Friday, August 31, 2012

Poem of the Week

The Wild Iris
by Louise Gluck

At the end of my suffering
there was a door.

Hear me out: that which you call death
I remember.

Overhead, noises, branches of the pine shifting.
Then nothing. The weak sun
flickered over the dry surface.

It is terrible to survive
as consciousness
buried in the dark earth.

Then it was over: that which you fear, being
a soul and unable
to speak, ending abruptly, the stiff earth
bending a little. And what I took to be
birds darting in low shrubs.

You who do not remember
passage from the other world
I tell you I could speak again: whatever
returns from oblivion returns
to find a voice:

from the center of my life came
a great fountain, deep blue
shadows on azure seawater.

***

Louise Gluck is, in my estimation, one of the best poets out there. Now, this isn't my favorite of her poems, but it's probably her best-known. To me, the real kicker is right there in the second stanza: "Hear me out" sounds like she knows you're going to dismiss the poem as yet another bland discourse on death, and she's not letting you turn away. It's a great moment, and one of the strongest I can remember reading.

Wednesday, August 29, 2012

How To Write Absolutely Everything

Some people, I've learned, would love to write, only they have no idea how to come up with all those great ideas that fill the pages of the great books of the world. Luckily, I decided to put myself to work developing a system on how to get those pesky plots out of the way so you can get down to the serious business of writing - raking in piles of cash. It is with great pride I present to you a brief but accurate list on the strongest plots for your given genre. I call it

S.R. Braddy's Guide on
How To Write Absolutely Everything!



Dramatic Fiction

People talk about their feelings while the sky is gray.

Science Fiction

A classic movie plot is retold, BUT IN SPACE.

Fantasy Fiction

A small group of misfits defeat an evil wizard who threatens to eat the planet.

Romantic Fiction

Miserable people have sex and then stop being miserable.

Horror Fiction

Miserable people have sex and then die.

Literary Fiction

Miserable people have sex and then continue to be miserable.

Pornographic Fiction

Miserable people have sex and then continue to have sex.

Mystery Fiction

The husband did it.

Noir Fiction

The wife did it.

Suspense Fiction

The main character did it.
Seriously, it's never actually the butler.

Literary Nonsense

Boingo boingo fungal scrunchie.

Children's Literature

The main character has a dog.

Award-Winning Children's Literature

The dog dies.

Young Adult Literature

Kids in high school get bullied until they find a group of friends with similar interests.

Award-Winning Young Adult Literature

Kids in high school get bullied. Then someone dies.

Young Adult Science Fiction

Kids in high school get bullied. Meanwhile, the government is evil.

Young Adult Fantasy

One of the Universal Monsters falls in love with an unremarkable teenage girl.

Historical Fiction

Put historical documents into quotation marks.

Autobiography

Write everything that happens to you while thinking, "This'll be an awesome book."

Memoir

Write everything that happens to you. Compare your life to furniture.

Stage Drama

All characters talk about a years-old tragedy.

Stage Comedy

All characters talk with a British accent.

Stage Musical

Set the story of your favorite novel to the music of your favorite pop star.

Poetry

Write about any subject for ten lines. Write about your dead parent for two.

Children's Poetry

Rhyme. When you can't think of a rhyme, make up words.

Stage Musical

Set the story of your favorite novel to the music of your favorite pop star.

Young Adult Poetry

Copy and paste deviantart.com.

Slam Poetry

Rewrite your standup comedy routine in loose verse. Add more anger.

Beat Poetry

Get high. Write a bunch of gibberish. Painstakingly revise it for several months, and then tell everyone it was spontaneous.

If you like these entries, be sure to check out other fine products from S.R. Braddy's instructional writing guides, including:

S.R. Braddy's Guide on
How To Write Absolutely Anything! (Music Edition)


Pop Music Lyrics - Guys

Express love for any part of a woman's anatomy (eyes, lips, badonkadonk). Set to drum machine.

Pop Music Lyrics - Girls

Verbally hate on all men. Set to piano.

S.R. Braddy's Guide on
How To Write Absolutely Anything! (Comics Edition)


Superhero Comics

Trace pictures from Maxim magazine. Write in sound effects.

Newspaper Comics

Get a real job.

Tuesday, August 28, 2012

Accusation


You can't fool me. He's not even WEARING a shirt!

Friday, August 24, 2012

Poem of the Week

This Is Just To Say
by William Carlos Williams

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

***

I wonder if there's some significance to the fact that a lot of my favorite poems talk about food...

"This Is Just To Say" is a strong example of why poetry often needs to be read out loud, rather than just skimmed over in some textbook. The poem doesn't have NEARLY the same effect, unless the reader gives these words (and, more importantly, the spaces between the lines) the proper emphasis.


Wednesday, August 22, 2012

My Bloody Tuesday


Last night I went to a blood drive held at a local churchhouse. I'm not a regular donor, so I think I was a little out of the loop with how things work. Apparently, they don't just stick you on a table now and suck your blood out through that crazy-straw thing anymore. Turns out they've got all sorts of options for the McDonald's generation of charitable bleeders.

So I'm sitting in that little booth answering all those questions ("Hare you spent more than three years in any subterranean cultures?" "Have you breathed on anyone with AIDS?" "Are you a mudblood?"). Then the tech comes in and stabs me in the finger with that needle that's tipped with whatever poinson makes your hand hurt for the next three days. He takes a look at my donor card and says, "Well, your blood type is O Awesomesauce, so would you be willing to hubbidy hoobidy flup flup?"

I, of course, don't want to admit that I don't know what he's talking about, so I throw my arms in the air and say, "Who wouldn't?"

Turns out what he was asking was if I would like to donate red blood cells instead of whole blood. Basically, they strap your arm to a Hoover vacuum which sucks out the blood, spins it in a centrifuge to remove all those tasty red blood cells, and then pump whatever's left back into your arm mixed with some Cherry Coke.

Meanwhile, you've got technicians walking past and asking you constantly how you're doing and whether you're experiencing any pain. I never know how to answer that question, because there's a NEEDLE in my ARM!!! Of COURSE I'm in pain!

Also, one of the lab techs says I look like Carlos Boozer. I'll admit it - I had to look up who he was. I'm not sure I see the resemblance.


All bald people look alike.

Anyway, once they get me all un-blooded and centrifuged, they sent me over to the snack table. They always stock those things so full of cookies and juice that you'd think you were at a pre-schooler picnic if it weren't for all the bags of blood lying around. After all, pre-schoolers like their blood free-range.

There's a friend of mine staffing the snack table, a girl who has taken an unhealthy interest in my romantic life. Unhealthy for whom I'm not so sure. She seems to be doing fine.

Anyway, we chat for a minute, and she tells me I need to sit down. I say I don't want to, and I feel fine, but that only makes her more insistent. She offers to go get me some juice, and I tell her I don't want any juice. Never before have I felt quite so much like an old man.

Finally, she just snaps at me and said, "You need to let yourself be nurtured by a woman." Then we both laugh loudly and very uncomfortably, because what else can you do at that point?

So that ends my adventure with the Red Cross. It was a thrilling experience, and one that I'll probably be repeating in four months. Next time, though, I'll be sure to take along a little sandwich baggie full of prunes.

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

On Burying Our Talents

I was asked to give a talk during my Sunday services this past weekend, explaining what I got out of the Lamb of God production I participated in a few months back. Due to nerves or lack of preparation or whatever, I don't know how well I actually communicated my point. So I'ma get a little personal and religious here. I wound up speaking on something I'm pretty passionate about, so I hope you'll permit me to share my thoughts here.

And, if not... well, it's
my name at the top of the blog, after all.


I participated with several other members of our stake in performing Rob Gardner’s The Lamb of God. I was one of two narrators that read the words of the gospels over the singing and the orchestration. It was a great privilege to participate in the presentation, one which prompted a great deal of thought and introspection on my part on a subject that has actually been in my mind several times over the last ten years.

While I served a mission for the Church in the Czech Republic, I, along with the other elders and sisters in our small branch in Olomouc, were assigned to perform a musical number. We selected the hymn and worked on it diligently. One of the sisters suggested that I sing a solo as part of the presentation. Being a bit of a shrinking violet, I attempted to refuse. Then Elder Aaron Coombs, a good friend of mine and a diligent missionary, shook his head at me, and, with a click of his tongue, said, “Elder Bradford, I think you’re hiding your light under a bushel.” After receiving that chastisement, I agreed to sing the solo. The number was not a failure, so my involvement scarred no one.

Elder Coombs was referring to the Savior’s Sermon on the Mount: “A city that is set on an hill cannot be hid, neither do men light a candle, and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick; and it giveth light unto all that are in the house. Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.” Up until that point in my life, I had thought that the “light” the Savior mentioned was one’s personal testimony. I still believe that particular interpretation of the scripture, but I have since added another. The Savior intends for us to let our talents and abilities shine before men.

Understanding that our abilities are gifts from the Lord lends added significance to the parable of the talents. “The kingdom of heaven is as a man travelling into a far country, who called his own servants, and delivered unto them his goods. And unto one he gave five talents, to another two, and to another one; to every man according to his several ability; and straightway took his journey.” Each of the man’s servants was tasked with caring for a portion of the master’s wealth. The first two servants multiplied their talents and were best. The third, who feared failure, hid his talent, and soon found that it was taken away from him.

We cannot let fear of failure or worldly judgment inhibit us in cultivating those abilities which the Lord has given us. Even if our talent is small, we can still find a way to build it into something worthwhile. Remember that the man in the parable said to his slothful servant that his single talent could have been invested and grown through interest. So too can our small talents be improved on, although we may not have as much ability as another.

All men and women are given abilities from God, although we may not always have those gifts which we desire, or those that we see in others. In the Doctrine and Covenants, we read that “all have not every gift given unto them; for there are many gifts… To some is given one, and to some is given another, that all may be profited thereby.” We often talk of spiritual gifts, such as the gift of healing or revelation; however, we are also aware that some are naturally gifted in sport or in song, or in other apparently secular skills. I believe that these worldly abilities may too be considered spiritual gifts, as they bring great joy to many. As the prophet Moroni teaches, “Every good gift cometh of Christ.”

In the introduction to his analysis of the Articles of Faith, Elder James E. Talmage wrote that the school of theology, or the study of those things relating to religion, in fact encompasses all human knowledge, and then some. He wrote that theology’s domain is that of truth. “The industrial pursuits that benefit mankind, the arts that please and refine, the sciences that enlarge and exalt the mind – these are but fragments of the great though yet uncompleted volume of truth that has come to Earth from a source of eternal and infinite supply.” While the worldly pursuits we engage in cannot compare to the majestic truths that God can reveal to us, we may rightly, I believe, treat those pursuits as part of the endless knowledge of God, especially when those pursuits invite and entice us to do good, as Moroni described.

It is not enough that we merely improve or multiply our talents. Turning to the Doctrine and Covenants again, we read: “And all this for the benefit of the church of the living God, that every man may improve upon his talent, that every man may gain other talents, yea, even an hundred fold, to be cast into the Lord’s storehouse, to become the common property of the whole church – Every man seeking the interest of his neighbor, and doing all things with an eye single to the glory of God.” Our talents are not meant merely for our edification. We are meant to serve and uplift others with the abilities with which we have been blessed.

That is what so impressed me about our stake’s performance of The Lamb of God – so many people pooled their talents to do a marvelous thing. The composer, Rob Gardner, demonstrated great musical ability, and he chose to use his talent to teach of Christ. Young Latter-day Saints, much like me, had gathered together to praise God through music. We were led by a talented and diligent conductor. The choir was filled with beautiful, eager voices. The orchestra played with great skill and emotion. I was proud to lend my talents to the presentation, even if I only showcased my ability to read.

It is our responsibility then to figure out how our talents can be used to build up the kingdom of God. Here I intend to tell you the conclusion I came to regarding my own talents. I don’t presume to say that my conclusion is right for everyone, but this idea, that our talents are to be used to build the kingdom of God, is one that I believe so strongly that I don’t know how to discuss it without referring to my personal experience. I hope that what I have to say now will be beneficial to you all and will not come across as self-righteous, egotistical, or, worst of all, boring.

I believe the Lord has blessed me with a great deal of ability; however, I doubt that much of what I can do is immediately practical. I can sing with some level of skill, I enjoy writing, and I perform every now and again with local theater troupes. For me, it wasn’t immediately evident how I could use my talents to build the kingdom of God. I haven’t the skill to compose beautiful music. I don’t write sermons very well. And my theatrical ability usually boils down to me getting slapped in the face for the entertainment of an audience. Amusing, but hardly the stuff from which the kingdom of God is built.

The conclusion I came to, and the goal around which I wish to build my life, is that my skills lend themselves to storytelling. I enjoy a good story, and I believe in the power of a story to change a person’s life for the better. My watchword comes from the admonition of Paul, as outlined in the thirteenth Article of Faith: “If there is anything virtuous, lovely, of good report or praiseworthy, we seek after these things.” Many truths about the process of repentance can be learned from novels such as Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables. Much appreciation for the beauty of creation can be felt through the poetry of writers like Robert Frost. If men like these, who did not have the privilege of Gospel knowledge to guide them, can create these life-changing works, then I can do likewise.

For me, the greatest blessing that came from participating in The Lamb of God with our stake was the reminder of the divine power of the stories in the New Testament, which confirm and strengthen my testimony of Jesus Christ. I love the story of Peter, who denied the Christ, repented, and was forgiven. I love the story of Thomas the disciple who doubted, and who was led to believe. I love the story of Mary the mother of Jesus, who mourned at the foot of the cross. Rob Gardner, the composer of The Lamb of God, took a slight liberty with Mary’s story that I feel was appropriate and would like to share. After the death of the Savior in Gardner’s production, Mary sings, not of her despair, but of her hope. “Hope did not die here, but here was given. And ours is the victory. Here is hope.”

I testify that God has given us great ability which makes us equal to the trials and tasks set before us, as long as we trust in Him. I bear testimony that Christ came to earth to teach us the way to return to our heavenly home. He spoke in parables, that those who would hear could understand. He is the master storyteller. He is the son of God.

Thursday, August 16, 2012

Poem of the Week

Choose Something Like a Star
Robert Frost

O Star (the fairest one in sight),
We grant your loftiness the right
To some obscurity of cloud --
It will not do to say of night,
Since dark is what brings out your light.
Some mystery becomes the proud.
But to be wholly taciturn
In your reserve is not allowed.

Say something to us we can learn
By heart and when alone repeat.
Say something! And it says "I burn."
But say with what degree of heat.
Talk Fahrenheit, talk Centigrade.
Use language we can comprehend.
Tell us what elements you blend.

It gives us strangely little aid,
But does tell something in the end.
And steadfast as Keats' Eremite,
Not even stooping from its sphere,
It asks a little of us here.
It asks of us a certain height,
So when at times the mob is swayed
To carry praise or blame too far,
We may choose something like a star
To stay our minds on and be staid.

***

While I like a lot of poetry, I tend to find religious poetry a bit too maudlin for my taste. I prefer poetry that touches on a religious subject without being too preachy or sentimental. Frost's "Choose Something Like a Star" is a long-time favorite of mine - it embodies both the frustration of religious experience as well as the comfort that can come from placing your faith in something higher than yourself.

Plus, I sang an arrangement of it back in junior high that was so beautiful that it got me hooked on singing to this day.


Wednesday, August 15, 2012

Things I'll Love Forever: Usagi Yojimbo


Sometimes I worry about professing my love for Stan Sakai's Usagi Yojimbo, especially since a comic about a giant anthropomorphized rabbit samurai sounds like the sole property of a certain sub-culture that even I look down on. But I can't help it - Usagi Yojimbo is one of the best darn things I ever read.
  • Usagi Yojimbo started back in the eighties, when black and white comics about giant animal warriors were kind of a thing, so it'd be easy to dismiss Usagi Yojimbo as a gimmicky cash-in. The thing is, the animal characters Stan Sakai uses to tell his samurai stories are some of the best, most well-crafted characters I've ever read. They could be illustrated as rabbits, humans, dogs, or giant talking toaster ovens and still feel very real.
  • One of the biggest complaints I have about comics in general is the massive amount of backstory generally necessary to understand even the simplest of stories. Usagi Yojimbo largely avoids that by telling simple, done-in-one-issue stories that manage to be gripping and fresh, even though our main character rarely encounters anything new ("What? He's fighting bandits? That hasn't happened since at least last month!").
  • Stan Sakai's work is incredibly well-researched. He sets his stories in feudal Japan, and he makes sure that the details of daily life are accurate. Sometimes, he'll straight up dive off for a couple of pages into some exposition about the history of the country or the way swords were made back then. And it's ALWAYS fascinating.
  • Far and away, one of my favorite stories in the series involves our main character, Miyamoto Usagi, participating in a tea ceremony with an old friend. There's almost no dialog in the whole issue, but there's still a lot of emotional intensity AND a big educational discourse on how the tea ceremony works. Considering that the issue right before it (and likely the one right after it) involved a bunch of big stupid fights, the fact that Sakai can take something as simple as sitting down to tea and turn it into a compelling story is testament to his skill.
  • Speaking of skill, I'd be remiss if I didn't point out that Usagi Yojimbo is one of the best-looking comics out there, even without any coloration. Sakai's a master at the black-and-white medium, employing techniques like stippling and crosshatching to do far more than add visual variety to his panels. He communicates emotion with his linework in a way I've not seen in many other books.
  • In the twenty-five or thirty years or so that Sakai's been working, he's introduced a TON of characters, and thus has been able to craft a variety of stories. For straight up brawls, he's got Gen the bounty hunter. Tomoe and her Lord Noryiuki lend themselves well to stories about political intrigue. Inspector Ishida (my favorite) solves murder mysteries as well as Holmes or Poirot. For stories with a more supernatural bend, you've got the immortal murderer Jei or Sakura the demon hunter. And Sakai's proven that he can do all these stories justice.
I pick up a volume of Usagi Yojimbo when I have a bad day and just enjoy the heck out of it. It's consistently great without being in-your-face aggressive, and I love it forever.

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

Monday, August 13, 2012

Braddy Reads The Hunger Games


I took a trip up to my sister-in-law's cabin this weekend. Since all vacations require a good book to read, I decided to pack along Suzanne Collins's chart-topping book The Hunger Games. Maybe you've heard of it.

I think I may have needed to take a second book with me, because I breezed through The Hunger Games in about twenty-four hours. It's a pretty good read.

Like most YA writers (with maybe a few exceptions), I don't find myself impressed so much with the quality of Collins's writing as much as with the quality of the story. The Hunger Games is a brilliant story - tense and action-packed with a real sense of relevance.

One caveat - although Collins's writing isn't exactly world-shatteringly good, her descriptions of FOOD were, in my evaluation, excellent. I got hungry every time Katniss did, and, for a book called The HUNGER Games, that seemed a fitting response.

Now for the inevitable comparison to the movie - I'm honestly not sure which I liked more. Like most books adapted for movies, I found myself a little distressed at some of the material the filmmakers chose to leave out. I knew NOTHING about Avoxes (Avoci? How do you pluralize that?) from the movie, and I appreciated the additional fleshing out certain characters get. As a result of the added time the book spends on the characters, I found Effie Trinket FAR less annoying, and I really liked District 11's Thresh a lot more.

That said, I don't think the book is entirely superior to the movie. I was genuinely bugged (at least, until I got swept up in the story) by the first-person narration in the book. At first, I was simply bothered by the fact that I had no idea who Katniss would possibly be writing this story TOO. Was it her journal? Her "Katniss's Log," if you will?

Stardate 46209.13.

The perspective of the book, though, is a nit too nitty to really pick, except for one major difference between the film and the book: the clarity of the story. See, in The Hunger Games: The Novel, everything is spelled out, because we can read everything going on in her head. While that perspective does help flesh out the world in a lot of ways, I found I actually missed the ambiguity of the film, where Katniss's motivations were a little more obscured.

So it comes down to whether the audience wants a fully-realized world or a more ambiguous heroine. Ultimately, I prefer the latter, but I'd still whole-heartedly recommend The Hunger Games to fans of the movie.

Oh, and I found the book far less self-contained than the movie, with plot threads left dangling for the inevitable sequel. Heck, it even ends with the line "End of Book 1." I guess it's now inevitable that I'll be picking up Catching Fire at some point.

Friday, August 10, 2012

Poem of the Week

My NEA Poem
William Stafford

A blank place on the page,
like this here "------,"
means, oh it means,
you know, but not said.

And it's better when you come to these
"------"s again
to leave blank places.

But some people
get a grant
and want to show
artistic freedom;

So all they say is,
"------,"
"------,"
and "------."

***

I'm all for freedom of speech, and I really hate censorship. That said, just because you have the right to fill your stuff with smut doesn't mean smut's the strongest choice. Thanks for pointing that out, Mr. Stafford.

Tuesday, August 7, 2012

In My Head


What's she doing in there? Hope she doesn't leave a mess.

Catching Up with the Classics: The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly


I'm not a huge fan of Westerns in general. I don't hate the genre, but I've not seen many of them. I think the only westerns I've ever watched are Rio Lobo and Tombstone.

And Jonah Hex, I guess, but I'm pretty sure that doesn't count.

I picked The Good, the Bad, and the Etc. based on its inclusion on several "Greatest Films" lists, not realizing that the film is the third part of a trilogy. I found myself a little let down that there was so much character work done beforehand that I just never picked up on.

At least, that's what I assumed happened. I kinda figured I was already supposed to know who Tuco and Angel Eyes were, but after a cursory scan of Wikipedia, I'm not so sure.

My biggest complaint about The Good, the Bad, and the Incontinent is the length. The movie clocks in at three hours. I had to take two naps in the middle before I could get to the finish.

Also, the action moves deliberately very slowly. Sometimes, it creates an interesting effect - there's not a single line of spoken dialog for the first ten minutes (I counted), and the silence helps build the suspense. Frequently, though, I just found the slow pace boring.

The designations of the title characters seem extraordinarily arbitrary. I get that Angel Eyes is "The Bad," but I can't for the life of me figure out what makes Clint Eastwood's character "The Good." He's pretty much a %@#^. The only thing that distinguishes him from the other two is his blonde hair, and if that's what makes him "good," then the film's classification of Mexican Tuco as "The Ugly" is extremely suspect.

So, yeah, I guess I didn't care for The Good, the Bad, and the Santa Maria that much. However, the ending duel between Tuco, Angel Eyes, and the "Man with No Name" is excellent. A single sequence lasting maybe five minutes nearly justifies the entire 150 minute buildup.

Final verdict - the film's a classic for a reason. No real surprise there. It's just not one I feel like revisiting again.

Samurai at Sunset


It's a samurai. And it's sunset. Were you expecting anything profound?

Friday, August 3, 2012

Poem of the Week

Goodtime Jesus
James Tate

Jesus got up one day a little later than usual. He had been dreaming so deep there was nothing left in his head. What was it? A nightmare, dead bodies walking all around him, eyes rolled back, skin falling off. But he wasn’t afraid of that. It was a beautiful day. How ’bout some coffee? Don’t mind if I do. Take a little ride on my donkey, I love that donkey. Hell, I love everybody.
 
***
 
First day of my Advanced Poetry Writing class back in college, Professor Michael Sowder gets up and reads this poem.  He's got a laid-back attitude and a voice sleepy with contentment - like most good poets do.  His face breaks out in this delighted little smile when he reads the line, "Hell, I love everybody."  Then he puts the book down, looks around at the class and says, "Isn't that nice?"
 

Yes, Mr. Sowder.  It's VERY nice.

Thursday, August 2, 2012

Musicals are Terrible


I've been a little bugged for the last week - ever since I saw Rent at the Midvale Main Street Theater. Something about the show completely unnerved me. It was a very upsetting experience.

Now, the production wasn't BAD - far from it, actually. I'm not going to review it here other than to say you should go see my friend Carolyn blow the roof off the place with her mad vocal skill. My friend Larissa did a full review here, and I agree with her all the way. It wasn't the performance of Rent that bugged me, but the story itself. Rent is basically terrible.

For those not in the know, Rent tells the story of a group of residents who live in an apartment building without paying rent. They all live sparse Bohemian lifestyles made possible by their independently wealthy landlord who turns a blind eye to their squatting on his property. Oh, and they all have AIDS.

I don't really have a problem with the "content" issues in Rent, but I am bothered by what they try to pass off as a "happy ending." After a year of bickering and squabbling, our friends are reunited just as one of their number, a girl named Mimi, dies. Roger, who has just realized that the song he's wanted so desperately to write can be found in his love for Mimi, sings her a song as she passes, only for her to suddenly revive. Everyone then lives happily ever after, except for the drag queen, who died a half hour earlier.

Here's how it breaks down:
  • Mark quits his job as a news anchor where he gets paid to do what he loves so that he can say he didn't "sell out."
  • Joann and Maureen get back together, despite the fact that they have done nothing but bicker for the last two hours.
  • After losing his lover, Tom rigs an ATM to dispense free cash to anyone with the secret code. The play ends before the police track him down and arrest him.
  • Roger, who sang an amazing song about writing one great song before he dies, finally writes a song so forgettable that it... um... brings his coke-addled girlfriend back from the dead?
The play glamorizes "La Vie Boheme," despite the fact that this lifestyle is actively destroying everyone who lives it. The only person whose future actually looks promising is Benny, the landlord, who is generous enough to pay for the funeral of the man who killed his cat AND put his ex-girlfriend through rehab.

In short, while the music is fantastic, the play itself is just not very good. It kinda bungles the message it's trying to deliver without realizing it. It's indicative of a prominent problem in musical theater, where storytelling takes a backseat to production values.

Seriously, when you look at the genre as a whole, you find that most musicals are actively terrible from a storytelling viewpoint. Musicals are full of fantastic scenery, beautiful dances and costuming, and, of course, catchy and memorable music. The problem, though, is that these flashy and engaging productions are often tied together by flimsy stories with awful morals.

Don't quite believe me?
  • The Music Man teaches us that it's okay to let yourself get taken advantage of.
  • Annie, Get Your Gun teaches us that you need to suppress your natural talents to be with the one you love.
  • Seven Brides for Seven Brothers glorifies Stockholm syndrome.
  • Damn Yankees says one can make a literal deal with the devil and walk away consequence-free.
  • The Phantom of the Opera is potentially worse than Twilight, since the creepy romantic stalker it idolizes is a cold-blooded killer.
  • Speaking of murderers, Oklahoma! lets a killer go completely unpunished because the deceased was super creepy.
  • My Fair Lady shows that even rampaging misogynists can win the hearts of the girls they bully.
It's not a problem I see going away at all, either, possibly because you have plays like The Drowsy Chaperone, which affirms that the purpose of musical theater is only to temporarily distract audiences from their problems, rather than enable them to confront those problems.

Maybe I'm being a little unfair. After all, musical theater is hardly alone in presenting stories with suspect lessons. And besides, most musicals fall into the "comedic" category, where morals and lessons are often used for parodic purposes. However, if I had to make a list of musicals that give equal weight to the story as the music, the list would be really short (Les Miserables, Chicago, The Fantasticks...).

I think musical theater should just try a little harder to not be utterly miserable, that's all.

Wednesday, August 1, 2012

Cooking with Braddy: Dark Chocolate, Cinnamon and Clove Brownies


Despite some overwhelming, round, and delicious evidence to the contrary, I don't get all that enthusiastic about making desserts. I would LIKE to be, though, so I gave yet another recipe from The Mighty Spice Cookbook a go. I figured, "I've made brownies before. How tough could these be?"

Turns out this may have been one of the toughest recipes I've yet encountered. In my defense, though, I don't think it's all my fault.

The recipe calls for melted chocolate. Like, you're supposed to take some 70% dark chocolate and melt it in a double boiler. Now I don't have a double boiler, so I had to... improvise.

MacGyver would be ashamed.

By the way, I may have to change my whole attitude about desserts now. I'd do the chocolate melting thing again in a HEARTBEAT. Melted, liquid chocolate? That's almost like pornography. I'm seriously surprised that Willy Wonka isn't rated R.

I find that, when I bake, I spend a LOT of time mixing. Since I don't have a mixer, I do it all by hand with a big plastic spoon in a comically oversized blue bowl. I'd invest in a hand mixer but... well... me and cooking instruments don't really mix well.

I said "mix well"... Man, I'm an idiot.


The recipe said to pour all the batter into a 9-inch square cake pan. So I did... and I wound up with brownies that were about five-inches thick and took an hour to actually BAKE. So the recipe lied to me.

I wouldn't call the cinnamon and clove brownies a complete FAILURE, but it's definitely a recipe I'd need to try again. With a wider cake pan. And maybe a legitimate double-boiler. And a KitchenAid or something.