FOMO

When I was an adolescent, I was desperately uncool. (I like how I'm saying this as though I've become super-hip and popular in the intervening years. EL OH EL NOPE.) As a result, I always came to fads late. My Tamagotchi was probably one of the last ever sold. I skipped the Furby altogether, and I'm glad I did, because those things are scary. One particularly bitchy classmate made fun of me in the third grade because I still played with Barbies. This is how it went back then.

Today, I'm no better at keeping up with trends, but in a different, more adult way. Gone are the times when I was late to the party; instead, I'm skeptical of the party itself. The hyper-manicured eyebrow? I don't get it at all and refuse to participate. "Festival style" baffles me, both because of its appropriative aspects and because I don't see the appeal of things like Bonnaroo and Burning Man. Reality television in the vein of the Real Housewives franchise holds no interest for me.

This might sound surprising coming from someone who claims to be a devotée of popular culture, and in a way, it is. When it comes to pop culture, I lean more nerdy, more literature-centric, more critical (in the evaluative sense), so I walk a different path, ignoring the things that don't speak to me in favor of topics that spark my curiosity.

As a child, I wanted to fit in badly enough that even something as inane as pogs seemed essential to my life; unfortunately, by the time I arrived at the station, the train had departed and I was left trying to catch the caboose. Now, I'm less susceptible to that impulse, although I do still occasionally seek opportunities to be accepted into the so-called "cool kids" group. That's only human, I think.

Perhaps as I continue to age, I'll worry less and less about that cutting edge. It usually turns out to be ineffectual, anyway, or lacks historical or philosophical resonance. The exception to this may prove to be something like the Kardashian family; if that turns out to be the case, I'll eat my words. For now, though, I'll continue to wonder what I might be missing when I don't consume a given type of media. 

Here's hoping I'm not missing anything at all.

-Cate-

Images via here and here.

MaWhitDonManNa, or Getting Your American On

Let's talk about Madonna and Walt Whitman for a minute.

Maybe it's an unorthodox pairing. But frankly, these two work well together: each taking in as much as they can, whipping it around in their personal brain-blenders, and then spitting something out and sharing it with the masses. Plus they're both uniquely American, albeit in different ways: Madonna the gregarious, outspoken, spotlight-seeking variety in the vein of Benjamin Franklin (don't fight me on this), Whitman the contemplative, wordsmithing, diplomatic type along the lines of Thomas Jefferson (I'm telling you: it's true).

The thing that really unites them, though, is their proclivity for tinkering. Madonna has been on 10 tours--9 of them worldwide--and many of her songs have been rejiggered along the way. "La Isla Bonita" seems to be one of her favorite tunes to reinvent, as she's introduced new versions of it on 5 separate tours, in addition to the album and radio cuts.

Does this sound like anyone we know? Perhaps--could it be--Uncle Walt? He of the multiple revised/expanded printings of his landmark work, Leaves of Grass? Why, yes it is.

And this is also a mark of their American nature: the constant need for improvement. Ours is not a nation that feels comfortable letting something stand if it needs to be fixed. We're at our best when we take what has been good about our past and bring it into the present. That way, we honor both history and progress; that's why the Constitution has had amendments added to it throughout the years.

So maybe let's look to the examples of Madonna and Whitman and try to forge ahead, better than we were yesterday.

-Cate-

Images via here and here.

From Princess to General

Because I am perpetually behind the times, I have not yet seen Wonder Woman, the first big-screen adaptation of Diana Prince's story. However, the Internet has been awash with discussions of the film and its constituents, from forebears to alternate screenplays, and I've seen enough at this point that I want to highlight one recurring meme in particular:

This is honestly one of my favorite things I've ever seen online. Up top, you have Robin Wright, who first came to prominence as Princess Buttercup in the film adaptation of The Princess Bride and has most recently portrayed Diana's mother Hippolyta in Wonder Woman. Below, of course, we see the late Carrie Fisher, first as the young Princess Leia in A New Hope and then--almost 40 years later--as General Organa in The Force Awakens.

The reason I love it so much is because it encapsulates a mighty shift in our culture. Have we had badass women on screen in the past? Absolutely! From Buffy to Xena to Sydney Bristow to The Bride, and even Leia herself, there are plenty of worthy examples, and I'm happy to give credit where it's due. The difference, in this case, largely revolves around one word: princess.

Having grown up during the Disney Renaissance, and being the aunt of a little girl, I am perhaps alarmingly well-versed in the language of fictional princesses. Don't get me wrong: I was, and remain, a huge fan of Disney, but as an adult, I do recognize the indoctrination I endured. (As a side note, Disney now owns the Star Wars properties, which--in a very technical sense--means that Leia has joined the ranks of Ariel, Aurora, and Anna, as many others have pointed out in the past.)

The dilemma is that we females have spent large swaths of our lives being told that girls are "sugar, spice, and everything nice," that we should be "ladylike," that we need to find our lives searching for our own personal Prince Charming. It's pretty problematic when you consider it, because we live in a society that has ostensibly progressed but often seems to backslide badly.

So when I see images of Hippolyta in action and General Organa working hard to ensure the safety of those around her, I get a little giddy. As I said in a Facebook post just after Fisher's death last December: yes, I love the princess who sasses Darth Vader, keeps herself together even after watching her planet destroyed, infiltrates Jabba's palace, and all that. But I love General Organa more, because she is the end product of all those things followed by 30 more years of hard work and dedication. In other words, General Organa is what daring girls all over the world have the capacity to become if they persevere.

The problem is, our society tends to squash those sparks of personality and ambition, so it is extremely important that we continue to give girls (and boys) good, strong female role models in our media. It lets girls know that the line they're fed about having the capacity to be whatever they want when they grow up isn't just bullshit--even though it feels like that some days, given the typical images with which we are all bombarded on a daily basis.

And I hope, also, that the women out there who think they "don't need feminism" are waking up a little through this journey with two lovely princesses turned generals. It would be fantastic to know that children aren't the only ones affected by more positive portrayals of strong women whose power doesn't stem from their royalty but through the battles they wage to keep others safe and equal (equal being the operative word).

-Cate-

Images via here, here, here, and here.

Seminal Albums

When I was putting together last week's "New Year, New Playlist," I started thinking about not only the songs but also the albums that influence me the most. Some of them are, undoubtedly, unsurprising, but there are others that may make even those of you who know me best do a double-take. 

Although the list is much longer than what I'm presenting here, I've decided to choose the eleven that are most important to me (at this moment in time, at least)--you know, the ones I would take into exile with me. How did I end up with eleven instead of ten, you ask? Well, for one thing, these guys told me it's okay to turn it up to 11. For another, I started to panic and couldn't stand the thought of cutting one more from my list (although part of me suspects it would be Sheryl Crow, if I'm being honest).

Rather than do a write-up of each album, I'm simply going to list my favorite track and let you do your own exploring from there. These come to you in alphabetical order by artist, because any sort of ranking is impossible after the first three (No. 4, Confessions on a Dance Floor, and White Blood Cells). Enjoy!

- The Sign, Ace of Base (Favorite song: "Happy Nation")

- The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars, David Bowie (Favorite song: "Soul Love")

- C'mon C'mon, Sheryl Crow (Favorite song: "Diamond Road")

- The Ghost Who Walks, Karen Elson (Favorite song: "Pretty Babies," and be aware that the album cut is much better than what you'll hear in the video)

- Always Got Tonight, Chris Isaak (Favorite song: "One Day")

- Songs from the West Coast, Elton John (Favorite song: "Original Sin")

- The Fame Monster, Lady Gaga (Favorite song: "Dance in the Dark")

- Confessions on a Dance Floor, Madonna (Favorite song: "Push," but some days I think it might actually be "Let It Will Be")

- Haunted, POE (Favorite song: "5 1/2 Minute Hallway")

- No. 4, Stone Temple Pilots (Favorite song: "Sour Girl," forever and ever)

- White Blood Cells, White Stripes (Favorite song: "This Protector")

-Cate-

PS I am aware that this list consists of only white musicians, all of whom are Western. It's not that I don't want to be more diverse in my listening--and reading, and watching--habits; it's more that these are such strong touchstones for me that I feel they're important to include on this list. But, as always, suggestions for broader listening are more than welcome!

New Year, New Playlist: 2017

I had a tradition on my first blog, What We Covet, of starting each new year off with a playlist of music I intend to take with me throughout the year. As with the previous lists, the songs were culled from my current collection. Most aren't recent, but they certainly sound good to me, and that's really the goal of any playlist I ever make. They come to you in no particular order. I hope you'll check them out, if you're not already familiar with them. Enjoy!

 

***

 

1)  "Mile on the Moon," Sarah Jarosz

Jarosz is one of those people I would hate if she wasn't awesome, because she's stupid talented and already successful at a young age--things I would love to be. Her new-Americana song is both comfortingly familiar and fresh, and her solid education, undertaken at the New England Conservatory of Music, guarantees that her musicianship is impeccable.

2) "Joanne," Lady Gaga

No, this isn't Gaga's best effort ever, but it's a heartfelt tribute to her aunt Joanne, who died very young. It gets me in the gut every time, because it reminds me of my own aunt, who was also gone too soon. 

3) "The Spoils," Massive Attack feat. Hope Sandoval

 

If the vocalist here sounds familiar, it's with good reason: she's Hope Sandoval of Mazzy Star, the group that brought us one of the most ubiquitous love songs ever, "Fade Into You." Sandoval brings her haunting voice to the table, and it perfectly pairs with Massive Attack's moody synth strings.

4) "Jimmy the Exploder," White Stripes

I am rarely not listening to the White Stripes in some capacity, but I was on a serious kick with them last summer, and this song, which opens their self-titled debut album, was a great, noisy part of the soundtrack of my life in August, as I expect it will be this year, as well.

5) "Long Goodbye," Dwight Yoakam and Michelle Branch

If you don't like Dwight Yoakam, you're wrong and we can't be friends. But also, I would very much like for Yoakam and Branch to do an album together. Is that so much to ask?

6) "The One," Elton John

I'm kind of mildly obsessed with mid-career Elton John right now--roughly his 1990s discography, starting with The One, from which this single came. This is the period when his voice really transformed and he started singing in a slightly lower, richer register than he did in the 1970s and most of the 1980s. That's the Elton John I turn to for comfort.

7) "Waiting," Green Day

I will never not have a crush on Mike Dirnt, and that's all I have to say about this song.

8) "If You Had My Love," Jennifer Lopez

Believe it or not, On the 6 was a good album, and I sometimes miss this side of J. Lo--before the super-fame and extreme contouring, but after she had proven herself with her excellent work in Selena, and while she still had some Latina flair.

9) "True Blue," Madonna

True Blue is a notoriously uneven album, which is undoubtedly due at least in part to the influence of Sean Penn, who was Madonna's husband at the time. And as overly sweet as "True Blue" the song tends to be, it's good, clean, cheesy fun. Plus, check out Debi Mazar as a backup dancer!

I invite you all to make your own playlist for the coming year, and share it with me if you're feeling confessional!

-Cate-

Who Are You

When I was in college, a classmate of mine turned to me, apropos of very little, and said, "You were a goth in high school, weren't you?"

I gotta tell you: in my head, I heard an actual record scratch. And then I turned to him and said, "What?"

Apparently I give off a certain vibe, because at least two more people have brought this up independently of each other over the years. There is also a popular idea floating around out there that I am the real-life version of Amy Farrah Fowler from The Big Bang Theory, possibly prompted by my fleeting resemblance to her in both looks and demeanor (I don't know; I've only seen like two episodes of the show). 

As a side note: when I was in the process of writing this post, my friend Melissa sent me a picture of Amy Farrah Fowler making a face because she has been in on this conversation since the first time someone compared me to that character:

And here is a picture of me:

Honestly, I don't see the resemblance.

At any rate, neither of these assumptions is correct, at least in my view. While it is true that I wear a great deal of black, I never did the pale skin/raccoon eyes thing, I wasn't a fan of Marilyn Manson with the exception of two or three tracks, and I wasn't part of the Hot Topic scene. To my knowledge, I've never undertaken a course of study in physics, nor do I havea doctorate. (It's just me and my lowly MFA over here. Wait, did I say lowly? I meant MOTHERFUCKING AWESOME.)

For the most part, I am just me: an amalgam of quirks and influences, personality traits and genetic materials. This is true of everyone else in this world, as well. Try as you might to label anyone, they will always find a way to subvert your expectations, whether it's the "goth" girl who has a soft spot for pop music or the "nerd" who appreciates sports as much as science. So don't go making judgments based on your interpretation of the evidence at hand. Just let people be who they are (unless they're jerks, in which case it's totally okay to gently recommend that they be less mean.)

-Cate-

American Success Stories

Although you're seeing this post sometime in August, I'm in the past, writing it on July 4, 2016, some 240 years after the signing of the Declaration of Independence. I mention this fact because it has a direct bearing on what you're about to read.

Earlier today, I had my iPod on shuffle, and Desi Arnaz's "Babalu" started playing. I'm a fan of I Love Lucy, and, having seen the entire series several times through, I can't help but know a few of Arnaz's more famous tunes, including this quintessential one. The song itself, though, isn't what interests me right now. Rather, Arnaz himself does.

He was what I consider to be an American success story. Born to a prominent family inn Cuba but thrust unexpectedly into straitened circumstances during a revolution, he found himself in Miama as a youth and then took up the business of entertainment. He of course met and married Lucille Ball a few years later, and the rest--as they say--is history. Everyone in America must know his name, or at least his face, by now. Not so bad for an immigrant, a non-native English speaker, and a man who dared to marry a white girl and (gasp!) flaunt their relationship on national television.

Thinking of Arnaz leads me to Richard Blanco, another Cuban making his way in America in another, but still contentious, time. Blanco was born in Spain and brought to America by parents who, like the Arnaz family, were fleeing political issues. A civil engineer and writer by training, Blanco was selected to recite a poem at the 2013 presidential inauguration (Barack Obama's second time swearing in). This was an excellent choice for several reasons: not only did Blanco give a flawless reading of his "One Today," but he also represented the changing face of America. For Blanco is an immigrant, yes, and a Latino, but also a gay man. This was a truly monumental moment, and again, I consider Blanco to be an American success story.

In keeping with the artistic bent of these musings so far, I turn to Lin-Manuel Miranda, the nearly inescapable face of Broadway in 2016. While born in America, Miranda comes from Puerto Rican stock. And he is a man who has done a few things all at once: brought attention to musical theater, triggered discussions about American history among people who might not otherwise find it an interesting topic, and dedicated his stage to the showcasing of non-white talent. Moreover, he has gotten away with all of these things through a combination of talent and commitment, which are rare enough personality traits in the public sphere nowadays. What could make his American success story more successful? Maybe only getting his face on a Wheaties box.

You've surely noticed a trend here: each of these men is Latino.

I believe in inclusion. American culture overwhelmingly privileges white people and can be ridiculously appropriative, and diversity of any kind often seems to be an impossible dream. But the United States would not be what it is today without the contributions of people from every racial, ethnic, and sexuality-based background. Unfortunately, for each person calling for a wider variety of viewpoints and a higher level of tolerance or activism, we hear another voice full of vitriol and anger, blaming non-whites--and particularly immigrants--for the perceived woes of our society.

This is unacceptable to me. And it should be unacceptable to you as well. This is America. It's meant to be the land of the free. So why are we, as a nation, working so hard to suppress diversity? We need the white people, the brown people, the black people, the blue people, the gay people, the straight people, the Christians and Jews and Muslims and Democrats and Republicans and even the anarchists, probably. Because we the people are all people, supposedly born equal (or made so as immigrants) under the law.

I've only given three examples here, but there are countless more worth researching and promoting. Those breaking down barriers, crossing lines that represented certain death in the past, marching in order to make themselves and their brethren heard, speaking out when the opportunity presents itself, fighting for what they believe is right, working to recover what was taken from them.

In the event that you haven't looked at a calendar recently, I would like to remind you that it is 2016. And it is long past time to let everyone be heard, respected, and included, and I cannot stress that enough.

-Cate-

Dear Joanne

I have very clear memories of the night Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows was released. It was July 2007, and I was home for the summer. My mother had pre-ordered a copy from Border's (RIP), and she sent me and my father to pick it up. Being a big-box store, there was a ton of floor space. Yet no more of it was available, and bodies spilled out into the lamp-lit parking lot.

Dad stared at the crowd, confused by the spectacle before him. "What is going on here?" he asked me.

I swept my hand around, indicating the throng engulfing us. "This is pop culture."

The moment was an important one, I think, both for me and Dad. As far as I was concerned, it was unspeakably exciting to be present for a historical literary moment. Meanwhile, Dad finally had some insight into what I had been doing with my life (both as a creative writing major and a pop culture semi-scholar). It was tinged with sadness, though, as THE TIME had come: that instant where every devoted fan realized that this was the last time we would tear through the pages of a Harry Potter book in unbridled anticipation of how his story would turn out.

Or was it?

Since that night, the series' author, J.K. Rowling, has been expanding the Hogwarts universe at a regular clip. We've witnessed the arrival of Pottermore, her interactive online community; although the book itself was released in 2001, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them is coming to a theater near you this November; The Tales of Beedle the Bard, an important piece of the Deathly Hallows puzzle, was given its own standalone book in 2008; Harry Potter and the Cursed Child, not written by Rowling but based on a story she wrote, lands on the West End stage this week to be followed the next day by a published version of the script; and revelations about Ilvermorny, Hogwarts' North American sister school, have come to light via Pottermore in the past month. 

I understand that Ms. Rowling has spent a great deal of her life immersed in the world of Harry Potter. (She is hardly alone in that, as her rabid fan base has proven.) But I also understand that she is in danger of failing to move on to other artistic endeavors, which we know she is capable of doing--witness The Casual Vacancy, as well as the Robert Galbraith/Cormoran Strike novels. And this is one of the deadliest activities in which an artist of any variety can engage.

Leaving aside the appropriative issues surrounding Ilvermorny and North American wizardry (I am looking in your direction, stereotypical assumptions about "mystical" Native Americans), which are distinct from the ongoing additions to the Potterverse, I think it would behoove Rowling to take a break from Harry James and his friends. There are so many other stories to tell, and I for one am interested to see what else she can give us.

-Cate-

Spot the Difference

When I finished my undergraduate degree, a professor of mine gave me a copy of Lorine Niedecker's Collected Works. Years later, knowing that I am no fan of Emily Dickinson's but that Niedecker's work is influenced by and at times strongly resembles Dickinson's, that same professor asked me if I had disliked Collected as a result. It was an interesting--and valid--inquiry, one that I was able to answer truthfully by saying that I in fact found that I enjoyed Niedecker's work.

Having recently come across the volume in question, I wondered what it was, exactly, that attracted me in Niedecker's poems but repelled me in Dickinson's, and I think the most honest response is that there isn't necessarily a strong set of criteria. Sometimes, it's just a gut feeling that you have.

Here's another example. I love Quentin Tarantino's oeuvre, and my experiences with him began in high school prior to the release of Kill Bill, which was the first Tarantino film I saw in real time rather than on DVD or (gasp) video. But when Inglourious Basterds came along, I hated it with a force that surprised me. To this day, I cannot fully articulate what made me dislike it so much. The acting was superb. The editing was impeccable (RIP Sally Menke). The production values were unimpeachable. Yet there it was: I couldn't stand the thought of a repeat viewing. When Django Unchained premiered, I worried that perhaps I had lost my connection with Tarantino's craftsmanship and would despise it as well, but I was pleasantly surprised when Django proved to be at turns hilarious, haunting, and heroic. 

What, then, was the difference between Basterds and Django? I can't even say. The former simply felt wrong to me, just as Dickinson's poems always have. 

The reading, listening, and viewing experiences are, for the most part, deeply subjective. This is the easiest way to explain my quandary. Yet I continue to find myself shocked when people I meet profess their undying love for Emily Dickinson. What is the difference between us? It's nothing more than a matter of personal preference.

-Cate-

The Limits of Nostalgia

In the past year or so, there has been a rash of pop-culture nostalgia infiltrating our screens--both large and small. Four examples that come to mind quickly are Ghostbusters, Girl Meets World, Fuller House, and the Star Wars franchise (which is, admittedly, more of a perpetual thing). Although we have yet to see what Paul Feig will make of his all-female Ghostbusters reboot, there have been mixed responses to the other examples given here.

Anecdata seems to indicate that Girl Meets World is a hit among fans of its (literal) parent show, Boy Meets World, which ran from 1993-2000, and reviews from the series pilot reflect this, even if the viewers ache for the original series. The Force Awakens is widely beloved, with a 93% fresh rating from Rotten Tomatoes, and is approaching the billion-dollar mark in gross profit. Fuller House, meanwhile, is a different story.

Initial reactions have not been positive. CNN refers to it as a show that "recaptures the magic of the original" (Full House, 1987-1995) "if you remember that Voldemort practiced magic, too." Entertainment Weekly, meanwhile, gives it a C-minus, calling it "lazily constructed kitsch." 

What is the difference between these projects? What makes one piece of our pop-culture history ripe for reworking but another fail miserably? Maybe the people involved. Maybe the premise. Maybe the expectations of the fans. Or perhaps it's that we have hit the point where we are saturated with nostalgia. From the odd '90s fangirling on Tumblr to the woman who lives as though she's in the Victorian era, we as consumers find ourselves inundated with images from the past, and it's easy to get fed up with revisiting past events and phenomena. 

So remember this next time you start to consume this particular brand of entertainment. If it doesn't feel right to you, it means the project has hit a nostalgia wall and it's time to move into the present, or perhaps even the future.

-Cate-

Alan Rickman

If I delayed my Scott Weiland post out of laziness and my David Bowie post out of scheduling conflicts, then I delayed my Alan Rickman post out of sheer denial, but here it is.

Not only was he Hans Gruber, Colonel Brandon, and Severus Snape. He was this deeply intense presence, one with a voice made to be heard and a head made to be tilted just so. He was the kind of actor who made you want to view his performances again and again for the sheer pleasure of discovering each nuance you hadn't noticed before, and if his Harry Potter cast mates are to be believed, he was a genuine, caring man off screen and off stage.

The world has lost what we hoped was an inexhaustible source of creative generosity, and not just because we loved Snape (Snape, Severus Snape): because Rickman touched something inside all of us, whether we expected him to or not; he was just that great.

-Cate-

David Bowie

The Thin White Duke. Ziggy Stardust. David Jones. 

He had several names and many more faces throughout his career, but most of us knew him as David Bowie. Whether your first exposure to him was as musician Bowie or actor Bowie depended partly upon your parents' willingness to subject you to Labyrinth as a child and/or your own musical awakening during high school. As for myself, I came to his work through my favorite band, Stone Temple Pilots.

Many years ago, when MTV Unplugged was a (glorious) thing, STP had their own episode, and part of it ended up cut from the broadcast, though it lived on in bootlegs, pre-iTunes but post-Napster. This was a live cover of "Andy Warhol." As soon as I learned that David Bowie was the original artist, I booked it over to the store and snapped up a copy of Hunky Dory. That was the day I fell in love.

Bowie speaks to adolescents in particular because he was weird. This isn't a bad thing, but it's the most accurate word for him. As the saying goes, he let his freak flag fly, and with every iteration of himself that he presented to the world, he touched some misfit somewhere, from the streets of London to suburban Detroit and everywhere else around the world.

I was fortunate enough to see him live in concert in January 2004, during my senior year of high school. He was touring in support of Reality and played at the Palace of Auburn Hills (home of the Detroit Pistons). The seats weren't great, but I was as enthusiastic as I've ever been, and with good reason: that show remains the best performance I've ever seen, even 12 years later. I also feel lucky, because time proved that this run of dates made up his final trip around the world as a touring artist. 

At the concert, I bought a poster that I've had ever since. It's lived with me in Michigan, in North Carolina, and now in Louisiana. Right before I left home to come here, I went on a rampage through the house, desperately trying to locate said poster; I knew I couldn't live without it, because I feel like it's part of what makes my space my own.

He's been watching over me since I was a teenager, and I hope he never stops. 

-Cate-

Scott Weiland

In what I would perhaps call the least surprising turn of events ever, Scott Weiland of Stone Temple Pilots, Velvet Revolver, and an underrated solo career was found dead on his tour bus in Minnesota the day after I went on my holiday hiatus. As far as I'm concerned, most celebrity deaths are sad but inevitable--we all grow old and die, or fall victim to freak accidents, or what have you. And I would tend to include Weiland's death in that category, except his life's work had such an impact on me that I feel compelled to comment on it now.

Some of you are undoubtedly aware of my long-standing fascination with Weiland. He served as both role model and cautionary tale to many, and among my many connections on Facebook, a handful mourned the loss, citing STP and Weiland's voice as essential to the soundtrack of their lives. Two of my friends made sure to text me and ask if I was all right after receiving the news, and two others made contact with me to discuss the event.

Personally, Weiland left a long trail of destruction behind him, and in some cases, he did so professionally, as well. This is not a news flash in any way; Weiland was probably as famous for his struggles as he was for his music. Yet people have been lining up to eulogize him: the front page of AlternativeNation.net was basically one big Scott Weiland tribute site in the week following his death, Craig Jenkins over at Noisey wrote an excellent article about Weiland, and Billy Corgan also had kind words to share.

I don't think I can add much of anything to the conversation, having been only a fan and not a contemporary or even acquaintance of Weiland's. But I can say this: to me, Scott Weiland's voice sounds like home. Maybe it's because he and I both grew up in the Midwest, and so I literally hear the speech patterns of my people in his singing style. Or perhaps it's because I've been a fan since I was 14 years old, which amounts to about half of my life.

In the absence of any meaningful contribution, I'll leave you with this, one of my favorite Stone Temple Pilots songs and a testament to Weiland's vocal ability:

-Cate-

Things I Say to My Dog (or, to Catch a Phrase)

As the title of this post would indicate, I’m bringing you a list of things I say most often to Little Dog. (And I promise I have a point; it’s not just me taking another opportunity to obsess about my pet.) These come to you in no particular order:

- “What goes through your little brain?”

- “I don’t need assistance.”

- “YOU LOOK LIKE A FUCKING EWOK.”

They’re catchphrases at this point, particularly the one about Ewoks. They’ve become part of my lexicon around the house. And I’m okay with that, because I think catchphrases are important in popular culture. Everything from Joey saying, “How YOU doin’?” on Friends to the old woman in the Wendy’s commercial asking, “Where’s the beef?” is part of our collective DNA at this point, and I encourage the use of catchphrases among fictional characters and narrators.

This is because they serve as identifiers and quirks, like Kurt Vonnegut’s pointed use of “So it goes” in Slaughterhouse-Five. If you prefer to think of it in a more current way, catchphrases are the hashtags of a character’s voice--something that bears repeating for one reason or another. For example, I think it’s important to tell Little Dog that she resembles a fictional animal from a massive science fiction franchise, which itself gave us both the directive to “use the force” and the best/worst Father’s Day conversation of all time.

If you pay attention to the everyday, non-fictional people all around you, I’m sure you’ll find that they are attached to certain words and phrases over others, like those who have not progressed past the “epic fail” heyday of 2008-2009 or a friend who really loves saying, “Right on” whenever he’s trying to give you an affirmation. Once you realize this, you’ll also see the necessity of catchphrases in your writing.

Try it out sometime just to see what kind of texture it gives your characters. After all, with a little effort, your character or narrator could inherit Draco “My Father Will Hear About This” Malfoy’s catchphrase crown!

-Cate-

Popular Culture Holds Us Together

One day last summer, my friend Bonnie and I had a brief conversation:

Cate: The dude in the car next to mine looks like Uncle Phil.

Bonnie: IIIIIN WEST PHILADELPHIA BORN AND RAISED

This was a fabulous moment. Bonnie didn't have to ask who Uncle Phil was, and I got a kick out of her response. The fact is that it was facilitated by a powerful force: popular culture. 

Without a shared cultural experience, Bonnie and I couldn't have interfaced like this. So the next time you find yourself questioning the value of popular culture, consider how it brings us together: with common images, sayings, and feelings. Without it, you wouldn't be able to recognize this:

or this:

and certainly not this:

Long may pop culture reign!

-Cate-

Images via here, here, and here.

PS REMINDER: I am judging the 2015 Tiger's Eye Press chapbook competition! The last day for submissions is August 31st. Details can be found here.

I Let My Dog Chew on My Shoes So You Don’t Have To, Or, the Absurdity of Non-Experience

Slate, the Gawker family of sites, and a few other outlets are big on publishing the type of article that starts out, “I [insert random activity here] So You Don’t Have To.” The author often undertakes some onerous task, such as reading a celebrity autobiography (possibly in a meta way, if Bethenny Frankel is involved), viewing a highly-unanticipated television show or film, or sampling the latest trendy food. Sometimes a new, questionable beauty treatment is involved.

While I don’t object to these articles in full--they do, after all, fulfill a purpose in the form of a review--I do think it’s odd that so many media types find it necessary to blatantly judge a product. Sometimes, it seems as though the writer is saying, “I am a gatekeeper and these are the reasons why.” Gatekeeping is, however, something that contributes to a lack of interpersonal understanding and, frankly, elitism.

I’m not the type of person to seek out, say, the complete works of Nicole “Snooki” Polizzi. Although she has certainly grown as a person over the past few years, I don’t find her appealing at all, and therefore I have no desire to read her books. By the same token, I don’t need anyone summarizing her output for me. This isn’t elementary school, and no book reports are necessary.

Similarly, if a consumer has a secret soft spot for beauty advice from the Kardashians, she doesn’t need some “tastemaker” who has never met her judging her from a distance for purchasing an eyeshadow palette from Kardashian Beauty.

There are some non-experiences we should appreciate: refraining from murder, human trafficking, or starting up a meth lab, for example. These, however, we can learn from fictional works and serious journalism rather than from snooty people who think their tastes are highbrow.

And for the record, while I may have let my dog chew on my shoes (she quite enjoyed them) for the sake of saving my mother’s shoes from the ravages of puppy teeth, I think everyone can more or less figure out for themselves what is good or bad. Give us a little credit.

-Cate-