Polaroid debunks Outkast photo shake
Fans of Outkast's mega-hit Hey Ya might want to "shake it like a Polariod picture," but the company says shaking its photos, which used to help them dry, isn't necessary anymore. The photo "never touches air, so shaking or waving has no effect," the camera company says on its web site. In fact, shaking or any rapid movement can damage the film. But then, "drying slowly, like a Polaroid picture" doesn't quite scan. - USA Today, Wed, Feb 18, 2004

Um, thank you very much Polaroid, you BIG FAT PARTY POOPERS! Sigh, so much for Polaroid taking advantage of this humongous marketing opportunity. Good luck with that whole, "we don't really 'get' popular culture since we can't reproduce it in our labs" stance you're making. I'm sure it'll be a hit with the kids.

I Stand Corrected
I just read a great article in the January 26 issue of Newsweek that is causing me to bite my tongue. A week ago I posted on the "lost art" of crocheting and knitting. Surely no one these days under the age of 65 is knitting anything anymore. Well, an article called "Rock-and-Roll Knitters" just proved me wrong. Because of copyrights and Newsweek's annoying sign-up fee, I can't reproduce the article here (or even link to anything), but I can tell you about it. Debbie Stroller, a feminist author, faced many incredulous friends when she told them she had taken up knitting a few years ago. Apparently, knitting wasn't "feminist" enough for them. In true fashion to her ethos, Debbie essentially said, "Screw it," and founded her own knitting club in her Manhattan apartment called "Stitch 'N Bitch." Similar groups have spun off in Chi-town and LA, and "Stitch 'N Bitch: The Knitter's Handbook" (Workman Publishing) is now in it's fifth printing. In it you can refine your skills by making a cell-phone cozy or a punk-rock backpack, as well as a skull-and-crossbones sweater. "Crafting is the new rock and roll, baby," Stroller told Newsweek.

You've gotta love that feminist spirit.

Hello, my name is Julie and I come from a dog family. Which means the following - I laugh hard at cruel cat jokes, I talk about my family’s dogs as if they were human, I tend to make more jokes than the average person about “bacon” or “gravy”, and I always, without fail, will cry my eyes out when a dog dies in a movie (whereas a person dying in a movie will only receive my tears about 30% of the time).

Before we go farther, let’s clarify some things. Just because I tear up at dog movies and my brothers and I sit around and make up funny things that we think the dogs are thinking… that does not make me a one of those freaky dog-lovers who does not know how to communicate with people. I would never venture to say that a dog could ever take the place of or hold the importance of a human relationship. That said, a relationship with a dog has the possibility of serving its own special purpose in your life—one that you will never understand until you experience it, and once you do, it will make you sad for those who never will.

Named by true children of 80’s pop culture, Gizmo was a constant companion to me through some of the roughest years (as they are for most people): 12 and beyond. I don’t care what anyone says—dogs have personalities. And Gizmo didn’t have to be able to talk to communicate hers to me. Who has not been comforted by a friend, wordlessly, with sympathetic eyes or a hug? Dogs can do no less. They know when you’re mad, when you’re hurt and when you’re happy—and they respond appropriately. As we all well know, they love unconditionally. There are few people in our lives who can match that.

When I went away to college, I always joked that I missed Gizmo more than I missed my family. But in a way, it was true – and not because I didn’t love my family. I could talk to my family on the phone, write letters, email, etc. My relationship with Giz required a physical component that couldn’t be communicated over the phone. It was the way she bounded to the door when I walked in (even if I’d only been outside for 10 mins.), nuzzled my face to say thank you, or simply rested her head on my leg while we both sighed with contentment.

Certainly I have lost people in my life that were important to me. But I have somehow managed to get through a quarter of a century without losing someone who I was really quite close and attached to. Therefore I can say with little reservation, that my most difficult loss was just last summer when Gizmo passed away. She was old and death was expected soon. Living in Kentucky and my family in Pennsylvania, I always wondered and worried if I would get to be around for her last days. Tragically, the unexpected way in which she died, created a situation that gave no one in our family one last chance to say goodbye. I cried and mourned her loss. I broke inside as I watched my happy-go-lucky dad cry harder than I’d ever seen. She haunted my dreams for months after her death, an occurrence that finally made me realize I had lost more than just a family pet.

I will always miss her. That’s the beauty of a good relationship – human or not. The other never really leaves you, and you in turn will never forget. So this blog, on this day, is in tribute to Gizmo Q. Weber and to every other curious human/dog relationship that has exceeded common reasoning. Here’s to all those dogs who took their owners by surprise when they thought they were “just getting a pet.” May your naps be long, may there be bunnies for chasing in abundance and may treats fall from the table like manna from heaven. Remember, in doggy heaven, everything comes with gravy.

Last night my friend Abbi came over and taught me and another friend, Elissa, how to crochet. (Kinda funny when I thought about what I was doing last Monday night. Punk rock show... crocheting. We'll just say I'm well-rounded. :)) Granted, she has only taught us the "single-stich" of crocheting so far - there's still double and triple to learn - but it was SO easy! A few step-by-step instructions and within minutes I was off and running on my very own, HOMEMADE, pink scarf. I couldn't help thinking what a truly lost art this is becoming. Abbi's mother and grandmother taught her how to do it--as well they should have. How many mother's are teaching their daughters to crochet or knit these days? I am almost positive my mother knows how to at least crochet, but here I am at 26 years old and I didn't have a clue. (In my mother's defense, I am sure she tried to get me to learn at one point-or at least offered-but I was too busy watching Saved By The Bell. Hey, who didn't love Zak Morris' brooding good looks and Screech's crazy antics at one point in their lives?) Back to my real question - where's our sense of tradition? Passing our skills, stories and values onto the next generation is the only thing that's going to keep our history - our memories - truly alive. Thus I am determined to pass such skills onto my children (I'm gonna have boys, I KNOW I'm gonna have all boys...), along with my stories, my passions and my values. If you haven't seen the movie Big Fish yet, I highly recommend it. It will make you think long and hard about your own family, its traditions, and how much you really know about your living (and deceased) elders. I realized on the drive home from the theater that I don't even know the story behind how my grandparents met. It's easy to jump to blame others in such cases, but my conscience quickly caught up with me - I never asked. You can be sure what my questions are going to be at our next family gathering.

I have to say, THANK GOODNESS Evanescence won best new artist at the Grammy's last night. I mean, come on... Sean Paul, 50 Cent, Fountains of Wayne? Sorry Heather Headley - I don't know who you are, but I won't knock you for my own ignorance there. But I know the rest of them and I was not impressed. Was this seriously the best new talent we had to offer this year? What a pathetic year. And where's my boy Jason Mraz? Maybe next year, buddy. The funniest and best carried out presentation of the night was John Mayer and Matthew Perry doing their bit on breaking up just a few minutes before backstage because of "musical differences." For the most part though, most of the two and three person presentations left me cringing and red-faced on someone's behalf. Goodness gracious, whoever said these people were performers? I could go on forever about what should have been, but I'll end on this note. I appreciate the academy's desire to always pair legendary artists with new, fresh talent for the performances. The old-timers who have put in their dues - some with very little recognition over the years - get their props, while the audience stays duly entertained. But of all the performances last night - some more contrived than others - none was as unnecessary and unequally yoked as Sean Paul and Sting singing (I use the term loosely for Sean Paul) Roxanne. Nothing was added to the performance by Sean Paul's presence and it just felt awkward.

For a full list of the winners, click here.

“In transforming culture so that it supports life, women occupy a place, in thought and action, which is unique and decisive. It depends on them to promote a ‘new feminism’ that rejects the temptation of imitating models of ‘male domination,’ in order to acknowledge and affirm the true genius of women in every aspect of the life of society, and overcome all discrimination, violence and exploitation.” - Pope John Paul II

Amen, brother. (Do you think the Pope would've let me call him brother?) The problem I have nowadays with most feminist views is this desire to "do everything a man does." Why can't we just be celebrated and respected - men and women alike - for what we can do well? I don't want to be man or necessarily be treated like one. I just want to be ME and all the good and the bad that goes along with that. There are many innate gifts I have that are (generally speaking) unique to women. I have gifts that are often considered to be reserved for men. Also there are things that as a woman, I am expected to excel at, which in fact I actually suck at. (Just being honest kids.) I am, like most people, just seeking to be respected and appreciated for what I can do well, as I in turn will cherish people for what they have to offer. I do not expect any given woman to live up to everything that any given man can do, or vice versa. I just expect each person to desire to make the most out of the gifts God has given them. I hope that I truly live this out in my day-to-day interactions.

“I am no man.” – Eowyn, defeating the Witch King of the Nazgul, whom no man can kill

I've just got to take my blogging time today to reflect on my concert experience Monday night. Straight away after work we headed up to see MxPx (along with Simple Plan and Sugarcult) at Bogart's in Cincinnati. I was still tired from the weekend, it was raining and I had to be the driver. All in all, I felt OLD. What I really wanted to do was to stay inside on the cold, rainy night, read a little bit and go to bed early. I didn't feel I could summon the energy to put my all into enjoying this show--getting slammed around by sweaty, stinky teenage boys once again, all for the sake of the music. Once you've seen a band play more times than you can remember, you pretty much stop counting on every new show to be the "best one ever." But, as I drove north, I told myself - Just enjoy it for what it is.

What greeted us at Bogart's was a crowd that was mostly there to see the MTV/radio saturated Simple Plan. While I enjoy their music, with these kinds of bands I have to feel slightly defensive for the MxPx guys who have managed to have a long, steady career and built a dedicated fan-base, with little to no help from MTV or the radio. They're hardly old-timers, but I'm willing to bet that the Simple Plan guys were just teenage nobodys plucking out the bass line to Chick Magnet in their parents suburban basements while MxPx was on tour after relentless tour earning their fan base the old-fashioned way. (To prove my point, Simple Plan even has a song called "Grow Up" in which they reference being teenagers sitting around their bedroom listening to their favorite bands, including MxPx).

The vast support for Simple Plan was evident by the amount of t-shirts, buttons, and stickers adorning the crowd and in the volume of cries every time their name was mentioned from stage. But the lack of support for MxPx wasn't so clear until at least half of the crowd cleared out after Simple Plan left the stage - and before MxPx could even plug in. Semi-relieved that I could easily push my way to the front for a fantastic view of Mike Herrara in all his pierced and tatooed glory - my heart also broke for these guys who just got one-uped by the TRL flavor of the month.

Once MxPx took the stage, I suddenly found that energy and reckless abandon I had been looking for. The stuff it takes to REALLY enjoy the show – the stuff that I thought that maybe I had lost. The beauty of it all was that it wasn’t because I “felt 21 again.” I felt every one of my 26 (almost 27) years that night and what I came up with was a greater appreciation for every aspect of the experience – and the ability to enjoy the upteenth time almost as much as, if not more than, the first. I couldn’t help thinking while I watched them from the crowd that maybe Mike, Tom and Yuri (MxPx) felt every one of their 26 years that night as well. Kids 10 years their junior – kids who are the age MxPx were when they first started – didn’t even bother to stick around for their performance. It was the physical equivalent of them saying, “MxPx who?” But at the same time, I sensed they held a certain amount of satisfaction and pride for what they’ve accomplished and where they’ve come as a band. They had so many albums from which to pull material, they could have played all night – while Simple Plan essentially had to quit playing after an hour since they were out of songs. There’s no need for Mike to make sure Tom is staying with him because they tightened things up years ago, so that now it functions as a well-oiled machine. Even the on-stage banter has gotten funnier, without ever becoming lewd or offensive. And as they look out on their faithful fans and watch them sing along with every word to every song – they can know that they are the ones who REALLY want to be there, and who will still be there in the future, no matter who is playing on the radio or holding the number one spot on TRL at the time.

So the night didn’t bring me what I expected. I discovered that the experience had changed for me over the years – but it seemed it had changed for the band too, and in that I like to think that maybe we've grown up together.

This morning the power went out here in our little town of Wilmore - ALL OVER TOWN. Something about a transformer blowing. I'm not sure how one little (or big) thing can affect the power supply for the entire town, but that is what happened. So we had an unexpected 4 hour break in our workday. In light of that welcome surprise, I'd like to make a toast to cozy unplanned naps on an otherwise cold and bleak Monday.

I would be remiss if I did not put forth my own two cents about the "special guest" that made her appearance during the Super Bowl Halftime show last night. Everyone is claiming it was a mistake - a "wardrobe malfunction" if you will (I'll my hat if Justin Timberlake ACTUALLY said those words). Now all I've seen was the brief moment when it happened. I don't have TIVO, and I haven't scoured the web for a picture of the moment (there must be one out there somewhere). So I can't say for sure if that was a piercing she had, as some claim, or if she was actually wearing a "pastie" (a word that if I don't have to hear it again for the rest of my life, I will not cry about it). If in fact though, she was wearing some diamond studded pastie - then I believe that negates every claim of innocence that all parties involved are making. Who would ever wear that if they did NOT plan on removing a portion of their clothing? So, if it is true - and that spectacular explosion at the end of that train wreck of a halftime show was intentional - then I am SORELY disappointed. What a sad, desperate attempt to one-up your equally pathetic girlie-kissin' ex-girlfriend. And to do so at the hands of one of the largest (unsuspecting) television audiences? Well, I feel used. Take over MTV, HBO, Showtime... I don't care. At least people know what they're getting when they turn on those networks. But way to take what has up until now remained a fairly wholesome American tradition and turn it into a stage for your unimaginative, offensive antics. And in the name of what - "pushing the envelope?" Give me a break. Simply because you are pop stars does not give you the right to tarnish a harmless family-centric entertainment event. I mean come on - there's not that many of them left. I am no prude and I do not offend easily. I do not have children of my own to make me increasingly sensitive to the content streaming through our television sets. But on behalf of every mother and father out there who surely thought the Super Bowl was safe from the need to "internally monitor" - I am outraged for you.

Prior to last night, arguably the two most talked about people in pop culture had been Britney Spears and Michael Jackson. Between girl-on-girl kisses, Las Vegas weddings, and infamous bathroom breaks, Britney and Michael were tearing up the presses with their pathetic "look at me" moments. I guess if anyone could grow jealous of the attention, it would be the younger sister and the ex-boyfriend. Well, congratulations Janet and Justin - you've managed to reach a new low and temporarily stolen their thunder. Do the world a favor though and leave us out of it next time.