Two for the Price of One

Okay, so I’m thinking I might eventually move back here to this blog, perhaps even sooner rather than later, but for now, I’m having fun blogging at my new location (I’m past the initial pangs of withdrawal and abandonment that I felt when I left here), so I think I might stick it out there, too.

Meanwhile, the coolest thing happened to me this morning, and I couldn’t blog about it on my new blog, and I couldn’t tell anyone because they’d all think I was nuts, so I am going to post it here, since this is where it all began anyway.

Are you ready for it?

I actually saw both of the Priuses today. 

Yes, I know, I have no life.  Tell me something I don’t know.

And I guess I might as well just turn this into my Prius-sighting blog, since that’s all I ever talk about anymore. 

So onto the story.

I had to make a stop on the way to work, so I took a slightly different route.  And when I made a left turn onto the road that was going to take me to my destination, I saw one of the Priuses (the one I don’t normally see, since it was coming from the opposite direction) sitting there at the light as I turned.  I totally stared at the guy, and he saw me, and must have thought I was a complete loon.  I’d made eye-contact with the other, more familiar, Prius driver on Friday when I was on my way home.  I passed him and we both had our windows down and I looked across at him and he looked back at me.  So I like to think that, at some point today, they’ll manage to be having a conversation and the crazy girl driving a blue car who always stares at them whenever she sees them will just magically come up.  And then they’d search the net and find out I’d been blogging about them.  And then they’d call the police to come and arrest me for stalking or something.

A girl can dream, can’t she?  Well, all except that last part.  That would kind of suck.

Anyway, after I made my stop, I continued on my way, and figured I wouldn’t see the other one because I had altered my normal route.  But then I saw him, happening to catch him in an later part of my drive than I normally do (since I was actually on time for work instead of running a little late, like I usually am), and thus the two-for-two company Prius sighting was attained. 

Speaking of Priuses (or is it Prii?), this is kind of an interesting read.

An Update on the Prius

Okay, so I swear I’m not going to update this thing every day, so that it’s like I never left.  Even if I were so inclined, I don’t think I could handle two blogs at the moment…and nothing’s changed on the reasons I don’t want to blog here anymore. 

But still, driving to work today, I saw the Prius, and the side of it is no longer dented and injured.  I wanted to blog about it, but realized that no one on my new blog would know what I was talking about, and I couldn’t well link to this blog because that would defeat the whole purpose, now wouldn’t it.

So, here I am.

I hadn’t seen the Prius in a while.  I was running a little late this morning, and there it was.  I suppose it could have been the other one (that business has two that I’ve seen), but since it was on the same route as usual, and I didn’t see it for a while, I’m guessing it was in the shop and now it is fixed. 

Just thought you’d like to know…

It also struck me as kind of funny.  Over at Charming, but single, she gives all the men she talks about names, usually starting with “the” but sometimes not.  She does it with men; I do it with cars. 

What exactly that says about me, I’m not sure. 

Wait Just a Minute There

So here’s the thing.  I’m starting to feel the pain a little bit.  The pain of abandoning this blog and leaving to start another one.  I know it must sound silly, but this blog has sort of been my home.  And now I’ve had to let it go for strange and stupid reasons of my own.

This is not a post saying that I’m returning.  I’m not.  And maybe I never will.  But I think, eventually, I’d like to, if I can.  So that  is the plan, for now.  To continue to blog in my new location until such time as I feel as if I’m able to return to blogging here.

I only post this here to keep anyone who might still be checking in apprised of the situation.  It may or may not mean anything to you.  That is fine; I do not expect it to matter all that much.  It matters to me, though.  If you wish to continue to follow my neurotic self, then drop me a line and I will be happy to provide you with my new address.  If you wish to continue checking in here to see when I return, then by all means do that as well.  I may even update from time to time.  Or I may return to full time blogging here in a flash, so that I barely even need have announced that I was leaving (except I wanted it to be clear that I made a decision to stop blogging rather than just stopping without any conscious intent to do so, which I’ve done many times before – this is different, and it was important to me to convey it as such). 

I must go now, but I am nearly done with the retrospective reading through old posts.  I need only go through the ones I’ve done since joining WordPress and then my journey will be complete.  Look for the last page to be up in the next couple of days.  And then, silence, until such time as I feel fit to return. 

Until then…

Just Joshin’

Okay, so the title of this post is a lie.  I wasn’t just joshin’ (which always makes me think of when I went to see Tuck Everlasting with my friend and her cousin, and one of the characters says that and my friend’s cousin, who was quite a bit younger than us, thought it was the funniest thing ever and kept quoting it the rest of the night) when I said I wasn’t going to be blogging here anymore.  I really did mean it.  Honest, I did. 

No, this post is merely because I can never just let things lie and let the last word be the actual last word.  Rest assured, I will soon be out of your hair though…unless you wish to follow me to my new domain, in which case drop me a line or a comment or send up smoke signals or whatever. 

I just wanted to alert those of you who care that I am indeed setting up pages that link to some of my favorite posts from the time I blogged as Yankee from Mississippi.  The first of these, my posts from the Blogger years, is already available for your consumption.  I will do another for my Typepad posts, and a third for those since joining WordPress.  I broke them down that way not for any thematic reason, but just because I thought it might be too much for one page.  I may or may not update this particular post with links to those new pages as they are completed, but if I don’t, well, just look at the top where the page links are and you should see it.  I also never finished my 100 Things.  Guess that just makes me an incomplete person. 

I can hardly say “the rest is silence” again (though, I am pretty proud of myself for managing to quote the Doors and the Bard in the same post), so I think I’ll “borrow” from favorite poet, T.S. Eliot (with my sincerest apologies to Tom for the hackery – it’s really a very good poem):

This is the way the blog ends
This is the way the blog ends
This is the way the blog ends
Not with a bang but a wimper.

This Is the End, Beautiful Friend

I don’t quite know how to say what I’m going to say, so I think I’m just going to say it, right here at the outset, and then attempt some sort of explanation.

After today, I will cease blogging here. This will, in all likelihood, be my very last post on this blog.

You should all know that I really love blogging. And I’ve really appreciated those of you who have become daily readers and commenters (as well as those of you who read often and have never revealed yourselves to me). I feel almost as if I know some of you, like you are friends of mine. You have offered words of comfort and encouragement and support for this entire endeavor, and I really appreciate that. Much more than I could ever say.

So it is with a heavy heart that I say goodbye to this blog. Unfortunately, for reasons I’m not going to entirely go into here because they are immensely private and not entirely personal, it has become entirely necessary for me to do so. Know that I would not be doing this unless I were completely convinced of that. Part of the reason I haven’t blogged much since last week is that I’ve been kicking back and forth on this, mulling it in my mind, trying to see if there was another option, something I could do instead that would permit me to remain blogging. It’s had my stomach in knots, and kind of put a damper on my creativity.

In truth, I owe every single person reading this an apology. Lately, this blog has become something it was never intended to be, and it is for this reason that I must stop. I owe one person in particular an apology. If you are reading this, and you think I might be talking about you, then you are probably right. So just know that I am sorry, very truly sorry for absolutely everything.

I am going to resume blogging elsewhere, more anonymously. Maybe it is the wrong thing to do. Maybe it is just me running away from my problems rather than standing and fighting bravely on. You have no way of knowing, because I’m not going to elaborate on my reasons for leaving. Just know that I truly feel I have no other option.

Maybe I am making too big a deal out of it. It’s just a blog, after all. And not a very good one at that.

For reasons which are my own, I am not going to post the location of my new blog here on this site. It would sort of put a damper on the whole anonymity thing, for starters. Some of you have been following my blog here, and anyone who wishes to have the new address need only email me at the address to the left and I will send you the new address. I would ask that you respect my wishes to remain anonymous, and to sever all connection between this blog and the new one. You may link to the new blog, of course, if you have one of your own, but just refrain from making any connection between the new and the old or mentioning me by name if ever referencing the new blog.

Of course, this blog will remain here. I’m proud of some of what I’ve written here, as well as on my first blog site. I am going to set up a separate page here linking to some of my favorite posts of mine. I may not get this done by the close of business today (though I very much hope to), so if there are to be changes to this blog after today, that will be it. Maybe it’s unnecessary, but it’s something I want to do, for my own benefit, if for no one else’s. I am selfish to the bitter end.

I guess that just about covers it. The new blog is set up, and the first post is already there. I feel like there’s more I want to say, but there are just no more words.

The rest is silence…

Penultimate Postings

I’m going to get to my big announcement/update post later, but before I do that, I did want to post some links to things I’ve found worthwhile out there in the land of internet reading.

• I’ve been especially enjoying Slate’s conversation about the end of term cases from the Supreme Court between Dahlia Lithwick and Walter Dellinger.  I’m a little behind on reading all the posts, not because it’s incredibly dense, because it isn’t, but because I’ve been a little busy and preoccupied.  It’s definitely worth a look, though.
• Charming, but single has a post I really relate to about writing.  It’s a great little significant story, and she tells it so well. 
• Gail writes beautifully and passionately about knowing she’s right and yet enduring the ridicule and scorn of those who can’t see it and think she’s wrong.  My response to such open criticism is usually to run and hide or find something else to talk about, but Gail bravely fights on. 
• Jeff Ellis has so many interesting and informative posts that it’s hard to keep track or pick just one, but I particularly enjoyed his observations about being out of touch with the latest youthful slang.  I was never all that much in touch with the slang to begin with, and I’m not quite as old as Jeff, but I still relate.  I’ve had other moments like that, when it finally hits you that you’re getting older, or that you’re older than you think of yourself as being.  Especially here lately. 
• Litwit has written a tongue-in-cheek singles ad that I really got a kick out of. 
• The Times has a review of the iPhone.  The hype was big, but the phone (they say) mostly meets it, though of course, there are flaws and quirks.  I must admit that I really didn’t get all the fuss at first, but now that I keep seeing ads for it on T.V., I’ve started to want one.  Only no way I’m shelling out all that money to buy one, and I really don’t need it or wouldn’t really get all that much use out of it anyway.  It’s just cool and so that part of me that loves new gadgets and fun technology wants it. 

Oh, and last but not least, it’s Wednesday One-Liners at Overheard in New York, so click on over and keep on scrolling down.  Some of it is not for the faint of heart the weak of stomach or the easily offended, so be warned…This one had me in stitches, though.  Poor New Jersey:

Pilot: For those of you on the right side of the aircraft, there will be a great view of Manhattan. We’ll be coming up the Hudson and making a turn over Central Park heading into the Southwest. For those of you on the left side of the aircraft, well… you get Newark, sorry.

–Flight 3188 into LaGuardia

Overheard by: Wendy to the right

From Deep Within

As most of you reading this already know, from this post and the dearth of blogging following it, last week was not a particularly good week for me. This week is not shaping up to be too much better. It seems that no matter how much I try to get away from certain things, they continue to pop up, usually just when I start to feel to fog lift and see the sunlight beyond the dreariness of my current situation and mood.

The thing that happened last week was particularly upsetting, and just sort of kept piling on as well, so it brought all of the old stuff back up again, the stuff I thought I’d gotten past already. So that’s what made it especially bad. I think perhaps I as just in denial about being over some of it, in an out-of-sight, out-of-mind kind of way, or possibly in a self-delusional way as well. I mean, if I were over things the way I thought I was and the way I should you, the happenings of last week wouldn’t have hit me nearly as hard as they did.

I’ve never been one to get over things easily or quickly. So these feelings have lingered a bit longer than they should have. I’m still in something of a funk over it. But that’s the way it goes.

My mother was talking to me the other day, and she said that she’s heard that it’s harder to get over being left by someone you love rather than the death of someone you love. I’m not sure I believe that’s true. She was saying it to try and comfort me over my lingering sadness and issues surrounding the end of my relationship. I appreciated it, but I didn’t honestly believe it was true. She said that people say it’s harder because with death, at least there is finality. It may be harder or more difficult initially, but it’s over and done with all at once, whereas with a break-up there are lingering concerns that flare up from time to time that mean it is never really over.

I’ve thought about it a little bit since then, and then I was reading something the other day that made me think of something else that might make it easier, though even now I’m still skeptical. When someone you love dies, you can sometimes be comforted by the fact that, if they were alive, they would still love you and still be proud of you and still want to be with you and know you and share with you and all the rest. When someone leaves you though, the exact opposite is true. That person obviously doesn’t love you anymore, and doesn’t want to be around you anymore, and that makes it harder to move on because it makes it harder to feel good about yourself. When someone you love dies, you can imagine them looking in on you from beyond, or imagine how happy or proud or whatever they would be of you if they were only there. It might be sad that they aren’t, and bring about a little pang of sorrow or whatever. But it doesn’t actually make you feel worse about yourself. It doesn’t make you feel rejected.

It’s hard to deal with rejection, especially if, like me, you are already prone to being down on yourself.

I still don’t think I buy that it’s harder, though. It shouldn’t be at any rate. Though it did make me think for a brief moment if I’d prefer it if my ex had died rather than dumped me and started seeing someone else. It didn’t take me too long to conclude that I wouldn’t prefer that at all. Not only would I be in as much, if not more, pain, but it would hurt too many other people that I care about and would cut his life short, which I wouldn’t wish at all, even if it meant I would experience significantly less pain than I have over the past few months.

I have, more than once, and not without sadness, wished that I could go back to the moment I first met him and that I could hold onto that initial impression I had of him, rather than getting to know him and growing to like him and then to love him. I would lose a lot of pleasant memories, ones that still make me smile despite myself, but I would also lose a whole lot of pain, and when I thought of him, if I did at all, it would be as someone inconsequential and insignificant to me. Still, even this is unsatisfactory.

Don’t know what made me go off on that tangent. It’s not that it’s not relevant, but it’s not what I wanted to say. The past week has taught me some things. I need to make some changes, some of which you’ll be hearing about, because they will involve this blog.

But I’ll save that for another post. Look for it tomorrow.

Yes, It Does

A Secret.

They’ve also added comments over there at PostSecret. I’ve never noticed it before, so I assume it’s new. Not sure how I feel about that. Sometimes, I’ve read one that I might want to respond to, but opening it up for comment seems to go against the whole spirit of the endeavor, which is to offer a place for people to disclose secrets, not a place for people to discuss or debate those secrets.

Then again, you can just skip the comments if you don’t want to read them…which is what I think I’ll do, even if curiousity over what’s being said might take over at some point.

The Jazz Chronicles

I’m really worried about my cat.

She’s always been a little off, I guess. She was a stray, as almost all of the cats adopted by my family have been. She was just a little kitten when my mom and I found her in the parking lot of my mom’s dance studio. At the time, that area of town wasn’t really well developed, and there were a lot of empty lots. My mom’s studio was one of the few businesses open there, then. It seems that empty or abandoned lots are great places to dump unwanted pets. I remember when my sister and I were young, we were playing in the wooded lot across the street from our house and we found these two incredibly young kittens. Their eyes weren’t even open yet, and they weren’t weaned from their mother yet. Still, someone had dumped them off in the woods and my sister and I happened upon them. We went and got our mom and she brought them home. We took them to the vet to try and figure out how the help them survive. He gave us bottles to feed them with and formula to mix up for them, but a week later both of them were dead. It was absolutely horrible.

But I was talking about my cat. My current cat. When my mom and I found her outside the studio that night, we took her home. She was so small and cute. When we’d decided to keep her, Mom said that she could be mine. My sister already had a couple of the cats that belonged to her (one had been a Christmas present, and another a present from a boyfriend), so this one got to be mine. I named her Jazz, because I was totally obsessed with John Stockton and the Utah Jazz at the time.

I don’t remember her being skittish at first. There are even pictures (well, one picture – our family isn’t too big on them, I guess) of me holding her, which would never happen now that she’s so easily frightened. I’m not sure when she developed such nervousness. I think it might have been around the time we had her spayed. She didn’t like that at all. It traumatized her so much, she hid under the bed for a couple of days and wouldn’t come out.

Then, the rest of her fearful behavior followed. She would run and hide from people she didn’t know, and even sometimes from those she did. She seemed to prefer women to men, I suspect because the men she’d mostly come in contact with, living in our house, had been a little on the loud side and she didn’t seem to like loud too much.

She also got extremely fat. Probably even unhealthily so. Only she never seemed to eat very much, because she was such a scaredy cat that she wouldn’t come when the food got put out, and would hang back and let all the other cats eat first, so she wouldn’t get very much food. But seriously, she was fat. Picking her up was like lifting a small child, which didn’t matter much because she was very hard to catch, and also very strong, so that if you did manage to catch her and pick her up, she would push very hard to get away, making it almost impossible to actually hold her for any length of time.

All of these things are still true, by the way. It’s not like she’s dead or anything. Well, except the part about her being fat. She’s not fat anymore, but I’m getting to that.

When the storm hit, the cats stayed in the house alone. The flood water came in, and luckily, none of the cats died. They all managed to get away from it safely, though a couple of them must have been in it at some point because when we got back to the house, they were wet.

That day was so scary and sad. To walk into your home and realize that it had been filled with nearly five feet of water was really something. All the furniture had floated around, making it very hard to navigate once we actually got inside. We checked to make sure we could find all of the cats. Jazz, poor thing, she got frightened by my grandfather coming in and she ran into the basement, which had been one of her favorite hiding places before. Only this was just after the storm, so the basement was still full of water. Not completely full, but definitely had a couple of feet of water still sitting in it.

So we could hear her splashing and thrashing around in it, and then we could hear her scuffle up onto some piece of furniture and then she started moaning, a horrible sound, like she was dying or something. But we couldn’t do anything about it. The basement still had all that water in it, and it was getting dark outside so we needed to get back to my grandfather’s where we were staying (because all the power was out and the roads impassible), and there was so much funiture turned over and floating around down there and the water was icky bayou water and thus not at all clear, so there was no way to even see where she was, let only not get hurt going in after her. It was too dangerous.

I was so upset, though. We had to leave the house, and I was bawling all the way back up the street to the car. We’d had to park so far away because of all the trees in the road. We made it back the next day when it was light once again, and after doing a thorough search of the house, we found her. Under the bed in my room. She wouldn’t come out for days. Just like the time we’d had her spayed. She had been traumatized once again.

Really, it’s been since then. She hasn’t been the same. She’s lost so much weight, she’s really thin now. And she’s stopped taking care of herself. She also developed this really bad allergic reaction to something and lost a whole bunch of her hair. She’s been back to the doctor several times, yet it doesn’t seem to be getting better. She just lays around now. She doesn’t even run like she’s scared anymore.

It’s almost like she’s depressed.

I remember reading somewhere once that pets will often take on the traits of their owners. Or maybe I never actually read it anywhere, and it just seems like one of those things that should be true. I’ve been a little depressed of late, it’s true. Not cripplingly so, mind you, for the most part. I’ve just been under a cloud or in a funk. The past couple of days have been pretty bad, though, and just now, when I was walking by Jazz, the thought occurred to me that it might be my fault. I might be making her sick by being so down myself.

I dismissed the thought, though. After all, she’s been like this pretty much since the storm, and my mood hasn’t been that way for nearly that long. So maybe it really is that pets can get depressed and traumatized, and she was by the storm, and it’s just taking her a while to get over it. Probably, she never will, unless something else big happens. But that’ll just end up sending her to an early grave or something.

Still, I can’t get the thought out of my head that the two of us, pet and owner, seem to be in something of the same boat at the moment. I found myself looking at her and thinking, I know how she feels. Silly, yes, but true.

I am still worried about her, though. And I just wanted to tell someone, so here it is. Perhaps one more trip to the vet, just to see if there’s anything else he can do for her, wouldn’t be a complete waste of time.

I Know I Said I’d Be Back Today

Well, folks, today isn’t much better than yesterday. I’m still not feeling particularly chatty, or really very well at all. I am no longer angry, but I am feeling hurt and upset and confused and bewildered and a whole other host of things all that the same time, which isn’t particularly pleasant. It makes it very difficult to cut through of all that to try and find something interesting to say. (I would blog about what I’m upset about, but I assure you you’d all find it dreadfully boring, and you’d all wonder just why I found it so upsetting in the first place.)

However, I shall endeavor to find something that I might be interested in blogging about, because, right now, the topics really aren’t coming. Last night was pretty rough, again, as far as sleep and emotional wear and tear goes, so my brain is far from its full functioning capacity.

In the meantime, check out some of the fabulous blogs and links to the right.

To My Daily Readers

This is just to let you know that tomorrow there will likely be no blogging tomorrow. As of right this moment, I am extremely pissed off, and I’m afraid if I start to post anything, I’ll just end up going off on that which I am pissed about, and this would not be good for you or for me.

I did want to post something by way of explanation, though, since I’ve been really good about updating most days, in case anyone stopped by for their daily dose of Shannon only to discover absolutely nothing. I wouldn’t want you all to worry. So here we are.

Seriously, the humor is a mask for darker forces. If by some miracle, I happen to be over the thing I’m upset about now (which, if you know me at all, you know is highly unlikely), then blogging as normal will resume tomorrow. Otherwise, I should be relatively back to normal by Thursday.

Just another warning: it’s also highly unlikely that I will get any sleep tonight, so if by some chance I do blog tomorrow, it’s likely to be incoherent anyway, so perhaps it’s just better if you all stay away. For your own protection. My incoherent ramblings are particularly dangerous when brought on by exhaustion.

A happy Wednesday to you all!

More on Knocked Up and Abortion

I thoroughly enjoyed this post by Alex Massie which discusses the “controversy” regarding the politics of abortion and the film Knocked Up.  I’ve blogged about this before, and find it to be a fascinating topic, and this post covers it all.  Really, it’s so well-written and thought out that I wish I’d written it myself. 

He discusses some of the reactions from various bloggers and pundits, manages to work in an interesting discussion of The 40 Year Old Virgin (which is one of the more thought-provoking responses to that film I’ve ever read), and even extrapolates it out to some larger point about politics in film generally. 

Link via Ross Douthat. 

It’s quite long, but well worth the read, so check it out. 

The Obligatory Update Post

So here are some updates on my life and the crazy things I like to blog about from time to time.

I did indeed take dance class again last night. I didn’t take the whole class. Think it’s best to ease my way in.  For those familiar with ballet, I just took the barre portion of the class.  I’m not nearly as sore this morning as I was the last time, so either it did get a little easier, or else not staying for the whole class helped.  Either way, it’ll make me better able to make it to the rest of the classes this week and hopefully get some momentum going.  Now all I need to do is lose some weight (especially considering one of my fellow bloggers, both much taller and male, reports weighing less than I do), but as that involves the dreaded “D” word, I think I’ll just switch to another topic now. 

I completely forgot to mention before, but I saw the Prius again on Friday. It was strange, too, because I’d been taking my regular route all week and hadn’t seen it. But then on Friday, I took a completely different route, because I was going out that night rather than home, and there it was. The banged up, white Prius with the familiar company info on the side. The saga continues, curiouser and curiouser.

The Macbook continues to work for me.  He and I (I haven’t named him yet…I’m open to suggestions) had a little stress the other day because I let his battery run low and it wouldn’t recharge at first.  But all is well once again, and we’ll be very happy together, I’m sure. 

I’m also currently mulling a decision that could greatly impact the course of my life.  Even more so than buying a Mac.  So stay tuned.  You’ll be the first to know.  Okay, so maybe not the first, but still.  I promise to keep you apprised of anything really important. 

Really Old Films

I wish I had more time to look at this right now, but I don’t.  Still, thought someone happening here might find it of interest.  Plus linking it here will make it easier for me to find it later. 

I will say that, in reading through the first couple of slides, I find it very interesting that the exhibit in question juxtaposed early cinema with paintings.  I am unconvinced, like the author of the slides, that 19th century art played much of a role in the development of cinema.  Especially right at the start.  It cannot be doubted that film is an art form today, nor can it really be denied that many early filmmakers were artists in their own right, but I don’t think that, at the time, they were considered such, nor do I think that they drew much inspiration from the more highbrow art world of the time. 

I could be wrong, I suppose.  But I just don’t seem much of a relationship there. 

Trying Again

Despite the fact that it kicked my ass two weeks ago today, I’m going to attempt another ballet class this evening.

The summer is a bad time to choose to get back into any semblance of ballet shape. In a way, it’s better, because the class combines several different levels, which means it’s easier than a normal class would be. However, the schedule is sporadic in the summer months. There are three classes a week, but not ever two weeks in a row. Since it knocks me out so much and makes it nearly impossible for me to get to another class in the same week, I end up having to wait a couple of weeks for another opportunity, at which point my body has delved back into stubborn laziness.

A part of me really doesn’t want to go. I don’t like pain. I don’t like it when it’s hard. I don’t like how fat I am, in a room surrounded by amazingly skinny little girls.

However, I was mulling over whether or not I should go this evening on my drive home from work, when a thought popped into my head that almost made me cry. Despite everything, the difficulty, the pain, the fact that I don’t look anywhere near my best, I still feel beautiful when I dance. I even felt it two weeks ago when I took that class, as painfully out of shape as I am in my current state. When I got in that room and started to move, I felt beautiful. In fact, it’s probably the first time in a long time that I’ve felt that way.

So, yeah, I’m going to go. I’ll let you know later whether an hour and a half of beauty is worth three days of pain. I’m thinking that, even for an old pessimist like me, the answer will be yes.

Question of the Day – 6.18.07

Is it wrong that I think I’m funny?

This Might Just Be My Favorite

Okay, this is the funniest one I’ve read in a while.  No story to go along with it.  Just some good laughs:

Well, Screw Him and His Oscillating Misnomers

Eye candy: Why would he say that I was not educated?
Friend: Well, that’s not exactly what he said, now was it?
Eye candy: No, he said I was tapid and voided of thought.
Friend: Vapid and devoid of thought.
Eye candy: Same thing.

–Manhattan-bound F train

Overheard by: SandmanEsq
via Overheard in New York, Jun 15, 2007

Reading stuff like this really makes me wish I’d spent less time listening to my iPod on the train when I lived in NYC. 

In Case You Want to Know What They’re Thinking

The local paper of record here in South Mississippi, The Sun Herald, has finally joined the land of the living and started an editors blog.  It should provide some mild form of entertainment, so I will be sure to check it from time to time.

Of the early posts, I found this one to be particularly amusing.  Colbert may be an ass (and he is, which is probably why he’s so popular), but I’m equally sure that no one who dares to call herself a serious journalist should really be taking him too seriously. 

I know, I know, scores of young people get their news from Stewart and Colbert.  Or so we’re led to believe.  I, for one, am dubious of that, because most of the people I know who love to watch that crap those shows are pretty well informed in the first place.  I can’t imagine it would be nearly as funny to watch if that was the only news you were ever exposed to.  But even if it is true, the fault for that doesn’t lie with the guy who delivers the fake news in the first place. 

And, please, Colbert defenders:  no nasty emails or comments, please.  It’s just not my cup of tea.  I will say this for him, though:  I don’t dislike him nearly as much as I dislike Bill Maher. 

There are also two whole posts on that now infamous Sopranos series finale.  One before it aired and another after.  Reading and hearing people talk about this finale (almost) makes me wish I’d made more of an effort to get into that show.  Perhaps I can pick it up on DVD, though I’m sure it won’t be the same. 

Ad Reviews

I absolutely love reading Seth Stevenson’s Ad Report Card features in Slate.  The latest is no exception.  It’s fun because if you’ve seen the ads, and you have a strong opinion about them, then you don’t feel so stupid reading someone else talk about it.  And if you haven’t, then you get exposed to new things that you can keep an eye out for. 

I meant to blog last week about his article on the vitaminwater spots.  In fact, I thought I had.  But I see now that I neglected to do so, which is a grave oversight on my part, if for no other reason than this spot which features David Ortiz and Brian Urlacher playing badmitton.  Absolutely freakin’ hilarious. 

I used to drink vitaminwater when I still lived in New York, especially that summer I took the bar exam.  Every day after my lecture at Town Hall, I’d head home and go to the deli around the corner and get some to drink, mostly as a way to get vitamins to stave off sickness.  Of course, I’d also go into Dunkin Donuts and get iced coffee loaded down with cream and sugar and (usually) a donut or a bagel. 

I liked the vitaminwater well enough (and it made me feel like I was doing something semi-healthy by drinking it, even if that wasn’t exactly the case), but I never particularly thought about it in the same was as other “sports” beverages like Gatorade.  Part of his point in the article is that the new marketing campaign for the drink is all over the place, trying to appeal to a very broad audience. 

I don’t drink it really anymore.  They sell it around here.  I’ve seen it.  But I’ve sworn off all things healthy (remotely or otherwise), so there you have it. 

These articles are educational, too.  For example, I did not know that the proper spelling was “vitaminwater.”  I would have gone with Vitamin Water myself.  I’m so square.  Square enough to call myself square, even. 

Why I’m Standing Still

Note:  The somber reflection that follows in this post is brought to you by my Monday morning funk.  You have been warned.

Upon further reflection, I don’t think I’ll be able to blog much about my very strange weekend.  One of the things that happened is absolutely none of my business.  Another of the things is none of your business.  And the third…well, it’s hard to say exactly.  Perhaps I will share more of it at some point.  It’s just not exactly a highlight of my existence (though hardly the lowest of the lowlights either), and while I’m not normally averse to making myself look bad on this blog, something gives me pause this time.  And I could expound on the rest of my weekend, but that’s just more of the same crap as always, and even I’m starting to get bored with that. 

I feel in some ways that I’m standing at a corner.  I’ve been standing at this corner for a while now, and I need to choose which direction I’m going to go:  right or left.  Straight ahead is no longer an option.  I’ve been doing that for a while now, and it’s really not getting me much of anywhere.  Left is probably the easier option, and it’s also probably more attractive, but it’s also not, if I’m honest with myself, what I need to be doing.  I’ve probably already made a slight turn in that direction anyway of late. 

I also don’t want to lose everything I’ve built up to this point, however disappointing it has turned out to be for me.  This would mean turning right.  Only this is extremely difficult, and I worry about my sanity and my survival if I so choose.  I only slightly exaggerate. 

Of course, the one thing I want to do is turn back, to have things the way they were when they made sense to me, to have another chance to do it right.  Unfortunately, I have no way to time travel, so this is simply not possible.  But my strong desire to do that is what keeps me standing still, what keeps me from choosing a direction for my life, because while I know I need to choose, I don’t really desire either choice.  

When I’ve come out of my funk, I’ll try to post something…different.  Of course, at this rate, it’ll be 2010 before that happens.  Or, you know, around 2:00 p.m.  Whichever comes first.

Not Just Another Sunday

It’s been a strange, not entirely bad but not altogether good, weekend. Perhaps I’ll have more to say about it later.

I will say this though: every time I hear something bad or upsetting, or something good and wonderful, I hate that the one person I want to call and tell and share it with and talk to about it, I can’t. It’s like a part of me is missing.

But that’s the way it goes, I suppose. Life goes on, and love goes free.

In the meantime, if you’ve never checked it out, go see PostSecret. I’ve often felt like sending one in, but I always have trouble finding postcards, and then the moment passes.

I’ll leave you with the following from E.E. Cummings:

my father moved through dooms of love
through sames of am through haves of give,
singing each morning out of each night
my father moved through depths of height

this motionless forgetful where
turned at his glance to shining here;
that if(so timid air is firm)
under his eyes would stir and squirm

newly as from unburied which
floats the first who,his april touch
drove sleeping selves to swarm their fates
woke dreamers to their ghostly roots

and should some why completely weep
my father’s fingers brought her sleep:
vainly no smallest voice might cry
for he could feel the mountains grow.

Friday Funnies from the City

So after a dearth of really humorous stuff, Overheard in New York has a plethora of amusement.  Seriously, almost all of the recent posts are very funny. 

I like to quote one, as usual, and I had a hard time picking. I almost went with this one, because it was really funny and reminds me of this guy, but I ended up settling with the following because it resonated with me on a personal level:

Just Get Her a “Be Like Me” T-shirt with Your Picture

NYU student: So, I think I’m just going to tell my girlfriend, ‘You know, I’ve been going to the gym a lot, working out, watching what I eat, and I think you should, too.’
Friend, as all receptionists stare: Yeah, no — you really can’t say that.

–Palladium Gym, NYU
via Overheard in New York, Jun 15, 2007

Friday Disappointments

I came somewhat close to almost getting to possibly meet Barack Obama. But it wasn’t to be.

Netflix sent me a disc from way down on my list, even though everything above it said available. Since I’m on my T.V. series kick, I can’t just watch some disc 1 from another show before I’ve finished the one I’m working on now. So I sent it back and now I have to wait that extra time for the next disc. Aggravation, thy name is Netflix (but you’re still better than Blockbuster, so I’m not going anywhere).

I was thinking of going to New Orleans to see a movie this weekend (since my trip last time was such a success), but gas prices are so high. Pretty soon, I’m not going to be able to afford to drive to and from work anymore.

I almost did something really horrible and stupid this week.  I ended up not, which is good, but I’m still disappointed in myself that the possibility of doing something so monstrous could have even crossed my mind. 

I got an email yesterday from someone else at work about organizing my high school reunion, which will be next year.  Yikes.  I feel so old.  I shouldn’t be this old. 

My list of 100 Things seems to be destined to hover at just over 50 (sorry, but I haven’t checked it in a while and even I’m not interested in it enough to look and see exactly how many additions I’ve made) and not grow any more at all.  Who knew I was so boring?

Oh, yeah, and I just read that Company is closing.  Since I’m not going to make it to NYC by the end of the month, I’m going to have to miss it.  Originally, I was supposed to have made a trip back to New York by now, in which case I would have gotten to see it.  Oh, well. 

There’s more, but I can’t really say.  I’ll just leave you with lyrics from Aimee Mann:

Something isn’t right
I don’t know how I know
But baby, it’s despite
Your dog-and-pony show

I can hear it coming
You’re only going through the motions, baby
With your engines humming
You’re just going through the motions, baby

The State of Things This Thursday

I started a new screenplay last night.  No, not the one I was writing for Script Frenzy.  I definitely lost my passion for that one.  This was a new idea that came to me.  I wish I could say more, but I can’t.  Or I could, but I won’t.  I don’t normally like to talk about what I’m writing anyway, but this is unique, even in that regard.  It’s deeply personal, and since I don’t mind getting pretty personal here most of the time, you can imagine what it must entail. 

Or maybe you can’t.  I really have no idea. 

Of course, this means it will probably never go anywhere except on the hard drive of my computer.  But I still felt it had to be written in that form, and no other.  I see the pictures in my mind.  I think it’ll make an awesome screenplay and would make a great movie.  Pity no one will ever see it because it’ll never get made.  No one will ever even read it but me.  There are some secrets, some thoughts, some feelings, some emotions that are too deep, too dark, too painful, and too real to be shared with others.  Right now, I just have to get them out in the only way I know how.

I really know how to lighten the mood around here, don’t I?

I think I’ve settled on the color scheme I’ve got now.  I might tweak a little with variations on the theme, but other than that, I think I like it.  Thoughts?  I really like the text and sidebar and link colors a lot, so I probably won’t change those at all.  I’m not sure about the header, though.  Suggestions? 

I haven’t seen my favorite little beat up car this week.  I wanted you guys to have good information, though, so I did a little recon work.  I did determine that it is, in fact, a Prius.  There are at least two of them that the company employs in their fleet.  One is the beat up one that I see that guy driving to and from work everyday.  The other one seems to stay in the parking lot, so is probably just driven during the work day for business purposes.  Or else the person who drives it works on a different, and longer, schedule than the other drivers. 

I can’t get over the fact that the Prius seems an odd choice for a company car, especially considering these guys also have a fleet of SUVs.  Guess they’re trying to balance the environmental impact out a bit.

I’ve been enamored of late by Aimee Mann’s The Forgotten Arm.  It’s such a beautifully sad and melancholy album.  It’s really suited my mood recently.  It’s wonderfully lyrical, and as a bonus, it actually tells a story of love and addiction, not to mention boxing.  It’s sort of like Rocky meets Days of Wine and Roses – but, you know, in song instead of on film.  So, more profound and lyrical rather than linear and narrative driven.  One of the tracks skips, but what can you do?

Faith & Reason

I thought a lot about whether I wanted to post this before starting to type this.  This is unusual for me.  Normally, I read something and if I think it’s interesting, I post it, and I’m willing to share my thoughts without thinking much about it at all.  This probably explains why a lot of the time my posts make absolutely no sense whatsoever.

I’m not sure why I gave this one so much thought.  Maybe because I wasn’t sure what to say about it at all.  But when I saw this post still on WordPress’ Blog of the Minute this morning, I decided to go ahead and bite the bullet. 

Before I go any further, I should probably just link to the post itself. 

Here it is.

Still, I’ll offer a summary.  The author makes a point that has been made many times before, or so it would appear, by those who wish to refute the claim that the Bible is the infallible word of God.  The author cites I Kings 7:23-26, which includes some measurements which, the long and short of it is, seem to suggest that Pi = 3, not 3.14 etc. on and on into infinity like we all know it does.  (No, I am not a mathematician.  Why do you ask?)  The author then calls upon all Bible literalists to stand beside this statement of God, and reject the mathematically proven concept of Pi, the same way they stand behind creationism and reject evolution. 

The post is well worth a read, as are a lot of the comments that follow it.  Some of the commenters make various points refuting the author’s argument, not by quoting more of the Bible, but by using math and logic themselves.  Several point out that the measurement in question, a cubit, is itself an approximation, and therefore it isn’t surprising that the equation specified would show Pi=3, since the measurements aren’t exact. 

I don’t really have anything constructive to add to the discussion on the merits.  For one thing, math is pretty much a foreign language to me.  I know enough to get the basics, and if you sit me down and talk real slow and maybe explain it two or three times in a couple of different ways, I usually catch on.  But I don’t really care to devote myself to this all that much, especially when there are much more knowledeable people out there on both sides already doing it. 

I am a person of faith.  I was raised to believe, and the particular faith I at least nominally adhere to still, that the Bible is the literal word of God and that it is infallible.  Still, as a human myself, I cannot help but be attracted to the position that, assuming the Bible is the word of God, it was still spoken to men and transcribed by men, and that it is more than possible (if not probable) that something gets lost in the transcription.  Not to mention the translation.

This is part of what I meant the other day when I was talking about not being sure the whole faith thing was for me.  Faith does not come easy to me.  Sometimes, I wish it did.  I see other people who have great relationships with God, and it helps them deal with the struggles of their lives.  I look and them and I know them, so I know they are sincere.  I feel like I tried it, too, but instead of florishing, like they did, I failed. 

I think I’m just too logical for it all.  I believe there is a God.  I believe he speaks.  I believe he wants a relationship with every single person on the earth.  I just can’t seem to do it myself.  It isn’t God.  It’s me.  I’m too bound to reason.  I like things to make sense.  I like to understand why things happen.  I believe it because I’ve seen it in other people.  I’ve thought, once or twice, that I saw it in myself as well. 

Then again, maybe faith doesn’t come easily to anyone.  I think most of us are, by nature, the same way as I describe myself.  Some people are just better at transcending the human nature to get at something else.  Other people don’t really want to transcend human nature at all.  Still others try, but are just left feeling like their struggle is in vain.

I don’t think anyone reading this would have a hard time guessing where I’d place myself in those three possibilities. 

Determining Your Accent

I haven’t done a quiz in a while, so away we go:

What American accent do you have? (Best version so far) Southern People used to hate Southern accents but now everyone wants one.

Click Here to Take This Quiz Brought to you by YouThink.com quizzes and personality tests.

I’m a little disappointed in my results. But that’s the way it goes. I am from the South after all. And I wouldn’t say everyone wants one. I can think of a few people I know who wouldn’t want a Southern accent at all.

Quiz via Gail.

More Fun with Color Schemes

Yes, I’m still playing around with the colors. So they might change a bit (or perhaps drastically) here and there over the next few days. Or weeks. Or months. Or years even.

I might even go back to pink.

I know. I’m schizophrenic. Such is life.

Question for the Day – 6.13.07

Where did all the anvils go?

Discuss.

Yes, The Colors Are Changing

So, last night, I was playing around on Blogger and found a template I really liked.  It is totally pink and totally fun.  So I set it for that blog, and was thinking about this one and wishing it could be pink, too.

It wasn’t until this morning that I remembered that this template here on WordPress lets you change the colors around in a flash.  So I did a little playing around, and for a few short hours, this blog was, in fact, pink. 

Only then I realized, maybe I wasn’t so crazy about pink as my blog colors after all.  I mean, I like pink, but I worried it might alienate others who happen upon these distant shores into thinking I’m some sort of frou-frou girly-girl whose blog isn’t worth the space. 

So, I thought about it, and opted to go green instead.  But not before returning to the default blue. 

Hopefull, this color scheme will stick.  But we all know that, with me, anything’s possible.  I’m crazy and indecisive.  A bad combination.

Wednesday Morning Dashes

The weather here is so ridiculously hot, even for South Mississippi in June. It’s not normally cool and refreshing at this time of year by any means, but it’s also usually not in the mid-90s for days on end. It’s disgusting. If it keeps this up, I just might have to move. It’s an idle threat, but still…

In other news, I finally changed that personal gmail address that I was complaining about not to long ago. No, I’m not going to tell you what it is. If you need to contact me, just look to the left for the answer to all your prayers. But I’m hoping it’ll be better than the last one was as far as getting the unwanted email of others (and in case you didn’t read the last post about this, no, I’m not just talking about spam). I sent out an email to all my contacts, which was properly witty and informative (in the way only I can be), and several of them really appreciated it, so that was nice.

Also, I was looking and fiddling around some more on the new Blogger last night, and I seriously may (don’t groan) move back over to my original blog home. Maybe I’m just feeling nostalgic. I still don’t really want to, per se, since I’ve moved this blog around so much since starting it, but it also wouldn’t be too much of an inconvenience, just a simple matter of changing the word “wordpress” to the word “blogspot” (neither of which are actual words) in any links you might have. And the wordpress page will still be around, linking back to the blogger page in case any strays come late to the game. It’ll be better than last time, at least, where the whole blog just disappeared and no one knew what had become of me.

I’m not going to do it today, I don’t think (unless I become suddenly inspired, which, let’s face it, is not very likely), but there are some things that I think I prefer about the blogger platform. Perhaps I can blog from there for a little while, see if I really do like it better, before making the switch permanent. We shall see.

I could go on (and on and on and on), but I don’t want to be late for work. More about all of this, and much, much more, later.

Changes Yet Again

Okay, so I know I only changed the theme a couple of days ago, but I decided to add some stuff to the sidebar and I didn’t like how long it was. So I switched (again) to the current one, which has two sidebars.

I think I like it. Hopefully, this one will stick for a while.

Also, not to freak anyone out, but I was thinking earlier today about moving back to Blogger. I know, I know. I drive everyone crazy. It’s hard not to, being certifiable myself and all. I think, though, since I just made all these changes here and I’m pretty happy with them that I will not switch back to Blogger just yet. One day, I may though. They’ve made a lot of changes over there since I left, and there are other things I prefer about it to WordPress.

But never fear. For now, I’m staying put.

I subscribed over at Feedburner today, so I’ve added a link on the left to subscribe to my feedburner feed as well as a link to subscribe via email. So if you’re interested, avail yourself of them.

Monday’s Thoughts on the Weekend’s Woes

This morning was bad.  Worse even than the typical Monday morning.  I absolutely did not want to get up.  I tossed and turned, having woken well before I actually needed to get out of bed, fretting over the fact that eventually, I would have to get up and face the day.  I’ve been better about this lately, so it was very discouraging to wake up this morning feeling that way. 

I didn’t have that great a weekend, which probably didn’t help matters much.  Friday evening, I got together with a friend of mine that I hadn’t really gotten to hang out with in a while.  It should have been fun, and it did end up being fun, but there was some unpleasantness, too.  To start, I was in a mood, as I have been for a couple of days (and still am, more or less…a little less at the moment, but I trend moody, so it fluctuates), but I wasn’t too keen on talking about it with her.  Then, she told me some things that should have been somewhat encouraging (not exactly the right word, but I cannot think of any better), but they only succeeded in upsetting me more.  Still, it was somewhat burden-releasing overall, after we talked about it some more, and my mood improved greatly and we were able to enjoy the rest of the evening.

Still, I left her feeling unsettled.  Even though it was very late, and I was very tired, I didn’t want to go home, so I ended up taking a very ill-advised drive around town.  Then, when I got home, I still couldn’t sleep, so I stayed up very late watching old episodes of Gilmore Girls on DVD.

Saturday was okay.  It would have been an anniversary of sorts, if the ex-boyfriend and I were still together, so that had the potential to put me in a major funk, which it kind of did, but I managed to keep busy enough so that I didn’t have too much time to focus on it.  Still, it was a kind of mundane busy:  running errands, spending money I don’t really have (especially now that I’ve bought a new computer – but it had to be done), driving to and fro. 

Then, yesterday, I went to church.  I haven’t been to church since Easter.  It’s a long and complicated story, but I had been going regularly before that.  That particular date doesn’t have any real significance as far as the story goes, I guess that was just what you could call the breaking point. 

My ceasing to go to church didn’t have anything to do with a change in my belief about God.  At least not at first.  It was more about the associations I had with the church and with the people at the church and my lack of willingness (due to fear) to step out and find someplace to go on my own.  Like I said, it’s complicated.

Anyway, I took a big step out of the box in going on Sunday.  And it wasn’t the instant therapy I’d hoped it would be.  I guess it’s going to be a long row to hoe, and only time will tell whether I’m up for it or not.

Part of my dissatisfaction came from parts of the pastor’s message.  Overall, it was a good message and I didn’t object to it’s main content.  He did, however, diverge onto a couple of tangents that gave me pause.  But that’s going to happen anywhere.  Besides, overall I really like him, so I can look past an occassional odd thought or statement.  Another part of my dissatisfaction had to do with being extremely distracted at the outset, by something which turned out to be nothing.  So I’m hoping I’ll be strong enough to give it another chance.  I have to tell you, though, I’m starting to wonder if all this church stuff is really for me after all. 

In a way, it’s sad that I’ve come to this point.  Just last year at this time, I was pretty on fire for God stuff.  Not so much the particular church I was attending, but the whole notion of praying and discerning God’s will for my life and growing in my relationship with God.  I’m not talking about religion.  I’m talking about faith, fleeting and indiscernible though it may be. 

And it really did help me.  I started to come out of my shell and develop friendships and relationships with others.  And the relationships I already had in my life improved.  I was even able to enter into a romantic relationship.  Prior to this, I believed myself completely incapable of opening up to and relating to another person in this way.  And my previous self would have been completely incapable of such a thing.  It was all thanks to growing in God and trusting in God that I was able to take that particular leap.

Then, another wonderful thing happened.  I was banded together with some really awesome people, in addition to my boyfriend, and I felt like, for possibly the first time in my life, I had a place and a purpose.  I felt as if I fit in this place, with these people, so perfectly.  Even though there was a lot of hurt and pain involved in our union as a group, there was also love and support and friendship and fellowship like I’d never known. 

But that’s all gone now.  Completely and hopelessly shattered, and my heart for God was shattered right along with it.  It’s amazing how one little thing can come along and cripple you seemingly beyond repair, and the one place you’d think you should be able to turn – God – just seems to make it worse every time you try.  It’s not that I don’t believe all of those things that I used to.  I think somewhere, deep down inside, I still do.  It’s just that seeking after those things has, thus far, brought me nothing but pain, so that it makes it hard to continue down that path, even if I know I should.  It was in trying to follow God that I ended up in this place, so that makes it hard to get back up and try to carry on with the following. 

Of course, it’s not supposed to be easy.  So I’m probably just being selfish and immature. 

I also had a fun weekend with my new computer.  It’s amazing how simple things are on a Mac.  Almost too simple.  Like if you’re used to thinking Windows, then you’re going to be very confused as to why something won’t work, only to start hitting yourself in the head when you finally figure it out and realize how easy it really was.  Once I’m fully acclimated to this new, simple life, I’m sure I’ll be even more full of love for my Macbook than I already am. 

Other than that, the weekend was nice.  I read a little more in my quest to re-read all the Harry Potters before the final book comes out.  And I watched those aforementioned episodes of Gilmore Girls.  And I got some bonding time with the fam.  I also got to see the new school my dad will be working at since his promotion.  I’m very proud of him.  He’s a great dad, and he’s going to be a great school principal, too.  I also did some errand running, which always makes me feel productive.  Though not efficient, as I went to the same two stores twice in one day because I forgot things at both places the first time around.

It is ridiculously hot here for June.  I’m hoping it doesn’t stay like this all summer.  I don’t think I could take that. 

Abortion and the Silver Screen

I haven’t seen Knocked Up, but apparently quite a discussion has developed in the blogosphere (is this term still in use?) about the politics of the film. 

Dana Stevens, who in her initial review of the film posited that abortion was not even presented as an option in the film and that this was likely a decision based on marketing, has written a follow up in which she discusses some of the abortion-related hubbub surrounding the film now. 

Again, I would like to point out that I haven’t seen the film, so it would be hard for me to comment on who is right or who is wrong when it comes to the politics of the film.  I don’t mean to say who is right or who is wrong on the issue of abortion, which I also wouldn’t dare to say.  What I’m talking about here is the rightness or wrongness of various commentators who are espousing their believe that the film itself is pro-life or pro-choice. 

I have no opinion on this, obviously, as I haven’t seen the movie.  I would point out, though, that it is at least possible (call me crazy) that the film takes no stance on the politics of abortion at all, and instead is just a story about individuals in a particular situation rather than symbols of a larger movement and issue.

It’s interesting that Stevens brings up Citizen Ruth in her discussion.  I don’t know how many of you have seen that movie, but it’s a send-up of this very thing:  the politics of abortion and how this woman gets caught up in the middle of the debate with everyone treating her not as an individual in a difficult situation but a pawn in the game of abortion, to be moved and used to either side’s advantage.  She brings it up, and acknowledges it for what it is, but doesn’t connect it to Knocked Up and the fact that this film doesn’t seem to do that with the issue at all.  It seems like the film isn’t trying to be political about the issue at all, and there’s absolutely no reason why it should be, in my opinion. 

Of course, she also criticizes Citizen Ruth itself for skirting the issue of abortion by having the main character miscarry before going through with the abortion.  Only, I don’t think this is exactly fair.  First of all, it would seem the only way to end it, since you have these two sides warring and both sides are painted fairly unflatteringly, so to end it with her making the one choice or the other would only give creedence to one of the sides which I don’t think a film in that particular situation could properly afford to do.  Also, the truth is, the character does decide to have the abortion.  She’s pretty clearly made up her mind, as I recall, and it’s only at that point that the decision is taken out of her hands.  It doesn’t matter, to me, that she doesn’t have the chance to go through with the abortion itself.  In this respect, the film does plant itself squarely in the pro-choice column, even if it is disdainful of some of the tactics of that movement’s more vocal members. 

In some ways, I agree with Stevens.  It strikes me as highly unlikely that a woman in this particular situation would not give more consideration to having an abortion than she seems to in the film.  Only, it would, I think, change the whole tone of the movie.  Again, I haven’t seen it, so maybe there is a way it could have been done, having a more thoughtful and serious discussion and consideration of the abortion option while at the same time ultimately having the character choose not to have an abortion.  (She has to have the baby, or there’d be no movie at all.)  But I would think any kind of prolonged consideration of this issue, viable option or not, would put something of a damper on all the fun.  Even if abortion should be a legitimate option for a woman in this situation, there’s just nothing funny about abortion.  And since we’re talking about having to have this consideration toward the beginning of the film, when the woman first finds out she’s pregnant, I really think the entire tone of the film could easily be ruined.

Perhaps, after I see the movie, I will revise my opinion.

Overheard Allergies

Or Does That Mean Rain’s Coming? I Can Never Remember

French hipster girl: I got allergies in New York.
Hipster boy: How can you tell they’re allergies and not a cold? I mean, it’s winter.
French hipster girl: Well, I know because the back of my thong is itchy.

–JFK
via Overheard in New York, Jun 7, 2007

Okay, so this one’s not that funny.  But it did call to mind the fact that I never had allergies before I moved to New York.  After I’d been there a couple of years, I developed them and now I still have them, even though I’m not there anymore.

What’s that all about?

It also reminds me of this guy from college.  He and I went on a date once.  It wasn’t a very good date, in retrospect, but at the time I kind of enjoyed it.  He asked if he could call me again and then never did, so that was that. 

Anyway, he was a nice enough guy.  He had really bad allergies.  I ran into him in the dining hall one day, in the post-date era, and he was all stuffed up and sneezy and watery.  It was actually really disgusting.  But he was nice, and the only person in the room I knew, and also I’d already sat down, so I couldn’t run away.  He ended up getting up and leaving shortly after that.  He seemed pretty miserable, actually.  Because of the allergies, that is.  I didn’t see him much after that.

Until I’d left college and was in law school, that is.  My friend had gotten me tickets to see Assassins on Broadway for my birthday, and I got there early, so I stood outside waiting for her and…there he was.  Standing outside with some girl.  Right by the theater next door, which had a performance of a pornographic version of Alice in Wonderland.  They started letting people into the theater (for Assassins, which was at Studio 54), and he and his companion went in. 

My friend was running late, so when she finally got there we did our usual pleasantries and then I told her that I had seen him.  And she remarked at what a coincidence it was that I’d seen him, right when we walked right by him.  I was so nervous that we were going to end up sitting right next to him or something.  But the rest of the evening was fine.

To tell the truth, I’m not even 100% sure it was him.  But I’m almost virtually certain.  Like 99.7% sure.   

Interesting the direction this post took from the jumping off point of allergies.  My mind is both a strange and wonderful place.  Mostly the former. 

Not Really about Paris

So…Jeff Ellis defends Paris Hilton on using her fame to get out of jail early, and the next day she gets sent back to jail.

Coincidence?  Perhaps.  But I think not. 

Speaking of Jeff Ellis, he’s back to blogging again.  He used to be over at Blogger, but now he’s at Typepad now, so go check out his new blog.  I was going to try to slink by with just adding him discreetly to my blogroll and never saying another thing about it, but he caught me and posted some really nice things about me over at his blog, so I felt shamed into doing the same here. 

In all seriousness, Jeff’s a brilliant writer and he’s always got something interesting to say about lots of different things, as opposed to me, who has almost nothing interesting to say about only one thing:  myself.  So you should definitely check his blog out.  And his books, too, while you’re at it. 

He is right about one thing:  the name of my blog is pretty good.  Even I can be clever on occasion.  Of course, it’s less relevant now that I no longer live in Yankeeville.  Perhaps one day I will return and make my blog whole again.

He’s also right about Paris, I think.  Why shouldn’t she use her status to try and garner special treatment?  No one wants to spend 45 days in jail, and most people, given the ability to get out of it, would do the same…short of breaking the law or something like that.  Randy Cohen might disagree, and maybe it is “wrong” on some ethical level, but it’s hardly surprising or really all that outrage-inducing, at least on her part.  The real fault, as Jeff rightly points out (and as the judge acknowledged today in sending her back to jail) is with the system for giving into her. 

For Theatre Lovers and the Theater Ignorant Alike

Peter Filichia in Slate writes passionately in defense of theater and what it has taught him.  It’s a must read. 

And yes, the switch from “-re” to “-er” in the title was intentional.  I’m prone to the “-re” but it also seems a bit affected, so I try not to use it. 

Delicate

Today’s song lyrics come to us from Damien Rice, the first song on his album O, called “Delicate.”  Here goes:

We might kiss when we are alone
When nobody’s watching
We might take it home
We might make out when nobody’s there
It’s not that we’re scared
It’s just that it’s delicate

So why’d you fill my sorrows
With the words you’ve borrowed
From the only place you’ve known
And why’d ya sing Hallelujah
If it means nothing to you
Why’d you sing with me at all?

We might live like never before
When there’s nothing to give
Well how can we ask for more
We might make love in some sacred place
The look on your face is delicate

So why’d you fill my sorrow
With the words you’ve borrowed
From the only place that you’ve known
And why’d you sing Hallelujah
If it means nothing to you
Why’d you sing with me at all?

And why’d you fill my sorrows
With the words you’ve borrowed
From the only place that you’ve known
Why’d you sing Hallelujah
If it means nothing to you
Why’d you sing with me at all?

Hodgepodge

Well, the soreness has mostly become bearable.  I’m still really sore, don’t get me wrong.  But it’s a little easier to walk.  I’m thinking I will attempt the dance class tonight after all, though I may not make it through the whole thing in my condition. 

I’ve also been writing a lot.  I sort of forgot about Script Frenzy, so I’m not sure if I’ll be picking up my script again or not.  It’s really not that late in the month and I could probably swing it, but I’m not nearly as excited about my script as I was a couple of weeks ago.  Oh well.  I did write one scene though.  The last one.  Maybe it’s something I’ll come back to on my own later. 

But I’ve been writing other things.  Just jotting down odd sentences here and there, mostly.  But I’ve even started a couple of poems.  Yeah, I know, I never thought of myself as much of a poet, but lately I’ve found myself drawn to writing poems.  I sometimes feel like I have all these feelings bottled up inside and I want some way to express them, but none of the other forms of writing I’ve tried seem to do the trick.  I could just keep a journal as a way to get them out, but that’s pretty much what this blog is, and still the thoughts come.  I’ve been thinking for a while that poetry might be my best bet as far as a mode of expression goes.  Trouble is, I’m something of a woeful poet.  Or at least I think I am. 

I must say, I’ve been enjoying the exercise thus far.  I’ve even got a couple of full-fledged poems started.  One came to me this morning as I was driving to work, and I rushed to get here, hoping all of it wouldn’t seep out of my brain before I could get it jotted down.  I haven’t felt like that in a while when it comes to writing.  So that’s pretty cool, even if nothing ever comes of it.

Though lately, I’ve been thinking it would be really cool to be a poet.  In more than just the way that jotting down poetry makes you a poet.  I mean a poet in the sense that when someone asks you what you do, you can say that you are a poet. 

I don’t think that’ll ever happen.  And next week, I’m sure I’ll be into something else anyway.   So stay tuned.

In other news…

I changed the template for the blog (in case you didn’t notice).  Thoughts?

And I’m still loving the new MacBook.  I managed to get most of my music files transferred over.  Not all of them are there, but I’m thinking they might have been stored in a different folder on my hard drive.  So I’m going to have to investigate that this evening.  But so far, the great transition is going…well, great. 

Fun Little Test

A friend of mine emailed this to me and I enjoyed it, so I thought I’d post it here for you guys to enjoy as well. 

It’s just a fun little quiz.  I got 18 right. 

First Post from the New Computer

It was a very nerve-wracking day for me in Computerland.

First of all, I checked in the morning morning and saw that it was on the truck for delivery. I was so excited that it was coming, but also very nervous that something was going to go wrong with the delivery. I knew someone had to be home to sign for it, and I was going to be at work all day. The delivery guy usually comes around 2:00 or so, in the afternoon (duh!), so I made sure to print and sign those delivery slips, just in case, so that the delivery guy could leave it if no one was home to sign in person.

Anyway, I kept checking the tracking updates online like a crazy person all day at work. I even signed up for the updates by email. But there were no updates. There was no word. Every time I checked, it merely said what it had before, that the package was on the truck for delivery.

By the time I left work, I was pretty paranoid about it. When I got home, the sheets with my signatures on them were still taped to the door. I couldn’t figure out what was going on. Usually the driver isn’t that late. I began to feel heartbroken at the prospect that my computer wouldn’t arrive after all. That I’d have to wait until tomorrow…or, looking at the clock, today.

Anyway, I was still too sore to make it to my dance class like I’d planned, so I figured I’d go ahead and hang around in the hopes that the truck was still out there making the rounds and my computer would arrive and be in my arms soon enough.

For once in my life, hoping against hope proved not to be false or unwise. The computer did, indeed, arrive.

This brought on a whole new set of anxiety. I brought it in and opened it up and just stared at it and wondered: what exactly have I gotten myself into. I don’t know anything about operating a Mac.

I bucked yet another trend by remaining calm. Calm is not a normal color for me.

I pulled out the nifty little instruction booklet and started to read, following the instructions to the letter. And you know what? It was the easiest thing in the world. It basically set itself up. I just had to do some clicking. It even took my picture, which was a hoot.

And now I’m blowing and going…as my dad would say. My dad would not, however, buy a Mac, so perhaps I shouldn’t quote him just now. I even managed to set up file sharing on my old PC so that I could start transferring my files and stuff over. I know, it’s pretty impressive, isn’t it? Well, I impressed myself, at any rate. I’d never done that before, so the fact that I managed to with relative ease makes me more than a little proud of myself.

I know it’s only been a couple of hours, but I think I’m in love. I would marry this thing if that were, you know, possible. And seeing as how I’m not likely to get any better offers on that front, I’m starting to wish it were, even if it meant we would have to adopt.

So, obviously I’m starting to get a little punchy, and I really should get to bed. But I wanted to share my joy with the world…or at least with my blog and the two people who still read it. So, mostly with myself.

Okay, okay, I’m going now, I promise.

Thoughts of Absolutely No Consequence

There’s this engineering firm on my daily drive to and from work.

As an aside, I wonder where it got started that only businesses consisting of groups of licensed professionals would be called firms. Accounting firms. Law firms. Engineering firms. Not that I begrudge them their own designation. It’s hard work to become licensed. I’m mainly (and merely) curious. I guess those aren’t the only contexts in which you hear it. It seems like it might extend to advertising, which, as far as I’m aware, doesn’t require licensing by the state in order to practice it. But I think the larger point holds: you don’t often hear of a firm dance teachers or seamstresses or dry cleaners. Then again, you don’t hear about firms of doctors either, so really, I guess I have no point at all.

As another aside, my ex is an engineer and he used to lament the fact that there was no television show based around engineers. I told him he should come up with a concept and write a pilot for it. While I was thinking about this post on the way home, I came up with a title. The (Engineering) Firm. Catchy, no? Are you with me? You know, it’s clever, a way to play up on The Firm but also to show it’s not going to take itself seriously. Because, really, how could it? The design for it could say “The Firm” in some serious looking font and then written over it, like an edit, could be an insert mark (what are those called?) with the word “engineering” written out in a geeky scrawl.

Okay, so it’s terrible. So sue me. Titles never have been my strong suit. Just look at virtually every title to ever blog post I’ve ever written. Besides, we’re not together anymore, so title rights are no longer in my purview anyway. It only popped into my head because I was thinking about engineering.

But I (majorly) digress. I wonder if it can even be considered a digression if the digression is longer than the original thought. Does the original thought then become a digression?

So…anyway…there’s this engineering firm on my daily drive to and from work. And they have these company (firm?) cars and trucks and SUVs that are white with the name of the firm on the side.

Another quick aside: why do businesses almost universally have company cars and trucks that are white? No meandering thoughts here, just something to ponder on the drive home.

So, one of these company cars for this firm is a Toyota. I’m not sure of the model. It looks almost like an updated station wagon. You know, kind of boxy toward the back, but more rounded. If I see it again, I’ll have to pay more attention. I’m sure I will, too, since that was the entire point of this post. I’ve seen this car every day this week. The past three mornings I’ve seen it on my drive to work, and today I even saw it on my way home.

I know next to nothing about cars, mind you, so the only way I can be sure it’s the same car is that it must have been in some kind of accident because it’s all dented up on the side.

You may be wondering, now that you’ve read this far, just what exactly the point is. Well, I’m not going to tell you. I’ll only say this: you really should know better by now.

Science Tries To Side-Step Controversy

This is interesting – and potentially issue altering – news:

In a big step toward a long-sought goal, three teams of scientists say they’ve produced the equivalent of embryonic stem cells, at least in mice, without taking the controversial step of destroying embryos.

Of course, there’s a lot of time and money in research standing between this as an idea and this as a reality.  So in the meantime, the controversy isn’t going anywhere.  And by the time it is a reality, if it ever is, it’s entirely possible that there won’t be a controversy anymore, what with the way ideas of what is moral and ethical keep changing and evolving as time passes.

And then there’s this aspect of this new research that I find particularly disturbing:

One of the inserted genes is known to promote cancer, and Yamanaka reports that mice carrying descendants of iPS cells showed tumors as a result. He and other researchers said a new approach will be needed that avoids a cancer hazard.

Gearhart called that a major issue to be resolved.

Um…you think?  It reminds me of those ads on television for that drug, Cymbalta.  You know the ads I’m talking about.  It’s the drug that touts itself as treating both the emotional and physical symptoms of depression.  One of the ads asks, “Where does depression hurt?” to which the proper response is (of course) “Everywhere.”  It goes on to ask “Who does depression hurt?” where, again, the (obvious) response is “Everyone.”

It’s debatable whether this is true in all cases of depression.  But that’s not really the point here.

I don’t remember it so much from the earlier ads, but the latest ones (which talk about the roles a person fills and how depression makes it hard for you to fill them, i.e. to be a good wife or mother or friend or whatever) feature the typical disclaimer that all these drug ads have, where they talk about the side-effects.  Only this one is anything but typical.  The voice-over warns to let your doctor know if you experience increased depression symptoms or increased thoughts of suicide while on the medication. 

Um…really?  Cause, you know, I’m under the impression that the drug you’re taking to treat your depression probably shouldn’t increase the depression symptoms or make you suicidal (or, even better – or worse, I suppose – more suicidal than you were before).  That would be pretty much the opposite of treating depression, now, wouldn’t it?

The same with this.  I’m thinking this great cure that is supposed to be stem cells probably shouldn’t go around giving people cancer, or else it’s really not a cure at all. 

Join in the Merriment

I really enjoyed Gail’s photo essay on her yearly pilgramage to the ballgame, even though I’m much more of a baseball fan than she is.  It almost feels like you’re right there with her in her misery and woe.  Perhaps I exaggerate a bit, but it’s a still a fun read.  I particularly enjoyed the bit about the Presidents.

Check it out. 

Took the Plunge

Well, I did it.  I ordered my MacBook yesterday afternoon.  I opted for the midrange configuration.  It should whisking it’s way to me as I type this.  It should be delivered today.  Considering I didn’t have to pay for shipping, I’d call that some pretty damn good service.  So far, this whole Apple thing is working out pretty well. 

Now, of course, any advice on actually using a Mac would be greatly appreciated.  I’ve used one before (though never one of my very own), so I’m hoping the period of adjustment won’t be too long.  In the long run, I’m pretty sure I’ll be happier for the switch. 

World of Pain…Day Two

Yes, if you must know, I’m still in pain today.  And, true to my word, I am in more pain than I was yesterday.  The fact that I was right about this is of small comfort at the moment though.  Hard to focus on that when all I can think about is how much it hurts to take the simple act of standing up or putting one foot in front of the other.

Seriously, it took me an extra couple of minutes to walk from my car to the work building this morning because I was having to take these itty bitty baby steps.  Of course, all of this pain hasn’t stopped me from wearing my standard three inch heels, which probably didn’t help much with the whole process, but there you have it.  Trying to maintain the delicate balance between the pain in the front of my thighs and the back of my calves all the while tottering along on my heels…well, let’s just say it’s one way to keep life interesting. 

And that’s just the physical pain.  In a way, though, it’s kind of nice.  I’ve been in a lot of emotional pain and turmoil lately that it’s almost a relief to have a more tangible pain to focus on.

This whole thing has also taught me how much I really don’t like elevators.  Especially the newer ones, the ones that go really fast.  They make my head all fuzzy and stop up my ears.  Plus there’s the whole enclosed space thing.  It takes me back to when I lived in New York.  My second year at NYU I lived in their dorm at the Seaport, on the 22nd floor.  The elevators there were like that, too.  Here, once my body rights itself, I should be able to take the stairs again.  Right now, though, the mere thought of climbing even one step of the stairs is enough to bring tears to the eyes.

Or perhaps that’s just a bit of the old emotional pain seeping through the physical facade. 

There is another dance class tonight that I was planning on going to, but now I’m in so much pain that may not be possible.  I could try and dance my way through it, which would either really help out a lot, or else put me in the hospital. 

Either way’s probably good at this point. 

Strange Little Girls

I picked up this album from Tori Amos the other day, and I must say that, so far, I’m really enjoying it.

For those unfamiliar with it, it’s an album of covers.  All of the songs are by men, and the themes of said songs are, for the most part, well…male, for lack of a better word.  A lot of them are also really stripped down, making them strikingly different from their original incarnations.  But it’s really the fact that the songs are being sung by a woman, which does really changes the perspective of almost all of them, that makes the most of the contrast.

I’m a music ignoramus (seriously, just ask anyone who knows me – I’m taking testimonies to this fact in the comments section), so I really wasn’t that familiar with Tori Amos as an artist.  I’d heard of her, but I’m not sure I could have picked her face or her voice out of a line-up.  After listening to this, I can say that I really enjoy her voice.  She’s very expressive and she really performs the songs as she sings them.

I’ve only listened a couple of times to this album, but I have a few favorites so far.  “97 Bonnie & Clyde” is downright eerie and disturbing, definitely more so than the original by Eminem, if you can imagine.  And I really liked the song “Real Men” and the way she performed it, though I can’t say I’m familiar enough with the original to make a comparison.  And her cover of “I Don’t Like Mondays” was the reason I bought the album in the first place.  I heard it recently on an old episode of The West Wing, and decided to investigate, which led me to the album, the concept of which intrigued me so I decided to buy it.  It’s really quite haunting, but also lyrically beautiful.  I also really like “Time,” which given that I have an affection for Tom Waits, is quite a compliment, I suppose, that I like her doing this song.

The only track I really hate so far is her version of “Happiness is a Warm Gun.”  She took it and turned it into an incredibly overt political statement, and it just rings false and hollow.  I’m not so much a fan of that.  Of course, I’m not all that crazy about the original Beatles either, so there you go.

All in all, I think I really like it so far.   Now I’ll just have to check out some of her original music.

Today’s Funny

A friend of mine turned me onto Overheard in New York a long time ago, but I have only recently started reading it with any regularity.  Some of it’s kind of meh (but still interesting from an anthropologic and sociologic standpoint), but usually there is at least one really good laugh to be had on a daily basis.

My favorite from today:

Can Someone Explain the Virtues of a Conversation Piece?

Old guy: Oh, look at this doggie. Who is this?
Cute girl: This is Nola.
Old guy: Lola?
Cute girl: Nola.
Old guy: Lola?
Cute girl: Nola with an N.
Old guy: M-and-M’s?
Cute girl: Nola.
Old guy, singing: Her name was Lola, she was a showgirl…

–72nd & Columbus

Overheard by: glad i’m not old
via Overheard in New York, Jun 5, 2007

The Morning Walk

I don’t park that close to the building where I work.  It’s not a long walk, but it is when you’re weak and sore.

The soreness isn’t too bad.  The back hurts, but that was a given.  And my calve are a little tight, but not unbearably so.  I expect the bulk of the soreness will hit tomorrow, as it usually takes two days to fully set in.

However, it’s the weakness in my muscles that is killing me.  They are not used to being worked like that (or really at all), and now they are rebelling against doing even simple things like walking.  I didn’t think I was going to make it, even just putting one foot in front of the other with no stairs or slopes or anything else that normally causes strain to my out-of-shape body. 

Next class is on Wednesday…if I can still walk by then. 

In other news, my dad got a promotion.  So yay for him!  He didn’t think it was going to happen, but it did, so that’s really good.  And, on a more personal note, I’ve virtually settled on the computer I want to buy (MacBook, here I come – thanks, Chris), I’m just hesitating a little before taking the final plunge.  Damn me and my silly indecision. 

The Morning Read

When I opened IE today, I was assaulted with too much wondrous blog fodder when the MSN homepage loaded that I hardly knew what to do with myself.  Like the article about men using makeup.  Or from the other side of the gender reversal aisle, an expose on teen girls’ steroid use.  Or the one about $ 70,000 televisions.  And the shocking news that Ryan Seacrest is funny. 

I opted for a much less sexy option:  the worst places to visit in many of America’s largest cities.  A lot of the choices seemed to focus on the place in question being too touristy and fake and suggested more electic yet still city-defining options instead.  I confess to not having read them all extremely carefully, but the entry for Pittsburgh caught my eye, even though I’ve never been there:

Andy Warhol once advocated that all buildings be torn down every 10 years. That means, at least according to the wisdom of Warhol, it’s time to demolish the Andy Warhol Museum.

Opened in 1994, the Warhol is the largest museum in the world dedicated to a single artist—and mustn’t that news make the ghosts of a million long-forgotten but truly talented artists bang their heads against their spectral easels. Recent notable guests include Dennis Hopper, Mick Jagger and that perfectly Warholian celebrity, Monica Lewinsky. They were likely drawn to the Warhol much the way parolees sift through post office Most Wanted posters—they wanted to see familiar faces—but that’s no reason why anyone else should go.

Heh.  The author recommends visiting the Scaife Galleries instead.  If I ever happen to visit Pittsburgh, I might do just that. 

Match.com Ads

Does anyone else think that those ads on television for Match.com seem to endorse cheating?

For those unfamiliar with what I am talking about, the tagline for their new ad campaign is, “It’s okay to look.”

But if you’re single, of course it’s okay to look.  Unless it’s just about the stigma of online dating, and trying to make it seem more mainstream.  Which I guess kind of makes sense.  But at the same time, why wouldn’t it be okay to look for a mate if you don’t already have one?  The only way it wouldn’t be okay to look is if you were already attached to someone else.

Am I right or am I right?

I’m probably just reading too much into it.  But I also know I’m not the first person to have this reaction to the ads.  I was talking to a friend of mine and she brought it up all on her own, asking me if she felt like the ads condoned cheating.

I think the guys over at Slate’s Ad Report Card should tackle this next.

The Class

Well, I made it through the ballet class I took tonight.  It was touch and go there for a while.  I think I almost threw up and passed out toward the end.

I can already tell that my back is going to be hurting pretty badly tomorrow.  It already hurts. Of course, it hurt beforehand, so really, it didn’t stand much of a chance.

I’m just hoping I can walk tomorrow.  I’m thinking it’s going to be an elevator day at work.

Computer Advice

My current computer is about to croak, I think, which means I’m looking to get a new one, even though it’ll be a little difficult to afford at the moment. 

Any advice?

I’m thinking that I really want a laptop, because I like the option of being mobile, even if it’s just from the desk to the bed.  I also am seriously considering buying a Mac instead of a PC.  Other than that, it’s overwhelming.  It’s not that I don’t know enough about computers to buy a new one.  I do.  I guess there’s just too many variables, and too much to consider that my brain goes 500 ways all at once.  There are too many combinations and variations.  Too much.  Plus, I’m more indecisive than Hamlet.  And without the bard to back me up, that’s a very dangerous thing indeed. 

So I’m really not looking for advice so much as for someone to tell me it will all be okay, that even though it is a big decision that will end up costing a lot of money, I will probably end up with a good system at the end of the day because I’m not a complete moron when it comes to computers.  And I’m looking for a place to vent all my fears and foibles and insecurities about making this decision, hence the blog post about it. 

Hey, it’s cheaper than therapy.  Especially since buying a computer will mean I don’t have a lot of money left over for therapy anyway. 

I need something that I can use to write.  And check email.  And blog.  And surf the internet.  And something that I can use to store and listen to a lot of music.  And something that looks nice.  It’s silly, I know, but an aesthetically pleasing computer is very important to me. 

Thoughts?  Aside from that I should be committed, that is…

Monday Morning Blues

It’s a vicious cycle. 

It used to be that Sunday evening was the most depressing time for me.  I think it is for a lot of people.  For me, it was when I was in school.  Especially high school.  And it was for me, too, about a year ago.  Sunday evening would arrive and I would be filled with this feeling of something inexpressible…but I can tell you it wasn’t a happy inexpressible. 

I guess it was because the weekend was drawing to a close.  The weekend where I was free to do what I wanted, even if it was nothing at all.  The weekend which I could fill with the things and the people that I loved.  When I was in high school that meant dance and writing and books and television and movies.  Last year it meant getting to spend lots of time with the man I loved, taking trips and being exposed to new things.

Now, though, I’m in a curious place.  I still want the weekend to come.  The work week tires me, especially since I’ve been having a bout of insomnia of late.  So when Friday comes, I am genuinely happy for the ability to have two days where I don’t have to get up early, don’t have to spend time in the morning making myself look presentable, don’t have to go through the whole tiring effort of carrying myself through a structured day full of expectation and pretense. 

The thing is, I don’t really have much else from that to look forward to on the weekends anymore.  So when the weekend comes, all I have is time.  Time to think about how lonely I am, yet also to realize how powerless I am to do anything about it.  Time to look back on the past and regret the choices I’ve made.  Time to realize that I am not doing fine, that my life is really not going much of anywhere at the moment.

There’s still time for reading and for writing, but I find that I lack focus and drive.  I did manage to write a little this weekend, so that was something.  And I managed to still stay semi-productive in other ways as well, so it wasn’t a total waste. 

Perhaps I should try to look at it more positively.  I have been able to catch up on old episodes of television shows that I love.  And I did write a little bit on my Script Frenzy screenplay this weekend.  And tonight, I will be taking my first dance class in quite some time.  So it’s entirely possible that tomorrow I won’t be able to walk.  I sewed the elastic on my shoes, and it took me back.  Took me back to a past that seems so remote I can barely remember it.  When I was always sewing ribbons on pointe shoes.  And taking class every night of the week and rehearsing all day on Saturday and Sunday and loving every minute of it.  I was lonely then, too, but it didn’t matter because I had something to do that I loved. 

I need to find that again.  The thing is, I’ve never found anything to do that I love to do as much as I loved to dance.  Not even writing.  Although, I think that it’s not that I don’t love to write as much as I love to dance, but writing tends to take me inside myself, which can often be a very scary place to be, and not a very effective thing to do if you’re trying to take your mind off of things.  Dance, however, requires concentration and, for me anyway, frees the mind from bondage to itself in a way that nothing else ever has.  Plus, I am (or I was) a very beautiful dancer, and for me to say that as someone with a not-very-high opinion of herself…well, I was good.  And I miss it so.

So tonight I’ll be taking a class.  Mainly for exercise.  And for something to do.  I’m hoping it’ll wear me out enough that I sleep a little better than I have been.  Of course, likely it will just cause me intense pain that will cause me to sleep less well than normal.  But that is the way it goes. 

Anyway…back to my thoughts on weekends.  Now, when Sunday evening arrives, I still don’t really want to go back to work.  I don’t like getting up in the morning.  Really, I don’t like having to get up in the morning.  But a part of me also can’t wait for the week to begin.  I like the structure.  And I’ve started to find a bit of a niche with my job, which is good.  I feel appreciated, like I am needed, which is something that is helpful to me at the present since I don’t feel needed in any other aspect of my life. 

So it’s with a conflicted heart I arrive at Monday morning.  On the one hand, it’s nice to be back.  And on the other hand, I wish I were still at home, in bed, or at least in comfortable clothes, without makeup on my face and shoes on my feet, watching television and eating junk food. 

But so it goes. 

If I’m alive tomorrow, I’ll let you all know how the class went. 

The End of the Line

Well, things aren’t looking to good for the Utah Jazz.  They’re down 3-1 in their series with the Spurs for the Western Conference Championship.  And the Spurs, apparently, look like champions.  So I’m going to go ahead and sound the death knell for them for this year. 

Of course, I still haven’t watched a game yet, so you can tell just how much I care. 

Cindy Gives Up and I Don’t Care

I haven’t blogged about the war or really politics much at all, lately, at least not when it comes to my own thoughts and beliefs on those very important subjects.  I just haven’t had the energy for it lately.  However, this little blurb caught my attention and I couldn’t let it go by without comment:  Cindy Sheehan has “resigned” from protesting the war in Iraq. 

Yes, you read that correctly. 

First of all, I wasn’t aware that protesting was a job.  The use of that word certainly implies that protesting the war has been Ms. Sheehan’s occupation or employment.  Yet there are no scare quotes around the use of the word in the article’s headline (though there are in the body of the article).  Still, since I’m sure this pursuit has occupied the majority of her time since she undertook it, I’m willing to let it slide.  I would just note that news organizations routinely put quotes around the words terrorist or terrorism when there should be little doubt in any sane person’s mind that such words are, in fact, wholly applicable to their reference (if you ever read the Expat Yank, then you know this already), yet here, none appear, even though the usage is, at the very least, questionable. 

But I digress.

What is much more insidious, I think, is the content of Sheehan’s “letter of resignation.”  She says:

“Good-bye America … you are not the country that I love and I finally realized no matter how much I sacrifice, I can’t make you be that country unless you want it.

“It’s up to you now.”

This rhetoric is every bit as offensive as those hawks who claim that anyone who doesn’t support the war and the President 100% is an unpatriotic communist.  Apparently, the only America Ms. Sheehan can bring herself to love is one where every citizen agrees with her postion on the war down to the letter. 

This is not to say that I don’t think Ms. Sheehan has a right to protest the war.  Surely, she does.  Nor is it to say that I think she is less of a person or an American because she is protesting.  I honestly don’t have a problem with her shooting her mouth off about something she obviously cares very passionately about.  I may not agree with her, but that doesn’t mean I can’t respect that she and I see things differently, and respect that she is doing what she feels she has to in protesting the war.

But apparently, respect is not a two-way street, for Ms. Sheehan has demonstrated with this “resignation” that she doesn’t respect anyone who disagrees with her.  So much for that America she used to love.  If she wants to know what happened to it, she might want to take a look in the mirror and see just how ugly the haughty expectation that everyone should agree with everything you say all the time really is. 

I haven’t lost a child…or indeed anyone I know…in the war in Iraq, so the truth is I cannot understand the pain she must be in.  Maybe if I were in her situation, I might act in much the same way.  But that doesn’t make it right.  And the fact that she lost her son does not make her immune to criticism.  She shouldn’t get a free pass for her grief. 

I will say this for her:  she doesn’t seem to be partisan in her vitriol.  She’s angry with both sides, and, if anything, it appears to be frustration with the left that has led her to make this decision to “resign.” 

Ultimately, though, this is really all much ado about nothing.  So I’ll leave you with my initial response upon reading this headline, which I’ve come back around to now that I’ve gotten those little nagging annoyances out of my system:

Yawn. Sigh. Next. 

Holiday Marathons

Well another Memorial Day has come and gone.  This should be a time of reflection, so reflect, I shall.

You know what Memorial Day means to me:  another Law & Order marathon.

Seriously, though.  What exactly is up with the whole television-show-marathon-on-holidays thing?  One thing I know I can count on (and there aren’t many) is a Law & Order marathon whenever a holiday rolls around.  This year, I also stumbled across some other marathons, for Criminal Intent and CSI.  And TNT was advertising yet another marathon, this one on an non-holiday airing episodes of Law & Order featuring episodes with guest stars who are (or were) on The Sopranos. 

See, now they’re even giving themes to the marathons.  It’s not enough to just air episodes of the show.  Now there’s got to be something tying them all together.  Like guest stars with something in common.  Or a Gilmore Girls marathon focused on the Rory-Jess relationship, like I saw advertised once on ABC Family.  Or the numerous ones where the stars of the show pick their favorite episodes. 

I think that TNT should do one for Law & Order featuring all the episodes featuring Tovah Feldshuh as defense attorney Danielle Melnick.  There’s gotta be enough of those to fill a whole day.  Or do one airing episodes with guest starts who appeared in multiple episodes of the show playing different characters. 

Not that I’m complaining.  Many a sad and lonely holiday has been gotten through by a visit from my favorite fictional members of the NYPD and the NY District Attorney’s Office.  Yesterday was no exception.  I watched as I got a little spring cleaning done.  And when I got bored with regular Law & Order I just switched on one of the other twelve marathons on for a episode or two to balance it out a bit. 

Various Writing Things

Exciting news.  Snippets of my oh-so-slightly-edited writing made their debut tonight at the Saenger Theater in Biloxi.  I wrote the narration for my mother’s recital.  It wasn’t much, and it wasn’t good, but it was something.  So there you have it.

Also…I think I’ve got a pretty good script idea for the Script Frenzy starting in June.  I’m even thinking screenplay instead of stage play.  Though that’s a bit more complicated.  Still, I’m looking forward to it.  It could actually be good.  I keep getting more ideas for it.  I wish I could start it now, but for the competition you’re supposed to wait for June to actually start.  It’ll be here soon enough I suppose.

And So It Goes

For some reason, this song popped into my mind this evening. It’s Billy Joel and it’s quite beautiful. Here’s the lyrics:

In every heart there is a room
A sanctuary safe and strong
To heal the wounds from lovers past
Until a new one comes along

I spoke to you in cautious tones
You answered me with no pretense
And still I feel I said too much
My silence is my self defense

And every time I’ve held a rose
It seems I only felt the thorns
And so it goes, and so it goes
And so will you soon I suppose

But if my silence made you leave
Then that would be my worst mistake
So I will share this room with you
And you can have this heart to break

And this is why my eyes are closed
It’s just as well for all I’ve seen
And so it goes, and so it goes
And you’re the only one who knows

So I would choose to be with you
That’s if the choice were mine to make
But you can make decisions too
And you can have this heart to break

And so it goes, and so it goes
And you’re the only one who knows

 

 

More Random Updates

Sorry again for the dearth of blogging the past couple of weeks.  I hope to resume a normal blogging schedule next week, after the holiday.  Things have just been kind of hectic lately.  Hectic, and strange.

I’ve been doing a little writing.  Nothing majorly important.  Certainly nothing to brag about.  But still, it’s writing, and it’s been a little time sensitive, so the extra time I have during the day that would normally go to blogging has gone to that. 

Also, quite frankly, there’s been a lot of personal stuff going on that’s kept me from blogging, too.  Some of it is simple, family drama.  Like the fact that someone very close to me was passed up for a promotion that they were really counting on and also that they really deserved. 

And then there was the fire. 

No, seriously.  Yesterday, when I got home from work, I had my window down and even before I got out of the car, I could smell smoke.  Something burning.  I thought maybe it was my car, but I checked and it wasn’t.  It didn’t smell quite right anyway.  I just figured someone in the neighborhood was burning something and didn’t think much else of it. 

I went inside and started working on the aforementioned writing thing.  Then, at about 7:40, I decided to go and get a soda or something before Lost started at 8.  So I went out and got in my car and started to back out of the driveway and when I looked up ahead, I saw smoke coming out of the bushes.

Never fear, though.  It was only a very small fire, barely burning.  It had probably been going most of the day.  The ground was black from where it had burned.  It probably started from one of the people who’s been working on the house throwing a cigarette out, I think.  It’s out, though, and no major damage was done. 

Anyway, I guess the major stress of the week came from some disturbing news I received about my father.  My mom told me late one night that he had been experiencing chest pains and that it had been so bad he’d scheduled an appointment with his doctor, who ran an EKG and thought that he’d probably had a minor heart attack.

When she told me this, I immediately burst into tears.  She tried to comfort me, but pretty much looked at me like it was nuts that I should be this upset about that.  Call me crazy (and if this makes me crazy, then I guess I am), but when I hear the words “father” and “heart attack” in the same sentence, I’m going to be upset.  I’m going to burst into tears.  I mean, seriously, I get weepy watching stupid television shows, so this is probably going to rate a response as well, you know?

Anyway, she told me it wasn’t that serious, that he was going to be okay.  The doctor wasn’t a cardiologist, and he had wanted to check my father into the hospital so that he could see one first thing in the morning.  But my father is a stubborn man, and he refused.  He did get an appointment the next day to see one and he didn’t see any cause for great concern.  He had some more tests this week and hasn’t heard anything back yet, so I know that he’s probably going to be fine. 

Of course, I also found out that this wasn’t the first incident like this that my father had experienced.  Yeah, nobody ever tells me anything.

So, while he seems like he’s fine and back to his old self (if he ever really wasn’t), it still stressed me out quite a bit.  I couldn’t sleep that night.  After she told me, I really wanted to call someone and talk about it, but it was late, and I knew I couldn’t.  And the one person I wanted to call, the person that a part of me still felt like I had a right to call…well, I knew I especially couldn’t call him.  I felt so very scared about my father, and then I felt so very alone on top of that.  And worried that if something happened to my dad, I’d be even more alone than I was right then, if that were even possible.

This did not make me feel any better.  In fact, it made me feel a good deal worse.  And then I felt bad for thinking only of myself rather than being worried about my dad like I should have been.

Sorry.  I guess I’m in a bit of a weird mood today.  I had a couple of strange dreams last night and woke up feeling fairly unsettled.  So I’m just a little out of sorts still. 

Of course, my dad is most likely going to be fine.  So I guess my mom was right.  It really was much ado about nothing. 

Random Updates

Got a lot going on, but wanted to post something, so here goes.  I’m (blessedly) keeping it short. 

• The season finale of 24 last night sucked…big time.  Of course, pretty much the whole season sucked (except for a few good moments), so I suppose it’s fitting that the final sucked as well.  It’s not really cheating that way.  It’s just bad.  Still…I was hoping for something more.  And, seriously, writers:  what happened to Logan?  Way to drop a storyline in a hurry and never come back to it.  Not cool at all.
• The Jazz made it to the Western Conference Finals, so woo hoo (!) for that.  I know, it’s old news, but I’m behind.  They lost the first game to the Spurs, and they play again tonight.  I don’t expect they’ll make it through to the NBA Finals, but it’s cool to see them back in the mix…even if it is sans John Stockton. 
• I might as well change the name of this blog to the Work Fountain Blog….because the saga continues.  Yesterday, when I left for lunch, I got misted by water from the fountain.  And I was walking pretty far away from it.  So yeah, I’m sticking by my poorly designed argument.
• Being a vegan can kill you…but you didn’t hear it from me.  Of course, my diet largely consists of various fried foods, so I’m not exactly one to talk. 
• The internet is a strange and wondrous place…and it’s ruled by cats.  I think Slate’s a little behind the curve on this one.  To quote the quotage in the slides:  “O RLY?”  It’s all about lolcats, and if you have no clue what that is, check it out.  I would say it’s disturbing that this is so popular…but it’s really just the internet.  Plus, cats are pretty cool, so it could be a lot worse. 

Well, I could go on…you know I could.  Already this post is longer than I imagined it being.  Go figure. 

Apologies

Sorry for the lack of blogging over the past couple of days.  Got some stuff going on.  Distractions and what not.

Perhaps I’ll say more later.

Tags

I am updating all of my posts to include category tags, so if you have arrived here looking for new content, only to find something old and completely uninteresting to you, I apologize. 

Hopefully it won’t take too long to complete this task, so the inconvenience will only be temporary. 

Script Frenzy

I’ve never had much luck with NaNoWriMo. You know, that thing where you try to write a 50,000 word novel during the month of November. I’ve tried doing it a couple of times, but I never managed to complete the task.

So is it crazy that I’m thinking of doing this?

It actually is probably fairly doable. It’s only 20,000 words. I wrote the first act of a play the night before Hurricane Katrina hit. So I think I can do this. I mean, I’ve got nothing else going on.

A Story Where Everyone Looks Bad

There is absolutely nothing about this story that isn’t incredible. 

First of all, there is absolutely no way that Brokeback Mountain should have been shown to a bunch of 12-year olds.  Yes, it’s true that the film isn’t pornographic or anything, but it does include an intense and rather graphic depiction of sex, which makes it inappropriate to show to 12-year olds.

Now, before you start writing letters or posting comments, let me be clear.  It isn’t the fact that the sex in the film is between two men that makes it inappropriate.  I don’t believe it could ever be in the best interest of a teacher to show any film with such a scene in it, be it gay sex or straight sex or a threesome or an orgy or man/beast sex or whatever.  At the very least, permission from the parents should have been sought before the film was shown.  When I was a senior in high school, my European history teacher sent us all home with permission slips before showing The Name of the Rose because of a fairly graphic, if brief, sex scene.  And I’m pretty sure all of us were 17, which meant we were of age to see R-rated films. 

So, yeah, that’s pretty stupid. 

Of course, the lawsuit itself is just as stupid, if not more so.  There is no way that any 12-year old could suffer any kind of psychological distress after seeing this movie, unless being bored to tears now creates an intentional infliction of emotional distress claim.  I’m surprised any of the kids were even awake to see the sex scene.  It’s a very slow moving and lyrical film that would have trouble holding the attention of even the most precocious and attentive 12-year old.  I imagine most adults would probably have the same trouble, given what passes for popular entertainment out of Hollywood and what does not. 

If this girl is really suffering psychological distress to such a degree, I suggest that everyone start looking for the source of it somewhere other than this particular movie. 

This article almost reads like a fact pattern for a Torts exam, at the end of which the student would be forced to conclude that the plaintiff didn’t have much of a case. 

Link and story via Gail. 

Train in Vain

Last night, on my way to Wal-Mart, I felt like listening to The Clash. So I popped London Calling into the CD player and have been listening to it ever since. Not non-stop, of course. Just while I’m in my car, which is not all that often.

Anyway, on my way back from lunch I got to “Train in Vain.” It’s my favorite song on the album. I’ve always liked it, but it has a certain resonance for me now that it never did before. I actually sort of relate to it, which is something I never thought I’d ever be able to say. The thing is, if you really listen to it, or just read the words without the music and the tone, it’s actually a very sad song. But for some reason, it’s fun to sing along to and not really all that depressing at all. Odd.

If I were ever going to do karaoke (and, trust me, it’ll never happen, because I’d have to be really drunk and I don’t really drink all that much), I think this is the song I’d do.

Without further ado, the lyrics you’ve been waiting for:

Train in Vain

Say you stand by your man
Tell me something I don’t understand
You said you loved me and that’s a fact
and then you left me, said you felt trapped

Well some things you can’t explain away
But the heartache’s in me till this day

CHORUS
You didn’t you stand by me
No, not at all
You didn’t stand by me
No way

All the times
When we were close
I’ll remember these things the most
I see all my dreams come tumbling down
I can’t be happy without you round

So alone I keep the wolves at bay
and there is only one thing that I can say

CHORUS

You must explain why this must be
Did you lie when you spoke to me

Did you stand by me
No, not at all

Now I got a job
But it don’t pay
I need new clothes
I need somewhere to stay
But without all of these things I can do
But without your love I won’t make it through

But you don’t understand my point of view
I suppose there’s nothing I can do

CHORUS X 2

You must explain why this must be
Did you lie when you spoke to me

Did you stand by me
Did you stand by me
No, not at all
Did you stand by me
No way
Did you stand by me
No, not at all
Did you stand by me
No way

Lunch Breaks with Shannon

Perhaps you have to actually know me to appreciate the story I’m about to tell.

I was driving back to work from my lunch break, with the window down. I was jamming to The Clash (“Train in Vain” is the best song ever – more on this later) and just having a good old time. All of the sudden I heard this loud buzzing noise, and it sounded really close, like it was right next to my ear. It sounded like a bee or something, so I immediately figured that a bee or some other equally foul insect had flown in my window and was about to make trouble.

So I did what any self-respecting 27 year old woman would do: I screamed. Yes, I screamed like a little girl and kind of cowered a little bit, swatting with my hand to try and get the pesky thing to go away.

Turns out, of course, that it wasn’t any kind of insect at all. It was a guy on the side of the road with a weedwhacker. Well, he wasn’t just standing on the side of the road with it raised over his head or anything. That would be semi-threatening, or at least like something out of a bad horror movie, and possibly worthy of my screams. No, he was just in his yard, taming weeds. Minding his own business.

Luckily no one was around to witness this pathetic display. But, of course, the first thing I thought was I can’t wait to blog about this, so I don’t know why the thought of someone witnessing this event causes me stress yet I’m perfectly willing to tell all of you reading this what a complete and total fool I am.

I also perceived, perhaps, that the fountain formerly known as ugly didn’t seem quite so ugly as I left for lunch today. Yes, we get results here at Yankee from Mississippi.

I think that the angle has something to do with it. It looks really good from certain angles and really bad from others. And I noticed that the only time in the cycle of the fountain that it looks especially bad is when it’s just those spurts of water shooting straight up in the air, with nothing else to balance them out or create a nice image. If they took that out of the rotation, it might be a lot better.

I still think it’s poorly designed, though. I don’t think it’s too much to ask that the fountain look at least pretty good from all angles, at least all of those where people are likely to walk by and see it. And it’s still impossible to walk around it, even though they designed it like you should be able to, because the water is not nearly controlled enough and you’d get absolutely soaked.

3-1 and a Trip to Wal-Mart

So, the Jazz won again last night. On the road. Which is apparently no small thing when playing Golden State. So they are well on their way to the Western Conference Finals.

Of course, I probably just jinxed it by saying that, but since I’m not really that emotionally invested in the outcome, I think it’ll be okay.

I did, however, manage to watch a little bit of the game last night. It was by accident, but still, I think it might be progress toward becoming a fan once again. You see, the game was on TNT, and I was flipping channels on the T.V., bored, and I stumbed across the end of an episode of Law & Order. After that one was over another one came on. I was kind of halfway watching it while I did other things. And when it was over, the game came on. I was busy doing other things, so I didn’t bother to change the channel.

Of course, then I remembered that I had to go to Wal-Mart, so, you know, I don’t starve to death. I turned the T.V. off and left without much of a sense of what was going on in the game. I was distracted by other things. When I got back, I turned the T.V. back on and the first half was just ending. I still remember the score: Jazz 50, Warriors 49. I think, anyway. As soon as I type that, the self-doubt creeps in. I’m going to try to stand firm.

Anyway, I didn’t watch any of the second half, but considering I usually don’t even know that they’re playing until the next day when I come to work and see the score on MSN’s homepage, I’d call that progress.

Yes, I Am Strange

WordPress, in the stat section, will show you search terms that landed people on your blog. I get next to no traffic, so usually there is nothing in that particular column. And when there is, WordPress offers no way to connect it to a particular hit on the blog to see what the person read or where they’re from or anything like that.

All of this is to say that I don’t usually check my blog stats anymore. So for all I know, I could have an incredibly popular blog and I’m just blissfully unaware of it. In fact, I think I might chose to delude myself think about it in this way from now on. I could use a little boost in confidence.

But I digress.

Every once in a while I check to see my stats in WordPress, and sure enough, today there was one that really cracked me up.

So this post is for whoever it was that ended up on my blog searching for “strange things about mississippi.” Boy did you ever come to the right place. They don’t get much stranger than me. Hopefully, you realized that by perusing some of my posts. If not, maybe you’ll come back at a later date. If so, please leave a comment. I’d love to know who the heck you are, why you were looking for strange things about Mississippi, and whether or not I fit the bill.

The Universal Email Address

Okay, seriously, I don’t think I can take it anymore.

I have a personal Gmail account in addition to the one I have for the blog. When I first signed up for it many moons ago (or whenever it was that Gmail first debuted, for I was one of the pioneers), the suggestion they gave me after putting in all my personal information was my first name followed by a dot and then my last name.

But I decided, I don’t know, that I was too cool for that or something, so I decided to go wtih my first initial and my last name.

This has proved to be a mistake, and now it’s too late to go back and correct it, since my first name dot last name is not available anymore. Boo to whoever you are out there with the same name as me who stole my email address. And boo to having a really common last name, for that matter.

The problem started a while ago, when I would get random emails from websites that I never registered for. The only thing I can figure is that people would enter my email address rather than entering their own since they didn’t want to use their own email address to reduce cluttering their inboxes with spam. Understandable enough, in and of itself, but it turns out, people, that someone out there (namely me) actually has the email address you’ve been using, so now I have to deal with extra spam not of my own creation as well as emails from organizations I’ve never heard of and websites I don’t frequent.

Lately, though, I’ve also started to get an unusually large number of emails from actual people who seem to think that I am someone that they know. Not that they know me, but they’re under the impression that my email address is really some other person’s email address. Usually a friend of a friend or a business acquaintance or something like that. And I’ve gotten a lot of evites, all from the same girl.

Very strange indeed. I think I probably get more email that was intended for other people than I get for myself. Sad, but true.

Sharing

Someone was talking to me today about someone else, and this person said “She’s not very good at sharing.” I looked at her quizzically, and asked her what she meant by that. She elaborated, describing the person she was talking about as “selfish.”

See, I’d thought she meant the person was good at opening up to other people. What she’d meant instead was something that seemed very different. Only it got me thinking. Why would we use the word “share” to describe the act of baring one’s soul to another person? The truth is, it’s a very sharing act to open up to someone else, just as it is to offer someone half of your food or a ride when they need one. In fact, it’s probably even more so, because you are actually sharing a part of yourself, instead of just a thing, which should presumably mean less to you to part with than a part of your being.

Maybe this is a fairly elementary concept. But I honestly never thought about it this way. To me, it feels selfish when I do share, as if by talking about myself or my problems somehow means all I can think about is myself. The tagline for my old blog bears this line of reasoning out: “Where it really is all about me” tacked onto a site where I largely talked about myself.

I suppose if all you did in your relationships was to talk about yourself, without ever listening, then that would be selfish, user-type behavior, where you’re only in it for what you can get for yourself and once you’ve talked over your stuff and feel better about it you just tune out. Yeah, that’s pretty selfish, too. But that’s not really sharing. That’s not really being willing to expose yourself (not like that!) to another person, warts and all, not so they’ll make you feel better about yourself but so that they can get to know you better and you can have a deeper and more meaningful relationship.

The reverse of this is true as well: to deliberately not open up to someone who is close to you is, in fact, a selfish act.

Now, I don’t mean that to be as harsh as it sounds. Many of us have dared to open ourselves up to others, only to end up hurt and broken at the end of the day. This makes it hard to trust the next time, whether it’s the same person, the friend who betrayed us and now comes back for a second chance, or someone new, the next great guy you meet after a bad break-up. It may be perfectly understandable to be more wary of sharing oneself as opposed to giving someone some money when they need it in a situation like this.

But that really doesn’t make it any less selfish.

I’ve been on this end as well. On the one hand, I know how hard it can be. I’ve said it many times before, I’m not all that great at opening up, though I have gotten a lot better at it recently. Here it’s fairly easy because I don’t really have friends who read this blog, for the most part (though I suppose I can’t be 100% certain of that, since my name is on it so anyone who knows me could, in theory, stumble upon it), and it’s a less personal form of communication, regardless. It’s always been easier for me to write out my thoughts in a letter or email than it is to speak to someone face to face or over the telephone. And it’s easier still on this blog because it isn’t response driven. Perhaps no one will even read what I have to say about a particular subject, or about my day, or my feelings.

I’ve been on the other side, too, though. I’ve been in relationships with people who aren’t very open. And it’s hard. It hurts a lot, when you want to truly know someone in the same way that they know you and they largely refuse to open up. I know it’s hard, but there comes a point when you have to let go of the fear, right? And then, miraculously, they do, and they tell you something you’re pretty sure they’ve never told anyone before, and it makes you feel special but also so close to them, closer than you’ve ever felt to anyone before. It makes it easier to be patient, to wait for the person to be more comfortable around you, to hold out hope that they’ve opened up to you once, so it’ll be easier the next time they want to or need to or you just want them to. And it’ll make it easier next time you want to share yourself with them, because they’ve shared with you, and you feel less open to judgment and ridicule and driving them away. But then they just close themselves off completely. And you want desperately to get in, but you can’t, no matter what. In fact, the harder you try, the more sealed off they become until you can’t even recognize them anymore. And then they drift away from you physically as well as emotionally, so that you don’t even see them anymore.

I’ve been on both sides of that particular fence. It hurts either way.

2-0 and Other Tales from Wednesday Evening

I know you’ve all been wondering how the Jazz are doing in their series with the Warriors, and you’ve been sitting around waiting for me to tell you rather than looking it up on any number of sports related websites or checking the scores and highlights on television.

Well, you’ll be very happy to know that they won again last night, putting them up 2-0 in their best of 7 series with Golden State. I still can’t get over the fact that the Warriors are in the playoffs at all, but, like I said before, it’s been a while since I followed basketball all that much.

If they keep playing this well, I might actually have to start watching the games. Of course, as soon as I start watching, they’ll probably start losing. I’m cursed, I tell you. Just ask the Mets, who were rolling along in last year’s playoffs until I started pulling for them, when they promptly started losing and missed out on the World Series. Yes, it was all my fault. So I apologize to all you genuine Mets fans out there. I just prefer them to the Yankees. Plus, they have Tom Glavine, who has been a crush of mine since he played for the Braves.

Anyway, I’m cursed, so maybe I’ll just keep my distance from the Jazz. They deserve better.

The game has a pretty inspirational-type story attached to it, actually. One of the players, Derek Fisher, earlier in the week announced that his ten month old baby has a form of eye cancer and was undergoing surgery in New York. He missed Monday’s game and he almost missed the game last night because he had flown there to be with his daughter and the rest of his family. After what he called a successful operation, he flew back to Salt Lake City for the game. He missed most of the game and showed up without having practiced or warmed up or anything and went out to play. He only scored five points, but all of those were in OT and it looks like they were pretty crucial to the Jazz win.

So, yeah, that’s a pretty storybook kind of story. Kind of makes me wish I had watched the game.

I actually probably would have (or at least might have), but Lost was on last night. It was a really good episode, as well as a cautionary tale for parents not to forget their children’s birthdays or really bad things might happen to them when those kids grow up. Blaming them for things beyond their control is probably not such a great idea either.

Before Lost I had to run an errand for my mother. This involved me going to Sonic to get her some food. In what I’m sure will become a trend of me posting weird things that I see around town, when I was getting ready to pull out of my slot at Sonic, I noticed that the guy in the car a couple down from me was totally taking a nap. Just sitting there, parked, snoozing away. What was even stranger, though, was how quickly the food came, barely a minute after I placed to order.

That was damn near miraculous.

I also had to retype this entire blog post from memory after it disappeared into the black hole that is the internet. I think it actually came out a little better that the first attempt, which blows to hell my theory that I don’t do well with rewrites, that I’m a one-take wonder kind of gal. Not that this means I’ll start reviewing all of my blog posts before I post them. This one, for example, isn’t getting re-read at all. Old habits die hard, and all that jazz.

Hmm. Jazz. Right. The point. Go Jazz!

Fountains and Ferris Wheels

The building I work in sustained a lot of damage in the hurricane. They’re currently doing a big renovation and restoration project on it. Most of the work is now complete. One of the new things is this fountain that sits in the plaza area out front.

It’s a very strange fountain. It’s flat with the ground. There’s no raised up part for sitting or pooling water or anything like that. It’s round and tiled, and there’s this long rectangular part that’s actually indented into the ground a bit that sticks out from the round part. On the rectangular part, the water shoots up in increasing heights the closer you get to the round part. As it runs though it’s cycle, and it starts up in the middle, there are some that resemble the shoots in the rectangle but there are these other, thicker streams of water that kind of just shoot straight up into the air. It’s not a pretty or aesthetic line at all.

Plus, there’s no way to walk around this fountain while it’s going and not get wet, even though there’s seating areas around it. After it run through it’s cycle and it’s completely shut off, the whole ground around it is wet.

It’s just a very strange fountain. Almost like it’s poorly designed or something. Then again, what do I know about fountain design? Or any other kind of design for that matter?

This got me thinking about other fountains I’ve seen. My favorite is probably the fountain in front of Lincoln Center, but that’s probably a nostalgia thing more than anything else. And there was this fountain in the mall when I was a kid that we used to throw pennies into.

Then I remembered that weird fountain in Millennium Park in Chicago. You know the one I mean. And I don’t mean weird in the poorly designed way. I mean weird in the postmodern design kind of way. Not that this particular fountain is an example of postmodern design. We’ve already established that I’m not a design expert. I honestly don’t know how to describe it. It’s the one with the weird picture that flash up on it every so often and the flat walls of water.

Of course, I probably don’t need to describe it. It’s a pretty famous fountain. Most of you have probably seen it. I remembered seeing it in some movie or television show whose identity I couldn’t recall. I searched the Internet when I got home from work and remembered that it was Prison Break.

Good show, by the way. Season one anyway. I’m waiting to watch season two, which ended a couple of weeks ago, until it comes out on DVD. I’ve heard it’s not as good though.

But I digress.

I remembered the day I spent in Chicago last summer. And how I got to see my very favorite painting (and a bunch of other really cool art) at the Art Institute. And got to see lots of really interesting architecture. And a wedding party. And I ate in a Lebanese restaurant. And got rained on. And walked a lot.

It was all the walking that made me miss a ride on the big ferris wheel. You see, I wore the wrong shoes (for a moment, forgetting my time in New York and the pain that work ensure if I made such a grave error – truly, I thought the shoes were comfortable enough and just ended up being really wrong), so by the time we made it to the ferris wheel, I was in too much pain to stand in the really long line.

And I really like ferris wheels.

I like the Scrambler almost as much as I like ferris wheels, though. And I got to ride one of those not that long ago. The ex and I went on a trip and we stopped at this festival in Natchez, and they had a couple of rides there, one of which was the Scrambler. They also had these booths set up with the hecklers out front who try to get you to come and play. One of them was really annoying and taunted us every time we went by.

But I managed to talk my ex into riding the Scrambler. For those unfamiliar with the ride, it looks kind of like a spider, with these arms that have cars dangling from them. And as the thing starts, the legs move in and out past each other really fast, so that it feels like you’re going to hit the people coming at you, even though you obviously aren’t.

After a false start, when the guy stopped the ride to let more people on, it really got going and it was so much fun. It got to going really fast, and the ex and I just laughed and laughed and laughed. And got a little sick to our stomachs, too. At least I did. But it was in a good way, you know?

It was a moment of pure joy and exhilaration and just happiness. I’m so glad to have that memory. It’s one of the multitude of memories that make me miss him so much.

The Man on the Motorcycle

I was driving down Highway 90 on my way to meet a friend of mine for lunch today, and there was this guy on a motorcycle in front of me.

Something about him seemed strange from the start. I couldn’t quite place it at first. Then, when he really got going, I noticed that he was dressed a lot nicer than people are normally on motorcycles. Not that people on motorcycles are slobs. Just that, since you’re completely subject to the elements, it’s usually not a great idea to dress in nice pants and a button up shirt.

His shirt was white, too, with a blue stripe in it, which made the whole billowing in the wind thing even more obvious and distracting.

I was behind him for most of the way. I really don’t like riding behind motorcycles. I always feel like I’m going to hit them. This guy was driving a little slowly for my taste, which made this problem more difficult than normal. I don’t know what it is. It’s like they’re so exposed and vulnerable and it just freaks me out a little bit.

Anyway, just as I was about to turn off the highway, I noticed something that struck me as even more odd than the way he was dressed. He had a pair of handcuffs attached to his back. I double-took and noticed that it wasn’t a police motorcycle or anything, nor was this guy dressed like a cop.

I don’t know what to make of that. But it was time for me to leave him, so I didn’t get to ponder it or investigate any further. Just thought it was strange, though. And where better to talk about the strange things I see during the day but here.

The Beginning of the End of Lost

Well, it’s the announcement of the end anyway. The series will run for three more seasons, after this one, with each of the remaining episodes having 16 episodes which will run on consecutive weeks in the second half of the normal television series season, much like 24 does now.

I don’t personally see how they are going to get three more seasons in on this show, even if they are abbreviated seasons. But I guess putting an end date on it does enable them to plan it out a bit more carefully without having to keep the option open for running longer. I thought it would go maybe two more seasons.

I think that the first season was fantastic. It started to go off the rails a little bit in the second season, and the current season has been kind of a mess (though it’s been really much improved lately). I’m hoping that by making this announcement, the show can develop some much needed focus. And finally start providing answers to all the questions and mysteries it raises.

The Christianity Debate

Ross Douthat gives Christopher Hitchens credit for being willing to go out and debate the premises of his new book about God.

He also points to what promises to be an extended exchange over at Christianity Today between Hitchens and Douglas Wilson on the merits of Christianity. It should be interesting and informative reading, if nothing else. I’ll try to keep up with it, but I’m just a simple girl, and most of the complex stuff gets right by me.

What’s really good about this kind of thing is that we can see that there are people of intelligence and accomplishment of both sides of such heady issues. Often times, public debate takes the form of the lowest common denominator, and people of genuine curiousity are left wondering if those on one or both sides of the debate are just a bunch of morons rather than serious seekers.

Smart people can disagree, and do so in an intelligence and respectful manner. Even about something like God.

The God Debate

Hitchens and Sharpton debate faith.

Hitchens has a new book entitled God is Not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything. Slate published some excerpts from it a couple of weeks ago. The title says a lot about Hitchens position. He spends little time calling belief in God, in and of itself, folly and spends a lot of time criticizing religion. The same is true in the debate with Sharpton. Sharpton calls him on it and, perhaps wisely (but also perhaps perplexingly, as he is a Christian pastor), doesn’t try to match him blow for blow on the merits of religion or even the Bible as the word of God. He instead focuses on belief in God, and the existence of God, as ultimately separate from those questions.

I’m not sure the two can be completely separated. However, religion, along with every action ever taken by any man or woman on earth, is a man-made construct and thereby subject to human folly and error. You can believe in God and seek his will, but you might end up being fooled by the devil, or yourself, or tempted by the world along the way. So even if someone claims to be speaking for Jesus (said as Max von Sydow says it in Hannah and Her Sisters) or whatever, this must be balanced against the individual experience of God that each of us has, to see whether it is to be trusted or not.

Of course, this could also lend itself to a very defeatist, why bother approach to the whole thing. But it is why it’s faith.

Anyway, the debate is pretty interesting. Both men make good points and they seem to treat each other with respect, even though Hitchens has very little by way of respect for those who possess religious beliefs. Or maybe it just seems more respectful because it’s a transcript and you can’t really pick up on their tones.

The Jazz

So I don’t really follow professional basketball anymore. I haven’t for several years, in fact. But once upon a time, I was quite the Utah Jazz fan. This obsession was born more out of a crush on John Stockton than anything else. When he left the team, I lost interest.

However, I hear they’re doing quite well in the playoffs this year. Jerry Sloan is still their coach, and I have a sort of fondness for him as well. Nostalgia, if you will. So here’s hoping they continue to do well.

Of course, now that I’ve blogged about it, they’ll probably go off the rails. I’m a curse. When I throw my support behind something, that usually dooms it to fail.

Interpreting the Second Amendment

The New York Times published an interesting article yesterday on a reinterpretation of the Second Amendment as protecting individual rights instead of merely collective ones. This new interpretation, favored by some leading constitutional scholars who otherwise fit a more liberal mold (e.g. Lawrence Tribe), has now won the support of a three judge panel of the D.C. Circuit Court of Appeals. Both sides are now waiting to see if the full court will rehear the case before making their next moves.

The article calls the new argument a “liberal” one. But it seems to me, after reading the whole article twice, that there isn’t anything liberal about it, except for the identity of those making the argument. It seems like any argument anyone might make, saying that because the rest of the Bill of Rights protects individual rights, the Second Amendment should probably be interpreted in the same way. And the way they have reached their conclusion strikes me as being a more conservative method of judicial interpretation:

The earlier consensus, the law professors said in interviews, reflected received wisdom and political preferences rather than a serious consideration of the amendment’s text, history and place in the structure of the Constitution. “The standard liberal position,” Professor Levinson said, “is that the Second Amendment is basically just read out of the Constitution.”

I really don’t have much of an opinion on this issue, honestly. It isn’t an issue I’m personally invested in, and I haven’t really spent that much time studying it to see what, based on all the evidence, I think the outcome should be.

One thing did strike me in this article, though:

Filing suit in the District of Columbia was a conscious decision, too, Mr. Levy said. The gun law there is one of the most restrictive in the nation, and questions about the applicability of the Second Amendment to state laws were avoided because the district is governed by federal law.

For those non-legal minds, this sentence refers indirectly to the doctrine of incorporation. When the Bill of Rights was written, it was meant only to apply to the federal government. After the passage of the Fourteenth Amendment, however, the Supreme Court began holding that various rights guaranteed in the Bill of Rights to individuals as against the federal government also applied to state governments as well.

The Court has incorporated the various protections of the Bill of Rights in a piecemeal fashion. The first incorported right was the First Amendment right to free speech in Gitlow v. New York. Other rights followed, so that today, most of the Bill of Rights has been incorporated to the states, including nearly all of the significant provisions.

One of the amendments that has not been incorporated has been the Second Amendment. This makes sense, since, as the article mentions, the standard interpretation of that amendment has been as a collective right not an individual one. Plus, cases based on the rights afforded by the Second Amendment are rare, so there haven’t really been many opportunities for the Court to hold that the right, whatever it might be, is incorporated.

Other Bill of Rights provisions that have not been incorporated: indictment by grand jury from the Fifth Amendment (though the rest of that amendment has been incorporated), unanimous jury verdicts from the Sixth Amendment (an implicit federal right not directly stated in the language of the amendment itself), jury trial for civil cases from the Seventh Amendment, and the Eighth Amendment provision about excessive bail.

Make That Definitely Missed My Calling

Tim Hulsey on Tom Stoppard’s trilogy The Coast of Utopia:

Tom Stoppard’s The Coast of Utopia, now playing through May 12 at New York’s Lincoln Center, is quite simply the best thing I have ever seen on a stage.

High praise from a critic not prone to it. He later says that it may end up being Stoppard’s masterpiece.
To bring it down to my mediocre level: one of the characters in the play is the anarchist Mikhail Bakunin, which also doubles as the name of one of the characters on…wait for it…Lost.

To borrow a phrase from one of my law professors, isn’t it nice how everything on this blog fits together. Of course, he said “class” instead of “blog,” and “in” instead of “on,” but close enough.

For more on the naming of characters on Lost, which I’m sure is just a desperate grasp for legitimacy on the part of the writers, go here.

Back to the play. I love Tom Stoppard. He’s one of my very favorite playwrights. He has such a great command of language and history and art and literature and…well, pretty much everything. I, of course, did not see Coast of Utopia, which is currently winding up its run on Broadway. Unfortunately, I probably never will.

I Think I Missed My Calling

Terry Teachout describes a day in his life.

I so wish I were him. You know, ’cause then I’d be brilliant. And still in New York. Instead of mediocre. And in Mississippi.

Can’t say I’d be too crazy about being a man, though. But nobody’s life is perfect.

Dueling Philosophers

I’m a recently converted Lost fan. So I was watching last night’s episode (which was pretty good, but not the subject of this post) and there was this great little moment that made me laugh out loud. I thought I’d share it.

The writers of the show have a habit of naming characters after various philosophers. The exchange I’m about to share involved two of these characters, who I will call A and B, so as not to spoil the whole funniness of the thing. This was in no way relevant to the plot of the episode, so no worries on spoilers if you’re a fan and haven’t seen it yet.

So without further ado:

A (looking up to see B come in): Rousseau.

B (regarding A for a second): Locke.

Yeah, I know. I’m easy.

Lessons from the Morning Commute

This is for the guy in the white Toyota Tundra who came zooming up behind me this morning while I was driving down Highway 90, flashing his lights even though I was driving well over the speed limit in the left lane, who then proceeded to pass me erratically in the right lane and cut in front of me like he was in a sports car and not a pick-up truck because he had to because there was a car in the right lane which is the whole reason I didn’t get over to let you pass in the first place.

Yes, you.

I was the girl in the blue Chevy Cavalier with the big crack in the windshield who honked at you as you went by. Or were you driving too fast to notice any of that?

I just have one thing to say to you: I’m sorry.

You know, I started planning this post in my head as I parked at work and started to walk in. And I was all set to come in here and post this and tell you off and get out all those frustrations that I could never get out to you in person (or ever, since I know you’ll never read this) because I’ll never see you again and even if I did I wouldn’t know it or probably wouldn’t remember, as this is one of those frustrations that will soon disappear, most likely because it’ll be supplanted by another, more pressing one.

But then I sat down at my desk and read my email. I subscribe to this email where I get a Bible verse every day. I haven’t been feeling too religious lately, or too inspired in my faith or my belief. In fact, just last night, as I lay in bed unable to sleep for the umpteenth time, I found myself composing another post in my head questioning those beliefs. I don’t remember a lot of it, since it was born from the delirium of insomnia, but perhaps one day I’ll come back to it, my crisis of faith.

For now, I still read my scripture verses in my inbox every morning. And this morning, I was greeted with this (to give credit where it’s due, this particular email subscription is through Bible League):

Verse of the Day for May 3, 2007

Ephesians 4:2

Be humble and gentle. Be patient with each other, making allowance for each other’s faults because of your love. (NLT)

Meditation

Chances are, you will have plenty of opportunities today to put this verse into action. When other people’s faults show up, that’s an opportunity for you to let your love show up. What things do you do that test other people’s patience?

When I first read it, I thought of the ex. But I don’t really have to try to be patient with him, or to show him love, because I don’t really see him anymore. My choice. I suppose I could try to be that way anyway toward him, even though he isn’t a part of my life anymore. I could at least be careful of what I say about him, and choose to speak of him in a loving manner, which is something I try to do, even here (though sometimes, my hurt and anger do get the best of me). In fact, a large part of the reason I don’t see him anymore is that I have chosen to respect the fact that he doesn’t want me in his life at all, not even as a potential friend someday (despite the fact that I valued his friendship so much, and missing that is a large part of missing him – and I do miss him, so very much, even now – perhaps even more than the romance and all the rest) or just as a passing acquaintance – someone to say hello to – now. Even though that really hurts a lot, it’s what he wants, and I can’t say he’s wrong, even if I don’t quite understand it.

But I digress. Shocker, I know.

After my ex passed through my mind (which is really not all that unusual an occurrence), I thought of the guy in the Tundra. And I felt bad. Not for not getting out of his way so he could pass me. But for not being respectful and acting toward him in a patient and loving manner. I should have just let it go. I shouldn’t have honked my horn. I should only honk my horn as a warning, if someone is about to him me or I’m about to hit them. I shouldn’t be honking it in anger or frustration with others. The driver is probably a perfectly decent guy, just trying to get somewhere on time. For all I know, there was a genuine emergency. But the reasons for his actions, or even his actions themselves, don’t matter. I have no control of them or him. I only have control over myself and how I choose to respond to others and interact with the world. And I want to and need to do that in a better way.

So, to you, the man in the white Tundra on Highway 90 at 8:00 this morning, Thursday, May 3: I’m really very sorry. I can’t say I’ll have the opportunity to right my behavior, since like I said, I’ll probably never see you again. So I won’t be able to act toward you again in a patient and loving manner.

Perhaps I’ll just say a prayer for you instead.

Two Accents for the Price of One

Slate’s Explainer on having more than one accent.

I used to have more than one accent. I never had a really strong Southern accent, but when I moved to New York, I found that people could detect it. I also found, at times, that I would emphasize it more, just on certain words. Perhaps this was a subconscious way for me to assert my identity. Or maybe I just noticed it more because unlike when I lived back home, where everyone sounded like that, now no one did.

It wasn’t until I got to law school that I noticed myself starting to pick up what could be determined a New York accent. I think this was because St. John’s is a fairly local school – most of the students there were from the Queens-Long Island area – whereas NYU had a wider range of people and those that I spent most of my time with weren’t from New York. But I did start to pick up the accent at that point, for which I was teased mercilessly by one of the guys in my class, who was also from the South. Still, on some words (most notably “well,” which I began a lot of sentences with), I retained my more pronouced Southern accent. I think on those few words it even did become more pronounced.

What was really weird is what happened when I would come home for a visit. It was almost like the second I stepped off the plane at the fabulous Gulfport-Biloxi International Airport, I had a full blown Southern drawl unlike anything I ever had before. It was crazy. I could hear myself doing it but could do nothing to stop the horror. It would go away just as quickly as I arrived back in New York.

Only it turns out maybe it’s not so weird after all:

A Southerner who moves to New York and wants to drop the twang will often pick it up again when he visits home (or has a few drinks).

Though I would point out I never consciously tried to lose my accent.

On a somewhat related note, I always wanted to have a Midwestern accent. I guess I’ll have to move if that’s ever going to happen.

Romney’s Bookshelf

Okay, so this was too fun not to post. It also signals that I really need to start following politics more earnestly again, for it never fails to disappoint in providing boatloads of entertainment.

Mitt Romney’s favorite book is the Bible. No huge surprise there. But his favorite novel is, apparently, Battlefield Earth. I’m sorry I missed this when it first became news (if it even really did at all), but John Dickerson has a pretty funny and interesting piece about it on Slate today. First, he tries to figure out what this says about Romney. My personal favorite quote:

The whole tumbling horror of the Battlefield Earth experience is so profound it nearly comes out the other side and achieves a kind of perfection of awfulness. Is Romney being ironic, then, like those people who buy clown art? Unlikely. There’s not a big irony bloc in the GOP and Battlefield Earth is a thousand-page book. No one can sustain irony for that long. (At 13,000 words per dollar it is a great value, though, which might appeal to notoriously frugal New Hampshire voters.)

But then he goes on to (sort of) defend the statement, or at least argue that Romney should not try to distance himself from it, as he most assuredly will:

There is no obvious stratagem behind it, which means Romney, the most meticulously arrayed and perhaps the most careful of the candidates may be giving us a peek at a robust inner goofball. Voters like to get a little glimpse of the authentic core in their candidates and Romney’s team has been trying to show this side since their candidate can appear affected.

I’m not entirely sure I agree with Dickerson. It’s one thing to be a little goofy, especially if you try hard to cultivate an image that you are not. But I suspect (and I could be wrong) that one of the reasons that Romney, of all people, works so hard to cultivate an image of not being goofy is that he is handicapped in this area. People are already going to think he’s a little weird, at best, or a member of a cult, at worst. If you add a love for Battlefield Earth to the mix…well, I think the situation fairly well speaks for itself. I think people are prone to think that Romney’s a bit of a crackpot anyway (though let me be clear, he is also a serious candidate, though he will not get the nomination) just on spec, so it’s probably best if he tries not to give people even more reasons to think so if he doesn’t have to.

I was also struck by something completely unrelated, though obviously somewhat related because it’s in the article. I somehow have trouble conjuring the image of the President reading The Stranger.

Some Interesting Reading

I’ve been wanting to blog yesterday and today, but I haven’t really thought of much to say. I read a couple of interesting articles yesterday, but I had trouble composing my thoughts on them. I haven’t been sleeping really well as of late, so perhaps my brain is just addled at the moment.

I figured I’d go ahead and post the articles I read and let you guys read them for yourselves. If you have anything interesting to say, please post a comment. Comments make me happy.

On Monday, because I was still on a high after seeing a really good movie for the first time since Children of Men, I decided to investigate The Lives of Others a little bit further. And I found this really interesting article from the Boston Globe about the reception of the film in Germany. Apparently, it’s really the first film to look critically at the Stasi, since prior to this, the unwritten and unspoken rule has been to really not deal with this history in a serious manner.

I found it interesting because I didn’t really know anything about the history of what was going on. I just thought the story sounded interesting, and enjoyed the movie because it turned out it was. It was also somewhat of an educational experience for me, though that isn’t why I went to see it, and isn’t what made it, to me, a great film. I’m not good at explaining why I like things, but I think one of the things that made this movie really interesting was that, while it didn’t play like a documentary, it played like it was true. I found myself as I was reading this article wondering if they were going to start talking about, or even interviewing the characters, as if they were real people. As if the exact story of the film were true.

Anyway, the article is interesting and illuminating.

The New York Times had a couple of interesting articles yesterday. One was about revisionist history of the South at the time of the civil rights movement. I think the article is good in that it points to some complexities of life in the South that I think sometimes get overlooked. I think the article stumbles when it fails to mention that the problem of racism is not a problem that is unique to the South. By talking about the differences between rural and urban areas within the South or the differences between the Deep South and the Mid or Northern South when it comes to the issue of racism, the implication seems to be that this problem only exists in the South, or that the problem is only problematic in the South, which is, of course, not true.

Of course, it’s the New York Times, so I’m hardly surprised. A friend of mine was reading the Times once and I made a face and he said he supposed I found it too liberal. I said that of course I did. I told him the bias was subtle, and that even though I supposed they were a trustworthy news source overall, it still bothered me. The same with NPR. He challenged me to find the bias. So I took his paper and started to read an article on the front page. I don’t remember what it was about, but it had something to do with Dick Cheney. It didn’t take me long (a couple of sentences, if I recall correctly), to find a sentence that was, in my opinion, biased in the way it was written. In other words, the statement was true, I’m sure, but it could have been written in a more neutral manner. My friend, who is a fairly liberal guy, agreed with my assessment.

Of course, it’s still the paper of record, while about two people read what I have to say…so what do I know?

The Times also had an interesting article about Barack Obama and his membership in the controversial Trinity United Church of Christ in Chicago. This is something else that I readily admit I know very little about. I’ve kind of been intrigued by Obama as a man of faith, and this article shed a lot more light on what all that entails. It also got me interesting in exploring the United Church of Christ, since I know very little about them as a denomination. I think there might be a post in it somewhere, so perhaps I’ll have more to say about it later. For now, all I’ll say is that I think all of it makes Obama a very interesting candidate.

Believe it or not, I don’t have anything from Slate to post. I know, I know. What is the world coming to?

UPDATE: Wait, I spoke to soon. Mickey Kaus has some interesting reading on why Hillary maybe wants Gore to run for President, and whether or not she really should.

UPDATE, part deux: And apparently I posted too soon, for as Chris kindly pointed out, I forgot a couple of my links. Sorry about that. Everything should be set now.

100 Things

So I started a list of 100 things about me. I’m only up to 35 so far, but I went ahead and published it.

Enjoy.

Another Reason Not to Change

The NYC subway map, that is. For those of you playing along at home (or at work), I previously blogged about one man’s efforts to change the map.

Then, today, in checking out Chris’s blog since he was so kind to leave a comment, I saw a link to this site: NYC Bloggers. Complete with a map chock full of blog links.

This is totally cool and makes me wish I still lived in NYC. Well, not just this, but you know what I mean. Even their tagline is great: “There are a million blogs in the naked city. Here’s where to find 6264 of them.”

I can only assume the number changes as new blogs are added.

The original line is “There are eight million stories in the naked city; this has been one of them.” You probably knew that. It’s a fairly famous line. It’s from the film, The Naked City, directed by Jules Dassin. I recently picked it up at Barnes & Noble on a binge DVD buying trip. Criterion Collection, don’t you know?

I believe the film also inspired a television series of the same name.

But I digress.

I’d hate for the NYC blogger map to be obsolete, so I guess they’ll just have to keep the regular subway map in use for the time being. Because everything in the world should revolve around what’s good for the blogs. Of course, if that was true, I suppose I’d have to pack up and move back to NYC, so I could be on the map, too.

Sorry to Disappoint

For those of you who have landed on my site looking for porn, I would like to extend my humblest of apologies for deterring you in your quest. You see, I am a silly and simple girl, and it really didn’t honestly occur to me that by putting the words “Sonnet XXX” on my site that some people might end up here after entering “xxx” in a search engine, a search which I can only conclude would be in pursuit of porn.

In case you’re interested, I have blogged, briefly, about porn before. And I studied it in school. No, not like that. I mean in regard to the first amendment. Whether it’s protected speech or not. We also covered a little bit on pornography in my undergrad major as well, which was Cinema Studies. We read an article in my Film Theory class about the so-called “body genres,” of which pornography was one, written by feminist theorist and critic Linda Williams.

The other two body genres (in addition to pornography) are horror and melodrama. These are genres which, according to Williams, use the body in ways to elicit (or perhaps solicit) a bodily response from the viewer.

But I digress.

I realize that I’m probably not doing much to advance the cause of accidental hits on this site from people looking for something a little bit different by posting the words “porn” and “pornography” over and over again. But by this point it should be clear that I really don’t care all that much.

Except that I am deeply sorry. Truly I am. I hope you can forgive.

The Trip to New Orleans

Well, I made it to New Orleans today to see The Lives of Others. It was a very, very good movie. Well worth seeing, if you have the chance.

The trip over was a little intimidating. I’ve been to New Orleans plenty of times, as well as to this particular theater, but I’ve never actually driven there myself. I printed directions from Google. I would advise no one ever do that. The directions there were probably not the best, though they did get the job done. And the reverse directions were actually wrong, so that kind of sucked. Not that I really needed them on the way back, but if I had, well, I would have been pretty well screwed.

But I made it, so next time it’ll be easier. They played a couple of interesting trailers, so maybe I’ll make another trip over there sooner or later.

One of the trailers was for this movie called Waitress. I don’t know how many of you have heard the story of this movie, but it’s pretty interesting, not to mention sad. The woman who wrote and directed it, Adrienne Shelly, was murdered at some point after the filming ended. The movie’s been very well received since then, but it’s all kind of bittersweet for everyone involved, since the driving force behind it isn’t around to enjoy the success and receive the accolades.

Anyway, there was this quote in the trailer that made me kind of sad. I don’t remember exactly how it goes, but it was something about needing or having someone in your life to hold you unselfishly for twenty minutes. I’ve never had that.

The Lives of Others was good. I even wrote down a quote. It was from Stalin, who called writers “engineers of the soul.”

In case I’m not clear: Stalin isn’t a character in the movie. One of the other characters quotes him. The movie is set in East Germany in the mid-1980s.

I wish I were better at talking about movies. I should be, since it was my major in college and all. But all I can really say about it was that it was very good.

Sonnet XXX

In reading through my book on creative writing, I came across a sonnet I’d never read before. It’s Sonnet XXX, from Sonnets From the Portuguese, by Elizabeth Barrett Browning, and it really struck me, even though I’ve never been a particular fan of Barrett Browning’s poetry before.

I thought I’d post it here:

I see thine image through my tears to-night,
And yet to-day I saw thee smiling. How
Refer the cause ?–Beloved, is it thou
Or I, who makes me sad ? The acolyte
Amid the chanted joy and thankful rite
May so fall flat, with pale insensate brow,
On the altar-stair. I hear thy voice and vow,
Perplexed, uncertain, since thou art out of sight,
As he, in his swooning ears, the choir’s Amen.
Beloved, dost thou love ? or did I see all
The glory as I dreamed, and fainted when
Too vehement light dilated my ideal,
For my soul’s eyes ? Will that light come again,
As now these tears come–falling hot and real ?

The Baldwin Controversy

I honestly haven’t really followed this whole Alec Baldwin thing. From what I can tell, he said some really horrible things to his daughter on her voice mail and somehow the recording got out and some people criticized him and at first maybe he tried defense a little, but now he’s out on a mea culpa tour and wants to do his penance by leaving his television show, 30 Rock, and writing a book.

I think that pretty well sums it up, from the little I’ve gleaned in passing. It’s kind of sad that you can not even really follow a story like this and still know so much about it. I could use that part of my brain to store something else. Like all of that knowledge from law school that I’ve mostly forgotten now.

But I digress.

It seems his mea culpa tour isn’t really a mea culpa tour after all, from the sounds of this article. So maybe I don’t know so much about it after all. It looks like it might be more of an opportunity for him to lash out at his ex-wife.

That sounds a bit more like the Alec Baldwin we’ve come to know and love.

The article argue that Baldwin should stick with the show and give up the other crap:

For the good of viewers — and readers — Mr. Baldwin must not leave the show.

His performance yesterday [on The View] suggests that he may need some persuading to stay with the sitcom, in which he is brilliant, and away from talk show couches, where he is anything but.

Indeed.

I actually don’t watch the show, but I hear good things and I was thinking about trying to catch up with it this summer on DVD, hopefully. And I really like Alec Baldwin as an actor. The article talks about him stealing every scene he’s in on the show. I have no trouble believing it. He’s a great actor. It’s just that, when he’s not acting, he should keep his mouth shut.

The Cockroach

So, I’ve been stalking this cockroach for a couple of days now.

One thing you know if you’ve ever lived a day in the South (or at least in the part of the South I come from) is that we have a problem with cockroaches. Those big ones. They’re super creepy.

This problem is only compounded in a house that had six feet of water in it during Katrina and subsequently had the basement and ground floor gutted and currently in the process of being put back together again.

At any rate, there’s been a plethora of them lately. I first saw this particular cockroach a couple of days ago. He was in the bathtub. Sitting in a spot by the drain that made it very difficult to get a good angle to kill him. He sat there for the better part of a day, not moving. Even when I provoked him by waving a shoe directly over his head. Not a single shiver. Not even one of those antennae things moved.

It was at this point I suspected I was dealing with a particularly cunning cockroach.

Eventually, he departed from this spot and was nowhere to be found. I assumed he escaped down the drain and moved on to happier places. Then, this evening, I found that he had returned. I felt like he was taunting me. Daring me to try to kill him.

Try to kill him I did.

I did not have much success initially. My first attempt ended with him getting away and wedging himself in a crevice I could not reach. So I left and came back. The second time I gave a valiant chase, but he wedged himself into yet another crevice. He managed to give me quite a workout, though, as I had to move a bunch of things out of the way in my pursuit, only to come up short at the end.

Finally, on my third attempt, I managed to get him in the middle of a big open space on the wall, where I could pummel him at will with my dirty old shoe. I hammered away, and he went crunch and squish. It was totally disgusting. Goopy roach guts went everywhere and his lifeless carcass fell to the ground.

Now, of course, I’m worried that all of his little cockroach wives and cockroach children are going to come after me in the middle of the night. This is a fear I’ve always had about killing spiders and insects. Ever since I was little.

I wonder if this is one of those normal, childhood fears. I ask that because of The Pillowman. I don’t know if anyone’s familiar with the play, but it’s quite something, and if you ever get a chance to see it, you should really leap at the chance. I would say read it, but I think it really should be seen, and not just in the way that all plays are meant to be seen. I mean, it’s a superlative theatrical experience and just reading the words cannot do it justice or convey one tenth of the meaning of seeing it performed.

The play is about a guy who writes stories. Really sick and twisted stories involving children, where bad things usually happen to them. The play is really about storytelling, ultimately, and as such, several of his stories are told during the course of the play. One of the stories is called, if I recall, “The Apple Men.” It’s about a little girl who is the victim of abuse at the hands of some man, and one day she decides to kill him by putting razor blades into these cut up pieces of apple shaped like people and then giving them to him to eat. Her plan works, but then one night while she is asleep the apple men come to her and force themselves down her throat, killing her, because she killed their friends.

Yeah, I know. It’s pretty twisted. But it reminds me of a childhood nightmare and makes me wonder if the whole worrying about the relatives of the bugs you’ve killed coming to get you in the middle of the night is something a lot of kids think about, to the point where it sticks with them into adulthood.

Or maybe it’s just me. Like when I was a kid and I would see black and white photos or movies and I thought that, back then, things just existed in black and white.

I never stopped to wonder when color was invented, or what that moment must have been like, when the whole world changed from black and white to color in the blink of an eye. What a moment that would have been.

Of course, now there’s another roach in the bathroom. So maybe my fears aren’t so childish after all.

Good News & Bad News

For those of you who were deeply concerned about me based on my last post, thinking perhaps I had some kind of serious problem wherein I end up with strange bruises from unknown places, rest assured:  I solved the mystery of this particular bruise today. 

I like to sit with my legs up under me, crossed.  Even when at work.  So today, I did that and it was then I noticed that when I did, with a little too much force perhaps, my left thigh was jammed into the arm rest of my chair.  Right in the spot where I have the massive bruise.  So there you have it.

This doesn’t solve the larger problem that this happens quite often, and thus there are dozens and dozens (if not hundreds) more bruise appearances whose mysteries have not been solved.  But it’s some small relief for the present, at any rate. 

In other news, I uploaded a photo of myself (which I posted on the blog before) to WordPress and it will now appear next to my comments.  So, if you don’t want to be horrified beyond belief, then don’t click on any comment link with a number larger than 1 next to it, since chances are those will feature at least one comment from yours truly with the aforementioned picture of fright. 

Of course, it’s a really small photo, so it tends to be less scary than it could be or should be if it were rendered at a more normal proportion. 

Bruises

I was just taking a shower, and I found one of those bruises on my upper thigh.

You know the ones I mean.  Those huge, ugly black ones the size of a large cockroach that just appear one day randomly, with absolutely no memory of bumping into something with enough force to create something so huge and often painful.

Then again, I’ve been beating myself up a lot lately…so maybe it’s just me.

It’s odd, though, to have the evidence of a hurt and to not remember the moment of impact.  I have a pretty good memory.  When it comes to emotional bruises, I have no trouble remembering each and every blow that caused them.  Yet I have this huge bruise on my physical person, and absolutely no recollection of how it came to be.

Or maybe I just bruise too easily.

Finally, We Can Get Something Done About the Problem

I’m sure you’ve heard since the news is absolutely everywhere, but Spinal Tap is back.  Yeah, I know they’re not real, but they’re back anyway…to help save the world from the scourge of global warming, apparently.

I know we all feel better now that a fake metal band is on the case. 

I got the link from Andrew Sullivan, but in the interest of full disclosure, I first heard about this yesterday from Robert. 

Sullivan quotes the joke from the movie about all the amps going to eleven, which is pretty funny.  My personal favorite part, though, which had me laughing for quite some time, to the point where I’m sure I actually missed some other funny parts of the movie because of it, is when they perform the song “Stonehenge” with the model of it that is 18 inches instead of 18 feet, and those dwarves dance around it while they perform the song.  Absolutely hilarious. 

Brain Gyms and Failed Promise

This article from Slate, about brain gyms, is absolutely hilarious.  Seriously.  I would quote from it, but it’d be hard to choose just one part that’s funny, so just click on over and read the whole thing.

The article’s part of a larger series of articles under the heading “Brains!” which Slate describes as being about “neuroscience and neuroculture.”  I must confess here that I wanted to be a neurologist at one time.  Really, a neurosurgeon.  Like most of my career ambitions, though, this was not all that well thought out and only a desire of mine because at the time my favorite television show was Chicago Hope. 

This dream was dashed when I took Anatomy and Physiology in high school and found out that it was really, really hard.  Not that I couldn’t have been good at it if I’d tried.  But I wasn’t that big a fan of hard work when I was in high school.  Heck, I’m still not.  Law school was probably the hardest I’ve ever worked in my life, and that was really only for the first semester, until I figured out it didn’t really matter whether I worked a lot or a little, I’d still get the same grades.  And law school was also something I had a natural affinity for. 

Not so much with science. 

It’s kind of sad in a way, because I think if I’d put my mind to it, I could have been a pretty good doctor.  Now, the closest to that I’ll come is if I ever decide to go back to school and get a Ph.D.

Hugh Grant Tosses Some Beans

The headline I read (“Hugh Grant accused of attack with beans”) when I clicked on this story is much funnier than the content.  I think it would have been funnier, and more befitting of the Hugh Grant persona that I know and love, if he’d actually opened the container and flung the actual baked beans instead. 

From the photos, it looks like a plastic leftover container, so we can only hope the lid came off and some beans went flying.  Otherwise, the story is just not funny and actually kind of sad.

But I still love Hugh Grant anyway. 

And, of course, as a nearly lawyer, I feel compelled to include a disclosure that there is absolutely nothing funny about assault or battery, or indeed any other intentional tort that also doubles as a crime. 

A New Subway Map

I was perusing through The City section over at NYTimes.com, and I came across this article about one guy’s crusade to change the NYC subway system map:

“The map is an icon of the city; it represents New York on a certain level,” said Mr. Jabbour, a small, restless man who was born in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, and lives in Hastings-on-Hudson in Westchester County. “And it takes a cryptic archaeologist to read this one. It’s like the Rosetta Stone.”

I’d say he’s right about the first part.  However, I kind of liked the map.  It is hard to read at first.  And if you are new to the city or aren’t familiar with the map or the system, then it can be quite intimidatingly difficult to read.  Which I guess isn’t such a good thing in a map, so perhaps I should support this guy’s efforts. 

But it didn’t take me very long living in the city and using the system every day to be able to read and understand the map quite well, even if I was going someplace I had never been before or using a different line or whatever. 

Then again, there aren’t really any images of this guy’s map design ideas accompanying the article, so it’s hard for me to judge.  Perhaps his way is better.  A useful thing for non-natives to have would be to get a street map of the city that has an overlay of the subway lines and bus lines.  Those do exist and are really quite helpful for figuring out if the train you are on will take you to the place you want to go.

Or you could always ask someone.  Really.  Don’t be afraid.  Most New Yorkers don’t bite, at least in my personal experience.  I used to get asked for directions a lot when I lived in the city.  Not just on the subway.  On the bus, walking down the street, wherever.  I guess it was because I was probably the least threatening looking person around.  Not that I was surrounded by other really threatening looking people.  But I’m quite small and female, and obviously not in great shape, so I guess people struck with fear of speaking to New Yorkers would not really fear approaching me, is what I’m saying. 

Unfortunately, I’m really bad at giving directions.  I cannot recall the number of times I would tell someone how to get someplace or which train they should take, only to realize after they were gone that I’d given them the wrong directions.  I always felt bad about that.  I could imagine them following what I’d told them and getting mad at me when it turned out I’d been wrong and they’d have to ask someone else for help and start all over again.  The fact that I was never going to see them again was of little comfort.  It would still nag at me for a while. 

But I digress.

It doesn’t look like this guy’s map is going to get any traction:

But when he showed up at the agency’s Midtown offices with copies of his work, they were quick to find fault with it. According to Christopher Boylan, the transportation authority’s executive director of corporate and community affairs, who recalled the meeting, the main criticism was that Mr. Jabbour’s map, like Mr. Vignelli’s, was artistic but geographically inaccurate.

“He’s a good designer and it’s an interesting map,” Mr. Boylan said. “The design is important, but the thing we’re concerned with is the best directional guidance. We design a map for use, not solely to look good, and we think it looks good.”

The article also provides an very brief but interesting history of the various maps of the subway.  I think it will send me exploring later to learn more about this subject.  Just like re-watching that episode of The West Wing with the Cartographers for Social Equality got me looking into different forms of projection maps of the world. 

Maps are kind of interesting, come to think of it. 

Beginnings and Endings and Writing

T.S. Eliot wrote a poem entitled “East Coker,” which is part of a larger work called The Four Quartets.  I’ve blogged about this before.  And for those of you who are curious, the other three quartets are called “Burnt Norton,” “The Dry Salvages,” and “Little Gidding.” 

“East Coker” begins with the line “In my beginning is my end,” acknowledging that from the moment we are born we begin to die.  He ends the poem with “In my end is my beginning.”  Eliot was, at this point in his career, writing from a Christian perspective, and this line signals that, stating that death will be the end of his life on earth, but the beginning of something else. 

Lots of people say that when one thing ends another begins.  Usually, it comes in the imagery of doors and windows, such as “when one door closes, another one opens” or “when God closes the door, he opens a window.” 

I’m not so sure, though, that the end of something always signals the beginning of something else.  Sometimes, I think it’s just the end. 

When my ex and I were still together, and I flew up with him to the place he is from to meet his family, do you know what I thought?  I thought that I could live there.  That I wanted to live there, even.  I remember exactly the moment I thought it, too.  We were driving down the road, just the two of us, and I was looking out the window, and I felt such a sense of peace and purpose, and I thought, I really like it here.  I could live here. 

I knew he wanted it, too.  I knew he wanted to move back home, or move somewhere else aside from the Gulf Coast.  And I couldn’t really blame him for that.  A part of me wanted it, too.  I felt it when we went away together, as I’ve just said.  Yet, I kind of dug my heels in on that issue.  I did that because I was scared.  You see, I’m not the kind of person who makes friends easily.  Who fits in easily.  And I’d just moved back home and finally found friends and had a sense of belonging.  And I didn’t want all of that ripped up, even if I was going to be with the man I loved.  I was scared.

Of course, I’m also not the kind of person who meets men easily, and now I’ve lost a really great guy, who I still love so very much, in large part because of my fear and my selfishness.  I thought perhaps he’d move away, now that the one thing holding him here (me) was out of his life.  But it doesn’t look like that’s going to happen, either.  It seems as though the push to move was probably just a subconscious desire to get away from me.  I say subconscious because he wouldn’t do that on purpose, he wouldn’t have hurt me like that.  He’s not that kind of person. 

He’s with someone else now, and I cannot help but hope that they’ll be very happy, that she will be able to make him happy in a way that I could not.  Even as I mourn the loss I hope this.  Even as I struggle to let go of the hope for the two of us, I hope this.  Even as I give up hope for myself, I hope this. 

I don’t know what any of that has to do with beginnings and endings and T.S. Eliot.  But it seemed related in my head.

A person whom I love and respect very much once stumbled across my blog and told me he thought I was a very good writer.  I still remember this moment, too.  Where he was standing.  Where I was standing.  You see, a lot of people have the impression that I’m a good writer, people who know me, people who are a part of my daily life.  Only they really don’t have any proof that it’s true, because most of them have never read anything I’ve written.  They just take it on faith, I guess.  And a lot of people who’ve read this blog have commented that they think I’m a good writer, but almost none of them really know me or are a part of my daily life. 

But here was this person that I loved and cared about, a person far smarter than myself, whose opinion about things I respect a great deal, telling me that he read some of the things I wrote and he thought I was good. 

Of course, a lot of the other things he told me ended up not being true, so perhaps that was just a mistaken compliment.  I don’t say lie because I think sometimes we can convince ourselves so much that we feel a particular way or think a particular thing that we think it’s true when we say it, only later we realize it wasn’t.  This is what happened with him. 

In case you couldn’t tell, I’m going through a bit of a rough patch at the moment.  Recent events have displaced me somewhat, and I’m still trying to get my footing back.  Being trapped under the cloud of a depressive funk isn’t helping much at the moment.

Of course, I’ve had a lot more time for myself lately, to do the things I like, to rediscover things that I’d long since forgotten about.  I’ve been, for example, re-watching old episodes of The West Wing. 

There’s this great episode, one of the best from the show, which is really saying something, since it was a great show for a while there…until it started to suck and I stopped watching it.  The episode was called “Noel.”  It was the Christmas episode from the second season.  For those unfamiliar with the show, at the end of the first season there was a shooting and one of the main characters, Josh Lyman, is shot and injured pretty badly.  He goes through a long surgery and recovers.  In this episode, we discover some of the psychological effects of his injuries.  He is suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and he kind of has this whole meltdown over the course of a couple of weeks that prompts his boss to call in a psychiatrist for him to talk to.

It’s really a very great episode.  If you’ve never watched the show, you should, if only for this episode (and a handful of others).  The writing is superb, the editing is amazing, and there are so many little moments that are so moving, it’s really worth the time.  I think you could maybe even watch it without ever having seen the show, though I think it would not have the same emotional impact as it does if you’ve invested the time in getting to know the characters over the first season and a half.

Anyway, the point of all of that is to set up for this one line.  The doctor tells Josh that the thing that triggers his PTSD response is music, which his brain equates with sirens, which causes him to begin reliving the shooting over again.  Josh asks if that’s going to be his response every time he hears music.  The doctor tells him no.  Josh asks why, and the doctor tells him simply, “Because we get better.”

It’s somewhat ironic I suppose, that now I am thinking of moving again.  Only now, rather than doing it with one person I love and leaving everything else, I’ll have to do it alone.  I’ve been alone virtually my whole life.  For the longest time, it was because I wouldn’t let people in, not even those who loved me, like my family or friends.  Now, it’s because I’ve screwed up and am suffering the consequences of that.  And the pain is so great that, quite frankly, I’m back to being scared. 

So, yes, I guess even I will get better.  If Josh could get over being shot and nearly dying, then I can probably get over not being particularly happy with the direction my life has taken on virtually every single level.  It’s just that, despite the fact that I’ve almost always been alone, I’ve never particularly liked it.  It’s just so hard.  Yet it’s always been my choice. 

Yes, I’m a strange and complicated girl.

Yet Another Post About The Lives of Others

So, once upon a time, there was this movie I wanted to see.  It was called (and still is) The Lives of Others.  I even blogged about wanting to see it.  So you know it was pretty serious.  I bemoaned the fact that it definitely wasn’t going to come here to the Mississippi Gulf Coast, and probably not even to New Orleans. 

Then a curious thing happened.  It beat out Pan’s Labyrinth for the Best Foreign Language Film Academy Award.  This was a shock to me, though I had heard of it, of course (having previously expressed a desire to see it), and figured it might have a chance.  But Pan’s Labyrinth had more exposure and so I just figured it would win, just like An Inconvenient Truth won Best Documentary because of it’s exposure and not because of artistic merit.  I mean, I actually liked An Inconvenient Truth, but I’ve seen much better and more riveting documentaries in my day.  I’m sure at least one of the other nominees fit that bill, even if I haven’t actually seen any of them. 

But I digress.

Anyway, the movie I wanted to see won an Oscar, so of course, that upped the chances it would soon be on it’s way to a theater not-too-far away from me in the near future.  And sure enough, it did indeed grace New Orleans with its presence.  I had planned to go on my birthday weekend, when I took a couple of days off work to “celebrate” (by which I mean sleep in and avoid the workplace, and not actually celebration of any kind, for I was none too happy this year to be another year older and still so lost…but that’s a subject for another day), but I never got around to it.

Today, I was reading through old posts and came across the one linked above where I was talking about the movie.  And I still do want to see it, though since I didn’t make it on my days off, I just figured I’d wait for it to come out of DVD.  (I still always want to say video…this makes me feel old yet again, so I won’t dwell on it.)  Well, finding the old post got me curious, so I checked and it turns out it’s still playing in New Orleans.  If it is this weekend, perhaps I’ll make the trip over there. 

I just realized that it’s extremely narcissistic of me to write this whole post and then to actually post it for public consumption.  Like anyone out there could possibly care about my thought processes on this anyway.  However, as I’m sure pretty much no one really reads my blog anymore (except for Chris and Gail, I would think, since they comment - honestly, I don’t even check my stats or hits anymore), so I’m going to post it, since it’s really just for me now.  This way, months or years from now, I can come back and read and be appalled at myself.  Should be fun.