Five Songs That Have Gotten Me in Trouble

Here are five songs that I have had bad experiences with. I'm sure many more songs have gotten me in trouble, but these are the ones I remember best. If I remember some others, I'll let you know--provided this doesn't become a blogflop. Enjoy.

5. "I'm on Fire" (Bruce Springsteen)--It was my turn with the radio on a youth temple trip to Chicago, so I naturally popped a Bruce Springsteen mix tape into the cassette deck of my then-bishop's van. When the Boss started singing about his "little girl" and whether or not her "daddy" were home, the Bishop rightfully ejected the tape, despite my protests. One of the young women present, surprisingly, sprang to my defense and suggested that maybe the Boss really was talking about the father of the "little girl." The bishop didn't buy it, and the mix tape went back into my backpack. To this day, I've never felt entirely comfortable with that song...despite its catchiness and ridiculously funny music video.

4. "Joy to the World" (Isaac Watts)--Once, when I was probably four or five, my older brother and I were watching the original Star Wars movie and became particularly inspired by the scene where Luke, Han, Leia, and Chewbacca get stuck in the Death Star's trash compactor. We commenced singing--at the top of our voices--"JOY TO THE TRASH COMPACTOR!" to the tune of a certain Christmas hymn we knew from church. Within minutes, my mom (who probably doesn't remember this incident) was at the top of the steps, scolding us (at the top of her voice) for irreverently changing the words of a sacred song. We quit, but the trash compactor scene still brings a smile to my face.

3. "It's All Coming Back to Me Now" (Celine Dion)--When this song came out, it became the darling of stake youth dances. I once made the stupid mistake of telling a girl in the stake, who was at the time stalking me, that the song in question was good song to dance to with someone you liked, because it was so long. Well, when the next stake dance came along, guess who was at my side as soon as the song began. I danced with her, of course, but to correct my mistake, I acted like a jerk for the entire 7 minutes and 37 seconds of the song. She quit stalking me after that, and she has said very little to me since. In retrospect, I could have handled the situation a bit better...but I have never been very good at that sort of thing. Interestingly enough, the song was co-produced by Springsteen's piano player, Roy Bittan. I guess it does have some redeeming value.

2. "I've Just Seen a Face" (The Beatles)--I made the mistake of associating this song with a girl in my first post-mission English class. Without the aid of this song, I probably would have let my crush on the girl fizzle out under the weight of my personal insecurities and overall shyness around her. With the song constantly playing on my CD player, however, I became a bit too obsessive about the girl (it was just after my mission), and I got up the nerve to ask her out on a date. The date turn out to be the worst date I've ever been on, and I still feel embarrassed for myself when I think about it today. Funny story, though: a few years after our horrible date, she started working at the BYU Bookstore, where I was already working as a janitor. For the most part, I kept up my guard and managed to avoid crossing paths with her. One day, however, I found myself walking toward her in an empty hallway. She seemed to recognize me, and uttered a friendly "hello." I pretended not to see her, though, and kept on walking.

1. "The Piano Man" (Billy Joel)--When I was about eight or nine, my sister and I spent one afternoon making posters with the old Print Shop program on my family's first personal computer. For some reason--it was probably her idea--we created a poster of a big beer mug surrounded by the phrase "And the mike smelled like beer," which we stole from Billy Joel's classic song "The Piano Man" (substituting "mike" for "microphone" because neither of us knew how to spell "microphone" at the time). Stupid kids that we were, we made the mistake of printing the poster and leaving it sitting around. When my mom found it, she scolded us (and probably sent me to my room) for making a poster about something that could kill people. This incident left a lasting impression on both my sister and me. We still talk about it and relive the shame of that horrible poster.

10 Words I Hate (But Occasionally Use)

Here are ten words I hate, but occasionally use. Let it be known, however, that I only use a few of these words for their humorous effect.

10. Luscious: A lousy word, especially when someone uses it to describe poetry.

9. Glance: On its own, "glance" is OK. Pair it with "quickly," though, and it becomes idiotic.

8. Delicious: When used to describe food, this word is permissible. However, "delicious" becomes an abomination as soon as anyone uses it to describe a non-consumable. Music, for example, is not delicious. Pizza, in some circumstances, can be.

7. Warmly: I think this is a dumb adverb.

6. Moisture: I've spoken my piece on this word already. I still think it is a curse upon the ears.

5. Melon: I hate both the sound of the word and the taste of the fruit. Who wants to eat something with a name that mimics the sound of someone throwing up?

4. Truly: Truly one of the most overused adverbs.

3. Amazing, Awesome, or Totally: Utah and the mish turned me off to these words. Also, for the record, "awesome" translated into the Portuguese "Otimo" doesn't make it any better.

2. Utilize: This word is for people who want to keep up with the intellectual Joneses. I prefer the unassuming everyman's "use."

1. Wealth or Wealthy: I don't like the way this word makes my mouth feel when I use it.

Mr. Wilberforce Goes to London: A Recommendation

"Mainstream" Mormon cinema has neither produced a great film since 2004's Saints and Soldiers, nor a truly engaging and thought-provoking film since 2001's Brigham City. Evangelical Christian films--or at least those films marketed toward the Evangelical Christian demographic--have not fared much better. While I found the recent Chronicles of Narnia films--particularly Prince Caspian--excellent in almost every way, I thought 2006's The Nativity Story and The End of the Spear were dull, unimaginative, and relatively unengaging. Consequently, when I recently put 2006's Amazing Grace into my DVD player, I braced myself for another bad attempt at spiritual filmmaking.

As usually happens with me and my artistic pessimism, Amazing Grace proved me wrong. Not only is this film thought-provoking and inspiring (a word I use about as often as "amazing" or "breathtaking"), but it is quite entertaining. I highly recommend it. Unlike so many "spiritual" or "religious" films, it never slips into a maudlin piety or become overly hagiographic. In many ways, in fact, the films depiction of William Wilberforce's long struggle to abolish the British slave trade reminds of the David and Goliath-like storylines of Frank Capra's great Mr. Smith Goes to Washington and Mr. Deeds Goes to Town.

Amazing Grace, of course, is not without its problems. For example, some critics have suggested that the film could have given the efforts of blacks in the British abolition movement a more prominent place. While I am sympathetic to such criticism, I am reluctant to wholeheartedly accept it. The film, after all, is a biopic about Wilberforce, and not the whole of the British abolition movement. What is more, it does attempt to show the efforts of some blacks in the movement, specifically Olaudah Equiano. One of the most powerful moments in the film, in fact, occurs when Equiano, a former slave, takes Wilberforce on a tour of a slaveship.

Despite its problems, though, Amazing Grace is well worth the 118 minutes it takes to watch it. Give it a try.

Twilight of the Guffaws: A Review

The literary offenses of Stephanie Meyer are too numerable to account for in a review of this size. Her overuse of adjectives, adverbs, and crooked smiles is quite apparent to any seasoned reader, and this particular reviewer's opinion is that they--that is, the literary offenses--do not need additional exposure. Few would deny that Ms. Meyer is no Shakespeare. She is not even Edgar Allan Poe, who wears the laurels of America's best bad writer. Her writing--at least in her first novel, Twilight--is on a level higher up than, of course, internet fan fiction--but not that much higher.

I'm not here to quibble over Meyer's writing, though. It's bad, and everyone who reads her novels knows that. It is to Meyer's credit, however, that her writing can be so banal--and yet so entertaining. Yes, that's right. Meyer's writing is crap, but that doesn't stop you from turning pages. I am embarrassed and ashamed to admit it. I really am. In fact, I loath myself for not putting the book down after the second use of the adverb "frostily" (see pages 90 and 173). It will take some time before I can look myself in the mirror again.

Twilight is the story of Bella Swan, a seventeen-year-old geek magnet who can't walk three steps without tripping twice over her own feet. After moving to a perpetually rainy town in the American Northwest, Bella falls in love with Edward, a tortured, statuesque (not to mention "vegetarian") vampire who struggles to suppress his desire to eat Bella. Much of the novel is about the seemingly endless back-and-forth that occurs before this unlikely couple "hooks up," as kids these days like to say. Eventually, Bella and Edward engage in cliche high school romance: crooked smiles, kissing, cooing, love confessions, more crooked smiles, and, of course, tears. Finally, the novel ends with page-turning action and even a little blood spillage.

Not surprisingly, Twilight exhibits little originality; it is My So Called Life meets Dark Shadows on the set of Twin Peaks. And love stories between humans and vampires have been told before--remember Buffy and Angel?--and Bella and Edward bring little new to the table. So, why are people reading and enjoying Twilight? What makes it the popular success that it is? My wife suggests that the book attracts so many readers because Meyer nails the teenage girl psyche. Such an explanation makes sense, in many ways, although it hardly explains why I read (and [cough] enjoyed [cough]) Twilight. I mean, the book is really not my kind of love story (that is, neither lover dies in the end), and Meyer's monotonously bad writing style makes it difficult for me to read a page of it without guffawing two or three times.

Ultimately, I think I liked Twilight because...well, because I just liked it. That, perhaps, is Stephanie Meyer's greatest literary offense: she presents you with a horribly flawed novel (and let me drive this point home, folks, this novel is horribly flawed), and then compels you to like it for no other reason than that you JUST LIKED IT. The novel has too much gooey teenager romance (I don't recommend eating while you read this book--I gagged a few times), not enough violence (the novel's first-person point-of-view ultimately keeps the reader aloof from the story's most action-packed events), and definitely no terror (Bella's too tough of a protagonist to really be scared). But it has some charm, whatever that is.

Well, Stephanie Meyer can take her offenses to the bank. I am willing to bet that any sophisticated attempt to express admiration for this novel ends up sounding contrived and (WWSMS?) "excruciatingly" corny. Consequently, I'm going to quit embarrassing myself and draw this review to a close. I read the book. I liked the book--in spite of myself and my Masters Degree in literature. Those of you who wish to gloat about that fact, feel free. While you do, I'll be reading something tough and literary--so I can feel better about myself.

In fact, I've heard good things about some novel called New Moon...

Election Anxieties Over

Recently, I have been worried about who I should vote for in America. Fortunately, the following endorsement has helped me make my decision! How lucky we all are to have celebrities tell us how to vote! What would we do without their crucial endorsements?

ENDORSEMENT: 2008

Dear Friends and Fans:

Like most of you, I've been following the campaign and I have now seen and heard enough to know where I stand. Senator Obama, in my view, is head and shoulders above the rest.
He has the depth, the reflectiveness, and the resilience to be our next President. He speaks to the America I've envisioned in my music for the past 35 years, a generous nation with a citizenry willing to tackle nuanced and complex problems, a country that's interested in its collective destiny and in the potential of its gathered spirit. A place where "...nobody crowds you, and nobody goes it alone."

At the moment, critics have tried to diminish Senator Obama through the exaggeration of certain of his comments and relationships. While these matters are worthy of some discussion, they have been ripped out of the context and fabric of the man's life and vision, so well described in his excellent book, Dreams From My Father, often in order to distract us from discussing the real issues: war and peace, the fight for economic and racial justice, reaffirming our Constitution, and the protection and enhancement of our environment.

After the terrible damage done over the past eight years, a great American reclamation project needs to be undertaken. I believe that Senator Obama is the best candidate to lead that project and to lead us into the 21st Century with a renewed sense of moral purpose and of ourselves as Americans.

Over here on E Street, we're proud to support Obama for President.

Bruce Springsteen

My Literary Offenses: Two Poems

Here are two of my poems that I have recently unearthed from the vaults. One was written during my days as an undergraduate; the other one is about them. Enjoy.

Poem #1
The Ballad of the Biker Knight,
or
The Incident at “The Hideaway” Bar

A Tribute to John Keats*

Astride his suicide machine,
The Biker Knight appeared.
He parked the bike beside the bar,
Dust billowed from his beard.

His cracked black leather jacket creaked
As he got off his bike.
An old man sat three yards from him,
Who asked, “You got a light?”

The knight, who wore his visor down,
Replied, “No, I don’t smoke.”
The old man grinned a mossy grin
And while he grinned he spoke:

“Sir Knight,” said he, “I do not ask
Thee for a light for me.
But rather, sir, I ask if thou
Dost have a light for thee.”

The Biker Knight ignored the man,
Confused by what he’d said.
“Your words, old man, ain’t making sense
Inside this Biker’s head.”

Despite the chill of this rebuke,
The old man still kept on.
He grabbed the Biker by the boot
And yelled, “Good Knight, HOLD ON!”

In rage the Biker grabbed the man
and pulled him to his feet.
He shook the old fart violently
Then knocked him to his seat.

The Biker watched the old man writhe
In pain and agony.
He turned to venture in the bar,
But stopped to hear this plea:

“Strong Knight,” the old man whispered faint,
“This warning I give thee:
“Beware the maid with wild eyes--
That Dame is sans merci!”

The Biker smirked, “What do you know
Of women—at your age!”
With that he kicked the man away
And entered in “The Hideaway”
To spend his Biker’s wage.

Inside the bar he heard the sound
Of Country music’s twang.
No one was there except himself.
The Biker snorted, “Dang!”

But just before he turned to leave
He saw a fairy’s child--
At least that’s how she seemed to him—
Her eyes were dark and Wild.

“Are you the tender of this bar?”
He asked, his visor raised.
She nodded “yes” and kissed his lips;
The Biker liked her ways.

“I’d like a shot of whiskey, doll,”
He said with knightly charm
The Fairy’s Child poured the shot—
The Biker saw no harm.

The drink complete, they left the bar
To breathed the outside air.
He placed his helmet on her head—
A garland for her hair.

“Let’s take a ride,” the Biker said.
“This ride’s one of a kind.”
Agreed, she sat in front of him;
He held her from behind.

The Fairy’s Child steered the bike—
Her lover had no clue:
His eyes were fixed on her alone.
He cried, “I love thee true.”

Those words he cried a thousand times
Until he could not peep.
His Biker’s brain turned into mush;
He fell into a sleep.

And as he slept he had a dream,
He saw a wrinkled face!
It was the old man he had met
Who’d warned about that place.

The old man’s eyes were empty holes;
His skin as pale as death!
He cried, “Dull Knight, thou foolish sap,
That dame hath poison breath!”

And then the ancient eyeless man
Displayed a savage sight:
“Behold the ruined men and boys
She used as nothing more than toys
To feed her appetite!”

The Biker Knight looked up and saw
Upon a frozen hill
Frail Biker Kings and Asphalt Dukes—
The victims of her will.

The ghostly roadside royalty
Reached out to touch the Knight.
A Biker King screamed out the words,
“Hey mister, got a light?”

‘Twas then the Biker Knight recalled
The words the old man spoke
Outside that bar called “Hideaway”—
He thought they’d been a joke.

The Biker Knight wept tears of grief,
And as he wept he heard
The old man’s voice condemning him
With fire in each word:

“Without the light that wisdom brings
You had no chance at all!”
I warned thee Knight about that Dame
Now she has thee in thrall!”

And then the Biker Knight awoke
Upon a cold hill’s height.
He was alone—his bike was gone—
The dame had taken flight.

He roams the world on two feet now
Across the Asphalt Sea.
In vain he seeks for solace from
That Dame who’s sans merci.

*And perhaps Brandon, too, now that he has purchased a suicide machine of his own.

Poem #2
Delilah

We have never met, but once I spent
the better part of an evening with the phone
pressed against my ear, my finger dialing
your number over and over again.

I had no good reason to call, no story
to tell, no particular request. My heart
had not been broken, was not bleeding.
I was just eighteen

and it was dark outside my window.
The red numbers on my radio never burned
so dimly, your voice never seemed
so far away.

The Long and Short of a Voyage Long and Strange: A Review

Few non-fiction books hold my attention like those of Tony Horwitz, a Pulitzer Prize winning journalist and amateur historian. In 1998, Horwitz published Confederates in the Attic: Dispatches from the Unfinished Civil War, an incredibly funny and thought provoking look into how the American South memorializes the Civil War. I have twice required students to read this book, and I have found it to be an excellent text for use in college writing courses. Despite my preference for fiction--and extreme dislike for most contemporary travel memoirs--I have become a fan of Horwitz and his quirky interest in forgotten America.

Horwitz's most recent book, A Voyage Long and Strange: Rediscovering the New World, hit bookshelves earlier this year. In this book, Horwitz takes readers through the back roads of America, following the paths of the early Europeans who first explored what would become the United States. His voyage begins in Newfoundland and ends in Plymouth, Massachusetts. Along the way, he visits Columbus sites in the Dominican Republic, Coronado sites in the American Southwest, and De Soto sites in the South. He also travels to Jacksonville and St. Augustine, Florida, where the Spanish and French established settlements, as well as Roanoke, North Carolina and Jamestown, Virginia, where the English got their New World start. Like Confederates in the Attic, Horwitz takes the time to talk to colorful locals (and locos for that matter) about their regional history and its effect on their daily lives. For the most part, he encounters few people who have much to say about these early explorers, which only serves to strengthen his argument that Americans memory of the past relies more on myth than fact--if it relies on anything at all.

The strength of this book, like all of Horwitz's books, is the storytelling. Horwitz has a knack for telling entertaining stories about his adventures in backwoods America and its people. During his trip to Newfoundland, for example, Horwitz strips down to his Gap briefs in order to participate it a Native American "Sweat" that nearly cooks him alive. Later, in Mississippi, he hires an aging "river rat" to take him across the dangerous Mississippi River in a homemade canoe in order to feel what it was like for Hernando De Soto to cross the river on a flimsy raft. However, his most bizarre experience is when he attends a pageant put on by an evangelical church in Jacksonville, Florida. In the pageant, children from the congregation recreate the New World massacre of a hundred or so French Protestant settlers at the hands of Spanish Catholics. Strange indeed.

Unfortunately, A Voyage Long and Strange has no Robert Lee Hodge, Horwitz's Civil War reenactor sidekick from Confederates in the Attic, to liven things up. Horwitz's only real sidekick in this book, in fact, is Caonabo, who serves as his translator and guide in the Dominican Republic. Like Hodge, Caonabo is sarcastic and more than a little socially uncouth, but he ultimately lacks Hodge's charm and homespun philosophy. One also senses a tension between Horwitz and Caonabo that interferes with the fun of their crazy roadtrip across Hispanola.

Also, A Voyage Long and Strange ultimately fails to deliver the same kind of satisfaction one gets at the end of Confederates in the Attic. One reason, perhaps, for this failure is Horwitz's over-reliance on his historical research. Throughout the book, Horwitz parallels his account of his modern-day journey with those of the explorers he is following. While the historical material is interesting--an even necessary for our understanding of the significance of his journey--it often takes center stage in his narrative. Personally, I would have like to have seen him explore how the history of these historical events is remembered today--in movies, pageants, historical and living history parks, novels, textbooks, and popular music. Horwitz, however, rarely finds time to do this. True, he does visit his fair share of national and state parks--but his accounts of these visits rarely provide the kind of analysis we saw in, say, his account of his trip to Andersonville National Memorial in Confederate in the Attic.

Horwitz also spends too little time on English settlement in the New World. Compared to his lengthy examination of Spanish conquest and exploration, his look at Roanoke, Jamestown, and Plymouth reads like a brochure. I find this this aspect of the book most disappointing. While American memory is cloudy when it comes to Coronado and De Soto, I am sure plenty of people have something to say about Pocahontas and the Pilgrims. Why he didn't look into the cultural implications of such things as Disney's Pocahontas and Roanoke's The Lost Colony outdoor drama, not to mention the living history park at Plymouth Plantation, is beyond me.

Overall, though, A Voyage Long and Strange is an entertaining read. While it lacks the depth of Confederates in the Attic, it nevertheless manages to keep the reader engaged until the last page. Would I recommend it? Yes, for the casual reader. I won't be using it in the classroom, though. Voyage says a lot about the past, but not enough about the past's effect on the present--or the present's effect on the past. In short, the book reads like a fun roadtrip across America. Be ready to see a lot of sights...just don't expect to reflect on them too much.