What a pleasant surprise!

Once upon a time I used to really enjoy American Idol. I loved to see the contestants get up there and perform every week and often times I'd get goose bumps with a particularly good song. Like Fantasia and Summertime, Melinda Dolittle with My Funny Valentine or Bo Bice singing Spinning Wheel. So many talented people. I hated the audition phase, although I never missed it, and a lot of the times there was always one or two contestants I loathed. But it was a good time and I watched it religiously every week and even would vote on occasion. For the last three years though I have given the show a pass. It just seemed to lose something and became boring and stale. Now with the addition of J-Lo who I can't stand as an actress, singer or person and Steven Tyler who I just can't look at, the show is unwatchable. Still I missed it. I like shows that feature real talent, that is why I love So You Think You Can Dance. When I saw advertisements for The Voice, I was like, oh here we go. This will be just another American Idol knock off and I did not think it was going to be any good. I figured I would just wait to get my singing competition fix when The X-Factor finally made it to the TV. I took a chance though and programed my DVR to record it and would just watch a little bit until it got too bad and I would delete it half watched. But to my great surprise, I loved it. The judges were fun and actually relevant and the talent, OMG! So good! I already have a few favorites (I'm looking at you Xenia) and am looking forward to watching next week. The concept is so much better then I thought it would be. There is a whole lot of spinning in these big chairs that keep the judges from seeing the contestants before they choose them just on their voice, get it? Each judge has a big shiny red button that they get to hit when they have decided they want to work with that person. There were times when I was telling the judges to hit that damn button already, this person is really good. I know a show is for me when I talk at the TV. It is just all around very enjoyable. I think Simon Cowell should be worried. This show just might be the one that can finally topple his empire. I'll still watch The X-Factor but I am not near as excited about it as I was.  This really was a pleasant surprise.

Book Review: The Dead Path by Stephen M. Irwin

I like scary stories. One of the scariest stories I ever read was by Dean Koontz called Phantoms. That book kept me awake with the light on reading until the sun came up. And as I have said before in this blog my favorite author is Stephen King. So when I can find a new author whose book is alluded as one of the scariest books in recent years I get excited. I had read many great reviews about this book saying it was creepy and that I would never look at the woods the same way again so I ordered it. It was a small book and I finished it fairly quickly and although I enjoyed it, it was not as good as I was expecting.

Our protagonist is a man named Nicholas Close. He is a new widower who is driven to his childhood home by the loss of his wife and new found ability to see ghosts in the last few seconds of their lives played endlessly. This homecoming is marred by the abduction and brutal murder of a local child that is somehow connected to a mysterious wood that may contain an unspeakable evil. Over the years many children have gone missing and turned up dead around these woods and Nicholas sees the ghosts of these doomed children as they are dragged to their deaths. We follow Nicholas with the help of a woman who lost her husband, his sister and an unbelievably plucky child named Hannah as he attempts to slay the monster. Plus is has an interesting twist at the end.

This book is part The Sixth Sense, part IT and part any fairy tale with a witch residing in the forest. It had good atmosphere and likable characters but just didn't click with me. There were a few harrowing moments and if you have a pathological fear of spiders this book may not be for you.  I judge the success of a story if I want to read it again and this book failed that test. I am not sorry I read it and I would recommend it but so far this author is not the second coming of Mr. King. So I will keep searching but would read another book by this author in future.

Into the mud scum queen

That is the best header, considering that on this date has spawned so much calamity. It is Hitler's birthday. It is the one year anniversary of the blow out of the deep water horizon (it sounds so science fictiony and ends up being so like the Borg) and the columbine shooting. This should be a day of rest and munchies. I don't smoke but I know so many who do. The one thing that I have realized is that 4/20 is not positive and our beloved tokers need to choose a better date. Taco Bell is waiting.

The Good and the Ugly

I am in the midst of taking classes for my Bachelor's degree so that I can go into social work. One of the important aspects is to volunteer and help in the community to get a feel about what you might want to do once graduated. So today I went to Helping Hands and delivered food to needy seniors in our city. I should be selfless but I could not quite believe how good it made me feel. They are so grateful and it seems that many are lonely and like having the company as much as the food. This is something I am going to make time for quite often. I was surprised to see so many smiling faces so early in the morning to get the food to deliver. It made me feel that there is hope for mankind. And then to see the other side so soon after makes me think the earth would be better off without us. As I was on the way to make my last delivery there was a man with one leg by the traffic signal trying to maneuver in his wheelchair. He was asking for money. I usually will give if I have cash in my wallet but I was over too far to be able to reach him. A big Mercedes SUV pulled up beside him and this asshole threw a piece of garbage at the man. I was flabbergasted. Why be so cruel when one rim on his assholemobile could have fed that poor man for months. I wanted to pull him from the truck and give him a piece of my mind. But alas I just had to watch. I felt so helpless and horrible for the man. He has nothing and he is treated thusly by those who only care about themselves. I actually started to cry. So later in the day I was pulling out of a shopping center and there was another man asking for change and I pulled up and smiled at him and said I don't have much but here you go. I gave him some change that was in the glove box. He seemed so genuinely happy to get what little I had to give. I don't know if it was because he got some much needed money or that someone smiled and treated him like a person deserving of respect. I don't think it really matters.

The Borgias

Showtime has a new series based on the infamous Borgia crime family. It is beautifully costumed, with lush sets and a terrific cast. So far it has been very enjoyable. I love these kind of historical dramas. I like that it can bring interest to history and may spark some to seek out more information for themselves. I have read a few books about the Borgias and this period but I don't know enough about it to have any inaccuracies suck my enjoyment out. That was my main issue with The Tudors. I wanted to watch and love that show so badly as it is my favorite historical era but it was just so inaccurate that I was unable to get past it. For the Borgias what amazes me is the absolute corruption of the church at this time. These were the keepers of men's soul, whether they wanted it or not . They held knowledge hostage and could take your life with impunity while the supposed face of God on earth fathered legions of bastard children, lived ostentatiously off the money taken from the poor all over Christendom used to enrich themselves and lived lives that were far from holy. It was all image with no substance. Rodrigo was the patriarch of the family, picture him like Marlon Brando in the Godfather. He sat like a loathsome spider spinning his webs. He would stop at nothing to increase his wealth and power, usually using his eldest son Cesare as the muscle, who was smart but ruthless. But the most famous of course is the infamous Lucrezia. Married for the first time at 13 she spent her life being used as a pawn in her families machinations. Victim or whore? You decide.

And so it starts...

Today it was 90 degrees. That does not bode well for the the rest of the summer. Just the thought of struggling through the rest of the intolerably hot weather that is coming makes me incredibly depressed. Oh well, I have done it before and I can do it again. It is just hard for me as I thrive in colder climes, which I find strange because I don't like being cold. I guess it is just another dichotomy of my nature. So to cheer myself up I am venturing into the past. With the Playstation 3 I can download classic games so I thought I would play the original Resident Evil. There is nothing like shooting zombies to make a person feel better. I have done that many times with Resident Evil 4. I would play it just to take out frustrations after winning the game and having the unlimited rocket launcher. Eat this you infected fuck!!!!! Nothing makes you smile like blowing the head off of zombies. The sad thing is I actually have an action plan if the zombie apocalypse does come. I feel that I have seen enough movies and played enough games to know what to do. It helps that I have the zombie survival guide at my disposal plus I know where the nearest gun store is. I am golden.  So if I know and love you and the zombies were to come, hang in there, I will be coming for you.

It seems apropo.

Since today is the 100th anniversary of the tragedy of the fire at the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory I thought I would share something I wrote for a school assignment a year ago. The fire was one of many instances that helped the union movement gain such power in the early part of the last century and is good as a reminder since the unions are under such attack right now.  

This is written as a first person journal entry that was to be in a person that reflected my personal heritage. In doing some digging in my family I found that I had much more of an Irish ancestry in my family tree then I first thought. We have a strong Irish heritage on both sides of my family, so this is written with that voice.

March 24, 1911

     When I found the news of my coming blessing, a little babby to love, I decided to put down these words of our family’s past and future. I will keep this journal reverently for you my little angel, so you will know my life before you were even in it.

     My name is Moira O’Neal, Kelly as was, and I was born in a tenement in the Lower East Side of New York in the year of our lord, 1892 the youngest of six. My Nana was forced to leave the old country, hopefully for a better life in America, when the potato blight carried off her entire family, except for me mam, who was safely in her belly. The year was 1850 and she was one of thousands who came here packed like animals in leaky ships to escape the poverty, discrimination and finally the famine that left so many dead that the bodies were left to rot where they fell. Funny how she came to America to escape all of the things that she suffered at home only to face them here as well.

     My Nana’s life was one of struggle and hardship. The Irish were not wanted in America, and there were often clashes with the Negro’s for the most menial and meanly paid jobs. One of the most violent as told to me when I was growin’, was called the Draft Riots of 1863. Many Negro’s were murdered by gangs of Irish youths and they terrorized the city. It almost made me ashamed of me Irish blood it did. Me mam grew up dirty, hungry, and poorly clothed, but it was never as bad as what those poor blighter’s of the five-points endured. Altho’ even that area has cleaned up since they burned down the Bowery in 1852.  And thanks to the good sisters of The Church of the Transfiguration, mam was able to learn to read and write, knowledge she passed on to me.  In her turn, her mam regaled us with tales of County Cork and the green of home, as always was ta’ Nana, until the day she died.

     My Da deserted us to go work on the railroad out West, when I was still in the cradle. He left me mam with six children, all needin’ tending. And tho’ she did her best, the Good Lord choose to take four of her babby’s home to Jesus. Me mam was not alone in her sorrow, as many children died before their sixth birthday in the overcrowded and dirty tenements.  Our home was no different, one smelly room with no plumbin’ and teemin’ with vermin of every sort. But me mam was unique and with her ability to read and write was able to get a job cookin’ in a fancy house uptown. It was grinding hard work, but better than 70 hours a week in the factories like her mam had to endure for pennies. She was lucky to work she was, as many places would not hire Irish, and posted signs saying “No Irish Need Apply.”

     The area where I grew up was the same one me mam called home since she was a lass. We are a close-knit lot, and I know all me neighbors. We watch out for each other in a city that would take advantage of us in a heartbeat. Many of me friends, as was, shifted through the streets begging and mischief making as was the only way to feed rumblin’ bellies many times. This closeness of community is most telling because even though I have lived in America me whole life, you’d never know it, me accent is as thick as ever me Nana’s fresh off the boat.

     This is a hard life, to be sure, but it is not without its joys, like a pint, down the pub after a hard days labor or the solace of the church on a Sunday, list’n to the Father talk of better times in the afterlife. But, the greatest joy was meeting your Da. Your Da arrived in New York the year I was born, a lad of three, and was one of the first Irish who passed through Ellis Island.  We married three months after he first clapped eyes on me at St. Pat’s and have moved into a two-room flat in the old neighborhood, like a palace it is. Happy is not a strong enough word for what we are. Your Da, Sean, works down the docks, but unlike the evil stories told about Irish, he is not a drunkard and brings his money home to me.

     He is so excited to meet you my little angel, as am I. We are moving up in life, as seems to be for all Irish in this bright new century. Maybe one day will see an Irish-Catholic President, but those are just pipe dreams. Altho’ it seems we are fittin’ in better all the time we still expect you to work hard. I am ecstatic that I was able to find good employment recently; your mam’s reading and writing skills are going to help us better our situation. I start tomorrow at the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory and though this place is a sweatshop filled with newer immigrants from Russia and Italy, I will be working in the office and not on the floor, for a much better wage. I swear we will give you all the best, my love. Until next time my little angel, rest easy.

[This Journal entry was found under a floorboard of an apartment undergoing renovations. It is the first and last entry of a journal for her child, who was never born. Moira O’Neal was killed in the tragic fire at the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory on March 25, 1911 that killed 142 people, and was buried at St. Patrick’s, the church where her and Sean met and fell in love.  After Moira’s death Sean O’Neal rose to be one of the many Irish beat cops to walk the New York Street’s until his death in the Spanish Influenza outbreak of 1918. He never remarried.]

As They say, we are doomed to repeat the past if we do not remember it and it is important to not forget the voices and those who lives were cut short due to avarice and greed. For a much more cogent and scathing analysis of this event please visit the Rude Pundit.

http://rudepundit.blogspot.com/