Blogging about Blogs

So blogging is huge. Maybe not all the time at this particular site (shared ownership=lessened culpability of not posting), but huge enough that UCB extension is offering classes on culture and technology of blogging.
Would you pay $625 for a one-day seminar on blogging fundamentals? Would the people who could afford to pay 625 on a blogging workshop rather than learn online even be the people that eventually blog? Blogging seems to take committment and dedication and time and curiousity. A certain scrappiness and self-starter quality in the person that drives them to post for all to see. There is no quick fix to being a blog master. Blog masters were born to be blog masters, in my opinion. Some people live and breathe their blogs. Like the guy they wrote an article about in the NY Times who has to keep up-to-date on all business related to TV News while going to college and if he doesn't post every half-hour or so, people call him on his cell phone. Or those Project Runway bloggers who have become best friends with all the former contestants. They found an opening and capitalized. Bloggers link and write and create worlds---if we were all so noble. I don't think you can buy that quality. at least not in a day.
Maybe if I knew more about blogs I could get Sarah's picture off the side bar and replace it with a photoshop'd version of all of us together. But then I'd have to learn more about photoshop.

It's the Commercial Season

Last night, when I should have been studying for my finals, I was watching TV. What else is new.

A commercial came on for Glade Trio candles and the pitch was that "ordinary scented candles can sometimes look too much alike" and the viewers are shown a depressed, frazzled-looking woman sitting at a table with three white candles. Then, flash to her home featuring the Glade Trio candles with three different colors of candle, and all the world's a dream. WHAT? Do they think that having too many white candles is a problem for people; that our holidays will be ruined or somehow tarnished if our candles look too much alike? What is wrong with simply portraying the Glade Trio candles as good-smelling, value-oriented holiday candles? I may have bought them then, but I certainly won't now. I refuse to buy into the message that the reason I need these candles is because my life has been so depressing because of my all-white candles.

This got me thinking about another old commercial. Remember the commercials for Pert Plus conditioning shampoo from the late 1980s? I was in elementary school, but I remember being fully convinced that Pert Plus was a brilliant idea-- combining shampoo and conditioner in the SAME BOTTLE! I mean, for me, it didn't matter that we had two bottles in the bathtub. But, the commercial portrayed adults at the gym or spa and what a pain in the ass it was to have to carry two whole bottles of hair products in your gym bag. I tried to imagine myself as an adult spending time at the spa and thought, yep, Pert Plus is right--I would be just as unhappy as these folks in the commercial if I had to carry both shampoo and conditioner with me. Good thing when I am a grown up I won't have to do that. (*Note: My thinking was errant in two fundamental ways: first, my hair needs a separate conditioner and second, I rarely go to the gym/spa.)

I've come a long way since the 1980s, but apparently the advertising agencies have not. They are still trying to trick me into thinking that normal things like hair conditioner and white candles are what are holding me back. I won't be fooled this time.

This Is Maturity

Thanksgiving eve found me at my parents' house (about a 45 minute drive west from where I grew up), in the room where I sleep when I go there, rummaging through this trunk of clothes my mom doesn't wear very often in search of a tshirt to wear to bed. I did find this thermal-type thing which did the job, but only after I found a video tape called "Great Sex After 40." There were at least two more tapes on the same topic, but I obviously recoiled from the trunk like you do when you touch something that's too hot or when you find a cockroach under the sink, so I don't have too many more details. I was a little horrified for a few minutes, but not as much as I would have thought I'd be. In fact, it's kind of nice to know that they have a sex life (or at least have had one at some point over the past 25 years--they've been over 40 my whole life), and that they've needed to seek outside assistance to improve it, not unlike some of us who struggle with dating and look to our friends and the internet for help. After a few glasses of wine at Thanksgiving dinner, I told my older brother about what I'd found, and he had a similar reaction--part of him wanted to go barf up his butternut squash soup, but part of him said "Huh, good for them." I decided to spare my younger brother at least until he moves out of the house.

True Change Comes From Within: Life Lessons from Britney Spears on Election Day

I know that it's election day and I should be sending out shocking news about the various propositions and candidates that the democratic party told me to vote for on my answering machine, and leaving all that is trivial for another day, but I'm sorry, I can't let this one go by.

I saw the headline just now on my office computer and inadvertently exclaimed very loudly "BRITNEY SPEARS FILES FOR DIVORCE? OH MY GOD!" which was so SO not the first impression I was going for with my new legal director in the office next to mine, whose laughter subsequently echoed through our hallowed halls.

but JESUS. Its like, I'd given up all hope. Britney was just so far gone I didn't think she could ever come back. But now, like Marlina on Days of Lives, she has risen again! Change can happen! ANOTHER WORLD IS POSSIBLE!! I'm now RUNNING, not walking, to my polling station and taking charge of my life, looking at the man in the mirror, just like Britney did. ENOUGH is ENOUGH!

URGENT: How do I get someone to vote tomorrow?

While law school has ironically kept me from being as active in the "get out the vote" movement as I would like to be, I have taken it upon myself to call every person on my cell phone list who is eligible to vote and if I have doubts about their motivation to vote (If you have not received a call, it's because I know you would never miss a chance to vote).

I just got off the phone with my cousin who is an Iraq vet. He told me he will probably not vote.

1st Excuse: He's not registered.
My answer: Doesn't matter. Minnesota has same-day registration.

2nd Excuse: He doesn't know where to go to vote:
My answer: I anticipated this, so I looked it up for him and I mapquested it. It is exactly .2 miles from his house. I gave him the address.

3rd Excuse: He doesn't know who to vote for and doesn't know who the candidates are.

This one I found a little harder to answer. First, I find it strange he doesn't know ANYTHING about the candidates because of the bombardment of ads all over the TV. Second, when my call is to just make sure he exercises his right to vote, is it appropriate to plug my candidates and tell him the RNC is evil? Third, is it dirty to remind him he fought for people's freedom and the fundamental right of voting (think Iraqi fingers dipped in ink) and that he might be a hypocrite to not exercise his own right to vote?

He is still not sure if he will vote. We are supposed to have another phone conference later this afternoon and it will be my last chance to convince him to vote tomorrow. Please post your thoughts on tactics to persuade him that he MUST vote, even if he's not sure who the best candidate is.

The Fool's Gold-en Rule

As most of you know, I am in my third and final year of law school. It has, for the most part, been a rich and stimulating experience with (mostly) smart and respectable people. Sometimes things happen, though, that make me embarassed to be part of this profession and afraid for the future of law and lawyerdom.

In several of my classes throughout these three years, professors have taken time to instruct us how to not be assholes when we become attorneys. Examples include:

• "If someone shows up 5 minutes late to a deposition, you don't need to report it to the judge, reschedule, and charge your opponent for costs. We've all been 5 minutes late."
• "When negotiating with prosecutors, don't accuse them of personally detesting the Constitution. They are just doing their jobs and most of them are perfectly lovely people. "
• In drafting interrogatories, don't use unnecessarily obtuse language or complex sentence structure. Think of interrogatories YOU have to answer and how you would like them to be worded. "

To me, these all seems to be variations of "treat others the way you would like to be treated" a/k/a The Golden Rule. Didn't we learn this in pre-school? Or at HOME as toddlers? Sure, a friendly reminder will do now and again, but I find it sad that law professors know they need to devote substantial time to reminding professional students and soon-to-be officers of the courts of this country to treat each other with basic human decency and respect.

I realize that this post may invite a plethora of lawyer jokes, but remember who our administrator is. The lawerly-inclined on this forum would never make jokes about your chosen profession. We learned the Golden Rule at about the same time we learned to brush our teeth, despite what my law school professors would have you think.

a thermos and nalgene crowd

I arrived at a potluck this week with two liter bottles of soda and yellow plastic cups. Coke and Sprite. I considered purchasing diet (that would've been my choice) but figured more people like regular. I wasn't the only one to bring soda to this gathering of documentary students. But the other person purchased Moxie (a local cola) and rasberry ginger ale. Not a single person drank my offering. And it's not like there was beer or anything. I left with both bottles unopened. I just took a couple of swigs from the neon green bottle and thought I'd write to all of you. Do you not drink soda? Am I living in the past? Do your social groups drink it? I'm just curious.

How did you spend your Thursday nights in 1990?

This is it, folks. Finally. If you don't already know, I am thrilled to be the first to tell you that the 1st season of 90210 is being released on DVD on November 7th, 2006. We have waited years and years. I cannot account for the timing but for that Aaron Spelling no longer around (RIP) to object to its release due to his embarassment that his dear Tori played the ditzy virgin. But, it matters not.

What counts is that just in time for the season in which no person in their right mind would go outside for more than 5 minutes because of sub-zero temperatures and massive snow drifts, we have some old friends to catch up with. I have already pre-ordered my copy and I encourage you do the same.

Also, if I don't return phonecalls between November 7th and 2007, you'll understand why. Dylan McKay and I will be cuddled up by the fire, reliving those Thursday nights from so many years ago.

Cheap Bastard Mixology

I came home the other night after a long day and my new roommate was on the couch drinking a 40 of Old E, which is my brand of choice. I had a lovely trader joes salad that i was going to eat so i opted for wine instead. but then sitting there waiting for America's Next Top Model to come on, i was like 'damn. that looks good. i want that instead."
and he said, "you could have both?"
and i said "together?"
and he said "yeah. you should drink them both at the same time."
and i said "i will if you will"
and he said "ok" (thinking that i was not serious and that it wasn't physically possible)
but oh, OH was he wrong. I grabbed two straws and and a 40 (ok, really it was a 24oz, but whatever) and the dare was ON.

we were shocked. SHOCKED i tell you.
somehow it was the best of both worlds. i'm a cheap bastard these days so it was crappy wine, and i dare say the combination improved both of them.

so RUN, dont walk, to your local corner store and live it up!

ANTM

Just so we're clear, I can count the number of episodes of America's Next Top Model that I've ever seen on one hand. Tonight I saw maybe the last 20 minutes of the season premiere and am hoping someone else here saw it too. When the judges were critiquing the very striking Anchal, were they for real in deferring to the comments of Nigel Barker because "we're both Indian"? His bio on the website says he was born in London and educated in the English countryside, and mentions that "his background...brings a unique sensitivity to the relationships he forms with his subjects," but that's all. If you were Anchal, would you be offended at Nigel's giving you modeling advice from a fellow Indian's perspective, seeing as how he is a) a man and b) white? I know there are some ANTM experts in the crowd so please come forward!

It's not just that I lost, it's that she won.

Yesterday I received an official rejection from a clerkship that I had allowed myself to really, really want. I already knew that I was not going to be chosen, as the window for a positive outcome had passed, but the rejection letter was the final nail, as it were. This clerkship was a long shot, and I perhaps should not have raised my hopes, but once I was chosen for an interview, I started to think, "maybe, just maybe, I can get this." Naturally, I am disappointed.

Worse, though, than being rejected, is that I have firsthand knowledge (via eavesdropping) that a person I truly detest was choses for one of these coveted clerkships. She is the kind of person that is a "close aquaintance" -- I have shared pitchers of beer with her in a small group. Yet, everytime I see her, she obviously and purposely ignores me. She is the sort of girl I disliked and distrusted in high school, and apparently whose high-school-like personality outlasts the Danceline trophies.

While the sting of rejection has already begun to fade, I am left with a bad taste in my mouth. I am not so concerned with bad things happening to good people. I think that is inevitable. What I find so infuriating is when good things happen to bad people -- more specifically, I do not understand how smart people in respectable positions can be tricked into thinking that snide, stupid, immature, and unkind people are the best choice for a job/clerkship/relationship. I have seen several instances of this phenomenon throughout the years, but this time it has really hit home.

Call me petty or jealous. Maybe that's part of it. But, it's also something more than that. It's a fundamental disappointment that even the brightest and most respectable people can be fooled into choosing bad people for good things.

Of course, one boy in my high school "Theory of Knowledge" class said that bad things only happen to bad people. Maybe I am bad for not sending best wishes to my secret nemesis. But I didn't think that kid in high school was right back then and I don't think he's right now. Bad things happen to good people. And more often than I like, good things happen to bad people.

A question re: Fancy Jeans...

So I've had this pair of Citizens jeans for maybe a year and a half. I love them, they are perfect for any occasion... which is good because they're also the any pair I like. Anyway, I bought them on ebay for something like $80, retail value, maybe $140... they developed a hole in the crotch, I sent them off to aforementioned jean-fixers in New York... and I just learned that I'll be $65 to fix them. $53 for repair, $12 for shipping. This is an irksome figure for a few reasons: a) that's a lot of money and almost as much as I paid for them. b) It only cost me $5.20 to send them to New York.
So, the question is whether I, a) pay $65 and get them back. b) try to find another pair on ebay, risking not finding as good a pair and then, do I pay the $12 to get the old ones back, even though they're unwearable... or do I let them go? This may not be a problem boys understand, but I'm hoping the ladies will...
Also note, I am a student again and living on loans....

Thank you.

Size Does Matter

I can't imagine what life would be like if I hadn't gone to Wesleyan, and I consider it the best decision I have ever made (with the possible exception of putting an end to my days of blowdrying my hair and choosing the cello over the violin in third grade). But I've always loved Wesleyan for the friends I made there, and thought that I could take or leave most other aspects of it. Now that I am beginning grad school at an enormous university, I love Wesleyan even more because of its size. I really can't remember ever being completely confused as to how to get information, or waiting on a line for more than 15 minutes that wasn't for food or for cheap beer at frats before it was outlawed, or reading through a list of events and not being sure which ones applied to me. I took for granted how easy it was to get answers to questions and how comforting to look around at your fellow students and feel like everyone was there for similar reasons and could probably relate in some way to your individual experience of the college. I'm 25 now and have been perfectly capable so far of navigating the NYU wilderness, but can you imagine being 18 and coming to a college that is like a city within a city? I think everyone who contributes to this blog went to a small school too, but maybe you have a better imagination than I do.

Buying Fancy Jeans

Remember when jeans cost like $30 and shirts were like 15? Yeah me too. Those were the days. Especially since my mom was paying for everything anyway. It seemed like just when I was beginning to take over financial responsibility for my wardrobe, clothing prices started going insane. But at that point, ‘insane’ was like $65-80 for a pair of jeans. Those were splurge prices. Now they’re a good deal. And then a couple years ago, the $100-200 jean wave began. At first it seemed so outrageous and beyond comprehension that I assumed it was just a trend and everyone would come to their senses, or if it continued it would really only affect the very wealthy or the very shallow. But now, most people don't bat an eyelash!

Ok fine, I’ll stop the bullshit. I’m sitting here trying to contextualize and intellectualize why its ok that I just spent over $150 on a pair of jeans but there’s really no way around it. I did it. I totally gave into expensive jeans. I may pair them with my Mossimo pleather heals from Target and an H&M sales rack shirt but they are still really just a lot. Plus: its not like i'm running with a fancy crowd. I work at a nonprofit in a land of hippies. None of my friends would give a crap if I stopped wearing pants altogether. brands like rock and republic or joes jeans don’t make their hearts go a twitter. In fact, I’m hoping we can keep this little purchase just between you and me, because honestly, I’m going to lose a lot of credibility with the majority of my social group if word gets out that I succumbed to the almighty power of magazine and celebrity-approved attire for the price of a plane ticket to NY.

But I can’t hide who I am. The truth is, I read celebrity blogs every day and then when i'm really bored, i read the news. but in that order, not the other way around. I have a general idea of whats going on, but i can't wax poetic on the state of Lebanon today like i can about Lindsay or Nicole. I’m not incapable – there was a time when I was all about the information and the politicking. And its not like I have no soul - I work for an amazing legal aid place doing awesome things and I hope to someday change the world. I guess it’s just that deep down, when I picture changing the world, I’m Katherine Hepburn meets Angelina Jolie meets Cameron Diaz.

But going back to the jeans, I want to be clear: I am not looking for forgiveness or pity. You know why? Because holy crap I love these jeans! they're the best jeans i've ever owned! I want to wear them everywhere all the time. and you know what? I will! which means, if you break it down, that i'll really only be spending like 25 cents a day on my jeans. which is a damn good price! because I get dressed in the morning and I go through the rigmarole of looking into my closet for other pants to wear but the truth is, as far as I’m concerned, there are no other pants for me. I’m a one-pant kind of girl and I guess I’m ready to stop playing the field and really take stock of my needs and my desires and settle down with a pair that will treat me right, and make me feel good about myself, and flatter me, and make me smile. We’re going to have a beautiful life together.

Watching TV in bed

As some of you might know, I just moved into a new apartment. I'm in a new city, I know 3 people in town and I'm living by myself. So many things are new these days and I'm kind of in a personal test of how I want to live. I've noticed some things about myself-- I apparently don't eat or shower when I'm at home with no chance of interpersonal contact... I do drink coffee, which usually leads to eating since coffee on an empty stomach makes it hurt. I also have delighted in watching TV in bed. I never thought of myself as this kind of person, but literally the first thing I did when left to my own devices was purchase a television. And then I set it up in my bedroom (not, I think, it's ultimate resting place, but....) and proceeded to watch 6 episodes of "Weeds" while lolling in bed. Tonight I am on my second episode of "24" from the comfort of bed... I think this is the ultimate luxury of the early 21st century and the realization of a lifelong dream. Obviously I was never allowed to have a TV in my room when I lived at home... so when purchasing a computer one of the major draws was being able to watch movies in bed. So here it is, internet, I am someone who needs a TV and goddamnit, I want to lie in bed and be entertained. Is that so wrong? No, I just like it so very much and it makes me feel young and American and free. And there's nothing wrong with that.

Isn't Gatsby Great?!?

By: Kristina and Sarah. Drafted in Minneapolis on August 12, 2006.

Last week we attended the world premiere stage adaptation of F. Scott Fitzgerald's pinnacle novel, The Great Gatsby, at the new Guthrie-- arguably the Twin Cities' most beloved theater. The play reminded us of our shared intimate relationship with the work. However, as the play progressed, we realized that although each of us consider it one of our favorite books, we didn't remember the story. We were stuck on motif, symbolism, and metaphor. Although we could anticipate and recite "key passages" in our minds, we didn't know what would happen next in the plot.

Our familiarity with the literary devices in The Greaty Gatsby was born in our 11th grade English class. Our teacher, Ms. Sexton, considered it the Great American Novel. We graduated from high school with the understanding that no one should be allowed to graduate high school without having studied the book--and in turn, obviously, loved it.

Once we left F. Scott's home state for our respective coastal collegiate enterprises, we were surprised to learn how many "smart" people have never read The Great Gatsby. For our friends, Last Stand at the Alamo, The Biography of Bruce Springsteen, and Starbucks: A Corporate History seemed to to have been graduation requirements.

Did you read The Great Gatsby? Did you love it? Do you consider it The Great American Novel and F. Scott the 20th century's Shakespeare? If not, what do you think is so good?

Maybe this is a little callous...

But looking at what has been confiscated at airports recently... it makes me once again glad, that no matter how good aveda smells, I opt for the Suave impersonations of designer shampoo. Um, can anyone say "midterm elections."

25 going on 15... and 45.

When did this happen? In May after discovering that my mother had been contemplating plastic surgery, I meditated, both in my head and out loud to some WEDYHTD contributors, about how foreign the phenomenon of aging was to me. I didn’t understand it, I am young and changes in my face and body still feel like part of growth into, who I’ll ultimately be, as opposed to a decline from who I was.
Later in the month, I turned 25 and I welcomed the flip of the calendar. Twenty five felt right, it was maturation without turning “old.” Obviously 25 isn’t old, Mid-twenties was solidly upon me and I felt fine about it.
I spent a good deal of time traveling with my 15 yr old sister in June and July and while, granted, she looks older than 15, somehow this lead people we met to think I was much younger than 25. This frustrated me. I think because I equate age with progress. So much has happened since I was fifteen, there is a world of difference between the summer after freshman year in high school and… now. I’ve lived halfway across the country from where I grew up for seven years. I’ve traveled to five continents since I was fifteen, I’ve developed talents and vices and a sense of self and confidence and direction and... I'm about to start PROFESSIONAL SCHOOL for christ's sake… being mistaken for younger than I am seems to somehow diminish the importance of what has transpired since that age.
At the same time, my sister at some point decided on this trip that calling me “old” was really the way get my goat. And while my goat wasn’t actually got (hopefully wit is something she’ll develop in college,) what stuck was that she grouped me with “adults.” Whether they’re 25 or 45 or 72, adults don’t like to be called old.
And since I’ve returned I’ve been feeling rather old. It’s not just visiting the babies of friends, or the babies of 17yr olds I’ve known since they were born… but it’s accidentally buying facial cleanser for “maturing skin” and then realizing maybe it’s not such a bad idea. It’s realizing I’d better grow my hair out now, because I don’t have too long until it’ll be tacky. It’s seeing where the wrinkles will be and looking at pictures of friends and seeing their age, not that they just don’t look like kids anymore, but they look older than they did when they stopped looking like kids. It’s worrying about something like cholesterol, a diet and lifestyle change that doesn’t have to do with vanity but with evading a stroke? This is old people stuff.
But this, I think, is the nature of the age. And it needs its own term, At twenty five, car insurance premiums go down. And at twenty-six, health insurance premiums go up. We’re in this strange limbo where we’re seeing the beginnings of wrinkles while worrying about the recurrence of pimples.

More Thoughts on Digestion

Unless the free samples are out, I generally try to steer clear of Whole Foods. It not just their prices, it the desire they inspire. I’m not someone who generally treats their body all that well – the fact that I pretty much live on sugarfree coffeemate is testament to this – but the danger of Whole Foods is that they make it look so good and fancy and lovely that I walk in there and in the course of 3 minutes I’ve decided to completely turn my life around, eat only organic meats and vegetables, remove all wheat, dairy, gluten, sugar, preservative, etc. from my diet, start using the keeper and buy only chemical free cleaning products. Its trouble.

Last night I was feeling sad and bored so I got in the car and went to Yogurt Park and got a huge container of sugar free frozen yogurt and ate it in record time. I contemplated going back for more, but somehow that seemed too embarrassing. So I actually decided to go to the frozen yogurt store in the next town. I know, I have problem. I’m well aware. But on my way, as I was thinking, ‘Oy, I love this frozen yogurt but it sure makes me feel like crap sometimes’, I passed a whole foods, set back from the street in a tree lined parking lot, glowing warmly with recycled lightbulbs no doubt, hippies swarming.
And I thought, ‘No lily. No. you are poor and you cannot afford to walk in there.’ But I was still sad and bored and had nothing to do, so I parked and went in.
I walked out an hour later having spent literally $100 on a single bag of groceries, but I have a really good excuse this time: vitamins.

Not just any vitamins – no no – food-based vitamins.

I went to the vitamin isle with a question about enzymes. Because my coworker told me that apparently there’s no point in taking lots of multi-vitamins because unless you take special enzymes along with it, you don’t break them down and just poo them out unabsorbed and I wanted to know if that was true.

“Bingo”, said the vitamin guy (really, he did), “but in addition, it’s really important what vitamins you take, because unless you take food-based vitamins, your body has a really hard time digesting any of it.”

“Oh”, I said, “So then its probably not so good that I take Walgreen’s brand vitamins, huh.”

And he laughed and said, “I have a funny story for you:

Recently there was a story in the news about a sewage plan that was on the verge of flooding and totally clogged. What they found upon investigation, was that there were literally thousands and thousands of multivitamins clogging up the place. Whole vitamins. That had passed through the city’s citizens WHOLE and then passed through the treatment plant WHOLE and eventually had collected and clogged up the final stage of the treatment system. Which is both gross and alarming. Basically an entire city full of people were spending like $50 a bottle on Centrum silver and whatnot and just pooing them out without making a dent in them. We’ve been literally shitting away our money! And I just bought a new bottle a couple weeks ago!

But whatever, I’m a sucker so I bought the fancy vitamins as well as the fancy enzymes to help break them down.
Also some milk thistle and some frozen wheat grass and a bottle of kombucha tea, in case anyone was wondering what the hell ended up being $100.

Today, just to make sure I wasn’t completely swindled, I googled it. And its true!

The morals here are plentiful:

Never ever go into whole foods when you’re feeling sad.
Throw out your crappy multivitamins and switch to food-based vitamins immediately.
Buy some digestive enzymes while you’re at it.

Also: Kombucha, while incredibly good for you, tastes HORRIBLE. Just so you know.

The end.

Screwed and the City

Now that my finals are over, I have ample time to indulge in TV re-runs. This is a good thing. Usually. Last night, on the WB, was the final episode of one of my staples, Sex and the City. I am admittedly addicted to this show and own all seasons (except season 5, which sucked) on DVD. I am aware that the final episode is 41+ minutes long and as such, the WB would be cutting major chunks of the show for network broadcast.

Let me tell you: the WB slaughtered the final episode and robbed newcomers to Sex and the City fanaticism of how truly great the last episode was. As I watched, I kept thinking, those poor viewers without HBO or DVD access to the final episode are missing so many of the really important parts of the finale!

Among the moments that WB edited out:

- Carrie losing and finding her "Carrie" necklace, a major metaphor for losing herself and re-finding herself.
-Carrie's long, lonesome walk through Paris, including being hit on the head by a little boy and stepping in dog shit.
-Miranda bathing Steve's Alzheimer-stricken mother.
-Magda telling Miranda "what you did, that is love. You love."
- Carrie's last monologue about different kinds of relationships -- including scenes of Samantha and Smith back to the banging, Miranda and family at home in Brooklyn, and Charlotte and Harry walking the dogs.
-Mr. Big calling Carrie to tell him the house in Napa is on the market.
-The cell phone displaying Mr. Big's real name, John.

These are crucial moments in what I consider a crucial show. You may think it is creepy that I am so familiar with these scenes that I am able to recognize their ommission and quote lines from them. However, I see this as fulfilling a duty to the deprived, WB-watching, Sex and the City-liking (if the loved it, they'd have the DVDs) public. If just one person that has only seen the WB version of the Sex and the City finale reads this entry and is convinced that the REAL finale is worth renting, my work is done.

Shame on you, WB. Shame. Shame. That is no way to reward viewers who have jumped on the syndicated Sex and the City bandwagon.

Year of the Cock

The great thing about turning 25 this year (folks, can I hear it?) is that there are lots of retrospectives on what happened 25 years ago. I guess this also happened when I turned 20, 15, 10 and so forth... but this is now.
Some things that if you're turning 25 in 2006, you're the same age as:

* AIDS
* Frequent Flier Miles (http://www.nytimes.com/2006/04/26/business/26leonhardt.html)
* Wheel of Fortune
* THE WESLEYAN SPIRITS (all-male acapella for those outside of the community)


And some people (careful, this is a little depressing):

* Elijah Wood
* Justin Timberlake
* Paris Hilton
* Josh Groban
* Julia Stiles
* Jessica Alba
* Jamie-Lynn Sigler
* Anna Kournikova
* Natalie Portman
* Ben Kweller
* Chad Michael Murray
* Rachel Bilson
* Beyonce Knowles
* Jonathan Taylor Thomas
* Alexis Bledel
* Nicole Richie
* Serena Williams
* Dominique Moceanu
* Ivanka Trump
* Britney Spears
* Sienna Miller

A Lovely Thing That Happened Today

Last night I went with my dad to the Philharmonic to see a performance of the Shostakovich Violin Concerto and Tenth Symphony, with Maxim Vengerov on violin and Mstislav Rostropovich conducting. Rostropovich is better known as one of the great cellists of the twentieth century, and a close friend of Shostakovich as well as other important composers. He didn't start conducting until a lot later in his career. He's turning 79 this year. Watching him conduct last night was really great. After the Symphony, he went into the orchestra section by section to kiss the principal players and he seemed to absolutely adore the musicians and audience as much as we loved him.

Anyway, today I had 45 minutes to kill before my orchestra rehearsal, so I bought some sushi to go and sat next to my cello on a wall outside Juilliard, which is right around the corner from Lincoln Center and up the block from the church where we practice. I was very into my book and didn't really notice anyone approaching me, but then all of a sudden I looked up and there he was, Mr. Rostropovich himself, his face about a foot away from mine. This is what he said to me: "Good appetite!" All I could think of in reply was to ask him if he would like some pieces of sushi. He laughed and shook my hand and waddled away and I just stared after him before realizing what had just happened and looking around for someone who had witnessed the interaction and could appreciate how cool it was.

Of course now I'm thinking of all the things I could have said to him. I mean, I had just seen him conduct a concert that I raved about at work this morning. I had just read an interview with him in the Times. I play the same instrument as him and was on my way to a rehearsal of very music that is basically impossible for me to play, that I'm sure he'd have been familiar with. What if he thinks I didn't know who he was? What kind of cellist could I be if I didn't? I have decided that the recognition was there in my voice and in the hand shake and the offer to share my dinner.

Update

Ok, I've been hard at work.

Done= Go to Whitney Biennial, See Munch Exhibit at MoMA, Eat Grimaldi's, See Ave Q (which I couldn't put before because it might give away to Erica that it was to be her birthday present)

Revised to-do:

Go to Bohemian Beer Garden
Go to Bulgarian Disco
Go to the Cloisters
Go to the Frying Pan
Go to Coney Island
Go to Grimaldi's (again)

Overheard in the Elevator

Six men and I are riding up, they're getting out at 24. I get out at 19.
Man 1: There's a lot of Jed Bartlett stuff at the Smithsonian. A surprising amount, it takes up a whole wall.
Man 2: You don't say.
Man 1: Yep, best President we ever had, that Bartlett. Jed Bartlett and Bill Clinton.

Closing Time...

So while most WEDYHTDers know this, I'm leaving New York in a little under two months. So this morning I was brain-storming on things I wanted to do/make sure I did again before leaving. The things should be quintessentially New York. But I could only come up with five.

They are:
Go to Whitney Biennial
See Munch Exhibit at MoMA
Go to Bohemian Beer Garden
Go to Bulgarian Disco
Eat Grimaldi's

Any help/anybody want to come?

This Modern Life

There's this commercial for some kind of fiber supplement that captures my predicament precisely. In it, a woman wakes up to her alarm and starts eating a carrot, then we see her gnawing on broccoli while driving the kids to school and eating a bran muffin while working out. The tagline of the commercial is something like, "if you get all of your daily fiber from what you eat, how do you have time for anything else."
And isn't this the modern dilemma? At least I feel overwhelmed by it sometimes, the number of things we're "supposed" (and many that we want) to do-- eat enough fiber, get enough iron, eat plenty of vegetables, exercise, give money to charity, work late, spend time with friends, see family.... the list goes on and on and it seems practically impossible to do all of it. Like the fiber example-- a typical orange, considered a pretty high fiber food, has 3g of fiber. And we're shooting for at least 25 a day! Which means just staying on top of your FIBER intake could be a freaking full time job. Meanwhile, there are restaurants we have to try while we're supposed to cook at home. Take advantage of every opportunity WHILE building good credit? Gym memberships that eat into the disposable income we could we using to feed the homeless.... ergh! Does anyone else get frustrated by this or am I just abnormally guilt-ridden?

the tiger look

I just came from the salon where I spent over $100 for a cut and color. My glasses were off during the process and, since I am nearly blind without them, I couldn't really see what was going on. However, before starting to paint my head, I did tell the woman that I am not in to the streaky look and that I prefer an all-over medium blonde. At the end of what has turned out to be an ordeal, I put my glasses back on to find that my head is streaked in black and white. The woman is all excited about the "low lights" and I tell her it is "great."

What gives? I am not afraid to speak in a class of 100 law students or afraid of giving oral arguments in front of judges--yet, when I have the chance to speak up about my utter disgust with my hair color that reminds be of a bengal tiger, I just grin (grimace) and run away.

Now that I am at work, I have called the salon and will be getting it fixed tomorrow. It was much easier to call and complain knowing I was in the safety of my own office. Why am I afraid of the hairdresser? She's the one that screwed up! She should be afraid of me! (in 18 short months I could sue) . Is this a quirk I have of being intimidated by the salon people or is it evidence that I have some more growing up to do? I may never know, but until tomorrow, you can just call me Le Tigre.

When you sell your soul, apparently they come back to collect.

So as the community may or may not know, I work at a large law firm in New York. Coming from a background of a lot of lawyers, but no firm lawyers, I started here kind of expected it to be the seat of all evil... and found for the most part, it's just people, just working. Most people who work here aren't attorneys, they're just folks trying to support themselves and their families. The attornies aren't evil, most of them are actually quite nice and they're just working also. It just so happens that what they're working on at best doesn't interest me and at worst conflicts somewhat with my morals, instilled in me by aforementioned non-firm lawyers.
In September I worked on a project for a pharmaceutical company client, some research into cholesterol-lowering drugs, or statins, and what form they took. The goal of this research was to try to argue that the company wasn't avoiding allowing a generic to be made (and therfore losing a lot of profit) by switching it from a capsule to tablet, but making it more like the other similar drugs on the market. Whatever. I typed up a little email memo about my research and send it off to the attorney. I made jokes about how terrible it was to work for the people trying to keep drugs that people need prohibitively expensive, but jokes in similar ways to ones I make about children losing their arms mining the diamonds for our client in a kind of but-my-hands-are-tied way...
Fast forward to a couple of weeks ago when I get a phone call from my Dr., following up on some routine blood work/check-up. He wants me to come in, I have extremely high cholesterol. He's be testing my blood and liver and everything else since then and finally yesterday put me on a statin to bring down the cholesterol. I went to get the prescription filled for this drug that likely I'll have to take for the rest of my life to control my cholesterol... and it's a $50 copay. Because there is no generic. And, at some, level this is my own fault. Fuck.

What are the odds?

Every time I fly to Minnesota from, well, anywhere, I kind of expect to recognize someone on my flight. This feeling isn't as strong anymore as I know what seems like fewer and fewer people in my hometown. As further evidence, this past weekend on the way to our local Target, my mom asked if I expected to run into someone I knew at Target... um, who would that be?
However, the past two times I've flown (aside from Israel, which is an outlier) I've either seen or been SEATED NEXT TO someone I know. Once was just in the airport, the other was on a flight back to NY from Oakland in January. What are the odds? Well, I did a few calculations:
In 2005 100 Million people pass through the NY airports, JFK, Newark, Laguardia.
I have 122 Friendsters. Say I also know the parents and on average one sibling of a quarter of them... there's another 91.5 people. Then theres the people I would recognize, I know but don't "know" and so am not connected to via online social networking at all. Say, an equal number to friendsters and familes- another 213.5 people. And then the people who aren't on Friendster. Let's optimistically say I know 600 people. Or would recognize them. This means that everyone I know is .0006% of the people who pass through the NY airports, and that's assuming they ALL flew in and out of NY and I was at the airport (all 3) all day every day to see them. Kind of astonishing to recognize anyone at all, actually. Food for thought. Next topic will be: After beating incredible odds like these... why do I still try to avoid saying hello? Discuss.

The newest development...

Ok, I know the WEDYHTD community is divided over Lance Armstrong. Heroic/national/athletic icon to some, sleezebag doper to others, tomayto, tomahto... but what about this:

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/entertainment/4749716.stm

So Sheryl and Lance break up and all of the sudden she's being treated for breast cancer? I realize this is all speculation, but they broke up THREE weeks ago... we're supposed to believe he didn't know about the cancer? He ditched his wife who nursed him though his own cancer recovery for Sheryl, then hit the road when the going got tough with her. Either Lance and his heart are pure but have the worst timing EVER... or he is the worst person EVER. We can all decide for ourselves...
PS. I think we need weekly updates on TomKitten since lords knows, I can't keep up.

a shot at greatness

While perusing one of my favorite celebrity blogs this morning over a cup of coffee, i saw this:

"VH1 & ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY ARE HITTING THE ROAD LOOKING FOR

POP CULTURE TRIVIA FANS TO COMPETE IN THE

WORLD SERIES OF POP CULTURE!"

And it occured to me, for once in my life, I actually could be equipped to compete in a world series! I mean, yeah, ok - its no Torino. But jeez, anyone who saw the ladies freestyle skating last night might concede that "greatness" isn't all that great. (cause dude, that girl so should not have won! did anyone else notice that she repeated the floaty-fish-arm-spin into single-arm-in-the-air-spin sequence 3 times!? it was like a skating version of a kylie minogue song. but i digress)

Anyways, maybe i'm just looking for an avenue to vent about ridiculous sucess of the fucking girls who ruled my middle school, but i think i could do this! i read like 3-8 celeb blogs a day, a fact which i never thought of as something to be proud of, let alone something to share with anyone, but for reals yo, i could DO this. i need teammates. who's with me?



ADDENDUM: I was so busy watching skating last night that i missed seeing becky get booted from American Idol. and yet, my dreams of greatness have not waned. the road to pop culture beckons....

Free Money

I spoke to my brother Kevin on the phone for a while last night, and told him about this major fundraiser we’re planning at work and how I’m very anxious about it because it’s only nine days away and we’ve filled about a third of the seats in what is not even that big a hall in the first place. We haven’t had a problem getting donations, though. The money is pouring in. It’s just that no one seems to want to get anything back for it. In general in my work here, I’ve found that it’s a lot easier to get people to give money than to attend an event. The easiest way to bring in cash seems to be holding raffles—that way, people can send in their checks from afar without actually having to make time in their schedules to go to a concert or a dinner or whatever, feel good about themselves for supporting a great cause, and have a shot at maybe, just maybe, winning a Chivas Regal gift set or a NordicTrak machine or someone else’s frequent flier miles.

Kevin compared it to his reaction to the homeless people on the streets of San Francisco who try to sell you their newspapers for a dollar. He usually gives them a buck but tells them to keep the paper because he can’t even be bothered with going out of his way to the trash can to throw it out.

It’s probably a raising-a-family-in-the-city thing. The people who would most enjoy the benefit concert that we’re planning are parents who bring their musically-inclined kids. But those are the same people who think they are too busy to come out on a Monday night. So instead they send in a check and their good wishes and go about their daily routine of feeding the kids and making sure they do their homework and get a good night’s sleep.

I’ve given more money than I thought I would this year to various organizations and I’ve almost always received something in return: tote bags and iPod holders from WNYC (and maybe a laptop if by chance I win the special Apple drawing!), a concert at Madison Square Garden (and a glimpse of Bill Clinton) for Katrina victims, a performance of Beethoven’s 9th for earthquake victims, all I could drink at the Brooklyn Brewery for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. Next weekend I'm going to a concert that will somehow benefit both New Orleans and Tibet. I like doing fun things for a good cause and when I don’t have time for that anymore because I’m responsible for other living beings, I’ll miss it.

More and more I feel little incentive to strive towards grown-up goals like having a family and investing money and buying a home. I just did my taxes and they were so easy, on account of owning nothing of value and being responsible for no one but myself.

wasn't born yesterday

does anyone else remember a time when a snack-sized container of almonds didn't cost eight bucks. what is going on here? am i the only one who has noticed that the price of almonds (and cashews!) is out of control. are you embarrassed that i've posted this on our blog? have i jeopardized our legitimacy?

Loud and Clear, Big Guy

I am beginning to believe in a higher power. It wasn't the trip to Israel this month that did it, although the moment on shabbat looking out over the dome of the rock and the church of the holy sepulchre with the sound of the call to prayer drifting over the old city in stereo from mosques did make it seem like all of these people might know something I don't. But what turned me was the feeling lately that someone, somewhere was beginning to think I was feeling too cocky and I needed to be brought down a notch. Or, at an even more basic level-- that somebody has been paying attention. Examples from my recent existence:
In Israel I got in a yelling argument with someone on our trip, which let loose a self-righteous flood of rage that culminated in my bringing up the fact that he had spent the second day of the trip vomiting on the bus due to a vodka-drinking contest with a Russian the night before. Man, was I self-righteous. I spent most of the next day vomiting.
Also in Israel, I spoke with Juliet about how I felt like I really needed to experience heartbreak before I settle down with one person forever. Meanwhile, I spoke confidently about my relationship. I came home and within 24 hours had been dumped.
This fall, I had started to feel cocky about law school, like maybe at some level I was better than some schools. Or that I'd be considered a stronger candidate than the numbers suggest. And then those schools started to reject, wait-list and defer me.
There are other examples that don't come to mind right now, of me saying or thinking things only to be squarely contradicted by what seem like pointed changes in reality. Like someone is trying to tell me something.
The journal I'm using now I started on Valentine's Day 2004 and every page was filled ending last night, Valentine's Day 2006. I did a little personal retrospective on these past two years and more and more things seemed to be getting tied up, coming full circle; its all happening very cleanly. Not that breakups and arguments and rejection are clean, but it's falling into place like someone is planning this.
On the last day of the Israel trip, the dreamboat guide had us all write out postcards that he will mail to us, to send ourselves a little message about what we want ourselves to remember that we'd learned, realized or changes we intended to make. My postcard was about the realization that after being completely removed from everyday life for 10 days, I realized that my life is more than the sum of its components. After spending so much mental energy on relationships, jobs and law school, it was both freeing and terrifying to think about my life as being more than all of those things put together. And then I came home and a lot of those things shifted.
This whole weird, hard time brings a lot of maxims to mind-- be careful what you wish for, what goes around comes around, don't get too comfortable. It's weird. I don't know what's going on... but I'm putting it on the internet to say:
OK, I HEAR YOU.
Now if I could only figure out what they're trying to say...
I hope this doesn't mean I'm losing my mind.

Floofy dresses, Prosthetic Boobs, Opera Singing Cabbies, and the Oakland PD, or "How I spent my Saturday Night"

So pretty much nothing about Saturday made any kind of sense. I started the day with Jessie in the sunny suburbs of the South Bay trying on ridiculous pink floofy bridesmaids dresses (my sister's getting married). From there we tootled to Julia's. We were starving but the bagels were off limits - what can you do? It was a beautiful sunny afternoon and it was 5 o'clock somewhere so we drove through the city loking for a cafe in which to drink bloodymary's. You would think that wouldn't be so hard, but hours later we were still driving, with no bloodymary's in sight. We decided to pull out all the stops and go to the Cliff House, which is a swanky staple of the San Francisco tourist scene. But its ma$$ive white columns made us keep driving to Louie's, which looked quaint but in fact was just totally bizzare. First of all, no bloodymarys. Then the waitress yelled at us for wanting to switch to an empty table away from the door. When i asked for a refill of diet coke, she told me that she had given me regular, so was i sure that i wanted diet this time? There was some sort of nasty plastic thing floating in Julia's water. nothing really went right. Since we had never really fulfilled the bloody mary craving, we decided to get swanked up and paint the town red.

After many stops for black slinky things we arrived in "Balboa Park" which i guess technically is part of the city but pretty much felt like another country to us. Jessie's friend was having a party which we thought was a "Vamps and Vixens" party, but in fact was a "Vamps and Vampires" party. quite different in fact. Her friend is a fabulous drag queen and many of the other people there were also very much in drag and lace and leather and prosthetic boobs. We meant to just stay for a drink and return to civilization but many french martini's later we were still there. A woman in a leather jumpsuit with a boat of a cadillac drove us to BART. which we missed. we got on a bus. i dont know what bus it was, but i think it was the wrong one. it was empty though and we didn't have to pay. Julia decided to get off. later she regretted her haste, as it was not the correct stop. Jessie and I got off too, somewhere, nowhere near her house, so we got in a cab. i was actually a van. with a woman driver who was so fabulously nice and who turned off the meter when i jumped out to get us pizza, which again i didn't have to pay for.

I loved this cab so much that i decided i couldn't leave it, i wanted my own bed, which was across the bridge in Oakland. but i was drunk and what is money to a drunk girl? So she took me. She was an opera singer and her favorite opera, Amal and the Night Visitors, was one that my mother took me to see every single year at chistmas. So she sang me arias and we ate pizza and talked and talked and then i was home. I put it on the credit card (which was a smarter move than i knew then) went inside and ate some more pizza.

Suddenly i heard gun shots. and i looked out the window and saw 3 or 4 guys running like crazy down the street. So i got out the phone book and called the cops. Which is something i feel like i do a lot for some reason, so it didn't feel that crazy. they said they'd send a car out. i said cool. so i finished my pizza and went to bed.

This morning, as i was dawdling and making myself late to work again, the phone rang. I normally don't answer my house phone but i did and it was the Cab Driver from saturday night, calling to tell me that she had filled out a crime report with the Oakland PD and they going to contact me and she was so glad i paid with a credit card because otherwise she'd never be able to find me again. and i was like, "oh my GOD - the gunshots!" and she said, "Yeah! I got away just in time!".... It turns out that when i went inside my house that night and she was pausing to do the paperwork for my ride, a bunch of guys started running at her shooting. she peeled away just in time and the bullets missed her and just hit the side of the van. She drove off for a couple of blocks until she called the cops but they were already on their way. So now i'm sitting here waiting for the cops to call and connect the dots.
crazy friggin night.

Some Women

Nothing like a record-breaking snowstorm to separate the Vain and Superficial from the Just Plain Silly. I mean, really. If you look out the window before you get dressed in the morning, or in the event that you don't have a window or your window looks out on a brick wall you watch the local news or listen to the radio, you should have the sense not to wear your pointy-heeled boots to work. Otherwise you end up like a woman I saw coming out of the 72nd street station looking stumped because the only surface not covered in snow and ice was the grate with holes in it that would swallow up those long and skinny little heels. As Sarah suggested, "she's probably still standing there."

New Years Resolutions: better late than never.

As I strolled into work this morning, 45 minutes late (as usual), trying to nonchalantly cover the food stain I neglected to notice this morning when putting on my lamo pastel office-wear sweater that I bought because it was on sale even though it wasn't the color I wanted, I realized that I need to make some changes. It's still January, so I can still make resolutions right? I'm putting them here so as to make them more official and I think you guys should too. If you want.

1. Get to work on time and stop deciding to clean the house 10 minutes after I'm supposed to leave it.
2. Be more stylish - only buy office clothes that I wouldn't feel lame going to happy hour in.
3. Never buy things just because they're on sale
4. Don't avoid starting political conversations just because I assume that everyone around me shares my point of view. They don't.
5. Drink at least 3 Nalgenes of water a day
6. Be more present. When I start to panic about dumb shit in the future, force myself to stop and let go.
7. Make lunch and bring it to work
8. Take vitamins + flax seed oil every morning
9. Wean myself off of Equal and sugar-free popsicles.
10. Know when to shut the fuck up. Especially when drunk.
11. No whiskey. Ever.
12. Stop crying during minor conflicts, arguments, or conversations about money.
13. Write at least a couple songs this year and be less nervous about singing them in front of people.
14. Start exercising again.
15. Stop flushing O.B. wrappers down the toilet.
16. Be more stringent about the use of apostrophes and the difference between "its" and "it's" when typing.
17. Spend more time alone
18. Go to more museums, talks, and concerts. Always worth the money.
19. Reinstate Frugal Month.
20. For every hour I spend reading celebrity gossip, I must read at least one real news story.

Upfront

Took a cab to work. Who said it - I said it. I was running really late and when my boss is out of town he just waits for an opportunity to say, "You're taking advantage." So I hailed a mini-van cab on 7th and hopped to the second row. I'm about to go on a birthright trip to Israel and hear that the cool people sit in the back of the bus. I'm doing a lot of prep this week.

My cab driver, Jack Rubin, seemed confused. "Most people sit right here," he said pointing to the seat behind him. I didn't tell Jack that I had chosen the second row because it gave me more sleeping space though perhaps I should have because as we turned onto Flatbush he offered me his copy of the New York Post. I get sick if I read in a moving vehicle, but sweetly accepted.

At my final destination, he asked if I wanted the receipt. I said sure even though I had no use for it. "At least somebody's getting reimbursed," he said. Precisely. I didn't want him to suspect that I was spoiling myself. I'd be concerned if he thought I was being excessive.

Stopped in at Starbucks. The man in line in front of me requested that he not get the croissant he had been given. The barista explained that he had actually put 2 in the bag. But the customer had a particular butter croissant in mind and pointed. The same barista then ordered me a triple grande latte when I had just paid for a double tall. I didn't say anything. It seemed he liked treating.

Mayans into Theatres Near You this Spring

My dad used to make a living cutting trailers for movies. He was responsible for the coming attraction to Mel Gibson's 1995 film Braveheart. Now here was potential for a great coming attraction. There would be bagpipes,greenery, battle, kilts, kissing, more battle. And then, the music could stop, and in would drop a killer line: THEY CAN TAKE OUT LIVES. BUT THEY'LL NEVER TAKE...OUR FREEDOM. It just seemed too easy. But that was ten years go.

Let me be clear. I don't have my Masters in anything. But it seems to me that trailers have come to rely too heavily on well-established formulas. Those of us who "don't want to miss the trailers" know the ad approaches all too well. For example, there's the "Until Now" method, which goes something like this: Mel Gibson had it all. He was handsome. Australian. He was winning Oscars. It seemed like he had the world in the palm of his hand - halt music - UNTIL NOW- more music go go go. Perhaps the only thing more cliche than these trailers are my jokes about them.

I'd like to call your attention if I may (my apologies for sounding so formal-I am merely misplacing the academic energy that could go toward a masters degree if i had ANY IDEA WHAT I WANTED TO STUDY!!!!), to the "teaser" trailer for Mel Gibson's new movie Apocalyptico. http://movies.yahoo.com/shop?d=hv&cf=trailer&id=1809249345&intl=us

Instead of a narrator, it uses "cards" or words. Early on we see this Will Durant quote: "A great civilization is not conquered from without - fade out - until it has destroyed itself from within" followed by images of howling, blood thirsty Indians who turn out to be Mayan. The entire movie is in Mayan. This leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Indigenous people had colonialism coming to them? Even if the Spanish arrived only once this particular civilization had largely dispersed, it seems like a strange statement coming from a philosopher/scholar. And certainly not a theory that could be applied throughout history.

I asked my dad about it and he said that he suspects Mel Gibson is trying to imply that America is currently destroying itself from within. That our culture is on the decline morally. The trailer further misleads the American people when it posts this on the screen: "From the Academy Award winning director of Braveheart and The Passion of the Christ." He didn't win an award for the Passion let alone a nomination!

Suddenly THEY MAY TAKE OUR LIVES BUT THEY'LL NEVER TAKE OUR FREEDOM sounds like something Bush would say. Looking back at the titles of his movies, it occurs to me that maybe Mel has been working for the man all along. Lethal Weapon,The Patriot, Bird on a Wire, Maverick. Of course this could all just be a "Conspiracy Theory" because he was
also in a movie called "Air America."

4 Years of Liberal Arts Education: $150,000. An Uncanny Ability to Bullshit: Priceless.

Like probably several others on this blog, I went to an expensive liberal arts university (the very same one in fact!). With a big stress on the words "liberal" and "arts". Not so much "university". Or so I thought.

I spent the first couple of years halfheartedly trying to fulfill the few requirements there were. To this end I took and managed to pass both physics and astronomy. I am eternally proud of this fact. But that's where the facts end and the bullshit begins: I was an American Studies major, the most liberal major of them all. (To my credit, I think I was possibly the only Amst major who chose the department because I truly honestly was interested in the subject and methodology, and not just because of the flexible attitude they had towards credits. Although damn, that helped a lot) and I created my own major which was nice then, and continues to be nice now because it takes quite a bit of time trying to explain what a concentration in Nationalism & Transnationalism is exactly, so if I'm ever in an awkward social situation with nothing to say, I can always play that one up. But I digress....

Annnnnnyways, I finally have a job that makes me really pretty happy. (Word to the wise: I've discovered that most people don't actually like you when you're happy. My popularity at potlucks has plummeted since my depression began to wane...) and a lot of what I do at my job is write and edit grant reports and letters and briefs and stuff.

And I realized all of a sudden that, contrary to what I always thought, I actually owe any success I have to my liberal arts education! Even though I wasn't sure how those film and lit classes were going to ever help me, I'm starting to think that maybe in some strange way, they will. It turns out, the art of talking things up is surprisingly valuable! Which is awesome, because that's pretty much the only thing I know how to do at this point. So there you go. A public service announcement to anyone who is as lost as I have been:

Do not lose hope; become a grantwriter.

unacceptable

I am at work and my co-worker is currently listening to the radio. Now, this is something I normally don't mind. In fact, even in college and living with roommates, I was always the one that wanted to study with music on and if it was something I didn't care about, with TV. I like background noise.

But I do NOT like today's background noise. My co-worker is listening to the history of douche on the radio and now they are taking calls from women to hear their experiences with douche-ing. Am I right that this is wholly unacceptable to listen to at work? I mean, I'm all for inappropriate conversation and dirty, intimate details and I love Adam Corolla. It's not really the conversation that bothers me. It's the fact that I don't want to listen to this WITH my co-worker while I am trying to finish a personal injury settlement. The pros and cons of douche (I was taught there are only cons and douche-ing is really really bad) is bar talk best reserved for best girlfriends and effeminate boys, NOT pre-lunch, radio-listening at work.

A little NPR never killed anyone. I will now deal with the situation as passive aggressively as possible by tuning to an internet radio station that is turned up just loud enough to make having both stations on impracticable. And if the co-worker doesn't like it, she can go douche herself.