1 Y.O. (Or, 26 Is The New 1)

The life of every man is a diary in which he means to write one story, and writes another. -James Matthew Barrie, Sr.

It was one year ago that I first hit "publish," as if getting published were somehow as simple as clicking a button. But, here I am, one year later, one year older and one year smarter (well, 2 out of 3 ain't bad). I always set out to blog for at least one year - little did I know exactly how this blog would affect my life. My blog and I have had ups and downs, fights and reconciliations, cocktails and a little nookie (hey, iBooks are sexy), and it's helped me meet some new friends from around the city and the country. My blog has seen me through two different jobs and was the cause of losing one (but we won't go into that here).

So what was I doing one year ago? Well, I was unemployed (unconnected to blog-related job loss) and many potential writing jobs needed blogging experience. This caught me by surprise as I didn't think blogging skills were really taken that seriously in the job market (I'm still not convinced they really are, but knowing HTML code can look good on a résumé, I guess). So I started what I thought would be a website comprising only my most polished, future-employer-impressing writing samples.

The first three posts from exactly one year ago reflect this cautiously optimistic attitude, but unfortunately the first two aren't worth your time. The only one I care to link to is my review of Martha Stewart's talk show, which had just debuted at that time. I still consider it one my finest pieces (oh, Slate, why, oh why, must you reject me?).

But now? Would I show this to a potential employer? Hmmm...maybe. I'd be a little hesitant with recent titles like this, but overall there's really nothing here to be ashamed by. However, that just not the point anymore. Now I do this for myself, not to impress some stranger (and I have a very fine job now anyway, thank you very much).

So, I really can't say where this is going in the future. I know I haven't been posting very much lately, but I'm trying to install an RSS feed so people know when to check in...or maybe I already have installed it. I can't quite tell. If any computer-savvy readers want to help me out with that, shoot me an email. I have a Feedburner link and everything, I just don't know what to do with it.

Anyway, expect some upgrades in the future (really, what do those yellow flowers up by the title have to do with anything other than looking pretty?) as this blog moves into it's own 2.0 version. Or is that 2 Y.O. version? (That's the last Janet reference, I promise.)

But no matter what happens, thanks to everyone who reads me with any regularity, or who has dropped by even once, who has left a positive a comment, or any comment at all. The point is...

Thanks!

Please Pack Your Breasts and Leave

Wow. A Bravo reality show is actually getting rid of its robotic, flat-voiced hostess in favor of someone with actual television experience.

No, it's not Heidi Klum, who has actually gotten more comfortable killing the dreams of amateur fashion designers on the addictive Project Runway (it helps that she's, you know, one of the producers).

Instead, it's little Katie Lee Joel, Billy Joel's 12-I-mean-25-year-old host of the first season of Top Chef, a reality show from PR's producers about chefs battling to be...well, I guess the title is fairly Snakes On a Plane-esque in its self-explanation.

Maybe "robotic" is a tad harsh. Let's just go with "telegenically-challenged." But while Katie Lee apparently does have some background in food (Bravo never really explained what they meant when they described her as a "food writer" - I just assumed she knew how to write a grocery list), she couldn't, um, talk about food very comfortably. In fact, she couldn't do anything comfortably in front of the cameras, always dropping anchor-like duds of non-wisdom while judges Tom Colicchio and Gail Simmons could actually chew and think at the same time.

Instead, Bravo has made a ridiculously great decision in hiring Padma Lakshmi. A drop-dead gorgeous Indian woman (she makes Catherine Zeta-Jones look like butt) who has cooking and television experience (she hosted a much-missed show on the Food Network), Lakshi has been out of the public eye for quite some time. Oh, she also happens to be married to Salman Rushdie.

Top Chef is still seriously flawed. Unlike PR, where all you have to do is look at the final designs to judge them, on TC you can only look at the food the contestants prepare, and while presentation counts, you still have no idea how good the food actually is until the judges tell you. And the prizes aren't all that thrilling. I think they get a stove and, like, a magazine article or something.

But with Padma to guide us with her seductively intellectual presence (who will hopefully have a better signature send-off then "pack your knives and leave"), TC's second season could be approaching PR's crack-like addiction.

Also check out: Hooray for Jay.
And: Obsessing Over Food I Never Eat, with Giada de Laurentiis.

Brother, Can You Spare a Comment?

For this week's Roundtable, Prego at Rustbelt Rambling is having a crisis of conscience over panhandlers. There's always the "How do you know it's not Jesus?" theory that really rubs in the guilt. But, even worse, what if you actually know one of them? What if one of your former friends is now, years later, stopping you on the street for a couple of bucks?

Any advice would be appreciated, as I pass someone with a "Need a bus ticket" or "God will love you if you help me" signs every day in good ol' Chi-town. Stop on by and help out Prego, too, while you're at it. Instead of donating change, how about a round of drinks for the Roundtable?

Telescopic Boogaloo

I have been seriously deprived of good new music this year. Not a lot has really grabbed a hold of me and demanded "Buy me now!! You must have me!!" So I've taken some chances, one being Nelly Furtado's third CD, which is fine but doesn't measure up to her first two CD's. Same with Black Rebel Motorcycle Club's third CD. (Maybe there should be a "junior joke" in addition to "sophomore slump"? Discuss.) And then, of course, there's Gnarls Barkley, who are basically unavoidable at this point.

But then I saw the video for a song called "Black Horse & the Cherry Tree" on VH1 (I know, I can't believe they actually played a music video, either) with a black-maned, cherry-lipped songstress rocking out on her guitar.

I immediately thought, "Is this 1997? Is Lilith Fair coming back?" I mean, the last time VH1 introduced us to a solo female artist was Anna Nalick standing around a fake apartment for her catchy, breathy "Breathe (2 A.M.)" So to see a female rock-folk singer playing her own guitar (something lacking from the singers VH1 and MTV usually highlight) just seemed so...retro. I was slightly skeptical, but this bluesy ditty was just too toe-tapping, bass-thumping-in-your-pelvis rocking to ignore. Besides, the singer looked like she'd kick my ass if I did.

A few days later, sitting in my office, a song came on the radio with a hook that would make even the butchest lumberjack want to skip in the rain. I figured the song was titled "Suddenly I See" as that phrase is repeated throughout the chorus, but I didn't catch who the artist was.

Later that week, the same thing: catchy song on the radio, raspy lilt to the female vocalist, this time a thoughtful ballad that I later learned was titled "Other Side of the World."

It wasn't until a week after all of this that I learned they were all by a singer-songwriter named KT Tunstall. Then it wasn't until even later that I learned my sister had her CD, Eye to the Telescope, and loved it. And, oh yeah, my brother, too. And, according to Billboard, about half a million other people as well (the CD was certified gold). I'm obviously behind the times.

But I did finally pick up Eye to the Telescope and understand why KT is catching on. The Scottish musician writes songs that are reflective, melodic, aggressive and melancholy, sometimes all in one song. More impressive, however, is how consistent she is. My cynical expectations for CD's these days is that they are bound to include some filler. Not KT. I could pick any song and enjoy it just as much as any of her others.

There's a reason why "Black Horse & the Cherry Tree" was such a break-out hit in multiple countries while "Suddenly I See" was included in The Devil Wears Prada and both are distinctively KT's. It's not pandering to the masses by trying to include the token rock joint next to the token adult-contemporary feel-good ditty. According to her website, Tunstall's musical influences include David Bowie, Billie Fitzgerald, James Brown, Lou Reed, Johnny Cash and PJ Harvey. She's a self-taught guitarist and singer who's filling a void. Melissa Etheridge's crazy-awesome performance at the 2002 Grammys was a highlight in what has become an adult-contemporary career. Courtney Love has finally high-dived into the deep end of the crazy pool. Sarah McLachlan, Jewel, Fiona Apple and even Tori Amos all seem to have already peaked. While KT may look like Meredith Brooks, I'm confident she's more than a one-hit wonder (three songs on the radio already prove that).

Yes, it may not be fair to lump all these female musicians together, but guess what? That's what happens to any artist. There just quite frankly aren't that many mainstream female rockers right now. After having seen Tunstall's live act on HBO On Demand where she created her own multi-layered band out of just her voice, guitar and recording device at her feet, I'm certain she's the real deal.

And I'm music deprived no longer.

The Biggest Illusion in The Illusionist

Edward Norton, star of the underwhelming The Illusionist, is one of the best actors of his generation and usually his presence alone guarantees a solid, and often spectacular, film. Movies such as Primal Fear and Rounders were fine but potentially forgettable elevated by his tight, sometimes scary, sometimes charming performances. His off-screen conflicts with collaborators over scripts might allude to a challenging, type-A personality, but on screen Norton is almost always a guaranteed winner. Cast him as a Eisenheim, a magician of unbelievable power, opposite Paul Giamatti as the Chief Inspector trying to take him down in turn-of-the-century Vienna, and how can you lose?

Fifteen years after their childhood romance, working-class Eisenheim and Princess Sophie (Jessica Biel) are reunited when he brings his magic show to Vienna, incurring the wrath of Sophie's intended, the jealous Court Prince (Rufus Sewell, having slimy fun despite a laughable moustache that's about to fall off any second). The Prince employs his right-hand man, Uhl (Giamatti), to expose and take down Eisenheim despite his increasing popularity, and a pissing contest emerges between the illusionist and the prince, with each having their own advantages (magic and intelligence vs. power and resources).

Not only were the sporadic accents frustrating (including Norton's), but apparently the filmmakers thought the character of Eisenheim didn't need anything else other than Edward Norton performing really cool magic tricks/illusions/whatever to be interesting. Not to mention that he, the title character around which this is all is supposed to be revolving, disappears for quite some time in the third act. Biel doesn't have much to do, so her performance ends up a stunning triumph of dinner-plate cheekbones and studied posture. Giamatti fares a little better, balancing his child-like awe of Eisenheim while pursuing his duties to bring him down, but even he can't overcome an awful ending with loopholes that even the most amateur filmgoer could drive a horse and carriage through.

The blurry-edged, sepia-tinted cinematography is gorgeous. The score by Philip Glass, while derivative of his work in The Hours and others, is tensely beautiful when it isn't distracting and purposeless (which is more than half the time). But slow pacing and lack of character development give The Illusionist its most impressive magic trick: somehow an Edward Norton movie is boring.