It’s Sunday, and for once my family is doing nothing. I am writing my Media Critique essay. It’s coming out pretty easy – I’ve already got two pages written, which is astonishing and incredible and making me ridiculously.. content. It’s due on the 29th and getting a draft of it done this early is simply a miracle (I tend to do my heaviest work the week prior). However, this course, and its assignments are pretty incredible in that our professor isn’t insistent on sources and referencing – we focus clearly on the writing and any interesting things we have to say about our topic. Our writing is what is judged, not our last-minute-cobbled-together-evidence-for-absolute-bullocks-and-has-no-relation-to-the-topic-thesis-or-point-of-the-essay. That is what I love. It helps our writing.
And I’ve been doing well in it, so I’m all giggly.
I’m writing the media critique about the show Skins, a british drama comedy about a bunch of pill-popping, smoking, alcoholic brats in grade 11 and 12 (or 6th form as they like to say in England). It’s incredibly explicit and the filming techniques are realistic about the portrayal of the various situations portrayed in the show, which is a nice contradiction to everything O.C., although I do love me some Peter Gallagher. Yuuuum-y!
I’m also going to the semi-finals of Toronto Poetry Slam today – so excited! Just made me remember Brendan McCleod and Barbara Adler from The Fugitives – an amazing Canadian poetry/music/spoken word troupe. I am basically in an eternal state of jealousy-induced awe for these guys, and when I listen to their songs (and the fact that they can memorize them a-stounds me) I just feel awfully guilty about not writing more and not being better and not caring enough about my writing to make it get THAT great. I know it can be. Eventually. But I also feel like writing grows with you, and I am most definitely not done growing yet, so I have some time left, unless I die tomorrow or whatever.
All of a sudden, after listening to Gallagher’s take on “Don’t Give Up on Me” (you can listen too if you click on his name earlier in the post), I listened to Solomon Burke’s original, which is of course, better by inches. But I mean, it’s Solomon Burke. This guy is becoming fused to Toni Morrisson for me right now, simply because of the book that I finished reading for english class, called Song of Solomon. Not only do they have the same NAME (coincidence? or FATE?), but because of his style of music, his voice, his content – especially the song, None of Us Are Free, which I remember listening to as a little kid on my dad’s CDs. Goddamn I miss this man and his voice. I just… I want to make sweet sweet love to this man’s voice.
As Ms. Jillian Christmas says, “like all the right kinds of wrong.” 🙂 (A fantastic spoken word poet from my very own living-place of Markham.)
Anyway, I should go bugger off and do something interesting. As you can see I’m bursting full of useless references and facts. I’m sure this is something I’ll carry into a ripe old age and frustrate the hell out of my grandkids about, much like my own grandparents.
🙂 Cheerio, and have a good end to the weekend!