The R--ts

I somehow bought the clean version of The Roots' Phrenology, which is essentially all just bleeped out. The Seed (2.0) is especially ludicrous. Beware of poorly-labeled Amazon downloads.

Is it weird that I hesitate before typing "ludicrous?" As though "Ludacris" might actually be the proper spelling?

A Thought About Carrots

Eating an adult carrot is somehow much more satisfying than eating an equivalent mass of baby carrots. Perhaps it feels like more of an accomplishment, having vanquished the behemoth root. I ate a carrot, dammit. Much better, more heroic than having gnashed my teeth over a handful of tender, defenseless little orange carrot nubs. Well, defenseless is a loaded term -- I shall not inject morality into this comparison, especially with regard to vegetables that are, in actuality, fully grown*. But the heroism -- this is a surprisingly accurate reflection of how I view my relationship with food: meal conquered, I digest. I congratulate myself often, after meals.

Psychology aside, I think adult carrots exhibit superior taste and texture.

*Baby-cut carrots are whittled from imperfect grown-up carrots to reduce food waste.

Monsters in Bed

Prediction: Zombies will never be sexy.

Vampires, werewolves, even mummies I can sort of see. But zombies -- eyes vacant, unromantic; drooling bits of brain -- will never be sexy. The gauntlet is thrown; a challenge; let all writers of popular prose take heed. Make zombies sexy. Just you try.

I've been watching a lot of Bones lately. The show offers a winning combination of sexual tension and the temperately grotesque: Emily Deschanel and David Boreanaz are terrific, and clean bones are not that scary. Given one's tendency to saturate when watching gore-heavy crime dramas, this is a nice thing.

* * *

On topic, you should all take a listen -- carefully -- to Lady Gaga's second album, The Fame Monster. First let me declare that Lady Gaga is brilliant. The Fame was pure, odd, trashpop brilliance. There was something foggily familiar about much of the music, and Gaga was decidedly kooky yet I felt like maybe she was actually holding back to build pop appeal. And, I loved it.

With The Fame Monster, the familiarity is still there (take 'Alejandro;' compare with 'La Isla Bonita' by Madonna), but it's not what's important. The tracks are infectiously, joyously danceable; Gaga's pop sensibility is flawless. The icing on the cake is thematic: the album is filled with blankly-delivered non-subtle references to monsterhood, embracing the current pop obsession with sexed-up humanoids (see Twilight) and simultaneously stepping beyond it into grittier, kookier territory. Gaga's vampires would not sparkle, benign, in the sunlight. They would consume us, darkly, in the dark (primal fear! darkness of soul! darkness of environs. teehee. anyway). She casually croons to us about half-wired broken jaws, heart-eating, brain-eating (flirts with zombie-territory, big points in my book), and her offhand delivery demands that we accept these all as reasonable lyrical sentences. It is great. I particularly enjoy 'Monster,' 'Alejandro,' and 'Speechless' (aside from 'Bad Romance,' of course).

***

Anyway, enough of the grisly/macabre. I have a bad headcold, and will take a nap.

Happy New Year!

Happy 2010, my friends. A few notes from winter break:

- A public health service announcement in Logan airport proclaimed: "If you have hands, wash them." This seemed to me a needless cruelty, a needle in the consciousness of the handless.

- I have read Mrs. Dalloway. I felt while reading that this book was just enormous. Now that I've finished, it's clear that I'll be peeling back, unwrapping, poking at this book for years to come. It's gorgeous; an enormous book.

- After devoting 251 minutes of our lives to the Twilight movies, K and I declared ourselves (a) confused and (b) Team Jacob. What could be more clear? Jacob Black was dependable, gruffly handsome and, most importantly, comparatively good for Bella Swan. Edward was a drama king (always with the biting and the wanting to bite, and then with the revulsion and the random, sudden misgivings). However, to address (a) I committed to sitting down and reading the novels. I suddenly have greater appreciation for Kristen Stewart's deadpan monotone: Bella was written that way (by the way, I love it -- Kristen Stewart's deadpan monotone). I haven't gotten too far yet, but I hear that I will appreciate Edward more via written word. I look forward to a new view.

Other things have occurred to me, but I'm blanking on them now.

Till later,

R.