Colleen Powers

Minneapolis resident. Writer and editor.

[colleen-powers]

"I wanted to tell you both about my magical year," one of my best friends recently wrote to our other friend and me. "Something important happened during that year, but I'm not sure exactly what it was."

I decided to separate my personal website from Tumblr, and am writing more regularly in an attempt to make it a habit and be less anxious about posting things publicly. This piece is about my re-commitment to regular blogging, but the new site won’t all be navel-gazey, I promise!

[colleen-powers]

[colleen-powers]

Now shaking up the business world: science that may change the way the world does business.

Real blurb on the back cover of a business book I’m reading for work.

[therumpus]

The boy is from a drug town, a rust belt town. It’s a violent town. Sometimes this violence looks like cops parked in front of the boy’s high school, but more often means city blocks with more foreclosed houses than not. It means driving past rusted out cars on roads more pocked up than the boy’s face six months into his second puberty. Living in this town means watching it die over the course of decades: streams of layoffs when a new pharmaceutical company moves in and ships jobs out, when the manufacturing plants close, when the local newspaper, a daily, stops printing. This town is fragile, prone to arson and meth lab explosions, luxury condo developments and commercial high rises.

Regarding The Boy by Alexander Pines. (via therumpus)

The first three sentences especially could be about my hometown.

[colleen-powers]

I’ve been following the recent wave of Christian movies with curiosity — it’s fun to read reviews of bad movies and to see them parodied, as in SNL’s sketch this weekend. And the economics of the phenomenon are interesting, as discussed in this A.V. Club piece, “Can the new wave of faith-based films transcend propaganda?”

What draws me to the discussion is a mix of voyeurism and cringing at my own past. I was raised Catholic, not evangelical, but thanks to years in youth group I’m familiar with Christian habits like lifting your hands in the air while singing praise and worship songs, or starting every Bible study with a prayer to end abortion. I even attended youth retreats where people would be “slain in the spirit,” so overcome by the power of the Lord that they would pass out. I remember hymns punctuated with the sound of plastic folding chairs smacking to the floor as girls fainted.

Anyway, my interest has largely stayed in the “morbid fascination” range as I’ve read about faith-based films, but one line in the A.V. Club piece made me unexpectedly sad. In talking about how these movies are hamstrung artistically by the need to conform to both religious and financial requirements, writer Randall Colburn says, “If there’s a moment of violence, will the film be suitable for showings in small church groups? Because if not, there goes a good chunk of the profits.”

Immediately I thought of my own small church group, and of the movies we watched. I can’t remember all of our movie nights, but I do remember the first one I attended: 12 Angry Men. I was 14, just starting to get into youth group, and I was riveted as I watched Henry Fonda slowly convince his fellow jurors not to convict and sentence to death the boy on trial.

Why did we watch this movie in a Catholic youth group? Well, there’s the fact that the movie emphasizes the value of human life with respect to the defendant: One of the jurors rebukes another for worrying about a baseball game he’s missing while a young man’s life is at stake. In one of the most powerful scenes in the movie, a juror begins a racist rant about the nonwhite defendant (“you know what those people are like”), and every other man at the table stands up and silently turns his back on the display of bigotry. This is a movie about compassion for fellow people, and about honesty and decency in the face of opposition and social pressure.

But it’s also a movie about ambiguity. Fonda’s Juror #8 never establishes that the defendant didn’t commit the murder; he just shows that the evidence isn’t strong enough to convict. His character practically embodies the concept of “reasonable doubt.” That’s doubt in a legal, not theological, sense, and as the audience we’re always sure that Fonda is right — but the movie is about challenging assumptions.

That sensibility puts 12 Angry Men a far cry from today’s faith-focused movies, according to Colburn’s A.V. Club piece. He writes, “Subtlety and ambiguity, hallmarks of great cinema, aren’t likely to satiate a modern evangelical audience that wants to shout its faith from the rooftops.”

Faith has been on my mind often lately, as I’ve become acquainted through a work project with a local seminary. The seminary is progressive, social justice-oriented, and committed to interfaith discussions, and it’s affiliated with a church in my neighborhood. It’s been years since I went to Mass. But along with the self-righteous prayers and corny displays of devotion (not to mention deeper scars, like the pervasive idea that sexuality is sinful), I remember the music I loved, the thoughtful discussions, the kind and encouraging adults we were lucky enough to have in charge. I’ve been wondering if a more progressive church would satisfy my desire for a community that asks big questions, without forcing me to be sure of the answers.

Whether or not I end up in church again, I am thankful for a youth group that showed me 12 Angry Men — that trusted me and my fellow 14-year-olds to respond to a well-acted, well-directed movie about justice, empathy, and questioning what you’re told. I hope that between screenings of Fireproof and God’s Not Dead 2, at least a few of today’s Christian teens find 12 Angry Men, too.

[colleen-powers]

We laughed the loud, too-long, healing laugh that's part of our therapeutic repertoire and as vital to us, to our relationship, as kind words or sympathy — no, more so. And after that there was nothing left to say, at least not now. We'd covered it all.

This weekend I reread one of my favorite books, The Saving Graces by Patricia Gaffney. It was published in 1999; I found the mass-market paperback at a used book sale when I was about 14, I think, and have read it every couple of years ever since. It’s a fairly conventional story of four women in their early forties, navigating relationships and personal traumas around the hub of their lasting friendship, and genre-wise it’s more or less a breezy beach read (the cover illustration is actually of a couple of canvas deck chairs in front of the ocean). But it’s well-observed, with satisfying plot arcs (one of the women gets up the courage to leave her husband, who’s been gaslighting and emotionally manipulating her), and nuanced little jealousies and arguments among the women that don’t signal anything but that they’re human. There are a lot of passing references to class, for example, and an occasional uncomfortable awareness of who in the group has money versus who doesn’t, but that never explodes into some kind of rift; it’s just part of being an adult. By the end of the book, the characters have spent a fair amount of time telling each other cathartically how much they value their friendship, and maybe that’s part of why I love it — I kind of idealize or aspire to that lasting closeness as I get older and my friends settle into marriages, having kids, etc. Anyone else have a frequently reread “comfort” book like this?

[colleen-powers]

I remember seeing this video of KRS-One, uploaded by Rich Juzwiak and written about on his fourfour blog, in 2011. Juzwiak’s caption for the YouTube video is “NOBODY would say this today,” and he elaborates on that in his blog post, writing, “KRS-One's rant above is a relic of a lost time, when making socially conscious hip-hop had just as much of a shot at being profitable as virtually unconscious music ... NO ONE would say this today, because it simply isn't true: you don't get paid as much if you say something as opposed to nothing.”

I thought of the clip after seeing a friend of mine post a screenshot from The A.V. Club of a couple of recent headlines side by side on their home page: “RuPaul’s Drag Race revolutionized drag by bringing it to the masses” and “The Good Wife’s radical post-queerness.” My friend then replied “My thoughts exactly” to another user’s comment on the screenshot: “Many of these pieces adopt a simplistic ‘subversive = good’ narrative that flattens out the actual text of the show to make room for how the author and the show's fans are good people because of the media they consume."

That rang true to me: A lot of writing about pop culture now validates progressive messages about race, gender, sexuality, and identity fairly straightforwardly, evaluating movies, TV shows, songs, etc. on the basis of how they represent those issues. Sometimes there is little or no discernment of the craft behind the message, and in some works, that relationship between message and craft is clunky (Master of None). But obviously there are also artistic masterpieces coming out with something to say (To Pimp a Butterfly).

I’m not a music writer or scholar, so I guess I’m just curious if anyone has a take on what’s changed since Rich Juzwiak wrote that socially conscious, commercially viable hip-hop was a “relic of a lost time.” Was it just that Kendrick Lamar and Beyoncé needed to be a certain level of famous before they could do Kendrick’s Grammys performance and “Formation”? Was there a specific turning point in the past five years?

[colleen-powers]

Pulp devotees did not invent the word fan, but they established the first fandom in the modern sense, with its own elaborate customs, art forms, specialized jargon, conventions, and absurdly bombastic internecine warfare. Darko Suvin, a leading scholar of the genre, described the subversive impulse at the heart of science fiction as an expression of 'cognitive estrangement' from the mainstream. Fandom tapped into a deep yearning to rise above the circumstances of humdrum existence and become part of something noble, deeply informed, and not widely understood. The thrill of being part of something that few people could appreciate was particularly keen for those who had spent their lives being ridiculed. Early fans indulged these newfound feelings of confidence and superiority to the hilt, referring to the clueless non-fans who ran the world as 'mundanes.'

Pulp science fiction fans of the 1920s and ’30s, from Steve Silberman’s NeuroTribes. The book is an extensive history of autism and how it’s been approached and treated over time; the whole thing has been fascinating, but this history of early fandom might be my favorite part yet.

[colleen-powers]

My worst pop culture habit is that I routinely browse clips from late night talk shows while snacking at home. I am very well versed in breezy celebrity anecdotes and the tics of the various dudes who host late night. 

Thanks to late night, I discovered a web-only series that “Conan” started producing within the last six months: “I Like to Watch.” In each clip, standup comedians and musicians who have performed on Conan’s show share their favorite YouTube clips. Each “I Like to Watch” is short enough that the people choosing the clips have almost no time to expound on why they love them — a lot of times it’ll just be, “This is an all-time classic that makes me laugh every time. You’re welcome,” leading into a few seconds of a video that just seems obscure or off-putting. 

But as Internet content, "I Like to Watch” is highly entertaining. It gets at what’s so great about YouTube, which is the volume of seemingly boring minutiae that somehow becomes genius when edited the right way or stumbled across in the right mood. I remember watching videos like pruane2forever’s “Obama ’08” and edarem’s “I Just Love 30 Rock” in college and thinking, “This is what the Internet is for.” I’m generally on board with and often fascinated by the original series and vlogs that have earned major fandoms and led to book and TV deals, but I also like the possibility of discovery that seems especially within reach on YouTube.

But because there’s just so much unexpected weirdness on YouTube — so much of everything, from concert videos to comedy sketches to skateboarding falls — asking a person to choose their favorite clips is oddly personal. Having someone tell you their favorite band or movie is personal, too, but a lot of people will just say the same things. For YouTube, even though there are plenty of videos that have become popular and widely known (I once walked past a couple on the sidewalk acting out the grape lady falling), it’s not nearly as likely for there to be overlap. Corin Tucker of Sleater-Kinney saying she likes life hack videos or Fred Armisen saying that Koko the gorilla knowing sign language should be “front-page news” makes you feel like you know a little bit more about them, which may be utterly superficial but is more than you can say for most breezy talk show anecdotes.

Anyway, this is just a letter of recommendation for “I Like to Watch.” The most recent one is of Pete Holmes and he chooses a pretty entertaining clip of a kids’ game show from the ‘90s. Check it out!

[colleen-powers]

‘It’ doesn’t Get Better. You do. So keep raging.

Jacob Clifton in a review of The Hunger Games

I have a LOT of resolutions this year. I am unapologetic and unqualified in making resolutions. Who cares if they’re arbitrary or unlikely to be kept? I keep resolving.

Almost all of my resolutions are about physical self-care and self-improvement, but I think of this old quote often and — along with the P.O.S. line “Put a hand up; try to relate” — it sums up my general aspirations heading into 2016.

[colleen-powers]

That hormones can make the feel of wind, or the feel of fingers on one’s skin, change from arousing to nauseating is a mystery deeper than I can track or fathom. The mysteries of psychology pale in comparison, just as evolution strikes me as infinitely more spiritually profound than Genesis.

I just finished Maggie Nelson’s The Argonauts and it’s SO GOOD and mind-expanding and dense and moving and quotable. This is just one paragraph I wanted to remember.

[colleen-powers]

Crybabies

This weekend I spent a lot of time listening to Crybabies, a podcast about crying (thanks @dietcoker for the recommendation!), while driving to and from Illinois and falling asleep in my childhood bed. I cried at almost every episode, in which hosts Susan Orlean and Sarah Thyre interview guests about the cultural items and moments that make them cry. My crying was indulgent, almost romantic — think of the word “pine” or “yearn.” Yes, Terms of Endearment is devastating, but it’s not an imminent unimaginable problem like climate change or terrorism! I’m in the room where I used to lie around and listen to R.E.M. and feel wistful, and I'm still more sensitive about everything when I’m here.

The podcast hosts talked about crying having a cultural resurgence in the past few years, as more people stop trying to be so ironically detached all the time. One of the most depressing things about the Internet now is that sincerity can be just as cheap and fake and easily curdled as irony. But it still feels intimate to listen to someone talk about a person they lost, or even just hint at it, and to hear their voice get high and shaky and phlegmy. 

I find myself on the verge of tears a lot about things that aren’t openly sad. Watching a performer, on TV or live, can get me choked up — something about the combination of the person’s vulnerability and talent with the general heightened emotion of the moment when someone strides out on stage. Last February, the Current radio station did a Black History Month series on black musicians, and I started crying in the car at a segment on Tina Turner that said something like, “Finally, in her 40s, Tina Turner found the success she deserved.”

I’ve always thought of crying as cathartic, but even that romantic indulgent kind is often an excuse for me to stay in a mopey, restless gloom. There are songs that can ruin my mood (Vampire Weekend’s “Hannah Hunt”) and movies I try not to even think about (David Gordon Green’s George Washington). Lying around replaying them in my head, like I used to do in my old bedroom, certainly doesn’t help. I think Crybabies works because it makes me want to talk to people about being sad instead of just staying sad by myself.

[colleen-powers]

Like an addiction, admitting that I am an asshole was the first step to recovery and growth. Now, in my efforts to become a better person, I take note the feedback in situations where I act badly, think negative thoughts or otherwise get salty unnecessarily. These go in a journal and I try to use them like flags on a map; Warning! Here there be assholery! The act of documenting it has helped ingrain in me a better response the next time; "oh shit, I was a total jerk the last time this situation came up, it affected the way things played out and I hurt my own cause and/or others’ feelings." In this way, I'm slowly working on my reputation amongst my friends. No more do I tease, publicly revel in schadenfreude, offer snarky unhelpful advice. It's working, slowly.

The Awl’s email newsletter has been sharing readers’ advice on how to be a good person, or how to try to learn to be a good person.

[colleen-powers]

Atomic Summer: An Essay by Joni Tevis

Buddy Holly, John Wayne, and the A-Bomb.

I’m slowly making my way through The World Is On Fire, a collection of creative nonfiction about the atomic age, America, etc. This excerpt is an essay about Buddy Holly, John Wayne in The Searchers, and nuclear tests done in the desert in Nevada in the ’50s. To quote my boyfriend’s mom, who lent me the book, “It’ll knock your socks off.”

[colleen-powers]

Saw this comment on a post about a hypocritical congressman and thought, “Hmm. I should probably do that.”

[colleen-powers]

I watched Wild last night and it was so good — compelling use of music and sound in repeated phrases and bits of songs, well-paced in the way it doled out information, and wonderful performances all around — Reese Witherspoon and Laura Dern, but also Gaby Hoffmann. It’s a similar role to the one Hoffmann plays in Obvious Child, standing by while her friend discovers an unplanned pregnancy, and she is similarly full of love and concern while not totally putting up with the friend’s bullshit. Her character in Wild takes Cheryl to task without being preachy or self-righteous or ever losing the care in her eyes for her friend. Laura Dern’s performance is obviously full of physical and voice tics that feel completely warm and lived-in, but Gaby Hoffmann’s is close. 

[rookiemag]

We watched tourists assemble, marveling at a city they thought had been reborn. But, I thought, I knew better. They would never know the tuba players that paraded down the cobblestone streets, the street artists who painted your picture, the small children whose tap shoes slapped bricks as they danced for spare change—all gone. An aura of secrecy clouded the air: Only those who had lived here before the hurricane knew that this was just a replica, no city could be rebuilt so quickly. And there was something so vulgar about flaunting a repaired community when our inhabitants could not access the treatment they needed: Mental illness was on the rise and many residents are still suffering from PTSD, anxiety, and depression. What seemed intact had now begun to crack, and it looked almost impossible to repair.

On Returning: Going home to New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina, by Karisma Price. (via rookiemag)