"my goal is - i'd like a career or something"
Reality Bites isn't even my favorite Isn't Winona Ryder Annoying? movie. That would be Heathers, followed by Girl, Interrupted, and maybe even Beetlejuice. In my personal teen movie pantheon, it comes in way under Empire Records and Clueless -- although, yes, way above Say Anything. John Cusack is cute, sure, but there's no chemistry at all between him and his weird-looking love interest. And the whole dad going to prison subplot? What is that about? The best scene in that flick is the last one and I have to admit I still of that from time to time when I'm on a plane.
Fun fact: Winona Ryder's boss in Reality Bites, the host of the unbelievably low-tech morning show, though, does play the dad who goes to jail in Say Anything. I think he's in every movie this late 80s - early 90s era has to offer.
Fun fact II: "Baby I Love Your Way" by peter frampton plays a pivotal role in this movie as well as in that other, way better john cusack one, High Fidelity.
But the uneven Reality Bites does feature some super quotable quotes and a fantastic Janeane Garofolo (with bangs!) Just fast-forward through the Ben Stiller courtship scenes.
My job continues to be lovely, even more so since I've received my very first paycheck. I haven't been able to conceive of it as permanent yet -- time will do that for me. Very slowly, I imagine. If nothing goes wrong.
Friday, June 30, 2006
Monday, June 26, 2006
dude. so proud (of you)
In honor of Pride weekend, though I didn't get to see any parades or strip down on a club dance floor to the intoxicating sounds of 80s Madonna, I got to see the almighty Alison Bechdel at the NYGLTQ center. The room was draped in floor-to-ceiling rainbows for the occasion and it just shuddered with anticipation as all the sensibly-clad audience members waited for the Dyke to Watch Out For herself to read to us.
She really is incredible, in case you don't know. When someone asked whether she bases her comic strip characters on a real life queer community in Vermont, she said, "No. It's just me up there. They're all my imaginary friends."
Her new graphic-novel memoir is a morbid, totally funny examination of her growing up butch in contrast to her distant, demanding dad who ran a funeral home, taught English literature, forced all of his children to become slaves to his fierce opinions about interior design, and -- Alison eventually learns -- had sex with boys. It's intense stuff done with a light touch.
Also in the spirit of the weekend, I met for lunch a boy I last saw ten years ago, when we were both at camp together. He found me via a mass email my new publishing company sent out, a sort of "let's welcome the new employees to the family!" thing, and he emailed to ask if I was the ester he remembered. (Existential question: Am I? Essential answer: Well, yes. Same height, too!)
This boy was one of my first in a short string of -friends, as well as my second kiss. Now he's gay. He looks about 30, which is more alarming, and he's really sweet. We had fun picnicing in Union Square, catching each other up on our narrative arcs from the past decade.
And what, I asked, does he remember of little ester from way back when? He pauses to think for a minute, then replies, "You were pretty cynical for a twelve year old."
In honor of Pride weekend, though I didn't get to see any parades or strip down on a club dance floor to the intoxicating sounds of 80s Madonna, I got to see the almighty Alison Bechdel at the NYGLTQ center. The room was draped in floor-to-ceiling rainbows for the occasion and it just shuddered with anticipation as all the sensibly-clad audience members waited for the Dyke to Watch Out For herself to read to us.
She really is incredible, in case you don't know. When someone asked whether she bases her comic strip characters on a real life queer community in Vermont, she said, "No. It's just me up there. They're all my imaginary friends."
Her new graphic-novel memoir is a morbid, totally funny examination of her growing up butch in contrast to her distant, demanding dad who ran a funeral home, taught English literature, forced all of his children to become slaves to his fierce opinions about interior design, and -- Alison eventually learns -- had sex with boys. It's intense stuff done with a light touch.
Also in the spirit of the weekend, I met for lunch a boy I last saw ten years ago, when we were both at camp together. He found me via a mass email my new publishing company sent out, a sort of "let's welcome the new employees to the family!" thing, and he emailed to ask if I was the ester he remembered. (Existential question: Am I? Essential answer: Well, yes. Same height, too!)
This boy was one of my first in a short string of -friends, as well as my second kiss. Now he's gay. He looks about 30, which is more alarming, and he's really sweet. We had fun picnicing in Union Square, catching each other up on our narrative arcs from the past decade.
And what, I asked, does he remember of little ester from way back when? He pauses to think for a minute, then replies, "You were pretty cynical for a twelve year old."
Friday, June 23, 2006
ages and ages
The combination of no internet in the apartment and a full-time job has not been kind to my blogging intentions. There's so much to relate, too. For instance, I have set a RECORD for wedding dress shopping. It was such an amazing record, Guiness couldn't even contain it; they had to issue a whole new book, exclusively for me, and containing nothing but this achievement.
Wedding dress shopping time, from start to finish: 2 hrs, 0 minutes.
Mind you, the dress we found is no "it has a skirt and a top: it'll do" satisfizer dress. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Among its other qualities, it's criticism-proof: it faced an array of critics -- Mr. Ben, my mother, my father, my grandmother, my uncle, and even my oldest friend (and her new girlfriend) -- and emerged absolutely unscathed. There is nothing to say about this dress except that it is beautiful. It's even NOT WHITE and nobody cares, because that is how outstanding it is.
It'll be a year or so before we see each other again, my dress and I. The little fancy frock store where we found it, with the help of a career saleslady (my favorite kind!), is kindly storing it for us until time comes to cut it down to my size. It is crazy to realize that this wedding shebang is over a year away, when so much feels like it has be done RIGHT NOW.
Meanwhile I have also spent a week and a half at my new job, whose loveliness cannot be compared to anything I have known, except the summer I spent interning at Americans United for the Separation of Church and State. As I did there, in this office, I have freedom and responsibility, intelligent people to talk to, and my own computer. The atmosphere is civil and civilized. Apart from being over-airconditioned, in fact, I have nothing bad to say about it at all. Cross your fingers that that continues.
The combination of no internet in the apartment and a full-time job has not been kind to my blogging intentions. There's so much to relate, too. For instance, I have set a RECORD for wedding dress shopping. It was such an amazing record, Guiness couldn't even contain it; they had to issue a whole new book, exclusively for me, and containing nothing but this achievement.
Wedding dress shopping time, from start to finish: 2 hrs, 0 minutes.
Mind you, the dress we found is no "it has a skirt and a top: it'll do" satisfizer dress. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Among its other qualities, it's criticism-proof: it faced an array of critics -- Mr. Ben, my mother, my father, my grandmother, my uncle, and even my oldest friend (and her new girlfriend) -- and emerged absolutely unscathed. There is nothing to say about this dress except that it is beautiful. It's even NOT WHITE and nobody cares, because that is how outstanding it is.
It'll be a year or so before we see each other again, my dress and I. The little fancy frock store where we found it, with the help of a career saleslady (my favorite kind!), is kindly storing it for us until time comes to cut it down to my size. It is crazy to realize that this wedding shebang is over a year away, when so much feels like it has be done RIGHT NOW.
Meanwhile I have also spent a week and a half at my new job, whose loveliness cannot be compared to anything I have known, except the summer I spent interning at Americans United for the Separation of Church and State. As I did there, in this office, I have freedom and responsibility, intelligent people to talk to, and my own computer. The atmosphere is civil and civilized. Apart from being over-airconditioned, in fact, I have nothing bad to say about it at all. Cross your fingers that that continues.
Thursday, June 15, 2006
luckily flourescent lighting is a good look for me
I feel like Goldilocks. The first office was too big, the second office was too small ... the third office? Comes with SNACKS. Free snacks, in the kitchen! And I have my own desk! Fo shizzle. There's my name on it and everything. And when I answer the phone, I can say ANYTHING I WANT. Granted, I haven't really tested that, but for the first time in my employment history, no one has given me direction.
It's kind of astounding. I've never been treated this well. They took me out to lunch my first day, and get this. No one has yelled at me yet. I know! Crazy! I can't explain it. I'm just doing my best not to fuck it up.
I feel like Goldilocks. The first office was too big, the second office was too small ... the third office? Comes with SNACKS. Free snacks, in the kitchen! And I have my own desk! Fo shizzle. There's my name on it and everything. And when I answer the phone, I can say ANYTHING I WANT. Granted, I haven't really tested that, but for the first time in my employment history, no one has given me direction.
It's kind of astounding. I've never been treated this well. They took me out to lunch my first day, and get this. No one has yelled at me yet. I know! Crazy! I can't explain it. I'm just doing my best not to fuck it up.
Monday, June 12, 2006
still here ...
I'm not starting the new job until Wednesday, as it turns out. I'm pretty excited, about as excited as I could be, I think, to be exchanging a subsidized 2-day workweek for a regular old 40 hour one. I don't feel comfortable talking about it in too much detail, except to say I'll be an editorial assistant at a publishing company in the city. I'm going to be a paper-pusher! A wordsmith! It is a dream come true, and the cherry on the sundae is that I'll be near Trader Joe's.
Still, I have a couple more breakdowns scheduled before I'm cool with everything that's happening. I'm never allowed to forget about the impending wedding for more than 48 hours at a stretch because I'm guaranteed a call from one of my parents within that time frame with a new question or comment. I can't hold their excitement against them -- of couse I'd rather they be thrilled than passive & sullen; and Mr. Ben and I are going to be in DC this coming weekend to encourage them.
But it's a lot to digest.
At Mr. Ben's law firm's clambake yesterday at a majesterial estate in Larchmont, a fellow who is a year closer to his wedding than I am to mine had lots of advice for me, much of it delivered as he held me by the shoulders. He is attempting to coordinate an interfaith, 400 person mega-marriage in New Jersey. Good luck, friend!
I am not so ambitious. I did, however, wonder idly about how many romance novels I'd have to write and sell to afford a gorgeous 1770s farmhouse on Long Island Sound, complete with barn cum guest house, a croquet lawn, kayaks, a pool table, a ping pong table, and the means to offer my hundred guests a raw bar, a regular bar, and a buffet lobster dinner.
I'm not starting the new job until Wednesday, as it turns out. I'm pretty excited, about as excited as I could be, I think, to be exchanging a subsidized 2-day workweek for a regular old 40 hour one. I don't feel comfortable talking about it in too much detail, except to say I'll be an editorial assistant at a publishing company in the city. I'm going to be a paper-pusher! A wordsmith! It is a dream come true, and the cherry on the sundae is that I'll be near Trader Joe's.
Still, I have a couple more breakdowns scheduled before I'm cool with everything that's happening. I'm never allowed to forget about the impending wedding for more than 48 hours at a stretch because I'm guaranteed a call from one of my parents within that time frame with a new question or comment. I can't hold their excitement against them -- of couse I'd rather they be thrilled than passive & sullen; and Mr. Ben and I are going to be in DC this coming weekend to encourage them.
But it's a lot to digest.
At Mr. Ben's law firm's clambake yesterday at a majesterial estate in Larchmont, a fellow who is a year closer to his wedding than I am to mine had lots of advice for me, much of it delivered as he held me by the shoulders. He is attempting to coordinate an interfaith, 400 person mega-marriage in New Jersey. Good luck, friend!
I am not so ambitious. I did, however, wonder idly about how many romance novels I'd have to write and sell to afford a gorgeous 1770s farmhouse on Long Island Sound, complete with barn cum guest house, a croquet lawn, kayaks, a pool table, a ping pong table, and the means to offer my hundred guests a raw bar, a regular bar, and a buffet lobster dinner.
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
anyung! gobias!
There should be a word that captures the feeling of laughing while feeling guilty about it, laughing even when you KNOW it's kind of wrong. There probably is a word, actually, in German. The Germans have all the good words.
That magical German word would capture exactly how it feels to watch Arrested Development, which I'm doing now, courtesy of Netflix, by the DVD-full. Part of it is in celebration of new status!: ALMOST EMPLOYED. Yes, you read that right. If all goes well, I start my new job on Monday!
For the record, I received that job offer on 6/6/06. I wonder if that means this new job is cursed, or somehow related to the Beast slouching towards Bethlehem to be born. ... Well, as long as it comes with health insurance, who can complain?
There should be a word that captures the feeling of laughing while feeling guilty about it, laughing even when you KNOW it's kind of wrong. There probably is a word, actually, in German. The Germans have all the good words.
That magical German word would capture exactly how it feels to watch Arrested Development, which I'm doing now, courtesy of Netflix, by the DVD-full. Part of it is in celebration of new status!: ALMOST EMPLOYED. Yes, you read that right. If all goes well, I start my new job on Monday!
For the record, I received that job offer on 6/6/06. I wonder if that means this new job is cursed, or somehow related to the Beast slouching towards Bethlehem to be born. ... Well, as long as it comes with health insurance, who can complain?
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
6/6/06
Apparently today's the day that the apocalypse is supposed to start. Sixth day of the sixth month in the six year of the new millenium.
Yesterday I was tense from 5:30 AM (when I woke up) until I went to sleep, so tense that today my shoulder muscles are SORE -- and I was just waiting to hear about a job. I wish I'd realized we were waiting for the Beast today; I could have consolidated. Maybe both will happen! Maybe I'll get the job offer, and then the world will end. As long as it's not vice versa.
I'll be pretty upset if it turns out I spent my last full day on earth with my shoulders hunched up next to my ears, staring at my cell phone, knowing that a strong wind would be enough to start me crying. Could have been worse, I guess? (How could it have been worse?)
Apparently today's the day that the apocalypse is supposed to start. Sixth day of the sixth month in the six year of the new millenium.
Yesterday I was tense from 5:30 AM (when I woke up) until I went to sleep, so tense that today my shoulder muscles are SORE -- and I was just waiting to hear about a job. I wish I'd realized we were waiting for the Beast today; I could have consolidated. Maybe both will happen! Maybe I'll get the job offer, and then the world will end. As long as it's not vice versa.
I'll be pretty upset if it turns out I spent my last full day on earth with my shoulders hunched up next to my ears, staring at my cell phone, knowing that a strong wind would be enough to start me crying. Could have been worse, I guess? (How could it have been worse?)
Thursday, June 01, 2006
this war makes me tired
The WP is now reportering, in their reportery way, that we no longer have anything to worry about, here in America. Those of us turned into despairing head-shakers of the behavior of our soliders in the middle east can finally relax our neck muscles, go take in a movie or something. The problems of behavior -- which is to say, the massacres like Haditha, the prison tortures like Abu Ghraib, the shootings of pregnant civilian women racing to hospitals, as just happened yesterday -- NONE OF THAT will remain to make us uncomfortable, after the marines watch a slideshow about "ethics" and "morals."
Oh no, you say. (You skeptic.) A slideshow? Are you SURE that's going to do the trick?
Ah, but this is not just any slideshow. Not like the sexual harrassment awareness luncheons at your office where everyone rolls their eyes, searches through the free sandwiches for the one they really like, and waits til it's over. No: this is a slideshow that will emphasize "'core values' training in how to operate professionally and humanely."
If soldiers in active duty don't understand DON'T KILL CIVILIANS, what on earth are you going to put in a slideshow to get through to them?
Okay, I feel a little better. Jesus god, this war is exhausting. Sarcasm falls in the face of it.
The truth is, I feel for the soldiers -- they're in an impossible position, embedded in an increasingly hostile community, facing an invisible enemy that never weakens, knowing that the government that sent them there has no plan for how to get them out and knowing that support for their mission back home has dwindled. That must suck. But you know who I feel worse for? The increasingly hostile community that's stuck in the middle of what may turn into a civil war, patrolled by soliders growing ever more trigger-happy and stressed out.
I just finished reading Assassination Vacation by Sarah Vowell and I'm currently reading Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith by Anne Lamott. Both women take their frustration at the president, specifically at his drawing us into this unwinable war, and mold interesting books out of it: in Vowell's case, she takes the reader on a guided tour through the three successful presidential assassinations in American history (Lincoln, Garfield, McKinley). Lamott struggles to love Bush the way Jesus loves him or, failing that, to be funny.
If you're as tired and cynical at this point as I am, I recommend both books. They may have been written as coping mechanisms, but reading them works as one too.
The WP is now reportering, in their reportery way, that we no longer have anything to worry about, here in America. Those of us turned into despairing head-shakers of the behavior of our soliders in the middle east can finally relax our neck muscles, go take in a movie or something. The problems of behavior -- which is to say, the massacres like Haditha, the prison tortures like Abu Ghraib, the shootings of pregnant civilian women racing to hospitals, as just happened yesterday -- NONE OF THAT will remain to make us uncomfortable, after the marines watch a slideshow about "ethics" and "morals."
Oh no, you say. (You skeptic.) A slideshow? Are you SURE that's going to do the trick?
Ah, but this is not just any slideshow. Not like the sexual harrassment awareness luncheons at your office where everyone rolls their eyes, searches through the free sandwiches for the one they really like, and waits til it's over. No: this is a slideshow that will emphasize "'core values' training in how to operate professionally and humanely."
If soldiers in active duty don't understand DON'T KILL CIVILIANS, what on earth are you going to put in a slideshow to get through to them?
Okay, I feel a little better. Jesus god, this war is exhausting. Sarcasm falls in the face of it.
The truth is, I feel for the soldiers -- they're in an impossible position, embedded in an increasingly hostile community, facing an invisible enemy that never weakens, knowing that the government that sent them there has no plan for how to get them out and knowing that support for their mission back home has dwindled. That must suck. But you know who I feel worse for? The increasingly hostile community that's stuck in the middle of what may turn into a civil war, patrolled by soliders growing ever more trigger-happy and stressed out.
I just finished reading Assassination Vacation by Sarah Vowell and I'm currently reading Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith by Anne Lamott. Both women take their frustration at the president, specifically at his drawing us into this unwinable war, and mold interesting books out of it: in Vowell's case, she takes the reader on a guided tour through the three successful presidential assassinations in American history (Lincoln, Garfield, McKinley). Lamott struggles to love Bush the way Jesus loves him or, failing that, to be funny.
If you're as tired and cynical at this point as I am, I recommend both books. They may have been written as coping mechanisms, but reading them works as one too.
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
to NO ONE'S suprise ...
Which Classic Female Literary Character Are you?
You're Elizabeth Bennett of Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen!
Take this quiz!
Quizilla |
Join
| Make A Quiz | More Quizzes | Grab Code
I mean, duh. We even have the same initials!
Which Classic Female Literary Character Are you?
You're Elizabeth Bennett of Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen!
Take this quiz!
Quizilla |
Join
| Make A Quiz | More Quizzes | Grab Code
I mean, duh. We even have the same initials!
Friday, May 26, 2006
a world of porches
This picture makes me want to be back in Louisville. I've uploaded a bunch to my flickr page from my trip to Kentucky and Indiana. Isn't the scenery the lushest thing you've ever seen? Houses are so cheap there, too! Really! You couldn't buy an apartment here for what they cost.
I'm also watching Mildred Pierce currently, trying to get my head back in the right place. You know, feeling lucky that I don't have a spoiled monster for a daughter or a psycho for a mother, rather than anxious about this whole Getting Married business.
This picture makes me want to be back in Louisville. I've uploaded a bunch to my flickr page from my trip to Kentucky and Indiana. Isn't the scenery the lushest thing you've ever seen? Houses are so cheap there, too! Really! You couldn't buy an apartment here for what they cost.
I'm also watching Mildred Pierce currently, trying to get my head back in the right place. You know, feeling lucky that I don't have a spoiled monster for a daughter or a psycho for a mother, rather than anxious about this whole Getting Married business.
Monday, May 22, 2006
Reading/Read List
* denotes currently reading, bold denotes especially good
(after a certain length of time, * also denotes Unfinished)
Have His Carcase* (Sayers, reread)
World War Z* (Brooks)
Mansfield Park (Austen, reread)
Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil
Apex Hides the Hurt* (Whitehead)
The Devil in the White City (Larson)
The Omnivore's Dilemma (Pollan)
The Real Thing (Stoppard)
Enemies, a Love Story* (Singer)
Heat (Buford)
Garlic and Sapphires (reread, Reichl)
Haroun and the Sea of Stories (reread, Rushdie)
Night and Day* (Woolf)
How to Be Alone (Franzen)
The Emperor's Children* (Messud)
England, England* (Barnes)
Shiksa Goddess (Wasserstein)
I Feel Bad About My Neck (Ephron)
Letters from the Earth (Twain)
Remains of the Day (Ishiguru)
Here's to Hindsight (Cobble)
Children of the Alley* (Mahfouz)
Fortress of Solitude* (Lethem)
Special Topics in Calamity Physics* (Pessl)
The End (Snicket)
Two Flappers in Paris (anonymous vintage French erotica. really!)
Heartburn (Ephron)
The Fermata (Baker) Another reread.
The Colossus of Maroussi* (Miller)
Bee Season (Goldberg) -- a reread, but a worthwhile one.
Freakonomics (Levitt & Dubner)
The Tipping Point (Gladwell)
The Amber Spyglass (Pullman)
The Subtle Knife (Pullman)
Water for Elephants* (Gruen)
I Do, But I Don't: Walking Down the Aisle Without Losing Your Mind (Wicoff)
The Golden Compass (Pullman)
Fun Home (Bechdel)
Snow (Pamuk)
The Awakening (Chopin)
The Alchemist (Coelho) 60 million people worldwide have read this book -- and every single one of them probably liked it more than I did.
Veronica (Gaitskill)
Main Street (Lewis)
Housekeeping (Robinson)
The Pursuit of Love & Love in a Cold Climate (Mitford)
Middlemarch (Eliot)
The Eustace Diamonds (Trollope)
These books have a theme, which I am only realizing in retrospect: unhappy women. Young women, too! Brides! Who make bad choices! Which are often the only choices available. Hum.
None of these, unfortunately, appear on Human Events' Top 10 List of Books Liberals Would Like to Burn. What I love about this list is it's compiled by conservatives admittedly speculating about what THEY THINK I'd like to use to char my anti-war tofu pups. What I also love? The number one book is (get ready):
Conservatives are too funny. Most of their books I haven't even heard of, or I would totally choose to keep around for kicks. Like the "articulate" Ann Coulter: a day just isn't complete without her hate misting its edges. Plus, I like to keep in mind what's worth fighting for.
(after a certain length of time, * also denotes Unfinished)
Have His Carcase* (Sayers, reread)
World War Z* (Brooks)
Mansfield Park (Austen, reread)
Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil
Apex Hides the Hurt* (Whitehead)
The Devil in the White City (Larson)
The Omnivore's Dilemma (Pollan)
The Real Thing (Stoppard)
Enemies, a Love Story* (Singer)
Heat (Buford)
Garlic and Sapphires (reread, Reichl)
Haroun and the Sea of Stories (reread, Rushdie)
Night and Day* (Woolf)
How to Be Alone (Franzen)
The Emperor's Children* (Messud)
England, England* (Barnes)
Shiksa Goddess (Wasserstein)
I Feel Bad About My Neck (Ephron)
Letters from the Earth (Twain)
Remains of the Day (Ishiguru)
Here's to Hindsight (Cobble)
Children of the Alley* (Mahfouz)
Fortress of Solitude* (Lethem)
Special Topics in Calamity Physics* (Pessl)
The End (Snicket)
Two Flappers in Paris (anonymous vintage French erotica. really!)
Heartburn (Ephron)
The Fermata (Baker) Another reread.
The Colossus of Maroussi* (Miller)
Bee Season (Goldberg) -- a reread, but a worthwhile one.
Freakonomics (Levitt & Dubner)
The Tipping Point (Gladwell)
The Amber Spyglass (Pullman)
The Subtle Knife (Pullman)
Water for Elephants* (Gruen)
I Do, But I Don't: Walking Down the Aisle Without Losing Your Mind (Wicoff)
The Golden Compass (Pullman)
Fun Home (Bechdel)
Snow (Pamuk)
The Awakening (Chopin)
The Alchemist (Coelho) 60 million people worldwide have read this book -- and every single one of them probably liked it more than I did.
Veronica (Gaitskill)
Main Street (Lewis)
Housekeeping (Robinson)
The Pursuit of Love & Love in a Cold Climate (Mitford)
Middlemarch (Eliot)
The Eustace Diamonds (Trollope)
These books have a theme, which I am only realizing in retrospect: unhappy women. Young women, too! Brides! Who make bad choices! Which are often the only choices available. Hum.
None of these, unfortunately, appear on Human Events' Top 10 List of Books Liberals Would Like to Burn. What I love about this list is it's compiled by conservatives admittedly speculating about what THEY THINK I'd like to use to char my anti-war tofu pups. What I also love? The number one book is (get ready):
1. Bible by GodBoo yeah! I know I personally want to burn the Bible ("by God" -- it really should say that on the cover) on a pile of my bras and, by the light of the heathenish conflagration, perform abortions via witchcraft.
The central work of Western Civilization, defines the relationship between God and man and is the foundation of faith in the Judeo-Christian tradition. Liberal groups, like the American Civil Liberties Union and People for the American Way, have sued to keep it out of government buildings, schools and public discourse.
Conservatives are too funny. Most of their books I haven't even heard of, or I would totally choose to keep around for kicks. Like the "articulate" Ann Coulter: a day just isn't complete without her hate misting its edges. Plus, I like to keep in mind what's worth fighting for.
The inimitable Sharon Jones!
None of you has heard of Sharon Jones. I know because I grilled everyone about this mystery lady, to whose 50th birthday extravaganza I was being dragged, and no one could do anything but shrug at me. I knew the following: she's black; she's a musician; she's turning 50; and maybe she's like Etta James?
As it turned out, the concert/birthday party/musical orgy stretched from 9:00 to midnight without a break. One band rolled right into another. Ms. Jones performed, came back and performed some more, performed to the very rafters, until you expected her to drop dead of exhaustion, like she was aiming for that bittersweet headline, "Died Doing What She Loved." Twice, though, she brought Mr. Ben on stage to do it with her, and while I watched I begged fortune that she would continue to live at least until he got back into the audience. "Died Doing What She Loved in Arms of Young, Cute Law Student" is a way weirder obit.
Boy was giddy to have been singled out; he was the only fellow, in fact, she chose to grace the stage TWICE. All our friends gave me half-mocking looks like, Uh-oh! You're gonna have to fight Sharon Jones for your fiancee! Sadly that would have been no fight at all. Ms. Jones and I may be the same height -- the height of genius -- but anyone who, at 50, can outdance James Brown while belting song after song in three-inch silver heels, could take me easy. No contest.
The rumor is that I danced, too. This may have happened; I can confirm or deny nothing. I will say that it was my second concert of the weekend, and both did help to get my mind off my two interviews from the previous week. Three if you count the fact that I went to the one in South Orange, NJ 24 hrs early and had to make the hour-long trek again the following day. My mind is not functioning at its peak these days, as evidenced by the fact that I also seem to have agreed to an August in DC wedding.
Two more interviews this week, too, and both for jobs I'd really like. I'd really like to get this occupation thing settled so I can have something to put on forms besides, "Leave me alone. I'm working on it."
None of you has heard of Sharon Jones. I know because I grilled everyone about this mystery lady, to whose 50th birthday extravaganza I was being dragged, and no one could do anything but shrug at me. I knew the following: she's black; she's a musician; she's turning 50; and maybe she's like Etta James?
As it turned out, the concert/birthday party/musical orgy stretched from 9:00 to midnight without a break. One band rolled right into another. Ms. Jones performed, came back and performed some more, performed to the very rafters, until you expected her to drop dead of exhaustion, like she was aiming for that bittersweet headline, "Died Doing What She Loved." Twice, though, she brought Mr. Ben on stage to do it with her, and while I watched I begged fortune that she would continue to live at least until he got back into the audience. "Died Doing What She Loved in Arms of Young, Cute Law Student" is a way weirder obit.
Boy was giddy to have been singled out; he was the only fellow, in fact, she chose to grace the stage TWICE. All our friends gave me half-mocking looks like, Uh-oh! You're gonna have to fight Sharon Jones for your fiancee! Sadly that would have been no fight at all. Ms. Jones and I may be the same height -- the height of genius -- but anyone who, at 50, can outdance James Brown while belting song after song in three-inch silver heels, could take me easy. No contest.
The rumor is that I danced, too. This may have happened; I can confirm or deny nothing. I will say that it was my second concert of the weekend, and both did help to get my mind off my two interviews from the previous week. Three if you count the fact that I went to the one in South Orange, NJ 24 hrs early and had to make the hour-long trek again the following day. My mind is not functioning at its peak these days, as evidenced by the fact that I also seem to have agreed to an August in DC wedding.
Two more interviews this week, too, and both for jobs I'd really like. I'd really like to get this occupation thing settled so I can have something to put on forms besides, "Leave me alone. I'm working on it."
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
joy upon joy
The Editorial Director of a Washington Agency has read the first three chapters of my novel in progress, and we finally had a chance to discuss them this evening. She gave me valuable and intelligent feedback, lots of things to keep in mind, and most importantly she said: "This is dynamite."
She wouldn't even let me tell her the plot overview because she wanted to read it for herself. Read all of it, in fact, help me edit it, and then help me try to get it published. "Do you have time?" I asked her. "No!" she said. "But this is so much fun!"
Hopefully this will motivate me to get back on a cranking-it-out writing schedule. What with travelling and graduations and accepting everyone's incredibly sweet congratulations (thanks, by the way!) and letting myself get all nervous thinking about Weddings and then subsequently talking myself off the ledge, I've let the creative process move to the back burner lately. Bad ester! Lazy ester!
Well, I'm out of college-age cousins, and having been to Kentucky, Indiana, Boston and back, I think I can be forgiven for staying put for a while; and having been proposed to once, I think I can safely assume it won't happen again (soon). Once I get a job, in fact, I'll have almost nothing left to distract me except passing bluebirds and really cute shoes. Get ready, world! By my birthday, I'd like to have the first draft of this monster finished. You think I can't do it? You just wait.
The Editorial Director of a Washington Agency has read the first three chapters of my novel in progress, and we finally had a chance to discuss them this evening. She gave me valuable and intelligent feedback, lots of things to keep in mind, and most importantly she said: "This is dynamite."
She wouldn't even let me tell her the plot overview because she wanted to read it for herself. Read all of it, in fact, help me edit it, and then help me try to get it published. "Do you have time?" I asked her. "No!" she said. "But this is so much fun!"
Hopefully this will motivate me to get back on a cranking-it-out writing schedule. What with travelling and graduations and accepting everyone's incredibly sweet congratulations (thanks, by the way!) and letting myself get all nervous thinking about Weddings and then subsequently talking myself off the ledge, I've let the creative process move to the back burner lately. Bad ester! Lazy ester!
Well, I'm out of college-age cousins, and having been to Kentucky, Indiana, Boston and back, I think I can be forgiven for staying put for a while; and having been proposed to once, I think I can safely assume it won't happen again (soon). Once I get a job, in fact, I'll have almost nothing left to distract me except passing bluebirds and really cute shoes. Get ready, world! By my birthday, I'd like to have the first draft of this monster finished. You think I can't do it? You just wait.
Friday, May 12, 2006
total eclipse of the heart
So I had this great trip to Bloomington, Indiana -- well, at least it was great once I got off the plane; my journey was delayed at every possible junction and ended with hysterical toddlers kicking me in the back of the head at 1:00 AM as we finally began our very late descent -- followed by a great time in Kentuckiana, which is what the pleasant folks down near Louisville call their lush, Ohio River Valley home. I had stories about my cousin's graduation from IU, what it made me think about becoming a college professor after all, playing cards, drinking mint juleps, and planting tomatoes.
I had a story about the most ironic couple I've ever met: a woman who's been married three times, with a child and child support payments to show for each marriage; and a man who spent the first 15 years of his life in a religious cult. And what do they do? The woman teaches Marriage and Family classes, and the man is a therapist!
I had stories! I meant to tell them as I stumbled upstairs at 2:30 in the morning from my 13 hour car ride home, covered in dog hair, bespectacled and frizzy, not to mention exhausted. Instead, my charmingest of boyfriends, who had cleaned the apartment from top to bottom and bought beautiful, abundant purple flowers, knocked all other stories out of my head, although not the lyrics to that Nellie McKay song. He said, "I was sure when you were here, but I was even more sure when you were gone."
No real talk of the wedding yet or any of those weighty issues. He said he doesn't want to have kids for a long time, and I said I'm keeping my name, and we shook on it. Aside from soliciting congratulations (and in some cases, free food!) that's all we've done so far.
So I had this great trip to Bloomington, Indiana -- well, at least it was great once I got off the plane; my journey was delayed at every possible junction and ended with hysterical toddlers kicking me in the back of the head at 1:00 AM as we finally began our very late descent -- followed by a great time in Kentuckiana, which is what the pleasant folks down near Louisville call their lush, Ohio River Valley home. I had stories about my cousin's graduation from IU, what it made me think about becoming a college professor after all, playing cards, drinking mint juleps, and planting tomatoes.
I had a story about the most ironic couple I've ever met: a woman who's been married three times, with a child and child support payments to show for each marriage; and a man who spent the first 15 years of his life in a religious cult. And what do they do? The woman teaches Marriage and Family classes, and the man is a therapist!
I had stories! I meant to tell them as I stumbled upstairs at 2:30 in the morning from my 13 hour car ride home, covered in dog hair, bespectacled and frizzy, not to mention exhausted. Instead, my charmingest of boyfriends, who had cleaned the apartment from top to bottom and bought beautiful, abundant purple flowers, knocked all other stories out of my head, although not the lyrics to that Nellie McKay song. He said, "I was sure when you were here, but I was even more sure when you were gone."
No real talk of the wedding yet or any of those weighty issues. He said he doesn't want to have kids for a long time, and I said I'm keeping my name, and we shook on it. Aside from soliciting congratulations (and in some cases, free food!) that's all we've done so far.
Friday, May 05, 2006
all about art
Man, I was gonna write a long post about all the art I've been consuming recently: an exquisite Sweeney Todd, currently on Broadway, where the small ensemble of actors remain onstage the entire time, doubling as the orchestra, and a coffin in the center doubles as half the set; and Middlemarch, which, along with The Eustace Diamonds, features a male character whose lineage is suspected of being tainted with JEWISH BLOOD! and yet, despite the shame, marries the heroine. Is this a 19th century trope, or a 19th century coincidence?
(Does one need to yell "spoiler!" when discussing books that have been around longer than my family has been in America ...? If so, I apologize.)
Also Inside Man, Friends With Money, The Mistakes Madeline Made, and Happy Endings. No time to comment on any of it! I've gotta go catch a plane and hang out in the heartland for next five days. If you've seen/read any of the above, feel free to post your own opinions in the meantime.
Man, I was gonna write a long post about all the art I've been consuming recently: an exquisite Sweeney Todd, currently on Broadway, where the small ensemble of actors remain onstage the entire time, doubling as the orchestra, and a coffin in the center doubles as half the set; and Middlemarch, which, along with The Eustace Diamonds, features a male character whose lineage is suspected of being tainted with JEWISH BLOOD! and yet, despite the shame, marries the heroine. Is this a 19th century trope, or a 19th century coincidence?
(Does one need to yell "spoiler!" when discussing books that have been around longer than my family has been in America ...? If so, I apologize.)
Also Inside Man, Friends With Money, The Mistakes Madeline Made, and Happy Endings. No time to comment on any of it! I've gotta go catch a plane and hang out in the heartland for next five days. If you've seen/read any of the above, feel free to post your own opinions in the meantime.
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
"... and reality has a well-known liberal bias"
If you have yet to see this clip, run, don't walk. Stephen Colbert does not speak Truthiness to Power so much as take Power to dinner, order the restaurant's most expensive bottle of wine, and then DUMP Power, LEAVING Power at the table WITH THE CHECK and spitting on power on the way out to pick up Power's hotter younger sister.
Mr. Colbert perserveres in the face of uncomfortable laughter from the audience and palpable tension in the room. You'll notice, after a while, C-SPAN even stops shuttling over to the President for the reaction shots. This is a performance of such bravura fearlessness (some might say, inappropriate fearlessness, in the face of the leader of the free world) it makes me nervous just watching it, but I imagine you have a stronger contstitution than I have. Try a glass of brandy to bolster yourself, just in case, or a like-minded website or two.
I don't know whose idea it was to tempt Mr. Colbert to do his thing in the presence of his favorite targets, but someone buy that idea-boy a hat and put it on my tab.
If you have yet to see this clip, run, don't walk. Stephen Colbert does not speak Truthiness to Power so much as take Power to dinner, order the restaurant's most expensive bottle of wine, and then DUMP Power, LEAVING Power at the table WITH THE CHECK and spitting on power on the way out to pick up Power's hotter younger sister.
Mr. Colbert perserveres in the face of uncomfortable laughter from the audience and palpable tension in the room. You'll notice, after a while, C-SPAN even stops shuttling over to the President for the reaction shots. This is a performance of such bravura fearlessness (some might say, inappropriate fearlessness, in the face of the leader of the free world) it makes me nervous just watching it, but I imagine you have a stronger contstitution than I have. Try a glass of brandy to bolster yourself, just in case, or a like-minded website or two.
I don't know whose idea it was to tempt Mr. Colbert to do his thing in the presence of his favorite targets, but someone buy that idea-boy a hat and put it on my tab.
Sunday, April 30, 2006
Ms. Pollitt, 56, is keeping her name
Did y'all see this nugget of joy, buried in the avalanche of Weddings & Celebrations today? My heart nearly split open from the cuteness of the names of her parents alone.
Best wishes, Ms. Pollitt!
Did y'all see this nugget of joy, buried in the avalanche of Weddings & Celebrations today? My heart nearly split open from the cuteness of the names of her parents alone.
Best wishes, Ms. Pollitt!
Thursday, April 27, 2006
i want two rooms of my own. is that wrong?
You rarely see conservative women engaging with feminism as this author tries to do in her unimaginatively titled, but otherwise thoughtful article, "Room of Her Own." To her credit, the author acknowledges that the Right's habit of maligning & dismissing feminists doesn't address the issue with any depth; and she herself doesn't snub the movement so much as gently uncover what, to her, are its deficiencies. Acceptable.
She leaves out several issues, however. One is the idea that men can do, or even find fulfillment in, house/child-related work. And, more importantly, that women can find fulfillment in *career*. Viz:
To her, once she lays out evidence that two-income households don't actually bring in more money than the old breadwinner households did, she thinks her point is proven: no increase in money = no reason to have dropped the vacuum cleaner. But going to the office can be enough! Leaving the house, to be valued in the outside world, and having a salary instead of an allowance -- the importance of all of that, to me at least, can't be denied.
Here too:
The fact that feminism has also forced the world to take women seriously is also something the author doesn't acknowledge. If she is comfortable going back to an age where her tiny, delicate female brain was considered unfit for the harshness of math and Latin, as it was in the time that Stowe, who she quotes, lived (and which is described so well in the 19th century novel I'm currently reading, Elliot's Middlemarch,) then God bless her; but I'd rather turn my hair gray juggling baby toys and a Blackberry than contend with that condescention.
Perhaps the author doesn't mind that frightening prospect so much because in part she buys into the logic of the times, at least in terms of Gender being determinative. She says, referring to the average women who signed onto feminism,
All of these anti-feminist women come off as ungrateful, frankly. Without Friedan & the rest of her crew, there's no way Kara Hopkins would be writing a serious intellectual piece for a serious intellectual magazine. At best she'd be writing about baby food or how to please your husband. Some thanks wouldn't be out of line, Ms. Hopkins.
You rarely see conservative women engaging with feminism as this author tries to do in her unimaginatively titled, but otherwise thoughtful article, "Room of Her Own." To her credit, the author acknowledges that the Right's habit of maligning & dismissing feminists doesn't address the issue with any depth; and she herself doesn't snub the movement so much as gently uncover what, to her, are its deficiencies. Acceptable.
She leaves out several issues, however. One is the idea that men can do, or even find fulfillment in, house/child-related work. And, more importantly, that women can find fulfillment in *career*. Viz:
Warren and Tyagi write, “When millions of mothers entered the workforce, they ratcheted up the price of a middle-class life for everyone, including families that wanted to keep Mom at home. A generation ago, a single bread-winner who worked diligently and spent carefully could assure his family a comfortable position in the middle class. But the frenzied bidding wars, fueled by families with two incomes, changed the game for single-income families as well, pushing them down the economic ladder.”
It is here that feminism may prove most cruel, for if the ’60s found women languishing in their dollhouses—though scarcely barred from the workforce—the new century finds them no more fulfilled than their mothers but far less free.
To her, once she lays out evidence that two-income households don't actually bring in more money than the old breadwinner households did, she thinks her point is proven: no increase in money = no reason to have dropped the vacuum cleaner. But going to the office can be enough! Leaving the house, to be valued in the outside world, and having a salary instead of an allowance -- the importance of all of that, to me at least, can't be denied.
Here too:
Women’s studies professor Linda Hirshman would go further: “The family—with its repetitious, socially invisible, physical tasks … allows fewer opportunities for full human flourishing than public spheres like the market or the government. This less-flourishing sphere is not the natural or moral responsibility only of women. Therefore assigning it to women is unjust.” Of course this wasn’t true, for it supposes that men at work are developing life-altering technologies or untangling theoretical impossibilities rather than doodling their way through meetings or shoveling paperwork into bureaucracy’s maw. Moreover, it overlooks the unique capacity of men to find fulfillment in provision and women in nurture—and the responsibility of both to tend their intellectual gardens by maintaining lives beyond the demands of home and work.In her logic, because men spend their time "doodling," women shouldn't want the potential to doodle too. Hell, why not, if she's getting paid for it? Not all men spend their 9 - 5 hours doing so little either: some run the country, and why shouldn't women have the chance to do that as well?
The fact that feminism has also forced the world to take women seriously is also something the author doesn't acknowledge. If she is comfortable going back to an age where her tiny, delicate female brain was considered unfit for the harshness of math and Latin, as it was in the time that Stowe, who she quotes, lived (and which is described so well in the 19th century novel I'm currently reading, Elliot's Middlemarch,) then God bless her; but I'd rather turn my hair gray juggling baby toys and a Blackberry than contend with that condescention.
Perhaps the author doesn't mind that frightening prospect so much because in part she buys into the logic of the times, at least in terms of Gender being determinative. She says, referring to the average women who signed onto feminism,
They were disappointed not because feminism failed to make them equal, but because in so doing it made them less female.Um, what? Are you serious? Lady, have you seen my bosoms lately? Talked to my gynecologist? I think everything's in working order. I'm exactly as "female" as I want to be -- and sometimes, like when I get hooted at on the street or when I have to walk home at night, I'd like to be far less. Working women aren't all Lady Macbeths, shouting at the sky to "unsex me here!" in order to have an opportunity to chat by the water cooler and bring home paychecks (that, by the way, also allow us to live independently: not all working women, or feminists, are married to men).
All of these anti-feminist women come off as ungrateful, frankly. Without Friedan & the rest of her crew, there's no way Kara Hopkins would be writing a serious intellectual piece for a serious intellectual magazine. At best she'd be writing about baby food or how to please your husband. Some thanks wouldn't be out of line, Ms. Hopkins.
This is my new hair, by the way. Hello hair!
And these are my "training heels," which I wore in my attempt to impersonate an adult woman to my interview yesterday.
Want more visuals? I finally got some of the AZ photos uploaded to Flickr.
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
aw, look!
The NYT hearts Swarthmore. They're trying to keep it subtle, but you can totally tell. Awwww. Now what would a baby of the college and the paper look like? And just how liberal would it be?
The NYT hearts Swarthmore. They're trying to keep it subtle, but you can totally tell. Awwww. Now what would a baby of the college and the paper look like? And just how liberal would it be?
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