Does this mean I'm a Classic?

So...here's a new way to try and figure out how old you are: Are the books from your childhood being rereleased as "classics?" In my opinion, they transformed my generation. Surely I'm not the only one who founded my very own neighborhood Babysitters Club?

December 31, 2009

Comeback Planned for Girls’ Book Series

NYTimes

By MOTOKO RICH

“The Baby-Sitters Club,” which ran from 1986 through 2000, garnered an ardent following among preteenage girls throughout its run of 213 titles, with the publisher ultimately printing 176 million copies. The series, which followed the baby-sitting adventures and friendships of four 12-to-13-year-old girls — Kristy, Mary Anne, Claudia and Stacey (the cast expanded to eight main characters later in the series) — spawned several spinoffs, including a mystery series and a collection of books about Kristy’s little sister. All of the books are now out of print.

David Levithan, the editorial director at Scholastic and an editor of “The Baby-Sitters Club,” said the publisher decided to bring back the old series because of requests from fans who wanted a comeback.

In April the company plans to reissue repackaged and slightly revised versions of the first two volumes in one of its most successful series, “The Baby-Sitters Club,” in the hopes of igniting enthusiasm in a new generation of readers. And just as Mr. Lucas brought “Star Wars” back with a whole new arc of stories that began before the original series, Scholastic is publishing a newly written prequel, “The Summer Before,” by Ann M. Martin, the original author of “The Baby-Sitters Club” books.

Who Will it Be?

Tonight I just happened to flip to the Kennedy Center Honors as aired on CBS. The awards are given annually, recorded, and usually aired without much acclaim. While I don't know much about the history of the Kennedy Center Awards in particular, I was drawn in by the cast of recipients: Dave Brubeck, Mel Brooks, Grace Bumbry, Robert De Niro, and Bruce Springsteen.

Highlights included Brubeck's four sons joining the U.S. Army Jazz Ambassadors' rendition of "Take Five." "Glee's" Matthew Morrison serenaded the crowd with Mel Brooks' "Springtime for Hitler." Meryl Streep, Martin Scorsese, Edward Norton, Sharon Stone and Ben Stiller gathered together to congratulate Robert De Niro. For me, the moment of the evening came when Melissa Etheridge, John Cougar Mellencamp, Jennifer Nettles, Ben Harper, and Sting sang the classic hits of "the Boss." Jon Stewart relied upon his most credible source of praise for Springsteen - his Jersey roots. He combined fan worship with respectful admiration, topped off with his irresistible humor, "I can tell you what I believe and what I believe is this: I believe that Bob Dylan and James Brown had a baby." Each of the recipients seemed humbled and often moved to tears as the scope of the tributes they received.

So here is my question: Who will be our Kennedy Center honor-worthy recipients in 10, 20, 50 years? The more I think about it, the more I'm at a loss. So really, I'm curious as to what you all think.

Dear Summer Camp,

Dear Summer Camp,

You have failed me. After years spent looking forward to the 4th of July frisbee game of the year, Staff vs. the World, my relationship with the game has taken an ugly turn for the worst. You see, in college I enjoyed tossing the disc around with friends and feeling fairly confident with my frisbee "skills." Don't get me wrong, these "skills" are nothing to brag about. But, there was that year that I scored four points in one 4th of July game. We'll call that the highlight. Other years have not been as victorious, but I do have yet to be on a losing team. You see, I have spent many years loving this game that I first learned at Summer Camp.

Well, that dream was crushed into a million little pieces yesterday. It turns out that the "games" we play at Shrine Mont don't involve ANY of the actual rules, strategy, or terminology. I have no idea what a "cup" looks like on a frisbee field. My only previous interactions with cups have involved liquid. I wouldn't know a pick if it hit me in the face - which it did yesterday. The difference between a "Ho-stack" and "V-stack" sounds like an STD. I am familiar with zone defense, only because of my love for football. I also didn't know that people could be referred to as "poppers." Needless to say, my debut in the Frisbee Winter League was less than stellar. Lucky for me, the Disc Space Invaders (my team) are the most forgiving, patient group of people I have ever met. And thank God (and yes I do mean literally, thank you to God,) I scored one redeeming point. I think it has bought me enough time to read every guide to frisbee strategy I can find before our next game.

So here's my question, Summer Camp - what is that game we play on the 4th of July that involves a plastic disc, lots of yelling, and guys running around shirtless? Pending any stellar recommendations, I'm simply going to refer to it simply as Shrine Mont Folly.

Love,

Disillusioned Counselor

It's a "classic" for a reason

With the completion of grad school, I find that I am often paralyzed by the choice of which book to read next. What a grand problem to have! After reading Pat Conroy's latest novel, I decided to pick up the classic, "The Prince of Tides." The language was rich and evocative. The narrative was twisted - almost too much so, even for a good novel. The cyclical nature of generational disfunction is impressive, while disturbing. The characters are endearing and unforgettable. Even if you're late to jump on board, I highly suggest you take a ride on the Wingo shrimp boat.

"It was my mother who taught me the souther way of the spirit in its most delicate and intimate forms. My mother believed in the dreams of flowers and animals. Before we went to bed at night as small children, she would reveal to us in her storytelling voice that salmon dreamed of mountain passes and the brown faces of grizzlies hovering over clear rapids. Copperheads, she would say, dreamed of placing their fangs in the shinbones of hunters. Ospreys slept with their feathered, plummeting dreamselves screaming through deep, slow-motion dives toward herring. There were the brute wings of owls in the nightmares of ermine, the downwind approach of timber wolves in the night stillness of elk. But we never knew about her dreams, for my mother kept us strangers to her own interior life. We knew that bees dreamed of roses, that roses dreamed of the pale hands of florists, and that spiders dreamed of luna moths adhered to silver webs. As her children, we were the trustees of her dazzling evensongs of the imagination, but we did not know that mothers dreamed.

Each day she would take us into the forest or garden and invent a name for any animal or flower we passed. A monarch butterfly became an 'orchid-kissing backlegs'; a field of daffodils in April turned into a 'dance of the butter ladies bonneted.' With her attentiveness my mother could turn a walk around the island into a voyage of purest discovery. Her eyes were our keys to the palace of wildness."

commentary

Today I flew from Austin to Alexandria for my ordination to the priesthood this coming Sunday. I was sandwiched in the "B" seat in the back of the plane. The gentleman to my left was reading "The Complete Guide to the Bible." The gentlemen to my right was reading "The Big Book of Bible Bloopers." The scope of their Biblical studies was entertaining enough to begin with. But, given the context of where I was headed, I couldn't help but think that it was particularly humorous. I wondered what their respective reactions would have been if I had told them they were sitting next to a priest. I can't help but laugh at the many possible metaphorical interpretations of where I'm headed.

Too entertaining not to share :)