conversations with Gabor, this is a fact I picked up in high school. What a work ethic I had back then. And I was sort of as funny as I am now. I could tell you so much about the long term causes of WWI, or the Bessemer process of hardening steel. My glasses weren’t as stylish, and I was never this self-possessed, but I drove an old Honda Accord. You would have liked me.

Summer Anthem: The song I most want to link to is “All I Want” by Joni Mitchell, but I won’t both because I can’t find a good clip, and because Sharon says it’s too fulfilling of a stereotype for human rightsy types like me to listen to Joni Mitchell. She’s not wrong, but when I am in need of expressing the sentiment that I want to rip my stockings in some jukebox dive, this is my go-to. How about we top off that high school nostalgia with this song by Pavement? Shady Lane. I first heard this on an audio mix tape made for me by an inconsequential older boy. It’s not as summer anthemy as most of the songs I’ve posted here, but it has a quiet joy, the type of song I feel like listening to in lazy, strolling August. Somehow August isn’t as insistent as July, with the beginning touches of melancholy along with the feeling of things winding down. We’ve got plenty of summer left, mind you, but let’s take it gently, and indulge in some leisure.

both monstrously cute, and not overwhelmingly so

If you have wandered over to the kitchen and glimpsed Liz and I grinning maniacally, seemingly in cute overload, here’s why: indie darling Feist has adapted her hit “1234” for Sesame Street, converting a song about rejection and heartbreak into a ditty that celebrates counting. Yes, counting to the number four. Somehow this is both monstrously cute, and not overwhelmingly so.

Feeling light on commentary/content today, so here’s an internet recommendation: Garfield minus Garfield. When Garfield himself is removed from Garfield comic strips the result is a surprisingly stark portrait of loneliness and isolation in our post-modern society. Hilarity ensues.

Summer Anthem: We were never going to make it through the summer without hitting on some Brazilian songs. I mean, Rio is hot year-round. And Brazilian songs (and cocktails) are so good, it’s hard not to dance to them (it remains easy not to dance to them well.) Check out these joyful folks: Novos Baianos.

Summer Anthem: I bet a lot of you read this on blackberry and never click on my meticulously well-chosen hyperlinks. I may need to find a way to better package these songs so that you all can hear what I’ve been prattling on about. Until then, for those of you that do click, here’s Curtis Mayfield’s Move On Up, totes an awesome song to go running to. Also, to write Carly’s Corner to.

write this with all the madness in my soul, HRF.

Goodbye Lilli – No teary farewell here, just very good wishes. Good luck in law school, I hear it’s a lot of fun. I always enjoyed our camaraderie in assistantship, and the associated absurdities thereof. I’m sure Mike is despairing over the break-up of the well-entrenched University of Michigan cabal here at HRF. Plans to make the wolverine our mascot are on hold (like the wolverine, we are extremely strong for our size.)

Summer Anthem: On Tuesday morning, before work, I went running and listened to this song, BORN TO RUN, on repeat the whole time. I wondered why it was not thirty minutes long to better motivate me. Anyway, I felt super American listening to it. But not unpoetic: I write this with all the madness in my soul, HRF. It also occurred to me that the music video accompanying the song should be a video of me running in Brooklyn. This would be the most boring video ever.

Summer Anthem: I just saw my friend’s band play this week, and they were incredible. You know, these kids today really love disco. Sorry to link to myspace, but the Phenomenal Hand Clap Band is not well represented in fan videos on youtube. Yet. Check out “All of the Above”.

If you are feeling sad, this might make you feel better.

What a nice bunch of young people we ourselves must seem like.

HRF was on display to hordes of young impressionable people this week. I participated in two panels yesterday, first for Princeton interns and later for a group of high school students. First, this made me realize just how young young people are. Today’s 16-year-old never co-existed with the Soviet Union and was born the year Wayne’s World came to movie theaters. He or she was born into a world where Beverly Hills 90210 had already exhausted most of its best plot lines. Actually, it’s no wonder 1990s nostalgia is all the rage these days, to the detriment of contemporary fashion. The immediate post-Cold War and celebration of extended adolescence that characterized that decade were kinda fun. Plus, hyper-color shirts. Anyway, more important, it was, as always, a pleasure to hear my colleagues speak with grace and passion about their work here. Thanks again to the women who volunteered to speak to the group of high school girls: Sharon, Ruthie, Niamh, Lisa Besa, Parastou, Krista and Sofia, it was great fun to listen to you talk about yourselves particularly, and your work here. It’s nice to still be learning about HRF more than two years after starting here. Not jaded yet. Despite the early start time, that Princeton presentation went pretty well, says Cynthia (eternal cheerleader), with Andrew registering as most eloquent and prepared, Kes as funniest (his co-panelists could barely keep it together, predictably), Michelle best performance by an intern, Sofia & Melissa, best team (and you didn’t even steal my torture-related thunder!), and Lilli, best timing. What a nice bunch of young people we ourselves must seem like.

Summer Anthem: A recent classic, totally catchy, imminently danceable (if you are into that kind of thing after a few): Hips Don’t Lie. I didn’t think hips prevaricated, but now I’m certain they do not.

Looks like this weekend, while not lasting as many days as last, will be sunnier. Go forth, be outside, and enjoy!

200gr8?

So, we are halfway through 2008 already. I was hoping this year would live up to the “clever” moniker I assigned it: Two thousand GREAT (200gr8). (Get it?) Time for some reflection. Is it really 200gr8? Is it gr8? Accepting as a given that there’s a lot of tragedy in the world, let’s analyze:

Pros: 2008 is Not 2007, and its non-2007ness cannot be overstated; I’ve done some wonderful traveling; Emergence of Carly’s Corner as cultural norm at HRF; Brooklyn is awesome; Summer is awesome; Has being outside always been this much fun? Excited to be working with Sharon and Jordan on ETET08!; Cozy, perhaps even dorm-room-like new work space with Liz Jordan; Primary season is finally over; Presence of mini-basketballs throughout the office adds sense of whimsy to our day (and improves hand-eye coordination); 30 Rock has improved the quality of my life; Facebook is really taking off.

Cons: Life isn’t always perfect, and twists of fate are often humbling; Sometimes my dreams are rebuffed; Humidity; Apocalyptic weather patterns; No emergence so far of a 2008 summer anthem, so I guess we’ll just have to listen to the old ones I keep highlighting; Facebook is really taking off.

Score: Looks like it’s a pretty great year so far. But let’s see if we can pick it up a bit in the second half. Apologies for this sunny demeanor, not sure what’s come over me.


Because 2008’s summer anthem candidates are slow jams, largely, let’s go with this classic. So sorry I wasn’t a brown-eyed girl… I just always liked the idea of being overcome just thinking about something. Just like that.

Goodbyes

Dear Maureen and Shara,

Writers of eulogies and commencement addresses (and wedding toasts, come to think of it) often make the same mistake: we use the lens of the event we’re ostensibly discussing to talk about ourselves. Instead of speaking volumes about the departed or the happy couple, we talk about what they mean to us. (Sometimes, sisters of brides, this is really boring.) It’s cheap! And I will try to strike a good balance.

Any goodbye note to you is a combination of these three speeches: a eulogy for your time here at HRF – you are departing and we will miss you more than we can quite grasp right now (though you probably have some idea); a commencement address, as you go off into the great big world, ready for the next thing, but without the comforts you’ve grown accustomed to (i.e. morning meetings with me); and a wedding toast - even though this is a sort of dissolution of your marriage in some sense, in another way it’s an opportunity for us all to express how we feel about you, and how we wish you well.

You may no longer put human rights first, but I bet they’ll be pretty high up on your priorities lists anyway. Like, second? Close second. You will be missed here, you know. That’s the only way to say it, in the passive voice. Collectively, sharply, you will be missed. Hard to imagine this place without you, but you’ve prepared us well for the next steps – we hope. Due to your influence, I’m tempted to list accomplishments, measurable outcomes attained (and measured!) – they are legion. But I hope the one-pagers you are preparing on yourselves hint at the quieter but grander project you’ve been at work on here. Shaping, positively, the every day experience of this complicated, flawed, wonderful place. You were thoughtful, strategic, enthusiastic, organized, and your millions of decisions made this place function, hum along day-to-day. I think your kindness and professionalism helped all of us be a little kinder, a little more organized, a little more strategic.

We made a great team, by the way. Maureen, I am sorry not everybody here had a chance to see you be goofy. Because it happens, and it is hilarious. Thank you for taking a chance on me, and letting me be generally far too goofy. Shara, thank you for making our team complete, bringing your humor and steadfast reasonableness to our table every morning. And for being my friend as well as my champion.

What a unique place I found myself in within the organization, friendly with everyone, bearer of bad news, portal to the boss. Sometimes I joked that I felt like the child of divorce that I am, caught between the staff and the management at the top, not part of either world. Truth is, you never made it difficult for me, never made me choose sides, never made me compromise a thing. Thank you for making a space for me here for me to just be myself, for letting me become a part of the spirit of this place.

So, this is your graduation. It’s the end of an era, for you, for HRF. The task before you, as before all graduates, is to figure out what you love to do. Go forth, my friends, save the world, try to laugh a lot. Be goofy. Don’t worry too much about HRF – we’ll be okay.

In closing, something totally apropos (though I’m only 70% as sappy as a fictional character.) Final episode of Mary Tyler Moore, and everyone is leaving WJM, saying goodbye. As those of you who were alive in 1977 will recall, Mary has this to say:
“I just wanted you to know that sometimes I get concerned about being a career woman. I get to thinking my job is too important to me, and I tell myself that the people I work with are just the people I work with. And not my family. And last night, I thought, 'what is a family, anyway'? They're just people who make you feel less alone and really loved. And that's what you've done for me. Thank you for being my family.”

Thank you for being my family, guys.

Carly.

Not quite a summer anthem, but a song for long drives is this, both happy and sad at the same time, nostalgia-inducing but with value beyond nostalgia, is Paul Simon’s Graceland. Everybody feels the wind blow…

Damn, Cecilia, you are totally breaking my heart

Last night I attended the Senior Prom at the Jewish Home and Hospital on the Upper West Side, an annual dance for the seniors residing there. There was a live band, decoration, those little pigs-in-blankets hors d'oeuvres that everyone loves, professional dancers, corsages, and more. It was the event of the season. (You can read about last year’s prom here.) It was seriously cute, with great enthusiasm all around. My friend Jocelyn, a regular at my Bingo game and totally lovely elegant lady, was crowned Prom Queen. The highlight of the evening was when the band played the Beatles’ hit “When I’m 64” to an audience for whom 64 is but a memory. When I was 12 I thought this song was cheesy, but I sang my heart out last night. I must be getting old(er), too? I like the harmonies now. Also, Paul McCartney, 64 just isn’t old.

Bonus anecdote: I went to a restaurant called “Speedo’s” in Tel Aviv, and it was indeed a Speedo’s-brand restaurant, with menu categories named after sports, and assorted weirdness. Waiters/waitresses did not actually wear speedos, in a bizarre inversion of expectations.

Summer Anthem: Ignoring for a moment the wave of teen pop dreck that it ushered in, Britney Spears’ first ever hit …Baby One More Time in the summer of 1999 was nothing less than genius. Remember when our society was shocked by her school girl outfit in this video? Who knew how much more collective obsession we had in store for watching the exploitation and fall of this one? Honestly, I am always longing for a time machine so that I can go back to 1999 and tell everyone what happens to Britney in the future. No one would ever believe me! Think of how our world has changed in the subsequent years, and tell me I haven’t blown your minds with nostalgia this afternoon. I could write dissertations on the gal, but I’d rather let her fade into obscurity and quiet domestic happiness wherever she is in Louisiana (with any luck). Anyway, sorry, but this song is great. The swedish (producers of pop songs) can do anything.

Summer Anthem: I listened to this during the summer of 1999 just as much as Britney; Simon & Garfunkel’s Cecilia. I got up to wash my face, when I come back to bed someone’s taken my place? Damn, Cecilia, you are totally breaking my heart.

Ella, ella

Pithy comments about Israel are in short supply and I have maybe exhausted them over the course of the last few weeks, plus I’m still trying to sort through the serious stuff, and digest the whole experience, which offered up very little rest. The trip was intended to be largely non-controversial (unless one was thinking about it), awesome just to be outside, and very interesting. I met a lot of people with whom I have nothing in common, but I also feel like a sucker for making friends on the trip, just like the literature promised. They fed us constantly, by the way, making me totally tired of my usual staples – hummus and baby carrots. Thanks a lot, free trip to Israel. Oh and much of Israel looks a lot like Florida. Also, if you are interested in 70s-era prog rock in Hebrew, please see me. And, no I didn’t resolve any conflicts while I was there. Sorry!

Summer Anthem: It has to be this. Such energy! I sang it constantly over there, despite not ever being in slightest need of an umbrella (ella ella). I danced to it twice at a club in Tel Aviv (we were having a really authentic experience.) And I sang it atop a camel while my co-camel-rider danced. The camel loved it.

After nearly two weeks without access to the internet or a decent night’s sleep, I don’t have much to add to my corner, except that I’m glad to be back home, in Brooklyn and at HRF.

From the road in Israel

From the road in Israel: so have you guys ever heard of the Druze? Mostly, my new lifelong best friends with whom I have forged lasting friendships that will no doubt last a lifetime and I are marveling at the secrecy surrounding them and their religious practices, and our interest was especially piqued by being told that the Druze won't accept us as converts. (We wouldn't join any club that would have us, etc etc.) As a result of our affection and fascination for the Druze, we've spent a lot of time giggling about puns, inventing the tv show Druze Clues, the movie Druze Brothers (starring Tom Druze), reading Nancy Druze detective stories, driving our cars using Druze control, partying on a Druze Cruise, founding the groups Druze for Jesus and Jews for Druze, and in a few days visiting Druzelem.

The Mediterranean Sea's pretty nice, too. Oh! We just passed a camel while I was typing this. And a final word before I get back into the business of riding this bus: I join Mike and Maureen in wishing Shara well. She will be missed, for sure, by all of us, but I will especially miss her relentless championing of me. That, and the private room karaoke. Stellar. See you next week!

Vexillology

I’m claiming my birthright and flying to Israel for a non-controversial ten-day trip, bolstering efforts of my colleague Andrew to bring lasting peace to the middle east. Or, you know, just kinda enjoying some time off outdoors. Can I really go ten days without bacon cups? Sigh.

Summer Anthems: Because I will be out next week, I think it’s probably best to leave you with two summer anthems. You can spread them out over the course of the next two weeks, savoring the energy they provide you. Crazy In Love is my go-to example of what a summer anthem is. Try not dancing to this song after you’ve had a few, I dare you (a surprisingly good metric for evaluating tunes!) My roommate claims that if she gives birth to twins she will name them Jay-Z and Beyonce – which, I don’t know. It seems weird to name your twins after a real life couple. Remember on the Cosby Show when Elvin and Sondra’s twins were named Winnie and Nelson? I celebrate the end of Apartheid, too, but …weird, right? Much, much less classic is this song: Steal My Sunshine: Imagine it’s the year 1999, you are in high school in suburban Maryland, driving around, worrying about your IB and AP tests, angsting generally, and note that although the radio is dreck (aside from Oldies 100!), there are a few gems that inspire rolling windows down and singing along. This is one of em. Maybe you had to be there? But I AM there everytime I hear this.

I was going to post something random for you to read about here, but it just doesn’t get any more random than vexillology; well done, Lily. I didn’t even know that was a thing. I still can’t really believe that it’s a thing. Who knew Betsy Ross and Adolf Hitler would ever find themselves together on a list?

Bingo

At long last I awarded prizes for March Madness at the All Staff meeting. Recap of my remarks: I expressed my affection for Maureen with gentle ribbing, made veiled reference to erotic pasta, emphasized just how bad Nathalie and Alex’s picks must have been to come in last (they got basketball-shaped pasta for their troubles), celebrated Kelly’s well-deserved win (she took home a gift certificate to Ayza in addition to pasta), and honored Kurt, whose meteoric rise from the bottom of the barrel to second place truly was the Cinderella story of our times. His trophy (the whole WORLD) is displayed prominently at his desk. March felt like a more innocent time perhaps, and circa 5 pm on Tuesday at the staff meeting, my heart felt full.

Two Summer Anthems for the price of one: The Jackson 5: I want you back = what a bassline! Sometimes when I am tired and running, I just listen to this on repeat and can run a million billion miles. Hoping for a pleasant memorial day? Try Chad and Jeremy’s Summer Song. It’s just lovely. Also? Chad and Jeremy are having, in 2008, their busiest year since 1968. This come-back tour to lesser venues in lesser towns/myspace page may seem like a misguided attempt to return to relevance (which contemporaries might claim they never had in the first place) but they are actually still quite charming and their songs are really good and well-executed. You kids today could take a lesson.

You may not know this about me – like most of you, I have many hidden talents – and I don’t like to brag, but I am a really good caller at Bingo Night. I lead a team of volunteers at a senior home every other week, and when I stand there, spinning the bingo ball cage, picking out the next number, waiting for the players to lean forward ever so slightly in anticipation, projecting my voice and eliciting cheers in some and muttering in others, I feel gifted. Sometimes we make jokes: a call of B4 should be followed by “and after!”, I16 always makes me want to hum Sam Cooke’s tune “Only Sixteen” (gross!), and I can’t help but babble about the bingo numbers that are prime. But did you know that British people have codified jokes about the bingo numbers in a totally inscrutable way? Legs eleven! Read them here. Yes, I’m 90 years old.

Life’s great moments are small ones, usually. Have an awes long weekend!

We will be tested to our very souls

Summer Anthems: Been brainstorming this for a week now, assembling a mental list of summer anthems, ranging from the very personal and evocative, to the mass pop hits that manage to provide us with a sense of collective identity in spite of ourselves. This week I’m highlighting a song that is, to many, the epitome of summer anthem. Catchy, joyous, difficult to get sick of even after over-inundation, the rousing Hey Ya! seemed to be loved by everybody. As much as I’m into our increasingly diverse/individual/niche/user-generated content cultural milieu, where everyone’s face can have a book about it, and every band can have its space, etc., it is still fun when songs manage to break across those niches and entertain many people, all together, not just at our computers. Summer anthems should be happy, light, and they should bring people together, possibly by making us dance poorly to them. (The linked-to video is really really cute.)

It’s grey out there, but here’s the good news: My sister sent me this ‘news’ item about kittens who saved their human owners by alerting them to a house fire; this Washington Post story says that women have been key to reconstructing Rwanda; check out this artist who paints fantastical portraits of Stevie Nicks – she used to take commissions for portraits of you and Stevie, but has fallen about a year behind – most important, you can get said portrait on a tambourine; and, good news, a drink or two a day may make for stronger bones.

May is strange around here. Many of you are using up vacation days before the end of the fiscal year. Fridays at HRF this month, it’s like a ghost town, or like a Friday in Dillon, Texas when there’s an away game. (I am netflixing Friday Night Lights. I just got netflix. It is awesome. Trust me, this is apt.) I should note that I have no such days to use up, and am a little jealous. Speaking of FNL, this speech is both cheesy and awesome, and surely is in some way apropos: We will all, at some point in our lives, fall. We will all fall. We must keep this in our hearts. That what we have is special. That it can be taken from us. And when it is taken from us, we will be tested. We will be tested to our very souls.

Spargelzeit

It’s been really fun here with the whole senior management team offsite, don’t you think? It struck me during our pizza party that, if ever there was an hour to become an autocrat and abuse human rights with impunity, that was it. You know, because the normally ever-vigilant eyes of HRFers were momentarily unfocused.

Did you know that, not only is it Springtime, it is also Spargelzeit? Of all the many, many, many weird things I learned about while studying abroad in Germany, this was perhaps my favorite. Literally, the ‘time of Asparagus’, this is the time of year when Germans go asparagus crazy (or, to coin a term – Spargelverrückt), with asparagus on the menus of every restaurant, asparagus featured on billboards and in television and magazine advertisements, asparagus featured in sketches, etc etc – asparagus is more aggressively marketed during this time than Grand Theft Auto IV. Seriously. I know. Plus, the asparagus that is so celebrated is white. It’s like asparagus that has been drained by Bunnicula – but it hasn’t, it’s just normal asparagus grown without direct sunlight and something weird happens to its chlorophyll. I don’t know. At the end of the semester I wrote complex 15-page papers auf deutsch on German nationalism and history, but I’ve forgotten most of that, remembering only the good, weird things: Spargelzeit, that time our landlady accused my roommate and me of being prostitutes – because our American friends visited so often, Wer wird Millionär/Deutschland Sucht den Superstar, watching the dollar get lame against the Euro, and some truly awful dancing.

New Feature! Summer Anthems: Because it is summerish, I would like to use this space going forward to highlight summer anthems, songs that embody the carefree energy of summertime. Songs that you hear spilling out of ice cream shops and bars as you walk down the street in your flipflips, songs that you hear at the park or the beach while you are throwing a frisbee with your best friends, songs that fuel long drives in the suburbs with the windows down. The first song I will feature is dear to my heart: Summers of 1997 and 1998, at last I had friends old enough to drive volvos, then I was driving myself, and Rockville Pike has never been so glorious as when we were flying and singing along to this. Adolescence was never the halcyon days we sometimes remember, but… listening to this song with my best friends, I’m sure I was less awkward than usual, and more happy. Give it a listen. 10-11 years ago, this was my song! (Borrow the CD if you’d like – and also please email me some of your favorite summer anthems.)

Mayhem

I don’t know, you guys. This week AHRF and otherwise has just felt kind of …grey. The weather, sharply contrasting with last week’s serotonin-inducing sunshine, has been downright gloomy, and every day I’ve shivered through it thinking it should really be warmer than this by now. I thought it was just me, but I think the world in general hasn’t been much fun: when the biggest news story is that everybody is totally tired of following this news story (election, I am looking at you), don’t you feel …tired? And who is this person named Miley Cyrus who I think I am too old to understand? (That Hannah Montana is no iCarly!) But here are some things that I like and understand anyway, even when it’s grey:

• Brazilian Music: trust me, it’s awes.
• Continued existence of 30 Rock (I didn’t show an episode to the staff this week but I still love it.)
• Forgetting Sarah Marshall: It’s a non-ponderous break-up comedy with full-frontal male nakedness, literal and emotional. And, it’s hilarious. And, there’s a Dracula puppet rock opera. Vampires are a great metaphor for the human condition. I am totally going to see it again instead of Iron Man.
• Bacon cups.
• Next week’s weather.
• Brooklyn.
• Coming soon: the return of the HRF beach club.
• Happy Birthday Ruthie!

Kelly, Kurt, Nathalie and Alex: I haven’t forgotten about you. I cannot wait to honor you for your March Madness performances. But I will wait, a bit longer. Perhaps during May Mayhem? (I’ll be calling it May-hem.) (Surely April Apathy must give way to some kind of month craziness. June Jubilance is mere weeks away.)

Anniversary Party

Thanks to everybody who came to my celebratory brown bag lunch on Thursday. I thought it was a lot of fun, and I hope you have a new appreciation for classic Mary Tyler Moore and/or the totally delightful 30 Rock. Episodes of both shows can be found at www.hulu.com and also my living room, anytime. I will try to have episodes handy for future brownbag lunches on rainy days this summer. And more cake is forthcoming.

Andrew Hudson pointed out how strangely American it is to throw a party where attendees sit and watch TV instead of talking to each other*. And while I think that party was not particularly American so much as just odd, it’s true that I didn’t get a chance to really talk about the reason for the party. I’ve been here for two years now, and my life hasn’t always been awesome, I haven’t always loved Outlook calendars, the bar selection around here is severely wanting, and my morale at times has been low. Something that has never wavered is the respect and affection I feel for all of you; the people at HRF can’t be beat. We hear it a lot at people’s farewell celebrations, but I’d like to tell you it now – in all honesty – without getting teary and embarassing. Thank you for being so dedicated and inspiring, and for not being humorless jerks.

*I guess he missed Kenneth the page’s speech on 30 Rock about television: More than jazz or musical theatre or morbid obesity, television is the true American art form! Think of all the shared experiences television has provided for us; from the moon landing to the Golden Girls finale; from Walter Cronkite denouncing Vietnam to Oprah putting that trash bag of fat in the wagon! From the glory and the pageantry of the Summer Olympics to the less-fun Winter Olympics. So please, don't tell me I don't have a dream, sir. I am living my dream.

Two Year Anniversary

March madness isn’t over until winners (and losers) have been honored with prizes. It’s coming, folks. Kelly, Kurt, Nathalie and Alex will be rewarded for their skillful, fortuitous, and downright silly picks, respectively. Soon!

Quote from my grandparents, Poppop and Bubba, in reply to the letter I wrote them on my birthday, describing how strange it is to be 26, when I swear, just a second ago, I was 17. “You are so right in what you say about getting older – inside we feel just the same. I always say that if they didn’t have mirrors, we wouldn’t know we were old (except aches, pains, and slowing down.)”

I hope many of you here in NYC will join me on Thursday (the 24th) for what is essentially a brown-bag lunch in honor of my two year anniversary at HRF. (Visiting washingtonians are welcome too, though beware of travelling with Kevin, since he seems to have only bad travelling luck.) I will be showing episodes of the tv shows that are most about me: The Mary Tyler Moore Show (even though I am probably more of a Rhoda, Mary is pretty dorky when you think about it) and 30 Rock. Cake will be served. I think we could all use a little celebration.

March Madness

Andrew Thomas has spent the week ensconced in first place, looking down happily at the rest of us from his perch on high. My hat’s off to you, sir. If your bracket-picking abilities are any indication (and, aren’t they??), the refugees under your protection are in good hands.

But don’t blow your winnings on general tso’s chicken, beers and coca-cola, or striped polo shirts just yet.

Plenty can shift around this weekend. Because of the crazy points system (that I blame for my own demise a couple weeks ago), the games this Saturday are worth 16 points each, and Monday’s championship game is worth 32 points. Anything can happen!

• Will Kelly’s gamble on Memphis prove fruitful?
• Will other Andrew or Jordan (re)claim the top spot with a UCLA win?
• Will Kurt’s misplaced loyalty to the Kevin Lanigan-approved Jayhawks turn the standings upside-down?

Stay tuned. And remember, Andrew, living in Brooklyn is the real prize. Welcome!

March Madness

How the mighty have fallen. Sigh. Andrew Hudson has spent the week solidly in first place. Sweet, isn’t it, Andrew? We join the defenders team in hoping this early success doesn’t go to the Australian’s head. Be warned: if you fly too close to the sun, your wings may melt and you will fall. Since I myself fell, I’ve been far more interested in last place, being battled over heroically by Amigas (is that you, Nathalie and Alex?!) and Kurt. There’s a prize in it if you can claim last place. Anyway, here’s hoping for sufficient upset so that dear departing Sandy Hall can take top place, knocking some Andrews and a Reagan out of the way in the process. Oh, how I wish this were fixed.

In terms of the actual games, I will just say that each year I know in my heart that Duke sucks, and each year I pick them to go too far. Just another example of how much Duke sucks, you know? Tricking us into picking them despite our better judgment and then letting us down. I swear it’s out of spite.

March Madness

I was going to use this space to make some witty comments, refer to the rankings, say something about upsets and surprises in the games so far, say that Duke sucks, etc. But, carpe diem, I am in first place and surely not going to stay there. So I’ll talk a little smack, while I’m here (totally different from trash talk, btw): You all are so bad at picking brackets, that you are currently losing to someone who once had a pet rabbit named Captain Picard. TODAY I AM THE PRESIDENT OF MARCH MADNESS.