Group neglects damages done by Roe v. Wade
The Feminist Majority Leadership Alliance was right in noting that Roe v. Wade is a reminder of several dangerous practices (“Roe v. Wade anniversary reminds of the dangers of illegal abortion,” Feb. 1).
The Feminist Majority Leadership Alliance was right in noting that Roe v. Wade is a reminder of several dangerous practices (“Roe v. Wade anniversary reminds of the dangers of illegal abortion,” Feb. 1).
I read an opinion piece by Abram Hess, “Fathers and mothers” (Feb. 1).
As I eagerly looked online at the list of nominees for the 49th annual Grammy Awards this Sunday, I was shocked to see that my name wasn't on the list. I'm so tired of being snubbed by the Recording Academy. Sure, I'm not a recording artist, per se. I've never released an album. I've never even performed karaoke. But if the Black Eyed Peas can get a Grammy nomination for "My Humps," why can't I? I never expected to actually win a Grammy. I'm not that naive. But it could at least throw me a nomination as a gesture of its respect for my work. I didn't ask to be nominated for song of the year. But the academy could've at least nominated me for best new age album or maybe best polka album. If you're like me, you weren't
Many things come to mind upon utterance of the word Sweden. Perhaps you think of the country nestled next to Norway, its rolling hillsides or even the country's trouble-free yellow and blue flag gently blowing in the breeze while its national anthem, "Du gamla, du fria," plays gives you a sense of Swedish nationalistic pride. Or, if you're like me, you think of the recent surge of great Swedish indie artists. While time can be well-spent listening to the likes of other Swede-rock stars such as Lonely Dear, El Perro Del Mar, The Knife, José González or even Jens Lekman, three names have arguably been dropped more than any others when talking about Swedish indie-rock. Those names are Peter, Bjorn and John.
I applaud Thomas Wachtel (“Talk English; you’re in America,” Feb. 1) for pointing out that many Americans are in a poor position to criticize immigrants for speaking foreign languages when they themselves too often “butcher their native tongue.”
Next to Akira Kurosawa and Martin Scorsese, Federico Fellini ranks high on my list of great filmmakers who rarely disappoint me. Fellini's vast body of work only had two strikes from me in the past, "Il Bidone" and "Fellini's Casanova," and after hearing so much about "Ginger & Fred," I expected greatness. Unfortunately, the film wound up being strike No. 3. Strike No. 3 doesn't mean Fellini is out of my respected pantheon, but "G&F" is missing that wonderful charm that can only be found in a Fellini movie.
On Thursday evening (Feb. 1), I participated in IU’s first drag king competition.
Trying to add something new to all the reviews of "Bicycle Thieves" (or "The Bicycle Thief" depending on who you're talking to) since its release in 1948 is probably one of the most intimidating things you could ask a critic. What more can really be said about one of the greatest films ever made? All I can say is upon first viewing some five years ago is that it left me in tears.
I am a college student, and I stumbled across a new Facebook group touting that Abram Hess’s column (“Fathers and mothers,” Feb. 1) as “hate speech.”
Before hitting play on Harry Connick, Jr.'s latest album, Oh, My Nola, I solemnly swore that I wouldn't go easy on him just because it was a tribute to his hometown of New Orleans. No, I don't feel pity -- I'm a critic. Fortunately for my sake -- and the sake of my editors who, I suspect, did not want to field hate-mail from Louisiana -- it's quite good.
Jacob Stewart wrote, “The apparent hatred between those of different races, those who hold different sexual preferences and those with varying political viewpoints is quite disturbing” (“The pursuit of happiness,” Feb. 5).
Abram Hess’ views on the alleged unfitness of gays to adopt and raise children (“Fathers and mothers,” Feb. 1) are spectacularly uninformed and prejudiced.
Though Bloomington is famous for its restaurants, culture and entertainment, students often overlook another form of its nightlife -- dancing. Lessons are available in everything from ballroom to country line dancing, and with Valentine's Day just around the corner, they're a great way to have fun with a current partner or find a new one. Arthur Murray dance studio, located off Third Street near Borders Bookstore, offers lessons in 18 different styles of ballroom dancing, including smooth dances like the fox-trot and tango, rhythm dances like the salsa, rumba and cha-cha and the popular swing dance, said Barbara Leininger, owner of the Bloomington Arthur Murray dance studio.
Katharine McPhee should have beaten Taylor Hicks for "American Idol." Yeah, that's right, I proudly watch the show. Katharine McPhee actually fits the role of the "American Idol" much in the way Kelly Clarkson did in the first season of the show. She even has the pipes and the image to translate into commercial success and to be something special, but in her self-titled debut album, McPhee presents a dichotomy between the big old-fashioned vocal numbers and modern pop. The album suffers from the lack of an identity and misses out in the process.
Without Kevin Smith, "Catch and Release" would have just been romantic without the comedy. "Catch" is the story of Gray Wheeler (Jennifer Garner) putting her life back together after the sudden death of her fiancé. Co-starring Kevin Smith as the best friend and Juliette Lewis as the kooky ex, the movie has a formula for success. After Grady's death, Gray begins learning about secrets from his past, including a 4-year-old kid he's been supporting. After the money stops because of Grady's death, the mother of the child (Lewis) crashes Gray's life and sets up shop in a hotel close to Gray's house. She begins coming over and we learn about her quirky behavior and her kid's desire to destroy almost everything. Among all this chaos, Gray begins falling for Fritz, the sleazy guy from the funeral.
What can be said about Mel Gibson's gorgeous, graphic-tone poem to his own personal lord and savior that hasn't already been said by every film critic, pundit and biblical scholar on the planet? I won't waste time trying to break new ground; suffice it to say that Gibson and his collaborators had to do something right to puncture my callous, secular shell to impress the hell out of me with this film. Gibson expertly directs actor James Caviezel through a veritable house of horrors in depicting the hours before and after the crucifixion of Jesus, and Caleb Deschanel's stunning, sometimes brutal cinematography is enough to make cinephiles shed a tear.
Absence, at least as it pertains to me and my reasonably unhealthy obsession with all things "Lost," has made the heart grow fonder. Contrarily over the 90-plus days since its last episode (with its newest installment airing just last night), it has also seen the attention spans of a significant number of once casual "Lost" fans turn tail and seek comfort in such inane pursuits as saving the cheerleader and finding out who's on "the list" and why. Hey, "Heroes" fans, remember that show where there was a mysterious list and people were trying to find out why they were on it? Yeah, it was called "Lost." With "Heroes" surging out of the gate as a sort of ADD-friendly, soap-operatic alternative to "Lost's" glacial pacing and intricately layered mythology, television drama is definitely beginning to play into the hands of the short of attention. When the most recent Emmy and Golden Globe winner for Best Dramatic Series is not only NOT an actual drama but consists primarily of random sex, coached crying and laughably maudlin music cues, I begin to recognize the warning signs. "Grey's Anatomy" fans, your wrath is welcomed.
After reading Joanna Borns’ Jan. 31 column, “Seeking a BFF,” I realized I had seen the absolute lowest common denominator journalism ever to grace the pages of a newspaper since the advent of movable type.
Thomas Wachtel’s unoriginal column “Talk English; you’re in America,” (Feb. 1) is full of stilted logic, horrible rhetorical skills, and poor English (with “simple rules ... constantly flaunted”).
Next to Akira Kurosawa and Martin Scorsese, Federico Fellini ranks high on my list of great filmmakers who rarely disappoint me. Fellini's vast body of work only had two strikes from me in the past, "Il Bidone" and "Fellini's Casanova," and after hearing so much about "Ginger & Fred," I expected greatness. Unfortunately, the film wound up being strike No. 3. Strike No. 3 doesn't mean Fellini is out of my respected pantheon, but "G&F" is missing that wonderful charm that can only be found in a Fellini movie.