I almost couldn’t believe this when I saw it: Disney put out an album of pop punk covers of Disney songs called A Whole New Sound, which includes:
Simple Plan playing “Can You Feel the Love Tonight?”
Yellowcard playing “A Whole New World”
New Found Glory playing “Part Of Your World”
I would just like to shoutout whichever 40-year-old at Disney got the greenlight for this. As Boomers retire and we Millennials take over positions of power, I hope we keep doing stuff like this. Suggestions for the follow-up album:
Ye Olde Blog turns 18 years old today. Forgive me, but as a writer of a certain age I cannot help but think of the “18 years, 18 years” line from Kanye’s “Gold Digger”—a song that debuted just a year before this blog.
Unlike in the song, though, there’s no question of provenance here. From the Blogspot I started in my freshman dorm room all the way to the WordPress-powered custom domain of today, my online writing life has abided through CMS migrations and many life changes to officially reach voting age. (Who would it vote for this year? Definitely not one of the candidates.)
During my blog cleanup late last year, it was fun to see how my early posts in fall 2006 tackled philosophy and movies and poetry and other random thoughts, just as I’ve done in the nearly two decades since. Because I don’t make any money from this endeavor, the core ethos has always been to write about whatever I’m interested in, whenever I want, and that’s held true. No matter where you’ve joined me on that journey, I appreciate your time and attention.
I’m not sure how it started, but I got sucked into a YouTube wormhole of the videos I watched in that early-COVID quarantine phase, like:
Reunited Apart from Josh Gad, which reunited various movie casts—my favorites being Lord of the Rings and Back to the Future
Some Good News from John Krasinski, which included reunions of The Office and Hamilton casts and compilations of phenomena very specific to that lockdown phase
The cast of Hamilton and The Roots singing “Helpless” from Hamilton
As with mask-wearing, I felt a strangely beautiful camaraderie watching these at the time knowing so many others were enjoying them too in similar circumstances. And watching them now brings me right back to that time, which, luckily for me, was positive—being able to work from home and see my wife and then 1 year old son a lot more.
Kai Brach, in his Dense Discovery newsletter, responding to an essay about the political “center”:
True centrism shouldn’t simply find two opposing positions and place itself in the middle of them. Instead, it should anchor itself in core principles of human decency, compassion, moral integrity, etc.
This version of centrism isn’t about always falling neatly between arbitrary sides or never taking a stand. It’s about approaching each issue with critical reasoning, personal principles and lived experiences – not party dogma or oversimplified narratives.
No individual aligns perfectly with any political party. In that sense, we’re all ‘centrists’, capable of independent thought. True centrism acknowledges that ideologies and parties can never fully capture the complexity of reality. It’s about not confusing the map for the territory, and refusing to constrain our thinking within the bounds of political tribalism.
Only by grounding centrism in unwavering core principles, rather than simply splitting the difference between two points, can we chart a more ethical and intellectually honest political course.
My wife sent me something about the opposition of Saturn last Saturday night, which meant it’d be more visible than usual. While at the library that day I saw they had a monocular telescope for checkout to use with smartphones, so I decided to check it out in case I had the opportunity to try for a shot.
And we did. Before bedtime for our five year old, we managed to catch a glimpse of it between some trees outside our back door. Behold my hasty, heavily magnified iPhone astrophotography:
I kept jumping between regular and night mode and playing with the focus for the best possible shot, and that’s what I managed to get. I told him how special it was that we were able to see it, both due to the astronomical factors and just being alive during a time when Saturn still has its rings (it’ll have to say goodbye in about 100 million years).
I had the pleasure of seeing Back to the Future The Musical at the Cadillac Palace Theater in Chicago with my friend Kevin as an early birthday present from my wife. Back to the Future is the movie that long ago turned me into a cinephile, so it was a thrill to see this fun rendition on the stage and get goosebumps listening to a live orchestra play the score I own in three different formats and had played at my wedding.
As with the Newsies musical, I enjoyed seeing how they tweaked the plot, chronology, and other elements to fit the unique structure of a modern musical. Gone are the Libyan terrorists subplot and car trunk Marty gets locked in and finale at the McFly house—all choices made for specific (and good) reasons that were explored in Creating Back to the Future The Musical, the behind-the-scenes companion book by Michael Klastorin I immediately checked out via my library from Hoopla.
I was also really impressed with the show’s mix of practical and visual effects, especially when the real DeLorean blended with stage effects and a digital backdrop to appear in motion. (Fun fact: the stage DeLorean is, ironically, 88% of full size.) There are several “how did they do that?” moments I wish they’d explained in the book, but they unfortunately refused to reveal some stagecraft secrets.
As for the songs, I’d listened to some of them before, but it’s not the same experience as seeing them performed live. It’s always funny to see which quotes or moments from a movie get turned into their own song in the movie’s Broadway version—in this case “It Works” and “Hello, Is Anybody Home?” and “Put Your Mind to It”.
Same thing with the different solos, which let us dive a little deeper into the characters’ motivations and development. Lorraine’s doo-wop ditty “Pretty Baby” and George’s ballad “My Myopia” and Doc’s touching “For the Dreamers” really fill out the larger story and let us fall in love with these characters anew.
I’ve loved this movie for the majority of my life. Kudos to the show’s core team of Bob Gale, Robert Zemeckis, Alan Silvestri, and Glen Ballard for doing right by the original and making something that’s not a sequel or reboot, and that sits comfortably alongside the movie.
I recently read BoyMom: Reimagining Boyhood in the Age of Impossible Masculinity by Ruth Whippman, a journalist and mom of three boys who wrestles with her own fears, frustrations, and biases as an avowed feminist raising boys in a world with conflicting views of modern masculinity.
As the father of two young boys myself, I found the book deeply relatable, validating, challenging, and illuminating. It facilitated a lot of great discussions with my wife as we try to envision a better, more wholehearted life for our wild and wonderful boys.
Here are some random thoughts and takeaways.
The ‘buddy’ system
Whippman shares an anecdote of her preschooler’s male teacher welcoming students into the classroom, greeting the girls with nicknames like “sweetheart” but the boys with “buddy.” It’s such a small thing, but it’s an example of how language can create emotional distance with boys compared to girls from a very early age, and set an expectation for which terms of endearment are acceptable for each gender.
After reading that, I realized I too call our 5 year old “buddy” (and our 1 year old “mister”) almost unconsciously. So I’ve resolved to start training myself to use different nicknames that aren’t gendered (Bun and Muffin) so that they know they’re much more than my buddies.
Breaking the wheel
A key point Whippman makes is that the movement to counteract “toxic” masculinity with more positive alternatives like “healthy” or “aspirational” masculinity is, though well-intentioned, a kind of half-measure that still perpetuates the expectation of fulfilling prescribed masculine ideals. Instead:
Boys don’t need more masculinity, but freedom from that paradigm; they need permission to be fully human without the pressure to conform to oppressive masculine norms.
This idea reminded me of the Daenerys Targaryen line in Game of Thrones: “I’m not going to stop the wheel—I’m going to break the wheel.”
Stopping the wheel isn’t enough, because it can always be restarted or rebranded using the same structure. We need to break it altogether and offer alternate modes of transportation, so to speak.
Too much of a good thing
There’s a book called Too Much of a Good Thing: How Four Key Survival Traits Are Now Killing Us by Lee Goodman, and it lays out why some of humanity’s behaviors and biological functions helped us thrive as hunter-gatherers but are detrimental for the sedentary office workers we’ve become:
Overeating was good when every calorie mattered, but now causes obesity.
Preferring salty foods helped retain water, but now causes high blood pressure and heart disease.
Blood-clotting saved us from bleeding to death from injuries, but now can cause heart attacks and strokes.
Hyper-vigilance and aggression saved us from predators and enemies, but now make us destructive to others and ourselves.
I think about gender in a similar way. Whatever combination of nature and nurture that modern masculinity and femininity entail, they contain evolutionary adaptations developed over tens of thousands of years. That’s not something you can fundamentally alter or remove overnight. (As E.O. Wilson wrote: “The real problem of humanity is we have Paleolithic emotions, medieval institutions, and god-like technologies.”)
What are the good and useful elements of masculinity that helped us survive and evolve as a species? Which of those elements can still be used for good today? And which are now too much and have become detrimental—to both men and women? How we answer those questions will determine what masculinity will look like for current and future generations.
We’ve encountered more interesting bugs while out and about since doing this last September, so I figured I’d turn this into yet another of my recurring features with its own tag.
Here’s a midge:
And a (much smaller in real life) ground crab spider:
Roger Radcliffe is ultimately a supporting player in this story of dogs trying to avoid being skinned for their fur (you know, a Disney movie for kids). But as the hero of his own story, he’s an excellent example of an artist at work.
Here’s what we can learn from this eccentric English musician about a productive and fulfilling creative life.
Treat it like a job.
Roger may be a struggling artist, but he still understands the importance of routine and consistency. You can tell he puts in the hours and treats his craft like the job it is—much to his dog Pongo’s chagrin.
Take a walk.
Even a pro like Roger knows when it’s quittin’ time. Once 5 pm arrives (thanks to some sneaky time-turning by Pongo), he’s out the door with his canine companion for some fresh air and a chance to unwind.
Find the melody.
While playing around with the melody that would eventually become his hit song “Cruella de Vil”, Roger uses nonsense songs as placeholders, which his wife Anita playfully teases him for. But he insists: “Melody first, my dear, and then the lyrics.” Of course lyrics can come first in the creative process, but until you have a melody for them you don’t have a song. Whatever the creative art, figure out what you absolutely need before adding layers of complexity.
Use your life as inspiration.
Roger’s journey from struggling musician to successful hitmaker can be traced to one key moment: glomming Cruella de Vil’s name onto a half-formed melody. This bit of improvised whimsy occurred only because he was present and observant of the world around him. Same case with his second single “Dalmatian Plantation”, which, despite the problematic name, emerged out of his natural reaction to dozens of sooty dogs destroying his house.
Back in June, I took an early morning walk with my 1 year old and had the sudden inspiration to whip up an Instagram Reel on a topic I care deeply about: telling people that it’s OK to stop reading books you don’t like:
This might sound familiar because I’ve done a similar one before. But in this new one I called upon my authority as a librarian to issue absolutions to struggling readers:
You’re not being graded.
No one cares if you don’t finish a book.
The author isn’t going to find out.
Apparently this message resonates, because in the last few days the reel has jumped to (as of this writing) 16k views, over 1k likes, and 350 shares—all by far the biggest responses I’ve ever gotten on a social post. The shares metric is most rewarding to me, because it shows how many people felt compelled to forward it to others through DMs or Stories.
I had fun with this Fridge Poetry page (works best on desktop) where you can play with the provided words and even add your own. I assembled the above phrase using words that were already lying there, and I like how it turned out like one of my magazine mashup pages.
Do I totally know what it means? No. Does it sound cool and could be song lyrics? Absolutely.
The Infernal Machine: A True Story of Dynamite, Terror, and the Rise of the Modern Detective by Steven Johnson. Another brilliant narrative nonfiction saga from Steven Johnson that weaves multiple historical threads together to tell the riveting story of how dynamite, fingerprinting, anarchism, information science and other seemingly disparate forces all conspired to create what would become the modern surveillance state.
BoyMom: Reimagining Boyhood in the Age of Impossible Masculinity by Ruth Whippman. Highly recommend this new book for my fellow parents of boys especially, but also anyone interested and invested in a more wholehearted masculinity.
The Bear season 3. Carmy needs to chill out and call Claire.
Civil War. Alex Garland’s latest and rather (unfortunately) timely dystopian drama shows what would happen if Ron Swanson from Parks & Recreation became president instead of Leslie Knope.
Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga. I’d have to do some research on this, but I suspect the five-act structure of this saga could align rather nicely with the Pentateuch, or the first five books of the Bible. Furiosa? More like Mad Moses.
The Taking of Pelham One Two Three. Might be the most ’70s New York City movie ever?
I’m creating my movie best-of lists retroactively. See all of them.
Hard to believe my last retrospective list in this series was almost two years ago. But I recently rewatched what ended up as my top two movies on this list and realized I hadn’t done this movie year yet, so here we are.
I was 10-11 years old in 1998, so the movies I saw at the time were thusly limited: Mighty Joe Young at the theater, Spice World at a sleepover, The Prince of Egypt and The Parent Trap on steady VHS rotation. None of which, alas, made my list, but thanks anyways for the memories…
On to the list…
1. The Truman Show
I knew I loved this movie but a recent rewatch confirmed it’s an all-timer. It’s easy to forget just how dark the premise is, and how deeply the in-movie cast and crew had to commit to perpetuating this illusion for so long in spite of the many ethical concerns. But the concept, the cast, and the execution are all A+ work. And it’s only 1 hour and 40 minutes. So glad it’s that and not some 12-episode limited series.
2. Saving Private Ryan
A foundational cinematic text for my budding cinephile self who saw it at around 12 years old. Funny how the cascade of supporting players (Ted Danson, Dennis Farina, Bryan Cranston, Nathan Fillon) meant nothing to me at the time but now looks both impressive and odd.
3. You’ve Got Mail
This is Peak Romcom. Hanks and Ryan and Ephron and New York City and witty repartee and dramatic stakes and bookstores—it’s all there in a literary love note to love itself. See also: 1940’s The Shop Around the Corner, the movie this is based on.
4. Armageddon
Unequivocally one of Bruce Willis’s best roles, not to mention the cavalcade of character actors filling out the ensemble. Story-wise it makes no sense, but as a comedic blockbuster adventure there are few better.
5. A Bug’s Life
Feels like the forgotten Pixar at this point, coming out at the beginning of their run and nestled between the first two Toy Story movies. But it has all the elements Pixar is known for, on top of being a Seven Samurai rehash with insects.
6. Pleasantville
I’ve never forgotten the scene of Bud helping his mom reapply her makeup to cover up her post-transformation color. In a movie that’s basically one giant metaphor, that tactility really packs a punch.
7. American History X
Speaking of never forgetting, there are some brutal moments in this one—both physically and rhetorically.
8. The Thin Red Line
It would be a while before I became familiar with Terrence Malick and the significance of this movie as his return to filmmaking. But looking back now, it makes for a great contrast with Saving Private Ryan.
9. A Simple Plan
As a late-‘90s, midwestern, snow-laden crime noir with peculiar characters, it’s like Fargo’s more serious older brother. And if both of those movies can teach us anything, it’s to never, ever take the money. Very pleasing to see Bill Paxton in a full-fledged leading role, displaying the chops he exhibited in so many supporting roles.
10. Ever After
One of the many romcoms I grew up with on steady rotation. It’s been a minute since I’ve seen it but I was always impressed with the humor and drama and romance of it all.
If you want to enjoy reading, don’t have a reading goal.
If you want to read more books by female authors or explore a new genre or something like that, go for it. But that’s not what I’m talking about. Once you say “I want to read X number of books this year,” whatever that number is, you’ve turned what should be an enjoyable, enriching experience into work.
Just read what you like and read often—that’s all.
Not YouTube watch history. When you turn off the watch history for your YouTube account (manage it here), your homepage becomes gloriously blank rather than cluttered with garbage served up by their algorithm.
Not WorkFlowy. One day I decided I was tired of splitting my personal and professional note-taking, task management, and documents between multiple apps and services, so I took everything out of WorkFlowy and moved it to either Google Docs or Apple Notes (for personal stuff and archived material) or OneDrive or Monday.com (for work). I’ve used WorkFlowy for over a decade and have really enjoyed its simplicity and structure, but I wanna try life without it for a bit.
Apple Reminders. I’ve used this off and on over the years, mostly for shared shopping lists between my wife and me. The recent update that suggests grocery store categories for items on your list and then automatically sorts them is a game changer.
Cinema Sugar asked on Threads: “What movie do you refuse to watch?” It provoked some interesting responses, the most common by far being Titanic and Barbie.
I get the Barbie backlash since it’s new and somewhat (weirdly) politically charged. Titanic, though, is nearly 30 years old and one of the most awarded and highest-grossing movies of all time. Perhaps that stature is enough to continue repelling people decades later? I get that not everyone is interested in a tragic romance and/or disaster adventure, but those who proudly avoid it as if it’s a badge of honor ought to make like Rose and lighten up, let their hair down, and do a jig down in third-class.
Partially out of spite for those insecure dumdums, I recently rewatched it for the first time in a decade. Some thoughts:
1. It’s a masterpiece. There’s just no way around it. There are cringey elements, sure, but they’re drowned out by the sheer magnitude of the spectacle and drama.
2. Noted this quote from the TV interview Paxton’s Brock Lovett gives:
Everyone knows the familiar stories of Titanic—the nobility, the band playing till the very end and all that. But what I’m interested in are the untold stories, the secrets locked deep inside the hull of Titanic.
This is a key point when thinking about the value of history and historical fiction. Imagined characters like Jack and Rose serve as representatives of all those real people whose stories remain untold, giving us a personal way into grand historical moments that typically erase the everyday folks who don’t end up in history books.
3. I didn’t see it in theaters, so my only experience with it for a long time was with the two-cassette VHS. The first cassette ending with Captain Smith’s line “I believe you may get your headlines, Mr. Ismay” and then a cut to black was an all-time intermission cliffhanger. There were other long movies with similar break lines like The Sound of Music (“It will be my first party, father!”) and Gone With The Wind (“Tomorrow is another day!”), but they just don’t compare in dramatic effect. And since DVDs quickly took over around this time, it might be the last movie with such a built-in cliffhanger.
4. This time around I really felt the weight Mr. Andrews was carrying as he reckoned with the unfolding tragedy and wandered through the mingling first-class passengers who were oblivious to their fate.
5. There’s a stark contrast between the two times the flares were shot off: in the first, they’re up close and seen by the passengers like a brilliant firework display, but in the second they’re in a far-wide shot that frames the mighty ship and its flares as but small flickers of light in the vast darkness of the ocean. Brilliant move to show just how alone and doomed they really were.
6. You know what this would make a great double feature with? Once. A chance encounter of two strangers, one of which inspires the other to escape their melancholic funk and live their life to the fullest. There’s even a lyrical nod to Titanic in “Falling Slowly”: take this sinking boat and point it home, we’ve still got time…
Scheduled to be released in theaters June 2020, the film adaptation of Lin-Manuel Miranda’s musical In the Heights was in the first wave of movies that were delayed by the COVID-19 pandemic. It got pushed back a full year to June 2021, when as part of a slate of Warner Bros. movies it controversially debuted in theaters and HBO Max simultaneously.
While I did take advantage of the streaming option for several of these movies (sorry, Dune), I knew I wanted to see In the Heights on the big screen. Not only to support it financially but also because musicals ought to be a big-screen experience shared by a crowd of like-minded moviegoers.
But as with the denizens of Miranda’s Washington Heights, my cinematic sueñito soon had a rude awakening: The theater I went to was completely empty. Not just my screening room but the entire multiplex. I appeared to be the only person going to a movie on that particular Sunday afternoon, a time I assumed would normally be bustling with people of all ages.
Part of me was OK with having a screening room to myself as I wouldn’t have to worry about talkers or texters. But this feeling was also tinged with disappointment: it meant moviegoing itself, my beloved pastime, was still fighting the same virus we moviegoers were fighting outside in the real world.
Little did I know that the fictional story I was about to witness on screen about a neighborhood reckoning with a paralyzing power outage would serve as an unintentional parable for a different kind of crisis.
“Everybody’s got a dream”
Adapted from Lin-Manuel Miranda’s Tony Award-winning stage musical, In the Heights tells the stories of community members in the predominantly Latine neighborhood of Washington Heights in New York City, with Usnavi (Anthony Ramos) and his bodega as the centerpiece of the dramas and delights that happen during one sweltering summer.
What the core cast of characters share, besides being childhood friends, is the desire for something more—something they hope will propel them out of their limiting circumstances. Usnavi yearns to return to his ancestral home in the Dominican Republic, which conflicts with his feelings for Vanessa, who also aspires to escape the barrio and pursue fashion design. Meanwhile Benny dreams of becoming a business tycoon and being with Nina, a star student but first-year Stanford dropout having an existential crisis.
These rising tensions finally come to a boil one night when the group is out at a packed salsa club. It’s a sweaty and electric scene that’s punctuated by moments of misunderstanding and frustration between Usnavi and Vanessa, who can’t get in the same rhythm with each other—on or off the dance floor.
And then: Boom! Power outage. The club goes dark, and amidst the chaos and screams the crowd stampedes out into the unlit streets.
With no indication of when the power will return, the neighborhood is left to endure the heat however they can. The public pool offers welcome relief, which the epic “96,000” showcases with exuberance. But eventually fatigue sets in and all there is to do is sluggishly waste away outside in the boiling sun.
That’s the scene the fiery salon owner Daniela arrives at when she charges into an apartment complex courtyard in search of a boisterous farewell for her salon relocation. Her attempt to rally their spirits turns into the lively “Carnaval del Barrio” sequence, which features some great song-and-dance but also lets people air out their feelings about the challenging circumstances.
Vanessa and Sonny, Usnavi’s undocumented immigrant cousin, vent about their powerlessness—both literally amidst the prolonged outage, and figuratively against gentrification and discrimination:
Y’all keep dancin’ and singin’ and celebratin’ And it’s gettin’ late and this place is disintegratin’
But Usnavi, preparing to leave Washington Heights for his homeland, argues for a hopeful acceptance of change and makes a plea for solidarity:
Alright, we are powerless, so light up a candle There’s nothing going on here that we can’t handle
This spurs the group into a raucous, unifying celebration of the barrio’s different ethnicities, with people rallying around the flags of their heritage—Puerto Rico, Cuba, the Dominican Republic, Mexico—not as jingoistic saber-rattling but as jubilant ethnic pride. They may be suffering, but they’re suffering together.
“Oye, que paso? Blackout! Blackout!”
A sudden crisis with an unknown duration. Increased outdoor interaction with neighbors and friends. Personal and political discontentment spilling out into the public square. Sound familiar?
Despite the Broadway version debuting a decade before—and the movie filming a year before—the outset of the COVID-19 pandemic, In the Heights serves as a richly drawn (and sung) synecdoche for that particularly fraught moment in modern American history. You remember: within two days of the WHO’s official pandemic declaration on March 11, 2020, Tom Hanks announced his diagnosis from quarantine in Australia, the NBA shut down, the president addressed the nation, hospitals braced for impact, and businesses everywhere slowed to silence. COVID didn’t strike quite as suddenly as a power outage (hello, toilet paper hoarders) but it sure felt like it in the moment.
The days and weeks that followed were a time when we’d lost everyday powers: to visit elderly family members, to go grocery shopping without fear of contamination, to attend school in front of other humans instead of a screen.
But it was also a time when, like a real-life “Carnaval del Barrio,” pent-up discontentment got channeled outward as thousands of people took to the streets with raised voices—not to escape a power outage but to protest George Floyd’s murder. And the tug-of-war between hope and despair played out on the national stage as the 2020 election ominously approached.
(Even Abuela Claudia fits into the analogy: her health issues combined with the suffocating heat proved too overwhelming, leading to her death early in the pandemic—a tragic analogue to the virus’s high mortality rate among the elderly.)
“We’re all in this together” is something we heard a lot in those dark early days when the masks went on and the infection trend lines went off the charts. Over time, as inequalities piled up and ideologies clashed, it become less inspirational and more cruelly ironic. But its core message stands, in real life and on the screen: communal camaraderie amidst a crippling crisis makes struggle a little easier to endure. As Abuela Claudia always said, “¡Paciencia y fe!”
“Tell the whole block I’m staying”
Back in Washington Heights, the power eventually returns and our friends are left to adjust to their own “new normal.”
Nina has regained her vocational drive and plans to return to college to fight for the undocumented. Vanessa has moved out of the neighborhood and found her creative ambitions reinvigorated. Usnavi is still set to leave for the Dominican Republic until, with a little help from his friends, an epiphany reframes his vision for what home means to him. (Something the large swathes of post-COVID remote and hybrid workers can appreciate.) Though they looked different than they did in the before times, their sueñitos had come true.
I’m very grateful I was in a happy and healthy home for quarantine with my wife and child in June 2020. I also wish I could have been at the movie theater instead, watching In the Heights become the smash hit of the summer. That didn’t happen, but I can still dream…
I recently went on a bike ride to the library with my 5 year old. It was the first time he was on his own (training-wheeled) bike instead of riding along in the trailer and it was really fun. He was so jazzed up about it, which caused him to start monologuing his thoughts throughout the entire ride.
Some of those thoughts morphed into what he considers the Rules for Biking, which are as follows:
1. “Always look forward, except when there’s wildlife or really beautiful parks, and you can just look for a second.”
2. “If you get a scrape on your leg, it looks cool. Not too much cool, just still a little bit of cool.”
3. “Everyone who loves biking should stick together.”
Bonus quote: “Ahhhh, don’t you just love having the wind in your face?”
