http://www.nytimes.com/2007/06/28/fashion/28mommy.html?th&emc=th
This is an interesting article from the NY Times about women of my generation being far closer with their mothers than previous generations, almost to the point of dependency. I think we all know that I'm pretty close with my mom, and it is a rare day that i don't speak to her at least once. In fact, if I don't, I generally get a D-I-D (dead in a ditch) phone call frantically inquiring as to my whereabouts, usually within 12 hours of the last time I spoke to her. But I'm equally reliant on her, and can get pretty frustrated if I need to tell her something and can't reach her because of something stupid, like her job working for federal government. Whatever.
But I've never thought of us as dysfunctional or co-dependent. My mom doesn't pay my bills, she doesn't call into work for me if I'm sick, she didn't fill out my law school applications or schedule my appointments or interviews, like some children are having their parents do. Growing up she was decidely un-helicoptery, and I became pretty independent, in the literal sense. I didn't feel the need or desire to move home, I didn't want to live closer to my parents so that I would have a safety net, and while I'm spending the next month with them, it is because I'm moving much farther away and am not sure how often I will get to see them. I love being with my parents, but I also know that living my own life on my own terms means I'm not going to be close to them (not because of them, more because they live in Kansas). There is nothing wrong with wanting to live close to your parents and be close with your parents, but I'm wondering at what point did it start being ok to continue pre-pubescent expectations of care and financial support into one's 20s and 30s?
I'm curious as to what you all think it the reason behind this phenomenon... read the article, and get back to me.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Random Question
Is Zach Braff the new voice over guy for the Wendy's commercials?
If anyone can help me out, I'd really appreciate it.
If anyone can help me out, I'd really appreciate it.
Happy Birthday to Me! (Or, a Penguin looks at 25)
I'm so old.
Actually, 25 isn't hitting me nearly as hard as I thought it would, probably because there is a lot going on right now, so I'm distracted, and probably because I'm going to law school in the fall so I feel all productive-y and grown-up. Also, it definitely helped that my best friends Ali and Amber threw a surprise party for me that brought together all of my other nearest and dearest, and it was lovely. I was actually really surprised, which was quite the feat, seeing as how I had asked them to throw me a party... how can I be surprised by a party I asked for? Only me, kids, only me.
What can I say? It's been a big year with lots of changes, mostly for the good, and so I have a good feeling about 25. I think it's going to be a solid year. And the blog is officially a year old, and hopefully my fan base has grown, and will continue to do so. That's a not so veiled request that you tell your friends and family about my blog. I want to be at least as big as the Fug Girls.
And god, at least I'm not 26. Now that is old.
Actually, 25 isn't hitting me nearly as hard as I thought it would, probably because there is a lot going on right now, so I'm distracted, and probably because I'm going to law school in the fall so I feel all productive-y and grown-up. Also, it definitely helped that my best friends Ali and Amber threw a surprise party for me that brought together all of my other nearest and dearest, and it was lovely. I was actually really surprised, which was quite the feat, seeing as how I had asked them to throw me a party... how can I be surprised by a party I asked for? Only me, kids, only me.
What can I say? It's been a big year with lots of changes, mostly for the good, and so I have a good feeling about 25. I think it's going to be a solid year. And the blog is officially a year old, and hopefully my fan base has grown, and will continue to do so. That's a not so veiled request that you tell your friends and family about my blog. I want to be at least as big as the Fug Girls.
And god, at least I'm not 26. Now that is old.
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Dirty, Dirty A-rabs
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/06/22/AR2007062202158_pf.html
I want you to check out this article from the Washington Post. I've met Jack Shaheen, and I've seen his short film. The film is interesting, but only if you aren't an Arab. If you are, it's old news. I've often wondered to myself why the PC police never seem to get to Arab-bashing? I suppose if another minority group was flying planes into buildings, we might not be as ready to give them equal time, but the sad truth of the matter is that long before there were hijackers and 9/11 there were tons of rather productive Arab immigrants already living in this country. The closest depiction I can come up with for my family and the way that the behave and have contributed to American society is the movie "My Big Fat Greek Wedding", and it's about Greeks. To be sure, Arabs are all over the airwaves, and in positive ways, but you don't know that they are Arabs. Jamie Farr in MASH, Casey Kasem and his Top 40, Danny Thomas and Father Knows Best, Tony Shalhoub and Monk... all great performers, and not a single one of them performing as an Arab. Which is not to say that they are denying their identity- Tony Shalhoub does a lot of independent pro-Arab filmmaking- it's that they are performing just as people, and that's what Arab immigrants have been doing, for the most part, since they started coming to this country. More than I would say many cultural groups Arabs understand the need for community, and when you live have a world away from your born community, well, you have to build one here. That's how my grandparents, both from Ramallah, Palestine, came to live in and be beloved by literally the most German town in the United States, New Ulm, MN. That's how my uncle Adel introduces himself as Joe. That's how all my cousins living in Birmingham, AL speak Arabic with a southern accent.... They realized that it was possible to assimilate and become "American" without sacrificing the "Arab" parts of themselves. When those men perform their roles they don't have to telegraph their ethnicity... they know who they are, both Arab and American, and they can be both simultaneously.
Perhaps that is a mistake. Perhaps we need to have more actively vocal members of the community coming out and being identifiably "Arab". The problem with that is that to be identified as Arab by the majority of Americans, you have to do just what Jack Shaheen implies- be a belly dancer, a bomber, or a billionaire. And what about the thousands of Arabs who aren't any of those things? What about fathers and mothers, grocery store owners, lawyers, doctors, nurses, any other thing that anyone else in this country does? There is a small movement starting, led by some comics who call themselves the Axis of Evil (Check them out on Comedy Central). They are fucking hilarious, but my fear is that it doesn't translate. There are a thousand things that are funny to people in the community (which is true of most communities, I know), but when you say it to outsiders sometimes they are horrified, sometimes they are confused, and sometimes they just don't think it's funny. So is it enough that we are performing for ourselves? Is it enough to just be present agains the stereotypes, or should we be actively fighting those stereotypes? It's as though our desire to assimilate prevents us from defending ourselves. Or maybe it's that we've become so assimilated, we don't recognize that it is us they are making fun of. I just don't want to end up like Tony Shalhoub's character in Sum of All Fears, where he realizes that all this time he's been an FBI agent and a translator don't stack up against the fact that he is ultimately an Arab. As he's put into the detention facility that has been created for all Arab men in New York, he turns to Denzel Washington and says " I won't be your sand n*gger" anymore. It's a horrible thought, and a visceral line, but one that I think hit's close to home for any Arab post 9/11. At what point will our Arab-ness outweight our American-ness.... and what happens then?
I want you to check out this article from the Washington Post. I've met Jack Shaheen, and I've seen his short film. The film is interesting, but only if you aren't an Arab. If you are, it's old news. I've often wondered to myself why the PC police never seem to get to Arab-bashing? I suppose if another minority group was flying planes into buildings, we might not be as ready to give them equal time, but the sad truth of the matter is that long before there were hijackers and 9/11 there were tons of rather productive Arab immigrants already living in this country. The closest depiction I can come up with for my family and the way that the behave and have contributed to American society is the movie "My Big Fat Greek Wedding", and it's about Greeks. To be sure, Arabs are all over the airwaves, and in positive ways, but you don't know that they are Arabs. Jamie Farr in MASH, Casey Kasem and his Top 40, Danny Thomas and Father Knows Best, Tony Shalhoub and Monk... all great performers, and not a single one of them performing as an Arab. Which is not to say that they are denying their identity- Tony Shalhoub does a lot of independent pro-Arab filmmaking- it's that they are performing just as people, and that's what Arab immigrants have been doing, for the most part, since they started coming to this country. More than I would say many cultural groups Arabs understand the need for community, and when you live have a world away from your born community, well, you have to build one here. That's how my grandparents, both from Ramallah, Palestine, came to live in and be beloved by literally the most German town in the United States, New Ulm, MN. That's how my uncle Adel introduces himself as Joe. That's how all my cousins living in Birmingham, AL speak Arabic with a southern accent.... They realized that it was possible to assimilate and become "American" without sacrificing the "Arab" parts of themselves. When those men perform their roles they don't have to telegraph their ethnicity... they know who they are, both Arab and American, and they can be both simultaneously.
Perhaps that is a mistake. Perhaps we need to have more actively vocal members of the community coming out and being identifiably "Arab". The problem with that is that to be identified as Arab by the majority of Americans, you have to do just what Jack Shaheen implies- be a belly dancer, a bomber, or a billionaire. And what about the thousands of Arabs who aren't any of those things? What about fathers and mothers, grocery store owners, lawyers, doctors, nurses, any other thing that anyone else in this country does? There is a small movement starting, led by some comics who call themselves the Axis of Evil (Check them out on Comedy Central). They are fucking hilarious, but my fear is that it doesn't translate. There are a thousand things that are funny to people in the community (which is true of most communities, I know), but when you say it to outsiders sometimes they are horrified, sometimes they are confused, and sometimes they just don't think it's funny. So is it enough that we are performing for ourselves? Is it enough to just be present agains the stereotypes, or should we be actively fighting those stereotypes? It's as though our desire to assimilate prevents us from defending ourselves. Or maybe it's that we've become so assimilated, we don't recognize that it is us they are making fun of. I just don't want to end up like Tony Shalhoub's character in Sum of All Fears, where he realizes that all this time he's been an FBI agent and a translator don't stack up against the fact that he is ultimately an Arab. As he's put into the detention facility that has been created for all Arab men in New York, he turns to Denzel Washington and says " I won't be your sand n*gger" anymore. It's a horrible thought, and a visceral line, but one that I think hit's close to home for any Arab post 9/11. At what point will our Arab-ness outweight our American-ness.... and what happens then?
Friday, June 22, 2007
What the Hell is Wrong with Boys/ Men? (Not Boys II Men, I Hear they are Planning a Comeback)
I knooooooow that this might be like beating a dead horse, but seriously, men, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? WHAT??????
I have tried to understand it. My girlfriends have tried to understand it. We have spoken at length on the subject, drunk, sober, happy, sad, sleepy, caffinated, whatever. You all never make a damn bit of sense. Like Janeane Garafalo said in "500 cigarettes: "You're all like roving packs of giant babies."
You might be wondering what has taken the lid off the ever-simmering pot of my endless disappointment in the male of the species. Well. Let me count the ways. First of all, there was my encounter with Brian 3 weeks ago. I met Brian, who lives in California, at a theatre conference, and we hit it off immediately. We had conversations that lasted for hours on end, and we were up until 5am every morning just talking and kissing and relishing each other's company. We met on Thursday night and spent the next three days pretty much together. During this time, he mentioned more than once wanting to come see me this summer, how I have opened up parts of him that he thought were closed off, how he is happier with me then he's been in years, yada fucking yada. Now, ordinarily, I would think that this is all a ploy just to sleep with me ( BTW, I'm on this new kick where I don't sleep with anyone... fun), but I could tell he was being genuine. For one thing he was too theatre geeky for that kind of game. So, Sunday afternoon, after we have spent the last 16 hours in bed, cuddling, fooling around a bit, talking, talking, talking, him saying I want to come see you (again!), him not wanting to let me get up to get about the day, finally we part company so he can go to a workshop and he says he'll call after it's over. I think things are going great, I'm super excited to meet a great guy, and I think my new plan of being open minded and not sleeping with people so quickly is working like a charm. THEN, after being away from me at a conference for 4( count 'em 4!) hours he calls me up and says, and I quote: "Since you aren't moving to California any time soon I don't see where this is going. We should just let it be what it was."
How do you go from wanting to see me over the summer to never wanting to see me again in 4 hours, during which I'm not even present? I could maybe understand it if I was with him, but without even being around me? Do I have relationship ruining telepathic powers? Is that like some awful, superpower? Man-Panic-Inducing Girl?
This has happened to me before, readers. It's like some weird pheromone thing or something- when I'm with a guy it's like they can't get enough, but as soon as I'm out of visual range, it's like they forget who I am. Over the phone I'm a total stranger, but when I see them again, it's like I was what was missing from their lives. I need to create some sort of hologram, or like a Hala-patch or something, because this is getting fucking ridiculous.
So that's my personal boy trauma of late, but that in and of itself is not worth the anger. What I'm more angry about is the pattern that I see emerging in the relationships of my friends, and I think the above story is merely a short-term demonstration of the same basic tendency. In the last year no less than 4 different friends of mine, in various stages of committment from months to years, have had their boyfriends/signifigant others freak the fuck out on them. There is an epidemic of men of a certain age (approximately 27-32) , within relationships, one day waking up and deciding that they are giant whiny toddlers who blame everyone else for their problems and no longer want to play house despite all the things they've said to their partners to the contrary. It's disheartening, and really disturbing. What's most disturbing is the sense that I get that most of these men don't actually realize they don't want any of this until it is far too late, and they are far too invested, and so they keep playing the part in the hopes that eventually it will all be ok, and it just isn't. So they lash out at their partners, because they blame them for causing this unhappiness, when really it was their own lack of self-awareness that caused the problem in the first place. And this brings me to the bigger issue: trust. People are always telling me to put more trust in men, but how can you trust a person to be honest with you, when they aren't even aware they are lying to themselves?
What has caused this epidemic, is what I wonder. I think maybe part of it is that gender roles in this country have become unclear, which is some ways is good, what with equal pay and woman in the workplace and all, but I think also makes it difficult to know what "being a man" or "being a woman" means. There aren't as many clear cut duties for either gender as there once was, and now it's becoming more and more acceptable to get married later, or not at all. And yet, in some parts of the country (and I do think this is a midwest and south issue more than a coastal one), it's still pretty much expected that people will graduate high school, go to college, get married, and have babies. Except that that construct is no longer as satisfying as it once was. There is a great big world out there, and there are a lot of things to see and do prior to settling down. And now that divorce and "starter marriages" have become more and more accepted, there isn't the same "grin and bear it" philosophy at play in unhappy arrangements that there once was. And that's a good thing- I don't want anyone to stay together when they are unhappy, but there is a difference between irreconcilable differences and just cutting out when things get at all difficult. Which leads me to my second theory, that part of it is that we as a generation are pretty lazy. We benefit from helicopter parents who let us move back home and pay our bills and fix our lives, we are used to an instant gratification so severe that we can get literally anything we want at the touch of a button, and under those conditions the struggle and pain of a relationship that takes work seems like an awful lot to put up with. And then finally, my final theory has to do with women, and with our seemingly complete inability to tell a man up front what we want and expect. We are taught that to "catch a man" we have to let them think we want what they want, and so we sublimate and sublimate and sublimate our needs to the point where they become non-existent. Then, 5-6 months into a relationship, we remember that our feelings and desires matter too, and the man is so confused that we are arguing with them or changing our tune because we were alway so amenable in the past. And that is our fault, not theirs. People, men and women, have to be upfront about what they need. They have to make it clear from the get go, or no one is going to be happy for very long.
So these experiences have lead me to certain rules: 1) Never marry a man under 30, because something happens to them and they freak out. I've been on the receiving end of one of these freak outs, and it is not pretty. It usually involves cheating, lying, or some combination of equally destructive behaviors, and you want to steer clear. Even this isn't a clear cut rule, though, because sometimes it isn't the actual age, it's their emotional age and the amount of committment they are ready for. Or not ready for, as the case may be. 2) No matter what a man says to you, take it with a grain of salt. This unfortunately includes the words "I do". 3) Be as honest as possible, and right away. Maybe this sounds extreme, or bitter, or whatever, but I'm looking out for myself and for my friends. And to the gentlemen of our generation (with a few notable exceptions): Man the fuck up. Because if another one of you pieces of crap messes with my girls, you'll have one angry, short Palestinian to deal with. And my people make bombs, so you know I mean business.
I have tried to understand it. My girlfriends have tried to understand it. We have spoken at length on the subject, drunk, sober, happy, sad, sleepy, caffinated, whatever. You all never make a damn bit of sense. Like Janeane Garafalo said in "500 cigarettes: "You're all like roving packs of giant babies."
You might be wondering what has taken the lid off the ever-simmering pot of my endless disappointment in the male of the species. Well. Let me count the ways. First of all, there was my encounter with Brian 3 weeks ago. I met Brian, who lives in California, at a theatre conference, and we hit it off immediately. We had conversations that lasted for hours on end, and we were up until 5am every morning just talking and kissing and relishing each other's company. We met on Thursday night and spent the next three days pretty much together. During this time, he mentioned more than once wanting to come see me this summer, how I have opened up parts of him that he thought were closed off, how he is happier with me then he's been in years, yada fucking yada. Now, ordinarily, I would think that this is all a ploy just to sleep with me ( BTW, I'm on this new kick where I don't sleep with anyone... fun), but I could tell he was being genuine. For one thing he was too theatre geeky for that kind of game. So, Sunday afternoon, after we have spent the last 16 hours in bed, cuddling, fooling around a bit, talking, talking, talking, him saying I want to come see you (again!), him not wanting to let me get up to get about the day, finally we part company so he can go to a workshop and he says he'll call after it's over. I think things are going great, I'm super excited to meet a great guy, and I think my new plan of being open minded and not sleeping with people so quickly is working like a charm. THEN, after being away from me at a conference for 4( count 'em 4!) hours he calls me up and says, and I quote: "Since you aren't moving to California any time soon I don't see where this is going. We should just let it be what it was."
How do you go from wanting to see me over the summer to never wanting to see me again in 4 hours, during which I'm not even present? I could maybe understand it if I was with him, but without even being around me? Do I have relationship ruining telepathic powers? Is that like some awful, superpower? Man-Panic-Inducing Girl?
This has happened to me before, readers. It's like some weird pheromone thing or something- when I'm with a guy it's like they can't get enough, but as soon as I'm out of visual range, it's like they forget who I am. Over the phone I'm a total stranger, but when I see them again, it's like I was what was missing from their lives. I need to create some sort of hologram, or like a Hala-patch or something, because this is getting fucking ridiculous.
So that's my personal boy trauma of late, but that in and of itself is not worth the anger. What I'm more angry about is the pattern that I see emerging in the relationships of my friends, and I think the above story is merely a short-term demonstration of the same basic tendency. In the last year no less than 4 different friends of mine, in various stages of committment from months to years, have had their boyfriends/signifigant others freak the fuck out on them. There is an epidemic of men of a certain age (approximately 27-32) , within relationships, one day waking up and deciding that they are giant whiny toddlers who blame everyone else for their problems and no longer want to play house despite all the things they've said to their partners to the contrary. It's disheartening, and really disturbing. What's most disturbing is the sense that I get that most of these men don't actually realize they don't want any of this until it is far too late, and they are far too invested, and so they keep playing the part in the hopes that eventually it will all be ok, and it just isn't. So they lash out at their partners, because they blame them for causing this unhappiness, when really it was their own lack of self-awareness that caused the problem in the first place. And this brings me to the bigger issue: trust. People are always telling me to put more trust in men, but how can you trust a person to be honest with you, when they aren't even aware they are lying to themselves?
What has caused this epidemic, is what I wonder. I think maybe part of it is that gender roles in this country have become unclear, which is some ways is good, what with equal pay and woman in the workplace and all, but I think also makes it difficult to know what "being a man" or "being a woman" means. There aren't as many clear cut duties for either gender as there once was, and now it's becoming more and more acceptable to get married later, or not at all. And yet, in some parts of the country (and I do think this is a midwest and south issue more than a coastal one), it's still pretty much expected that people will graduate high school, go to college, get married, and have babies. Except that that construct is no longer as satisfying as it once was. There is a great big world out there, and there are a lot of things to see and do prior to settling down. And now that divorce and "starter marriages" have become more and more accepted, there isn't the same "grin and bear it" philosophy at play in unhappy arrangements that there once was. And that's a good thing- I don't want anyone to stay together when they are unhappy, but there is a difference between irreconcilable differences and just cutting out when things get at all difficult. Which leads me to my second theory, that part of it is that we as a generation are pretty lazy. We benefit from helicopter parents who let us move back home and pay our bills and fix our lives, we are used to an instant gratification so severe that we can get literally anything we want at the touch of a button, and under those conditions the struggle and pain of a relationship that takes work seems like an awful lot to put up with. And then finally, my final theory has to do with women, and with our seemingly complete inability to tell a man up front what we want and expect. We are taught that to "catch a man" we have to let them think we want what they want, and so we sublimate and sublimate and sublimate our needs to the point where they become non-existent. Then, 5-6 months into a relationship, we remember that our feelings and desires matter too, and the man is so confused that we are arguing with them or changing our tune because we were alway so amenable in the past. And that is our fault, not theirs. People, men and women, have to be upfront about what they need. They have to make it clear from the get go, or no one is going to be happy for very long.
So these experiences have lead me to certain rules: 1) Never marry a man under 30, because something happens to them and they freak out. I've been on the receiving end of one of these freak outs, and it is not pretty. It usually involves cheating, lying, or some combination of equally destructive behaviors, and you want to steer clear. Even this isn't a clear cut rule, though, because sometimes it isn't the actual age, it's their emotional age and the amount of committment they are ready for. Or not ready for, as the case may be. 2) No matter what a man says to you, take it with a grain of salt. This unfortunately includes the words "I do". 3) Be as honest as possible, and right away. Maybe this sounds extreme, or bitter, or whatever, but I'm looking out for myself and for my friends. And to the gentlemen of our generation (with a few notable exceptions): Man the fuck up. Because if another one of you pieces of crap messes with my girls, you'll have one angry, short Palestinian to deal with. And my people make bombs, so you know I mean business.
I Can't Sleep
I want to sleep. I never have trouble sleeping. But I find myself laying awake in bed, staring at my ceiling, which has a huge hole in it. Of course, the hole makes me think about the spackling I have to do, which leads to me think about the cleaning of the walls, which leads me to think about the sweeping and mopping of the floors, which leads me to thinking about the 87 other things I have to do before I move. The problem is that the person moving into my apartment is a family friend, so if things aren't spick and span he'll tell his mom, who will tell my mom, and then there will be a good old fashioned guilt trip to deal with, and that is something I want to avoid at all costs. If you had ever been guilt-tripped by a petite, red-headed, PALESTINIAN LAWYER (which is the perfectly terrifying combination of righteous, generationally-based anger and non-stop, rat terrier-like tenancity) you would want to avoid it too.
I'm too distracted to write anything of worth right now. I'm so all over the place. My apartment is in disarray, my life is kind of in disarray, therefore my brain is in disarray. All my clothes are scattered around my living room, the neatly ordered 7 piles have turned into about 15 not so clearly delineated piles, and everytime I think I've finished a section, I find one random item that should have been packed with that section, and I have to create a box full of the random things that didn't get packed with their brethren. Sad little items. I can't concentrate on any one thing, so I'll focus on my birthday and my party coming up. I'm going to give myself the weekend off, at least in an emotional, spiritual sense. I still have to fucking pack, but I'm going to not care about the order or competence of that packing for the weekend.
Until, of course, I open up box after box of shattered belongings in August. Then I'll care a whole hell of a lot.
I'm too distracted to write anything of worth right now. I'm so all over the place. My apartment is in disarray, my life is kind of in disarray, therefore my brain is in disarray. All my clothes are scattered around my living room, the neatly ordered 7 piles have turned into about 15 not so clearly delineated piles, and everytime I think I've finished a section, I find one random item that should have been packed with that section, and I have to create a box full of the random things that didn't get packed with their brethren. Sad little items. I can't concentrate on any one thing, so I'll focus on my birthday and my party coming up. I'm going to give myself the weekend off, at least in an emotional, spiritual sense. I still have to fucking pack, but I'm going to not care about the order or competence of that packing for the weekend.
Until, of course, I open up box after box of shattered belongings in August. Then I'll care a whole hell of a lot.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Daytime TV: What the hell else am I supposed to do?
Ok, so first of all, yes, I know that I didn't post anything yesterday. I'm a failure. Whatever.
The days are just endless, friends. I'm not working right now, thank God, so all I have to do all day is pack and clean. Which is a bitch, don't get me wrong, but I get to sleep in, and walk to the coffee shop, and write on my blog, obviously, and watch daytime TV including but not limited to: a blow-by-blow (HA!) account of Paris' time in jail, an E! True Hollywood story about AJ from the Backstreet Boys, reruns of Dharma and Greg, the occasional made for TV Lifetime movie, and my most recent secret shame- Army Wives. It's awful, and sooooooo addictive. It's Desperate Housewives meets JAG meets MASH meets Grey's Anatomy (some of the wives work at the hospital on base)... what's not to like? It started off with a surrogate baby scandal involving the actress some of you (meaning me and some guys living in the basement of the science building) might recognize from the movie "Quest of the Delta Knights", which was itself featured on MST3K in Season 7...
Ahem. The point is, if you are looking for a way to waste a perfectly good afternoon and kinda hate yourself after, Army Wives is there to please.
My other recent discovery is the show "Girlfriends". Now, you may be thinking to yourself "Hala, isn't Girlfriends a show about black women in LA? And isn't it on the CW, a network known for crappy "urban" programming that even members of the demographic on display don't watch?" To which I would say, "Yes, and yes, but seriously, watch this show". It's better than "Sex in the City", friends (also, not sure where this "friends" thing is coming from- i think I must be channelling John McCain...), and twice as relateable to those of us that don't blow $400 on a pair of shoes A WEEK (or ever). I love me some Sex in the City, you all know that, but this show has filled that aching void, and has done it while being funnier and more accessible. The only down side is that they have only come out with season 1 on DVD so far, so I am being left hanging. AND SERIOUSLY HANGING: at the end of the last episode of season 1 one "girlfriend" had apparently slept with another one's man. WHAT WILL HAPPEN????!?!?!?!?
Ok, I probably need to be getting on of the house more, but since I have like $7 until my loan disbersment in 6 weeks, TV is pretty much it for me. I don't make fun of your friends.
And finally, June 24th is my 25th Birthday. Cash is always a lovely gift.
The days are just endless, friends. I'm not working right now, thank God, so all I have to do all day is pack and clean. Which is a bitch, don't get me wrong, but I get to sleep in, and walk to the coffee shop, and write on my blog, obviously, and watch daytime TV including but not limited to: a blow-by-blow (HA!) account of Paris' time in jail, an E! True Hollywood story about AJ from the Backstreet Boys, reruns of Dharma and Greg, the occasional made for TV Lifetime movie, and my most recent secret shame- Army Wives. It's awful, and sooooooo addictive. It's Desperate Housewives meets JAG meets MASH meets Grey's Anatomy (some of the wives work at the hospital on base)... what's not to like? It started off with a surrogate baby scandal involving the actress some of you (meaning me and some guys living in the basement of the science building) might recognize from the movie "Quest of the Delta Knights", which was itself featured on MST3K in Season 7...
Ahem. The point is, if you are looking for a way to waste a perfectly good afternoon and kinda hate yourself after, Army Wives is there to please.
My other recent discovery is the show "Girlfriends". Now, you may be thinking to yourself "Hala, isn't Girlfriends a show about black women in LA? And isn't it on the CW, a network known for crappy "urban" programming that even members of the demographic on display don't watch?" To which I would say, "Yes, and yes, but seriously, watch this show". It's better than "Sex in the City", friends (also, not sure where this "friends" thing is coming from- i think I must be channelling John McCain...), and twice as relateable to those of us that don't blow $400 on a pair of shoes A WEEK (or ever). I love me some Sex in the City, you all know that, but this show has filled that aching void, and has done it while being funnier and more accessible. The only down side is that they have only come out with season 1 on DVD so far, so I am being left hanging. AND SERIOUSLY HANGING: at the end of the last episode of season 1 one "girlfriend" had apparently slept with another one's man. WHAT WILL HAPPEN????!?!?!?!?
Ok, I probably need to be getting on of the house more, but since I have like $7 until my loan disbersment in 6 weeks, TV is pretty much it for me. I don't make fun of your friends.
And finally, June 24th is my 25th Birthday. Cash is always a lovely gift.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Sifting throught the debris of my past...
So, I'm moving. You have all heard me bitching about it, and now the time has come. I'm taking these last two weeks and sorting through everything that I own, and then moving what I care about and selling/ giving away/ throwing away/ paying someone to take out of my sight (thank you, Craig's List!) the rest of it. It's a painstaking process based on big questions like "Do I care about this priceless heirloom enough to wrap it carefully, worry about it travelling a billion miles to Rhode Island, then unpacking and finding a place for it? No. Well, someone will love you, beautiful crystal vase that my dead, immigrant grandmother carried on her back all the way from the Middle East."
I'm kidding, I didn't do that. Much.
So, let me share with you my reflections on the process of moving, thus far:
1. It is slow going. First you have to sort through everything, and I mean everything. There are seven piles in my living room right now, one for things I'm keeping and will be taking with me to Wichita to then be taken to Rhode Island; one for things I'm taking to Wichita and leaving in my parents basement; one for things that are being packed and sent directly to Rhode Island; one for things that are being taken to Goodwill; one for things that I'm going to try and hock to my friends; one for things I'm throwing in the garbage; and finally one for things I feel guilty about getting rid of but I know will haunt me like a murdered child in a bad horror movie if I don't take this purging opportunity and part with them now. But they are staring at me. I think they move around when I sleep.
Anyway.
2. While sorting, you have to encounter your past. Now. I have many memories, many I like to recall and many, many that I like to pretend absolutely never, ever happened. The problem being here that many of those disastrous events were documented for posterity via both photographic and written media. So, for every lovely and joyful picture or momento that I came across, there was one of me with 18 chins posing awkwardly next to someone I either can't remember or wish I couldn't.
3. Furthermore, this past-encountering makes you do crazy things. It makes you, for instance, email your drama teacher from highschool and ask him if he wants to have lunch while you are in town for the month of July. This, gentle readers, is not a good idea. But unfortunely, while the internet will happily destroy important, life changing emails I try to send to people I love, or financial aid offices, or even bank transfers, this poorly intentioned email gets through just fine and so I am apparently meeting him for lunch sometime in the next month. My only advice to you is only re-read your diaries from the year you were sixteen while under close, adult supervision and without phone or internets access.
4. Sometimes while you go through these piles of the past you find cards from your deceased grandmother asking why you don't call more often and cry like a baby for a solid 30 minutes.
5. Beer and red wine (not together) seems to make the whole process a lot more bareable. I'm investigating this possibility thoroughly, and will report back.
6. Packing in 90 degree heat in a third floor apartment without AC is a recipe for two things: 1) Heat stroke and 2) Losing weight. I feel like I'm a wrestler trying to stay in a lower class.
7. Much like having to write a term paper, moving inspires you to do absolutely everything else you have to do before actually cracking down and doing the packing. Hence, I find myself writing a blog entry.
And speaking of blog entries, there will be more forthcoming. I'm commiting to a post a day going forward. They may not all be Pulitzer quality (like you all are used to from me), but I have learned from gofugyourself.com, jezebel.com, and wonkette.com that sometimes it's quantity not quality. Plus, the blog saves me from having to talk to you people direcly while I'm in "Lil' Rhody" (seriously, they call it that. I mean, if you want people to take you seriously, smallest-state- in-the-US, why do you pick a perfectly ridiculous and diminuitive nickname like that? You should have people call you "We're-not-compensating-for-anything Rhody", or Rhode-I'll-fuck-you-up-Island", or "Rhode Island: We'll kick you in the balls if you call us that again"... you know, something more butch. Just a thought.)
I'm kidding, I didn't do that. Much.
So, let me share with you my reflections on the process of moving, thus far:
1. It is slow going. First you have to sort through everything, and I mean everything. There are seven piles in my living room right now, one for things I'm keeping and will be taking with me to Wichita to then be taken to Rhode Island; one for things I'm taking to Wichita and leaving in my parents basement; one for things that are being packed and sent directly to Rhode Island; one for things that are being taken to Goodwill; one for things that I'm going to try and hock to my friends; one for things I'm throwing in the garbage; and finally one for things I feel guilty about getting rid of but I know will haunt me like a murdered child in a bad horror movie if I don't take this purging opportunity and part with them now. But they are staring at me. I think they move around when I sleep.
Anyway.
2. While sorting, you have to encounter your past. Now. I have many memories, many I like to recall and many, many that I like to pretend absolutely never, ever happened. The problem being here that many of those disastrous events were documented for posterity via both photographic and written media. So, for every lovely and joyful picture or momento that I came across, there was one of me with 18 chins posing awkwardly next to someone I either can't remember or wish I couldn't.
3. Furthermore, this past-encountering makes you do crazy things. It makes you, for instance, email your drama teacher from highschool and ask him if he wants to have lunch while you are in town for the month of July. This, gentle readers, is not a good idea. But unfortunely, while the internet will happily destroy important, life changing emails I try to send to people I love, or financial aid offices, or even bank transfers, this poorly intentioned email gets through just fine and so I am apparently meeting him for lunch sometime in the next month. My only advice to you is only re-read your diaries from the year you were sixteen while under close, adult supervision and without phone or internets access.
4. Sometimes while you go through these piles of the past you find cards from your deceased grandmother asking why you don't call more often and cry like a baby for a solid 30 minutes.
5. Beer and red wine (not together) seems to make the whole process a lot more bareable. I'm investigating this possibility thoroughly, and will report back.
6. Packing in 90 degree heat in a third floor apartment without AC is a recipe for two things: 1) Heat stroke and 2) Losing weight. I feel like I'm a wrestler trying to stay in a lower class.
7. Much like having to write a term paper, moving inspires you to do absolutely everything else you have to do before actually cracking down and doing the packing. Hence, I find myself writing a blog entry.
And speaking of blog entries, there will be more forthcoming. I'm commiting to a post a day going forward. They may not all be Pulitzer quality (like you all are used to from me), but I have learned from gofugyourself.com, jezebel.com, and wonkette.com that sometimes it's quantity not quality. Plus, the blog saves me from having to talk to you people direcly while I'm in "Lil' Rhody" (seriously, they call it that. I mean, if you want people to take you seriously, smallest-state- in-the-US, why do you pick a perfectly ridiculous and diminuitive nickname like that? You should have people call you "We're-not-compensating-for-anything Rhody", or Rhode-I'll-fuck-you-up-Island", or "Rhode Island: We'll kick you in the balls if you call us that again"... you know, something more butch. Just a thought.)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
