As with all prime time TV shows just about to start their new season, "Gossip Girl" has launched a series of alluring ads. Unlike all the other shows, "Gossip Girl" is using the negative reviews as a tantalizing carrot. The over sized bill board states "mind-blowingly inappropriate" a quotation from the Parents Television Council. Although neither website contained the quotation.
Mind you I'm not one to normally pay attention to groups like the Parents Television Council, because I believe in Free Speech and any type of censorship, even the well meaning kind, is an infringement on that right. And if that means I'm defending profanity, I will defending. If we give an inch, they'll take a mile.
However, when I first saw all the little middle school girls buying the Gossip Girl series books, I was curious. I worked at a book store at the time, so I picked one up and gave it a glance. It was vile and absolutely inappropriate for middle school students. Maybe I went to the wrong high school, but I didn't know anyone who was into the same activities these characters were. And the little middle school girls buying these books were not coming alone and spending their allowence on these books. No their parents were their buying the books for them. I was shocked. I would never buy those books for a middle school student.
But here is the BIG question. "Gossip Girl" runs at prime time, which usually means adults are in the house and watching, with or without their teeny-boppers. Is "Gossip Girl" targetted at an audience of 11 to 17 year olds, the age range of the characters, or is it aimed at 18-25 year olds, the group its more appropriate for. But then what 25 year old wants to watch a much of high school students having sex and smoking drugs? I don't. I'm much rather watch a group of recent college grads having sex and smoking drugs. So what kind of pervert watches "Gossip Girl"? Not me.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Monday, August 11, 2008
in Powell River
I'm in Canada as close to the end of the world as you can get without actually being there. The Pacific Coast Highway ends 26 miles north of the cute little town where I am staying. The highway, stretches out onto a dock and then down a ramp into the water. Yes, seriously. Its a boat launch ramp.
The name of the town is Powell River and I am visiting my Grandmother. It is so drastically different being in a little tiny town from being in New York City. From the big window in my Grandmother's condo I can see just about half of the main town. The town is located on the water on the main land just North of Vancouver, BC and Victoria Island. During the course of the day, I can watch the beach on an island just off shore slowly disappear as the high tide waters slowly cover all of the sand. In the morning the island has a pretty beige skirt all the way around, in the evening the water kisses the trees and the island looks as if it has risen full formed from the waters of the Northern Pacific.
Another fun fact. Looking the other direction out the window, way far in the distance is Comox, another island, where Pamela Anderson spent her childhood. A ferry makes trips all day between Powell River and Comox. Its weird to think a person like her started in a place like this.
A few days ago my Mom and I went and bought fresh caught fish for dinner. The northern pacific waters in this area are teeming (maybe less now than 40 years ago) with yummy fish: sockeye salmon, pacific halibut, jumbo prawns, snapper and more. So we bought some. We bought a 14 pound whole halibut and a 4 pound whole salmon. That's a lot of fish. I mean a lot of fish. The fisher filleted them for us, which was helpful. So we didn't take the weight of the heads, spines and tail home, but we can't eat those and Grandma doesn't have a flower bed to bury them under. That night we cut most of it up and froze it, so it would keep. The next morning I woke up dreaming about cutting up fish.
Otherwise this is the perfect place to retreat and write. I'm about a third of the way through writing a children's book and am hoping to finish it while I'm here.
The rest of my time is filled with small town stuff; farmers markets, church, caring for Grandma, waiting for the blackberry festival, making cookies for funerals and staring at the amazing view of the wild.
The name of the town is Powell River and I am visiting my Grandmother. It is so drastically different being in a little tiny town from being in New York City. From the big window in my Grandmother's condo I can see just about half of the main town. The town is located on the water on the main land just North of Vancouver, BC and Victoria Island. During the course of the day, I can watch the beach on an island just off shore slowly disappear as the high tide waters slowly cover all of the sand. In the morning the island has a pretty beige skirt all the way around, in the evening the water kisses the trees and the island looks as if it has risen full formed from the waters of the Northern Pacific.
Another fun fact. Looking the other direction out the window, way far in the distance is Comox, another island, where Pamela Anderson spent her childhood. A ferry makes trips all day between Powell River and Comox. Its weird to think a person like her started in a place like this.
A few days ago my Mom and I went and bought fresh caught fish for dinner. The northern pacific waters in this area are teeming (maybe less now than 40 years ago) with yummy fish: sockeye salmon, pacific halibut, jumbo prawns, snapper and more. So we bought some. We bought a 14 pound whole halibut and a 4 pound whole salmon. That's a lot of fish. I mean a lot of fish. The fisher filleted them for us, which was helpful. So we didn't take the weight of the heads, spines and tail home, but we can't eat those and Grandma doesn't have a flower bed to bury them under. That night we cut most of it up and froze it, so it would keep. The next morning I woke up dreaming about cutting up fish.
Otherwise this is the perfect place to retreat and write. I'm about a third of the way through writing a children's book and am hoping to finish it while I'm here.
The rest of my time is filled with small town stuff; farmers markets, church, caring for Grandma, waiting for the blackberry festival, making cookies for funerals and staring at the amazing view of the wild.
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
Another Definition of Folklore Studies
This is direct from the Elphinstone Institute course description:
Ethnology and Folklore are concerned with the question of how cultural identity is transmitted, maintained, and adapted. Ethnologists analyse the social, political, economic, and psychological forces that shape cultural life in its widest sense - from customs, oral tradition and beliefs to artefacts and food production. They investigate how the traditions of a community, region or country relate to contemporary issues of identity and community, and how these issues are represented in public and private life.
The Elphinstone Institute at the University of Aberdeen is the only research centre specialising in the vigorous vernacular culture of the North East and North of Scotland, and one of very few centres of excellence in the UK for the study of ethnology and folklore.
North East Scotland is known for its traditional singers and fiddlers, and for the Greig-Duncan folksong collection. It is the main European centre for offshore oil and gas activity. Consequently, it offers unmatched opportunities for examining how cultural identity is created, maintained and modified in the face of major demographic, social and economic change.
I will be taking the following courses:
History and Core Genres of Ethnology and Folklore
Oral Traditions
Intellectual Backgrounds and Methodologies
Scottish Contexts and Practical Fieldwork
Dissertation
Ethnology and Folklore are concerned with the question of how cultural identity is transmitted, maintained, and adapted. Ethnologists analyse the social, political, economic, and psychological forces that shape cultural life in its widest sense - from customs, oral tradition and beliefs to artefacts and food production. They investigate how the traditions of a community, region or country relate to contemporary issues of identity and community, and how these issues are represented in public and private life.
The Elphinstone Institute at the University of Aberdeen is the only research centre specialising in the vigorous vernacular culture of the North East and North of Scotland, and one of very few centres of excellence in the UK for the study of ethnology and folklore.
North East Scotland is known for its traditional singers and fiddlers, and for the Greig-Duncan folksong collection. It is the main European centre for offshore oil and gas activity. Consequently, it offers unmatched opportunities for examining how cultural identity is created, maintained and modified in the face of major demographic, social and economic change.
I will be taking the following courses:
History and Core Genres of Ethnology and Folklore
Oral Traditions
Intellectual Backgrounds and Methodologies
Scottish Contexts and Practical Fieldwork
Dissertation
Monday, August 04, 2008
Dreaming
I don't really dream that much. Enough I guess. But I don't think I like dreaming. They are also barely coherant, weird snips of life and images. The only that do make sense, have a plot I guess, are scary, unsettling. Dreaming has never stopped my from sleeping.
I used to have the same dream over and over. Then it just stopped one day. I think I out grew it. If you can outgrow dreams. I used to dream that all my teeth were falling out. Not falling out like I'd been punched or anything, but falling out the way baby-teeth fall out. Slowly. Root by root. But they were all coming out at the same time. And they were my adult teeth, so I'd never get new ones. It freaked my out. I'd run around in my dream trying to hold them in my mouth, forcing them back into my gums. I would try to scream for a dentist, but I couldn't or I'd lose my teeth. I'd try to bit down on them carefully, so they would hold each other in. But that never worked.
I'm a firm believer that dreams relate to what's going on in your life. That the are your unconcious brain trying to work out something that your conscious brain can't really understand. Don't get me wrong, I think Freud's work is outdated and currently irrelevent, but I think a lot of new research about brain activity while sleeping points to the fact that we do "think" while sleeping.
I think my teeth dream was connected to the fact that I grind my teeth at night. Also that I'm way too uptight. But mostly the grinding.
There are very few other dreams that I remember. Mostly more like photographs of dreams of a few frames of film from some lost movie reel. These dr eams are never significant events. Chatting with a friend and a few lines of dialogue, or an image of a location I' ve never been too. But they photo frames also stick in my mind. I might not be able to call them all up at will, but they stick. Maybe deep in the semiconscious. But the stranger part of these dream pieces is that they always cause deja-vu. Always. The dream comes first and the deja-vu later. There isn't any set period of time between the dream and when it happens. They just creep up on my randomly. And my brain flashes to another place, maybe caught up in the firing of its own synapses. Who knows? But sadly these pieces are never important parts of my life. Usually they are quiet moments. Peaceful.
Except one. One that hasn't happened yet. And maybe because I remember it so consciously it never will and I hope that it never will. But it scares my a little everytime the deja-vu sneaks up on me. I see myself in a car, in the passenger's seat and my siser is in back. And boy, or man, he's not much other than I am, but I'm not really sure hold old I am in this moment. The three of us are winging down the free, across a raised over pass, connecting us between two freeways. The road sweeps up and curves to the left, but he doesn't turn the wheel. We keep drive start ahead and over the edge and we sail through the air and then there is nothing. The dream is over. And it scares me to get in cars with my sister and a guy.
It makes me wonder if other people ever see themselves old in their dreams. Or if they are always their current age. I'm never old in my dreams.
I used to have the same dream over and over. Then it just stopped one day. I think I out grew it. If you can outgrow dreams. I used to dream that all my teeth were falling out. Not falling out like I'd been punched or anything, but falling out the way baby-teeth fall out. Slowly. Root by root. But they were all coming out at the same time. And they were my adult teeth, so I'd never get new ones. It freaked my out. I'd run around in my dream trying to hold them in my mouth, forcing them back into my gums. I would try to scream for a dentist, but I couldn't or I'd lose my teeth. I'd try to bit down on them carefully, so they would hold each other in. But that never worked.
I'm a firm believer that dreams relate to what's going on in your life. That the are your unconcious brain trying to work out something that your conscious brain can't really understand. Don't get me wrong, I think Freud's work is outdated and currently irrelevent, but I think a lot of new research about brain activity while sleeping points to the fact that we do "think" while sleeping.
I think my teeth dream was connected to the fact that I grind my teeth at night. Also that I'm way too uptight. But mostly the grinding.
There are very few other dreams that I remember. Mostly more like photographs of dreams of a few frames of film from some lost movie reel. These dr eams are never significant events. Chatting with a friend and a few lines of dialogue, or an image of a location I' ve never been too. But they photo frames also stick in my mind. I might not be able to call them all up at will, but they stick. Maybe deep in the semiconscious. But the stranger part of these dream pieces is that they always cause deja-vu. Always. The dream comes first and the deja-vu later. There isn't any set period of time between the dream and when it happens. They just creep up on my randomly. And my brain flashes to another place, maybe caught up in the firing of its own synapses. Who knows? But sadly these pieces are never important parts of my life. Usually they are quiet moments. Peaceful.
Except one. One that hasn't happened yet. And maybe because I remember it so consciously it never will and I hope that it never will. But it scares my a little everytime the deja-vu sneaks up on me. I see myself in a car, in the passenger's seat and my siser is in back. And boy, or man, he's not much other than I am, but I'm not really sure hold old I am in this moment. The three of us are winging down the free, across a raised over pass, connecting us between two freeways. The road sweeps up and curves to the left, but he doesn't turn the wheel. We keep drive start ahead and over the edge and we sail through the air and then there is nothing. The dream is over. And it scares me to get in cars with my sister and a guy.
It makes me wonder if other people ever see themselves old in their dreams. Or if they are always their current age. I'm never old in my dreams.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)