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A.V. Club: For the Love of the Game

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YOU GUYS, baseball’s been very, very good to me. ‘Specially these last few weeks.

Sure, the Nationals are all but a lock for the division title, but the Braves are leading in the Wild Card race, and Chipper Jones is destroying expectations in his final season in the majors, and I’m optimistic we won’t have a replay of last year’s September debacle. I’ve confidence in my boys of summer.

Also, these. Just – these.

Let’s Have a Party, Phanatic’ll Dance the Horah

Y’all know how I feel about Phillie Phanatic. And this could not have been more perfect; the Braves at Citizens Bank Park, celebrating Jewish Heritage Night, and Phanatic dancing the Horah to the Hava Nagila. It’s so many things that fascinate and amuse me, all coupled and in technicolor and gorgeous and perfect.

And, also, let’s not forget Aly Raisman’s London floor routine, to a surprisingly touching “Hava Nagila.”

Frenchy Filches Fan’s Fare

Link here.

Full disclosure: I approach alliteration like I do Pringles – once you pop, you can’t stop.

But, seriously, this video is hysterical. During a Royals road game in my fair city – on the South Side, at US Cellular – Jeff Francoeur took a break from (occasionally) shagging fly balls to steal some popcorn from an unsuspecting fan. The video clip does absolute justice to Frenchy’s cheeky attitude, one I , as a hometown gal and a Braves stalwart, truly miss.

And for good measure, an aquatic Delorean graces McCovey Cove.

About a Girl: The Gaslight Edition

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Happy summer, folks!, and greetings from Evanston.

It’s hot as hell out here, with even the breeze coming in from the lake doing little to abate the stifling heat. But it’s pretty, rull pretty, with mid-afternoon rainstorms and gorgeously encroaching sunsets and rippling tides. The coastline (can you call lakeside beaches “coastline”?) is astounding. I love summer ’round here. I’ve barely entered the city limits at all – hell, I haven’t gotten downtown but once this summer, surprisingly – but there’s so much to do in Evanston on a budget, so much to enjoy, even if the best of times are marred by itchy mosquito bites. My dear friend Jimmye and I have embarked on a grand old tradition to beat the summer heat. We delinquents are breaching the delicate Evanston-Wilmette divide and dragging our less-than-divine North Shore tourist butts to the Wilmette beaches. And it’s glorious. We trek up to Wilmette, biking along Sheridan, past the looming Bahai Temple and down through Gillson Park to the beach. The water is clear there, the sand fine and warm, the quasi-boardwalk pocked by generally well-behaved kids. It’s actually incredible, and it’s truly reminding me of why I love summer.

And, y’know, more than that, I think I’m loving the experience because it reminds me of a little movie I used to love called “Now and Then.” When it came out in ’95, critics called “Now and Then” the female “Stand By Me.” And while that’s hilariously untrue – one’s a classic, one’s a laughably admirable sleepover flick – it remains one of the most beloved films from my youth. And my little bike jaunts with Jimmye remind me a bit of this –


Clip from “Now and Then”

I like to think that, if we were to actually reenact “Now and Then,” I’d get to be the character of Roberta (Christina Ricci), the tomboy who tapes her breasts and flirts with and then (spoiler alert!) snogs dreamy Devon Sawa. But that would mean I grow up to be Rosie O’Donnell, and I’m not sure I’m on board with that if it can be helped. Regardless, last night, Jimmye and I caught a bit of an a capella group’s set live in the park amphitheater. Ac•Rock, “Chicago’s premier acappella rock ‘n roll singing group,” as per their website, played a few pretty fun songs, a number of which would have fit right in with the whole “Now and Then” thing. It was fairly perfect.

To you, all of you, happy summer! I hope you’re enjoying it as much as I am. And be sure to enjoy tomorrow’s moderate temperatures. I, for one, will likely be beachside, bitten and buried in schoolwork. For now, I’m off to find out a little something about Dear Johnny.
Au revoir, Simone!

A.V. Club: “Girls,” Episode 4 – “Hannah’s Diary”

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I’ve been enthralled with the media backlash surrounding HBO’s much-hyped new series, Girls, which just aired its fourth episode. The show, recently renewed for a second season, follows four (rather spoiled) twenty-somethings in the murky professionalism and personal lives of post-college existence. It started off as a bit of a tedious exercise in establishing privileged youth as an un-contemptible and relatable group of protagonists. In the first episode, Hannah, the primary protagonist, portrayed by series creator and writer Lena Dunham, is cut off financially by her parents. At 24, her parents are through supporting her New York quasi-hipster lifestyle, and, in the series pilot, force her to either demand pay from her unglamorous internship or find something with a real salary.

The show’s received an absurd amount of criticism from all sorts of sources, emphasizing the show’s lack of cast diversity, its narcissism and its niche-y plots – who cares about the plights of privileged white girls other than privileged white girls? While I can certainly understand the criticism, I also appreciate Dunham’s defense; she writes what she knows, and, frankly, this is what she knows. More than that, I find the show incredibly sincere. While the characters lament their sexual fever dreams and their continued unemployment, they’re frank, humorous and flawed.

Hannah Tells Adam What She Wants

The fourth episode, “Hannah’s Diary,” really sold me on the show. In one particular scene (link above, too frustrated to embed), Hannah asserts herself to her casual (and often retch-worthy) boyfriend-ish, Adam, and, in an unsuccessful attempt to end the relationship, she tells him what she wants. I have rewatched this particular scene no less than 12 times in the last three days; Dunham managed to capture precisely what I wished to say to my murky beau, The Teacher’s Pet, in the throes of a complicated week, and her touching and delicate performance really sold me on the agony her character felt. The last line, paired with a trembling lip and a tearful intonation, nearly bowled me over –

“I really care about you, and I don’t want to anymore because it feels too shitty for me.”

I don’t want to go too much into the particulars of my situation, but I like to think this performance inspired me, in even the most tenuous of ways, to demand more, and, truly, avoid the same sort of resolution Hannah finds at the conclusion of the clip. That sort of pained and earnest emotion is exceptionally trying, and I think Dunham played it so well. I think this show is really finding its stride and warrants, at the very least, a chance, criticism aside.

A.V. Club: “Excuses” with the Echo Chamber Orchestra

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Let me preface this (ever-so-quick) post by saying that this particular song is one I’ve loved since it’s initial release. I’m not two years behind on the gravy train or anything that embarrassing, though I am just now stumbling upon this particular recording of it. The Morning Benders are one of my favorite bands out there right now, and this orchestral, Spector-esque Wall of Sound technique is really jiving with this track. It doesn’t hurt the band’s credibility that Girls frontman Christopher Owens makes an appearance. That makes me smile.

Also, Chris Chu’s explanation of the song’s meaning as the credits roll is positively adorable.

Happy watchin’ – hope you like this as much as I do.

xo,co

A.V. Club: The Ballad of Liz Lemon

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Phillie Phanatic and Liz Lemon on NBC's "30 Rock"

I’ve never been one of those gals who gabs endlessly about my deep connection with Liz Lemon. I mean, the woman’s hilarious, a true comic heroine, but never before have I felt so tied to her. Until now.

Last night, NBC Thursday aired two “30 Rock” episodes, the first a continuation of last week’s plot and the second, the positively hysterical “The Ballad of Kenneth Parcell.” And it was, far and away, some of the best minutes of television I’ve seen in quite some time. Mostly, the latter had me rolling – actually rofl’ing – because of two key things.

First, Jack brought Phillie Phanatic to the office as part of the one year business-versary of Kabletown’s acquisition of GE Sheinhardt NBC Universal. Phillie Phanatic, y’all. If I were ever to get a major sports team’s mascot tattooed on my body, it would absolutely that guy (tramp stamp, tongue furled into the mouth-thing). I am so pleased that The Best Mascot in Sports had a cameo – with speech. PHILLIE PHANATIC SPEAKS!, though it’s a little disappointing he, it seems, is in fact a he. Sorry, Liz.

In the same two-minute clip, Jack rips on “TGS,” citing the show’s recent poor quality. The skit they cut to? TRACY MORGAN AS JUDGE ITO. The five-year-old version of me (and the stuffed animal I still sleep with named after the Simpson trial judge) is jumping up and down and clapping in utter joy.

Enjoy the clip at the link below, as I can’t get embedding to work right now, and I’m grumpy with it.
http://www.hulu.com/embed/reZz0x7xLakCTMd-mu6y5g/690/833

A.V. Club: All right, all right, all right

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If there’s one individual who has remained firmly rooted in the recesses of my heart for decades (seriously!), it’s Butch Walker. The musician/producer/songwriter/memoirist (squee!) has had an illustrious career spanning many years, and he’s now a go-to producer for any number of modern acts. The video for his newest single, “Synthesizers,” with the Black Widows, is downright hysterical. Matthew McConaughey reprises the role of David Wooderson from 1993’s “Dazed and Confused,” and the ‘hey is in true form here. He sports his trademark sleazy handlebar, the rolled-up sleeves and even a slight paunch, macking on the (underage) ladies. The part that had me rolling was the mini-piano playing – because tiny piano means party! -, but the whole thing is a fantastic complement to the track. Check it out below.

And, for good measure, be sure to check out Walker’s parody of the “Reading Rainbow” theme, released in October as a book trailer for his memoir, Drinking With Strangers. The video is embedded below, and the book, too, is a real treat. Here’s a teaser: Find out how Walker could have derailed the Creed train!

Happy watching/trumpet-playing.

A.V. Club: Happy Life Day, Y’all

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I must confess: I love Christmas.

I love hot chocolate and snowmen and giant marshmallows and gaudy light displays and crackling fires and hysterically overwrought (and often heartwarming) TV specials and Leslie Knope’s giftgiving. And I love the smell of a fresh-cut fir and the comfort of a cableknit sweater. And, most of all, I love this:

This guy, the storied (and oft-shat upon) Star Wars Holiday Special, has it all. From Chewbacca’s family (with my main man, Lumpy) and a Bea Arthur sing-along to the introduction of Boba Fett and a pseudo-psychadelic Jefferson Starship performance, this 1978 television special is a total gem from start to finish; Harrison Ford has long evaded questions about it, which is no surprise considering his tearjerking performance (“You’re…like family to me!”). Enjoy.

I was gearing up to write a post about the joy of modern Christmas music, but, let’s face it – come tomorrow, you’ll all be sick and tired of it all. Below, though, you’ll find my two favorite Christmas songs.


Jimmy Eat World, “Last Christmas”
From the O.C.’s “A Very Merry Chrismukkah” album (and the Wham! original)


Mariah Carey, “All I Want For Christmas is You”
(and, one of these days, I’ll tell you all why I like Mariah so damn much)

Maybe someday soon I’ll get a Christmas like this.
Because, I should admit, these are the window dressings I’ve always wanted.

For now, the happiest of holidays to you and yours. Merry Christmas, if that’s what you’re into, Happy Life Day to the wookies, Happy (halfway through) Hanukkah, et. al. See you all soon enough.

A.V. Club: Ferris Wheel Confessions

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But seriously.

I’ve spent the last year changing zip codes and time zones every few months, and, while it’s been something of an adventure, it’s nice to have roots somewhere. Atlanta, for all intents and purposes, is that place. Sure, all of my stuff is tossed in haphazardly labeled boxes or strewn in loosely tied dry cleaning bags, and my father has converted my bedroom into his walk-in closet, but it’s the only place I’ve lived in for any substantial period of time. Plus, there’s this real fun (and real, real hairy) guy who likes to bury his head into the couch beside me – and he likes to snuggle, though sometime I hope he’ll return the head rubs – and there are some of the normal creature comforts.

But, as all of you are surely aware, I just finished a three-month tenure in San Francisco, Calif., that bounty of wealth, fog and endless shorelines. In three plus years in Chicago, I found a true sense of home; granted, I had the built-in social networks afforded by being enrolled in a university, but Chicago was, too, a city I could master (and one I cannot wait to return to, but that bucket list is forthcoming). San Francisco was slower to warm to; I fell instantly in love with the city and its gorgeous views, with the rolling hills and the truly stellar burritos, but I didn’t quite learn to call it home. My love affair was brief, if only because I am not yet in the professional and/or emotional position to be a true San Franciscan. It’s, I’ve found, a late-20s and beyond sort of town, whose inhabitants need flexible incomes to be young and in love. I was a poor, if incredibly happy, editorial intern. My time there was reformative, giving me the strength and drive to write again, rebuilding my self-confidence and sculpting my calves (you should seriously see these things; they’re basically registered weapons), but it wasn’t home.

Nevertheless, I left with a cavalcade of exceptional memories; I can’t begin to chronicle them here, but I’m sure you’ll read them woven into future essays. For now, I’ll leave you with a couple of the ones caught on tape.

In October, I won a pair of Treasure Island Music Festival weekend passes from the Bay Bridged by submitting a reworked version of “Patch Adams” starring The Hold Steady. The festival was incredible and gave me glimpses into sets from The Hold Steady, Death Cab, The Head and the Heart, Stephen Malkmus & the Jicks and The Naked and Famous, among so, so many more. But the crowning, uh, achievement, I guess, of the weekend was landing a role in the Ferris Wheel Confessions, brought to the festival jointly by the Bay Bridged and Audyssey. Basically, if you agree to participate, and if you’re one of the few who sign up immediately, you get a free ride on the 60-foot Ferris Wheel; during your ten or so minute ride, you’re asked a handful of questions about your musical proclivities (the more embarrassing, the better), and they capture your responses on film. Post-festival, they mash together all the best moments and release two videos, a teaser and a longer form. Not to brag or whatevs, but I’m featured pretty prominently in both, embedded below. Look out for the girl with the bright, neon yellow hoodie, with hair all tousled (sex-ay) and glasses askew. Gents, the line starts here.

Ferris Wheel Confessions, The Teaser:

Ferris Wheel Confession, The Extended Edition:

A.V. Club: A Motown Tribute to Nickelback

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Happy middle o’ the night!

I’m in the throes of a sleepless night and taking a bit of a break from writing and transcribing for, uh, some more writing. So I’ll make this quick.

Last week, I confessed to my dear friend Scott that I, despite all of my musical snobbery, don’t hate Nickelback. See, Scott, amongst all of the Nickelback/NFL drama, has started a pretty interesting survey…eh, well, I’d rather not give too much away, but I’m confident it will be awesome. Regardless, the blogosphere’s been vomiting Nickelback anathemas all week, but this video in particular captivated my attention, and it nearly convinced me that my minor nostalgic fascination is actually a-okay. The video’s fairly self-explanatory, but I dare you to complain about it. It’s like they’ve removed all that is Canadian!

Happy watching.

A.V. Club: “New Romance”

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Ah, funny music videos. How I’ve missed you.


Miles Fisher, “New Romance” [NSFW]

Miles Fisher‘s video for “New Romance” is both hilarious and gut-clenching – and, in its case, those are two distinct descriptions. The video cleverly mashes “Saved by the Bell” with “Final Destination,” incorporating the day-glo neon nostalgia of the former with the “everyone dies grotesquely” mentality of the latter. The result is a chuckle-inducing visual gag with familiar faces and the deadpan melodrama of Jessie Spano’s pill-popping breakdown. Miles Fisher takes the reins as a Zack Morris-like heartthrob, with Nick D’Agosto (“Election,” “Rocket Science”) and David Koechner (“Anchorman,” “The Office,” ten thousand other small roles) supporting. And, yes, in case you were wondering – they are all in “Final Destination 5,” released Friday.

The video is particularly significant to me, as the track is co-written and produced by Rooney‘s Robert Schwartzman, the star of my prepubescent romantic fantasies. The song certainly rings of Schwartzman’s catchy, breezy production style, and, sounding like the perfect complement to a mix CD for a summer crush, makes me yearn for the early days of Rooney and Phantom Planet, Schwartzman’s older brother Jason‘s former band (phew!). Rooney still occupies a special place in my heart – and, maybe, if you’re nice, I’ll post a fun little photo of me with Schwartzman from when I was 13.

Check out the video for “New Romance,” as well as Fisher’s video for a cover of the Talking Heads’ “This Must Be the Place.” The video pays tribute to “American Psycho”‘s resident sociopath, Patrick Bateman. And, to bring things full circle – and demonstrate my AWESOME POP CULTURE KNOWLEDGE – check out this fun clip of Jason Schwartzman singing “Ethan’s Song” from the terrible 2002 flop, “Slackers.”

Happy watching.