A couple weeks ago, I had a crazy idea. Rather than take the bus, I
decided to walk to my job at the mall, a four-mile trek through several
busy intersections, construction and, on this particular day, a
torrential downpour. It wasn’t raining when I left, but the sky was
threatening enough that a logical person would have stayed home. I kept
going even though I tripped on the sidewalk and banged up my knees and
scratched up my hand within the first fifteen minutes of the walk. In
the end, it took me more than two hours to walk to work, and I got there
soaking wet and aching. To reward myself for my tenacity, I stopped in
the Christian bookstore and picked up the VeggieTales episode that had
just come out a few days before. Ironically, the theme of The Sumo of the Opera turned out to be perseverance.
The episode starts with Bob on the countertop, explaining that Larry
won’t be present because he is off helping kids at a toy drive. All too
soon, however, we get a phone call from Larry, who trots out a long list
of woes brought about by confusing bus schedules (am I ever with you
there, mate!) and announces that he’s giving up and coming home.
Appalled at this idea, Bob begs Larry to stay on the line while he tries
to convince him to go through with his mission.
The first
attempt comes courtesy of Lutfi, a sock puppet of indeterminate
nationality who is assisting Bob in Larry’s absence. He proudly presents
a short film about perseverance entitled Going Up!. This amusing
little interlude features Larry, Mr. Lunt and Jerry Gourd as the
bumbling employees of Mr. Nezzer. The three, decked out in Stoogesque
garb, must get a piano to the top of a very large staircase in order to
deliver it to the waiting recipient. As might be imagined, this is no
easy task, and before long Larry is on his own to finish the job. While
his friends fritter away the day at the foot of the stairs, he puts
forth the necessary effort and reaps the rewards of persistence.
Unfortunately, this little object lesson happens to be a silent film, so
it is of no help to Larry, who is still on the line but rapidly running
out of quarters.
As Bob searches for a more appropriate story, it’s a perfect time for Silly Songs With Larry. Except in this case, it’s Schoolhouse Polka With Larry,
whose contents can be guessed at rather easily. This particular lesson
involves homophones, and Larry boisterously rattles off pairs of
homophones with his accordion in hand and Buddy Holly glasses firmly
perched on his nose. After this schoolhouse rock parody, we get four
previews of the next installment instead of the usual one, and Larry is
quite exhausted by the time it’s all over. The announcer for the song
never shows his face but is some distinguished British personage other
than Archibald Asparagus, whom we do finally get to see in the main
story.
Next up is Lutfi’s Fanciful Flannelgraph, which
tells the story of St. Patrick in the traditional Sunday School format. I
knew about this portion of the show but not its subject, so I was
pleasantly surprised. The style is very different from typical Veggie
fare, but it is enjoyable nonetheless – though its depiction of the
Irish before their conversion as dimwits who bowed to twigs could be
mildly offensive to some. It has less to do with perseverance than Going Up! but does applaud St. Patrick’s willingness to go back and preach to those who captured him as a youth.
At last, Bob produces the title story. Narrated by a chorus of Japanese
wrestlers a la the Mikado, it follows the exploits of Larry in the role
of the Italian Scallion, a goofball wrestler who never finishes
anything he starts, including the repairs on his young friend Hadrian’s
bike. When he learns that wrestling the monstrous Apollo Gourd could win
him a state of the art Tiger bicycle to give Hadrian instead, he
decides to take on the challenge. But he isn’t prepared for the work
that accompanies such an undertaking.
The story is riddled with references to Rocky,
including a very funny appearance by Po Tato, a Mr. T. look-alike. “I
pity the clown!” he says of the Italian Scallion before succumbing to
his madcap charm. Most of the major Veggie players are here in one form
or another. Bob shows up as a local obsessed with collecting
recyclables. Pa is the Scallion’s ornery trainer. Jimmy and Jerry are a
sports commentator / cameraman team, and Archibald pops up now and then
with exposition festively displayed on silkscreen. Like Rocky, Larry
faces a formidable opponent and must train as hard as he possibly can if
he ever hopes to prevail. “I’ve gotta keep my eye on the tiger!” he
proclaims after Hadrian’s faith in him inspires him to continue. His
training includes making his way up the down escalator and crushing
recyclables with his hopping stomp. They also manage to sneak in
references to The Karate Kid and The Princess Bride. All in all, a very well-done parody with a worthwhile lesson to boot.
I’m not sure if I like Sumo of the Opera quite as much as A Snoodle’s Tale;
that one really knocked my socks off. But this latest Veggie
installment is a fine one and leaves me eagerly awaiting the next effort
by the most talented team of Christians around.
Tuesday, September 28, 2004
Very Unfortunate Events Very Good Reading
I had some time to kill after work today, so I decided to stop by the
mall library and see if I could plop down with a good book for a couple
of hours. Several years ago, my aunt introduced me to the deliciously
dry wit of Lemony Snicket, and after reading the first installment of
The Series of Unfortunate Events I vowed the rest would soon follow.
Alas, though I continued to identify myself as a fan of the series, I
never got around to reading the second book, let alone the remainder of
the volumes. What I did read, inappropriately as I soon discovered, was
the Unauthorized Autobiography. After an introductory chapter
that, along with the cover, had me shaking with laughter, I found I had
no idea what was going on. The book made no sense whatsoever and I
decided I would have to give it a shot again once I’d read considerably
further into the series. Because the library happened to have the second
chronicle, The Reptile Room, handy, I am now on my way.
This second installment is as quick and enjoyable a read as the first. Well, perhaps not quite as enjoyable, since Snicket has to go and introduce us to the cuddly bundle of fun that is Dr. Montgomery Montgomery (aka Uncle Monty), only to kill him off halfway through the book. This tragic incident comes as no surprise, as nearly every time Uncle Monty appears in the book the narrator reminds the reader of his untimely demise, but it is still most unfortunate when it happens as he is the most likable character to grace the series thus far. Delightfully eccentric and boundlessly kind, he provides the children with an all-too-brief oasis in their vast desert of doom.
The Baudelaire orphans behave precisely the same in this novel as they did in A Bad Beginning. Violet thinks up inventions, tying up her hair in a ribbon every time she must think especially hard. Klaus reads books, quickly becoming an expert on the subject of snakes and Peruvian terrain. And Sunny bites things. She also, in this novel, makes the acquaintance of the Incredibly Deadly Viper, who turns out to be almost as interesting a character in his own way as Uncle Monty. Rounding out the cast are Mr. Poe, the well-meaning but useless manager of the Baudelaires’ affairs; Stephano, Uncle Monty’s new assistant who the children immediately discover to be Count Olaf; and Dr. Lucafont, the somewhat unsettling doctor who arrives to perform an autopsy on Uncle Monty.
Although my brother has a tendency to dislike novels, I think I’ll keep this one around for him as he shares the same fondness Uncle Monty does for reptiles, particularly snakes. The Reptile Room itself is a glorious collection of reptiles, most of which do not actually exist but are wonderfully imaginative. In addition, he loves Snicket’s skewered sense of humor. As much as I enjoy the exploits of the orphans, I attribute the success of the series to the amalgamation of Snicket’s dry wit and etymological obsession. I find it hard to imagine that the movies can truly capture the essence of these books when the best part is the author commentary, which is not only amusing but educational as well. I walked away with a couple of new words myself, including “brummagem,” a lovely term for “fake.” I also was afforded a reminder of C. S. Lewis’ admonitions about shutting oneself in a wardrobe when I read Snicket’s shockingly accentuated warning against fooling around with electrical sockets.
Although I was very disappointed to see such a wonderful character as Uncle Monty disappear so quickly, such is the way of this series, and I’ve got the bug to read the rest in the near future. Then maybe I can tackle that autobiography again…
This second installment is as quick and enjoyable a read as the first. Well, perhaps not quite as enjoyable, since Snicket has to go and introduce us to the cuddly bundle of fun that is Dr. Montgomery Montgomery (aka Uncle Monty), only to kill him off halfway through the book. This tragic incident comes as no surprise, as nearly every time Uncle Monty appears in the book the narrator reminds the reader of his untimely demise, but it is still most unfortunate when it happens as he is the most likable character to grace the series thus far. Delightfully eccentric and boundlessly kind, he provides the children with an all-too-brief oasis in their vast desert of doom.
The Baudelaire orphans behave precisely the same in this novel as they did in A Bad Beginning. Violet thinks up inventions, tying up her hair in a ribbon every time she must think especially hard. Klaus reads books, quickly becoming an expert on the subject of snakes and Peruvian terrain. And Sunny bites things. She also, in this novel, makes the acquaintance of the Incredibly Deadly Viper, who turns out to be almost as interesting a character in his own way as Uncle Monty. Rounding out the cast are Mr. Poe, the well-meaning but useless manager of the Baudelaires’ affairs; Stephano, Uncle Monty’s new assistant who the children immediately discover to be Count Olaf; and Dr. Lucafont, the somewhat unsettling doctor who arrives to perform an autopsy on Uncle Monty.
Although my brother has a tendency to dislike novels, I think I’ll keep this one around for him as he shares the same fondness Uncle Monty does for reptiles, particularly snakes. The Reptile Room itself is a glorious collection of reptiles, most of which do not actually exist but are wonderfully imaginative. In addition, he loves Snicket’s skewered sense of humor. As much as I enjoy the exploits of the orphans, I attribute the success of the series to the amalgamation of Snicket’s dry wit and etymological obsession. I find it hard to imagine that the movies can truly capture the essence of these books when the best part is the author commentary, which is not only amusing but educational as well. I walked away with a couple of new words myself, including “brummagem,” a lovely term for “fake.” I also was afforded a reminder of C. S. Lewis’ admonitions about shutting oneself in a wardrobe when I read Snicket’s shockingly accentuated warning against fooling around with electrical sockets.
Although I was very disappointed to see such a wonderful character as Uncle Monty disappear so quickly, such is the way of this series, and I’ve got the bug to read the rest in the near future. Then maybe I can tackle that autobiography again…
Tuesday, September 21, 2004
Clay's Fans Aren't Invisible - Clay Aiken in York, PA on September 16
A year and a half ago, Clay Aiken sang Open Arms on American Idol
and I became a Claymate, though I don’t think the term had been
invented yet. For the next three months, I rabidly consumed all I could
of his material, gluing myself to the television on Tuesdays and
Wednesdays and downloading all his earlier demos. Though I think my
obsession may have worried my dad a bit, I dragged others to wallow in
Claydom with me. Among them, my aunt Barb, who returned the favor by
snatching up six tickets to see Clay Aiken at the York Fair the day they
went on sale - and sold out - in April. After five long months, I
finally got to see him solo in concert last week. It was worth the wait.
The fair atmosphere was pleasant and the weather was perfect, a relief since the county had been getting bombarded with the remnants of Hurricane Ivan. We spent several hours walking around the grounds and spotting all the different Clay shirts; when we went inside the stadium I bought two official shirts in spite of the unofficial one I was wearing. I also picked up a set of buttons, a magnet (though I’d asked for a keychain) and a program, which boasted a disappointing near-lack of text but an array of nice photos. Though I was dismayed to shell out $100 for these souvenirs, I managed to resist the temptation of buying a disposable camera after I’d had to take mine back to the car. What a racket…
Unfortunately, my aunt and her boyfriend had to sit separately from us, but they were directly below us so we never lost sight of them; Aunt Barb often turned around and waved at us. The concert was slated to begin at 7:30, but the musicians who took the stage had nothing to do with Clay; they were a local band by the name of Ben Jelen. Their musical style was a little loud for my taste, and their acoustics weren’t so hot. So after half an hour of them, I was very ready for Clay. But it took another half an hour for him to take the stage, after many spontaneous outbursts of clapping and “We want Clay!”
The first we actually saw of him was on a Jumbotron, doing an advertisement of all things. The ad featured him singing a clip of Proud of Your Boy, his song from the Aladdin DVD, and encouraging all the fans to get a copy and support Disney in their efforts towards kids everywhere. Disney had dredged up all the warm and fuzzy they could for this commercial, and I know I wasn’t the only one in the audience wishing the release date was September 15 instead of October 5.
The concert itself was intermission-free, an hour and a half of songs from Clay’s album and singles with a liberal sprinkling of covers. Actually, I think the covers out-numbered the actual Clay songs, but I can’t say I minded since he always chooses very high-quality songs to cover. Among them: U2’s Where the Streets Have No Name, Orleans’ Still the One (which he had included on one of his demo albums), Toto’s Rosanna (a rollicking number that, like Cecilia in Art Garfunkel’s concerts, allowed him a bit of a break and his band a chance to shine when it became a showcase for the talents of each individual member), Mr. Mister’s Kyrie (an upbeat song that seemed to be religious but whose words I had trouble understanding) and Avalon’s You Were There (a shivery gospel-style song which had him rise through the floor in a shining white suit and was accompanied by religious images on the jumbotron). All of his performances were stylish and packed with passion and energy. And his perfect pitch never wavered, nor did his amazing holding power, which he made a point of demonstrating on more than one occasion.
The most blatant of these demonstrations came during one of my favorite parts of the concert, a montage of five James Taylor tunes. While I was a little disappointed that no Elton John’s made it into the concert, this segment made up for it and also introduced me to the incredible talents of his back-up singers, Jacob, Quiana and Angela. I was especially impressed with Jacob’s heartfelt rendition of Fire and Rain and the harmonious Sweet Baby James. You’ve Got a Friend concluded with a contest to see who could hold the last note the longest. All four had very impressive breath control, but Clay held out the longest. These three quieter songs were my favorites, but the more upbeat How Sweet it Is and Your Smiling Face were enjoyable too. Clay’s rapport with the audience was secured the moment he took the stage, and he even invited a couple lucky audience members to come join him in a dance number. Later, a girl from Philadelphia joined him for Without You, a duet he performed with Kim Locke on her album. Although she struck me as just a bit cocky, this girl had quite a powerful set of pipes; Clay seemed very impressed. He was incredibly chatty all night, and his sharp sense of humor was very evident, as was his warmth, perhaps enhanced by the fact that his mother was sitting in the front row.
I confess that I was less than blown away by Clay’s debut album. Up till now, all my favorite singers have had their origins in the sixties and seventies, and I’ve found that I am generally most moved by Clay when he sings songs from that era. The songs written for his album tended to strike me as overproduced, too commercial, too contemporary. I was head over heels for the singer, but I was used to falling in love with songs as well and it wasn’t happening. Nonetheless, his album has grown on me, and the songs are much more impressive in concert than on the album. Just seeing him belt them out with all the enthusiasm he could muster, and without all sorts of special effects to overshadow his voice, made a big difference. Perfect Day, one of the first songs in the set, was entertaining because the chorus had him hopping around the stage to indicate his giddiness. The more sedate Measure of a Man was enhanced by the skills of Jacob, one of his back-up singers, on what I believe was the soprano sax. In this song it sounded more like a trumpet and gave the song a heroic quality. His impassioned rendering of the inspirational anthem I Will Carry You almost made up for the disappointing (but unsurprising) absence of Bridge Over Troubled Water. I found myself reveling in his performances of Invisible (in spite of its slightly stalkerish lyrics) and I Survived You (in spite of its bitter tone). And it certainly was a treat to hear the triumphant finale of This is the Night, accompanied by clips of highlights from the past year, and the glorious encore of Solitaire, which has probably replaced Open Arms as my most goosebump-inducing Clay song.
I’m just now recovering from semi-laryngitis brought on by this concert. My mom got into the spirit too, but her voice seemed unaffected so I must have out-squealed her. In a shrieking contest, I suspect a crowd of Claymates could decimate a group of banshees any day. We squealed at the high notes, the extended notes, the mentions of his mother and of his charity. We cheered when he expressed his gratitude to his fans and bellowed the words to his choruses at the top of our lungs. I fear the less enthusiastic members of the crowd probably left with a bit of a headache. But I think Clay deserved every cheer he got, plain old Clay who performed all but three songs in jeans and a button-up shirt. He almost looked like that geek who showed up in Atlanta once again. There was a lot less superfluous showiness here than there was on the American Idol tour, and his back-up singers were so talented I never felt they were an unnecessary distraction from the person we all came to see.
It’s been more than a year since Clay first emerged from American Idol a star, and I don’t see that star falling any time soon. At the same time, he seems perfectly grounded and gracious, able to prevent his whirlwind fame from stripping him of the qualities that made him so lovable to begin with. With a spot on the Aladdin DVD, an inspirational memoir and a Christmas album all on the way in the next few months, I’m sure I’ll be seeing and hearing a lot more of Clay soon.
The fair atmosphere was pleasant and the weather was perfect, a relief since the county had been getting bombarded with the remnants of Hurricane Ivan. We spent several hours walking around the grounds and spotting all the different Clay shirts; when we went inside the stadium I bought two official shirts in spite of the unofficial one I was wearing. I also picked up a set of buttons, a magnet (though I’d asked for a keychain) and a program, which boasted a disappointing near-lack of text but an array of nice photos. Though I was dismayed to shell out $100 for these souvenirs, I managed to resist the temptation of buying a disposable camera after I’d had to take mine back to the car. What a racket…
Unfortunately, my aunt and her boyfriend had to sit separately from us, but they were directly below us so we never lost sight of them; Aunt Barb often turned around and waved at us. The concert was slated to begin at 7:30, but the musicians who took the stage had nothing to do with Clay; they were a local band by the name of Ben Jelen. Their musical style was a little loud for my taste, and their acoustics weren’t so hot. So after half an hour of them, I was very ready for Clay. But it took another half an hour for him to take the stage, after many spontaneous outbursts of clapping and “We want Clay!”
The first we actually saw of him was on a Jumbotron, doing an advertisement of all things. The ad featured him singing a clip of Proud of Your Boy, his song from the Aladdin DVD, and encouraging all the fans to get a copy and support Disney in their efforts towards kids everywhere. Disney had dredged up all the warm and fuzzy they could for this commercial, and I know I wasn’t the only one in the audience wishing the release date was September 15 instead of October 5.
The concert itself was intermission-free, an hour and a half of songs from Clay’s album and singles with a liberal sprinkling of covers. Actually, I think the covers out-numbered the actual Clay songs, but I can’t say I minded since he always chooses very high-quality songs to cover. Among them: U2’s Where the Streets Have No Name, Orleans’ Still the One (which he had included on one of his demo albums), Toto’s Rosanna (a rollicking number that, like Cecilia in Art Garfunkel’s concerts, allowed him a bit of a break and his band a chance to shine when it became a showcase for the talents of each individual member), Mr. Mister’s Kyrie (an upbeat song that seemed to be religious but whose words I had trouble understanding) and Avalon’s You Were There (a shivery gospel-style song which had him rise through the floor in a shining white suit and was accompanied by religious images on the jumbotron). All of his performances were stylish and packed with passion and energy. And his perfect pitch never wavered, nor did his amazing holding power, which he made a point of demonstrating on more than one occasion.
The most blatant of these demonstrations came during one of my favorite parts of the concert, a montage of five James Taylor tunes. While I was a little disappointed that no Elton John’s made it into the concert, this segment made up for it and also introduced me to the incredible talents of his back-up singers, Jacob, Quiana and Angela. I was especially impressed with Jacob’s heartfelt rendition of Fire and Rain and the harmonious Sweet Baby James. You’ve Got a Friend concluded with a contest to see who could hold the last note the longest. All four had very impressive breath control, but Clay held out the longest. These three quieter songs were my favorites, but the more upbeat How Sweet it Is and Your Smiling Face were enjoyable too. Clay’s rapport with the audience was secured the moment he took the stage, and he even invited a couple lucky audience members to come join him in a dance number. Later, a girl from Philadelphia joined him for Without You, a duet he performed with Kim Locke on her album. Although she struck me as just a bit cocky, this girl had quite a powerful set of pipes; Clay seemed very impressed. He was incredibly chatty all night, and his sharp sense of humor was very evident, as was his warmth, perhaps enhanced by the fact that his mother was sitting in the front row.
I confess that I was less than blown away by Clay’s debut album. Up till now, all my favorite singers have had their origins in the sixties and seventies, and I’ve found that I am generally most moved by Clay when he sings songs from that era. The songs written for his album tended to strike me as overproduced, too commercial, too contemporary. I was head over heels for the singer, but I was used to falling in love with songs as well and it wasn’t happening. Nonetheless, his album has grown on me, and the songs are much more impressive in concert than on the album. Just seeing him belt them out with all the enthusiasm he could muster, and without all sorts of special effects to overshadow his voice, made a big difference. Perfect Day, one of the first songs in the set, was entertaining because the chorus had him hopping around the stage to indicate his giddiness. The more sedate Measure of a Man was enhanced by the skills of Jacob, one of his back-up singers, on what I believe was the soprano sax. In this song it sounded more like a trumpet and gave the song a heroic quality. His impassioned rendering of the inspirational anthem I Will Carry You almost made up for the disappointing (but unsurprising) absence of Bridge Over Troubled Water. I found myself reveling in his performances of Invisible (in spite of its slightly stalkerish lyrics) and I Survived You (in spite of its bitter tone). And it certainly was a treat to hear the triumphant finale of This is the Night, accompanied by clips of highlights from the past year, and the glorious encore of Solitaire, which has probably replaced Open Arms as my most goosebump-inducing Clay song.
I’m just now recovering from semi-laryngitis brought on by this concert. My mom got into the spirit too, but her voice seemed unaffected so I must have out-squealed her. In a shrieking contest, I suspect a crowd of Claymates could decimate a group of banshees any day. We squealed at the high notes, the extended notes, the mentions of his mother and of his charity. We cheered when he expressed his gratitude to his fans and bellowed the words to his choruses at the top of our lungs. I fear the less enthusiastic members of the crowd probably left with a bit of a headache. But I think Clay deserved every cheer he got, plain old Clay who performed all but three songs in jeans and a button-up shirt. He almost looked like that geek who showed up in Atlanta once again. There was a lot less superfluous showiness here than there was on the American Idol tour, and his back-up singers were so talented I never felt they were an unnecessary distraction from the person we all came to see.
It’s been more than a year since Clay first emerged from American Idol a star, and I don’t see that star falling any time soon. At the same time, he seems perfectly grounded and gracious, able to prevent his whirlwind fame from stripping him of the qualities that made him so lovable to begin with. With a spot on the Aladdin DVD, an inspirational memoir and a Christmas album all on the way in the next few months, I’m sure I’ll be seeing and hearing a lot more of Clay soon.
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