My Interactive Christmas List

Well, it's about that time. This list will continue to be modified, so keep an eye on the link in the sidebar.


DVDs:

Harold and Maude . This movie is simply amazing.

Music:

Spoon - Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga and/or Gimme Fiction
Mineral – The Power of Falling
The Best of Morrissey


iTunes cards are awesome.

My speakers are on the fritz. As in, the left on works but the right one doesn't. I'm not sure if that means I should get new ones or not.

EDIT: Maybe not, because when I get an apartment next year, I might want to bring my stereo. Then again, we shall see.


Books:
Contemporary acclaimed fiction. Fun things. Nothing academic, seriously. I won’t find time to read it.

Thomas Wolfe: Look Homeward Angel - I've always been in love with a particular quote from this novel but have never read it.

I'd like to read this: The World Without Us.

DO NOT BUY ME SELF HELP BOOKS. That is not a Christmas present.


Clothes:

I have a lot of clothes. Clothes are tricky. But I love clothes and the last few times you’ve found stuff, you’ve been shockingly on the mark.

Remember when we found this? The site says they're out of stock online, so run to the store!

Cute band tees are always a go if I like the band. I'm really into band tees.
A great site for this is Merch Now. The Fall of Troy has a particularly good selection. I'm particularly fond of this one but I like most of them. For a list of acceptable bands, check my blog profile. For all tees: if it’s a unisex tee, the smaller the better (Youth M/L or Adult S). If it’s a girls’ cut, size M.

I did not buy a Brand New shirt at the Tsongas show, even though I really want one, because I'm not big on the curret designs or the venue prices. I'd sure like one though. They're in my top ten. I rather like this one even though it doesn't come in girly sizes.

I love hoodies so much right now. I have so many though.

Avoid pants. All I want are more jeans like the tight stretchy boot-leg black Levis I bought in 1999, but I don't think they exist anymore.


Stocking Stuffers:

I eat this stuff for breakfast. It's at Long's. And yes, I do have a color of choice.

Similarly, I could use a dark red nail polish that's not $2.00. The one I have is the ideal color but it's just not good quality. Darker is always better.

Also, a necklace that is inexpensive, relatively large, and red-dominated.

Armwarmers are a necessary cuteness.

I love fun socks.

Headbands.


The big thing I might not want:

A drawing tablet...might or might not be good. I can't help but think it's a waste of money. It would make my scanner. which works just fine, a lot less relevant. If I'd had it for my senior project it would have been great, but I don't see myself doing something like that for a while now that I'm in science land. So I might take it off from here.

EDIT: I'm pretty sure I would rather have money, concert tickets, or a cat than a tablet.

Stay tuned for updates.

The New Pornographers at the Roxy, 10/23

The New Pornographers’ songs are almost too catchy. This is not to diminish their musical brilliance; rather, it is testament to it. But seriously, every time I’ve been listening to them it takes an active effort to dislodge the songs from my head. Granted, having one of these power pop confections sparkling through your cerebrum is no sad fate, but I’m always afraid that one day (though it hasn’t happened yet) I’ll get tired of the thing or its magic will stop working on me. Of course, the best way to dislodge an NPs song from your head is to think of another NPs song. Any will do. It’s that great.

There are exactly eight New Pornographers, all of which were on stage Tuesday night. All of them have other musical projects, whether lesser known bands or solo careers, btu this group has really thrown them all into the indie limelight. The leader is Carl Newman, a burly blond bearded man who looks like he could be your “cool” uncle. And if Carl is the brains behind the band, Neko Case is the soul. She sings on almost every song, sometimes taking the lead part and other times backing up for Carl. Neko also has made a name for herself as a solo artist, and apparently is often doing her solo stuff while the Nps are touring, leaving keyboardist Kathryn Calder has to take over her vocal duties. Luckily, tonight we got the full octet on the stage, and witnessed the beauty of the combined vocals of Neko and Kathryn against Carl. The fourth Pornographer who sometimes sings is Dan Bejar, whose first priority is his band Destroyer and who has a tendency to leave and hang around offstage between “his” songs. Bassist John Collins is also a member of Destroyer. Drummer Kurt Dahle, guitarist Todd Fancy, and (I kid you not) synthesizer/video director Blain Thurier round out the group.

The Roxy is an 18-plus venue, so the kids stayed home, which was kind of nice. Despite that, it was a young crowd compared to Tori, and it seemed like even more men were there than women. I was amused by the number of people wearing glasses, of the thick-black-rimmed variety and otherwise. Most amusing to me was the fact that I ran into Professor Jason Ur, currently on leave at Harvard, in the line. The NPs are his favorite band. Who knew? It's also a pretty small venue, and the show was sold out. Just by being on the floor, which is the only place to be unless you want to sit at the bar and drink, you're up pretty close.

Emma Pollock and her band opened with a nice set of guitar-driven ballads, occasionally channeling Joni Mitchell with songs like “Limbs.” It was good enough that I was inspired to go to her MySpace to find out the name of that song.

When the NPs came on, their name lit up behind them in old-fashioned lights. They kicked things with the pounding “All of the Things that Go to Make Heaven and Earth,” which, like about half the songs, came from the Challengers album, released just last month. They then and launched directly into the hit “Use It,” which the crowd just ate up. For the next two hours they played most of the new album interspersed with songs from their last three records, especially 2005’s Twin Cinema, the record which got me hooked on the band. The performances and songs were so consistently good that they blended together emotionally, for me, into one euphoric squee-fest. (OMG they’re playing my favorite song! Oh wait, No, THIS is my favorite song! OMG!) I got particularly excited over “The Laws Have Changed,” which is one of my top dance-like-crazy-in-my-room songs; “Challengers,” the mellow, folksy title track that had everyone entranced; and “Go Places,” my favorite song from the new album. One of Neko’s greatest vocal tracks, “Go Places” combines a deceptively simple melody with triumphant lyrics, and it played a large part of pulling me out of my depression last week. And it was oh so good live. The crowd also got really into “Twin Cinema” and the irresistible “Sing Me Spanish Techno,” a poppy classic that got even the most impassive hipsters to move a little on the floor. Both the latter two songs were saved until late in the set, leaving me worrying that they might not get played at all. It was one of those nights when every new set of opening chords brought a delighted smile of recognition.

Here's the full setlist (maybe a little out of order):

All of the Things that Go to Make Heaven and Earth
Use It
Myriad Harbor
Jackie, Dressed in Cobras
Spirit of Giving
All the old Showstoppers
The Electric Version
Challengers
Mass Romantic
My Rights Versus Yours
The Laws Have Changed
Unguided
Twin Cinema
Adventures in Solitude
Testament to Youth in Verse
Sing Me Spanish Techno
Go Places
The Bleeding Heart Show

Encore:
These are the Fables
The Slow Descent Into Alcoholism

The band didn’t chat too much between songs, though Carl threw a few cute lines of gratitude out at the crowd. With so many players on stage, it never felt crowded, but some of the quieter members tended to blend into the background behind the front lines of Neko, Carl, and Kathryn. Whenever Dan showed up for one of his songs, all eyes were on him. He exuded apathetic cool, muttering Velvet Underground-esque vocals between swigs of beer. I am not sure how a huge and diverse group like this functions in real life, but on stage it worked like a bright shiny machine.

The last song before the encore was one of my favorites, “The Bleeding Heart Show.” With its buildup from percolating verses to a rolling boil of “hey-las,” it was a perfect climax. It’s one of those songs that just grows and grows until you’re swamped in harmonic bliss. And everyone knew it was the end, and we all danced.

The two-song encore was great, but nothing compared to that finale. It was a thoroughly solid show and the best Tuesday night I’ve had in ages. I’m pretty sure the New Pornographers make the best happy music around these days. Their lyrics may be obtuse and ironic, but the songcraft is the stuff of joy. Take that, hipsters.

Tori Amos at the Orpheum

This is who I wish I could be:



Last night, I went to my first Tori Amos concert. It was really powerful, because I've been a fan of Tori for almost as long as I've been a fan of good music. I first noticed her in middle school when "Silent All These Years" – despite being five years old by then – was still getting frequent airplay on Star 98.7. The song occupied a slot on my mix tapes (oh, those were the days) next to Jewel, The Gin Blossoms, and other things I haven’t listened to in years. I distinctly remember stopping by my friend Darcy’s sister’s place on our way to San Deigo and seeing her CD case full of Tori’s stuff. Hm, I thought. When I got deep into Pumpkins fandom in 1999, the alt.music boards were raving about her latest release, To Venus and Back. So I got it, as well as her debut Little Earthquakes. Since then I’ve always considered her my favorite female musician out there. I went through a particularly strong Tori period in 2006. She's in my all-time contemporary top tier. So this was a big deal.

As usual, I was curious to see what the demographic spread of this audience would be. As I suspected, it was quite diverse. There were a lot of couples there, ranging from 15 to 40, and I wondered how many of the male halves were tagalongs or dragalongs. There were a few girl couples, and I spotted two guys that I suspected were an item as well. Directly in front of us were more of those ubiquitous, teenie-weenie black-hoodie-and-jeanagers that insist on following me around, and yet, there were even a few gray heads in the audience without associated adolescent baggage.

The opener came on, a young, barefoot guy with an acoustic guitar and a lot of fancy stuff down at his feet. He used his guitar as a percussive instrument to accompaniy his own playing, and was really quite skilled at this. His voice reminded me at times of Brian Molko from Placebo. I wish I had caught his name or seen it in print, because I don’t think I’ve seen someone play quite like that, and I’m curious to see what his story is.

At last, Tori’s three piece band began to play. The drummer and bassist occupied the back corners, while the guitarist hung around at left stage. In the center stood a piano bench, flanked on one hand by a grand piano and on the other by an electronic keyboard on top of an upright piano. Tori's throne. The song was the poppy “Bouncing Off Clouds,” one of the catchy standouts from the latest album, American Doll Posse. A bright white strobe light layered over pitch black set the tone for the night, which turned out, for better or worse, to be a veritable light show. Tori emerged with dark hair, a dark purple dress and heels. She was playing Clyde, one of five alter egos (the 'Posse', which includes herself) she assumes on ADP. The songs on the record are divided among these characters, and “Bouncing Off Clouds” is Clyde’s song. So were the other new selections played during the first set. She has been playing a different character for the beginning of each show on this tour. Clyde, supposedly based on the Greek Persephone, had a distinct way of moving and being that was different from Tori's, slightly more Stevie Nicks, perhaps. But there was no mistaking Tori's incredible singing, which was even more angelic, raw, and emotive live than on record.

By limiting herself to one character's set of ADP songs, Tori allowed plenty of room for her classics. The second song she launched into was the title track from Little Earthquakes, letting the audience know that their old favorites would not be ignored. In fact, half of the offerings were from previous albums. With a fifteen-year career and a cult-like fan following such as she has, that is probably the best strategy. And it was clear that as may times as she must have played the mid-nineties songs, she was far from tired of them. In “Earthquakes,” the rising desperation of the climactic mantra, “Give me life / give me pain/ give me my / self again” rang as true as if it were spontaneously created. Set one continued with the ADP tracks “Girl Disappearing” (a personal favorite of mine) and “Beauty of Speed,” as well as the darkly textured "Juarez" and a theatrically gestured “Little Amsterdam."

“Clyde” left to change costumes and return to her identity as “Tori.” I realized this was the second concert I’d been to in a row that involved alter egos and costume change, and wondered what that said about me. While she was off, the boys in the band rocked out in a pretty kickass interlude.

Tori strutted back out in an intensely sparkly one-piece that caught whatever colors the lights were favoring, which in this case was gold. The song was “Big Wheel,” a saucy, uptempo ADP standout sung – again, like all the new material that followed – by the “Tori” character. Oozing confidence, Tori chanted, “I am an M-I-L-F, don’t you forget.” It’s so true. Even with her controversial straightened hair, which I love, she may be the hottest 44-year old in the business. This was one number from ADP I was really eager to see live, and it didn’t disappoint. Tori's sexual energy dominates the stage in a way that is wholly different from the pop-sexuality in a Britney or even a Madonna gig. It has a spontaneous, wild, organic dimension that most female performers fail to harness. Even in her most theatricized moments, Tori Amos is unabashedly real. In her impassioned performance of "Spacedog", Tori straddled the bench with one hand on each keyboard. The powerful "Sugar" was followed by a rousing rendition of “Cornflake Girl,” a perennial favorite. Half-on and half-off the bench, she attacked the upper registers of the grand piano like and injured animal struggling to escape as cheers went up in recognition. If anything, her older songs seemed to bring out more passion than mid-career material like “Spring Haze.” By contrast we were spellbound during the eerie, delicate “Bells For Her,” which once again had Tori seemingly suspended between keyboards. At one point, she played an absolutely gorgeous thing I'd never heard, one of my favorites of the nights, which I later confirmed was pure improv. That's my girl.

Tori took a moment to chat with us a bit, leading up to a cute impromptu ditty about how she hates going through border check (the next show is in Montreal). She manages to come off as both ribald and demure, her quiet speech casually peppered with obscenities. This is, after all, a person who once dated Trent Reznor. A woman at the end of our row, who was kind enough to share her binoculars with us, had happened to meet Tori outside the theater at 4pm when the buses had arrived. She had hugged her and gotten her album signed. I was intensely jealous of this. But perhaps to have met two of my idols in one month would have been too much to ask the gods of fandom.

As rich and powerful as the band’s accompaniment was, the emotional core of the night came when Tori and her keyboards played alone for a few songs in the middle of the show. I almost cried during the poignant “China,” which hit me harder than ever in the wake of the last few months. I pulled myself together for "Merman," But then, when the opening chords of “Northern Lad” sounded, I knew I was doomed. It’s hard to choose a favorite song from such a deep and affecting catalogue, but “Northern Lad” is a real contender for my heart. And it was the one I had been most consciously hoping to hear live, and yes, I was going to cry. The emotion of that chorus, those high notes, was just chill-inducing.

I had gotten so wrapped up in "Northern Lad" I didn't even realize that the band had returned. I was kind of let down by the hit "A Sorta Fairytale," the only song she played from Scarlet's Walk, which seemed almost mumbled after the outpouring of the previous song. the only song from . The new song "Code Red" came to life on the stage, taking on a heavy, almost violent quality entirely absent in the recording, and capped off the second act with a bang.

Of course, there was an encore. There were two. I was so excited when the low rumble of Precious Things began. The greatest angry Tori song ever, played live...it was awesome. Then came the bright "Parasol." The final encore was the pair of classics "God" and "Hey Jupiter." We had been waiting to hear the former all night, jumping at false alarms, and the latter was absolutely heartbreaking.

I felt like I had been completely filled by fifteen years of Tori's music comprising eight years of my life as a fan. Only as we boarded the train did I begin to think of the dozens of other songs I did not get to hear. Wouldn't it have been great to hear "Winter" or "Happy Phantom?" At least one more song from Scarlet's Walk or Choirgirl? And then I started thinking that my Tori concert would not be my last.

Breaking down the double standards

I am more than a little amused by yesterday’s column in the Harvard Crimson. Alexandra Petri seems to imply that Drew Faust is a hopeful icon for women because she’s not wearing makeup or trying to appear "effortlessly hot." Well…

First of all, with all due respect, President Faust is 50 years old. If she were trying to be "hot," in any conventional sense, it would be very weird. I could say the same thing for Hillary Clinton, who does wear makeup. Well put-together? Sure. "Effortlessly hot?" Nah.

Secondly, the meat of the column seems concerned that women not only enjoy themselves less than men, but that one of the things they do enjoy is their daily beauty routine. Petri suggests that if women are indeed beautifying themselves for themselves, rather than because of societal burdens, it is "almost more disturbing." I ask, why? As long as we enjoy it, can’t we at least have that enjoyment without feeling guilty about it as well? If an aspiring intellectual such as myself enjoys the act of applying eyeliner, does that somehow make me less of role model for ambitious, brainy young women?

…Okay, maybe I should have used another example. But this isn't about me.

For Petri, the fact that a woman who doesn’t wear makeup can be elected to such a high position is a step forward. And granted, the double standard is evident: imagine if Hillary Clinton got up to the debate platform without a daub of Maybelline. It just wouldn't happen. As is to be expected in a male-dominated society, women are expected to look good and perform; men are judged on far more lenient aesthetic grounds. But is the ultimate ideal, then, for women to regress to the slovenliness typical of most straight American males? Or, rather, should we strive towards equality by requiring men to actually groom themselves in the morning? If it's true that women enjoy getting dolled up so much, it's only fair not to deprive the men of this enjoyment. While I agree with Petri's general point that it's wonderful that Harvard can hire a woman who doesn't wear makeup, I argue that it would be much more progressive to elect a MALE president who DID wear makeup. And much more fun for weird girls like me.

On a related note, I think Petri would find the Archaeology wing to be another beacon of hope: I have noticed I am the only one among us who regularly wears eye makeup to class. And by regularly I mean imperatively, and by eye makeup I mean are you sure you didn’t lose your way to the MCR video shoot. But no one holds it against me. Au contraire, my advisor in particular seems taken with the whole thing. My latest adventure in faculty-fashion interaction transpired yesterday morning, when Noreen tried on my red striped ballet flats and paraded around the lab, showing them off to the older grads. Sometimes I wonder if I was hired solely for the amusement of the sensible adults.

Meanwhile, I’m in the unfortunate stage of post-breakup recovery where I find lots and lots of people attractive. This includes several unnamed women in my department, an extremely androgynous, coffee-drinking boy of dubious consent age sighted at the Coop, and the guy who rang me up at the comic book store when I went to purchase Issue #2 of The Umbrella Academy. Men who work in comic book stores are not supposed to be attractive! Obviously there is something wrong with my brain.

Coming soon: Tori Amos and The New Pornographers live; the new Radiohead album and what it means for the music industry; critical praise of The Umbrella Academy; how Dashboard Confessional proves that sometimes pathos is mightier than talent; and Al Gore as a Nobel Peace Prize winner.

I'm in charge of department flair

The more time I spend in the Anthropology Department, the more surprised I am that no successful sitcom set in the absurdist world of academia has ever been created. I can easily envision a Scrubs-like universe in which hapless graduate students awkwardly navigate the twists and turns of departmental politics, crazy professors, undergraduate upstarts, and copious amounts of alcohol. Then I remember that academics are boring and nobody wants to watch people do their homework on T.V.

At any rate, we’ve found that the department is full of odd little moments. Consider the moment when one’s eminent advisors make their presence known by poking one’s pyramid-studded belt from behind:

Noreen: *poke poke*

Me (turning around, awkwardly): “Yep, that’s my belt.”

Gary (with the delighted pride of a sixty-year-old man who feels hip enough to assign subcultures using diagnostic fashion articles): “She’s punk."

Noreen (who had the previous week complimented my sneakers): “She’s our new fashion plate.”

That was the highlight of my Wednesday. Gary's declaration was the cutest thing ever, and I lacked the heart to tell him that anyone who actually was punk would be squirming in her Chucks at sight of the argyle-and-broken-heart motif branded across mine. When I am the department’s fashion plate, we know we’re in trouble.

I really am making a name for myself in this place, though, for better of for worse. For our Origins of Agriculture section, to liven up Friday’s discussion of the Pre-Pottery Neolithic A and B, I made everyone “PPNA” and “PPNB” sandwiches – pita, peanut butter, Nutella, and apple/banana, respectively. They were quite delicious. I got the impression this kind of thing had never happened before in all the years this course had been taught. I'm not quite sure what Professor Meadow was thinking, but I suspect some combination of "Oh goody, I knew I skipped lunch for a reason" and "I wasn't aware I had been transfered to an elementary school." Our T.A., a native of Georgia (the country, not the state), refused to partake and expressed his disappointment that the pitas weren't filled with something Middle Eastern. That, ladies and gentlemen, is called missing the point.

Yesterday I went to Tufts homecoming tailgate to meet Mel, which was interesting. It was great to see her, the weather was beautiful, and I really enjoyed myself once I'd put away some cider. However, it made me realize how very little I missed college life, and how very different my experience with college was from hers. I can never see myself flying cross-country for Yale homecoming. I personally have no desire to see drunken frat boys push over a table covered in uneaten food and half-empty beer cans onto the grass ever again. The same goes for a dozen people bouncing in the back of a pickup and raining cooler ice drippings on the masses below. Not my scene.

Of course, when I realize the alternative is watching a football game, the tailgate starts looking pretty good.

We're in Grad School Now. It's Serious Business.

Why yes, the name of the blog has changed. "Trailhobbit" was near and dear to my heart. Don't get me wrong. But as someone who has neither watched/read about hobbits nor set foot on a bona fide trail in some time, I felt it was time for a change. Particularly since the confusion with the original tripod blog led me to tack the inelegant "V.2" onto the end, I thought the name was a little, well, archaic.

Why The Holoscenester? Well, it's a pun. The Holocene is the geological epoch from 11,500 years ago to the present. The Holoscene, therefore, is the scene that has been big for the past 11.500 years. You may know it better as Civilization, but that's a problematic term these days that no true Holoscenester would ever use in earnest. Those who consciously follow the trends of this Holoscene are called Holoscenesters. Or anthropologists.

Which brings me to another point. I'm going to try to up the sophistication in this blog a little. *GASP* No way! Okay, sophistication -- which clearly does not encompass fangirling over Gerard Way and copious use of emoticons -- may be a strong word. Let's try...relevance. Remember when Trailhobbit used to report on the news? Well, the Holoscenester can't, I mean can't bear to read the news much anymore, and besides there are trillions of semi-professional and professional blogs covering that already. Instead I'd like to post (1) commentary on life as a grad student archaeologist, (2) actual cool stuff in archaeology, (3) anthropological observations of modern phenomena, be it the labyrinth of academia or MCR fandom. Primarily, this is still going to be a personal blog, but ideally a personal blog with a focus. There is, in theory, a difference between a blog and a LiveJournal, and I'd like to start respecting that. After all, if you're going to have four web journals, why be redundant? Mind you, I will still fangirl here when there is an actual event (concert, signing, album release) to fangirl over. And I will still occasionally make posts about what I had for dinner (see below). It's just that, in addition to those things, I hope to filter much of this blog through an anthropological lens. There will be less "I felt tired today / My default eyeliner ran out / (insert inappropriate language here)." It's about tone as much as content, and about what I leave out as much as what I put in.

Now we return to our regularly scheduled programming: What I Had For Dinner!

A month into our relationship, I finally deflowered my frying pan! I'm pretty proud of myself. When we entered class this afternoon, we were presented with leftover lunch from another event, and even though I'd already had lunch, the first rule of grad school is never turn down free food. I was disappointed by the dryness of my Tuna Niçoinnabe sandwich, and since I had, after all, eaten lunch, I thought I should take it home and salvage it. (I couldn't simply throw it away, because it contained capers.) So I decided to dress it with a couple slices of American cheese I'd snagged at a cookout some few weekends ago, slather some SmartBalance on the outsides of the dessicated rye, and grill it. In my frying pan. And guess what: it was GOOD.