Rediscovering Cuba

~ lobablanca

Another step in the right direction from the Obama administration: He has relaxed the sanctions against interaction with Cuba.

This is another of those tangents I often strayed into during my last blog (I swear, I will link to it!). I continue to fail to understand why we have for so long not been allowed dealings with Communist Cuba, but we can outsource practically our entire blue-collar workforce to China, which, in case you were wondering, continues to be Communist. Oh but wait. This article does state that:

The changes do not alter the Cuban government’s long-standing efforts to hinder foreign companies operating on the island.

I get it. We can’t exploit the Cuban workers the same way we’re exploiting the Chinese. Makes perfect sense now.

I’m very interested to see what sort of changes these loosened restrictions will bring, both to Cuba and to the United States. Perhaps Cuba will reinstate the sanctions themselves once the infection of American stupidity starts to seep into their culture. After all, there is talk that soon they may be subjected to utter tripe such as Howard Stern. I don’t know about anyone else, but I would consider that to be more punishment than positive…

A Dream Made Real

~ lobablanca

I’m all about rooting for the underdog. I’m also still a big musical theater whore, so when you combine the two, I’m in a little piece of nirvana.

I suppose that’s why I’ve yet to not get chills when I watch this YouTube clip of Susan Boyle’s performance from Britain’s Got Talent.

What. A. Voice.

This rendition of “I Dreamed a Dream” rivals that of the great La LuPone herself (sorry, but I am a Yank and so my heart rests with this particular American diva).

I also think it is more than telling that, even before anyone heard Ms. Boyle’s singing voice, they were already convinced that she was going to be horrid. Check the faces that the audience and the judges pull as she speaks of her dream of being a professional singer akin to West End diva Elaine Paige. And why? Because she doesn’t look like star material? And what would that look be? Britney Spears? Lindsey Lohan? Paris Hilton? All three are proof that looks are most assuredly not everything (or anything, for that matter).

I only hope that the lights shining down on Ms. Boyle as she sang weren’t so bright that she couldn’t see when the audience sprang to their feet (along with two of the three judges) to applaud her performance. Well deserved ovation, indeed.

I wish for nothing but spectacular things within Ms. Boyle’s future. According to this Daily Times article, she has already been in to speak with Simon Cowell regarding signing with his Sony BMG label. Good on ya, Susan.

Up for the Challenge?

~ lobablanca
How many books can you juggle at once?
How many books can you juggle at once?

I’m a little behind with this post (make note that this is one of those rare moments when “little behind” can be honestly associated with me 😐 ). Every year since 2003, book nerds from across the globe have committed themselves to the 50 Book Challenge. Considering the depressing truth that too many people don’t even crack open one book a year, this might sound like quite the insurmountable challenge.

But it is a challenge that I have chosen to accept this year. I’m a bit off my target number for this far into the year: I should be finished with 16 books so far. I’m only at that half-way mark. Ruh-roh. Which is why I’m posting this information here as a means of keeping myself focused and on-target. I will post an update each time I complete a book and update my tally at the same time. That way we can all follow along! I know, I’m too kind in all the gifts I give you here at the lair. Oh yeah.

Anyway, here is where I’m at so far:

  1. 10 Most Beautiful Experiments, by George Johnson (3.5/5)
  2. The Dumbest Generation, by Mark Bauerlein (3/5)
  3. The Memory of Running, by Ron McLarty (4.5/5)
  4. Gene Roddenberry: The Last Conversation, by Yvonne Fern (4.5/5)
  5. Stardust, by Neil Gaiman (4.5/5)
  6. The Eyes of the Beholders, by A.C. Crispin (3.5/5)
  7. Watchmen, by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons (2.5/5)
  8. Nightmare at 20,000 Feet: Horror Stories by Richard Matheson (4.5/5)

So far, my favorite new discovery has been The Memory of Running by Ron McLarty. I bought this book from the remainder aisle at the local generic chain bookstore. It was a hardback for $2, which is my English major kryptonite. I was so very pleased to find that this was more of a bargain than I expected. It is clean, simple prose, told with oftentimes discomfiting honesty. The main character, “Smithy” Ide, is quite reminiscent of John Kennedy Toole’s anti-hero, Ignatius J. Reilly, from A Confederacy of Dunces. Luckily, however, they are primarily surface similarities. Smithy is a far more likable and sympathetic character, which makes it easier to get behind him, even during his more difficult choices and confessions.

If you can find a copy of this book at your library or bookstore, I’d definitely recommend picking it up…especially if you can find it for 2 bucks like I did!

Come Sit Next to Me…

~ lobablanca

I’m sure we’ve all heard this rather famous quote about gossip before: “If you haven’t got anything nice to say about anybody, come sit next to me.” It’s attributed to Alice Roosevelt Longworth, oldest daughter of Theodore Roosevelt (just in case you were wondering). Probably the most familiar-to-my-generation utterance of this quote comes from Clairee Belcher (Olympia Dukakis) to Truvy Jones (Dolly Parton) in Steel Magnolias. Yeah, I referenced Steel Magnolias. It can’t all be Nietzsche and Shakespeare.

I daresay everyone gossips to some extent, whether it be the vapid vitriol of those Orange County housewives or water cooler banter about a coworker’s proclivities (I have a sneaking suspicion that I’m on the gossipee end of this lollipop stick more often than the gossiper end). I think it’s just one of those ugly genetic glitches we have programmed into our DNA.

Then there are those who make a living peddling the dirty little secrets of celebrities. We all know the gossipy trash tabloids to which I’m referring. They line the aisle in almost every supermarket in the country, screaming their headlines in bold primary colors that are always accompanied by the absolute worst photographs imaginable of that week’s celebrity targets. The one positive aspect of Princess Diana’s tragic death is the fact that, for at least 3 months here in the DC area, several supermarkets removed these overpriced pieces of bung fodder from the main aisles and hid them back in the magazine section. It was a short-lived but well appreciated respite.

I try to avoid making eye contact with these rags, because all they do is enrage me with the thought that there are enough people out there buying this shit that they remain a viable industry. Long-respected newspapers are being forced to shut down or go completely electronic, but the fucking Enquirer plugs on. I failed yesterday in averting my gaze and ended up with an eyeful of a sickness-emaciated Patrick Swayze.

I get that many of us believe that, because someone has chosen a career in the entertainment industry, they have chosen to expose themselves to the constant glare of public curiosity regarding every detail of their existence. I will even confess to spending what many might consider to be an unhealthy amount of time learning as much about my favorite entertainers as is readily available. But a line must be drawn somewhere, and I think a perfect place to start is at allowing an entertainer to deal with serious medical problems in peace and privacy. Mr. Swayze is seriously ill with a form of cancer that is brutal, unforgiving, and most always unstoppable. Why, then, do these smut peddlers feel justified in stalking him and snapping photos of him in his illness-induced deterioration?

Actually, I know the answer to that question: It’s because there are enough people out there who want to see such images, whether out of morbid curiosity or out of a feeling of entitlement because, goddammit, he’s a star and he owes us the right to watch him suffer!

I am very fortunate to have a lady friend who just happens to have an Adam's Apple.
I am very fortunate to have a lady friend who just happens to have an Adam's Apple.

Well, screw that attitude. I don’t want to see these images, and damn the supermarkets for placing them once again in areas that I can’t avoid being. I am truly sorry that Mr. Swayze is so ill, and I wish for him nothing but peace at this time. And while these useless rags choose to exploit his sickness to extend their own cancerous existence, I instead choose to remember him here, in one of my all-time favorite Swayze roles. Yes, that’s right, I think I’ve loved him most as Vida Boheme in To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything, Julie Newmar. I wrote in my last blog about my secret love for drag queen movies (I really should post a link to those archived posts). I know it’s not high-brow, but it’s so damned funny. And god bless these guys, but they make the ugliest drag queens ever (except, perhaps John Leguizamo).

So, I encourage you all to avoid these tabloids. I encourage you to complain to the stores selling them in prime locations. And I encourage you to go out and rent your favorite Patrick Swayze movie (or pick it from your DVD shelf if you already own it) and celebrate what has made him such an enduring and endearing icon of 80s cinematic schmaltz.

Flashback Friday: Selective Memory

~ lobablanca

I had one of those strange memory-inducing moments this morning while waiting for the elevator (because I used to walk up 11 flights of stairs until one morning my knees went, “Yeah, we’re over 30 now and we don’t really want to do this anymore”). There was a smell in the lobby that instantly transported me back to being a teenager: It was the smell of Salon Selectives hairspray.

Ozone? Where we're spraying, we don't need any ozone...
Ozone? Where we're spraying, we don't need any ozone...

During my high school years, I was a massive hairspray abuser. In fact, I cop to the fact that probably 1/5 of that giant ozone hole can be linked back to me. I had massive metal hair back then – long in the back, sometimes teased out on the sides, and hella high on the top. So high, in fact, that I used to slouch down while driving so that my bangs wouldn’t catch on the ceiling lining in my Chevette. My dad called it my “sideways rooster comb.” Thinking back now, that was a pretty fair assessment. I’m still trying to locate a photo of this mythical beast at the height (pardon my punnage) of its greatness.

For a while, Salon Selectives was my hairspray of choice. The problem, though, was that it was a pump spray. I swear I started to develop a case of arthritis in my index finger from all that pump action. Then I discovered the ozone-crushing greatness that is Aussie Mega Styling Spray. Well, okay, maybe not ozone-crushing; they did claim to be CFC free and environmentally friendly. But that’s not why I loved this hairspray. It also wasn’t because of how it smelled. In fact, if memory serves me correctly, the smell was quite reminiscent of one of those half-moon hanging toilet bowl deodorizers that they used to sell in Safeway.

No, what I loved most about this spray was that it was an aerosol can. Pump action be damned! That aerosol afforded me the ability, with one solid press-and-hold action, to turn my teased amalgamation of crazy metal hair into an unstoppable wall. This can states that the hairspray produces a “flexible hold.” Not if you point it at your hair and hold the nozzle down for 20-second spurts. You could have bounced a quarter off my bangs, they were so spray-solid.

The truly pathetic thing is how quickly I could blast through a can of this stuff. The can shown here is only 14 ounces. I’m almost positive that the can I used to buy was close to double this size. That can used to last me maybe 2 weeks. Maybe. To give you a better idea, I now use Herbal Essences hairspray, which comes in an 8-ounce can. That puppy will last me close to 3 months. Of course, that might have to do with the fact that I hardly do anything with my hair anymore. If it parts in the middle and doesn’t frizz too much in the humidity, I feel as though I’ve accomplished something great.

Anyway, view this entry as my official kick-off to a new segment here at the lair: Flashback Fridays. In an attempt to get myself back in the mindset of regular blogging, I am committing to at least once a week, stopping in to bore you all with some inane piece of my adolescence that I think is worthy of documenting. Ooh. Exciting!

When Freedoms Collide

~ lobablanca

Interesting article from the local rag regarding faith groups losing numerous legal battles in regard to their discrimination toward homosexuality. The articles states right off the bat:

Faith organizations and individuals who view homosexuality as sinful and refuse to provide services to gay people are losing a growing number of legal battles that they say are costing them their religious freedom.

Here

Will You Just Pick One?!

~ lobablanca

I can’t stop downloading and switching to new design themes here at the lair. Perhaps some of you have stumbled in while I’ve been cycling through my latest finds, trying to figure out which one I like the best. It’s a bit like stumbling into a CSS Multiple Personality Disorder meltdown. I can’t help it, though. I’m currently a terrible mix of perfectionism and laziness: I want a specific look for my restarted blog…but I want someone else to do it for me. Working on Web and graphic stuff professionally has really left me lethargic toward personal projects.

I think I’m happy with this current theme. There are a few things that I’ve already tweaked and a few more things that I still want to fix. But overall, I think I’m leaning more toward minimalism than the flashy graphics of my last site. You can let me know what you think…but, no, I’m still not turning on comments. So 😛

Welcome to England

~ lobablanca

Yes, dear ones, Loba is still an Anglophile. I suspect this is one of those foundational truths about me that won’t ever change, kind of like I’m left-handed, or I’ve got blue eyes, or I hate people. If anything, I am consistent.

Tori + Heavy Metal Hair + Cutlass = WTF?
This photo brought to you by the letters WTF

Another foundational truth is that I continue to be a rabid Tori Amos fan. True, her last few offerings have been a bit off-key in comparison with my favorites, such as From the Choirgirl Hotel, To Venus and Back, or even her spectacular debut, Little Earthquakes. Still, she remains true to her creative spark, regardless of how left of center it might take her. And really, anyone who can come back from the brink of Y Kant Tori Read to become the scion of fairytale fanaticism that she has become – well, let’s just say that’s pretty effing awesome.

So when the first “leaked” track from her upcoming album, Abnormally Attracted to Sin, hit the Internet, I was overjoyed that it was called “Welcome to England.” Although, I suppose it does make sense. Tori has been a resident of a lovely seaside town in England for several years. Most assuredly this country’s loss, but one more thing that makes England that much more appealing to me.

The video for this song is also now online. From the contents of the video, the song should be called “Welcome to London.” Of course, that was perfectly all right with me. This video pretty much plays out like my last trip to the Big Smoke, complete with an extended obsession with the Prince Albert Memorial and a twirl on the London Eye. True, I wasn’t wearing a sparkly American flag unitard, but that’s just because I try to blend in and not be obtuse about my American-ness. Maybe next time, though.

I’m not sure whether or not I like the new Tori song. It’s already an improvement over American Doll Posse, which fell almost as flat with me as Boys for Pele and Strange Little Girls did. As much as I love Tori’s desire to extend her reach and experiment with musical interpretations and approaches, those albums don’t really get much play on my iPod. This song sounds more like a return to Scarlet’s Walk or even as far back as Under the Pink.

I’ve heard a few other songs off the new album and they sound more reminiscent of Choirgirl, so it seems as though this will be another eclectic offering. Regardless, I’m sure it will be added to my Tori playlist when it does finally hit the stores. And bring on the next tour!!

Squeak and Ye Shall Be Oiled

~ lobablanca

I made no secret in my last blog of the fact that I [heart] Netflix. I’ve been a member since November 2004 and I’ve sung their praises often and have been mostly content ever since.

Two things have happened recently that have slightly tarnished my happiness, however. First, they got rid of their “Previously Viewed DVD” sales section. I understand that it wasn’t a frequently used feature, but I loved it.

Next, however, was something that really irritated me. When I first joined Netflix, I learned quickly how to play the “New Release” game. All new releases come out on Tuesday. If there’s something you really want, move it to the top of your queue and time your latest return so that it gets there Monday morning. Netflix will then send the new release that Monday so the new DVD arrives on its release day.

I’m sure I’m not the only member to have figured out this little “secret.” Recently, however, I’ve noticed that the game doesn’t work anymore. For whatever reason, I’ve had several new releases languishing at the top of my queue for more than a month, each one branded with “Very Long Wait.” It reached a level of such frustration that I ended up reverting to my secret identity as “Dissatisfied Letter-Writing Customer.”

Even bigger disappointment was the initial response I received: A bland acknowledgment from customer service, telling me that if I wanted new releases, I should add them to the top of my queue. Really? I hadn’t figured that out before you pointed it out to me! Thanks. For nothing.

But then…as if someone at Netflix could sense the disturbance in the force from my extreme frustration and expanding disappointment, I received an unexpected and wonderful e-mail a few moments ago. Apparently, someone has decided to send me an extra DVD, from my “Very Long Wait” choices. Seems in other parts of the country, this selection isn’t wait-listed, so I’m getting a copy from there. It’ll probably take an extra day to arrive, but you know what? It truly is the thought that counts. I wasn’t expecting this at all; I figured that Netflix felt they had resolved the issue (even though I strongly disagreed).

Truth is, I’ll probably still remain surly over any future extended wait periods, but this has served to temper my surliness slightly. All anyone wants, really, is for someone to acknowledge that their complaint is legitimate. And this is what Netflix has done. So, yeah. Thanks for that 🙂

Beam Me…Disappointed

~ lobablanca

So since I’ve outted myself as a big frackin‘ geek, I figured that I would follow up with a glimpse at how deep the vein of geekery flows within me. This past weekend marked the airing of a “very special episode” of Family Guy that I have been waiting for since I first heard about it 3 months ago. I originally heard about it through following Wil Wheaton’s Twitter.

Wait. It gets even geekier than this.

The episode in question was being hyped as a “reunion” show for all the actors from TNG (that’s a geekcronym for Star Trek: The Next Generation). Even the goddess herself, Gates McFadden.

Tangent time. Significant survival note for readers: Do not ever say anything negative about Ms. McFadden or I will have to strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger. And I assure you, you will know my name is Loba when I lay my vengeance upon thee.

Right. So I fire up Hulu.com (because that’s how geeks watch their television) to watch this episode. What I saw, instead of the spectacular “reunion” show I had been promised, was a typically lame Family Guy episode, with smatterings of funny moments deeply embedded in the heart of unfunny, offensive drivel. Oh, and maybe a total of slightly more than 5 minutes dedicated to the TNG subplot.

As Otto yells in A Fish Called Wanda, “DISAPPOINTED!” I will grant that some of the TNG stuff was pretty funny, such as the interaction between Patrick Stewart and Michael Dorn when Stewie first beams them into his room. But all in all, it was a big letdown, especially since their scenes were interspersed through a thoroughly lame main plot about Meg finding God through Kirk Cameron. I think the only scene from that plot at which I laughed involved the opening riff from New Kids on the Block’s “The Right Stuff.”

McFarlane, you really let us down in this one, man. You unduly hyped your show with the promise of a TNG reunion. Yeah, you delivered, but in that half-assed way that Columbia Records used to “give” you 12 CDs for a penny. And both times, in the end the final price just wasn’t worth it.