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(05/10/12 5:29pm)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>Since 1998, Rufus Wainwright has upheld the standards for rock ’n’ roll piano enthusiasts, middle-aged cat-mom divorcees and emotionally broken gay men everywhere. In Baroque pop, Wainwright is truly unmatched. His career as a musician is not only monumental in the realm of male vocalists, but his varied demographic follows him cultishly thanks to his expert songwriting and, more importantly, his heart that just won’t quit.In a lot of ways, “Out of the Game” shows off these characteristic traits. Breaching the operatic sound he’s so accustomed to and dipping into piano pop we hear more on the radio, Wainwright holds true to his roots. But he didn’t follow through on the change of pace that was needed.Songs like “Montauk” and “Sometimes You Need” send us to the dreamy, faraway feeling he has transported us to in the past. But after the blow of his first and title track “Out Of The Game,” the record loses its awe factor very quickly. Nevertheless, “Rashida” includes the best falsetto solo I’ve heard since Freddie Mercury. It’s impossible not to love him, but in the age of electronica and chart-topping pop, perhaps Wainwright’s dated performance leaves him a bit out of the game.By Francisco Tirado
(05/10/12 4:47pm)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>I’ve had three different revelations about Maurice Sendak in my lifetime.The first was around first or second grade. The school librarian had us all spread out on the reading-time rug, where we sat criss-cross, gazing up, open-mouthed at the story she had to share with us.Sure, we’d heard “Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs.” We’d heard Dr. Seuss and Olivia the pig. But nothing had prepared us for the awe and terror that was “Where the Wild Things Are.”The illustrations were like engravings, violent and deep. The pages seemed to be veiled in low, nightmarish light. And the monsters — eyes rolling and claws bared — did not look friendly or approachable and promised no turnaround by the end of the story.I am sure it wasn’t the storyline that made an impression on me. To be honest, plot development and complex narrative were of no import to Sendak when he wrote. Boy leaves home. Boy meets Wild Things. Boy comes back.If anything, it was the lack of narrative “value” that stuck out. Max didn’t learn a lesson, nor did the librarian discuss a grandiose moral after the reading was finished. Max got away with being a destructive little shit and became king while he did it.That’s what every kid wanted out of a book. We wanted to go on an adventure and not have strings attached. We wanted to look at pictures and laugh a little without feeling like we’d done something wrong when we got to the end.My second revelation was in my senior year of high school. It was the day I graduated, and I was opening a gift from my then-boyfriend. I pulled the crepe paper away, only to find a fresh copy of “Where the Wild Things Are” with an inscription about growing up, moving on, yadda yadda.I remember flipping through the book unfamiliarly, like I was reading it for the first time. And as someone who was not very moved by the graduation ceremony, nor phased by leaving my hometown, I started crying by the end. Like, sobbing hysterically, I would even say.It wasn’t the pictures or the sense of departure. It wasn’t childhood nostalgia or profound realization of meaning within the text. It was the fear of moving on followed immediately by the comfort of coming back.As an adult, being stuck in a state of immaturity isn’t something Sendak would reprimand. “Why is my needle stuck in childhood?” he once asked of himself. “I guess that’s where my heart is.” Rather, Sendak was about reformulating childhood.In my first year of college, I stumbled upon a pile of his works in a used bookstore in Lincoln Park, Chicago. These were ones overshadowed by “Wild Things”: “In the Night Kitchen,” “We Are All in the Dumps,” “Brundibár.” Even as a 19-year-old, I found them terrifying.Sendak’s stories and illustrations provoked innuendos, and transformed nudity and orphans and Jewish history into subject matter for children’s books. And then, there’s the realization upon watching interviews and reading features that he’s a cynic, a curmudgeon. A sharp and unsentimental grouch who lives alone in the woods and is (gasp) an openly gay man! He disrupts our conventions of what a children’s author should be. In an interview with Stephen Colbert, Sendak said, “I don’t write for children. I write, and then someone says, ‘That’s for children.’”His stories are an embodiment of the id. They are, as some would say, psychoanalytic stories of children’s fear, anger and comforts. Sendak understood that kids already knew these things instinctively. “You can’t protect children,” he said, though his books were banned on that principle. He knew children needed literature that made adults uncomfortable.But when you’re a grade-schooler sitting on a rug, that’s not what matters. What matters is the awed sense of inconsequential adventure, danger and immediate relief in the span of 48 pages.
(05/04/12 12:33am)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>If you had told me a year ago that I’d be the Spring Opinion editor for the IDS, I’d have said you were bat-shit crazy. Not that I don’t like the IDS, or that I think the paper itself doesn’t meet my journalistic standards. On the contrary, I have no journalistic standards. I’m not a journalist. I think I’ve said this to my computer screen at least a dozen times this semester when reading all your lovely letters (rants) to the editor. I think the reason Past Francisco would be so baffled by Now Francisco would be the near-30 hours a week the desk puts into making the page happen for you folks every day. Newspapers have never been in my realm of interest. I’m pretty sure I’ve hated every journalism class I’ve ever taken.But opinions. Those are special things. Not only do they isolate Patrick and myself from the rest of the newsroom, but content-wise, we’re completely liberated. Opinions are the reason I’m writing and editing for the IDS. They’re the reason we’ve been able to publish radical Marxist feminist propaganda, Beyoncé gossip, not one but three crude illustrations of nuns and a cartoon of Ron Paul smoking a doobie.We get away with a lot, and while I’m unprepared as to answer why, I can say confidently that without that unfounded liberation, there would be no interest left (on my part or yours).The most readership this semester came from when we were ballsy enough to comment where others failed to — Ron Paul’s white supremacy, public breast-feeding, Doug Wilson, bullying, IU Student Association unchallenged and apologist Occupy support. We’re arguably the most controversial desk and typically referred to as “the voice of the paper,” but I wouldn’t necessarily vouch for that. But in my opinion (if you’re asking), a paper should have a personality. I’m proud to have fulfilled the quirky and shameless aspects of the IDS’ character, even if we made it too boisterous, more Bieber-supportive and gayer than warranted. Side note: Opinion won “Gayest Desk” in the IDS semester awards this year, and it’s pinned proudly above our heads at our desk. This year, when I wrote my column “I’m a survivor, alright?” I did not expect to receive the flood of stories, thank-yous and unprecedented love. I didn’t even expect people to read “just another gay column,” especially one I had named in reference to a line from “Titanic.”But that’s where our agency is coming from: the survivors, the underdogs, the not-spoken-for who just need a place to put their ideas. I’ve learned the most from you guys. When I look at my future, I want to write for you guys. Thank you, readers. Thank you, columnists. Thank you, IDS fam.But more importantly, thank you Patrick Beane. My coeditor is one of the most pleasant, forgiving, well-grounded people you will ever get to work with. Thanks for putting up with me and for getting behind even the most “liberated” content we’ve had. I’m so glad you get to revamp the Weekend dream job while I’m abroad, but as Dorothy said in the “Wizard of Oz,” “I think I’ll miss you most of all.”So, I’ll see y’all another time, but for now, it’s London Town. — ftirado@indiana.edu
(05/04/12 12:16am)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>College grads especially have both reasons to watch and not watch “Into the Wild.”The book-to-film adaptation of a true story by Jon Krakauer is not only a beautiful representation of man-and-nature themes, but it unfolds a tragically resonant metaphor for graduating students.Dealing with change — whether manifested in a graduation cap or a trek into a wild world free of money, corporations, obligations and jobs — is challenging.We need inspiration to meet such challenges. The story of Chris McCandless, who graduates and goes out into the Alaskan wilderness under his hitchhiking alias “Alexander Supertramp,” tells a story of fighting, loss and true independence.The film is not only a lesson to be learned from McCandless’ shortcomings but (quite arguably) an example of self-assurance we should all aspire to.Because it is based on a true story, complications between reality and the romanticization of what happened to Chris can be insensitive, jarring and reductive of the complexity of a post-undergrad adventurer.The story itself, however, is worth watching for anyone who isn’t quite ready to leave home and journey into the wild of life outside college.
(05/04/12 12:12am)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>Marina Diamandis has cultivated in her album “Electra Heart” an anthemic testament to 1970s Americana pop, sporting songs sweet as candy and belting operetta that is truly unlike anything you’ve ever heard.Challenging the world of contemporary pop, Marina assumes several different personalities in her album. From Madonna-like bubblegum beats in “Primadonna” to booming orchestral flourishes reminiscent of Florence and The Machine in “Buy The Stars,” the compilation truly never stops.It’s hard to come by an album these days that doesn’t lose momentum at least once or twice, but “Electra Heart” carries all the way through, even when you splurge on the bonus tracks.Heartbreaking ballads like “Lies” showcase her musical training, whereas in-your-face electric femme track “Homewrecker” shows off what else Marina has to offer. This album is a delightful mix of crude, angry subject matter with a soft and sweet feminine touch.By Francisco Tirado
(04/26/12 3:26am)
WEEKEND previews this summer's big upcoming movies
(04/26/12 2:52am)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>The newest of Nicholas Sparks’ book-to-film romances tells the story of a war veteran (Zac Efron) who suffers from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. He leaves his home to find the woman (Taylor Schilling), who owns a dog kennel, depicted in a photograph he found and whom he believes is his guardian angel.If, in reading that synopsis, you can suspend your sense of reality enough to enjoy a movie based on an absurd premise, I recommend it.“The Lucky One” accomplished something I have never seen successfully done in a chick flick: moving at a fast pace. Plot developments came at lightning speed, grazing over melodrama and never dumbing down for the viewer.For a feel-good film, this movie had everything from hot, wet kisses to a cute dog sidekick and endless frames of Zac Efron’s ever-moist baby blues.Irresponsible writing poked through, though, as the PTSD plot was carelessly dropped. The most engrossing character was the kooky grandma, and a poorly executed twist left the audience unfulfilled and dumbstruck.To be frank, if the movie didn’t have so many puppies, it would have been a complete loss.
(04/19/12 4:11am)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>You may or may not know this, but LP stands for "Long Playing" record.The gargantuan, elegant indented piece of shellac was first invented the 1880s, and its long progression allowed the disc to differ in material, improve in quality and grow in size throughout the years, a revolutionary and historic design, yada yada yada.To be honest, no one cared about vinyl history until about the 1950s, when Elvis made rock ‘n’ roll important, and vinyls, in turn, became important too.What’s more important is that the vinyl became bigger. Music producers aimed to squeeze as many tracks onto the shiny disc as they could, and they increased the discs in diameter until artists released double and triple-disc albums. From the Beach Boys to Pink Floyd, music-making was something that it isn’t today.Music was thorough. Hence the name “Long Playing.”During the vinyl age, when millions of misunderstood adolescents sat on the floors of their rooms with the needle to their favorite album, they got something that we don’t. They were prepared to listen all the way through.A vinyl album has tracks, but skipping ahead is harder than with a CD. They didn’t have the inclination to change the channel, repeat or leave elsewhere for a top-40 hit. A record forces you to sit and hear the whole compilation, long playing.Record Store Day isn’t about a bunch of long-haired 50-somethings trying to cling to the past. It’s about generations refuting a rushed, track-changing world so that we might be able to sit down and listen to something in its entirety.I’ve always said listening to an album is like being invited to dinner.Sometimes you don’t stay for the whole thing or you lose interest before you even attend. You could stay for the company, you could stay because you’re curious, or you could stay because you’re utterly captivated. Nonetheless, you’re staying for the food.The first track should be welcoming, like a good host. It should have an aroma.Appetizers are tested, and you pick your favorites, laughing at jokes and dabbing your lips between plates. The title track is what you heard about — the part of the dinner that made it through the grapevine.If it’s blown right at the beginning, you could spoil your appetite, but perhaps it’s what keeps you there.Vinyl albums exist so that we might pay attention to these details, these spices of a song, the way the instruments are arranged on your plate, the dimness of a light, the hours the cook slaved away. They exist so you don’t stuff yourself with junk food, drive-thrus, canned goods or microwave meals — the single-serving foodstuffs of the music-making world.Independent record retailers believe in dinner. They believe in diversifying a palette and stuffing yourself full. They are 1,700 gourmet chefs at your service, looking to fight the evils of the Burger King.Okay, I’ll quit with the food metaphors.When Jay-Z and Kanye West released the deluxe version of their album “Watch the Throne” exclusively to iTunes and Best Buy before independent record stores last July, many of them — including Landlocked Music — protested by signing an open letter reminding the two artists how much record stores have supported them, especially since Record Store Day’s 2008 debut.“Our goal was to counter the negative media coverage about the supposed demise of record stores brought on by the closing of the Tower stores and to respond to the music business practices that fans deemed to be manipulative and onerous,” the letter read, before citing that Record Store Day “lifted the entire music business by 8%.”This is not just a holiday geared toward special interests, music snobs and old-time collectors. Listeners tuned into Record Store Day because they wanted some sustenance. They just wanted to sit down, ears open.We hope that this Saturday, you’ll run to Landlocked, Tracks or TD’s so you can find a new favorite. You can engage in something thorough, something with complex ingredients and soothing spices.Something you can listen to and just ... sit.
(04/12/12 1:05am)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>I love Brit post-punk movements. It’s one of my favorite genres, and the Futureheads have always satisfied my thirst for something saucy and head-bopping.To me, post-punk revival should make you want to scream and kick the ground with combat boots, which the Futureheads did when they were among the ranks of bands such as the Kooks and the Libertines.“Rant,” however, is a flop. The album is an exploration of the band’s interest in a capella (that’s right, a capella), and the compilation is a series of covers and old material they’ve “revived” with the wonders of the human voice. Post-punk, no more.Covering the Black Eyed Peas and traditional drinking songs such as “Old Dun Cow,” the whole of the work is a mess. Coming from a vocal standpoint, I cannot even vouch for the quality of the a capella itself, as the Futureheads’ harmonies were simple, unmotivated and dreadfully ordinary.I don’t recommend this for post-punk lovers or a capella fanatics alike. Futureheads, please go back to your roots.
(04/12/12 12:45am)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>Trying to review “Titanic” is like trying to review the Colosseum or the Great Wall of China. When it comes down to it, giving a historic monument a grade not only puts me in an awkward place, but it lowers the integrity of the captivating, quintessential, unsurpassed action-romance that is the film “Titanic,” in which Jack Dawson (Leonardo DiCaprio) and Rose Bukater (Kate Winslet) embark on a Herculean, heart-wrenching adventure.Watching the “unsinkable” ship crash as the two new lovers struggle to survive on the big screen was 10 times the emotional feat than it had ever been on VHS.That being said, we all know director James Cameron has editing problems. At 194 minutes, the film is as epic as the boat itself, but I swear to you, I stayed perched on my seat until the sob-inducing end.The problem with Cameron is that releasing the film in 3-D was about as necessary as a solid-gold toilet seat. If you are going for the cathartic release, then by all means, go. But if you are going for the new 3-D effects, the most you’ll get is oceanic debris flying at your face when the ship goes down.
(04/10/12 1:17am)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>Ladies and Gentlemen, Queers and Non-identifiers, I was a victim of bullying and live to tell the story.Although I am now skinny, I grew up a chunky Hispanic boy in a lily-white suburban elementary school with half-rimmed glasses and a sweatshirt tied around my waist. When I answered the phone at my house, the caller always thought I was my mom, and I assure you my inability to play sports, obsession with Greek mythology and latent homosexuality were not factors contributing to my popularity.I was an easy target, to say the least. The gym class locker room was a war zone. I was teased for reading girly novels, for wearing the wrong underwear, for doodling in class and for saying a boy was cute at the lunch table.I didn’t quite understand what it was that I was doing, but one thing was certain — I was doing it the wrong way.Being different in a school environment is something of a social death wish. Kids aim to blend in for a number of reasons: They’re boring, they’re scared, they’ve been told to do so, someone threatened them to do so or it’s simply mimicry.The rules of the schoolyard seem to have no origin, and no one was there to stop them. The only instance I can remember is when a science teacher made a student apologize for calling me a “fruitcake.”They are an unspoken set of commandments. Boys like girls. Eat sandwiches for lunch. Cool kids have the most friends.The fact of the matter is that these commandments — these invisible binaries separating what’s OK and what isn’t — were instilled somewhere.Kids take after their parents. They take after the patterns they’ve witnessed and the laws that already exist, whether it’s a law forbidding two people to get married or a dad giving his son a set of toy tools for Christmas.Hold that thought.Across the country, an outpour of “traditional family” proponents have responded in opposition to the anti-bullying movement. In Michigan last year, a provision was inserted in an anti-bullying bill to excuse harassment on account of “a sincerely held religious belief or moral conviction.” This movement is called anti-anti-bullying.Christian parents of Christian children are seeking to protect against the “homosexualization” of their school systems, and, once again, the bully is backed not only by culture but by law. This anti-anti-bullying is a reinforcement of these social categories: black and white, cool and not-cool, Christian and non-affiliated, gay and straight. The prejudices of the schoolyard start here. The victimization of 13 million students a year starts here. The blood of gay teens’ suicides starts here.Doug Wilson — conservative author, Christian apologist, slavery sympathizer — will be speaking at IU on April 13. I’ll let his words speak for themselves. “Gays and lesbians are therefore not the cool kids. They are the footdraggers, the hangers-back, those afraid of success. They are not the future. They are the embodiment of failure to launch.” To Doug Wilson, I am the one who doesn’t fit into his categories. I am, as he puts it, “the ick factor.” I am the deviant tainter of his social constructions, heterosexual oppression and cool kid agenda.Well, Mr. Wilson, I have a few words, on behalf of myself and all the “footdraggers,” for you and the delinquents who take you seriously.I am successful. I am the future. I launched with flying colors despite the “cool kids.”I am a survivor.Through jeers on a bus empowered by your tripe, I am a survivor.Through smacks to the face and ceaseless use of the word “faggot,” I am a survivor.Fifteen years of school, 10 or so friend groups and a dozen lunches sitting in the hallway later, I am a survivor.One foot higher, a few pair of cut jorts, a couple cries on my floor and three drafted suicide notes later, I am a survivor.I am the brightest example and the best-case-scenario of the sufferers and the casualties that give way to the likes of bullies like you.And there isn’t a god damned thing you can say to change it.— ftirado@indiana.edu
(04/05/12 1:11am)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>In 2009, Swedish indie electropop team Miike Snow released its eponymous debut album featuring standout track “Animal,” a landmark in hipster electronic, which was then remixed into oblivion, and we never became tired of it.“Happy to You” seems to follow a similar formula. It’s a compilation that produces a few essential tracks, while the rest of the album could be looped as forgettable background music in Urban Outfitters.Miike Snow’s musical identity in “Happy to You” is murky but cohesive percussion, and high-pitched vocals tie the album together — part OK Go, part Vampire Weekend, with ballsy club beats that would keep me going in a dark house party. “Vase” and “Archipelago” are two uninhibited displays of joy and goofy dance moves that tap into the album’s title.However, although Miike Snow is a showcase of remixability, the group seems to have lost sight of its goals in dance music. In all honesty, “Happy to You” just feels like it should be, well, louder. As a whole, it doesn’t quite get where it wants to go until the final track, “Paddling Out,” a sexy pop-piano pièce de résistance with swelling energy and a shouted chorus.Miike Snow, keep remixing, but your studio abilities missed the mark here.
(03/22/12 1:36am)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>One reason I’ve always idolized Andrew Bird is that after 20 or so albums, EPs and other compilations, rarely does he produce something similar to the last. The iconic songwriter, violinist, vocalist, looper, whistler and glockenspiel player is a man of many faces, including ambient instrumental, new-age folk, swanky pre-war jazz, traditional American Creole and tactfully looped rock violin.A musician without a single identity in music is hard to come by these days, and his versatility has always served him. “Break It Yourself,” though, sends Bird back to his roots in eerie, ambient folk, though slightly referential to his last success in “Noble Beast.”As disappointing as the repeat is, Bird does what he does best with cheerful whistle solos and so-happy-you-could-die beats in “Danse Caribe” and “Orpheo Looks Back.” He still maintains a balance with reflective instrumentals such as “Behind The Barn” and slow, beautiful stories in “Sifters.” Andrew Bird never ceases to amaze, and though this album is nothing out of the ordinary for him, that doesn’t rule it out as anything other than extraordinary.
(03/01/12 1:09am)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>On June 10, 2011, Alexis Krauss of the indie duo Sleigh Bells ended their performance at Bonnaroo and bid the crowd adieu, saying, “See ya in 2012.” The band then proceeded to pull its appearance from Lollapalooza due to inconspicuous “scheduling conflicts” and went on a seven-month hiatus until the release of its album “Reign of Terror.”Their disappearance, although abrupt and sensationalized, heightened the anticipation of the record by a gajillion percent — so much so that I was worried they might “Gaga” themselves, building up an album only to underwhelm a large following.Not so. “Terror” is crashtastic: a nerve-disintegrating example of what their opening track quite accurately calls “True Shred Guitar.” The two band members are frequently known for their “noisy” aesthetic, but “Terror” stabilizes, creating an order to chaos and a method to snappy beats and basketball stadium group-chants.At times, songs such as “End of the Line” and “You Lost Me” seem to blend together, reminiscent of their previous success with soft, airy rock like “Rill Rill.” But as a whole, what they do is unflinching, using familiar, referential riffs your mom might call “kinda loud.”Still, “loud” doesn’t do it justice. Whether it’s a song like “Crush,” a shiver-worthy clapping anthem, or “Road to Hell,” a cooing, sexualized pseudo-ballad worthy of a long road trip, “Terror” is a haunting portmanteau of satanic metal guitar and a starry-eyed story of girly love as told by peppy female vocals.The album is an elongated rally call, an electrified croon of destructive youth and an album that truly leads, not follows. Sleigh Bells really are the modern-day Comeback Kids.
(02/23/12 4:30am)
WEEKEND takes a look at each of this year's Best Picture nominees
(02/23/12 3:38am)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>I have a vivid memory of seeing the first “Ghost Rider” film my sophomore year of high school. It was for my best friend’s birthday party, and I can say with brutal honesty that I had never laughed that much in a movie theater. Sarcastically entertained though we were, the movie was still entertaining.With the sequel, I did not have the same experience. “Ghost Rider: Spirit of Vengeance” recounts the story of Johnny Blaze (Nicolas Cage), a devil-possessed anti-hero who aims to stop Satan (Ciarán Hinds) from wreaking havoc in his human form, all while discovering how to be a father. Though the movie tries not to be too self-serious and to cater to younger audiences in the appropriate manner, the film cannot decide who its target audience is and leaves both parties disappointed.Poor attempts at sentimentality, poorly-styled visual effects and less action than desired not only led me to fall asleep in my chair, but also the 10-year-old and his grandmother one row behind me. I assure you, if you want to see Cage make a series of unsettling faces and grunts, this is the movie for you. Otherwise, steer clear.
(02/16/12 3:51am)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>After 15 years of music-making, Of Montreal has released such a wide array that you can almost gauge the number of drugs Kevin Barnes used to create each album. From albums we’ve all fallen in love with to more recent releases we’ve forgotten about, there’s no doubt the band wants and needs to create different tastes and styles.“Paralytic Stalks” is not “The Sundlandic Twins.” This album toys around with the listener and redefines itself with synthesized moans, Bowie-esque distant guitar and interrupting samba-like pianos and flutes. Of Montreal breaches its own aesthetic and dismisses continuity, as the band’s goal is to diversify, not necessarily to improve.Key tracks are “Dour Percentage,” “Malefic Dowery,” “Wintered Debts” and the glance-back-to-their-past “We Will Commit Wolf Murder.” The album is a playful compilation of lighter sounds and comprehensible lyrics, with darker turf and deeper interests. But one thing’s still apparent: They like to dance.
(02/09/12 1:38am)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>Based on a 1980s horror novel, “The Woman in Black” follows a young solicitor in the early 1900s, Arthur Kipps (Daniel Radcliffe), who must handle the estate of the creepiest and most decrepit mansion imaginable.He, of course, disturbs the ghost of a mad woman who possesses children in the nearby village and causes them to kill themselves. For a period-thriller, the film does well in unnerving the audience with the countless dark corners that Arthur slowly rounds. As far as sinister-looking schoolchildren go, its scare tactics tap into too many clichés.Though broken porcelain dolls and tinkling music boxes in empty rooms never lose their unsettling qualities, the movie lacked the “thrill” that the build-up required. “The Woman in Black” could have been renamed “Harry Potter Wanders Around an Old House for Two Hours.”
(02/08/12 8:45pm)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>In light of the repeal of Proposition 8 yesterday in California, the shining star of degrading gay couples and their dignity as American citizens has been overturned. The court’s ruling rang through the streets as supporters of the proposition cried out and shriveled into puddled messes on the floor.The U.S. Court of Appeals, 9th Circuit’s backing of gay marriage, or as we like to call it, “marriage,” is the latest victory in what seems to be a tiny swell of pro-equality legislation and rulings.Washington, too, will likely pass equal marriage laws in the coming weeks, following an explosive victory in New York, which should put hope in the hearts of states to come.Legislators in New Jersey, Maryland and Maine are making moves to ensure the equality of marriages for all people.I don’t mean to be underwhelmed, but at the rate we’re going, it’s looking as though proponents of traditional marriage are slowly being foiled, as open-mindedness for human privileges are starting to take hold. For the first time, I feel confident that by the time our generation is reaching adulthood (and like, real adulthood, not proto-adulthood), I’ll be able to get married in most of the United States. Or, at the very least, the states that people actually care about.The overheated, indiscernible rage and ferocity projected by the youth of us budding adults is a powerful tool and terrible handicap. On one hand, our blind anger stampedes in the direction of our foes until they are smothered into submission. With a common goal and a spiking intimidation, little stands in the way of our charge.We are warriors, headed full speed at our opponent. But then lies the question of when we are to stop and evaluate. When the enemy is trampled, we charge into a void, and are left with little to no productivity.So what I’m trying to get at here is that when our marriage is legalized from coast to coast, what will we have left to be pissed about?I am here, unabashedly, to remind you.We must turn our attention to the treatment of our health. Equality and respect for all patients, HIV or otherwise, should be expected nationwide.We should be able to donate blood without being barred by FDA-regulated bigotry, put into a category with injective drug-users and prostitutes.We should expect the same rights in the workplace, in our wages and in our rights to worship in any religious denomination we wish.We should introduce these ideals of love and same-sex equality to the youngest of young, as acceptance is developed and learned in primary stages.We should teach acceptance in schools, speak for the inequalities within our history and subject learning minds to the nature of our past and the brightness of a future.We should preach our fortune to the struggling and defend against the ever-present bully, for it truly does get better.We should consider our rights as parents, as foster parents, as domestic partners and as beneficiaries of financial dependents. We should be able to take our kids into any state without worry of ridicule or improper schooling.And all of these things should apply to the riled up transgender and transsexual population of our country, as they are not merely anomalies tacked onto an equality bill but thriving members of our movement.Yes, we’re well on our way to winning marriage, but reigning equality still has its battles.— ftirado@indiana.edu
(01/25/12 12:43am)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>On Monday, Sen. Mary Margaret Haugen, D-Wash., announced her support for a bill that would allow gay couples to marry in the state of Washington after long dwelling in indecision.Though a vote has not yet been scheduled, if the measure passes, the state will become the seventh to pass the motion for equality in marriage, and its chances are looking up.To this, my co-editor and I laughed at the disappointment of the Portlandians next door who are angrily shaking their fists, enraged that, once again, Seattle gets everything first.Haugen stated that though she personally has moral disagreements with same-sex marriage, she settled her differences. “Everyone has the same opportunities for love and companionship and family and security that I have enjoyed,” she said.The statement in itself is fundamental to the acceptance of equal rights and the refutation of divisiveness, a concept “traditional marriage” creates. The possibility of Washington’s newly legislated law is an inspiring one. Haugen, as an individual who has compromised her beliefs and vouched for acceptance of something even if she doesn’t understand it has made the difference.Sometimes, it’s too much to ask for a demographic of such deeply ingrained values and conventions to completely refute their pasts and accept what is new.The struggle between LGBT alliances and those scrimmaging to keep civil marriage as solely between a man and a woman is a battle that can only be won by compromise and understanding. Opponents of a gay marriage bill struggle with many qualms. One of these is the preservation of personal values and the inability to comprehend a world they don’t exist in. These qualms prevent families, family values and the very unions they’re trying to prevent. Let me digress.I, like any good American, obsessively follow the doings of Neil Patrick Harris, his husband whose name I can’t remember and their beautiful, beautiful babies. Harris and his husband were married after the legalization of gay marriage in New York and, with their union and adorable twin babies, have made what is arguably the most intolerably happy family in all of Hollywood history.Legitimization of their marriage was not necessarily the only contributing factor to their publicized happiness, as their refusal to stop putting their babies in tiny costumes has undone me.These contributing factors add to Harris and his husband as a positive example of a family — the very thing that the American Family Association and all its cohorts are asking for. What a passed marriage bill gave to Harris is the same across the nation: Opportunity.Perhaps his family will fall apart, as many do. But all we asked was that we be given a chance.— ftirado@indiana.edu