Human Variations - A Working Title

As promised, here is the first chapter of my novel entitled, for the time being, Human Variations. I'm still mulling that over. This novel is almost complete, with the last few chapters still to be written but totally outlined. As with all my work published online, it is copyrighted and cannot be used without permission.

Feel free to leave comments :)

CHAPTER ONE

A Star flared into the dark

splintering it

into a myriad prisms.

Thought became matter.

  

Samantha cradles against the icy window, gazing at the snow that lies battered on the street. In her head, a distant sound of sleigh bells ring. She watches cars and people as they rush to their holiday destinations. They look carefree, happy to greet the New Year. This is too much for her. The steel vice that has lodged around her heart tightens as it beats.

Samantha's raw fingers melt the frost on the window pane. Her anxious eyes once again seek the candle. It flickers, but goes on burning. She gnaws on her lips with her strong teeth, oblivious to the blood that fills her mouth. Last New Year twilight, the wick of the new candle merged with that of the old. The light was transposed to live forever. Since then, an endless string of candles have passed from her wax- burnt trembling hands, yet, her anxiety continues.

Tonight, as she stares out of her frosty window, the vortex starts pulling on her again. Again, she is powerless to resist. Again the despair begins. A sudden draft seeps through the cracks. The flame flickers. She gasps, running to the candle. She kneels before it, tenderly protecting it. But the icy breath, toying with the flame, blows it out. A shadow passes over the room. Samantha screams.

***

Mika's eyes snap open.  Gasping for air, she sits up in bed, clutching the covers. Disoriented, her eyes go to the moonlit window. A tree branch is knocking furiously against the pane. Trying to still her beating heart, she takes a few deep breaths. Bringing her fist up to rub her eyes, she quickly drops it down again.  Her face is drowning in tears. 

“It’s happening again,” she mutters. The dream she thought had left her, has come back with a vengeance. Throwing off the covers, she swings her legs over the side of the bed. "Water." she thinks and, like a sleepwalker, she moves across the deep rug of the room, into the hall, down the stairs, to the kitchen.

The water runs cold out of the chrome tap. She cups her hands and drinks greedily. Then, wiping her mouth, she supports her shaking body on the counter and gazes out into the sparkling garden and, beyond that, the lake. She wonders if she will ever sleep through a whole night again.

Her eyes, grainy from lack of sleep, find it difficult to focus. Her body, stiff from the dream, is reluctant to move. Her mind protests. Knowing that it is futile even to try sleep, she decides not to attempt the charade, preparing coffee, instead.

Mechanically, she trudges back up to the bathroom. She splashes cold water on her face and reaches for the towel. Catching her reflection in the mirror, she hesitates. “Why does my face always look unfamiliar to me at first glance?” The chestnut hair, the hazel eyes, the long nose and full mouth have been with her for thirty years. Yet, it is the face of a stranger.

Returning to the kitchen, she pours herself a generous cup of coffee, hoping that it will revive her. Its rich blackness fills her mouth, fills her body with artificial energy. Her heart, however, remains untouched and heavy in her chest. Mika wonders when the joy had left her life.

She could have been out, celebrating New Year's but she did not have to heart to go through the motions. She smiles wryly. She has never had the best sense of timing, choosing the one time in the year when loneliness can be deadly, to break off her engagement. But, she knows she had to be honest with him. She has never been one to hide from the truth and the truth is, she does not see herself as David's wife.

She probably can’t be anyone’s wife. Her career has always been her passion and now with the dream returning... She shakes her head to stop its descent into darkness. “This is no time to make commitments, when I’m losing my mind.”

***

The house occupies one of the largest corner lots in the area. Its walls are covered with a vine that never fades, but flares red in the fall. The stone that was said to have been brought over from England with the early settlers remains regally grey. The evergreens that flank the house protect it from the eyes of the curious. Many children in the neighbourhood would have liked to call it haunted if it weren't for its vivacious owner who has infused the very stone with her personality. 

Tonight the house is decked out in its festive splendour, solidly oblivious to the howling winds and blowing snow. Trees and bushes flash with lights, bejewelled with fairy lights. Beautiful ice sculptures of fairies and elves frolic on the snow-covered lawn. The orange glow of firelight spills out onto the frozen shapes, spotlighting their wintry glory. Passers-by stop to gape through the wrought iron gates, awed at the marvellous spectacle, thinking how lucky the occupants of the house must be.

Inside, Charlotte Burke paces, glancing at her daughter who reciprocates with a shrug. Her expensive pumps make no sound on the deep, caramel rug as she continues her pacing. The special dinner she planned, has long grown cold, but she could care less. The clock is perilously close to midnight and still no sign of Jonathan or Samantha.

Finally, she sits down with an exasperated sigh. "That girl is going to drive me to the nearest asylum. Where can she be? Sometimes I wonder who she takes after, with her eccentric notions and fantastical ideas. Where did I go wrong Stephanie?"

 The younger woman eyes her mother wearily, as she replaces the loose blond strand in its elegant coil. "Mom. We've gone over this again and again. You’ve got to let her be. She'll snap out of it. Hopefully."

Charlotte refills her cup with steaming tea and takes a cautious sip. "A miserable lot of consolation you're giving! Jonathan left over an hour ago. I know there must be something wrong."

Stephanie secretly berates herself for giving up a date with the scrumptious Fernando to come to this family dinner. She flicks her shell pink nail in irritation. "Will you please relax? He's probably trying to convince her to come."

"See. That's exactly what I mean. Why should he be trying to convince Samantha to come spend New Year's Eve with her family? It's not as if her social calendar is crammed with engagements. Oh. Listen to me. Is that the door?"

Stephanie flips through her phone. "No. It's the wind."

It makes a mourning sound as it knocks on the windows and brushes against the trees. Its sound makes the listener glad to be inside and warm, away from its eerie mood. The two women listen to the wind, each absorbed in her own thoughts, her own feelings of guilt. The ring of the phone makes both mother and daughter turn and look at the instrument with almost identical expressions of horror.

"Would you like me to get that mother?"

"Don't be silly. I'm closer." The receiver wavers slightly in her hand. "Hello?"

***

The pub is full of New Year's revellers. A smoky haze hovers over and around the milling crowd. The music from the pop charts has quite a few people convulsing on the floor. Curtis orders tonic water and settles in his favoured seat at the end of the bar where he can keep an eye on the action, unnoticed.

He remains oblivious to the voltage that attracts the female moths to his aloofness.  He scans the room of the small popular pub, ever on the lookout for a trail, a lead, an inside scoop. He is never disappointed, because his training has given him, if nothing else, an uncanny sense for detail.

When he was offered the position of investigator on a special task force, he wasn't sure that he wanted it. He had been used to traveling, and his career with the military suited him fine. But after his injury, he decided that active duty would have to be shelved, for the time being. So he accepted the job, with certain conditions.

The Commisioner was so pleased to have him that he accepted Curtis’ terms immediately, needing someone who is extremely good at undercover work. His uncut charisma and his unrelenting thoroughness have won him great successes in the past year. Curtis accepted the praise but steered clear of close associations and political game playing.

Even deep in thought, his mind is always keenly aware of its surroundings. In one corner sits a languid red-head with a short tight skirt and legs that go on forever. "Every man's wet dream," his lip curls at the thought. She sits nonchalantly, her nose high in the air, slowly sipping her drink. He sees through the pantomime, of course. The message in her glance is unmistakable, but he is not interested.

His phone starts vibrating and he reaches for it. Being on call at night like this has never bothered Curtis, but when he sees the message, he grunts in exasperation.

                                    A woman is at East General with a coma.

                                    A neighbour heard her scream before she

                                    was found, can you take this?

                                    Everyone else is on a call or not available.

He punches in his answer, gulps down his drink and leaves.

***

The hospital's attempt at holiday cheer is futile to those who have to spend time there. Charlotte, Stephanie and Jonathan sit close together in one of the waiting rooms. Incomprehension is etched on their faces as they search each other's eyes for consolation but find confusion.

Jonathan rests his face in his hands to avoid the many questions he cannot answer. Although he was the one to find his sister, he still cannot coherently piece together a story with a semblance of logic. When he got the apartment, there was no answer. But a feeling in his gut made him force the disgruntled super to open the door.

He found her lying inert on the floor, the blood drained from her face and body. When the concerned neighbour hurried into tell them that he heard her scream, a frozen anxiety gripped him while he waited for the medics to arrive. The fact that neither he, nor the EMS could revive her when they arrived seemingly hours later did nothing to ease his foreboding.

Samantha is lying in a coma and no one can find the cause.

The doctors are obviously puzzled and have pumped the bewildered family for any clue as to why Samantha can be lying inert and unreachable on a hospital bed. Her blood stream shows no evidence of drug use. Has she ever been a drug user? No. There is no sign of trauma anywhere on her body. Has she taken a bad fall recently? No. Has she had epilepsy or mild psychosis? No! Each assumption is more horrible and unfounded than the rest. The cruel fact remains there is no explanation.

Charlotte finally has the courage to break the deafening silence. "It's my fault I should have watched out for her. I knew she was teetering on the edge."

"Mother, please. Dramatics are not your style. We all knew that there was something wrong with Sam. We tried everything to help her snap out of it. She built a wall around herself and wouldn't let anyone in."

"Jonathan's right, mom. Please don't start this, again. It's so useless. Sam isn't a baby. She had, has, options. She just hasn’t exercised them. There was nothing we could do to foresee let alone prevent this. Even the doctors seem stumped."

"Is it possible that depression can lead to coma?"

"Jonathan. That's preposterous!"

"The resident psychologist will like to ask us some questions about Samantha. They want to compile a psychological profile." Charlotte sighs wearily.

"What has gone so wrong with Samantha's life that she has to end up like this?"

Jonathan shakes his head that feels heavy with weariness. "That Stephanie is the million dollar question."

***

The moon hangs low, glows bright in the heavy winter night. The glassy, manufactured beauty of the city shimmers on the cold horizon.  The water lies neutral, a translucent green. The tiny weather-beaten boats waddle like drunken geese against the dock. All is still on the pier. The pleasure craft, covered and stored by their owners for the winter remain silent. Nothing moves on the marina.

Kiro sits on his boat, cross-legged. Its gentle rocking lulls him. His eyes, intense beams of light, scan the purple horizon. His mind, trained to still its wanderings, focus on the foggy light of the ghostly orb. His body, subordinated by his powerful spirit, rests. An immobile clay statue.

Only his hair, coal black and long, sways in the snow-filled gust. He tastes the flakes on his lips. His whole body echoes the deep vibrations of the water and sky. He closes his eyes and once again the images pass through.

A tall slim girl, candle white.

A man running from his demons.

A woman on a trail, stalked by hurt.

Slowly, he opens his eyes and steps off his boat, reaching for his cell phone. It is time to go home.

***    

"Can you tell me a little about Samantha's childhood? It will help to have some background and possibly piece the steps that brought her here."

Charlotte wrings the moist lace handkerchief in her trembling hands. Her eyes are fixed on the brick wall outside the window. "Samantha was every mother's dream. Her school life was exemplary, peppered with a normal amount of mischief. She was popular. She was an A student, a debating team whiz, a star soft ball player, and an accomplished flutist. Samantha was always the calm in the storm, the lovely anchor of our fatherless family.

I lost my husband when Samantha was three and my twins newly born.

I remember the day everything changed. It was a week before her nineteenth birthday. All the plans had been set. She was to go to Montreal and study music at the conservatory. We had also arranged that she stay with a cousin who has rooms to spare in her rambling old house. Her future shone brightly. We were all so happy for her.

That afternoon, Samantha sought me out in my garden studio. She sat down on a stool and watched me hack at my latest sculpture. All day I had an uneasy, restless feeling, and I naturally thought I was reading into things. I let her be waiting to hear what was so obviously going through her mind. I can honestly say I felt my spine tingle.

Suddenly, I could stand the suspense no longer, so I turned to look at my quiet daughter. It wasn't that she was simply staring out the window that alarmed me; she did that often;  it was her faraway expression. To this day it haunts me. I was about to say something, I don't know what, when she told me she found a job and an apartment and that she was moving out at the end of that month.

In vain I tried to get an explanation, I even resorted to pleading and threats, but I was met with stony silence. I recruited Jonathan and Stephanie but they too reached a stalemate. Samantha's mind had been quietly, sweetly, irrevocably made up. True to my beliefs, I backed off, and true to her word, and, as always, without much ado, she moved out on her nineteenth birthday. And that was when everything started to go wrong."

Charlotte buries her face in her hands and cries. Jonathan puts his arm around his mother's shoulders. He gives the doctor a reproachful look. He yearns for a cigarette, as he grinds his teeth.

 "What mother means is that things started falling apart for Sam, when she moved out and got a job at a small occult store. It wasn't what the store specialized in that bothered us; it was that it had an air of chicanery to it. The people that went there were the odds and ends of humanity. They drifted in for a chat, a cup of tea, a reading, a talisman, a trinket, a book. Most of them spoke in hieroglyphics, others spoke not at all just fixed one with their entranced eyes, or simply stared past at something I surely could not see.

They sought spiritual wisdom and comfort, and they found it in Samantha, I believe, not in the owners of that... establishment."

The doctor nods, taking detailed notes. "Can you tell me a little about her state of mind when she worked at this store?"

Jonathan let out a ragged sigh. "It's hard to tell what was going on her head. I can tell you what she looked like. She started dressing exclusively black and her hair, which had gone completely silver grey within a year, was always hanging down her back in a braid. But it's her eyes, pale blue, incredibly big on her small pointed face that burn in my memory."

The doctor looks up sharply. "Can you explain what you mean please?"

"I don't know how to explain."

Stephanie, who has been silently fiddling with the patent strap of her bag, clears her throat. "What Jon means is that she had this kind of vacant look about her. She smiled a lot, but it was an empty smile. Do you know what I mean?"

The doctor studies the attractive blond who has been unable to hide her reluctance at being here. "Do you think her place of employment caused these changes?"

Stephanie nods. "Definitely!  They closed the place down last year. The owner was arrested for fraud and embezzlement. Too late to help Samantha though."

"What did Samantha do then?"

Charlotte answers the question, her voice much steadier. "She went on unemployment and continued helping these... people at home. We tried to take her out for lunch, for dinner, for coffee, for anything, just out of there.  But she smiled her sad, little smile and shook her head. Every time, she had some tea, or reading, or séance, or consultation, God knows what!"

Their guilt was almost palpable. Family therapy might be necessary in the future, but right now he has a puzzle on his hands,. "Ms. Burke, you said something earlier about the store closing being to too late for Samantha. What did you mean by that?”

"After the store closed down last year, it was as if she too, shut down, lost direction. I tried talking her into getting another, better job, or going back to her studies. But she wouldn't.

 What got me really mad were these people who would come over seeking I don't know what... salvation from Sam? They just sapped the energy out of her. She read their cards. What a crock! They claimed that she was always right! She held their hands and talked them out of whatever particular frenzy held them. Truthfully, it gave me the creeps."

With a grim look on his otherwise unreadable face, Doctor Lazlow closes the folder, knowing it is time to bring in a specialist.

In My Head

Today, I was about to delete this blog completely and call it a day. Between the anxiety of trying to keep it up, creating a real readership, promoting it, and the almost rabid worry about what to publish, it defeated the purpose. Couple that with a busy life, a lot of commitments and the nagging need to actually complete something I began, it became a nightmare.

So I logged on, intent of freeing myself of this albatross and drowning it in the ocean. Just as I was about to hit "delete", my sane voice, my inner voice, the voice that needs to smack me upside the head spoke.

"Dude, you have to write. You have started so many projects; you have so many ideas. You need to  stop hiding under the covers of procrastination and freeken write already. You need to round off your body of work to a meaningful conclusion. In other words, finish what you bleeping started!"

Okay. Okay. Fair enough. I confess. I have started so many writing projects, from my list of projects; yet have not finished any one of them. Why is that? Is it a fear of failure or success?

I love to write. I have a lot to write about. My head goes in a million directions, sometimes at the speed of light and I can't keep up with it, let alone convey it in terms any sane reader can decipher.

But, that's another excuse. It's time to end the torrents of excuses and finish something. Follow through.

It's odd because I am one of the most organized people in practical life, but when it comes to creativity, I'm a blob of good intentions and no direction.

That ends today.

And it begins with the decision NOT to delete my blog but to change it to what I really want to write, to create, to finish. There will be no themes, no gimmicks, no more searching.

This will be my process, and it will be a disjointed one. I warn you (if there is a 'you') in advance.  It will seem like there's no structure because there won't be.

I begin with my search, with displaying the unfinished, with the storm in my head, looking for the shelter of completion.

So right now, I have four projects in various stages of completion: There are two novels and two books of non-fiction: one about my experience with social networking and the other about my experience in the education system (a word that must be used lightly).

This is what I will be doing: I will post 2 or 3 chapters of each of these books in separate posts. If I have any readers, and you wish to post a reply, feel free to do so. I have taken the brave road and opened this up to commentary. I hope and pray I don't regret it. :)

Stay tuned!

Idol and Writer in Crisis.

So yeah, American Idol is back. Sort of. It's reinvented itself more times than I have tried to reinvent this blog. Both of us are having directional issues. More on that later.

So the Nicki Minaj - Mariah Carey much-hyped showdown was aired last night. All I have to say on the issue is... That all you got? All this chatter over nada. They were tired and snippy. Nicki was fed up with the over-deconstruction of the contestants and having had enough, left.

Big deal.

The debate has been raging between the Minaj and Carey fans. The problem is that these two could not be farther apart as people and performers. Nicky Minaj is outgoing and quirky while Mariah Carey is more reserved and conservative. Two different styles sandwiched by Rewind Randy and Laid-back Keith. Although I like these judges individually for different reasons, their "chemistry" is more toxic than fascinating to watch.

The bigger question is how many times will they change the judges before they give it up completely? The show is having an identity crisis. Is it about the star power on the panel? Is it about a singing competition aimed at finding a performer who has the whole package? Or is it about backstory, invoking sympathy and the popularity vote? I just don't know.

On related news, I'm having a blog crisis of my own. I have reinvented the focus so many times, I myself have gotten lost like the producers of Idol. I have several writing projects on the go which make maintaining a blog and schmoozing readership a difficult task.

Here's the question I put to you.

Do I:

a) drop this blog completely and carry on with my writing privately for possible publication?
b) change the focus of this blog (yet again) by sharing my writing process?
c) find another focus that would be more worthwhile for me and for you?

Your input is welcome, keeping in mind that the volume and quality of that input will help in my decision once and for all.

Stay tuned! :)

The Business of Singing.

Cassadee Pope won The Voice. No big shocker there. The fact that she trended on Twitter, iTunes and YouTube after Amanda Brown and Melanie Martinez were prematurely ousted was a clear indication. She's talented, pretty and edgy. And very mainstream. The popular vote rarely, if ever, goes to Indy artists. Phillip Phillips was the exception on American Idol.

The big news was that Christina Aguilera will be replaced by Shakira and Cee Lo by Usher. It's a straight swap that could be refreshing on the judges panel. It will be fun to see what those to will add to the mix. Aguilera has not been particularly helpful this season with some of her commentary, clearly showing her partiality for some over others.

Tonight is the finale of X-Factor. I expect this youngin to win:

A solid contender from day 1, Carly Rose Sonenclar has been impressive since her first audition and hasn't disappointed since. Tate Stevens has been close on her heels. His performances have been sometimes very predictable; but he the most touching story which might influence the votes.The shocker was that 5th Harmony made it to the F3; but that probably was due to the fact that the judges were absolutely brutal to them.

Britney's reaction to them making F3 says it all...

5th Harmony edged out the judge and tween favorite, Emblem 3, who's puppy dog enthusiasm seemed to have them pegged for F3. It doesn't matter though, because it will no doubt not be the last we see of them. Cowell will more than likely be promoting and backing them.

A singer's success or failure really doesn't depend on the final results of a competition. Many who have not even made it to F3 have gone on to have successful and prolific careers. Fans can be fickle and trends change.

Stay tuned! :)

Ho Ho Holy Doomsday... lmao

Okay okay. We've seen the movies, the shows, the parodies, the special reports and the chatter. Hell, they even used it as a theme in last week's Glee episode. Yup, the end of the world. AGAIN.

There was Y2K that fizzed out like an open can of pop. Then the Nostradamus Prophesies that sent people reeling and yawning when they didn't happen. Now it's the supposed end of the Mayan Calendar that must mean the end of the world, right?

Umm, weren't the Mayans pulverized and made extinct by the Spanish? Could that be the reason their calendar ended? Simply because its author(s) became piranha food? I mean, is that too simplistic an explanation?

In the meantime, the internet has been abuzz for years now with speculation and faux science while the actual scientists have gone purple trying to refute this conspiranoia, but what do they know? I mean where's the money in staying safe and the world continuing along in its cyclical repetition of political and social upheaval? Disaster films are so much more fun.

And if you're dead set on this (pardon the pun), here's some good news if you have some cash lying around:

You could buy one of these:

Complete with pool, on-site agriculture, a library and school....

Glam huh?

You too can survive here if you have $1.5 to $3 mil U.S. lying around! Just contact Larry Hall and put in your order for a half or full floor suite, tout de suite!

Or if you have less cash you could buy one of these:

And roll around bumping your head while surfing on the tides of tsunamis while the rest of us drown  or just choke laughing. That'll only set you back $5K U.S.

Or you can buy a one-way ticket to Bugarach in the Pyranees:

This "village at the end of the world" is said by same prophesy to be the only one to survive a cataclysmic, world-destroying zombiecalypse. Some even believe that aliens will come out from hiding on the 21st scooping up to save all humans in the vicinity. That's nice of them!

Or you can get a bunker at the "secret location" at the "survival community" somewhere in Tenterfield Australia, started up by Simon Young, a refrigeration mechanic, cult leader. Their website is full of useful information... if you're dropping some acid, it will even seem credible!

I for one will invest 40 bucks on a nice bottle of wine, and some gourmet popcorn, spending the night with my favorite people, comfy jammies and some zombie movies! Now that's going out in style! :)

Stay tuned! :)

Cash Cow Disease

So it's back to business as usual. As it turns out Melanie Martinez was voted out (oops! sorry! spoiler alert), so we're going to be spared Aguilera's monologues on set design. Anyway, as promised, my living dolls series continues with someone who has spent over half a million dollars on plastic surgery to vaguely (but not really) resemble Barbie: Sarah Burge.

Sarah with daughter Poppy

As she relates her own life, this UK personality is no stranger to drama, trauma and self-abuse. Now, she's making her money as a plastic surgery consultant, running a promotional talent firm, guesting on a radio show and writing erotica under the pseudonym Madam Pink, in addition to being an anti-domestic violence advocate and fundraiser. That's pretty damn impressive.

She was introduced to the world of plastic surgery when she was severely beaten as a young girl and had to have reconstruction on her face during a time when she was being exploited as a Playboy Bunny. (Probably a version of toddlers' and girls' beauty pageants) This certainly sheds light into the woman that she is today.

Yet, it's not all this that she's known for. Most recently, she's known for being kicked off Anderson Cooper's show in May 2012 because she had given her daughter Poppy a sizable voucher for plastic surgery to be cashed in when she turns 18. Copper called her "dreadful" saying he had nothing to talk to her about, later commenting that he regretted having her on the show. Watch for yourself:

A crapstorm of controversy has raged at Burge since this story broke with accusations and recrimination flying like confetti at a wedding. I'm torn on this subject. I get why people are pissed. Like Alana Thompson, Poppy is being pushed into the public eye way too young and being given the message that she needs to artificially augment her looks in order to be beautiful. On the other hand, I understand that, to Burge, plastic surgery is not only acceptable but desirable; so, to her, such a gift is perfectly "natural". However, the girl was 7 years old at the time. At that age. children are not able to think critically and differentiate between a choice and a necessity.

My problem is with Anderson Cooper and others who bring Burge on their shows, giving her the publicity, only to tear her down. Again, media is gleefully dancing around their hypocrisy. On the one hand, they've flooded us with shows promoting children in roles they have no business being in, getting the publicity they can in no way handle; yet on the other hand, they turn their judgmental noses up on the likes of Burge.

Are there issues there? Undoubtedly. But who doesn't have issues whether they are in the public eye or not. Does the media exploit these issues to keep feeding their insatiable thirst for ratings which translates to money? Indeed they do. They need to make a decision. Either they don't approve which means abolishing all such shows to the rejection board or they stop pretending to have ethics. You can't have your cash cow and eat it too.

Stay tuned! :)

Sources:

Biography

Sidetracked: Snarky Judges

I was going to write another post in my Barbie series, but that's going to have to wait until tomorrow. Something else popped up that burned my insides so here it is:

For the longest time, I've been planning on doing a comparison between X Factor and The Voice, outlining the reasons I like the latter more. The main reason is the judges. Talent comes and talent goes, but it's the way people are treated on these shows that's important.

In the past, I noticed that Adam Levine. Cee Lo Green, Blake Shelton and Christina Aguilera have consistently not only shown the contestants respect and affection but have given them constructive criticism unlike their counterparts on X Factor (with the exception of Britney Spears ). Reid, Cowell and Lovato have shown a gleeful cruelty towards many of the contestants (those NOT on their teams) throwing out comments ranging from the mild "boring" to "disastrous";having a go at each other when they're done annihilating the competitors.

Really? In what way are these comments even remotely constructive? Simple answer. They're not. It seems like these three use the contestants for their snark-filled amusement. Since snarky and cruel is the new witty, this might not bother many; but it pisses me off. In laymen's terms, they suck at judges.

However, the past couple of weeks while watching The Voice, I noticed that Christina Aguilera has jumped on the saccharine version of the Snark Train. For some reason, she has taken a dislike to Melanie Martinez, disrespecting the 17 year-old's performance by commenting first on the fact that Jerry Slaughter has been creating some pretty awesome sets for the young singer.

Slaughter has indeed been outdoing himself on Martinez' sets possibly because the quirky singer with the unique style has inspired him to accompany her performances with quirky sets. He is noticeably talented, but the show is called The Voice not The Set.

Following this, Aguilera then threw out some lukewarm commentary on the Melanie's performance, complete with a distasteful look on her face. She did that last week; and after doing so for the second time last night, Aguilera noted that Melanie wasn't even looking at her.  Seriously? She asked why? I'll tell her why. Because Melanie was clearly upset and devastated at this aggressive disrespect. It takes a lot of courage to undertake such a huge stage and television show. No one wants to stand in front of millions to be told that the set design is kickass and she should "appreciate it".

Not only has Aguilera blatantly belittled Melanie specifically, but has shown a distinct and unprofessional favoritism for Shelton's Pope and McDermott because her team was (WHAT?!?) demolished by the voting public. The top 6 are all uniquely talented with their own marketable skills that they bring to the table. At this point, it's even hard to choose a front-runner because they're all that good. Why even weigh in? Why decide to offer Trevin a spot on her tour yet babble on about set design with Melanie. It's downright schizophrenic. Boo Christina!

So what's sparked Aguilera's dislike for Melanie? I couldn't even speculate; and I really don't care; but it's left a sour taste in my mouth for a show that I have loved above all singing competition shows. Maybe I should build a set and get over it.

Barbie Is Alive and Well

Fountaine by Marcel Duchamp

Installation Art derived from the 1960's Conceptual Art (an example of this Marcel Duchamp's Readymade or Found Pieces that were everyday unaltered objects used to make a statement) and became famous in the 1970's. It is three-dimensional art that often uses media and is dependent on the space in which it resides. Performance Art, also became popular in the 60's with Yoko Ono's Wall Piece for Orchestra in 1962. This is a more interactive art where the performer becomes a part of the art piece. Both of these art forms are an expression of the modern age, bringing art to life.


In case you're wondering, this hasn't become an Art History blog. There's a reason for this contextual information; and it relates to this woman:

Valeria Lukyanova

Valeria Lukyanova, is a Ukrainian artist who decided to alter her appearance using make-up, contact lenses and plastic surgery to look like the embodiment of Barbie. The picture above is a real woman, though blogs and media sites have flocked to tout her as a fake. The criticism has rained upon her with comments denigrating her choice to look the way she does by amateur psychologists and finger-pointers calling her everything foul in the urban dictionary and claiming she suffers from self-esteem issues.

Why? She is clearly stunning but more than that she's very talented. She isn't a clinically deluded person at all. She is, however a performance artist with a very beautiful voice.

Many have accused her of using Photoshop to enhance her looks. or bashed her because she's used plastic surgery to enhance her body to Barbie dimensions. It sounds like a lot of sour grapes to me. It reads like jealousy. Many people have used plastic surgery to improve their looks whether they be famous or not. In an age where that is a possibility, those who can afford it can and will use it. Sure, there are those who abuse that and get too much work done, but that's not the case here. Let's put the Photoshop theory to rest with video proof:

I find it amusing that a person can be turned into a Klingon or Golem using make-up but in order for Valeria to look like Barbie, she has to resort to Photoshop. Valeria is living a role. She is a performance artist bringing to life an impossible standard of girlish beauty that many of us have succumbed to. Is she doing it ironically? Probably not. But does everything have to be ironic, snarky, angry or intense to be art? Nope. There are no rules to art. That's why they call it art.

If you're still not convinced that Valeria is an artist, here are two videos that I guarantee will enchant you:

She has a a hauntingly beautiful voice that mesmerizes with it's ethereal quality. Still not convinced that this is not just a deeply disturbed person trying to live a plastic existence? Watch:

Enough said. So why the firestorm of criticism and accusations being rained upon someone who is expressing herself in her own unique way? How can the same media that promotes unattainable beauty in movies, on television and in magazines become snark central when it comes to her? If you visit her Facebook page, you will see not only admiration (some of which is highly unsavory) but you will read comments brutally deconstructing her as a person. Social media at its finest.

Valeria Lukyanova is a performance artist of our times. She uses the tools at our disposal today to make herself living art. Maybe it's time we get over ourselves, our own sense of inadequacy and appreciate her for what she is.

Stay tuned! :)

p.s. I have challenged myself to post everyday starting in the month of December. Call it a pre-New Year's resolution ;)

Breaking Habits

Finally, this madness is about to end. Tomorrow the final movie installment of the Twilight Saga premieres in North America with Breaking Dawn Part 2. Finally, the buzz and hysteria over a series of novels that are nothing more than drug store romance with vampires and werewolves will be over. Finally, the story of a bland, cardboard female character that somehow becomes the center of  so much drama and angst will end. Finally, I don't have to hear another thing about Kristen Stewart's and Rob Pattison's fakemance.

Several years ago, (it feels like forever) I took the first book in my hands to read because my then pre-teen god daughter would talk about nothing else. Being an English teacher, and a dedicated god mother, I wanted to see what all the fuss was about. I struggled through these novels, drowning in gaping plot holes, unappealing characters and painful dialogue to find out what the heck everyone was getting so worked up over. Obviously being a masochist, I then dutifully suffered through the movies whose special effects and soundtrack could not compensate for the excruciating acting and direction. I came to a conclusion.

It's a young girl thing that stays with some women a life time. It's the need for fantasy. It's a notion that has been around for hundreds of years in fiction, then later, on the silver screen and finally on television and in comics. The notion of a perfect man who will sweep every tender heart off her feet no matter who she is, what she does, how she looks, and where she comes from. It's a destructive notion that, left unchecked, can be one of the major reasons why real men don't get a fair shake, and real women feel unsatisfied for most of their lives. It's a female version of porn.

While some men hide their proclivity for steaming, naughty sex under beds and in closets, women take theirs with them on the subway and to the coffee shop. Used in moderation, it can be an, ummm, handy form of entertainment. Used excessively, it could be the reason women and men have unreal, and untenable expectations about sexual, emotional and committed relationships. These characters never go to the bathroom, or have a bad day, or pick their noses. The men in romance novels and the women in centerfolds bask in their two-dimensional perfection, while the audience feels unsatisfied when they're torn away from that world into the three dimensional one.

What's worse is that it's become so subliminal that we don't even know those expectations have become embedded in our psyches. With the divorce rate skyrocketing, the media splashed with celebrity break-ups, and shows like TMZ salivating at the latest scandal, what is going on with "romantic" relationships? Do they even exist? Sure they can, but real romance only has the trappings and the soundtrack that we choose. Real romance is effort. It's not produced by multi-billion dollar movie, music and publishing companies. It's what we make it. Finding romance beyond the "who does the dishes", the bad day at the job, or the crazy commute home is not as easy as picking up a book or grabbing the remote. It's milking energy to build and keep the mystique of romance after the children's meltdown and before our own.

Maybe it's time that adults take responsibility for their relationships and actually invest the time in them that we do in fantasizing about them. Maybe it's time, as adults, we start building healthy perceptions and expectations about intimate relationships in young men and women, so that they don't enter in them, handicapped by Bellas and Edwards. Maybe it's time to consciously help our young break this really nasty habit. Too many sweets result in cavities and obesity. Too much brain candy will dissolve not only our grey matter but wreck our emotional well-being.

Judges Misbehaving

So the first X-Factor live performances aired, finally with the 16 paired down to 12. Before I get into the judges' decisions, there's a bigger issue at hand: the way Simon and L.A. used each other's acts to prove who has a bigger... knowledge of music.

After Simon trashed Jason Brock's first performance, L.A. decided to retaliate by annihilating 1432's performance. Simon was typically harsh on Jason but not undeservedly; Jason's rendition of Jennifer Lopez' "Dance Again" was painful to watch. Simon could have left it at that; but, being Simon, he went into humiliating detail from the song selection to what Jason was wearing. I have to give Jason props for enduring that brutality.

L.A. taking it personally no doubt, decided to return the favor by aiming a mirrored critique at 1432 who performed after Jason. My jaw dropped and their faces fell but they handled it well. It infuriated me to watch this childish and destructive behavior. These two need to seriously get a room. I'm not shocked however, because L.A. has been displaying a very unflattering diva attitude this season beginning with his tantrum at hearing he had the Over 25's.

Moving on to the judges' selections:

Demi Lovato eventually cut Willie Jones whose performances lacked the element of surprise he had when he first appeared on the show. The newly blonde, but still contrived CeCe Frey simply outsung him. Personally, I would have cut Paige Thomas whose Rhianna-like performance was elaborate but whose voice did not live up to the production. Of the three remaining, Jennel Garcia is clearly the best singer and the most believable performer. CeCe however, did an outstanding job with Irene Cara's "Out Here On My Own" from Fame (which L.A. didn't know... how could he know so little?)

Britney Spears had the most difficult choice to make as all four of her teens are outstanding singers; but choosing Arin Ray and Diamond White for the sing-off was puzzling. Beatrice Miller, though very talented, did not deliver the same performance caliber as these two; and Carly Rose Sonenclar, though easily the best singer in the whole competition, had to overcome a very awkward production that Britney put her in. Carly Rose is not, thankfully, the sex-pot Britney was. She doesn't need all these gimmicks or school uniforms to sell her talent. If Britney keeps this up, she might very well hurt Carly Rose's chances in this competition.

Be that as it may, I would have cut Beatrice over Diamond or Arin who not only can belt out a song but have stage presence by the bushels. Watch Diamond as she sings Elton John's "Sorry Seems to be the Hardest Word.

And Arin's rendition of Whitney Houston's "I Look To You"

I don't get it.

Simon Cowell's decision was a lot easier it seems. Lyric 145 and Emblem 3 both knocked the audience on its rear ends with their performances. Both these acts are good to go. No matter what happens in this competition, it will not be the last we hear from these two groups. Between Sister C and 1432 (whose name mercifully will be changing), the choice was easy. I'm convinced Simon would have saved Sister C but the crowd chanting 1432 changed his mind. With their performance of Demi Lovato's "Skyscraper", he would have been a fool not to.

L.A. Reid saved Vino Alan and Tate Stevens whose song choices and performances would have put them on the chopping block if this were a voting week, leaving David Correy and Jason Brock to sing for their lives. Jason edged David out which was surprising because David's singing is more compelling that Jason's to my ears. Then again, I'm not a producer. :)  Unfortunately, it makes no difference because, unless something changes, this team is doomed to be voted out the soonest.

Update: It seems that they figured out how they effed up and brought Diamond back. That's right! I called it!