WEIRD WEEK OF SYNCHRONICITY

I was listening to the radio show Studio 360 on NPR last Saturday, and I caught a program devoted to Nikola Tesla and his inventions, both functional and bizarre.

You can listen to the entire program here, but my favorite spot is the one involving Tesla's Death Ray (yes, he actually called it that) and its role in the Cold War:

I wasn't aware of how strange and interesting Tesla was until Jeremy and I saw The Prestige last year. David Bowie's portrayal of Tesla in the movie was surprisingly understated and well-acted. Considering all of the deeply strange things the man did in his life, I suppose the filmmakers would have been accused of exaggerating if they hadn't played his weirdness down a bit.

This radio encounter was part of my Weird Week of Synchronicity, in which Jeremy wore his "What would Tesla do?" shirt on the same day of the Studio 360 broadcast, a selection from "Carmen" came on the classical music station the morning after we had discussed the opera with my family, and I found out that a local comic book shop was vacating its downtown storefront the day after a friend told me that she was looking for retail space downtown and thought that if the comic store ever moved out, she would love to rent their space.

(cue Twilight Zone music)

If you don't have time to listen to the whole broadcast on Tesla, do listen to the excerpt above and this one, about Mark Twain and Tesla's X-ray machine, which is equally interesting and weird:

(Mark Twain in Tesla's lab)

FEELIN' THE HOPE

On my way to work Wednesday morning, a man driving a city van pulled up beside me and started tapping his horn. Oh, crap, I thought. Just what I need. Something must be wrong with my tail light. Either that, or I have something hanging out of my trunk.

He gestured for me to roll down my window, and I looked over at him with what I'm sure was an expression of pure dread.

"Hey," he said. "You've got an Obama sticker on your car! Did a Republican put that dent in your bumper?"

I laughed, the double effect of relief that nothing was wrong with my car - aside from the dent - and meeting another Obama supporter.

"No," I said. "That was my fault. I backed into a Lexus last year."

We smiled and waved, then went our separate ways into the city. Despite that morning's 15-degree temperature, I didn't feel so cold when I walked into work.

* * *

Last night, just across the state line, Barack Obama swept up 55% of the votes in the South Carolina Democratic primary. Hilary Clinton and John Edwards trailed behind with 27% and 18% of the vote, respectively.

I'm too busy doing my happy dance to be articulate, so I'll let Caroline Kennedy do it for me:

"A President Like My Father" (link to her op-ed piece in today's New York Times)

Naturally, she has many insightful things to say, but the following quote in particular sums up my own feelings, "I have never had a president who inspired me the way people tell me that my father inspired them. But for the first time, I believe I have found the man who could be that president — not just for me, but for a new generation of Americans." Exactly.

At the risk of revealing how emotionally involved I've let myself become, I actually cried out of sheer happiness when I heard the news that Obama had won South Carolina last night. I'm not usually one to be drawn in by political campaign slogans, but Obama truly does make me feel the hope that his campaign talks about. He represents a unique and singular opportunity to clear up the stagnant political waters we've been swimming in, and salvage our country's good name.

Even though race has been such a big topic leading up to the South Carolina primary, I don't think Obama is just "the black people's candidate" or "the young people's candidate," as I've heard him called. If he can inspire complete strangers with nothing else in common to exchange words at a stoplight, then he is someone who can represent each of us. And if his attitude and behavior during the primaries is anything to go by, he'll do it with a degree of class and composure Washington has lacked for more than a decade.

PUNKING OUT ON THE GOLDEN COMPASS

Last month, one of my favorite books of all time made it to the big screen. I've been geeking out about the movie adaptation of Philip Pullman's The Golden Compass, ever since I saw previews for it early this past summer. Polar bears! Zeppelins! Quantum physics! (not to mention Daniel Craig, which isn't bad by any measure.) ------------->

Ultimately, I was a little disappointed by the quality of the screenwriting. The producers would have done better to acknowledge that Pullman's His Dark Materials series, of which The Golden Compass is a part, is really a series of books for adults that happens to have a twelve-year-old protagonist. With that in mind, they could have allowed the movie to build to its full harrowing conclusion. As it was, they punked out.

The last few chapters of the book, where Pullman ties together the threads of adventure and theology with a betrayal of Biblical proportions, have been excised from the movie. We're left with something that looks like a brilliantly acted, beautifully filmed Narnia rip-off. Which is really a shame, because a Narnia rip-off is precisely what The Golden Compass is not. As much as I loved The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe as a child, the complexity of Pullman's books is so much more satisfying for my adult self.

At the same time, I think we give children too little credit when it comes to material with emotional and intellectual complexity. To say that a ten or twelve-year-old couldn't understand the theme of betrayal, or would only be satisfied with a happy ending is to give her too little credit. True, she might not understand every aspect of what she's seen or read, but she would have the chance to mull it over and return to it later if it intrigued her. Humans are naturally curious. We learn and grow as people by seeking out ideas and experiences we've never encountered before. Children are no different from the rest of us. None of us would ever learn anything if we only read books or watched movies with themes and ideas we were completely familiar with. The unknown and mysterious help our curiosity germinate.

If you're interested in the movie, here is the trailer. It's worth the price of admission for the visuals and excellent performances from the entire cast, even if a cranky fan like myself doesn't give it her Seal of Literary Adaptation Approval:

THE HORRIBLE, HORRIBLE TRUTH

I have a terrible confession to make. From time to time, I will watch the awful train wreck of American Idol auditions. I find I lose interest once the singers who make it through to Hollywood begin competing to see who can be the most mediocre, but I'm enthralled by the parade of strange costumes and the spectre of desperation that hangs over the proceedings.

I myself started watching American Idol out of desperation for human contact. My coworkers and I didn't have much in common, including the fact that I had no interest in a particular tarted-up karaoke competition. Work was awkward. We needed something in common, something to talk about.

I think this is how most people wind up watching American Idol. They can't possibly enjoy it on first viewing, but they need to make a connection with the people around whom they spend eight hours a day. No one dares admit they don't actually enjoy it for fear of being exiled to the outer darkness of the office, surrounded by the wailing of fax machines and gnashing of teeth. This tenuous connection, this policy of mutually assured destruction of office relationships, is the only thing keeping the American workforce in the perpetual stasis of production. That, and Paxil.

That said, I did enjoy the unexpectedly pure earnestness of the last contestant to sing during this past Wednesday's show. Here he is, strange costume and all. But don't worry, we can still talk at the water cooler if you don't want to watch it.

NEW YEAR NADIR

I was thinking of posting about how I'd gotten my hair cut by someone other than myself for the first time in 12 years, but then I realized talking about my own haircut would be the absolute nadir of blogging.

I decided compiling a top ten list of the best movies I saw and books I read this year would be a better use of everyone's time. I read some widely varying books in 2007: everything from Tess of the d'Urbervilles to Cowboy & Octopus. But then I realized I couldn't remember all of them.

What if I left out something completely genius and deserving? So, I've resolved to keep a list of everything I see and read this year. When 2009 rolls around, I won't be caught off guard.

The new lists are to the right, under the headings What Have I Been Reading/Watching in 2008? A caveat: these are not necessarily endorsements, as in the case of the Lindsay Lohan tragicomedy I Know Who Killed Me. We rented that one after a local movie reviewer awarded it the Pootie Tang Worst Comedy of the Year Award, despite the movie being a drama, and indeed, it is godawful. I'll try to include comments about the movies or books that aren't self-explanatory so no one stumbles into Battlefield Earth, for example, without first drinking heavily.

ALL GLORY TO THE HYPNOTOAD!

VOTE OR CUDDLE UP TO YOUR NEW FURRY OVERLORDS!

Like many households, ours is one divided by politics. I am staunchly in the Obama camp, while Jeremy is yet undecided, and Pyewackett. . . well, Pyewackett informed us this evening while we were watching the returns from the Iowa caucus on CNN that he has decided to form his own political action committee:

Far be it from me to discourage anyone, even our sociopathic feline, from getting involved in the political process. True, he doesn't have opposable thumbs, so the punchcard system is going to present a challenge for him, but that won't stop him from dreaming (or stealing watches and silverware from the dinner table). Some day, in the not-so-distant future, cats may develop opposable thumbs and triumph in their quest for political representation. So get out there and vote, humans, while you still can!