Die Hard Superlatives

I have just returned from watching the excellent fourth installment in the Die Hard series, Live Free or Die Hard. Who cares if some of the stunts were ridiculously implausible? They always are. But Bruce was his good old snarky self and Timothy Olyphant performed deliciously as the new anti-McClane villain. (Did he lose some weight for the role? He definitely looked skinnier than his Seth Bullock days.)

Anyway, in honor of this glorious movie, and this never-to-be-topped action movie franchise, here are some Die Hard superlatives. Some of these were tough choices. Comments and quibbles welcome.

Best Villain: Hans Gruber (Alan Rickman). This one really could be a three-way tie between Rickman, Jeremy Irons and Olyphant. They all had brilliant on-screen moments. But Rickman's throaty "Ho-Ho-Ho" and "When Alexander..." speech are moments of pure genius. And let's not forget his precious imitation of a sniveling American hostage when he first encounters McClane. Again, genius.

Best Buddy: Zeus Carver (Samuel L. Jackson). Sure, you have to love Al Powell (Reginald VelJohnson), but there was something dynamite about the Willis/Jackson pairing. Zeus ("As in, father of Apollo? Mt. Olympus? Don't fuck with me or I'll shove a lightning bolt up your ass? Zeus!") was by far the most equal and entertaining partner in all of McClane's adventures.

Best Yippee Ki Yay Moment: Live Free or Die Hard. Of course the original is a classic. But the build-up in 4.0 to "the moment" was fantastic. I could have sworn he was going to say it when Mai died, and when he didn't, the anticipation was heightened even further. Sheesh, then the circumstances during which he finally says it are just spectacular. (I won't give it away.)

Best Henchman: Karl (Alexander Godunov). That man just won't die!

Best Use of a Song: "Battle Hymn of the Republic" aka "When Johnny Comes Home," Die Hard With a Vengeance. The extended use of that song in a crucial sequence of events gives me goosebumps every time. Though Run-D.M.C.'s "Christmas in Hollis" is absolutely a close second, with CCR's "Fortunate Son" a somewhat distant third.

Best Agent Johnson: Special Agent Johnson (Robert Davi). Come on, he was in the Goonies!

Best Use of Dennis Franz: Die Hard 2. OK, so I'm throwing Die Hard 2 a bone here. I do really like the sequel, but it doesn't stand out in very many categories. It's the worst of the four movies, and I challenge anyone who thinks otherwise to convince me. But Dennis Franz is always good at portraying the curmudgeonly cop, and does so perfectly here.

Anyone have any others?

Peter Parker Meet Billy Goat Gruff

At tonight's educational and hilarious Physics of Superheroes lecture by U of M professor James Kakalios, I learned something more shocking than Superman's weight on Krypton (3300 pounds) or why Spiderman accidentally snapped his girlfriend Gwen Stacy's neck while attempting to stop her fall from the George Washington Bridge (he stopped her fall too quickly). I learned that scientists are taking spider genes and putting them into goat eggs to enable them to produce spider silk. A goat given this gene will secrete spider silk into its milk, which then can be isolated and used to make any number of existing products hundreds of times stronger, such as tennis rackets, fishing lines, and even body armor.

So, why don't they just use spider silk instead of producing goats that are 1/70,000th spider? Because spiders are too aggressive to be easily and economically farmed. While "spidergoats" can live cheaply and peacefully amongst each other, each farmed spider would need its own little abode to avoid a lot of intraspecies murders. Basically, a spider would take up more room than a goat. I told you spiders were evil.

Notable Numeric Anniversary

All the talk on this here 7/7/07 seems to be about Live Earth or the ridiculous couples who think getting married on such a day will increase their chances of staying together (newsflash: it won't). But today's date has a much cooler significance: July 7, 2007 marks the 77th anniversary of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's death (by heart attack) at the age of seventy...one.

"My life is spent in one long effort to escape from the commonplace of existence. These little problems help me to do so." --Sherlock Holmes, The Red-Headed League

Reunion

(Thanks to Leah for a couple of these photos.)

Qu'est-ce qu'un cercle? Ce n'est point carré.*

Lately I've been engrossed by Mount Holyoke math professor Donal O'Shea's fascinating mathematical history, The Poincaré Conjecture. While the topological discussions are a little over my head (I never did learn much about topology), the writing is accessible and the story fascinating.

For those who aren't familiar with Henri Poincaré and his famous conjecture, here is one way to state it: That every simply connected, compact three-dimensional manifold without boundary is homeomorphic to the three-dimensional sphere. The proof of this conjecture would have a lot to say about the shape of the universe, thus it has fascinated mathematicians and physicists for a century. The Clay Institute even declared it to be one of their seven Millennium Prize Problems, meaning one million dollars is on the line for whoever could offer a proof.

Though many tried and failed, it seems fairly certain that a relatively unknown Russian mathematician, Grigori Perelman, has finally proved the conjecture. Shy and reclusive, Perelman is the perfect hero for this 100-year story of alternately smugly or endearingly obsessed mathematicians. There is a two year period of review before the Clay Institute makes its prize offering official, but those in the know seem confident in Perelman's work. It's a shame Perelman seems to have quit math due to concerns about mathematical ethics and the high level of unwanted publicity he and his discovery received. Still, one Millennium Problem down, six to go.

*A play on words oft-repeated by adolescent French math nerds: What is a circle? It's not a square.

My Absolute Nightmare

Doctor finds spiders in ear of boy.

Ring Them Bells

OK, so Mark has set me up to deliver a vicious retort to his snarling anti-Neko post, and I can sorta oblige. But first, I must make clear that I would never classify myself as a huge Neko Case fan. Yes, I own a few of her albums. Yes, I think she has an amazingly alarming voice and can write some decent songs and even fewer amazing songs (see "I Wish I Was the Moon" or "Deep Red Bells"). But see, I'm a huge fan of people like Kristin Hersh and Martha Wainwright and have proof of my ambivalence to Neko live. In fact, my initial review of Neko live still stands, so here it is again, to serve as my review of her April 7th show:

And then Neko played. She was good. Her cover of "Buckets of Rain" was fantastic. Hearing "I Wish I Was the Moon" and "Deep Red Bells" live was worth a good portion of the ticket price. The rest of the set I could have enjoyed as happily simply hearing the notes come out of my stereo speakers. Martha Wainwright she ain't.

So, while I think Mark's critique is a little harsh, and not quite spot-on, there's a glimmer of truth hidden in his words. Still, it was a great way to spend my birthday and hearing that "inimitable" Neko voice live is always a treat.

On a different note, we had my birthday dinner at Cafe Brenda, a food destination I've been meaning to hit since I've lived in Minneapolis. Believe the hype. The atmosphere was fancier than I'm used to without being snobby, and the food was 1000x better than a pear-flavored Jelly Belly, and you know those green speckled orbs are delicious. I had the ginger glazed mock duck salad and everything about it was perfect -- from the tender, tasty mock duck to the slightly chilled capellini noodles to the uber-flavorful cherry tomatoes. After the salty edamame appetizer, the bread basket, and my entree, there was no room for dessert, but I'm sure it would have been equally delicious. Now I just have to find an excuse to go back.

Genuis? Composer? Shame...

Joe Strummer... you've been through the cleansing fire of punk, only to pick up a few venerial diseases along the way. You're more of an optimist when it comes to fucked-up genius. But you can write wicked-deadly riffs and lyrics.
Take this quiz!

Post Postema

While Major League Baseball has never witnessed a woman umpiring an official regular season game, it is crawling towards that historic moment courtesy of Ria Cortesio, currently a AA league umpire in the Southern League. However, the majors are paying attention, giving Cortesio the nod for the All-Star Futures Game at PNC Park on Sunday. Cortesio was excited, but stated rather humbly:

Until I work a regular-season Major League baseball game, I haven't done anything. I don't want to be a pioneer. I just want to do my job.

Of course, Cortesio isn't the first woman to ump in professional baseball. The best prospect for MLB success was Pam Postema in the 1980s, who was royally screwed out of a well deserved post in the majors. Having been denied the privilege of watching Postema call balls and strikes, we can at least read her witty, revealing memoir You've Got to Have Balls to Make It in This League.

Some day it'll happen for real. And, Jesus Christ, why not? As Cubs star Derrek Lee says:

It's awesome. I think it's about time. Female eyes are as good as male eyes. Why can't they be umpires?

The Stuff That Dreams Are (Still) Made Of

In a not-so-surprising imitation of Dashiell Hammett's novel and the classic Bogart flick, someone has stolen a replica of the Maltese Falcon statue from a restaurant that Hammett used to frequent during his writing days. The restaurant's owner is offering a $25,000 reward for its safe return. If I owned something with Elisha Cook Jr.'s autograph on it and it were stolen, I'd be pretty peeved too.

Top 14 Albums of 2006

I'm probably breaking a few rules of end-of-the-year listmaking: I'm a little late for the end of the year; I'm including a movie soundtrack, an EP, a Christmas album, and a posthumously released album of outtakes and alternate versions; and my list contains the very round number of 14 albums. I guess it's true that we asymptotes just barely toe the line. Or are just slightly behind the curve. Or *insert dorky math joke here*.

1. The Gossip – Standing in the Way of Control. The title track blows my mind every freakin' time I hear it. "Yr Mangled Heart," "Keeping You Alive" and "Listen Up!" -- I need to dance...I need to dance...I need to dance. Wait, I thought I hated disco? Heck, if I were alive and living in Chicago, I would have participated in Disco Demolition Night. Only Beth and Hannah could get me to convert. P.S. To whom it concerns, I want "Coal to Diamonds" played at my memorial service. Oh, and I want to be cremated.

2. Tom Waits – Orphans. This thing's a beast (three monstrous discs!), and I haven't quite digested it all yet. But here's what I know: Waits makes a better Elvis than Elvis ("Lie to Me"); is a serviceable Shane MacGowan ("Bottom of the World"); cooks up highly effective anti-depressants ("Sea of Love" and the Ramones cover "The Return of Jackie and Judy") and depressants ("Rains on Me"); and far surpasses Bush in his politics ("Road to Peace" – one of the collection's very best). And all that just from the first disc. I need a nap.

3. Erase Errata – Nightlife. This album has steadily grown on me since I saw them live. "Aim the satellite down from a penthouse bubble / Cause we're afraid of being robbed / Or catching something / While you're too broke to not commit a crime / Your federal government knows that this is true." Maybe they don't need Sara after all.

4. Camera Obscura – Let's Get Out of This Country. This Scottish outfit has quietly crept onto my short list of favorite bands. With stunningly beautiful vocals and alternately heartbreaking and uplifting lyrics, LGOOTC continues their stream of classic albums. From "Dory Previn": "Fed up with girls in pretty dresses / And boys who want to teach them a lesson." From "The False Contender": "I once had a love / That soon had enough / Cause he was a false contender." From "Country Mile:" "The singer in the band made me want to cry." Yup.

5. Morrissey – Ringleader of the Tormentors. The popular tagline on this one seemed to be Morrissey + Sex = Tasty Music. Is the equation really that simple? I doubt it, seeing as how he's created more than a few excellent tunes while celibate and melancholy. His new happiness may be responsible for this record's certain glow, if you will, but let's not give too much credit to the power of love (or of the "explosive kegs" between his legs). Morrissey can approach mediocrity and excellence at any given time – luckily for us, with Ringleader he's definitely aiming for the latter.

6. Leonard Cohen I'm Your Man Motion Picture Soundtrack. Let me tell you, Bono should be banned from music. If he did not appear on this album, it would have shot up my list to, like, number five. But his 40-second "performance" on the very last track is the definition of the word "travesty." So, stop the CD before you hit track 16 and you'll be okay. Especially note Martha Wainwright's contributions: "Tower of Song" and "The Traitor." And Perla Batalla's "Bird on a Wire." Goddamn. Teddy Thompson also puts in an unexpectedly nice turn on "Tonight Will Be Fine." Mark just loves Nick Cave's "I'm Your Man." (That's a big fat lie.) Antony brings down the house on "If It Be Your Will." And who doesn't want to hear Rufus do a calypso "Everybody Knows" or sing about receiving head on an unmade bed?

7. Tanya Donelly – This Hungry Life. I kinda felt bad when I didn't like Donelly's Whiskey Tango Ghosts. I mean, I despised it. Which, given how much I love everything else Donelly has ever touched, seemed almost impossible. Or definitive evidence of my evil nature. So I was really, really ecstatic when I heard the opening chords of the first track (an utterly perfect song called "New England") and then the rest of This Hungry Life's brilliance (including a surprising cover of George Harrison's "Long Long Long"). The Earth returned to spinning on its axis, I was no longer an evil person, and I could excuse Whiskey as a bizarre anomaly in Donelly's otherwise spotless track record.

8. The Exploding Hearts – Shattered. The liner notes for this album are a heartfelt tribute to a band that's one of the saddest rock n roll stories from the past few years. Obviously, I didn't know any of the three band members who died in that July 2003 car crash, so I can't really join in the mourning of them personally. But I can mourn the lost music that these boys (yes, they were just boys) would have provided for decades to come. They were master power pop songwriters and energetic and skilled performers. This collection of previously unreleased songs, early singles, and alternate takes is a sparkling glimpse into their genius.

9. The Coup – Pick a Bigger Weapon. It must be hard to write and perform as many politically-inspired songs as The Coup without it becoming stale. Their secret must be that while they care about serious things, they also have a lot of fun. As Mark noted, "Laugh/Love/Fuck" is a standout track. It's also a brilliant prescription for anyone saddened by the state of the country.

10. Bob Dylan – Modern Times. This is far from Dylan's best album, but even his lesser material is better than most of what's produced these days. "Rollin' and Tumblin'" is a body-shaker, "Beyond the Horizon" and "Nettie Moore" are pretty sweet, and "Spirit on the Water" is another good memorial service candidate. So the man makes my Top 14 of 2006 and every album he ever makes will continue to make this list until someone can prove to me that he doesn't deserve to be here. Good luck.

11. 50 Foot Wave – Free Music. What would a Top 14 Albums list be without a Kristin Hersh appearance? Sure, it's only five songs long. Sure, I couldn't actually get it for free because I don't have the computer technology. But it's still Kristin Hersh and still 50 Foot Wave, and this EP delivers. 'Specially on "Pretty Ugly" and "The Fuchsia Wall."

12. Aimee Mann – One More Drifter in the Snow. Though I love Christmas music, I really can't listen to it year-round, and that's the only reason this album was relegated to the bottom three. "You're a Mean One Mr. Grinch" (featuring Grant Lee Phillips) is dead on and her spare "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" is one of the best versions I've heard. Plus, Mark predicts that "Whatever Happened to Christmas" will join the ranks of Christmas standards – and he's never wrong about Christmas music.

13. Justin Timberlake – Futuresex/Lovesounds. I get enough crap from my co-workers for having a past that includes loving NKOTB, so I couldn't put JT any higher on this list. But he deserves to be on it. "My Love" makes me want to sing. "Sexyback" makes me want to dance. And "Futuresex/Lovesound" makes me want to fu-, um, dance. Yeah, dance. I'm psyched to be seeing him live this Saturday.

14. Yeah Yeah Yeahs – Show Your Bones. A slight disappointment, this record just barely scraped it's way into the Top 14. Only after repeated listens did certain songs grow on me, including "Gold Lion," "Phenomena," and "Honeybear." And "Dudley" is one of their best songs ever. Still, better luck next time.

So, it was a decent year. By the way, I'm not planning on dying any time soon, but watching Six Feet Under makes me want to have my post-death wishes known. So, here they are: cremation, ashes scattered off the coast of Rockport, MA (not ME), and good music played at my memorial service. Simple enough, don't you think?

Wilbury Twist

To bide some time until I can post my Top Albums of 2006, I've added Wilbury Twist to my blogroll. Yes, it is a site dedicated to the Traveling Wilburys! Apparently, there's going to be some re-mastering of the albums as well as the release of some never-before-heard tracks. Nothing will ever touch "Tweeter and the Monkeyman," but it's still exciting. (Via an email from Mark.)

All That Philip Pullman Allows

I've never been one to shy away from melodrama -- on screen, that is; I'd hate to live within one myself. So I've kept a little space in my brain for the name "Douglas Sirk" ever since a college media studies professor (shout out to Carol!) hailed him as the King of the genre. Color saturation, upper middle class romance, high society, the whole shebang. Not until tonight's screening of All That Heaven Allows, however, had I actually witnessed the beauty of a Sirk movie.

Jane Wyman and Rock Hudson are a dynamite couple on screen, sure. And the gist of the story is one I can personally relate to -- the abandonment of a socially sanctioned path for one less sophisticated but more personally fulfilling. But the cinematography is the true star of the film. The colors are absolutely stunning, the subtle tricks of the camera cry out for film students everywhere to take note, and the settings spark an envy to live in a wintry old mill that you never knew you had (at least that's how it worked for me). Never has pheasant hunting in the snow looked more inviting. Definitely a must see.

P.S. Everyone should go out and read Philip Pullman's "His Dark Materials" trilogy. The man is a genius.

Ain't Misbehavin'

Make me laugh.

Why Not Slide?

Thanks to my bro for pointing me to this Guardian article about Carsten Höller's slides that are currently being enjoyed by folks of all ages in Tate Modern's Turbine Hall. While museum visitors may view these slides as a novelty, Höller sees them as a "serious architectural proposition." And why not? Slides would make office jobs more exciting and fun-filled; who doesn't want to see the boss in a 3-piece suit sliding on his ass to meet the Board? And what mall wouldn't benefit from the installation of slides? They'd be more efficient than escalators or elevators, that's for sure. And quite attractive, as Höller's Tate Modern example shows. So, how about it? Who wants to join the newly established Minnesotans for a Swifter Society?

Have You Pooped Yet?

That was one of the more interesting signs I encountered on my 26.2 mile journey through Minneapolis and St. Paul during yesterday's Twin Cities Marathon. Thankfully, I hadn't yet pooped, nor did I have to throughout my entire 5 hour, 23 minute, 29 second run. (Thank you, bowels.) The whole experience was simultaneously wonderful and hellish and I couldn't write a coherent or complete post about it if I tried. But, here are the most important anecdotes and observations from my first (and perhaps last) marathon:

• Waiting for the bus at 6:40 a.m. with my white marathon sweats bag, I was confronted by an eager beaver of a young lad who asked if the 4 bus was due soon. I saw his identifying sweats bag and responded that it should be arriving in a few minutes. We then bonded over being first timers and not getting much sleep the night before. While he's regaling me with tales of a silly dream he had (something about a friend damaging his parents' car, which is an Acura in the dream, but they have a mini-van in real life, so it was like, so ridiculous), a nice couple pulled up to the curb and offered us a ride to the Metrodome. We accepted. Shout out to the nice couple.
• The view of downtown Minneapolis from the starting gate in the early morning hour was quite astounding.
• There were so many spectators and volunteers along the way to help the runners along. From cheering to handing out water and lube (now what was that for?) to awarding medals and finisher shirts to blasting music on their front lawns, they all rocked. Truly awesome.
  
• I missed seeing Mark (and he missed seeing me) all three times that it was possible: at Lake of the Isles, Minnehaha Falls, and when I crossed the finish line. Them's the breaks. But I'll have you know he was a great post-marathon help once we did meet up at the State Capitol, supplying tissues, water, energy bars, bus fare, and a much needed hug. And what a sport to traipse all around the city on public transportation for a 5 second glimpse of little old me gasping for breath.
• While some runners write their names on their shirts so spectators can yell out, "Go Stan!," my identifying characteristic turned out to be my trusty Red Sox hat. Especially during Twins playoff fever it was a risky fashion decision, but I appreciated all the personalized cheers -- even the nasty ones: Go Boston! Yay Red Sox! Yankees Rule! Wait Till Next Year! Red Sox Suck! The "Wait Till Next Year" guy will forever be in my debt for making me laugh when I felt like crying.
• I heard that this course was supposed to be flat, but no one tells you that the last 5.5 miles are graded inclines! Seriously, most of the course in St. Paul was like one long hill. All along Summit Ave. spectators would yell, "Just wait till you get to the top of the hill," but not one of them informed me that the top of the hill was the 26th mile.
• By the 16th mile, I was getting doubtful of my ability to finish. This was also about the time that I decided it would be my last marathon. Finally, though, I reached the 21st mile and realized I could walk the rest of the race and still finish within the 6 hour time limit. I felt much better after that realization and did walk quite a bit of the last 5 miles. And reconsidered my anti-marathon stance.
  
• And then I reached the top of the hill! The view was spectacular and I could see the finish line and was inspired by my accomplishment to start running again so I could cross it on a strong note. (OK, like many of the runners out there, I didn't want any of the spectators at the finish line to know that I had been walking the last 5 miles. That's really why I ran to the finish.)
• Like the dork that I am, I made an ass of myself when I saw Sven Sundgaard (of KARE 11 Weather fame) in the finish area. I was so giddy about having made it the whole way that I sauntered up to him with a goofy grin and said, "Thanks for the great weather!" Hyuck, hyuck. He gracefully chuckled and said, "You're welcome." Then I made my exit. Let me tell you, that little Sven is built. You would never guess he had all those muscles under those drab suits. Or that he was only 25! Check out Mr. Sundgaard's results here.
• And then it was over. I gathered up my medal, finisher shirt, and sweats bag and met Mark under the 'D' sign in the family waiting area. We boarded the bus home and I hobbled around the rest of the day like an old woman. Actually, I'm still hobbling around. But it was worth it. And maybe I'll do it again -- once I forget how much Mile 17 sucked.
  

1971 World Series, Game 3

Pirates vs. Orioles, bottom of the seventh, the Orioles' Mike Cuellar blushing on the mound after Roberto Clemente forced an errant throw to first with his high comebacker and trademark sprint down to first:

Cuellar, flustered, now walked Willie Stargell on four pitches, bringing up first baseman Bob Robertson with runners on first and second. Robertson to that point was hitless in the series and had lined out and struck out twice in three previous at-bats against Cuellar. He took the first pitch for a ball, then fouled off the next. From the Pirates dugout, Danny Murtaugh noticed that Brooks Robinson was cheating by two or three steps, as he had said he would against the big right-handed pull hitter, playing deep and close to the line. Murtaugh gestured to third-base coach Frank Oceak, who flashed a sign down to the plate. Robertson gave no recognition that he received the sign, so Oceak went through the motions again. From second base, Clemente sensed the confusion and raised his hands over his head, attempting to call time. But it was too late; Cuellar was in his windup. In came a screwball, a few inches outside, and out it went, soaring into the seats in right center. Only as Robertson touched home plate and Stargell congratulated him with the words "That's the way to bunt the ball!" did he realize what he had done. "Guess I missed a sign," he said sheepishly when he reached the dugout. "Possibly," responded Murtaugh, smiling.

Excerpt from David Maraniss' excellent biography of Clemente, Clemente, which is really more a book of baseball and social history than a strict bio. After reading this book, I now understand why my R.I. born and bred uncle is such a huge Pirates fan.

Mama Bird

I hate Danceteria. Due to First Ave.'s unfortunate 'rhea curfew, Thursday night's Erase Errata / The Gossip show felt hurried and unnecessarily abbreviated. While openers Mika Miko would have benefited from a shorter set, Erase Errata and The Gossip were forced off the stage to please the nicely dressed Danceteria masses after all-too-brief sets.

I've definitely heard Erase Errata sound better – on their first two studio albums. Their performance certainly exhibited what happens when a pivotal band member (whose guitar pretty much defined their sound for me) leaves to pursue other opportunities. Still, I enjoyed the original band's remnants and the resulting sound enough to want to seek out their new album. Plus, I dug their style – were they going for '80s trailer park?

Now, on to Beth Ditto. Having eaten only a half hour before strutting her stuff for the eager crowd, Ditto suffered from recurring regurgitation throughout the set ("I've vomited three times already") – but dutifully re-swallowed so she could keep on singing for us. The other two band members (Brace Paine and Hannah Blilie) were also energetic and entertaining. And, Mark's right, Hannah's probably the hottest drummer around.

Dicks for Dames

A recent Christian Science Monitor article picks up on a trend that has me excited, but also a little worried. It notes the remarkable increase in the number of women mystery writers (good thing), but especially focuses on those whose detectives are "not-so-hardboiled" (bad thing). The article's overall message is that women don't want to read that nasty, crude hardboiled stuff (the genius of Hammett, Chandler, and Cain be damned). Instead, most new mystery series written for women are known, for real, as "cozies" or "Malice Domestic" and feature accidental sleuths: hotel owners, cooks, carpenters, knitters, etc., who repeatedly find themselves in situations just begging for their amateur detective skills.

I agree with a former mystery store owner who "criticizes some female authors for their 'trivialization' of women. This includes talking down to them and having them deal with less-serious problems." Sure, some women will enjoy the Jessica Fletcher style mystery, but many more will appreciate a complex, serious mystery -- though perhaps with a little less misogyny than is found in your classic hardboiled detective story.

According to the article, women crime writers are better at developing characters, featuring relationships, and capturing "real life problems" than men writers. Says author Elaine Viets,

The hard-boiled male is often the critical darling. But I believe that the hard-boiled thriller is old-fashioned now. The really difficult books are the books about everyday relationships, about maintaining a job, maintaining a family. It's easy to make a thriller interesting. It's much harder to keep people interested in ordinary life, yet women have that skill to keep people reading for 300 pages. Women don't always write grand books, big thrillers. But they do the Jane Austen kind of book - the book about society.

I'm all for character development, but if that entails touchy-feely details about why a character must visit her great-aunt every Sunday, I'd rather it be left out. And relationships? Please. Just set up the mystery and solve it -- no need for extended forays into the character's lovelife (though an occasional mention is acceptable: Cara Black, Dana Stabenow, and Sara Paretsky, for example, all do it well). Plus, is there really anything worse than comparing contemporary women mystery writers to Jane Austen?

Still, I guess I'm happy that so many women crime writers are doing well. I just wish more of them featured strong, serious women who solve real mysteries on purpose, not because a dead body happens to fall into their cozy domestic laps. I also wish their ranks didn't include those who write "chick-lit mysteries," in which "Prada-type girls who happen to solve mysteries when they're not working in their wonderful Manhattan jobs." Ugh.

[For local T.C. folks, an added bonus: the article includes a few quotes from a co-owner of my favorite mystery shop, Once Upon a Crime.]

Five Weird Opinions

Inspired by Mark's Five Weird Opinions, which were inspired by Nate's Five Weird Opinions, here are my very own:

1. The Beatles < Herman's Hermits. Yeah, I went there. If we're using Nate's gut feeling of "whose records would you rather listen to," there's no contest for me. Of course I understand the Beatles' "importance" to rock history, but their albums just don't appeal to me. Their early pop records rate higher than the Beach Boys, sure, but it's still pop. Maybe I've heard the songs too many times to enjoy them, I don't know. Regardless, the humor ("Mrs. Brown, You've Got a Lovely Daughter," "I'm Henry the VIII, I Am,") and potential creepiness ("Leaning on a Lamp Post") of Peter Noone and his pals gets me every time and has sealed their number 1 slot in my list of favorite British Invasion groups.


2. The Spaghetti Incident? is my favorite Guns N' Roses album. Maybe that's not saying much about the band, seeing as how it's an album of covers and all, but I find myself holding up this album as a highlight of their career more than any other when I find myself embroiled in Def Leppard vs. GN'R debates. (I mean, really, is there any contest?) There's no doubt in my mind that their only non-punk cover on the album -- the Skyliners' "Since I Don't Have You" -- is one of the top three cover songs ever. Other highlights are The Damned's "New Rose," the UK Subs' "Down on the Farm," and their ever-so-sad version of Johnny Thunders' "You Can't Put Your Arms Around a Memory." I'm not so obsessive a GN'R fan that I believe every one of their songs is brilliant -- every one of their original albums has its own flaws. Which is perhaps why The Spaghetti Incident? is so incredible - each song is worth multiple listens.


3. Lush were perfectly average. I stumbled across Lush in the mid-90s, thanks to WBRU over-playing their single "Ladykillers" and then sponsoring a free concert at Waterplace Park in Providence. I own all of their studio albums (plus a single or two), but I'll be damned if I can tell one from the other (with the notable exception of Lovelife, which I played until it shattered during my sophomore and junior years of high school). It's straight-up shoegazer music that makes for more than adequate mellow background noise, but rarely does a single track grab you and force you to listen. Miki Berenyi and Emma Anderson prove that beautiful, harmonizing vocals can be too much of a good thing.


4. Empire Burlesque is one of Bob Dylan's three best albums (and album covers). After a number of recording sessions that saw musicians entering and exiting multiple studios, Dylan ended up with a classic album, critics and Billboard charts be damned. "Tight Connection to My Heart" (featuring Sly & Robbie) is as sing-able as any song from Blood on the Tracks. "Seeing the Real You At Last" and "I'll Remember You" are two more classics and the closing track "Dark Eyes" is pure Dylan genius. Most of you probably have never heard this album - I encourage you to do so right now. The '80s cover art is sooo hot.
   


5. Radiohead's OK Computer is brilliant. No, you haven't taken a time machine back to 1997, a year when this wasn't so weird an opinion. But lately it seems like no one's a fan of Radiohead anymore and people are repulsed by the very idea of listening to OK Computer. When did this about-face happen? I'll leave that question to the pop culture professionals. All I know is that OK Computer is one of the most brilliant albums I own. (It also spawned at least one of the best music videos ever created, Paranoid Android.) Honestly, it's easier for me to pick out tracks that are low-lights rather than highlights (I'm talking to you, "Fitter Happier"). I don't expect people with anti-Radiohead biases to shift their opinions anytime soon. I'm perfectly content with the knowledge that I'm right on this one.