I love the internet for many reasons, but perhaps the reason I invest so much time in this medium is because of how readily available it makes the things I love or will fall in love with. Case in point, Misfits, a British science fiction show about a group of young offenders who find themselves with super powers after an electrical storm. It is incredible: quick witted, hilarious, heart wrenching and surprising in a too short 47 minutes. All three seasons are currently on Hulu, which has been airing the show since June 2011. I, myself, am midway in to the second season and find myself obsessed, recommending the series to anyone who’ll listen. So watch it, people because it’s fucking brilliant.

Sherlock was on my list of things I anticipated most in 2012. Its run of three episodes have come and gone in the UK, and the show is slated to run in the US on PBS sometime in the Spring. As I am an obsessive nerd that needs her fix now, however, I managed to watch the show using tunnelbear on BBC iPlayer. It was easily the best television I’ve seen in a long time. Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman are beyond excellence as Sherlock and Watson.

The story arch this series was also just damn brilliant. In A Scandal in Belgravia we’re introduced to Irene Adler, who is no disappointment as Sherlock’s female counterpart. I also absolutely loved the psychological and emotional intensity of The Hounds of Baskerville. For all my gripping about Steven Moffat’s direction on Doctor Who, the man’s creativity is undeniable.  His modernization of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s  19th century classic texts are remarkable. Different enough to feel fresh and surprising, but immersed in the best of Sherlockian tradition.

I love the development of Irene Adler’s character, and her relationship with Sherlock is so much more gratifying here than in the original. Insane, but true. It’s the series ending that really got me, however. My God, that ending was just the fucking best. I laughed, I cried and I was rendered speechless and I’m pretty sure I’m kind of in love with Martin Freeman now. Such good stuff. A third series has been commissioned, although how soon we’ll have that, who knows as Martin Freeman is sequestered in New Zealand filming the second part of The Hobbit.

Black Kids Love Me Already

This weekend, I and a group of friends decided to take a walk down memory lane. So we went, and in a theater filled with children relived the magic. Except sometimes things aren’t as great as you remember them. It turns out Beauty and the Beast makes no fucking sense. How things happen, how we get from plot point A to plot point B, I could not wrap my head around it. I mean I still love it, because you can’t help but love the things you adored as a kid. But wow, what the fuck? Below is a list of questions and concerns that came up as I watched, but was obviously too stupid to note as a kid.

• Belle likes to read and that is what singles her out as weirdo. I wish Belle was beautiful, liked to read and also crafted dolls out of belly button lint. That’s a real weirdo.
• Le Fou and Gaston have a real homoerotic thing going on.
• Mrs. Potts looks way too old to have a toddler aged kid.
• Where is chip chipped as a human?? And are all those other teacups Mrs. Potts’ as well??
• That horse is way too fucking skittish. Three fucking times it throws its passenger overboard. Time to get a new fucking horse.
• Why doesn’t Belle try to escape? And then she refuses to have dinner with him, but goes poking around where he asked her not to? This bitch is asking for it.
• Those wolves won’t let up.
• How does Belle’s dad ever get behind her and Beast hooking up? Dude kidnapped him, then kidnaps her. I would be really worried that my kid had some severe case of stockholm syndrome.
• Cogsworth is losing pieces left and right. Aren’t those his organs?
• Toward the end, Le  Fou threatens Lumiere with a torch, but he’s been lighting his own wick the entire film.
• Gaston jumps to the conclusion the Belle is in love with Beast before ever knowing that Beast can like talk, walk, emote, etc. etc. He just assumes she’s got some secret bestiality bug.
• Why does human beast flair his nostrils? (This I noted as a kid and it freaked me out then as much as it does now.)

Hugh Laurie Unchain My Heart

There once was a child, barely a toddler, whose bedroom had been decorated in commemoration of The Smurfs. Most notably, there was a large poster of a Smurf that sat just above the child’s crib. One morning, his parents went to check in on him, and discovered the child missing. The only clue as to who had taken him? The poster that had hung over his crib was exactly the same, but for the empty space where a smurf had once stood. Smurfs were diabolical creatures that stole your children in the dead of night.

I used to get a lot of toys second hand. Our local thrift store would sell these bags of little action figures and small toys for like $3. Sure enough, there’d always be a Smurf smuggled in the lot and like clock work, my mom always got rid of them. She wouldn’t even let them in the house, afraid its demonic soul would be trapped there. Not being a fan of The Smurfs, it didn’t really bother me. Recently I did try to get more information as to why they had such evil motives, but my mom couldn’t give me any real solid answers. Other than, they’re little blue demons, of course.

King Krule’s “Out Getting Ribs.” This guy is only 17 years old, a wirey gingery pale 17 years old, with a voice that’s just so much deeper and richer than the look. It’s a baritone that sounds clumsy, but delicate and nuanced too. I love this.

Friends cover Ghost Town DJs’ “My Boo.” It seems that whether you know it or not, the music of your generation really does frame your past. I always liked this song, it’s damn catchy, but I haven’t thought of it in a while. This remake made me hella nostalgic though.

I myself am quite an ambitious resolution maker. They usually fall into two tiers: Personal ones, and the cultural. It may seem silly to set “cultural resolutions” because they aren’t things that I should really have to tell myself to do. Listen to more music, read more books, see x amount of live shows, etc. etc. None of it is exactly taxing, in the way that a resolution like work out every day is. Still, making them a part of my resolution helps me to stay current, which does and doesn’t matter, but most importantly, forces me seek out things that I enjoy.  

This year one of my resolutions was to devote some time to nerding out. I mean, it’s possible to be a nerd about any one thing and I am often a Shakespeare nerd or a music nerd or a fashion nerd. I’m pretty loose with my definition of nerd, in that I think it’s more about passionate and compulsive (in a good way) obsessions. But in speaking about my resolution, I mean nerd in the traditional format. Mainly, I would like to play some more video games* and catch up on my comic book consumption.

This weekend I started playing The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, arguably one of the best games of 2011 by very many people and very many lists. When Jeremy and I first met in Chicago we spent a lot of time playing Baldur’s Gate. I really enjoyed killing people and stealing their stuff and Skyrim has that in common with Baldur’s Gate. This is a lot harder however. My main issue is that I suck at controlling the camera, like a lot. Jeremy has gone so far as to suggest I play some other games that might be simpler control-wise, but no. I want to get good at this game, and that feeling, while immensely frustrating, is one of the most enjoyable things about video games. The challenge.

Metronomy – The English Riviera

I love the sound of deep bass paired against slow beats that make you want to slink around all provocative-like. Tracks like We Broke Free embody that. It was songs like Everything Goes my Way or The Look that really sold me on English Riviera, though. They made me giddy with a desire to dance and move, with no sexy pretenses. Just silly, good times. The entire album, regardless of the mood it creates, has a real 70s vibe to it. Trouble especially reminds me of the late 70s Christian music that was the only English-language music my mom allowed me as a very young child. I mean that in a good way, too. Really.

 Bon Iver – Bon Iver

I feel like Bon Iver has been around for a while now, although Wikipedia says only 2007. I know at least that friends of mine have loved them, and tried to sell them to me for a long time, but I could never get into how slow they were. In this, their second self-titled album, they are not any faster. Perhaps it’s just been my mood this year, however, that has made me more receptive to slowing down in general. Whatever the case, I loved this.  There was something about it that felt bluesy, it had an intimate lounge-like quality. I could just picture the dark corner of some dimly lit space. Perth is perhaps my favorite track on the album. I love how close it feels, like you can feel the instruments turning on and there’s a beautiful discordant layer to it all.

Alex Turner – Submarine Soundtrack

I’ve been a fan of the Arctic Monkeys since seeing them live early in 2010. They did release an album this year, Suck It And See, and it was one I listened to incessantly much to the chagrin of several co-workers. I even attended another live show of theirs just a few months ago that blew me away. Still, it was Alex Turner, Arctic Monkey’s frontman, and his soundtrack for the Richard Ayoade film Submarine that really made a mark in me this year. It was slow, sentimental, beautifully written, full of wry wit and sung just damn perfectly. Musically, it feels simple, and as a soundtrack, these six songs work magnificentally. Each one a moment, a story working together to tell a greater narrative.

 Los Campesinos – Hello Sadness

Los Campesinos was a band I’d had on my list of music to check out for a good while. I’d heard some of their stuff, and I liked it, but hadn’t really immersed myself in any of their work. Then, one day as I drove to work, By Your Hand, the single from their fourth and latest album came on, and I fell in love. Now I know one song does not a great album make, but By Your Hand was the push that moved Los Campesinos from list to speakers.  It felt urgent with desire, and I’ve always loved a morbid love song. For the first few songs, Hello Sadness is charmingly hectic and full of energy. Not quite happy but brimming with excitement of a sort. But with Every Defeat a Divorce (Three Lions), it takes a decidedly  somber turn and suddenly, we’re really fucking depressed. And of course I mean that in the best way, because sometimes it’s nice to feel sad. Strange how that works.

Childish Gambino – Camp

 I was kind of torn about putting Childish Gambino on here. Truthfully, I really quite enjoyed this album, but I have my qualms with it as well. For those that don’t know, Childish Gambino is the stage name for comedian/actor Donald Glover, of Community fame. I’ve been a fan of the show and Glover since its inception and frankly, I liked Camp the moment I heard it. It sounds great, but the more I listened the more I found nuggets that I didn’t quite like as much. It is at times incredibly honest, beautifully so, and you can tell that much of it was written in a time where fame were new and daunting things for Glover. Who is trustworthy? Who is genuine? These seem to be big themes on the album, as well as childhood and nostalgia. I like that. I respect it, and really, I think the world needs more rappers (and singers; great singing voice, by the way) like Donald Glover/Childish Gambino, whatever you wanna call him. With that said, sometimes it feels like he’s fronting. There is some mysogyny here, some puffing up of the chest, that feel like role playing. As if he’s uncomfortable, and is trying to prove that he fits into this hip hop world and persona. Nonetheless, the albums really good when it isn’t that. Heartbeat, I feel is an obvious favorite, but there’s also Kids and I especially love the narrative spoken word quality to That Power. I included it because it’s good, that simple. He’s incredibly talented. That can’t be denied.

Real Estate – Day

 I love The Smiths. They are quite possibly my absolute favorite band, although I’m uncomfortable saying anything is my absolute anything, so I don’t. But The Smiths do it for me. I wouldn’t say Real Estate sound like The Smiths, but the first time I heard It’s Real, it caught me. Listen to It’s Real and tell me that it doesn’t just reek of Johnny Marr. All of Day features those jingle-jangly (technical term, what?)  guitars that made The Smiths. Sometimes, I won’t lie, I’d hear the intro to a song like Out of Tune and be suddenly surprised when it was Martin Courtney on vocals and not my beloved crooner, Morrissey. It was the guitars that pulled me in, and actually, I love that it isn’t Morrissey. Real Estate fucking rock. They are not grandiose, dramatic or steeped in tragedy. Only The Smiths excel at that, Real Estate does something different. It’s simple, sharp, yet really beautiful.

Wild Beasts – Smother

I get a lot of shit at work because of my tastes in music. I think because of the internet, my tastes are actually quite normal. I’m not listening to anything that’s hard to come by, at least. Miami is a strange place, however. I have lived a life here loving music that I can never see live because artists can’t be bothered to come down here, justifiably so, and that people consider strange because it isn’t available on the radio. It’s not like this is some po-dunk town, either, but yes… Back to the matter at hand, I get told all the time that I listen to weird music. While generally I don’t agree as different does not connotate strange, Wild Beasts are pretty fucking weird. I love that, though. It’s music that’s interesting because it is different, and yet not so different it’s strenuous to listen to. They kind of remind me of Dead Can Dance in a way. Dead Can Dance were weird but beautiful and especially wonderful to listen to while writing. Vocals for Wild Beasts are by Hayden Thorpe and Tom Fleming. They switch back and forth and sometimes combine from song to song to varying effects. Thorpe is more operatic, producing a more dramatic sound as can be heard in the very methodical and sexy Plaything. Fleming, on the other hand, is much more romantic and restrained in sound, hushed to a poetic degree. I love the combo though. Reach a Bit Further, a definite favorite, serves as an example of this.

Fleet Foxes – Helplessness Blues

Helplessness Blues is the second album from Fleet Foxes and has been lauded by many as one of the best of this year. Honesty requires I tell you that when I first heard it, I didn’t get it. Again, Fleet Foxes, like Bon Iver, is slow music, and perhaps when I first heard this album I didn’t have the requisite amount of attention to really appreciate it. I liked it, but it’s like my head was wrapped in muslin, and I couldn’t commit what I liked or didn’t to memory. Some time this year, however, I calmed down, and when I paid attention, I realized just how incredibly beautiful Helplessness Blues is. I cried, guys. But that’s another thing I’ve been doing this year. More than once I’ve been moved to tears as a song crescendos. I’m getting soft, but this is okay. It was Helplessness Blues that moved me to tears. The song mirrors feelings I’m feeling now. It’s a song that understands me, as hokie as that sounds. It’s also just plain beautiful. There’s a duality to it, folksie like you want it to be, and then much bigger and sweepingly orchestrated. The Shring/An Argument, is another great track. Eight minutes, and some that are too big and masterful for words.

Christmas trees are just one of the many innoucuous things that all children grew up with, and I myself didn’t experience until I was much older and could buy my own god damned tree. Now I know Christmas trees are in fact a remnant of whatever pagan culture was in power before Christianity took over, although if I’m truthful I don’t know any of the factual details. My mom would tell a story of a woman obsessed with her son, to an incestuous degree. When he dies, she is distraught and plants a tree in his honor. On the anniversary of his death, she would make offerings to him and thus the Christmas Tree was born.

I can see why, my mother, a fervent Pentacostal Christian, would find this offensive and choose to reneg us a tree. In essence, this mother is worshipping her son and apparently, that’s wrong. I guess as a kid I didn’t quite get it, though. It surely never qualmed my desire for one, at least, so my mom made an addendum to the story.  Basically, a kid gets killed by a Christmas tree. I mean, it didn’t fall on him and squash him to death. It’s not like he was electrocuted while hanging lights or he swallowed an ornament and choked. No.  The tree came to life and murdered him. Funny things is, I’d forgotten this part of the story for a long time until I first came across a very special Christmas episode of Doctor Who. Doctor can’t save ‘em all, I guess.