"Creating People On Whom Nothing is Lost" - An educator and writer in Colorado offers insight and perspective on education, parenting, politics, pop culture, and contemporary American life.
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And again, and again, and again ... for fifty years.
It might be one of the most surprisingly unpredictable works of film, theater, and performance art to stick around for a half century. And as Michael Brodeur explains in this Sunday'sWashington Post, it's not going anyway anytime soon.
With preemptive apologies to any fellow Gen Xers reading this, Friday marked the 50th anniversary of the U.S. premiere of “The Rocky Horror Picture Show” movie in Los Angeles. (I know, that one stings.)
Your fishnets may not fit quite the same, but “Rocky Horror” — director Jim Sharman’s ribald adaptation of Richard O’Brien’s 1973 stage musical — is the same as it ever was: Boisterous participatory screenings led by “shadow casts” continue to pop off in the midnight slots of theaters around the world, sustaining “Rocky Horror” as the longest-running release in film history.
Everyone loves a good story. And everyone loves a groovy song. And some of us love the musicians who can fuse the two in a sublime synthesis of sound and narrative. I've always loved songs of epic grandeur like Springsteen's "Jungleland" and the Grateful Dead's "Terrapin Station." And, of course, my fascination with Bob Dylan began the moment I first heard "Like a Rolling Stone" and "Tangled Up in Blue."
Every songwriter approaches his or her craft differently, and there are, ostensibly, as many ways to write a song as there are songs in existence. But one word you'll often hear songwriters use is "story," which implies a plot, characters, a conflict and perhaps a resolution. Just as one can write a novel with these literary tools, one can also condense it down into a song. Sometimes, it's based on real-life events, with real people and real outcomes. Other times it's entirely imaginary, culled from the minds of some exceptionally creative people. But in either case, it can be fun to follow the narrator as they recount a tale, like in the below 50 Short Story Songs.
In the world of punk and indie rock, however, the intricate nature of a great tale would seem to belie the hard, fast nature of the music. Which brings me to Craig Finn. I've recently discovered Finn, leader singer of indie rock band The Hold Steady, who has an entire catalog of solo work steeped in tales of Midwest angst. And, I recently had the pleasure of seeing Craig Finn's solo work live when he opened for former Husker Du and Sugar frontman Bob Mould. Finn's solo work in which he deftly talks his lyrics over beautiful melodies is a treat, as is seeing him perform live. And I've enjoyed his work so much, I recently bought his latest album, Always Been.
Thirty years ago, an independent film screened at the Sundance Film Festival blew our minds, and it did so in a way few if any films had ever done before.
Who is Keyser Soze?
I can still recall the first time I watched the film, not in a theater but on a DVD because I was living in Taiwan at the time and had missed the original hype of the film. Actually, I imagine quite a few people didn't catch it in theaters, but caught up later when the whisperings began. "Have you seen The Usual Suspects?" It wouldn't go much further than that because no one wanted to give anything away. "You just have to see it," they'd add.
When the film ended, there was a collective pause as everyone sat stunned, still trying to process what just happened in the ending of all endings. And now 30 years later, many of us are still trying to process exactly what happened. Who truly is Keyser Soze? Is anyone truly Keyser Soze?
Of course, the clear and obvious answer is that, yes, Verbal Kint is and was the phantom all along. However, it's worth noting that the writer and director have both at various times suggested variations on that interpretation and implied "They are all Keyeser Soze."
So we know that Verbal is Soze, that he was the mastermind behind the film’s events, and he killed the other four criminals and numerous other people over the course of the narrative. “Kobayashi,” presumably, really was Verbal/Keyser’s lawyer, although that wasn’t really his name.
But the question to ask is, if the story Verbal told wasn’t true, then what is true?
That’s mostly ambiguous, although we know that the different characters in the lineup really did exist, and die, and the different crimes — the New York’s Finest Taxi service robbery, and later the boat explosion — happened in some form. It would appear that the whole purpose of allowing himself to be arrested and interrogated was to convince Kujan that Dean Keaton (Gabriel Byrne) was really Keyser Soze.
Regardless, I can say after rewatching the film noir masterpiece recently that, unlike so many films and television shows, that movie holds up. It's still wildly entertaining, and it remains "endlessly watchable."
Ahh, the beloved one-hit wonder -- that song which by most definitions comes from a band that placed one song in the Top40 and never had another song chart that high. The Colorado Sound - independent radio - is celebrating One-Hit Wonder Day, and I've heard some wonderful contributions so far, like "Walking On Sunshine" from Katrina and the Waves. Feel free to tune in online and enjoy some great music on a great independent public radio station.
One shout out went to "Come on Eileen" from Dexy's Midnight Runners, and that selection is a true OHW Hall of Fame pick, a true GOAT of the one-hit status. And, Ben from the Colorado Sound is asking listeners to respond online with their favorites. When it comes to music, I can never give just one favorite, so I listed my Top-3:
Since coming-of-age as a teen in the 1980s, I have been a casual reader and occasional subscriber to GQ, more formally known as Gentleman's Quarterly. It is and has been a documenter of men's fashion and style since 1957, and I think it has waxed and waned as a cultural barometer over the years.
Instead of telling our readers who to be and what to wear, in this new iteration of GQ we wanted to help men find those answers for themselves. The issue was like a giant mood board celebrating all the defiantly nontraditional forms of masculinity that had sprouted out of so many different subcultures—and were fast becoming pop. No cookie cutters allowed. Upon publication, the issue had an instant impact. We had recaptured the zeitgeist, which is exactly where GQ has always belonged.
Jump cut to 2025.
We are now, obviously, in the second Trump administration. Life feels…chaotic. And there are op-ed headlines, almost daily, declaring that we’ve swung back to a retrograde form of masculinity. You know: the whole “men can be men again” thing. (A movement espoused by JD Vance and Mark Zuckerberg—two hyperintelligent individuals who also happen to be untrustworthy when it comes to anything cultural.)
At the same time, we are supposed to believe that Gen Z represents a lost generation, and that Andrew Tate (whoever that is) has young men by the balls. To which I say: bollocks.
With its most recent issue, reporting on "The State of the American Male in 2025," the men's magazine is wading right in to the tricky discussion of masculinity. And, rightfully, it's not taking itself too seriously with the hilariously absurdist picture of a whimsically game, self-deprecating Glen Powell.
When Glen Powell was in his 20s, he wrote Sylvester Stallone a letter. At the time, Powell was still trying to succeed in Hollywood and, as he recently described it to me, at “the point of famine.” Stallone was casting the third installment of his aging-action-hero franchise, The Expendables 3. Powell, an unknown desperate to join the ranks of a call sheet full of over-the-hill action stars, recounted for Stallone the way he was raised. In Texas, Powell said in his letter, he grew up with a gun range in his basement, had learned to fight from his uncles, and had spent long stretches of his childhood trying to find new ways to cheat death.
This means we’re helping you navigate everything from the modern landscape of online-dating etiquette to how to act in that all-women Pilates class to when (and when not) to pop a Zyn, while offering you a refresher on everything from thank-you notes to how to be a conscientious human being in public to how to act at a dinner party. The result is a list of 125 rules on how to be your best-behaved self wherever you go in 2025 and beyond. Friends, dates, colleagues, and the people sitting beside you on your next flight all thank you for reading.
Bill and Ted? Together again? On stage? In an absurdist existential dramady that has intrigued, baffled, challenged, and entertained actors and audiences alike for decades?
Well, I say, sign me up.
The Samuel Beckett play Waiting for Godothas been troubling the arts world since 1952 when it premiered and while it is "tough to perform" and "impossible to understand," it remains infectiously popular, and as the Washington Post recently explained, "Actors love it."
Famously, nothing happens, twice.
Two men in bowler hats wait near a tree on a country road for the mysterious Godot, and they are eventually met by a third man and his enslaved companion, and later a boy. The next day, the scenario repeats, almost.
For the Dublin-born Samuel Beckett, a self-proclaimed “non-knower and non-can-er,” the spareness and even the meaninglessness were the point. When “Waiting for Godot,” his first produced play, premiered in French in Paris in 1953, it baffled some audiences but would go on to transform storytelling with its lack of plot, existentialist themes and acknowledgment that, if you find yourself standing around long enough, even human existence begins to feel absurd.
The play’s influence permeated theater and spread into pop culture, becoming fodder for sitcom homages and shorthand for discussing the meaning of life or (spoiler alert) waiting for someone who does not come. It’s a “Hamlet”-esque acting feat and a frequent, poignant offering in unconventional places where humanity is stressed to its limits, such as prisons, Sarajevo in wartime and New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina. And, somehow, it’s also pretty funny.
As a revival begins this month on Broadway starring Keanu Reeves and Alex Winter — co-stars of the Bill & Ted movie franchise, itself a philosophical cult classic — many of the well-known actors and directors who have done “Waiting for Godot” discussed the challenges of the famously impenetrable play, its vast influence and what it all means. The interviews have been edited for length and clarity.
The New York Times recently sat down with Keanu Reeves, Alex Winter, and director Jamie Lloyd for a discussion about how this "most excellent" rendition of a classic play came to the stage.
From that opening snare and cymbal to the rising anticipation of that familiar piano riff, the jazz composition 'Take Five' by the Dave Brubeck Quartet is one of the most recognizable, enduring, and satisfying songs in the contemporary jazz catalog. Released on this day in 1959, 'Take Five' is a true classic, and it's a song even people who aren't jazz fans will find themselves tapping a foot or nodding a head along with the beat.
What is about this song that makes it so pleasing, so indelible, so timeless?
The composition of the song is a true masterpiece in its ease and complexity, and the story of how it came to be is equally satisfying.
Paul Desmond had written “Take Five” partly as a gesture to the quartet’s drummer, Joe Morello, who wanted to show off his newfound confidence playing in 5/4 time. Listening to “Time Out,” with Morello’s broad rolling beat propelling the band and his concise, dramatic solo serving as the track’s centerpiece, he is in the driver’s seat.
But on June 25, the band tried nearly two-dozen times to get the song right, and still couldn’t. It was scrapped until a session the following week, when Morello apparently nailed it in just two takes. The “Time Outtakes” version is from June, and Morello’s part is far less developed; he taps out a sparse but somewhat obtrusive pattern on the ride cymbal, trying to perch on the end of beat one and the start of beat four. By July, he would figure out how do far more while sounding more efficient.
By the time it was written in 1959 the Dave Brubeck Quartet had become very popular, so much so that the US State Department sent the group on a tour of Eurasian countries to give them a taste of American culture. Brubeck enjoyed the exposure to other musical forms and decided to do a whole album using some of the unusual rhythms he’d gotten to know on the trip. In addition, his drummer Joe Morello liked to play in 5/4, often ending shows with a drum solo using that time signature. (It’s not clear to me why Morello liked that rhythm so much.) Anyway, Morello kept asking Brubeck to compose something in 5/4, and finally another member of the group, saxophonist Paul Desmond, came up with a couple of themes that he thought would work. While Desmond is therefore usually given sole credit for the music, Brubeck himself was very clear about his own input:
Desmond is credited with composing “Take Five,” but Brubeck says the tune was a group project with Desmond providing two main ideas. “Paul came in with two themes unrelated, and I put it together as a tune and made a form out of it,” Brubeck says. “He came in with two themes. He didn’t know which was the first or the second. He didn’t know they’d fit together. Dopa, depa, depa, dopa, lom, bom, bom, bom. That’s one theme. I’m the one that put them together and said, ‘We can make a tune out of this. . . . 3
In 1968, Apple Records sent a letter to a young, up-and-coming star David Bowie's management, or, honestly, it may been to his father, who was a strong advocate for his son in the early days. The gist of the curt letter was Apple has made it abundantly clear that it "has no interest in signing David Bowie to the label" and explains the young artist does not represent the direction Apple is interested in.
That little tidbit of information - including an image of the actual paper letter that was sent - is just one of many fascinating artifacts from the new David Bowie Center, which is opening this September in London. And, the New York Times recently published a fun, interactive visual story about the David Bowie archives which contain more than 90,000 pieces of Bowie's legacy, from stage costumes to gold records to drawings of planned projects and shows to the infamous Apple letter.
What Was Behind David Bowie’s Genius? His Archive Holds the Answers.
It’s a rock music chamber of secrets.
When David Bowie died in 2016, he left an archive of about 90,000 items, carefully cataloged and boxed like a museum collection.
Now, the public can access the archive to learn about Bowie’s character and methods. Last week, the V&A East Storehouse, an outpost of the Victoria and Albert Museum in London, opened the David Bowie Center, which will display about 200 items from the collection at a time. Fans and scholars can also place advance orders to view, and potentially handle, any of the 90,000 items.
Several years ago, I wrote a reflection on Cameron Crowe's 1992 film Singles. As the classic 90s film passes another birthday, I noticed quite a few posts on social media about watching the film and wondering if it holds up. Of course, everyone notes the incredible soundtrack, and many point out the cameos for grunge bands like Alice in Chains and acting(ish) cameos from Eddie Vedder and Stone Gossard. When I posted a link to my piece, the reception was quite positive, so I thought I'd repost here:
As Generation X meanders its way through middle age, occasionally pondering with a distinct sardonic glance who they are and how they got here in a Talking Heads-esque “Letting the Days Go By” montage, they need look no further than the box office poster for Cameron Crowe’s 1992 low-budget cult film Singles. In that image of the twentysomethings profiled in the movie resides the spirit of a generation of young people making the most of an uncertain time by focusing on their pursuit of lifestyle over career and depending on the “neighbors” who subbed in as family. Cliff and Janet on the park bench as Steve and Linda stroll pass enmeshed in a kiss, the image evokes a sense of socialness and community — they are friends and neighbors, bonded by their proximity and hopeful about the decades of adulthood out in front of them. The poster and film offer hope, promise, and above all, authenticity.
When the twenty-fifth anniversary of the film basically coincided with the passing of Soundgarden’s Chris Cornell, watching the film again brought a hard dose of nostalgia against a reality check of middle age. It was the untimely and emotionally heavy death of Chris Cornell, just a month shy of the quarter century mark for the soundtrack’s release, that led me back to the first and only film that spoke to us with generational authenticity. And, when I’m feeling that generational tug and that middle age nostalgia, I look back to the gang from Seattle to remind me how it once was, and why today looks pretty good.
I have long used this exquisite tool of punctuation to great effect, as have so many authors from Dickens to Fitzgerald to Salinger to even the contemporary John Green. At times, some readers and editors have actually pointed out their confusion at what exactly this mark is, comments which befuddled and amused me.
As an editor of student writing, I was often bemused by students' inability to distinguish the hyphen from the dash, and programs like GoogleDocs were actually a bit slow to adapt coding to reflect the actual look, meaning location and length, of the dash.
Anyway, until recently I was aloof to the apparent issue that ChatGPT has with the em dash. And, while I have accepted the presence and even utility of the AI software, I am quite miffed at the tarnish and shadow the program has cast upon my beloved piece of punctuation. I first heard of the controversy a couple days ago while listening to our composition teacher mention it to the class, as the class discussed an essay from Green's The Anthropocene Reviewed.
There are countless signals you might look for to determine whether a piece of writing was generated by A.I., but earlier this year the world seemed to fixate on one in particular: the em dash. ChatGPT was using it constantly — like so, and even if you begged it not to.
As this observation traveled the internet, a weird consensus congealed: that humans do not use dashes. Posters on tech forums called them a “GPT-ism,” a robotic artifact that “does not match modern day communication.” Someone on an OpenAI forum complained that the dashes made it harder to use ChatGPT for customer service without customers catching on. All sorts of people seemed mystifyingly confident that no flesh-and-bone human had any use for this punctuation, and that any deviant who did would henceforth be mistaken for a computer.
Those deviants were appalled, obviously. I am one;
In great news for schools, for education, for research, for the free exchange of ideas, for corporate altruism and philanthropy, The Atlantic announced yesterday that all public high schools will be give 100% free digital access to the magazine and its nearly 140 years of archives.
I am tremendously excited about this new offering, and I have already signed up the library-media center at the high school where I work. The Atlantic is an exceptional resource for long-form journalism, and the archives are an opportunity for students to explore criticism and essays reaching back to the time of Henry Thoreau and his fellow Transcendentalists.
Thank you to the ownership and editorial team of this esteemed institution of the Fourth Estate.
Starting today, The Atlantic is offering every public high school in the United States free digital access to its journalism and 168-year archive. All public high schools and districts can register with The Atlantic to give their students, teachers, and administrators unlimited access to TheAtlantic.com while on campus at no cost: all articles, full magazine issues, podcasts and audio articles, Atlantic Games, and the complete archive.
The Atlantic is already widely used as a teaching resource and read by millions of educators and students––and its archive contains landmark essays from many of history’s greatest writers and thinkers. This new offering removes financial and technical barriers for public high schools and introduces The Atlantic’s journalism to new generations of readers. Since launching an academic group subscription in July 2023, The Atlantic has enrolled more than 200 colleges, universities, and high schools in this program, reaching more than 1.2 million readers.
It was a cool, kind of spooky, almost ethereal sunrise on the eastern plains of Colorado this morning with a bright sunrise backlighting a thick, mysterious blanket of fog.
Images of the horses and cows lazily grazing, at ease with the natural phenomena all around, peppered the landscape of rolling hills and small bodies of water.
My morning drives to my position as a high school librarian almost always makes me smile, giving hints and glimpses of the southern Illinois landscape where I grew up.
