Remember when "seeing the world" seemed like something you had infinity to do? I do. I remember when two years seemed like ten and now the opposite is happening all over the place. Needless to say, I need to travel. I feel like for the last few years, I've been wearing down the same trail. RIC to Detroit. RIC to NYC. Okay, so I did go to Portland for a nano-second last year, but I'm missing the real sense of "Oh wow, this is somewhere new."
This weekend was the Grand Illumination in the RIC. It is a night when they light up all of the buildings downtown so they are outlined with lights. I think "grand" might be a bit of an overstatement, but it's a big deal of sorts. And then, there was a Christmas parade to celebrate the Grand Illumination. It's times like these, as I drive pass all of the quaintly huddled residents with children, with parade illuminated faces and the father's struggling with Christmas trees to strap on to the roofs of cars that I think: "How did I get in THIS movie?" So it is kind of odd that I think of life like a movie, but after being inundated with images my whole life, I guess it's appropriate. Which brought me to the thought, well, if I was to live forever in the movies, which ones would I choose?
1. I would like to live in any of apartments/houses featured in "Hannah and Her Sisters," followed by "Vicky, Christina, Barcelona." But only if I could hang out with Michael Caine in the former and Javier Bardem in the latter. I would like to live the other half of the year in the London apartment and the epononymous home in "Howard's End."
2. I'd like to vacation on the set of "The Red Shoes," but only the happy parts in Paris and Monte Carlo.
3. I would also like to be outfitted like any of the women in a Hitchcock film and I would definitely want their luggage.
5. I could do a couple years in "The Talented Mr. Ripley," but only if the creepy and pasty Matt Damon character is never present.
6. I require the banter of Woody Allen, the zaniness of Wes Anderson and the Coen Brothers and the look of Godard. (I cannot even imagine how any of these things could co-exist).
7. I want Anne Hathaway's wardrobe in "Devil Wears Prada."
8. The party scene from "Breakfast at Tiffany's" on repeat. And, as much of "Breathless" as possible. I'll even throw "Amelie" in there for good measure.
But until then, I will continue to live in my Rom-Com which should star Sandra Bullock. Sigh.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Sunday, September 28, 2008
A Very English Christmas
So, we're thinking about going to England for Christmas to spend time with DG's family. I am very excited about the prospect. One of my favorite Christmases ever occurred in jolly old England back in 1985 when my entire family went for a visit. It was that magical time in my life when I read all of Noel Streatfield's famous "shoe" books (I know, shocking, right?) and believed that all of England was forever trapped in WWII. I also secretly hoped to dance so well that I would be discovered and asked to be in the London Ballet. While none of that happened, that trip is still probably my absolute favorite memory of my mom's side of the family at their best--loud and crazy but lovable all the same, and there is no better place to be zany Americans than against the backdrop of English manor homes and fox hunts in the 1980s. Sigh. It was also the first time I got to hang out with English boys, and well, the rest is history. What's really strange is that we visited the very same area that DG is actually from. Life is weird.
Soooo, that is a very long way round to expressing my excitement at spending Christmas in the "Black Country" as the Midlands is called by the locals. And, at the Black Country Museum where people dress in period costumes (see above) and you can re-live Victorian England during the coal years, visit a coalmine, watch the chainmaker flaunt his skills and gorge yourself at the 1930s Fried Fish Shop. If that's not right up my alley, I don't know what is.
Christmas in the UK, woo-hoo! I'm trying to get select members of my family to join us, but they are dragging their feet. I just know my grandfather would love spending Christmas at The Laurels (the club that Daryl's sister manages), knocking back a few with real honest to god English. He is the consummate traveller and loves experiencing everything and anything that is unique about a culture. I guess he and my mother are the primary sources for my wanderlust.
Even better, Mr. and Mrs. W are going to be in England and France over the holidays, so we think we may be able to organize a Very Special Holiday Episode: Friends Abroad or something like that. Life seems so much more glamorous when you just talk about it and don't look at your bank statement.
Anyway, fingers crossed that the economy doesn't crash completely before the holidays. Maybe we'll just hide out over there until all of this blows over.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
DFW
So, here's what I wrote last week and then forgot to post:
I feel like I throw the word "absurd" around a lot. Because that's exactly how most of life feels. Especially this past decade where so many things have happened that have no other word that fits. Or, the word that fits sometimes makes things less palatable. There are a few contemporary writers that have made this process of engaging in the absurd without feeling utterly depressed by the cynical nature of what is behind most of what makes life absurd--like, Kurt Vonnegut, or Milan Kundera, or Salman Rushdie, David Sedaris, Chuck Klosterman and right at the top of the heap was David Foster Wallace. And I found out this morning, along with the rest of the world that he is dead--an apparent suicide. It made me really, really sad. In the same way I felt when I heard about so many other people I have been fans of who just up and did themselves in. My friend Liz put it best when I talked to her today: "He just seemed like someone we could be friends with." Which is probably why it made me feel so sad. Like someone who I really enjoyed and someone who was able to put crazy and mundane things into perspective and make me laugh was gone. Granted, you can't be friends with an essay exactly, but it can make you feel a lot less alone. Though I do think that DFW would appreciate my father's bizarre comment on the subject: "Do you think it was, you know, like a weird sex thing?" Not only did I feel completely uncomfortable with my father automatically jumping to that conclusion the fact that we now live in an era of the acceptance of lewd actions as just normal. Not that there's anything normal about how my dad's brain works.
I feel like I throw the word "absurd" around a lot. Because that's exactly how most of life feels. Especially this past decade where so many things have happened that have no other word that fits. Or, the word that fits sometimes makes things less palatable. There are a few contemporary writers that have made this process of engaging in the absurd without feeling utterly depressed by the cynical nature of what is behind most of what makes life absurd--like, Kurt Vonnegut, or Milan Kundera, or Salman Rushdie, David Sedaris, Chuck Klosterman and right at the top of the heap was David Foster Wallace. And I found out this morning, along with the rest of the world that he is dead--an apparent suicide. It made me really, really sad. In the same way I felt when I heard about so many other people I have been fans of who just up and did themselves in. My friend Liz put it best when I talked to her today: "He just seemed like someone we could be friends with." Which is probably why it made me feel so sad. Like someone who I really enjoyed and someone who was able to put crazy and mundane things into perspective and make me laugh was gone. Granted, you can't be friends with an essay exactly, but it can make you feel a lot less alone. Though I do think that DFW would appreciate my father's bizarre comment on the subject: "Do you think it was, you know, like a weird sex thing?" Not only did I feel completely uncomfortable with my father automatically jumping to that conclusion the fact that we now live in an era of the acceptance of lewd actions as just normal. Not that there's anything normal about how my dad's brain works.
Monday, September 8, 2008
Everything You Wanted to Know About the VMA's (But You Were Too Afraid to Ask)
I don’t know if anyone else got a chance to see the VMA’s last night, but I did and have come to one of two or three conclusions:
So, I settled in this year with arched eyebrow and armed with Time magazine so that my brain did not go completely molested. The opening was funny—Jonah Hill pretending Britney Spears was stalking him or something. That was about as interesting as Britney was all night--she seems all cleaned up and back on track to being part of the real world, but does that mean she should receive 3 VMA awards? Nay.
Let's move on to the host—Russell Brand. RB is crazy and English, and nearly stole the show with his performance in “Forgetting Sarah Marshall” (it’s funny. Go see it. actually, the more I think about this, the more I realize the Judd Apatow machine was in full force as guest presenters). Anyway, RB is known for being nuts and once dating Kate Moss and being a druggie and a Don Juan and an MTV vee-jay all at once and now he does stand-up. Well, I think it’s safe to say he pretty much bit it as a presenter. It was like watching "Pulp Fiction" edited and with every f-bomb deleted. So, he was left to the “safe” topics-- jokes about he Jonas Brothers virginity* and promise rings. It was a little bit vulgar (this is MTV right??) and hearing only twitters from the crowd (except for LL Cool J who the cameraman frantically panned for every time, who seemed to be amused) I foresaw the trainwreck that lay before him so, I picked up Time and caught up on Alaskan politics**.
Poor RB. Doesn’t MTV have a culture FAQ they hand out? He did say many funny things, but it was all slightly off-key for this crowd. After reading the British tabloids, I blush. I mean it is no-holds barred talk. Like if “Deadwood” existed in tabloid form. One thing I know about the American public as a whole is that you can never be too directly mean or overtly sexual. Does he not know about the abstinence-only plans in most schools? If we can't admit openly that teenagers have sex, then there is no way we can joke about it. It's like living in an alternate universe. Sure, we like to prop up our former sweethearts, let them wear spandex and spin them out onto a stage so they perform like a drugged deer—that’s cool. But let’s not be too vulgar. Do we all need reminding of SuperBowl XXX? So, please don’t talk about wearing a promise ring as a cock ring. It makes hearts and minds explode.
In sum, RB, having lost his footing, struggled through the rest of the show with much chagrin and very snide faux happiness. He even got a ridiculously heavy-handed smack down (ala Sean Penn giving Chris Rock grief for making fun of Jude Law at the Oscars a couple years back) from Jordin Sparks who said something like “I just want to say about promise rings that not all of us, guys or girls, want to be sluts.” Huh? I managed to not wear a promise ring and made it through life without being a slut, but perhaps the rules have changed? The best part of her high-falutin’ speech came immediately after, when they cut to a T.I. performance involving a girl wearing a dress/slip so short one accidental bend too many and all would be on display. Awesome.
But enough about that. So, the whole show was at the Paramount lot. Which means they had access to a million stage sets, so the whole show came off like a very schizophrenic Christmas Special. The first performance was Rihanna who was wheeled in on top of some sort of goth-looking Aztec temple surrounded by zombie dancers. Awesome. Seriously, she is great. Like, Michael Jackson 1985 great. You could play “Umbrella” six thousand times and I would not be sick of it. Perhaps that is just my illness. As far as I’m concerned, she has thrown down the gauntlet for pop music. Which is awesome, because if you have someone who rolls on a Sunday night with their own personal Aztec temple stage and choreographed zombie dancers, then you know the fall-out has to be good. She can dance, she can sing, she wears insane clothes and does not look like a fool. Those are my only criteria for pop singers. Just please, please, don’t look like a fool (see: Christina Aguilera dipped in pancake batter in 2002).
Not sure what happened after that—I think it may have been Jonas Brothers on the back lot in which they pretended to be just three guys sitting on a NYC stoop ala Janet Jackson’s “Alright” video. Except this did not feature Cab Calloway-instead the entire brownstone split open to reveal a stage and a chaotic street scene where hundreds of Jonas Brothers fans swarmed like maniacs to groove to their virginal sounds.
Okay, so now I’m just going to cut to my favorite things:
1. I didn’t realize that Li’l Wayne was actually, well, li’l. And muscular, and just as crazy performing as his stream-of-thought-consciousness songs would make you think. I have become a big fan—some of his stuff is like when funk met techno.
2. Christina Aguilera —decidedly not dipped in pancake batter and not doing the 1940s thing anymore. Instead, she appears to be doing Rihanna meets Madonna and wears a wig by Donatella Versace. However, her performance of a re-mixed and nearly unrecognizable “Genie in a Bottle” and the fantastic Janet Jackson-esque (yep, that’s twice in one entry) style choreography in “Keeps Getting Better” was tight. That's right, I said tight. Somehow, that word fit, so I'm just going to go with it.
3. LL Cool J has his own fashion line at Sears. For kids. Let that sink in.
4. McLovin from SuperBad on the stage with Slip Knot. Anything that makes those weirdos funny is a good thing.
5. Tokio Hotel. Have you seen these kids? They are German and dress like some crazy Japanimation characters. It was like an SNL skit. But maybe I just find the German accent particularly hilarious on man-boys who wear lots of make—up. I am hoping the rise of Tokio Hotel means the fall of Fall Out Boy (no pun intended). Pete Wentz just seems like the biggest pansy to me. Almost as annoying as the reality that there is not just a Joel Madden, but a Benji too. Ugh. We can only have so many eye-linered boyes running around. This, despite what other ominous signs have pointed to do, is not the ‘80s people.
6. Kanye West’s show closing performance of “Love Lockdown.” It was like old Motown crossed with the most stripped down drumming. Very loud-quiet. Seriously, moving and really surprising (but in a good way. Like when U2 put out “Achtung Baby”). I could have done without the E.T. heart light that he wore on his lapel. However, the song itself was powerful—lyrics and music—not many people accurately describe the stakes of love, they either want to sing about getting it, wanting it, or getting over it. This was like all three. It was a very mournful song which is odd for the VMAs. I didn’t think they did mournful. I also didn’t think Kanye West did mournful, but wow. I even watched it twice.
So I made DG watch some of this with me, and, I admitted that I was really into nearly all of the music. Thinking I was on to something I said, “It just feels like I’ve gone full circle in my musical tastes. I started out loving R & B and hip-hop and pop and now all those things have come together.”
DG’s response was sobering: “Well, it just means you’re getting older. You’ve witnessed one whole cycle now. Everything is coming back in.”
I would like to believe it’s because I’m so cutting edge—but who are we kidding? I have to be honest with myself and admit that it’s okay to like pop. That’s why it’s called pop.
*Since when do popstars have to declare their virginitude? I think it’s an uneccesary trend and weirdly ancient-feeling, as in medieval.
**Perhaps I am most angry about the fact that now I need to educate myself on frickin’ ALASKAN politics. I mean COME ON. This whole thing is like “Wag the Dog,” but not funny and very, very real. I already know all about hockey moms, thank god.
- I am starting to agree with Perez Hilton on far too many points when it comes to entertainment. In other words, my musical taste and criteria for how I enjoy being entertained is now verging on Las Vegas style.
- This entire political hullabaloo (which, by the way is giving me high blood pressure) has actually affected my blood flow so that proper oxygen to my brain has been cut off to the point that I am actually impressed by something MTV has produced.
- “The Hills” is laced with secret MTV rhetoric which has made me softened to anything it produces (see: The Manchurian Candidate)
- The rapidly tanking economy has actually caused the music industry to amp up what they are delivering to audiences for fear we are entering into an era when people will not be able to afford the price of a concert ticket, so they may as well bring it to television.
So, I settled in this year with arched eyebrow and armed with Time magazine so that my brain did not go completely molested. The opening was funny—Jonah Hill pretending Britney Spears was stalking him or something. That was about as interesting as Britney was all night--she seems all cleaned up and back on track to being part of the real world, but does that mean she should receive 3 VMA awards? Nay.
Let's move on to the host—Russell Brand. RB is crazy and English, and nearly stole the show with his performance in “Forgetting Sarah Marshall” (it’s funny. Go see it. actually, the more I think about this, the more I realize the Judd Apatow machine was in full force as guest presenters). Anyway, RB is known for being nuts and once dating Kate Moss and being a druggie and a Don Juan and an MTV vee-jay all at once and now he does stand-up. Well, I think it’s safe to say he pretty much bit it as a presenter. It was like watching "Pulp Fiction" edited and with every f-bomb deleted. So, he was left to the “safe” topics-- jokes about he Jonas Brothers virginity* and promise rings. It was a little bit vulgar (this is MTV right??) and hearing only twitters from the crowd (except for LL Cool J who the cameraman frantically panned for every time, who seemed to be amused) I foresaw the trainwreck that lay before him so, I picked up Time and caught up on Alaskan politics**.
Poor RB. Doesn’t MTV have a culture FAQ they hand out? He did say many funny things, but it was all slightly off-key for this crowd. After reading the British tabloids, I blush. I mean it is no-holds barred talk. Like if “Deadwood” existed in tabloid form. One thing I know about the American public as a whole is that you can never be too directly mean or overtly sexual. Does he not know about the abstinence-only plans in most schools? If we can't admit openly that teenagers have sex, then there is no way we can joke about it. It's like living in an alternate universe. Sure, we like to prop up our former sweethearts, let them wear spandex and spin them out onto a stage so they perform like a drugged deer—that’s cool. But let’s not be too vulgar. Do we all need reminding of SuperBowl XXX? So, please don’t talk about wearing a promise ring as a cock ring. It makes hearts and minds explode.
In sum, RB, having lost his footing, struggled through the rest of the show with much chagrin and very snide faux happiness. He even got a ridiculously heavy-handed smack down (ala Sean Penn giving Chris Rock grief for making fun of Jude Law at the Oscars a couple years back) from Jordin Sparks who said something like “I just want to say about promise rings that not all of us, guys or girls, want to be sluts.” Huh? I managed to not wear a promise ring and made it through life without being a slut, but perhaps the rules have changed? The best part of her high-falutin’ speech came immediately after, when they cut to a T.I. performance involving a girl wearing a dress/slip so short one accidental bend too many and all would be on display. Awesome.
But enough about that. So, the whole show was at the Paramount lot. Which means they had access to a million stage sets, so the whole show came off like a very schizophrenic Christmas Special. The first performance was Rihanna who was wheeled in on top of some sort of goth-looking Aztec temple surrounded by zombie dancers. Awesome. Seriously, she is great. Like, Michael Jackson 1985 great. You could play “Umbrella” six thousand times and I would not be sick of it. Perhaps that is just my illness. As far as I’m concerned, she has thrown down the gauntlet for pop music. Which is awesome, because if you have someone who rolls on a Sunday night with their own personal Aztec temple stage and choreographed zombie dancers, then you know the fall-out has to be good. She can dance, she can sing, she wears insane clothes and does not look like a fool. Those are my only criteria for pop singers. Just please, please, don’t look like a fool (see: Christina Aguilera dipped in pancake batter in 2002).
Not sure what happened after that—I think it may have been Jonas Brothers on the back lot in which they pretended to be just three guys sitting on a NYC stoop ala Janet Jackson’s “Alright” video. Except this did not feature Cab Calloway-instead the entire brownstone split open to reveal a stage and a chaotic street scene where hundreds of Jonas Brothers fans swarmed like maniacs to groove to their virginal sounds.
Okay, so now I’m just going to cut to my favorite things:
1. I didn’t realize that Li’l Wayne was actually, well, li’l. And muscular, and just as crazy performing as his stream-of-thought-consciousness songs would make you think. I have become a big fan—some of his stuff is like when funk met techno.
2. Christina Aguilera —decidedly not dipped in pancake batter and not doing the 1940s thing anymore. Instead, she appears to be doing Rihanna meets Madonna and wears a wig by Donatella Versace. However, her performance of a re-mixed and nearly unrecognizable “Genie in a Bottle” and the fantastic Janet Jackson-esque (yep, that’s twice in one entry) style choreography in “Keeps Getting Better” was tight. That's right, I said tight. Somehow, that word fit, so I'm just going to go with it.
3. LL Cool J has his own fashion line at Sears. For kids. Let that sink in.
4. McLovin from SuperBad on the stage with Slip Knot. Anything that makes those weirdos funny is a good thing.
5. Tokio Hotel. Have you seen these kids? They are German and dress like some crazy Japanimation characters. It was like an SNL skit. But maybe I just find the German accent particularly hilarious on man-boys who wear lots of make—up. I am hoping the rise of Tokio Hotel means the fall of Fall Out Boy (no pun intended). Pete Wentz just seems like the biggest pansy to me. Almost as annoying as the reality that there is not just a Joel Madden, but a Benji too. Ugh. We can only have so many eye-linered boyes running around. This, despite what other ominous signs have pointed to do, is not the ‘80s people.
6. Kanye West’s show closing performance of “Love Lockdown.” It was like old Motown crossed with the most stripped down drumming. Very loud-quiet. Seriously, moving and really surprising (but in a good way. Like when U2 put out “Achtung Baby”). I could have done without the E.T. heart light that he wore on his lapel. However, the song itself was powerful—lyrics and music—not many people accurately describe the stakes of love, they either want to sing about getting it, wanting it, or getting over it. This was like all three. It was a very mournful song which is odd for the VMAs. I didn’t think they did mournful. I also didn’t think Kanye West did mournful, but wow. I even watched it twice.
So I made DG watch some of this with me, and, I admitted that I was really into nearly all of the music. Thinking I was on to something I said, “It just feels like I’ve gone full circle in my musical tastes. I started out loving R & B and hip-hop and pop and now all those things have come together.”
DG’s response was sobering: “Well, it just means you’re getting older. You’ve witnessed one whole cycle now. Everything is coming back in.”
I would like to believe it’s because I’m so cutting edge—but who are we kidding? I have to be honest with myself and admit that it’s okay to like pop. That’s why it’s called pop.
*Since when do popstars have to declare their virginitude? I think it’s an uneccesary trend and weirdly ancient-feeling, as in medieval.
**Perhaps I am most angry about the fact that now I need to educate myself on frickin’ ALASKAN politics. I mean COME ON. This whole thing is like “Wag the Dog,” but not funny and very, very real. I already know all about hockey moms, thank god.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Doggie Poppins?
So, we survived the little bit of hurricane Hanna that we got in the form of downpours yesterday. I was watching my friend's dog--the sweetest English Labrador in the world--and he had an appointment at the doggie salon. All well and good, except that the downpour turned the poor guy into a washcloth before we even arrived. And let me tell you, those doggie salon people do not f-around. There was a woman in front of us with two fluffy kind of bichon frisse looking dogs, but curlier, and an argument ensued between BF owner and doggie groomer as to whether or not the dog had matted hair on his belly.
Salon owner: You said on the phone he was in good shape. But this isn't good shape (she says as she rolls over Dog #1 and starts picking through his fur) See? Right here, he's got mattes all over his belly. I would have to use conditioner on them and the time it would take to do that--it would be too expensive.
BF owner: Well, I'm not feeling the same thing your feeling. Can you just shave them?
Salon owner: I can't even comb through them. We don't like to do that because it's painful for the dogs.
BF: Oh.
Meanwhile, a line of various miniatures and owners is developing behind us and of course, they are all terrified of my borrowed dog because he is big and black (stereotypes exist in the dog world as well), despite the fact that his demeanor is about as fiery as Clifford. So, we get up there and the owner seems relieved.
Salon Owner: So, we also brush teeth for $3 and drain glands for $5. Are you intersted.
Me: (note: I never want to sign anyone up for gland drain) Um. I can't say, I know he's scheduled for a shampoo. I'm not the owner.
Salon Owner: (Nodding) I understand. (smiling) Are you the nanny?
Me: (WTF? People have DOG NANNIES?? Do I look like a dog nanny?) Nope. We're just friends.
How are you supposed to answer that? I didn't want to offend any other "dog nannies" in the line behind me but, come on, world. People are losing their jobs, being bankrupted by healthcare bills and now is the time to enlist the help of a DOG NANNY? Ugh.
Salon owner: You said on the phone he was in good shape. But this isn't good shape (she says as she rolls over Dog #1 and starts picking through his fur) See? Right here, he's got mattes all over his belly. I would have to use conditioner on them and the time it would take to do that--it would be too expensive.
BF owner: Well, I'm not feeling the same thing your feeling. Can you just shave them?
Salon owner: I can't even comb through them. We don't like to do that because it's painful for the dogs.
BF: Oh.
Meanwhile, a line of various miniatures and owners is developing behind us and of course, they are all terrified of my borrowed dog because he is big and black (stereotypes exist in the dog world as well), despite the fact that his demeanor is about as fiery as Clifford. So, we get up there and the owner seems relieved.
Salon Owner: So, we also brush teeth for $3 and drain glands for $5. Are you intersted.
Me: (note: I never want to sign anyone up for gland drain) Um. I can't say, I know he's scheduled for a shampoo. I'm not the owner.
Salon Owner: (Nodding) I understand. (smiling) Are you the nanny?
Me: (WTF? People have DOG NANNIES?? Do I look like a dog nanny?) Nope. We're just friends.
How are you supposed to answer that? I didn't want to offend any other "dog nannies" in the line behind me but, come on, world. People are losing their jobs, being bankrupted by healthcare bills and now is the time to enlist the help of a DOG NANNY? Ugh.
Saturday, September 6, 2008
Absurdities, etc.
I just recalled, while trolling Gawker and avoiding doing things I should be doing, that I had a dream that I was BFF with Julia Allison. It was really annoying. I think she kept stealing my clothes or something. This is kind of funny to me, because I used to be the champion of having dreams with celebrity guest appearances--but generally they were of the Madonna, Gwyneth Paltrow variety. Not people famous only because of their aptitude to cash in on a college affair they had with a state senator. Gak, life is getting so absurd. Not surreal, absurd.
Speaking of absurd, I just saw this story on an eighties trend that is coming back on Style.com and nearly spit out my coffee (yes, I'm still drinking coffee at 1 p.m.)
And, horror of horrors, Darth Vader Unmasked recently talked smack about Richmond. Now, I admit that we are not a bustling metropolis down here, but to somehow infer that we here are somehow on equal footing with um, towns in Alaska is just plain offensive. I actually got my feathers ruffled like a proper Richmonder. I probably even yelled at the televsion in a southern accent. But enough about DVU.
Sooo, it seems that P-town has been backburnered indefinitely for us. However, we have come up with a Plan B: Chicago. It fits many of our needs: city, art, affordable, intersting, top tier city, etc. without bankrupting us or driving us too far from family and friends. The major downside is that winters are absoultely freeze your face off, but since summers here are melt your eyelashes into your face, I figure it's a fair trade off. So, we will be accepting any references, comments, advice.
I feel like, in retrospect, I will think of 2008 as a year where a lot of things were on pause. I never do well in an even-numbered year. So, woo-hoo 2009!
Speaking of absurd, I just saw this story on an eighties trend that is coming back on Style.com and nearly spit out my coffee (yes, I'm still drinking coffee at 1 p.m.)
And, horror of horrors, Darth Vader Unmasked recently talked smack about Richmond. Now, I admit that we are not a bustling metropolis down here, but to somehow infer that we here are somehow on equal footing with um, towns in Alaska is just plain offensive. I actually got my feathers ruffled like a proper Richmonder. I probably even yelled at the televsion in a southern accent. But enough about DVU.
Sooo, it seems that P-town has been backburnered indefinitely for us. However, we have come up with a Plan B: Chicago. It fits many of our needs: city, art, affordable, intersting, top tier city, etc. without bankrupting us or driving us too far from family and friends. The major downside is that winters are absoultely freeze your face off, but since summers here are melt your eyelashes into your face, I figure it's a fair trade off. So, we will be accepting any references, comments, advice.
I feel like, in retrospect, I will think of 2008 as a year where a lot of things were on pause. I never do well in an even-numbered year. So, woo-hoo 2009!
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Summer Ennui: Continued
My lord. I have waited so long to post I have now attended a SECOND wedding in Detroit. It was lovely and very metropolitan. Naysayers think Detroit has nothing left to give, but give me a beautiful skyline and an "athletic club" stolen straight off the "Gossip Girl" set and I'm there.
I've been feeling very antsy as of late. Portland seems relatively stalled for various reasons, some valid, some logistics (but when are logistics ever anything but a hurdle?) procrastination-related. Sometimes I think moving is an addiction. I guess then the metaphor would be the "score" being finding a new place to obsess about, contemplate and conquer. I have done all three in this city and am in need of a new obsession. But, the idea of packing up our wagons seems to big to think about. I wish Craigslist had a whole package deal for moving--transport, housing and moving fees like Expedia.
Bah!
We saw "Vicky, Christina, Barcelona" and it was pretty good. Unfortunately, Mr. Allen (along with many others before him) was not able to completely nail the character of the level-headed female. It's like he could only infuse her with annoying, rigid characteristics as opposed to recognizing that she could be both levelheaded and likeable. I cannot get enough of Javier and Penelope. They were awesome. I was never much a fan of Ms. Cruz after the "Owe-pen yore eyez" debacle performance in the American version of "Vanilla Sky." But, after a couple Almodovar films and seeing her act in Spanish, I forgive her. ScarJo's performance was nothing new--would anyone else like to see her play something other than a sex kitten? I kind of miss her oddball performances in "The Man Who Wasn't There" and "Ghost World." It also kind of creeps me out how crazy in love Woody Allen is with her. And, every other old man over the age of 50. The m movie theater here that shows the "independent" films is always chock full of upwardly mobile retirees who absolutely FLOCK to W.A. films like they are giving away free popcorn. The place was packed. What was really funny was that during a scene where a lesbian encounter is described the woman behind me just gasped "Oh, no!" Good times with the moderately conservative.
Until next time. . .
I've been feeling very antsy as of late. Portland seems relatively stalled for various reasons, some valid, some logistics (but when are logistics ever anything but a hurdle?) procrastination-related. Sometimes I think moving is an addiction. I guess then the metaphor would be the "score" being finding a new place to obsess about, contemplate and conquer. I have done all three in this city and am in need of a new obsession. But, the idea of packing up our wagons seems to big to think about. I wish Craigslist had a whole package deal for moving--transport, housing and moving fees like Expedia.
Bah!
We saw "Vicky, Christina, Barcelona" and it was pretty good. Unfortunately, Mr. Allen (along with many others before him) was not able to completely nail the character of the level-headed female. It's like he could only infuse her with annoying, rigid characteristics as opposed to recognizing that she could be both levelheaded and likeable. I cannot get enough of Javier and Penelope. They were awesome. I was never much a fan of Ms. Cruz after the "Owe-pen yore eyez" debacle performance in the American version of "Vanilla Sky." But, after a couple Almodovar films and seeing her act in Spanish, I forgive her. ScarJo's performance was nothing new--would anyone else like to see her play something other than a sex kitten? I kind of miss her oddball performances in "The Man Who Wasn't There" and "Ghost World." It also kind of creeps me out how crazy in love Woody Allen is with her. And, every other old man over the age of 50. The m movie theater here that shows the "independent" films is always chock full of upwardly mobile retirees who absolutely FLOCK to W.A. films like they are giving away free popcorn. The place was packed. What was really funny was that during a scene where a lesbian encounter is described the woman behind me just gasped "Oh, no!" Good times with the moderately conservative.
Until next time. . .
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Wedding Cake and Toothache. . .
I'm sure I'm one of the few people who nearly shouted with glee when reading this headline today. Perhaps we can hit re-set and go back to the world before 1998 when Starbucks took over the world and people drank good coffee that didn't taste like caffeinated burnt dog hair. To be completely honest, it's not simply the coffee that makes me postal, but the customers in the store and their ridiculous demands that sound like some language from hell's kitchen. I'm sure we will find that Starbucks only exacerbated OCD and narcissistic tendencies in the populus.
But enough about that. It has been relatively quiet here on the Southeastern front. I have started a new fitness regimen as I do every summer when I realize that being pale is like wearing white pants all the time, so unless I create an optical illusion around my body or use copious amounts of self-tanner, i should probably knock off a few pounds. This was only exacerbated when I tried on a dress for Sarah's wedding which made me look like a bloated Samantha Jones. Not the look I was going for. Since I feel this blog is often too wordy, here's a photo of the dress I chose in the end (that's my partner in crime, Alicia, on the left):
Unfortunately, you can't see the shoes. I love them. If I could display them at all times, I would. If I were ever on "Dress My Nest," they would be one of my "key items." That much is how much I love them. So much that I will give them their own photo:
The description: Classy heel with crystal accent When your goal is cute but classy, aim for the Nina Cameka. Its elegant profile is a perfect match for all your upcoming affairs. The crossover open toe features a stylish squared accent, dotted with crystals, and a mid-height heel is confident and graceful.
I like to think of myself as classy with a crystal accent--a not-so-distant cousin to the other Russian and Eastern European ladies I battle with in the shoe aisle at DSW.
The wedding was wonderful and low-key and pretty (same to be said for the bride). I gave a speech and somehow made it a big shout-out about my hometown of Dearborn. I think I just need to step away from the microphone. I'm always so excited to say something profound and then I just get all gummed up and probably talk too fast, etc.
Probably because Sarah is one of my best friends who I have known longest--since junior high (imagine Freaks & Geeks twisted with Welcome to the Dollhouse and that was my junior high experience), through college, adulthood to now that I felt all choked up--like I was the mother of the bride or something. I swear, when I got to the Ritz (yes, Dearborn has one) to meet her to get ready before the wedding, I had more stuff than she did! I became bridezilla--demanding a cart from the bellhop for my 15 bags of everything from emergency food (I believe the only occasion that strawberries and champagne fall into this category), plus any other item I could think we might need (see: Altoids, Shout! Wipes, sewing kit, super glue, duct tape, etc.), saying things like "Be careful with that, I'm in a wedding!" Not to mention the day before when we were supposed to be helping her find shoes, etc. and Alicia and I both managed to make the day "about us," getting makeovers at Sephora, finding shoes for myself, etc. I started to feel like that character on SNL who always has to one-up people.
Example 1:
Sarah: I really need to find shoes for my WEDDING DAY which is TOMORROW.
Me: I need shoes too. I don't like the ones I brought. Hey, l'll be over at the sale rack.
Example 2:
Sarah: Do you think I need pearls?
Me: Maybe I should get a necklace. Do you think I need a necklace? Oh! Look at these earrings!
In the end, we got everything we needed, she made it down the aisle and looked beautiful doing so.
Check out her cake:
It was seriously the best tasting wedding cake I've ever had and so unique! I think it looked like something Thomas Jefferson would have had at Monticello. Of course, he would have taken credit for baking it and inventing the cake. It was beautiful.
Alright, I think those are all of my updates.
Has anyone been struck with so much boredom that they have watched "Tori & Dean: Home Sweet Hollywood"? Well, I will be the first to tell you that they are a very sweet couple--believable and zany--and if Tori Spelling lived here I would totally be her friend. That is what happens in Richmond in the summer--you turn on the AC and watch Oxygen! until your soul cries out. . .
But enough about that. It has been relatively quiet here on the Southeastern front. I have started a new fitness regimen as I do every summer when I realize that being pale is like wearing white pants all the time, so unless I create an optical illusion around my body or use copious amounts of self-tanner, i should probably knock off a few pounds. This was only exacerbated when I tried on a dress for Sarah's wedding which made me look like a bloated Samantha Jones. Not the look I was going for. Since I feel this blog is often too wordy, here's a photo of the dress I chose in the end (that's my partner in crime, Alicia, on the left):
Unfortunately, you can't see the shoes. I love them. If I could display them at all times, I would. If I were ever on "Dress My Nest," they would be one of my "key items." That much is how much I love them. So much that I will give them their own photo:
The description: Classy heel with crystal accent When your goal is cute but classy, aim for the Nina Cameka. Its elegant profile is a perfect match for all your upcoming affairs. The crossover open toe features a stylish squared accent, dotted with crystals, and a mid-height heel is confident and graceful.I like to think of myself as classy with a crystal accent--a not-so-distant cousin to the other Russian and Eastern European ladies I battle with in the shoe aisle at DSW.
The wedding was wonderful and low-key and pretty (same to be said for the bride). I gave a speech and somehow made it a big shout-out about my hometown of Dearborn. I think I just need to step away from the microphone. I'm always so excited to say something profound and then I just get all gummed up and probably talk too fast, etc.
Probably because Sarah is one of my best friends who I have known longest--since junior high (imagine Freaks & Geeks twisted with Welcome to the Dollhouse and that was my junior high experience), through college, adulthood to now that I felt all choked up--like I was the mother of the bride or something. I swear, when I got to the Ritz (yes, Dearborn has one) to meet her to get ready before the wedding, I had more stuff than she did! I became bridezilla--demanding a cart from the bellhop for my 15 bags of everything from emergency food (I believe the only occasion that strawberries and champagne fall into this category), plus any other item I could think we might need (see: Altoids, Shout! Wipes, sewing kit, super glue, duct tape, etc.), saying things like "Be careful with that, I'm in a wedding!" Not to mention the day before when we were supposed to be helping her find shoes, etc. and Alicia and I both managed to make the day "about us," getting makeovers at Sephora, finding shoes for myself, etc. I started to feel like that character on SNL who always has to one-up people.
Example 1:
Sarah: I really need to find shoes for my WEDDING DAY which is TOMORROW.
Me: I need shoes too. I don't like the ones I brought. Hey, l'll be over at the sale rack.
Example 2:
Sarah: Do you think I need pearls?
Me: Maybe I should get a necklace. Do you think I need a necklace? Oh! Look at these earrings!
In the end, we got everything we needed, she made it down the aisle and looked beautiful doing so.
Check out her cake:
It was seriously the best tasting wedding cake I've ever had and so unique! I think it looked like something Thomas Jefferson would have had at Monticello. Of course, he would have taken credit for baking it and inventing the cake. It was beautiful.
Alright, I think those are all of my updates.
Has anyone been struck with so much boredom that they have watched "Tori & Dean: Home Sweet Hollywood"? Well, I will be the first to tell you that they are a very sweet couple--believable and zany--and if Tori Spelling lived here I would totally be her friend. That is what happens in Richmond in the summer--you turn on the AC and watch Oxygen! until your soul cries out. . .
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Desk vs. Dishes
I love Sundays. Take that Morrissey! I used to love Friday night, because it meant the whole weekend was ahead of me, but now I love Sunday because it means the weekend is behind me. Saturday, not so much. Saturday is guilty chore day from what you didnt' do during the week. I try to fight it off, to NOT do the dishes, to NOT watch Style network and get inspired by decorating projects that will never happen, to NOT clean the apartment, to NOT fret about going to the grocery store, to NOT think "I should really clean the kitchen floor," to NOT go shopping for thing I don't really need, to NOT worry so much about the aforementioned items. Ugh, Saturday.
The reality I have been facing lately--well, actually, the last five years when I finally decided that I would actually spend time writing than just secretly thinking about it--is that I have to use my spare time editing, writing, staring at whatever I've written. I have found it really difficult to not let all the "should be doing" stuff get in the way. It's as if my days are parceled out into hours that could be spent doing chores, or doing something that would make me feel better. Lately, I've been feeling like I'm a jack-of-all-trades but a master of none. And, in trying to break that negative-thinking style, I've been more aware of being proactive. Especially when I take into account that DG would rather see me happy than a tidy apartment. For that alone, I love him exponentially. Which is why, while he has been on assignment across-the-pond, I have been thinking "What would DG do?" It has been quite helpful in realizing that folding t-shirts is not a necessity before writing.
When I went to Key West for the writer's group, the one thing that both depressed (and inspired me, I suppose) was that 7 out of the 10 women in the workshop were 60 or over. Granted, it was in Key West, the idea being to attract women of this age group--retirees with expendable income. But, from my experience in writing groups and what I've heard from others, this is pretty much the norm for women writers. Many of them are really fantastic writers who have yet to be published, some of them have never even tried. I mean, if your writing is good enough to get you into the Breadloaf Writers Conference, then you are probably highly publishable.
The one common thread I've heard is that they never could find the time to write while they were working and/or raising their children. Completely understandable, but really a reality check for me at the same time. As DG so eloquently said to me during one of his rousing pep talks, "The only deadline you have is death." Perhaps a dark metaphor, but true. Anyway, I found this discovery depressing because all of these women, liberated, educated women, still had all of the other stuff to do before they could sit down at their desks. I will spare you my "Room of One's Own" update on the subject. Granted, this was a different generation and some of them had husbands who supported them financially, others did not and there were different expectations than today (somewhat). But even the most supportive of husbands still left the brunt of child rearing, household duties to their wives. Apparently, one woman who had two small children and signed up for a writing workshop with a Well Known Author was told by WKA that she would "Have to choose between kids and writing." Seriously, what is this "Sophies Choice?"
It struck a chord with me because I know my mother faced the same challenges and she is really a big source of inspiration for me. If ever anyone deserved their own column in the New York Times, or Oprah-like following, it was her. But I digress--it's infuriating to me when when I think of the innumerable men of their same generation and younger who did not even have to consider those challenges. Somehow, they managed to get their wives to go to work so they could stoke the fires of their genius (see: William Styron, Raymond Carver). I mean, good for them for having a spouse willing to do that, but I bet that 90% of those authors never felt one iota of guilt for not cleaning the kichen floor or getting to the carpool on time.
I had lunch with some of the women from my local writer's group (2 Hillary Generation, 2 of us Obama) and one of them shed some great light on the subject--she said that all of that "should do" stuff before you start writing is really just your ego getting in the way. It's what makes you feel that you aren't accomplishing all you can. I sometimes think that that mechanism is more honed in women. I know that DG doesn't need the dishes clean before he sits down and does his work. Or, maybe some of us are just more OCD than others, or just need to feel everything is in its place before starting a new project. Or, maybe it's just an excuse to never write. Over the years, the more guys I talk to who write--and wear it proudly on their sleeve--and women who write, the differences between their emotional connection to why and how they write is vast.
What I've tried to do is make writing a necessity like working out. I won't even go into the essay on "Why I Hate the Idea of Working Out But Enjoy the Results," but I just have to think of it in the back of my head at all times, like a mantra. Like, "I could sit on the couch right now and watch the last episode of The Hills and pretend that I'm critically analyzing it in terms of pop culture, or, I could write."
The reality I have been facing lately--well, actually, the last five years when I finally decided that I would actually spend time writing than just secretly thinking about it--is that I have to use my spare time editing, writing, staring at whatever I've written. I have found it really difficult to not let all the "should be doing" stuff get in the way. It's as if my days are parceled out into hours that could be spent doing chores, or doing something that would make me feel better. Lately, I've been feeling like I'm a jack-of-all-trades but a master of none. And, in trying to break that negative-thinking style, I've been more aware of being proactive. Especially when I take into account that DG would rather see me happy than a tidy apartment. For that alone, I love him exponentially. Which is why, while he has been on assignment across-the-pond, I have been thinking "What would DG do?" It has been quite helpful in realizing that folding t-shirts is not a necessity before writing.
When I went to Key West for the writer's group, the one thing that both depressed (and inspired me, I suppose) was that 7 out of the 10 women in the workshop were 60 or over. Granted, it was in Key West, the idea being to attract women of this age group--retirees with expendable income. But, from my experience in writing groups and what I've heard from others, this is pretty much the norm for women writers. Many of them are really fantastic writers who have yet to be published, some of them have never even tried. I mean, if your writing is good enough to get you into the Breadloaf Writers Conference, then you are probably highly publishable.
The one common thread I've heard is that they never could find the time to write while they were working and/or raising their children. Completely understandable, but really a reality check for me at the same time. As DG so eloquently said to me during one of his rousing pep talks, "The only deadline you have is death." Perhaps a dark metaphor, but true. Anyway, I found this discovery depressing because all of these women, liberated, educated women, still had all of the other stuff to do before they could sit down at their desks. I will spare you my "Room of One's Own" update on the subject. Granted, this was a different generation and some of them had husbands who supported them financially, others did not and there were different expectations than today (somewhat). But even the most supportive of husbands still left the brunt of child rearing, household duties to their wives. Apparently, one woman who had two small children and signed up for a writing workshop with a Well Known Author was told by WKA that she would "Have to choose between kids and writing." Seriously, what is this "Sophies Choice?"
It struck a chord with me because I know my mother faced the same challenges and she is really a big source of inspiration for me. If ever anyone deserved their own column in the New York Times, or Oprah-like following, it was her. But I digress--it's infuriating to me when when I think of the innumerable men of their same generation and younger who did not even have to consider those challenges. Somehow, they managed to get their wives to go to work so they could stoke the fires of their genius (see: William Styron, Raymond Carver). I mean, good for them for having a spouse willing to do that, but I bet that 90% of those authors never felt one iota of guilt for not cleaning the kichen floor or getting to the carpool on time.
I had lunch with some of the women from my local writer's group (2 Hillary Generation, 2 of us Obama) and one of them shed some great light on the subject--she said that all of that "should do" stuff before you start writing is really just your ego getting in the way. It's what makes you feel that you aren't accomplishing all you can. I sometimes think that that mechanism is more honed in women. I know that DG doesn't need the dishes clean before he sits down and does his work. Or, maybe some of us are just more OCD than others, or just need to feel everything is in its place before starting a new project. Or, maybe it's just an excuse to never write. Over the years, the more guys I talk to who write--and wear it proudly on their sleeve--and women who write, the differences between their emotional connection to why and how they write is vast.
What I've tried to do is make writing a necessity like working out. I won't even go into the essay on "Why I Hate the Idea of Working Out But Enjoy the Results," but I just have to think of it in the back of my head at all times, like a mantra. Like, "I could sit on the couch right now and watch the last episode of The Hills and pretend that I'm critically analyzing it in terms of pop culture, or, I could write."
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Summer Travels
I have returned from various travels:
1. England to visit DG's family, some for the very first time. I heart England. I have since Beatrix Potter days, but now that I have a real, live, loved one from the place--and English in-laws to boot--I heart it even more. How can you not love a place that invented Cadbury chocolate? We toured Cadbury World. We also toured this crazy manor home where the owner loved to "collect stuffed animals." By stuffed, they really mean TAXIDERMIED, and I can only thank the lord above that I was not born during Victorian era because if I had to sit in a parlor that featured a small monkey wearing a suit walking a possum-like creature, I would have certainly been put in the insane asylum.
All that aside, the family was so much fun and bent over backwards to cart my "I can't drive on that side of the road!" American butt around. and, paid with their powerful GBPs so I did not bankrupt myself touring Shakespeare's house. I will say that museums, attractions, etc. are so much better organized in the UK and Europe. Cadbury World could probably compete with The Smithsonian in terms of useful information (if you don't count the weird rainforest exhibit), and the Shakespeare House/Trust was very well organized so that you had many things to look at as you waited in line to see the actual house.
Say what you will about English food, but they've got us on organization and design of small spaces. The toilet on the train felt like the future, if that gives you any indication. Maybe because it's a smaller country it can do more futuristic and forward-thinking things like, having a Boots pharmacy in the airport AFTER you go through security? That Boots saved my sinus-infected self on my flight back.
Also, we went to Wembley for the US vs. England "friendly" match. I was afraid to root for the U.S. for fear of being booed, but since the closest seatmate was a pudgy 13-year-old boy, I figured I could take him if he got mouthy. And, after Kelly Rowland (Destiny's Child) sang the national anthem and I believe had her microphone intentionally cut by our hosts, I felt quite pro-U.S. You can say what you will, but you do not screw up the sound when a Destiny's Child is singing. There are rules, people!
There are NO RULES however, when it comes to the Top Shop in Oxford Circus. Yowza. It was like Forever 21 on steroids mixed in with lots of neon. Oh, and don't forget to double the price of everything in the store so it's no longer a bargain for Yanks like me. Boo, currency conversion!
All in all, I got to meet all of Daryl's relatives (near and distant), drank way too much tea and discovered that the English really do mean business about their gardens. I always thought it was a stereotype. I was wrong.
The weirdest part of the trip was that not that much is different than it is here. Aside from the driving, and ample use of public transportation, of course. For instance, we went to see the new Indiana Jones movie in a nearby town, and the movie theater was part of this mini-mall that consisted of a bowling alley, a restaurant called Tish & Tom's (ala Max & Erma's) or something, and lots of teenagers milling around a huge parking lot. Hello, U.S. suburbs? it was the weirdest thing ever, I thought I had stepped into an alternate universe where I was in a U.S. mall-park, but everyone spoke with an English accent. Is nothing sacred? Is the rest of the world slowly turning into suburban Ohio?
But, that's my only complaint.
Next update. . . wedding in Detroit
1. England to visit DG's family, some for the very first time. I heart England. I have since Beatrix Potter days, but now that I have a real, live, loved one from the place--and English in-laws to boot--I heart it even more. How can you not love a place that invented Cadbury chocolate? We toured Cadbury World. We also toured this crazy manor home where the owner loved to "collect stuffed animals." By stuffed, they really mean TAXIDERMIED, and I can only thank the lord above that I was not born during Victorian era because if I had to sit in a parlor that featured a small monkey wearing a suit walking a possum-like creature, I would have certainly been put in the insane asylum.
All that aside, the family was so much fun and bent over backwards to cart my "I can't drive on that side of the road!" American butt around. and, paid with their powerful GBPs so I did not bankrupt myself touring Shakespeare's house. I will say that museums, attractions, etc. are so much better organized in the UK and Europe. Cadbury World could probably compete with The Smithsonian in terms of useful information (if you don't count the weird rainforest exhibit), and the Shakespeare House/Trust was very well organized so that you had many things to look at as you waited in line to see the actual house.
Say what you will about English food, but they've got us on organization and design of small spaces. The toilet on the train felt like the future, if that gives you any indication. Maybe because it's a smaller country it can do more futuristic and forward-thinking things like, having a Boots pharmacy in the airport AFTER you go through security? That Boots saved my sinus-infected self on my flight back.
Also, we went to Wembley for the US vs. England "friendly" match. I was afraid to root for the U.S. for fear of being booed, but since the closest seatmate was a pudgy 13-year-old boy, I figured I could take him if he got mouthy. And, after Kelly Rowland (Destiny's Child) sang the national anthem and I believe had her microphone intentionally cut by our hosts, I felt quite pro-U.S. You can say what you will, but you do not screw up the sound when a Destiny's Child is singing. There are rules, people!
There are NO RULES however, when it comes to the Top Shop in Oxford Circus. Yowza. It was like Forever 21 on steroids mixed in with lots of neon. Oh, and don't forget to double the price of everything in the store so it's no longer a bargain for Yanks like me. Boo, currency conversion!
All in all, I got to meet all of Daryl's relatives (near and distant), drank way too much tea and discovered that the English really do mean business about their gardens. I always thought it was a stereotype. I was wrong.
The weirdest part of the trip was that not that much is different than it is here. Aside from the driving, and ample use of public transportation, of course. For instance, we went to see the new Indiana Jones movie in a nearby town, and the movie theater was part of this mini-mall that consisted of a bowling alley, a restaurant called Tish & Tom's (ala Max & Erma's) or something, and lots of teenagers milling around a huge parking lot. Hello, U.S. suburbs? it was the weirdest thing ever, I thought I had stepped into an alternate universe where I was in a U.S. mall-park, but everyone spoke with an English accent. Is nothing sacred? Is the rest of the world slowly turning into suburban Ohio?
But, that's my only complaint.
Next update. . . wedding in Detroit
Saturday, April 5, 2008
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
It's Spring Again. . .
So much has happened!
1. I quit my job! That's right, threw the hat right in the ring and said "Enough!" Since I was having many delusional scenes right out of "9 to 5" and making metaphors comaring the situation to "Grey Gardens," "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" and "Network" you can imagine what it had become. Of course, being a true Taurean "I hate change," I made sure to have a new job lined up. So, good-bye arts, hello hi-tech PR!
2. I went to the writer's conference in a very balmy climate. I can't say it was much different from this as I was the youngest person there by about 25 years, but it was fairly informative and I got some good feedback. We had many of the expected personalities including, people trying to write thinly guised stories about their own lives featuring: incest, the decrepit state of the aging female body mixed in with images of monkeys running around temples, horrifying forays into the female psyche and kind of boring prose about divorce. Overall, it was an experience with a capital "E" and I think I now officially have enough material to write endlessly, without pause. Oh, and the first night in our French B&B I had to call 9-1-1 on our neighbors. On a brighter note several of the ladies were still rockin' a sassy attitude and gave me an interesting insight: women are more like they were in their 20s (depending on friends, loving independence, sassy about men) when they are in their 60s. Now that was refreshing and gives me something to look forward to.
3. I quit my job! What an experience. It was like breaking up with someone--long, drawn out, exhausting and like carrying around a dead weight. And I only gave 2 weeks notice!
4. "The Hills" has returned and I am going to watch it without guilt.
5. It's spring!
1. I quit my job! That's right, threw the hat right in the ring and said "Enough!" Since I was having many delusional scenes right out of "9 to 5" and making metaphors comaring the situation to "Grey Gardens," "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" and "Network" you can imagine what it had become. Of course, being a true Taurean "I hate change," I made sure to have a new job lined up. So, good-bye arts, hello hi-tech PR!
2. I went to the writer's conference in a very balmy climate. I can't say it was much different from this as I was the youngest person there by about 25 years, but it was fairly informative and I got some good feedback. We had many of the expected personalities including, people trying to write thinly guised stories about their own lives featuring: incest, the decrepit state of the aging female body mixed in with images of monkeys running around temples, horrifying forays into the female psyche and kind of boring prose about divorce. Overall, it was an experience with a capital "E" and I think I now officially have enough material to write endlessly, without pause. Oh, and the first night in our French B&B I had to call 9-1-1 on our neighbors. On a brighter note several of the ladies were still rockin' a sassy attitude and gave me an interesting insight: women are more like they were in their 20s (depending on friends, loving independence, sassy about men) when they are in their 60s. Now that was refreshing and gives me something to look forward to.
3. I quit my job! What an experience. It was like breaking up with someone--long, drawn out, exhausting and like carrying around a dead weight. And I only gave 2 weeks notice!
4. "The Hills" has returned and I am going to watch it without guilt.
5. It's spring!
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Portland!
So, Portland!
We just returned and so far the biggest downside is/was the 6-hour flight. But that won't matter much if we live there, right?
The Flight: InFlight Trivia kicks ass! I had no idea it even existed until DG informed me that he played for hours on his flight. Basically, it is touch screen trivia and you compete against other players on the plane. Let's just say that PHLLIP in 28D ate my dust. It was the most highly addictive game ever played and when we touched down in Portland I was at the top of the heap, literally. What's awesome about the game is a) it's trivia which I love and b)it shows you who in what row is getting what right (or wrong) and c)it is not unlike the empty superiority felt on being in the 90th percentile on pointless standardized tests.
I spent the entire flight defending my reign, gritting my teeth and internally shaking my fist at the upstart in 33B trying to out-trivia me. I will say that, as in life, Science & Technology kicked my butt and I was kind of embarassed to answer completely absurdly because I coudl see my neighbor playing as well. I tried to shrug it off with snorts or nodding and muttering "Oh, that's right. . ." when a correct answer for how many moons orbit Pluto, or what common kitchen product CIl represents (see, i can't even make up chemicals) trumped my insanely incorrect guess. But you can bet your bottom dollar I was racking up points when "Choose the real name of Elvis Costello" came up. Thank the lord there are no trivia tables in Vegas because I would be there bankrupting my future.
The Baggage Claim: You can always get a good read on a populus at the baggage claim. First thoughts--every guy looks like a hybrid of the musician/actor guy from "Once" and there is a lot of fleece and rugged sensible shoes. But I stood my own in my arch-damaging ballet flats.
The Look of the City (at night): Under the cloak of darkness and jet lag, the topography and architecture/layout of the neighborhoods we whizzed through resembled a wild hybrid (tribrid?) of Los Angeles/Seattle/Vancouver/The Set of Northern Exposure (but I think that was due to the use of tin and wood building that look vaguely ski-townesque).
The Houses: So many Four-Squares, Craftsman and Arts & Crafts bungalows my head is spinning. Generally speaking, my favorite style of architecture, probably because of being inundated with those styles from various t.v. shows set on the West Coast (see: Dylan's bungalow on 90210, the house the kids lived in on Party of Five, etc.) Anyway, all I could keep saying was "I love the architecture!" And, truly, they do a great job of mixing it up with ranches, Victorians, etc.
The People: As predicted, heavy fleece, light to moderate hipsters (lots of ankle boots, assymetrical haricuts and leggings), lots of 40-something ladies with toddlers and/or long grey hair. Not that there's anything wrong with that. And, by and large, the highest number of redheads per capita. Seriously, more than Ireland (and yes, I know that the redhead is not the norm in Ireland). Overall, everyone was super-friendly--from the Simpson's comic book guy cab driver who's greeting was "Do you mind if I don't turn on the meter? I just want to check on this homeless dude I know who I think may have been getting beat up across the street" to coffee shop baristas to waitresses to, well, just about everyone.
The Weather: It only drizzled one day. The rest of the time was sunny/cloudy.
The Coffee: excellent. Actually, too excellent as I completely over-did it the first day with two cups of coffe and a cappucino and was twitching out of my skin by 2pm. I had no idea (though I should have) that it was such a coffee town. I guess it goes along with the rain.
Other fun FAQs--you can't pump your own gas in Portland, you must have an attendant do so. And, no sales tax! Unfortunately, the income tax is high but at least there is public transportation, no urban sprawl and a view of the mountains, right? Also, the museums are free! And, I noticed a Chanel boutique as well as Louis Vuitton downtown. Not that I would ever purchase anything from either store, but I feel comfortable just knowing they are in the vicinity--it lends a certain sophistication to a city. Speaking of shopping--the Hawthorne District had tons of very cool resale/consignment shops chock full of mid-century modern furniture.
Prognosis: Positive!
We just returned and so far the biggest downside is/was the 6-hour flight. But that won't matter much if we live there, right?
The Flight: InFlight Trivia kicks ass! I had no idea it even existed until DG informed me that he played for hours on his flight. Basically, it is touch screen trivia and you compete against other players on the plane. Let's just say that PHLLIP in 28D ate my dust. It was the most highly addictive game ever played and when we touched down in Portland I was at the top of the heap, literally. What's awesome about the game is a) it's trivia which I love and b)it shows you who in what row is getting what right (or wrong) and c)it is not unlike the empty superiority felt on being in the 90th percentile on pointless standardized tests.
I spent the entire flight defending my reign, gritting my teeth and internally shaking my fist at the upstart in 33B trying to out-trivia me. I will say that, as in life, Science & Technology kicked my butt and I was kind of embarassed to answer completely absurdly because I coudl see my neighbor playing as well. I tried to shrug it off with snorts or nodding and muttering "Oh, that's right. . ." when a correct answer for how many moons orbit Pluto, or what common kitchen product CIl represents (see, i can't even make up chemicals) trumped my insanely incorrect guess. But you can bet your bottom dollar I was racking up points when "Choose the real name of Elvis Costello" came up. Thank the lord there are no trivia tables in Vegas because I would be there bankrupting my future.
The Baggage Claim: You can always get a good read on a populus at the baggage claim. First thoughts--every guy looks like a hybrid of the musician/actor guy from "Once" and there is a lot of fleece and rugged sensible shoes. But I stood my own in my arch-damaging ballet flats.
The Look of the City (at night): Under the cloak of darkness and jet lag, the topography and architecture/layout of the neighborhoods we whizzed through resembled a wild hybrid (tribrid?) of Los Angeles/Seattle/Vancouver/The Set of Northern Exposure (but I think that was due to the use of tin and wood building that look vaguely ski-townesque).
The Houses: So many Four-Squares, Craftsman and Arts & Crafts bungalows my head is spinning. Generally speaking, my favorite style of architecture, probably because of being inundated with those styles from various t.v. shows set on the West Coast (see: Dylan's bungalow on 90210, the house the kids lived in on Party of Five, etc.) Anyway, all I could keep saying was "I love the architecture!" And, truly, they do a great job of mixing it up with ranches, Victorians, etc.
The People: As predicted, heavy fleece, light to moderate hipsters (lots of ankle boots, assymetrical haricuts and leggings), lots of 40-something ladies with toddlers and/or long grey hair. Not that there's anything wrong with that. And, by and large, the highest number of redheads per capita. Seriously, more than Ireland (and yes, I know that the redhead is not the norm in Ireland). Overall, everyone was super-friendly--from the Simpson's comic book guy cab driver who's greeting was "Do you mind if I don't turn on the meter? I just want to check on this homeless dude I know who I think may have been getting beat up across the street" to coffee shop baristas to waitresses to, well, just about everyone.
The Weather: It only drizzled one day. The rest of the time was sunny/cloudy.
The Coffee: excellent. Actually, too excellent as I completely over-did it the first day with two cups of coffe and a cappucino and was twitching out of my skin by 2pm. I had no idea (though I should have) that it was such a coffee town. I guess it goes along with the rain.
Other fun FAQs--you can't pump your own gas in Portland, you must have an attendant do so. And, no sales tax! Unfortunately, the income tax is high but at least there is public transportation, no urban sprawl and a view of the mountains, right? Also, the museums are free! And, I noticed a Chanel boutique as well as Louis Vuitton downtown. Not that I would ever purchase anything from either store, but I feel comfortable just knowing they are in the vicinity--it lends a certain sophistication to a city. Speaking of shopping--the Hawthorne District had tons of very cool resale/consignment shops chock full of mid-century modern furniture.
Prognosis: Positive!
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Apocalypse Now?
Someone gave Chloe Sevigny her own fashion line. I've tried closing my eyes and chanting "It's not real, it's not real, it's not real" over and over again, but alas, it is real. Behold:
Monday, March 3, 2008
Too Much Animal Nitrate?
Surfing gossip, just came across this picture of Winona Ryder and her fiancé Blake Sennett??
So, full disclosure, the guy is the guitarist for Rilo Kiley, a band that I cannot fathom the popularity of nor even listen to for a nanosecond. Their song "Moneymaker" sounds like some godawful rehash from a mediocre bar band from 1998. Every time I hear it, I have to turn the station immediately. Second, does he not look like a weird version of Truman Capote crossed with Brett Anderson from Suede?
+
She looks phenomenal, but I fear she has been trapped in a time warp where Brit Pop rules and side parts are all the rage. Okay, that might be now, but they just look too samey. You know, like when this happened with Brad and Gwyneth:
Can you believe that time ever existed?
Okay, enough celebrity garbage for now. I’ve been researching things to do in Portland and I am completely overwhelmed by the interesting things to visit/do/see. First of all, the Northwest Film Center looks completely cool and just the mere thought of a film center complete with theater and retrospectives on Robert Altman makes my heart skip a beat. Viva change!
So, full disclosure, the guy is the guitarist for Rilo Kiley, a band that I cannot fathom the popularity of nor even listen to for a nanosecond. Their song "Moneymaker" sounds like some godawful rehash from a mediocre bar band from 1998. Every time I hear it, I have to turn the station immediately. Second, does he not look like a weird version of Truman Capote crossed with Brett Anderson from Suede?
+
She looks phenomenal, but I fear she has been trapped in a time warp where Brit Pop rules and side parts are all the rage. Okay, that might be now, but they just look too samey. You know, like when this happened with Brad and Gwyneth:
Can you believe that time ever existed?
Okay, enough celebrity garbage for now. I’ve been researching things to do in Portland and I am completely overwhelmed by the interesting things to visit/do/see. First of all, the Northwest Film Center looks completely cool and just the mere thought of a film center complete with theater and retrospectives on Robert Altman makes my heart skip a beat. Viva change!
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Procrastination is Living
I stole the title of this post from an interview I just read with Erykah Badu in the NYT. Truer words have never been spoken. While I do not have any multi-platinum records under my belt, I do understand the joys of being unpunctual in your own life. It's strange because I have this compulsion to be so organized and keep on top of things, while at the same time internally I just want to say "Eh, fuck it. None of this will ever be done anyway." That's just my feeling toward errands and watching my entire weekend get sucked up in them. After many years, I think I have found a clever way to trick myself with errand-fun-errand-fun scheduling. For instance, yesterday while DG was playing soccer I coerced my downstairs neighbor to accompany me on an errand to the thrift store to drop off bags and bags of former wardrobe items--not totally fun, but freeing. We followed that with one his errands--a trip to the SPCA to browse cats.
Now, you might be thinking "SPCA does not equal fun." You would only be half correct. I don't know if I've just been out of the loop on animal rescue the last decade, but the SPCA here in our fair city (a renovated tobacco factory, of course) was absolutely jaw-dropping neat. As in private rooms for animals, open floor plan, a gift shop (!) and a huge dog track (not the beting kind) on the second floor. Plus, they have birthday parties with puppies. I was in awe, and, happy that the animals get such cool treatment.
We are still neck-high (deep?) in "The Wire." I can't stop thinking and talking about it. Probably because I'm spending 1/3 of every weekend watching it. There are plans for a field trip to Baltimore. This show makes dock work interesting. Of course, love anything about corruption, politics and cities, so it's a match made in heaven. I do feel it has made me more suspicious of other things--like the white van parked in front of our building.
Now, you might be thinking "SPCA does not equal fun." You would only be half correct. I don't know if I've just been out of the loop on animal rescue the last decade, but the SPCA here in our fair city (a renovated tobacco factory, of course) was absolutely jaw-dropping neat. As in private rooms for animals, open floor plan, a gift shop (!) and a huge dog track (not the beting kind) on the second floor. Plus, they have birthday parties with puppies. I was in awe, and, happy that the animals get such cool treatment.
We are still neck-high (deep?) in "The Wire." I can't stop thinking and talking about it. Probably because I'm spending 1/3 of every weekend watching it. There are plans for a field trip to Baltimore. This show makes dock work interesting. Of course, love anything about corruption, politics and cities, so it's a match made in heaven. I do feel it has made me more suspicious of other things--like the white van parked in front of our building.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Tap In!
Oh, the Oscars. We hosted a small soiree and I even provided a prize for the person with the most correct answers out of the six main categories. I think more time was given to eating and critiquing the fairly boring costumery--I think Mme. Cotillard looked fabulous, but I do have a soft spot for brunettes with pale skin who can rock a red lipstick. I wasn't crazy about the Jennifer Garner extravaganza where, I swear, she was interviewed six different times on the red carpet--but I was amused to find out she was pawed by Gary Busey! That's so 1980s Oscar-antics.
But on to the movies--I was thrilled that the Coen Bros. won, as I think "No Country for Old Men" was one of the best movies I've seen in a very long time. The bleakness, the dark humor, the cinematography, the bowl cut--I can't say enough. So many people have asked me if it would be "too violent," and that's a hard question to answer. I think of it as more Hitchcock than Scorcese in terms of violence, but I tend to view "very violent" as gory, baseball bat beating, slasher films, violence against women, creepy David Fincher/David Cronenberg brutality. Not the swift clean violence of a good Coen Bros. flick. Also, the "Once" performance was so sweet and I nearly got choked up listening to the Irish-accented acceptance speech. It is rare I miss Dublin, but that film and those characters definitely made me long for the long rainy walks and kind-hearted Irish fellows.
In other news, we have fully "tapped in" to The Wire and I can't say enough about it. It is honestly, the best show I've ever seen on television. Like "The Godfather" but with more gritty realistic characters--and, dark gallows humor to boot. I'm sad it's in the final season, but alas, in the immortal words of Pony Boy vis a vis Robert Frost, "nothing gold can stay."
But on to the movies--I was thrilled that the Coen Bros. won, as I think "No Country for Old Men" was one of the best movies I've seen in a very long time. The bleakness, the dark humor, the cinematography, the bowl cut--I can't say enough. So many people have asked me if it would be "too violent," and that's a hard question to answer. I think of it as more Hitchcock than Scorcese in terms of violence, but I tend to view "very violent" as gory, baseball bat beating, slasher films, violence against women, creepy David Fincher/David Cronenberg brutality. Not the swift clean violence of a good Coen Bros. flick. Also, the "Once" performance was so sweet and I nearly got choked up listening to the Irish-accented acceptance speech. It is rare I miss Dublin, but that film and those characters definitely made me long for the long rainy walks and kind-hearted Irish fellows.
In other news, we have fully "tapped in" to The Wire and I can't say enough about it. It is honestly, the best show I've ever seen on television. Like "The Godfather" but with more gritty realistic characters--and, dark gallows humor to boot. I'm sad it's in the final season, but alas, in the immortal words of Pony Boy vis a vis Robert Frost, "nothing gold can stay."
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Winter in the City
New York was a great success—far fewer tourist targets than our trip in November with the Brits, and definitely felt more able to get from point A to point B. We survived the Chinatown bus with little incident—unless you count the guy who was snoring so loudly that I thought he would inhale his tongue, or the fact that the bus driver kept assuring us that it was a “good, strong bus line!” I’m not sure the metaphor of health and buses go together, but for $60RT I’ll take it. And, of course, there is nothing like spending time with a cousin like mine—just as sassy, newly brunette and always got my back.
Some highlights:
-The pillows at the Marriott Marquis. They made up for the Mall of America/Minority Report theme of the 50-story hotel.
-Visiting the Wall Street Bull (or, as my little German friend calls it, “The pig at Wall Street”) and getting our picture taken whilst surrounded by a throng of Euros who were all diving toward The Bull for a picture as if it were Santa Claus. Apparently, it is a “must see” for the rest of the world.
-Seeing the Statue of Liberty up close and realizing it’s not as big as you think.
-The Neue Gallerie and lots of real life entertaining chats with this charming lady about (among other things) Gustav Klimt’s obsession with naked, “reclining” ladies and big blue smocks.
-Taking the Shoe Express elevator at Saks Fifth Avenue and admiring the beautiful creations up close and personal.
-Sipping a glass of wine at The Algonquin Hotel
-The wonderfully quintessential elderly New York couple sitting next to us at Zabar’s—insert Billy Crystal-impersonation here: “What would make you think I would want that in my coffee? Eh?” I heart the Upper West Side.
-The Strand Bookstore. And I’ve only ever made it to the first floor!
Some lowlights:
-Walking through a brief blizzard on Fifth Avenue in boots NOT made for walking.
-Times Square.
-The homeless man peeing in our subway car and yelling like a maniac ala Samuel Jackson’s crackhead character in “Jungle Fever.”
-Freezing to death on a park bench OUTSIDE of Magnolia Bakery with a so-so cupcake and spilling Café au lait on my coat
-Watching “Cloverfield” illegally on the Chinatown Bus while stuck in the Holland Tunnel.
I feel, with this, my sixth trip to New York City, I have finally cracked it just a little bit. It is so larger than life that it is difficult to get a grasp on what is a real rhythm of the city and what is just imagined from images and characterizations you have seen elsewhere. It’s always a familiar and foreign experience when I visit, a lot like a dream, actually. Now I feel like next time I return, I can go to specific things without stress and pressure to run from one thing to another.
In other news, Virginia rocked it for Obama! I have never been so excited to cast my vote—seriously. Last time, not so much. Viva Change!
Some highlights:
-The pillows at the Marriott Marquis. They made up for the Mall of America/Minority Report theme of the 50-story hotel.
-Visiting the Wall Street Bull (or, as my little German friend calls it, “The pig at Wall Street”) and getting our picture taken whilst surrounded by a throng of Euros who were all diving toward The Bull for a picture as if it were Santa Claus. Apparently, it is a “must see” for the rest of the world.
-Seeing the Statue of Liberty up close and realizing it’s not as big as you think.
-The Neue Gallerie and lots of real life entertaining chats with this charming lady about (among other things) Gustav Klimt’s obsession with naked, “reclining” ladies and big blue smocks.
-Taking the Shoe Express elevator at Saks Fifth Avenue and admiring the beautiful creations up close and personal.
-Sipping a glass of wine at The Algonquin Hotel
-The wonderfully quintessential elderly New York couple sitting next to us at Zabar’s—insert Billy Crystal-impersonation here: “What would make you think I would want that in my coffee? Eh?” I heart the Upper West Side.
-The Strand Bookstore. And I’ve only ever made it to the first floor!
Some lowlights:
-Walking through a brief blizzard on Fifth Avenue in boots NOT made for walking.
-Times Square.
-The homeless man peeing in our subway car and yelling like a maniac ala Samuel Jackson’s crackhead character in “Jungle Fever.”
-Freezing to death on a park bench OUTSIDE of Magnolia Bakery with a so-so cupcake and spilling Café au lait on my coat
-Watching “Cloverfield” illegally on the Chinatown Bus while stuck in the Holland Tunnel.
I feel, with this, my sixth trip to New York City, I have finally cracked it just a little bit. It is so larger than life that it is difficult to get a grasp on what is a real rhythm of the city and what is just imagined from images and characterizations you have seen elsewhere. It’s always a familiar and foreign experience when I visit, a lot like a dream, actually. Now I feel like next time I return, I can go to specific things without stress and pressure to run from one thing to another.
In other news, Virginia rocked it for Obama! I have never been so excited to cast my vote—seriously. Last time, not so much. Viva Change!
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Westward, ho! (note the comma)
I never thought anything could beat the internet and YouTube for time suckage, but Facebook seems to have been designed for ultimate time warp. Unbelievable! I keep getting quizzes from everyone, and I am such a sucker for a quiz I keep taking them. I just spent the last 5 minutes looking for the “What Drink Are You?” quiz. What is happening to me? I guess it beats doing the Myers-Briggs Personality Test for the umpteenth time. It’s like they conducted a series of tests to see what makes people intrigued:
1. Finding out more about yourself
2. Comparing yourself to friends
3. Taking quizzes to do either 1 or 2 or combined
Actually, that sounds a lot like the pillars of Scientology. . . duh duh duh!
Okay, so now that I’ve time sucked (that’s right I’m going to see how many times I can say “suck” in this post) an hour of my life away with the David Lynch quiz and being sure that all of my favorite films are listed, it’s almost time to go home. Hurray!
What else? Well, it looks like we are probably going to move to Portland, OR! DG was offered a permanent post as a staff writer/managing editor for the website he’s been freelancing with (for?), so look out Pacific Northwest! We are going to try to take a trip out there in early March to see what we can see. I just can’t even imagine having so many great bookstores, cool restaurants and green living right in my backyard. Wow. And, of course, the ocean. I hear the hipsters are uber-annoying, but the hipsters here suck (snuck that one in) too, so I think we are well prepared. All I need to do is drop the “I’m from Detroit” bomb and that usually ups my hipster cred, whether deservedly or not. And, of course, Daryl has the whole British thing in his favor, so we should be untouchable.
Not only have we recruited my fabulous cousin Alicia (last name available upon request and background check only) to make the pioneer-trek with us, but possibly our very interesting writer neighbor. I really feel quite manifest destiny about all this, and as long as it doesn’t end like “There Will Be Blood” or The Donner Party tragedy, we should be good. Anyone know where we can get a good wagon train?
1. Finding out more about yourself
2. Comparing yourself to friends
3. Taking quizzes to do either 1 or 2 or combined
Actually, that sounds a lot like the pillars of Scientology. . . duh duh duh!
Okay, so now that I’ve time sucked (that’s right I’m going to see how many times I can say “suck” in this post) an hour of my life away with the David Lynch quiz and being sure that all of my favorite films are listed, it’s almost time to go home. Hurray!
What else? Well, it looks like we are probably going to move to Portland, OR! DG was offered a permanent post as a staff writer/managing editor for the website he’s been freelancing with (for?), so look out Pacific Northwest! We are going to try to take a trip out there in early March to see what we can see. I just can’t even imagine having so many great bookstores, cool restaurants and green living right in my backyard. Wow. And, of course, the ocean. I hear the hipsters are uber-annoying, but the hipsters here suck (snuck that one in) too, so I think we are well prepared. All I need to do is drop the “I’m from Detroit” bomb and that usually ups my hipster cred, whether deservedly or not. And, of course, Daryl has the whole British thing in his favor, so we should be untouchable.
Not only have we recruited my fabulous cousin Alicia (last name available upon request and background check only) to make the pioneer-trek with us, but possibly our very interesting writer neighbor. I really feel quite manifest destiny about all this, and as long as it doesn’t end like “There Will Be Blood” or The Donner Party tragedy, we should be good. Anyone know where we can get a good wagon train?
Monday, January 21, 2008
Tales from the Mall
I cracked and went shopping today. I had no real specifics in mind, more of a vague notion for a need for interesting tops, perhaps a pair of jeans that fit correctly, a skirt (color undecided), and boots and shoes.
I started out at Macy’s which was, as usual, annoying. Somehow Macy’s is the cockroach-esque survivor of the department store apocalypse. In that, it has survived and devoured (I’m not sure cockroaches devour, but it’s the closest metaphor I have at hand) all of the regional department store chains in the United States. I wish it could have been Bloomingdale's or somewhere less over-priced JC Penney's feeling. It’s unfortunate because they have poor floor planning, over-priced products which are made less appealing by being shoved into poorly lit corners--$250 Calvin Klein wrap dress that I have to untangle from a jumble of other dresses (all made of some synthetic fabric)--I don’t think so. If I knew it was going to be that kind of party, I just would have cut to the chase and went straight to Forever 21. But, Forever 21 does not sell shoes, nor do they sell Origins products, so I had to visit at the altar of the department store.
It paid off-- nearly all of the shoes were 50% off—so I got these beauties in a really interesting shade of brown. The picture doesn’t do the color justice—it’s like an almost metallic deep taupe more than brown. And, they are real leather (sorry vegetarians). And, they fit over the dreaded skinny jean. Actually, dread is too strong a word—let’s say “difficult to work with footwear” skinny jean.
Anyway, any woman worth her salt has struggled to find the perfect boot—I dare say it is nearly as disappointing as the search for a perfect bathing suit. However, I do not believe that a perfect bathing suit exists, whereas a perfect boot is out there, you just have to find it. Here were some of my criteria:
1. Casual, yet capable of being slightly dressed up.
2. No pointy-toe (nearly impossible to find at my price point)
3. Must be of a believable shade of leather.
4. Preferably non-synthetic material
5. A snug fit around the calf and ankle, but allowing room to be worn over jeans
6. Stacked heel (aggressively flat makes me look like a pirate)
I also made out like a bandit(a)_at Nine West—shoes on sale, plus 30% off the second pair. Which made it a little less stressful to buy a pair of grey ankle boots I'm going out on a limb, but I think I can make it work. I am afraid the boots and oversized sweater/tops that are everywhere are going to push me into leggings territory, but I’ve opted for thick black tights when in a pinch. I just can’t do the leggings. The flats are just flats, but pretty cute and actually have a real sole so I will not be flat-footed by season’s end.
Then, I made my way to Forever 21 and let me just say it was Mod-tastic. It was as if the Red Sea had parted to see the “Real Housewives of Orange County” halter shirts with bedazzled center herded to the clearance rack. There were still some Destiny’s Child-video ensembles floating around, but for the most part the clothes erred on the side of “The Hills” sack dresses which only look good on the tall, the tan and the thin. However, I found a very interesting moss green cardigan with Balenciaga-esque sleeves. Even as I picked it up I heard Meryl Streep’s speech about the fashion trickle down in regard to the tragic cerulean blue sweater from “Devil Wears Prada.” But I bought it anyway, because $22.80 fits quite nicely into my budget for balloon sleeves this season.
Now, the most interesting discovery on my trip to F21—other than the bizarre nautical theme vis-à-vis a Godard film, or the warm and fuzzy feeling I got seeing young girls fighting each other for fun swingy mod clothes instead of having stupid sayings stamped on their asses, is that nearly everything I picked up said “Made in USA”! I’m assuming its that loophole definition of “virtually all of the product” being made in the USA, but still, shocking all the same. I assume most of Forever21 sprang from places I would rather not think about.
I did have some issues with not seeing a decent skirt anywhere, but I did get a very cool dark teal green shirtdress from Express, so that made up for the sans skirt issue. So, all in all, not a bad shopping spree, even if it did take place in a mall.
I started out at Macy’s which was, as usual, annoying. Somehow Macy’s is the cockroach-esque survivor of the department store apocalypse. In that, it has survived and devoured (I’m not sure cockroaches devour, but it’s the closest metaphor I have at hand) all of the regional department store chains in the United States. I wish it could have been Bloomingdale's or somewhere less over-priced JC Penney's feeling. It’s unfortunate because they have poor floor planning, over-priced products which are made less appealing by being shoved into poorly lit corners--$250 Calvin Klein wrap dress that I have to untangle from a jumble of other dresses (all made of some synthetic fabric)--I don’t think so. If I knew it was going to be that kind of party, I just would have cut to the chase and went straight to Forever 21. But, Forever 21 does not sell shoes, nor do they sell Origins products, so I had to visit at the altar of the department store.
It paid off-- nearly all of the shoes were 50% off—so I got these beauties in a really interesting shade of brown. The picture doesn’t do the color justice—it’s like an almost metallic deep taupe more than brown. And, they are real leather (sorry vegetarians). And, they fit over the dreaded skinny jean. Actually, dread is too strong a word—let’s say “difficult to work with footwear” skinny jean.
Anyway, any woman worth her salt has struggled to find the perfect boot—I dare say it is nearly as disappointing as the search for a perfect bathing suit. However, I do not believe that a perfect bathing suit exists, whereas a perfect boot is out there, you just have to find it. Here were some of my criteria:
1. Casual, yet capable of being slightly dressed up.
2. No pointy-toe (nearly impossible to find at my price point)
3. Must be of a believable shade of leather.
4. Preferably non-synthetic material
5. A snug fit around the calf and ankle, but allowing room to be worn over jeans
6. Stacked heel (aggressively flat makes me look like a pirate)
I also made out like a bandit(a)_at Nine West—shoes on sale, plus 30% off the second pair. Which made it a little less stressful to buy a pair of grey ankle boots I'm going out on a limb, but I think I can make it work. I am afraid the boots and oversized sweater/tops that are everywhere are going to push me into leggings territory, but I’ve opted for thick black tights when in a pinch. I just can’t do the leggings. The flats are just flats, but pretty cute and actually have a real sole so I will not be flat-footed by season’s end.
Then, I made my way to Forever 21 and let me just say it was Mod-tastic. It was as if the Red Sea had parted to see the “Real Housewives of Orange County” halter shirts with bedazzled center herded to the clearance rack. There were still some Destiny’s Child-video ensembles floating around, but for the most part the clothes erred on the side of “The Hills” sack dresses which only look good on the tall, the tan and the thin. However, I found a very interesting moss green cardigan with Balenciaga-esque sleeves. Even as I picked it up I heard Meryl Streep’s speech about the fashion trickle down in regard to the tragic cerulean blue sweater from “Devil Wears Prada.” But I bought it anyway, because $22.80 fits quite nicely into my budget for balloon sleeves this season.
Now, the most interesting discovery on my trip to F21—other than the bizarre nautical theme vis-à-vis a Godard film, or the warm and fuzzy feeling I got seeing young girls fighting each other for fun swingy mod clothes instead of having stupid sayings stamped on their asses, is that nearly everything I picked up said “Made in USA”! I’m assuming its that loophole definition of “virtually all of the product” being made in the USA, but still, shocking all the same. I assume most of Forever21 sprang from places I would rather not think about.
I did have some issues with not seeing a decent skirt anywhere, but I did get a very cool dark teal green shirtdress from Express, so that made up for the sans skirt issue. So, all in all, not a bad shopping spree, even if it did take place in a mall.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Going Postal
I don't expect much from the post office, mostly because "U.S." is part of its official acronym. After my ridiculous experience yesterday, which was akin to an SNL skit mixed in with my most embarassing awkward junior high years, I actually kind of admire the deftness and skill involved with working behind the humiliaton counter.
In the spirit of full disclosure, I will tell you that I chose this particular post office because one of the ladies who works their once told me that my driver's license picture was so nice it "looked like a glamour shot." I think (though now I'm doubting it a little bit) she meant it as a compliment, and it indeed gave me a certain bounce to my step that day. Sadly, each consecutive trip to said post office was slightly less fairy tale. Like the time I forgot how to add correctly and the entire line of people behind me snickered. Or, the rather sad lady who gummed up the line shipping off purchases she looked in no shape to afford (like the electric guitar for her grand-niece in Alabama) and got thwacked in the head by said package while her Rainman-esque son rocked back in forth next to her staring into space.
I should have known the tide turned when they removed the whimsical pens with flower-tops from the faux pots and replaced them with pens on chains. But I ignored this, hoping the round lady with the boxy haircut would tell me I was pretty again. Alas, she was busy . Instead, I got the Nurse Ratchet of the USPS system. I had 5 envelopes to send out and I only could muster up the courage to send 2 because I was scared of getting yelled at. Yes, it was that bad.
Postal Carrier Ratchet: Next!
Me: Hi. I'd like to send these Express Mail with delivery confirmation.
PCR (eternal sigh): You can't get delivery confirmation with Express Mail.
Me: Oh, okay
PCR: It already has it.
Me: Great!
PCR whips out two forms from the ether: You need to fill these out, right here. I'll be waiting. You got a pen?
I reach for pen on the nearest chain
PCR (perturbed): Not that one. Here!
She rolls a pen with a chain dangling like a dismembered limb.
I frantically start to fill out the forms
(45 seconds pass)
PCR: Done?
Me: Um, I've got one just about filled out. ..
PCR: Well, give me SOMETHING. I can't just STAND HERE.
PCR sighs loudly and disappears behind the half-wall. I am now the only person being served while the other 10 people behind me start to shuffly nervously. I start to sweat and contemplate running out the door. She returns with rolls of coins and slowly unrolls them, clinking them one by one into the register. And then, another roll.
I decide to fill out my check while I wait. Unfortunately, the crippled pen has disappeared to her side of the counter and she seems so joyful to be holding everyone with baited breath while she arranges the nickels just so, I decide not to disturb her. I move to the next nearest chain-pen, still within her counter space and begin to fill in the check.
PCR: What are you doing OVER THERE??
Me: Oh. I'm just filling out a check with this pen
PCR: I've got a pen RIGHT HERE.
She rolls old gimpy pen back to me. She then picks up my finished form, holding it like a urine sample in her rubber-gloved hand and starts punching keys violently
PCR: You need an envelope.
I make my way past the crowd and grab two Express Mail envelopes. Before I turn around she shouts "Those aren't going to fit. The other ones. Behind it."
I don't know the last time you have had a stranger inflict control over you--for me it was probably my junor high basketball coach who reeked of Polo cologne and violence-- but all I could think was "Which other envelope? I can't see it! OH GOD she's going to yell at me again." I looked to my fellow customers for support. Nothing. Silenece. Shuffled feet and lots of blank stares.
PCR: The BIG WHITE ONES behind the other ones.
Then I see them. Beautiful white and tyvek. I return to the counter where she scribbles furiously on the forms. All of the other tellers have mysteriously disappeared and I fear that perhaps they know something we customers don't, like animals before earthquakes that seek shelter. This is it. This is how people "go postal." First, they complete your transaction and then they stab you with an unchained pen.
PCR: Thirty-six fifty-two. How are you paying?
Me: Check.
I furiously scribble out the amount and push over my driver's license.
She pushes it back at me. No comment on the photo. At this point, I hope she doesn't remember my face.
PCR: I just need your phone number on this. . . Okay, so here's your receipt and this number (she underscores it delicately with her rubber-gloved hand) that's the number you call if you need to track it. (softly) Okay?
Me: Okay
PCR: Do you need any stamps or anything else?
Me: No, thank you.
PCR (smiling!): Okay honey, have a good day.
In the spirit of full disclosure, I will tell you that I chose this particular post office because one of the ladies who works their once told me that my driver's license picture was so nice it "looked like a glamour shot." I think (though now I'm doubting it a little bit) she meant it as a compliment, and it indeed gave me a certain bounce to my step that day. Sadly, each consecutive trip to said post office was slightly less fairy tale. Like the time I forgot how to add correctly and the entire line of people behind me snickered. Or, the rather sad lady who gummed up the line shipping off purchases she looked in no shape to afford (like the electric guitar for her grand-niece in Alabama) and got thwacked in the head by said package while her Rainman-esque son rocked back in forth next to her staring into space.
I should have known the tide turned when they removed the whimsical pens with flower-tops from the faux pots and replaced them with pens on chains. But I ignored this, hoping the round lady with the boxy haircut would tell me I was pretty again. Alas, she was busy . Instead, I got the Nurse Ratchet of the USPS system. I had 5 envelopes to send out and I only could muster up the courage to send 2 because I was scared of getting yelled at. Yes, it was that bad.
Postal Carrier Ratchet: Next!
Me: Hi. I'd like to send these Express Mail with delivery confirmation.
PCR (eternal sigh): You can't get delivery confirmation with Express Mail.
Me: Oh, okay
PCR: It already has it.
Me: Great!
PCR whips out two forms from the ether: You need to fill these out, right here. I'll be waiting. You got a pen?
I reach for pen on the nearest chain
PCR (perturbed): Not that one. Here!
She rolls a pen with a chain dangling like a dismembered limb.
I frantically start to fill out the forms
(45 seconds pass)
PCR: Done?
Me: Um, I've got one just about filled out. ..
PCR: Well, give me SOMETHING. I can't just STAND HERE.
PCR sighs loudly and disappears behind the half-wall. I am now the only person being served while the other 10 people behind me start to shuffly nervously. I start to sweat and contemplate running out the door. She returns with rolls of coins and slowly unrolls them, clinking them one by one into the register. And then, another roll.
I decide to fill out my check while I wait. Unfortunately, the crippled pen has disappeared to her side of the counter and she seems so joyful to be holding everyone with baited breath while she arranges the nickels just so, I decide not to disturb her. I move to the next nearest chain-pen, still within her counter space and begin to fill in the check.
PCR: What are you doing OVER THERE??
Me: Oh. I'm just filling out a check with this pen
PCR: I've got a pen RIGHT HERE.
She rolls old gimpy pen back to me. She then picks up my finished form, holding it like a urine sample in her rubber-gloved hand and starts punching keys violently
PCR: You need an envelope.
I make my way past the crowd and grab two Express Mail envelopes. Before I turn around she shouts "Those aren't going to fit. The other ones. Behind it."
I don't know the last time you have had a stranger inflict control over you--for me it was probably my junor high basketball coach who reeked of Polo cologne and violence-- but all I could think was "Which other envelope? I can't see it! OH GOD she's going to yell at me again." I looked to my fellow customers for support. Nothing. Silenece. Shuffled feet and lots of blank stares.
PCR: The BIG WHITE ONES behind the other ones.
Then I see them. Beautiful white and tyvek. I return to the counter where she scribbles furiously on the forms. All of the other tellers have mysteriously disappeared and I fear that perhaps they know something we customers don't, like animals before earthquakes that seek shelter. This is it. This is how people "go postal." First, they complete your transaction and then they stab you with an unchained pen.
PCR: Thirty-six fifty-two. How are you paying?
Me: Check.
I furiously scribble out the amount and push over my driver's license.
She pushes it back at me. No comment on the photo. At this point, I hope she doesn't remember my face.
PCR: I just need your phone number on this. . . Okay, so here's your receipt and this number (she underscores it delicately with her rubber-gloved hand) that's the number you call if you need to track it. (softly) Okay?
Me: Okay
PCR: Do you need any stamps or anything else?
Me: No, thank you.
PCR (smiling!): Okay honey, have a good day.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Everything that's Old is New Again
Some lessons learned this past week:
1. Don't attempt unsupervised yoga when you have a recurring back problem which may cause you to pull a muscle and nearly miss your long-awaited hair salon visit for fear of not being able to get out of the chair.
2. Do not assume that, just because your hairdresser is gay, that he will automatically know the difference between a "Gwen Stefani-esque bob" and a BobKat bob.
3. Learn to embrace your inner Katie Holmes and fight like the dickens to wrestle your hair into the Carrie Bradshaw Season 5 hairstyle:
Coinicidentally, the expression she is sharing with Mr. Winkie the dog was pretty much my expression last night at the bitter end of a party we attended last night.It was kind of like when Darth Vader took his mask off--as in, we were having a really nice night, good vibes, good food, and then all of the sudden--politics reared its ugly head. Here are some important take-away points
*Leave all Red State parties before 2am when you do not have prior knowledge of the majority of attendess political leanings.
*Do not expect that high-fiving your friends and excitedly discussing your "ShObama the Love" sleepover fundraiser will please and amuse the NeoCons attending said party. Further, do not ask "So, who are you thinking of voting for?" while sitting around a bonfire in the former capital of the confederacy. I think proximity to fire brings out some ancient propensity to crazy talk and big stick waving.
*Leave any and all social gatherings, parties or conversations when a guest says, repeatedly, "What we really need is a poll tax."
In brighter news, I watched the first season of "Mary Tyler Moore." It was great and left me craving short dresses and boots. I love Rhoda--Mary is a little too flibberty jibberty. I think they need to bring back the old syndicated shows to offset the writer's strike ennui. Me, I'm going to return to television's golden era-coincidentally, the time when I first became conscious of sitcoms--and re-visit the classics: Mary Tyler Moore, Rhoda, Mash, One Day at a Time, Good Times and Maude.
Who's with me?
1. Don't attempt unsupervised yoga when you have a recurring back problem which may cause you to pull a muscle and nearly miss your long-awaited hair salon visit for fear of not being able to get out of the chair.
2. Do not assume that, just because your hairdresser is gay, that he will automatically know the difference between a "Gwen Stefani-esque bob" and a BobKat bob.
3. Learn to embrace your inner Katie Holmes and fight like the dickens to wrestle your hair into the Carrie Bradshaw Season 5 hairstyle:
Coinicidentally, the expression she is sharing with Mr. Winkie the dog was pretty much my expression last night at the bitter end of a party we attended last night.It was kind of like when Darth Vader took his mask off--as in, we were having a really nice night, good vibes, good food, and then all of the sudden--politics reared its ugly head. Here are some important take-away points
*Leave all Red State parties before 2am when you do not have prior knowledge of the majority of attendess political leanings.
*Do not expect that high-fiving your friends and excitedly discussing your "ShObama the Love" sleepover fundraiser will please and amuse the NeoCons attending said party. Further, do not ask "So, who are you thinking of voting for?" while sitting around a bonfire in the former capital of the confederacy. I think proximity to fire brings out some ancient propensity to crazy talk and big stick waving.
*Leave any and all social gatherings, parties or conversations when a guest says, repeatedly, "What we really need is a poll tax."
In brighter news, I watched the first season of "Mary Tyler Moore." It was great and left me craving short dresses and boots. I love Rhoda--Mary is a little too flibberty jibberty. I think they need to bring back the old syndicated shows to offset the writer's strike ennui. Me, I'm going to return to television's golden era-coincidentally, the time when I first became conscious of sitcoms--and re-visit the classics: Mary Tyler Moore, Rhoda, Mash, One Day at a Time, Good Times and Maude.
Who's with me?
Saturday, January 5, 2008
Smells like new times
I am feeling a distinct lack of glamour in my life. Coincidentally, I blame "Sex and the City." I know it's a little late to blame a show that exists only in re-runs, but I blame it all the same. Specically the final season where everyone is dressed to the hilt and somehow it is plausible that Mikhail Barishnikov is sexy. I could see it in MB circa 1970s/80s, but now, not so much. More specifically, the episodes with Carrie in Paris made me long for a trip somewhere where you can feel fabulous by proximity to beautiful things. I tried to rally for a pre-arts walk soiree we had last night, but the most exciting thing that happened was me catching my scarf on fire and everyone asking "Is somebody's hair on fire?"
I think I may just stop watching shows where the characters have lives I would actually like to live. I'll just stay on a steady diet of "King of Queens" and "Curb Your Enthusiasm" and that should give me a semi-normal approximation of my neurotic reality.
So, did anyone happen to watch the Iowa Caucus speeches? Specifically the Mike Huckabee speech? If you missed it, then you missed this bizarre Team America-esque picture of Hollywood support:
To use an over-used expression, "It was completely surreal." On CNN the entire frame was Huckabee betwixt Chuck Norris and (I think) Bo Derek. They did not even show Huckabee's wife! I would think for a man standing on such a family values platform seeing his wife next to him during victory would be much more appropriate than making it seem he is puppet-mastered by two aging (gracefully with Botox) actors from teh '80s? I guess there is this whole "Chuckabee" thing happening where perhaps people think they are voting Chuck Norris for president as opposed to the far saggier hopeful. Weird.
In other news, I have decided to adopt a more positive attitude toward 2008. Instead of railing to the gods about work-related issues, I'm going to rail less and enact change more. Maybe I should read "The Secret" for more insight into finding success. Ha!
I think I may just stop watching shows where the characters have lives I would actually like to live. I'll just stay on a steady diet of "King of Queens" and "Curb Your Enthusiasm" and that should give me a semi-normal approximation of my neurotic reality.
So, did anyone happen to watch the Iowa Caucus speeches? Specifically the Mike Huckabee speech? If you missed it, then you missed this bizarre Team America-esque picture of Hollywood support:
To use an over-used expression, "It was completely surreal." On CNN the entire frame was Huckabee betwixt Chuck Norris and (I think) Bo Derek. They did not even show Huckabee's wife! I would think for a man standing on such a family values platform seeing his wife next to him during victory would be much more appropriate than making it seem he is puppet-mastered by two aging (gracefully with Botox) actors from teh '80s? I guess there is this whole "Chuckabee" thing happening where perhaps people think they are voting Chuck Norris for president as opposed to the far saggier hopeful. Weird.
In other news, I have decided to adopt a more positive attitude toward 2008. Instead of railing to the gods about work-related issues, I'm going to rail less and enact change more. Maybe I should read "The Secret" for more insight into finding success. Ha!
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Absurd and Perturbed
Though I am far from happy at work, I am happy to be back at work just to get used to the insane atmosphere. Staying away from it allows me too much time to dream of an escape. How can one small non-profit be so crazy? Today, I described my aversion to sharing persoanl information with crazy bird-like co-worker as akin to speaking to the secret police. The combination of terrible open space environment (we are literally in the hallway of a house), speaker-phone obsessed fake unpaid boss who bellows everything as if the rest of the staff were part of the steno pool and emotionally autistic (but not in the manner of a savant) mental case of a development director has made me feel as if we are part of some Theater of the Absurd production of "Waiting for Godot." In this case, we are waiting for a real, paid, executive director to save us from the insanity. Feeding into the absurdity I decided we needed to have a Christmas party. When I asked Crazy Bird Lady what she would like to bring, her response was this: "Do you want sweet or meat?" For some reason it sounded rather lewd. I think I'm going to make a t-shirt that says "Sweet" on one side and "Meat" on the other in honor of her.
But enought about that. We saw "Juno" while we were in Detroit. I liked it and rated it a high B. DG felt it was in the A category. Being that "Fargo," "The Godfather" and "Crimes and Misdemeanors" live in my "A" category I could not see the worthiness of "Juno" among such neighbors. The first half-hour of dialogue was so unbelievable and overly-written to prove cleverness that it automatically dropped to a lesser grade movie in my opinion. It definitely redeemed itself, though I'm still a little irked by the complete cop-out Juno allows her impregnator. I cannot for an instant believe that any 16-year-old girl (or 20, or 30 or 40-year old woman) of the intelligence of this character could just float through 9 months of high school preganant and still be all casual and "I'll handle it, we'll just take some time off" with her baby daddy. Where is the feminism in that, I ask? Otherwise, pretty good stuff. Jason Bateman was really good as was Jennifer Garner. As opposed to just painting them as one-dimensional yuppies, the film actually allows them to be human. I just wish that good little movies could just be that--good little movies. I think with the box office on steroids returns on "Little Miss Sunshine," Hollywood is milking everything independent as if it automatically deserves an Oscar for not starring Julia Roberts or Matt Damon.
On that note--can the writer's strike end please? It's killing me. I was forced to watch "Keeping up with the Kardashians." Forced. It's not like I willingly watched over an hour of the worst eye-lined crap on television since a Poison video. Nope, it's the fault of the writer's strike. I guess I should take this time to catch up on shows I meant to watch and never did, like "The Wire."
But enought about that. We saw "Juno" while we were in Detroit. I liked it and rated it a high B. DG felt it was in the A category. Being that "Fargo," "The Godfather" and "Crimes and Misdemeanors" live in my "A" category I could not see the worthiness of "Juno" among such neighbors. The first half-hour of dialogue was so unbelievable and overly-written to prove cleverness that it automatically dropped to a lesser grade movie in my opinion. It definitely redeemed itself, though I'm still a little irked by the complete cop-out Juno allows her impregnator. I cannot for an instant believe that any 16-year-old girl (or 20, or 30 or 40-year old woman) of the intelligence of this character could just float through 9 months of high school preganant and still be all casual and "I'll handle it, we'll just take some time off" with her baby daddy. Where is the feminism in that, I ask? Otherwise, pretty good stuff. Jason Bateman was really good as was Jennifer Garner. As opposed to just painting them as one-dimensional yuppies, the film actually allows them to be human. I just wish that good little movies could just be that--good little movies. I think with the box office on steroids returns on "Little Miss Sunshine," Hollywood is milking everything independent as if it automatically deserves an Oscar for not starring Julia Roberts or Matt Damon.
On that note--can the writer's strike end please? It's killing me. I was forced to watch "Keeping up with the Kardashians." Forced. It's not like I willingly watched over an hour of the worst eye-lined crap on television since a Poison video. Nope, it's the fault of the writer's strike. I guess I should take this time to catch up on shows I meant to watch and never did, like "The Wire."
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
Look Out 2008!
Happy New Year! I already like 2008 because of the roundness of the numbers involved.
Christmas was Christmas. Michigan was overcast and strangely lacking in snow. I will not bore you with the devastating details of the slow sink of the automotive industry and all of the houses and people it is taking with it. I will, however, regale you with tales of rough and tumble Detroit and a Gawker-esque ranking of some of our adventures:
1. Trip to the Comet Bar.
Located on poorly lit street with mud parking lot -5
Mix of hipsters and Vietnam vets: +5
Diehard karaoke participation: +3
Cash only: -10
Dogs allowed: +2
Dog food on floor: -2
Man in tank top singing Beyonce's "Irreplaceable": +25
Old Christmas decorations: -4
2. Insane Christmas Shopping Spree to Fairlane Green mega-strip mall:
Located in close proximity to parent's house: +10
Old Navy, Target and TJ Max in one place: +5
Shoppers who looked like a mix of 8 Mile extras and Irish thugs: -15
Pleasant (and empty) Barnes & Noble: +8
Customers rifling through heaps of clothes at Old Navy as if it were loot from a
shipwreck: -10
3. Trip to the newly renovated, expanded, improved Detroit Institute of Arts
Full of people: +100
A collection that rivals any major city: +50
Informative signage and explanations of work: +20
Friendly security guard and staff: +10
Closed cafe: -5
Eating sugar out of packets to maintain normal glucose levels: -10
Standing thisclose to a Rodin sculpture: +80
Christmas itself was a split between neurotic family outbreaks (I will not bore you with the details of my mother's "pita breakdown" on Christmas eve) and a relatively stress-free experience. DG has given me the strength and guidance with how to deal with my parents' stubborn refusal to enjoy life outside the home like normal people. Though we could not actually get my mother to join us at the DIA, she did get online and research the entire museum in order to talk herself out of joining us. Sadly, that is progress.
Avoid karaoke bars with a clientele 50% hipsters and 50% Vietnam vets.
Christmas was Christmas. Michigan was overcast and strangely lacking in snow. I will not bore you with the devastating details of the slow sink of the automotive industry and all of the houses and people it is taking with it. I will, however, regale you with tales of rough and tumble Detroit and a Gawker-esque ranking of some of our adventures:
1. Trip to the Comet Bar.
Located on poorly lit street with mud parking lot -5
Mix of hipsters and Vietnam vets: +5
Diehard karaoke participation: +3
Cash only: -10
Dogs allowed: +2
Dog food on floor: -2
Man in tank top singing Beyonce's "Irreplaceable": +25
Old Christmas decorations: -4
2. Insane Christmas Shopping Spree to Fairlane Green mega-strip mall:
Located in close proximity to parent's house: +10
Old Navy, Target and TJ Max in one place: +5
Shoppers who looked like a mix of 8 Mile extras and Irish thugs: -15
Pleasant (and empty) Barnes & Noble: +8
Customers rifling through heaps of clothes at Old Navy as if it were loot from a
shipwreck: -10
3. Trip to the newly renovated, expanded, improved Detroit Institute of Arts
Full of people: +100
A collection that rivals any major city: +50
Informative signage and explanations of work: +20
Friendly security guard and staff: +10
Closed cafe: -5
Eating sugar out of packets to maintain normal glucose levels: -10
Standing thisclose to a Rodin sculpture: +80
Christmas itself was a split between neurotic family outbreaks (I will not bore you with the details of my mother's "pita breakdown" on Christmas eve) and a relatively stress-free experience. DG has given me the strength and guidance with how to deal with my parents' stubborn refusal to enjoy life outside the home like normal people. Though we could not actually get my mother to join us at the DIA, she did get online and research the entire museum in order to talk herself out of joining us. Sadly, that is progress.
Avoid karaoke bars with a clientele 50% hipsters and 50% Vietnam vets.
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