I love everything.
For whatever reason, I am suffering from a rare case of writer’s block. This is my second attempt at writing an Amoeblog today, the first being a page-long history of the adoption of our second cat, Maybe. By the time it had devolved into a story about how she had murdered my family, I finally put a stop to it. I hate cute stories about cats – psychotic or otherwise.
But it leaves me at square one, which is totally my least favorite square. Square eight is the place to be. It’s the one with lemonade.
Here's a picture of lemonade to look at with your eyes. (You're welcome.)
Even though I have no idea what to write about today, since this is the Amoeblog, I know I must introduce music, film or TV into the subject matter, so let’s start with these things:
Yes, that is Phylicia Rashad, (then Phylicia Allen) singing a song from her album, Josephine Superstar, a disco-concept-album merging the music of Josephine Baker with dance beats. I don't actually have an opinion on this one way or the other, but I thought you were old enough to know about it.
But here is something I really love:
This is Cathy Berberian, a classic vocalist best known for her championing of avant-garde composers, such as those of her husband, Luciano Berio.
Though her work is diverse and rich, it is to me unfortunate that most people are first (and sometimes only) familiar with her efforts to bridge the cultural gap between classical music and popular music, most especially by interpreting the works of a rock group called The Beatles.
Okay. Today's Amoeblog is slowly taking shape. I suppose I could toss in some pithy commentary on an element of popular culture. Hmm… let’s see…
Lady Gaga’s music is boring to me, and the phenomena of her success in the face of our hard economic times and crippling overseas warfare may be due, in part, to our societal need for escapism, much like the hit songs of the 1930’s tended to be aggressively gay and optimistic, despite the hardships of the Great Depression. Even so, I would rather listen to Fanny Brice than yet another remix of "Poker Face," any day.
Not that any of what I just said was “pithy.” I wonder how I could make it pithier? Like, what’s the pithiest thing I could write? Pithy, pithy, pithy… Oh, for a pithyesque piece of pith. Aw, fergit it.
My favorite film this year so far – by a long shot – is I Am Love. It stars Tilda Swinton, who is one on my very short list of favorite currently working actresses, and features a breathtaking score from contemporary-classical composer John Adams. The movie’s climax hit me like a punch to the chest, and reminded me why I once loved going to the movies so much. It used to be like going to church for me, in terms of devotion, spiritual fulfillment, community and inspiration. It’s hard to feel that way when all Hollywood wants to offer you is soulless, full-length remakes of vapid malarkey you didn’t like in its original form. I’m just waiting for them to announce a 3-D feature film based on ALF, starring Jake Gyllenhaal as the obnoxious, cat-eating alien and Vanessa Hudgens as the perpetually exasperated Willie Tanner.
I hate you.
Okay. So, there was no real connecting theme, other than my inability to write one, but I managed to sneak in some relevant relevance. I apologize for not being more creative, but I promise you, dear reader, it’s a far greater thing I’ve done here than that awful cat story I started with.
As an added bonus, here’s this: