PC01: Why I Watch Glee

Today, I do want to talk about pop culture. This afternoon, I get to start reading Eating the Dinosaur by Chuck Klosterman, one of my five favorite cultural commentators. I've wanted to hang out with Klosterman since I was 18 years old. When it comes to the American pop cultural scene, he's biting, brilliant, hilarious, and somehow endearingly pretentious, an impossible combination made possible. So, since I get to consume some critique, I thought I'd provide some of my own.

I believe the past decade has been great for television. Right now, there's the largest number of current-running TV shows I've ever watched at one time. That list includes How I Met Your Mother, what I consider the best comedy on TV right now; Modern Family and Community, two great new series coming into their own; 30 Rock and The Office, standing favorites; Lost, one of the best serial dramas TV has ever seen; and ... Glee.

The inclusion of Glee on this list feels strange, yet somehow appropriate. Most of what I watch is, obviously, comedy, with the single exception of Lost. And while Glee touts itself as comedy, and it is a legitimately funny show, it falls into a category no other series does: serial musical.

Glee demands more out of its actors in terms of musical and dance performance than what you'd actually call acting. It's telling that, whenever there is a dramatic moment, viewers exclaim to each other, "He actually got to act!" The plots are fairly rote, sometimes frustratingly so. The chemistry among many characters is forced at best (with the exception of the adult leads), and when comedy is used, it feels like a crutch, stilted and disingenuous.

But there is charm here. The drama is focused on the painfulness of being uncool in high school. And these kids, despite their good looks and sometimes sparkling personalities, are certainly not cool. But you're asked to root for them, if not out of sympathy, than out of admiration for their talent and devotion to this craft of show choir. That's a theme the writers feel the need to keep coming back to: whether or not these kids should remain in glee club. Football player Finn (Cory Monteith) has quit the club at least twice, but he always comes back for the acceptance and self-expression.

Although the club is always successful, ultimately winning sectionals despite strife and obstacles, etc., etc., the kids aren't. And that's what keeps me coming back: seeing that the characters aren't going to suddenly become popular, no matter how well they do. That's reality in a high school venue. And even if nothing else is realistic (Adultery is encouraged! The stuttering girl is faking it! Every single person sings beautifully, even the football coach and the guidance counselor!), at least we have that.

Should you watch Glee? If you're Scott, then no. But if you want to hear some great musical numbers, giggle, and indulge in something that isn't necessarily Emmy-caliber but still wholly entertaining, then yes, absolutely.

Friends, Chili's

Yesterday, we had pairs of friends over one at a time. First, one of my best friends and her boyfriend stopped by. Said friend has been in the Netherlands, then France for a total of six months. This is the first time I've seen her since she was in my wedding. Next, we went out to dinner with Justin and Bethany, who then came over for a while. Last came a friend who lives in North Carolina and an old high school friend of Scott's.

All this is to say that the kitten, appropriately, was freaking out over all these new people. She performed some fairly impressive feats for them, including the infamous "couch corner to table" jump maneuver. Now, today, she's a little cranky. She was so keyed up last night that she didn't go to bed until after 1 am, and she woke us up at 10:30. Cats sleep something like 16 hours a day when they're grown; as a kitten, she usually gets 12 hours, so the crankiness is semi-justified. We also blame the fact that she had all her food eaten and water drunk by the time she woke up, which hadn't happened till now. Our little Midna is growing up so fast.

Yesterday, we went to dinner at Chili's, and this compels me to tell you how much I love Chili's.

For those unfamiliar (and I feel sorry for you), Chili's captures the Americana feel that so many restaurants strive for and fall short of. The menu is ideally American, a hodgepodge of entrees and appetizers with descriptors in their names like "club," "Southwestern," "old timer," "crispers," and "explosion." The food is consistently delicious, especially for a relatively cheap restaurant. And best of all, they offer two entrees, an appetizer, and a dessert for 20 bucks.

I went to the UK a while back. The first thing I did after we touched down in Grand Rapids was go to Chili's with my parents and Scott, because I wanted to taste what London could never capture. That, and I added a toddler's worth of weight to my body in Britain, so I could consume just about any portion. (This weight is largely gone now, thankfully). My 21st birthday was spent at Chili's. Heck, Scott and I went to Chili's on our first date. It's just a cheery, tasty, and wholly satisfying restaurant. Beat that, TGIFriday's.

Barney the Seal

Sometimes, I like making stuff up. Had you known me during my freshman year of college, you could attest to this. If someone asked a question to which I did not know the answer, my response would be an elaborate fantasy I put together as I went along. Always, these untruths would be preposterous enough that you knew they were fake. But I like to think they were fun to listen to.

I don't do this nearly as much anymore. But sometimes, late at night, I weave stories of a character of my own invention, Barney the Seal.

Barney is a grown harp seal who lives at the top of a mountain, in some unknown place in the US. His house has a circular floor plan, a fireplace, and a leather arm chair, in which Barney sits and twiddles his fins. He wears a tie and nothing else. (He's a seal. What does he need clothes for?) What makes Barney unique among seals, besides his house, is his ability to answer any question you might ask him. Should you pronounce 'either' with an e or an i sound? Barney knows. Why do people continue living in Michigan when all they do from November through April is complain about how cold it is? Barney can tell you. What is love? What is time? What is space? Once you meet Barney, you'll have your answers.

Sometimes, Barney doesn't have time to answer your question or can't articulate a good response. In these cases, he'll refer you to his cousin Bartholomew, who lives at the top of another mountain in another place. How do you get there? You'll know. Oh, you'll know.

I don't know where Barney came from, or how well developed his story might become over time. I do think he'd fit well in a fantasy novel, especially a spoof fantasy novel. So if you plan to write him into one, please list me in your acknowledgments. That way, the Barney concept won't feel cheated.

Well, hello there.

I've been thinking about procuring a blog devoted to my pop culture-related thoughts for a while now. In fact, that was meant to be this blog's purpose. However, I soon realized that I don't have the discipline to keep a blog singularly focused in such a way. So, for my inaugural post, I thought I'd talk about our cat.


This, my friends, is Midna. Midna is a Virgo from Comstock Park, Michigan. So named for the shadowy helper character in Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess, since we acquired her last Saturday, she already has a clearly defined list of likes and dislikes.


Her most notable like is this thing, a stick with felt strings attached to the end. Take it out, and she goes crazy. We have some replacement strings for when it's completely mutilated (i.e., Friday).


Midna is also a fan of my laptop and, specifically, the keyboard. She has learned how to refresh pages, search blogs, turn music on, off, and up, and instant message Scott.


Mostly, though, she likes Scott.


And she likes me. Dislikes include the Dustbuster and, on occasion, being left in her room alone.

It's worth noting that I've wanted a cat my entire life. However, my father and one of my older brothers are allergic, so there was no way for me to have one, and the most time I ever spent with cats was at friends' houses or Petsmart, where adopt-a-kitties sit behind plated glass and paw at onlookers. Scott, who also prefers cats to dogs, promised that we'd get a cat eventually after we got married and lo and behold, we went to the Kent County Animal Shelter last weekend with Elizabeth the cat-adopting veteran in tow. Within a day, we were the proud owners of our three month old, 2.4 pound, pure black with a single white spot kitten.

And she comes at a perfect time. Until last week, I was working at a terrific company as an intern in their marketing department. Now, I'm on the job hunt again, and having a furry anti-depressant around is a great pick me up whenever necessary.