To hear the democrats tell it, electing them to office in November will guarantee an idyllic wonderland where all of our country's wounds are healed and we can host some sort of global beach party without everyone trying to blow each other up. It's like some wonderful fairy tale in their rhetoric. Like a cool glass of lemonade after a forced march through the desert.
It's hard to plan big in the way Obama is asking us to after the past eight years. We've tried to plan big and it failed. We've tried to plan small and those plans failed too. I feel like everything has failed. Every system we had in place has been broken, every law we've had to protect us has been tossed aside like so much scrap paper. This has been a rough eight years. There's been a lot of fear and a lot of hate mongering. And it's really difficult to just turn around after a week of speeches and confetti and say "Sure! I believe again! Let's fly to Never Never Land Barak!"
But I'm trying.
I know there is no perfect system. And I know that for all of his promises and slogans, electing Barak Obama is not going to be an instant fix for all of our woes both national and international. I know this is not going to be the Camelot his speech writers are painting for us. But it's got to be better than what we've had, than where we've been.
And even if all of his big plans turn into little plans at least I can feel good about those plans. And even if it takes three years instead of three months to make the kind of headway into reform that this country so desperately needs, at least there will be headway. And instead of feeling like we're falling backwards maybe we can finally feel like we're taking steps forward. As a country we were never meant to go backwards.
I don't do a lot of political pontificating here or anywhere really. I am not, generally, that well informed and I will defer to those who keep themselves politically educated . But this year I don't care anymore. I am maybe not the most politically minded person and I will not engage you in a debate even if you ask me nicely but this year I'm standing strong for the democrats. I'm standing strong for the Obama/Biden ticket. And if you ask me why I might not be very eloquent in my reasoning but in my heart and in my gut it's less about change I CAN believe in, it's about change I NEED to believe in.
And that's all I have to say about that.
Friday, August 29, 2008
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Hideous Edifice
*Please note: I’ve been working on this piece for about 3 months now and intend to edit it to include pictures of the titular Hideous Edifice but my camera has been broken and I just got it out of the shop.
The neighborhood we live in used to be fairly unassuming and functional. It shares a border with that hipper, edgier, artsy neighborhood where I used to help run a theater company. And, even in its prime, that neighborhood was pretty unassuming too. A blend of working class, artist and immigrant collectives, Wicker Park and Bucktown were the proving ground for Chicago’s emerging artist scene in the 90s when I moved here. No one but the broke artists really wanted to bunk in with the predominantly Hispanic and Polish working class who dominated the area back then. Rents on retail and work/live loft spaces were cheap and the streets were littered with buskers, itinerant hippies, skate punks and artists peddling wares out of abandoned doorways and backs of trucks. Sure, it was a little dangerous to walk around in the wee small hours back then but when else were you going to get free pickings from the donation boxes left outside the Salvation Army? Or stumble on an after-party that you were too drunk to go to but also too drunk to say no to?
There were liquor stores, convenience stores, coffee shops, thrift stores and used bookstores where you could get a reasonable facsimile of a cup of coffee for a buck while you browsed. (OK, to be fair the bookstore is still there but the employees are way more precious these days.) There was also Furniture Row, which is still in the last throes of being dismantled in favor of chic boutiques and upscale shoe stores. You could pretty much furnish your entire apartment for less than $1000 as long as you didn’t plan on any of the furniture lasting much longer than 2 years which probably worked out OK for a lot of people who found themselves priced out of area apartments after the millennium turned.
You could find prostitutes for all discerning tastes at any hour and Horchata flowed like water. There were no lines to get into The Double Door (unless someone dropped a dime on The Stones playing a secret show) and North Community Bank was the only stash hole for your money.
Ten years later it’s a whole different landscape.
First of all let’s talk about North Avenue, which has been overrun by the Japanese boutique chain, Akira. To be fair, I have no idea if it’s Japanese. I know it’s stupid and expensive and takes up way too many store fronts. Plus, if I keep thinking its Japanese I can continue to use my Godzilla allegory of how it’s taking over the whole damn neighborhood. Really though, how many perfectly good stores have to go out of business to make you happy Akira? Do we really need an Akira, Akira Men, Akira Shoes, Akira Accessories, Akira Men’s Shoes, Akira Men’s Accessories? And let’s not forget about the curtain draped storefront you use as a staging ground. Take your $350 jeans and scram you retail monster!
I suppose I shouldn’t complain about Piece Pizza. If it hadn’t gotten so popular and become such a beloved Yuppie/Hipster hangout it would probably be shuttered right now. Plus, there’s just no way a pizza place that good with such astonishing micro-brewed beer was going to stay under the radar for long. We had a good run though, a good few years when it was still a secret gem in a dodgy neighborhood. We could get free pitchers when the owner spotted us and we knew most of the wait staff. Now it’s just another player in the Friday Night Traffic Jam that makes me not want to leave my house. Luckily, they deliver now so I don’t even have to bother with the over served assholes who crowd the bar.
I can, however, totally complain about what happened to Damen Avenue.Years ago I attended a workshop by an Urban Planning Group which discussed the intended path of Chicago’s gentrification efforts. I sort of laughed it off when they said that the end goal was to have more neighborhoods that look like Old Town. Who the hell wants more Old Town neighborhoods? No one who lives there can afford to shop their neighborhood stores. No one who shops the neighborhood stores lives there and neither group of people cares to stop and give the time of day to each other. Piffle I said. No way was this going to happen to Wicker Park/Bucktown. The Artists would never let that happen. Oh but they totally did.
I feel like it all started with The Real World Chicago but that was just the beginning of the end. A year or so later when my theater company got priced out of the space we were renting (stupid, rotten, shitty nogoodnick slumlord asshole…ahem, I digress.) There were already signs that the neighborhood was on the Gentrification Upswing. First of all; all of the hookers were gone. Second of all; you could count on one hand the number of months it took for storefronts to turn over. Something would open in April and be closed by August. Another store, with a similar look would open in September and not make it through the winter. Spaces were getting pricier but there weren’t enough shoppers coming in to keep these newer, trendier stores afloat. Fluevog somehow abides however. Don’t look at me, I think those shoes are ugly AND overpriced. But, back to Damen Avenue:
Someone, somewhere totally flipped a switch and sent Damen Avenue reeling back to 1987 while I was out of town one weekend I think. All of a sudden walking home from the train is like walking through Roosevelt Field Mall trying to steer grandma towards Spencer’s Gifts. Except I would maybe be OK if someone opened a Spencer’s Gifts in the neighborhood, is that wrong?
Marc Jacobs was first and can someone please tell me why he’s trying to sell me cashmere in the middle of the summer? It ain’t gonna happen Marc. Next was the BCBG next door. All of the fashions and window dressings are straight out my less than illustrious junior high days –neon, simple geometric shapes and lots of cut outs. WTF? Who buys this stuff? Ohhhh right that would totally be YOU Ms. Double-Wide-Stroller-with-a-Venti-Mocha-Latte, and your ear attached to your cell phone. You are far from your North Shore McMansion. Scram.
Now there is also a LeSportSac store (people still buy those?) and the latest addition is – and I am not even kidding – a Dairy Queen/Orange Julius.
Look, I am not one to disparage a nice dish of ice cream by any means but I remember when every other door on this street opened into an art gallery. I remember when you could go dancing at Danny’s on a Thursday. I remember when you could go eat at a restaurant in the neighborhood and not need a reservation on a Tuesday night. I remember being the only table in Silver Cloud and that shit just does not happen anymore.
And I bought an Orange Julius the other day for the first time in probably 20 years (shut up, I’m old. I know.) It didn’t really taste very good which made me sad.
I know I know….Blah blah blah it’s inevitable. Stop complaining about it. It’s just as much your fault as anyone else’s you crazy white girl. But it’s not. I didn’t move into this ‘hood with expectations of better shopping. I didn’t buy a condo a block from a Catholic Mission and then complain about the “undesirables” who gather on the church steps. I didn’t come into this neighborhood and decide to destroy landmark buildings in favor of granite counter tops and Jacuzzi bathtubs. I moved into this neighborhood because it had flavor. It was real. It was, occasionally, very dirty and a very dangerous but it wasn’t all painted in ecru and masked with crown moldings like it is now. Do you know how obnoxious it is to feel like you have to get dressed up to go to the corner store for milk? Do you know how even more obnoxious it is when the corner store is a fancy food market where the milk costs more than $2 for a ½ gallon?
My The Fiancé, who grew up in a bad neighborhood and was not in Chicago during the heyday of Wicker Park/Bucktown doesn’t understand what I’m complaining about. He prefers the safe walk home and the fancy grocery stores. I can’t say I mind being able to buy a nice bottle of wine on my way home but I object to the total obliteration of the neighborhood feel. I am all for gentrification at a reasonable rate but this proliferation of international chains and body waxing salons is ridiculous when you stop to consider how many locally owned businesses have gone out of business in the last three years.
It just makes me mad and depressed that the wonderful little neighborhood I have called home for over 5 years has taken on the look of every other retail neighborhood in every other city, in every other state all over the country. I used to like living here because it was totally cool in its total uncoolness. Just like I used to love hanging out at Piece, and Danny’s, Las Palmas and The Artful Dodger (RIP) before the overdressed masses discovered all of these places. Now, when I go out into the neighborhood I might as well be anywhere. And if I might as well be anywhere, what am I doing here?
The neighborhood we live in used to be fairly unassuming and functional. It shares a border with that hipper, edgier, artsy neighborhood where I used to help run a theater company. And, even in its prime, that neighborhood was pretty unassuming too. A blend of working class, artist and immigrant collectives, Wicker Park and Bucktown were the proving ground for Chicago’s emerging artist scene in the 90s when I moved here. No one but the broke artists really wanted to bunk in with the predominantly Hispanic and Polish working class who dominated the area back then. Rents on retail and work/live loft spaces were cheap and the streets were littered with buskers, itinerant hippies, skate punks and artists peddling wares out of abandoned doorways and backs of trucks. Sure, it was a little dangerous to walk around in the wee small hours back then but when else were you going to get free pickings from the donation boxes left outside the Salvation Army? Or stumble on an after-party that you were too drunk to go to but also too drunk to say no to?
There were liquor stores, convenience stores, coffee shops, thrift stores and used bookstores where you could get a reasonable facsimile of a cup of coffee for a buck while you browsed. (OK, to be fair the bookstore is still there but the employees are way more precious these days.) There was also Furniture Row, which is still in the last throes of being dismantled in favor of chic boutiques and upscale shoe stores. You could pretty much furnish your entire apartment for less than $1000 as long as you didn’t plan on any of the furniture lasting much longer than 2 years which probably worked out OK for a lot of people who found themselves priced out of area apartments after the millennium turned.
You could find prostitutes for all discerning tastes at any hour and Horchata flowed like water. There were no lines to get into The Double Door (unless someone dropped a dime on The Stones playing a secret show) and North Community Bank was the only stash hole for your money.
Ten years later it’s a whole different landscape.
First of all let’s talk about North Avenue, which has been overrun by the Japanese boutique chain, Akira. To be fair, I have no idea if it’s Japanese. I know it’s stupid and expensive and takes up way too many store fronts. Plus, if I keep thinking its Japanese I can continue to use my Godzilla allegory of how it’s taking over the whole damn neighborhood. Really though, how many perfectly good stores have to go out of business to make you happy Akira? Do we really need an Akira, Akira Men, Akira Shoes, Akira Accessories, Akira Men’s Shoes, Akira Men’s Accessories? And let’s not forget about the curtain draped storefront you use as a staging ground. Take your $350 jeans and scram you retail monster!
I suppose I shouldn’t complain about Piece Pizza. If it hadn’t gotten so popular and become such a beloved Yuppie/Hipster hangout it would probably be shuttered right now. Plus, there’s just no way a pizza place that good with such astonishing micro-brewed beer was going to stay under the radar for long. We had a good run though, a good few years when it was still a secret gem in a dodgy neighborhood. We could get free pitchers when the owner spotted us and we knew most of the wait staff. Now it’s just another player in the Friday Night Traffic Jam that makes me not want to leave my house. Luckily, they deliver now so I don’t even have to bother with the over served assholes who crowd the bar.
I can, however, totally complain about what happened to Damen Avenue.Years ago I attended a workshop by an Urban Planning Group which discussed the intended path of Chicago’s gentrification efforts. I sort of laughed it off when they said that the end goal was to have more neighborhoods that look like Old Town. Who the hell wants more Old Town neighborhoods? No one who lives there can afford to shop their neighborhood stores. No one who shops the neighborhood stores lives there and neither group of people cares to stop and give the time of day to each other. Piffle I said. No way was this going to happen to Wicker Park/Bucktown. The Artists would never let that happen. Oh but they totally did.
I feel like it all started with The Real World Chicago but that was just the beginning of the end. A year or so later when my theater company got priced out of the space we were renting (stupid, rotten, shitty nogoodnick slumlord asshole…ahem, I digress.) There were already signs that the neighborhood was on the Gentrification Upswing. First of all; all of the hookers were gone. Second of all; you could count on one hand the number of months it took for storefronts to turn over. Something would open in April and be closed by August. Another store, with a similar look would open in September and not make it through the winter. Spaces were getting pricier but there weren’t enough shoppers coming in to keep these newer, trendier stores afloat. Fluevog somehow abides however. Don’t look at me, I think those shoes are ugly AND overpriced. But, back to Damen Avenue:
Someone, somewhere totally flipped a switch and sent Damen Avenue reeling back to 1987 while I was out of town one weekend I think. All of a sudden walking home from the train is like walking through Roosevelt Field Mall trying to steer grandma towards Spencer’s Gifts. Except I would maybe be OK if someone opened a Spencer’s Gifts in the neighborhood, is that wrong?
Marc Jacobs was first and can someone please tell me why he’s trying to sell me cashmere in the middle of the summer? It ain’t gonna happen Marc. Next was the BCBG next door. All of the fashions and window dressings are straight out my less than illustrious junior high days –neon, simple geometric shapes and lots of cut outs. WTF? Who buys this stuff? Ohhhh right that would totally be YOU Ms. Double-Wide-Stroller-with-a-Venti-Mocha-Latte, and your ear attached to your cell phone. You are far from your North Shore McMansion. Scram.
Now there is also a LeSportSac store (people still buy those?) and the latest addition is – and I am not even kidding – a Dairy Queen/Orange Julius.
Look, I am not one to disparage a nice dish of ice cream by any means but I remember when every other door on this street opened into an art gallery. I remember when you could go dancing at Danny’s on a Thursday. I remember when you could go eat at a restaurant in the neighborhood and not need a reservation on a Tuesday night. I remember being the only table in Silver Cloud and that shit just does not happen anymore.
And I bought an Orange Julius the other day for the first time in probably 20 years (shut up, I’m old. I know.) It didn’t really taste very good which made me sad.
I know I know….Blah blah blah it’s inevitable. Stop complaining about it. It’s just as much your fault as anyone else’s you crazy white girl. But it’s not. I didn’t move into this ‘hood with expectations of better shopping. I didn’t buy a condo a block from a Catholic Mission and then complain about the “undesirables” who gather on the church steps. I didn’t come into this neighborhood and decide to destroy landmark buildings in favor of granite counter tops and Jacuzzi bathtubs. I moved into this neighborhood because it had flavor. It was real. It was, occasionally, very dirty and a very dangerous but it wasn’t all painted in ecru and masked with crown moldings like it is now. Do you know how obnoxious it is to feel like you have to get dressed up to go to the corner store for milk? Do you know how even more obnoxious it is when the corner store is a fancy food market where the milk costs more than $2 for a ½ gallon?
My The Fiancé, who grew up in a bad neighborhood and was not in Chicago during the heyday of Wicker Park/Bucktown doesn’t understand what I’m complaining about. He prefers the safe walk home and the fancy grocery stores. I can’t say I mind being able to buy a nice bottle of wine on my way home but I object to the total obliteration of the neighborhood feel. I am all for gentrification at a reasonable rate but this proliferation of international chains and body waxing salons is ridiculous when you stop to consider how many locally owned businesses have gone out of business in the last three years.
It just makes me mad and depressed that the wonderful little neighborhood I have called home for over 5 years has taken on the look of every other retail neighborhood in every other city, in every other state all over the country. I used to like living here because it was totally cool in its total uncoolness. Just like I used to love hanging out at Piece, and Danny’s, Las Palmas and The Artful Dodger (RIP) before the overdressed masses discovered all of these places. Now, when I go out into the neighborhood I might as well be anywhere. And if I might as well be anywhere, what am I doing here?
Monday, August 25, 2008
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
This Is Me Breathing Into A Paper Bag
Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!Sixty Days!
Friday, July 25, 2008
Overheard In The Loop
AKA: Why, no matter how long I live here, I'll never be a Cubs fan.
"Look, Wrigley is a great place to hang out and talk. If there happens to be a game going on, that's a bonus."
Also? Kerry Wood is on the Disable List for a freakin BLISTER!
W.T.F?
That's gotta be a really, really, REALLY big blister. Don't you think?
Suck it up you giant baby.
- End Jen's views on sports.
"Look, Wrigley is a great place to hang out and talk. If there happens to be a game going on, that's a bonus."
Also? Kerry Wood is on the Disable List for a freakin BLISTER!
W.T.F?
That's gotta be a really, really, REALLY big blister. Don't you think?
Suck it up you giant baby.
- End Jen's views on sports.
Friday, July 18, 2008
Friday Morning Convo
K: I got your text this morning. Well, that's stupid that they're not running the train (out of O'Hare.) Does this make things extremely hard for you?
Me: No i'm totally cool. (Your) hotel is at Rosemont and that's where the trains are stopping. Track work. Nothing functions properly in Chicago, this city is such a wreck...I'm just going to head your way when I get off of work at 6:30pm and I'll call you when my train is getting close to the hotel.
K: Yay!! I'm doing some housework and watching a documentary on home births. Yikes. I'll tell you all about it later.
Me: Home births? What about dolphin births? Have you heard about those? Birthing with dolphins? I don't think i'd trust a dolphin to deliver my baby. No thumbs ya know.
K: But really supportive clicking sounds.
Me: No i'm totally cool. (Your) hotel is at Rosemont and that's where the trains are stopping. Track work. Nothing functions properly in Chicago, this city is such a wreck...I'm just going to head your way when I get off of work at 6:30pm and I'll call you when my train is getting close to the hotel.
K: Yay!! I'm doing some housework and watching a documentary on home births. Yikes. I'll tell you all about it later.
Me: Home births? What about dolphin births? Have you heard about those? Birthing with dolphins? I don't think i'd trust a dolphin to deliver my baby. No thumbs ya know.
K: But really supportive clicking sounds.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
OMG! NPH!
Why is Neil Patrick Harris the sexiest, singing gay ever?
Two words:
Dr. Horrible.
http://drhorrible.com/
Have you seen this yet? It's brilliantly funny. Funnier than most of the TV shows up for Emmys and I don't even mind all of the singing! Why? Because it is so hysterically funny and a little bit sad on so many levels I cannot count them all.
So, while you can totally watch Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along-Blog for (gloriously) free on the website, what you should reaaaaaallly do is pay the $3.99 to subscribe to the podcast on iTunes. 'Cause, remember that writers strike way back in last TV season? Yeah, this is the sort of thing they were arguing about. The viability of online content.
Would that my home internets were working (curse you AT&T and all of your technical support minions!) I would gladly pay for all three episodes, and then pay for them again when/if Joss Whedon decides to release them on DVD (please please please please?)
So that's my story and I am sticking to it.
Carry on.
Two words:
Dr. Horrible.
http://drhorrible.com/
Have you seen this yet? It's brilliantly funny. Funnier than most of the TV shows up for Emmys and I don't even mind all of the singing! Why? Because it is so hysterically funny and a little bit sad on so many levels I cannot count them all.
So, while you can totally watch Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along-Blog for (gloriously) free on the website, what you should reaaaaaallly do is pay the $3.99 to subscribe to the podcast on iTunes. 'Cause, remember that writers strike way back in last TV season? Yeah, this is the sort of thing they were arguing about. The viability of online content.
Would that my home internets were working (curse you AT&T and all of your technical support minions!) I would gladly pay for all three episodes, and then pay for them again when/if Joss Whedon decides to release them on DVD (please please please please?)
So that's my story and I am sticking to it.
Carry on.
Monday, July 14, 2008
I Know, I Know
"But Jen, where are all of your posts about planning your wedding?"
Well folks, to tell you the truth, I've been a bit busy actually PLANNING the wedding so I haven't really had time to write about it.
I promise I'm working on some entries and I'll post something more substantial sometime soon.
Now I gotta go back to tying ribbons onto invitations.
kthnxbai!
Well folks, to tell you the truth, I've been a bit busy actually PLANNING the wedding so I haven't really had time to write about it.
I promise I'm working on some entries and I'll post something more substantial sometime soon.
Now I gotta go back to tying ribbons onto invitations.
kthnxbai!
Friday, June 20, 2008
Summer Hours
I do not have them.
Instead I'm watching the weather out of the corner of the window that I can see from here in my cube. It's going to rain again soon I think.
I'm reading The Jane Austin Book Club right now and I suspect it would be more interesting to me if I had ever read any Austin with any amount of seriousness. But, I've never been an Austin fan. I find her comedies of manners boring and hard to follow. At least the characters in this book about the book club reading Jane Austin books are more interesting but I can't fathom hanging out with people who would join an exclusively Austin Book Club.
It's been a fairly random week. To wit, I actually cooked dinner last night. And that NEVER happens. I didn't do too bad, considering I haven't actually cooked a dinner in like a year. How bad can you screw up pork chops I ask you?
June, though, is a busy month. Birthdays and visitors and good weather finally arriving (torrential rains and flooding rivers being the exception this year.) On top of the usual mishegas, we're closing in on 3 months to the wedding and preparations are being stepped up.
I went to Barneys and had my make up done. It scared both myself and my The Fiance. But I did get lots of awesome free stuff and, you know, someone poking at my face for about an hour. Plus, it was pretty priceless getting to wander around the expensive part of Chicago. Me and Amy hobnobbing with the goobersmoochers looking all ritzy and overly made up.
And we finally booked a DJ. But, we have to provide him with a full playlist so yeah...4 hours worth of songs coming up. Requests anyone? And no, there will be no hokey pokey.
In other news, there is no other news. I am working on a longer, more coherent piece about the gentrificational demise of my neighborhood and will post that as soon as I figure out how to take out all of the cursing and get my camera fixed so I can post photos of the ugly buildings they keep putting up.
Instead I'm watching the weather out of the corner of the window that I can see from here in my cube. It's going to rain again soon I think.
I'm reading The Jane Austin Book Club right now and I suspect it would be more interesting to me if I had ever read any Austin with any amount of seriousness. But, I've never been an Austin fan. I find her comedies of manners boring and hard to follow. At least the characters in this book about the book club reading Jane Austin books are more interesting but I can't fathom hanging out with people who would join an exclusively Austin Book Club.
It's been a fairly random week. To wit, I actually cooked dinner last night. And that NEVER happens. I didn't do too bad, considering I haven't actually cooked a dinner in like a year. How bad can you screw up pork chops I ask you?
June, though, is a busy month. Birthdays and visitors and good weather finally arriving (torrential rains and flooding rivers being the exception this year.) On top of the usual mishegas, we're closing in on 3 months to the wedding and preparations are being stepped up.
I went to Barneys and had my make up done. It scared both myself and my The Fiance. But I did get lots of awesome free stuff and, you know, someone poking at my face for about an hour. Plus, it was pretty priceless getting to wander around the expensive part of Chicago. Me and Amy hobnobbing with the goobersmoochers looking all ritzy and overly made up.
And we finally booked a DJ. But, we have to provide him with a full playlist so yeah...4 hours worth of songs coming up. Requests anyone? And no, there will be no hokey pokey.
In other news, there is no other news. I am working on a longer, more coherent piece about the gentrificational demise of my neighborhood and will post that as soon as I figure out how to take out all of the cursing and get my camera fixed so I can post photos of the ugly buildings they keep putting up.
Thursday, June 05, 2008
Things I Thought To Think Today
I'm not sure which is the greater evil on the part of Bank of America: That they've completely overtaken my neighborhood or that they hired Kiefer Sutherland to do voiceovers for their commercials. Because, in so much as I'd pretty much do almost anything he told me, having Kiefer tell me to bank with BoA almost makes it palatable.
I worry sometimes that I lapse into Aramaic or some other dead language at home. Somehow when I say "I'd just like a chicken breast and spinach for dinner tonight please, honey." It translates to "I'd like a pile of macaroni and cheese with bacon, cheddar and spinach in it. And a piece of chicken if you think to defrost one."
Pro: It tastes really good.
Con: It tastes really good. (Damnit)
Poorly produced anti-smoking PSAs really just make me want to smoke more.
No matter how hard I try to make my salad taste like pizza it will never, ever actually be a pizza. And that makes me sad at lunch. And also after lunch. And sometimes at around 10:30am when I start thinking about lunch.
Although, I have to say, a good splash of pink grapefruit juice and a pinch of cayenne pepper does make for a good salad dressing.
Frozen pizza will never ever ever be good for me but I just don't care.
As much as I could use a million dollars I just don't think either of our cats would put up with a flight to Los Angeles. Scratch that, I don't even think they could stand a trip downtown. Although the Allegro is preeeettty fancy. I bet Beatrice would like that hotel.
Chicago's over-crowded mass transit system would benefit from some horizontal bars for people to hold onto in train cars.
The world is run by monkeys and I am just a pawn in their retarded game of chess that they play on a Monopoly board. Get your hands off me you damn, dirty apes.
They are taking far too long to build out the Dairy Queen/Orange Julius store down the street. How do you build a "green" store anyway? Are they waiting for solar panels or perhaps wind-powered generators to install on the roof? I don't care. I want my Orange Julius!
We might be in way over our heads on this "sure we'll provide you with a complete play list for the wedding Mr. DJ" thing we agreed to. Sigh. Better that than doing The Macarana in a wedding dress I guess.
Oh, crap. I have to get my gown fitted.
I worry sometimes that I lapse into Aramaic or some other dead language at home. Somehow when I say "I'd just like a chicken breast and spinach for dinner tonight please, honey." It translates to "I'd like a pile of macaroni and cheese with bacon, cheddar and spinach in it. And a piece of chicken if you think to defrost one."
Pro: It tastes really good.
Con: It tastes really good. (Damnit)
Poorly produced anti-smoking PSAs really just make me want to smoke more.
No matter how hard I try to make my salad taste like pizza it will never, ever actually be a pizza. And that makes me sad at lunch. And also after lunch. And sometimes at around 10:30am when I start thinking about lunch.
Although, I have to say, a good splash of pink grapefruit juice and a pinch of cayenne pepper does make for a good salad dressing.
Frozen pizza will never ever ever be good for me but I just don't care.
As much as I could use a million dollars I just don't think either of our cats would put up with a flight to Los Angeles. Scratch that, I don't even think they could stand a trip downtown. Although the Allegro is preeeettty fancy. I bet Beatrice would like that hotel.
Chicago's over-crowded mass transit system would benefit from some horizontal bars for people to hold onto in train cars.
The world is run by monkeys and I am just a pawn in their retarded game of chess that they play on a Monopoly board. Get your hands off me you damn, dirty apes.
They are taking far too long to build out the Dairy Queen/Orange Julius store down the street. How do you build a "green" store anyway? Are they waiting for solar panels or perhaps wind-powered generators to install on the roof? I don't care. I want my Orange Julius!
We might be in way over our heads on this "sure we'll provide you with a complete play list for the wedding Mr. DJ" thing we agreed to. Sigh. Better that than doing The Macarana in a wedding dress I guess.
Oh, crap. I have to get my gown fitted.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
The Mushy Food Diet
So I had a couple of wisdom teeth out on Friday, top and bottom on the left side. My Maxillofacial Surgeon (fancy name for Dentist With Scary Instruments & Good Drugs) offered to take out the ones on the right side as well but I figured two gaping holes in my mouth were enough for one week, thank you very much.
I have a slightly irrational fear of dentists. That admission may come as a surprise to some of you, but probably not. I'm pretty tough but there's something about being immobilized while someone sticks their hands in my mouth sends me into fits of anxiety and hyperventilation. Also, it hurts. Possibly even worse than the pain are the noises that happen IN YOUR MOUTH. It totally freaks me out. Man.
Anyway. This whole extraction thing wasn't as bad as it could have been. For one thing I totally paid out of pocket for them to put me to sleep. And that's the pretty much the only reason it wasn't so bad. They put a lovely, vanilla flavored nitrous mask on me. We made a joke about my conveniently placed tattoo and that's all I remember until my friend Megan was standing next to me about an hour later.
It's not like it's painless though. They sent me home with two types of painkillers, some antibiotics and a double-sided sheet on post-op instructions. Allow me to paraphrase:
1. Take pain pills when the ones you took before start to wear off.
2. You wont be able to chew anything so just don't try to eat anything substantial for a while.
The one actual instruction that I really enjoyed though was:
3. Do not make any important decisions. You may change your mind tomorrow.
It's funny because it's true.
I spent most of the weekend doped up on pills and eating pudding cups. I watched/nodded off to at least 5 movies and I couldn't even tell you now what movies they were. I was completely out of action on Friday after the surgery and then on Saturday I felt OK. I went over to a friend's house and helped with the spring gardening and then went to a variety show some friends of mine were performing in. When I woke up on Sunday though, I discovered that they weren't kidding about peak pain and swelling happening 48 hours after surgery. I stayed in bed and dosed myself all day. Blerg. It sucked! No eating on Sunday for Jen. Except for, you know, a couple of pudding cups. I am now pretty officially sick of pudding cups. Not completely though. I'm probably going to eat one later.
It still hurts. Not as badly as it did Sunday, or even yesterday but it's definitely sore. I ate some chicken for dinner tonight though so that's a plus. I'm looking forward to the time when I can enjoy a nice, crisp green bean again. Ahhh vegetables. Who knew I'd miss them though? Today, I was at the farmer's market and the first asparagus of the season were out and they were so lovely looking. But, I know it's going to be at least until the weekend before I can even think about chowing down on some tenderly steamed veg. It will be a good day.
I'm glad those two teeth are gone. When they showed them to me after the extraction I had to admit, they were pretty rotten. I wanted to save them, perhaps as a lesson to any future children. "Look, see? You better brush your teeth. This is what they'll look like if you don't!" My The Fiance was totally grossed out by them and threw them away when the only energy I could muster as protest was "mlaarggfff." So, they're gone now. But trust me, they were diiiiisgusting.
So here's the wisdom I gleaned from this experience:
Floss.
When, at the age of 18 or so, your dentist suggests you have your wisdom teeth out, do it.
That is all. Puddin' time!
I have a slightly irrational fear of dentists. That admission may come as a surprise to some of you, but probably not. I'm pretty tough but there's something about being immobilized while someone sticks their hands in my mouth sends me into fits of anxiety and hyperventilation. Also, it hurts. Possibly even worse than the pain are the noises that happen IN YOUR MOUTH. It totally freaks me out. Man.
Anyway. This whole extraction thing wasn't as bad as it could have been. For one thing I totally paid out of pocket for them to put me to sleep. And that's the pretty much the only reason it wasn't so bad. They put a lovely, vanilla flavored nitrous mask on me. We made a joke about my conveniently placed tattoo and that's all I remember until my friend Megan was standing next to me about an hour later.
It's not like it's painless though. They sent me home with two types of painkillers, some antibiotics and a double-sided sheet on post-op instructions. Allow me to paraphrase:
1. Take pain pills when the ones you took before start to wear off.
2. You wont be able to chew anything so just don't try to eat anything substantial for a while.
The one actual instruction that I really enjoyed though was:
3. Do not make any important decisions. You may change your mind tomorrow.
It's funny because it's true.
I spent most of the weekend doped up on pills and eating pudding cups. I watched/nodded off to at least 5 movies and I couldn't even tell you now what movies they were. I was completely out of action on Friday after the surgery and then on Saturday I felt OK. I went over to a friend's house and helped with the spring gardening and then went to a variety show some friends of mine were performing in. When I woke up on Sunday though, I discovered that they weren't kidding about peak pain and swelling happening 48 hours after surgery. I stayed in bed and dosed myself all day. Blerg. It sucked! No eating on Sunday for Jen. Except for, you know, a couple of pudding cups. I am now pretty officially sick of pudding cups. Not completely though. I'm probably going to eat one later.
It still hurts. Not as badly as it did Sunday, or even yesterday but it's definitely sore. I ate some chicken for dinner tonight though so that's a plus. I'm looking forward to the time when I can enjoy a nice, crisp green bean again. Ahhh vegetables. Who knew I'd miss them though? Today, I was at the farmer's market and the first asparagus of the season were out and they were so lovely looking. But, I know it's going to be at least until the weekend before I can even think about chowing down on some tenderly steamed veg. It will be a good day.
I'm glad those two teeth are gone. When they showed them to me after the extraction I had to admit, they were pretty rotten. I wanted to save them, perhaps as a lesson to any future children. "Look, see? You better brush your teeth. This is what they'll look like if you don't!" My The Fiance was totally grossed out by them and threw them away when the only energy I could muster as protest was "mlaarggfff." So, they're gone now. But trust me, they were diiiiisgusting.
So here's the wisdom I gleaned from this experience:
Floss.
When, at the age of 18 or so, your dentist suggests you have your wisdom teeth out, do it.
That is all. Puddin' time!
Sunday, May 04, 2008
Late Breaking News
Chicago - It was revealed last night that lesser known member of The Wu-Tang Clan, U-God (born Lamont Jody Hawkins) is actually the directorial talent behind one of the decade's most celebrated films, "The Lord Of The Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring." While sources remain unverified at this time, U-God was the topic of extensive conversation at the Fakeo De Cinquo De Mayo Party. And was mentioned in relation to the film. So, that has mean something, right?
U-God has rarely been spotted outside of his secret Shao Lin Chateau in recent years. Although absent from the party he received an unprecedented amount of attention. In an attempt to revitalize the rap artist's career, talks proceeded to sign him onto an endorsement deal for Burgerritos (TM) (C) (Patent Pending).
Burgerritos are projected to be this summer's hot, new backyard barbecue menu item. A grilled cheese burger, topped with black bean dip, guacamole, salsa and rotel dip is then lovingly swaddled in a flour tortilla before being enjoyed.
Some of the key components to the Burgerrito are the American Cheese slice and the rotel dip. However, the ingredients of said dip were not made available for publication.
Party goers are said to have enjoyed an excess of Burgerritos and they were universally proclaimed as "the fucking shit, dude!"
Once a deal with U-God is settled, expect an early summer role out of the product. Which will be available anywhere someone finds a bag of flour tortillas in their fridge underneath the chopped meat they're about the throw on the grill.
U-God has rarely been spotted outside of his secret Shao Lin Chateau in recent years. Although absent from the party he received an unprecedented amount of attention. In an attempt to revitalize the rap artist's career, talks proceeded to sign him onto an endorsement deal for Burgerritos (TM) (C) (Patent Pending).
Burgerritos are projected to be this summer's hot, new backyard barbecue menu item. A grilled cheese burger, topped with black bean dip, guacamole, salsa and rotel dip is then lovingly swaddled in a flour tortilla before being enjoyed.
Some of the key components to the Burgerrito are the American Cheese slice and the rotel dip. However, the ingredients of said dip were not made available for publication.
Party goers are said to have enjoyed an excess of Burgerritos and they were universally proclaimed as "the fucking shit, dude!"
Once a deal with U-God is settled, expect an early summer role out of the product. Which will be available anywhere someone finds a bag of flour tortillas in their fridge underneath the chopped meat they're about the throw on the grill.
Friday, April 11, 2008
6 Months!
You guys I’m totally going to be a married lady in six months! Exactly six months from right…NOW my The Fiancé and I will be standing up in front of a room full of people making the whole thing official. It’s all so wonderful and nerve wracking at the same time.
There are so many pieces of the puzzle that is a wedding that are starting to come together and so many pieces that we have yet to even recognize right now. It’s overwhelming and now I know why all of our productions needed a stage manager! Keeping all of the odds and ends all together seems ridiculously impossible. My life is a series of lists right now. Everywhere I go, if I’m sitting still for more than two minutes I’m devising another list of things that need to get done, things that need to be bought, people with whom we need to follow up before these last six months slip away from us much like all of 2007 seems to have slipped away.
I may have lost track of the year but 2007 did teach me some things that I love, and some things that I loathe about this whole getting’ hitched par-tay we have coming up.
Pro: Oooh! Gifties!
Con: Feeling guilty about all of the people who didn’t get wedding gifts from me because I was broke at the time of their nuptials.
Pro: Pretty, pretty dress!
Con: Working out and dieting to look pretty in the pretty, pretty dress. I’ve never been so bored by salads before. There is seriously a week of nothing but burgers, fries, wings, beer and pizza six months ahead of me here.
Pro: PARTY!
Con: Planning. Even a “planner” like me gets tired of the constant vigilance it takes to ensure vendors and suppliers are all on point. Where’s MY stage manager??
Pro: Happily Ever After (!)
Con: The walk down the aisle to get there. I am only slightly terrified by the idea of all eyes on me. There, I said it. Mock me if you will, but there is a reason I went into management and not acting and the reason is rushing up on me right now. So, you know, if anyone catches Amy giving me a discreet push down the aisle it has nothing to do with doubts and everything to do with ALL OF THE EYES! THEIR EYES! STOP LOOKING AT ME! And my knees totally buckling out from underneath me.
Pro: New Orleans rocks.
Con: Now all we have to do is get everyone we know down to New Orleans. Actually this isn’t that much of a con cause, you know, it IS New Orleans. And, even if you aren’t into gambling, drinking, eating seafood or generally having a great time in a beautiful, historic city, it’s hella cheaper than trying to get everyone to New York or even Chicago. Plus, did I mention the gambling, drinking, eating seafood and generally having a great time? Yeah, you can do that there.
All in all, I suppose we are in a pretty good place six months out. And I think my biggest challenge will be to not worry myself unto death about all of these things over the next 183 days (183 days?? I like the sound of 6 months way better. I should maybe learn to avoid theknot.com or embrace it wholly because this half and half thing I’m doing right now is going to make me crazy I think.) Because it’s the over thinking that is a) part of my genetic make up and b) what will totally make me insane.
I think I’m ready for my drinky bachelorette party now. Can we do that? I need a drink. 183 days? WTF?? Seriously TheKnot, what are you trying to do to me here?
There are so many pieces of the puzzle that is a wedding that are starting to come together and so many pieces that we have yet to even recognize right now. It’s overwhelming and now I know why all of our productions needed a stage manager! Keeping all of the odds and ends all together seems ridiculously impossible. My life is a series of lists right now. Everywhere I go, if I’m sitting still for more than two minutes I’m devising another list of things that need to get done, things that need to be bought, people with whom we need to follow up before these last six months slip away from us much like all of 2007 seems to have slipped away.
I may have lost track of the year but 2007 did teach me some things that I love, and some things that I loathe about this whole getting’ hitched par-tay we have coming up.
Pro: Oooh! Gifties!
Con: Feeling guilty about all of the people who didn’t get wedding gifts from me because I was broke at the time of their nuptials.
Pro: Pretty, pretty dress!
Con: Working out and dieting to look pretty in the pretty, pretty dress. I’ve never been so bored by salads before. There is seriously a week of nothing but burgers, fries, wings, beer and pizza six months ahead of me here.
Pro: PARTY!
Con: Planning. Even a “planner” like me gets tired of the constant vigilance it takes to ensure vendors and suppliers are all on point. Where’s MY stage manager??
Pro: Happily Ever After (!)
Con: The walk down the aisle to get there. I am only slightly terrified by the idea of all eyes on me. There, I said it. Mock me if you will, but there is a reason I went into management and not acting and the reason is rushing up on me right now. So, you know, if anyone catches Amy giving me a discreet push down the aisle it has nothing to do with doubts and everything to do with ALL OF THE EYES! THEIR EYES! STOP LOOKING AT ME! And my knees totally buckling out from underneath me.
Pro: New Orleans rocks.
Con: Now all we have to do is get everyone we know down to New Orleans. Actually this isn’t that much of a con cause, you know, it IS New Orleans. And, even if you aren’t into gambling, drinking, eating seafood or generally having a great time in a beautiful, historic city, it’s hella cheaper than trying to get everyone to New York or even Chicago. Plus, did I mention the gambling, drinking, eating seafood and generally having a great time? Yeah, you can do that there.
All in all, I suppose we are in a pretty good place six months out. And I think my biggest challenge will be to not worry myself unto death about all of these things over the next 183 days (183 days?? I like the sound of 6 months way better. I should maybe learn to avoid theknot.com or embrace it wholly because this half and half thing I’m doing right now is going to make me crazy I think.) Because it’s the over thinking that is a) part of my genetic make up and b) what will totally make me insane.
I think I’m ready for my drinky bachelorette party now. Can we do that? I need a drink. 183 days? WTF?? Seriously TheKnot, what are you trying to do to me here?
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Got Time?
The last 10 minutes of the work day are the longest ten minutes ever.
Unless you count the previous 10 minutes.
Or, really, any unit of time measurement when related to a rainy, cold, hungover day at the office.
blech.
ticktockticktockticktockticktockticktockticktockticktockticktockticktockticktockticktockticktocktick
Unless you count the previous 10 minutes.
Or, really, any unit of time measurement when related to a rainy, cold, hungover day at the office.
blech.
ticktockticktockticktockticktockticktockticktockticktockticktockticktockticktockticktockticktocktick
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
What Are Words Worth?
OK, listen up you guys there's something bugging me and I think it's time we opened up a discourse about it. There's a lot going on in the wide world these days; war, famine, genocide, political pandering. It's not like there's a shortage of drama out there. And yet, we seem bent on creating drama where there isn't any, seeing monsters in closets where there are only clothes.
I read a lot. And a lot of what I've been reading lately has really gotten my ire up. It's a pretty useless waste of energy considering I don't know any of the people who have been writing these histrionic things. Nor do they seem like the type of people who can be easily persuaded to see opposing points of view. They seem more like the type of people who project their own mental and emotional issues onto situations where they may, or may not have any basis in actuality.
First of all there's this:
http://www.usatoday.com/life/people/2008-03-24-vogue-controversy_N.htm?csp=34
Poor LeBron. They just called him a giant ape! What the hell?
LeBron James is a badass basketball player. When he dunks a ball that thing stays dunked, dude. He is big and strong and yes, he is a black man. I know that's an oddity on the cover of Vogue but is it really helping matters by putting racial overtones on it? Personally I don't see anything wrong with this photo. I think I would have more of an issue if they put him in a trendy suit and had him sipping tea out of a flowered mug.
This photo of LeBron embodies the spirit he brings to the game. If I could play basketball like LeBron James I would probably roar more often too. But some people out there have raised a ruckus and turned it into the dreaded R Word. Racism. Really? Because I'm pretty sure that if you look at this photo and the first thing you think is "LeBron James is a giant, black ape menacing that pretty white lady" it says more about you than it does about Annie Leibovitz's photo. Gisele Bundchen sure as hell doesn't look menaced in this picture.
People, there is no reason for this hypersensitivity. Like I said, there are enough real world outrages out there for everyone. We don't need to invent offenses. In fact, the more of these things we pull out of left field, the less we pay attention to the real racism facing our society.
So, can we stop talking about this already?
Sigh.
The other thing that's really been bothering me lately is the state of feminism. It's no secret that I've always had issues with the word "feminist." I think that damn word got hijacked somewhere around the second wave because I don't really feel as though modern feminists have a sane grasp on it.
Feminism is about having strength in your own opinions, make decisions independently and knowing that you don't need to depend on relationships to define yourself as a person. Conveniently these are also the criteria for being a, you know, regular old adult human being. Which, in the beginning, was what feminism was all about. Equality. Starting unfounded witch hunts and labeling things as "misogynist" doesn't actually make it so. Nor does it help the cause at all.
Which is why this (via pajiba.com and galleyslaves) made me so mad. I'm just going to come right out and say it: This bitch is fucked up.
And I'm not being a misogynist. I just think she's insane. OK that's maybe a little harsh. She obviously has "issues" and has found a convenient screen on which to project the hell out of them.
Look, I like Joss Whedon. I'm not going to go so far as to proclaim him the next feminist messiah or anything but I'm pretty sure he's not the wife raping, misogynistic monster this lesbian feminist has made him out to be. It is also distressing that she seems to have a lot of people agreeing with her. However, she also seems to have a pretty strict comment blocking policy so we'll never actually know what her readers think. I do know the pajiba.com commenters are having a field day with it.
Reading this makes me wonder what they're teaching in college these days. But, then I remember the Women's Studies classes I took in college and how short lived that curriculum was for me. I almost got kicked out of my Women In Literature class for disagreeing with the professor. I have always disagreed on a fundamental level with a lot of the ideas espoused by the radical feminist sect.
I know that the womyn, wimmin and women of this world are constantly struggling on various levels all across the planet to be held in a greater regard as human beings. I know that there are atrocities committed against women that have been ongoing for generations. As far back as the human language goes, in some cases, if not farther. But, I also know that identifying everything as part of an oppressive, patriarchal conspiracy and venerating women just for the sake of being women isn't going to help anyone.
I recognize that there is validity to a lot of feminist theories. But this contrived piece of thought has little basis in Joss Whedon's actual body of work. This is all about the author and her personal experiences as she filters them through characters on a television show. Which is fine, it's her journal, she can write what she wants. But I still think she's way off base with this analysis.
I guess that's the blessing and the curse of the internet. Free to write, free to read.
...But I digress...
I'm really just tired of every interest group trying to put me on high alert for every shiny thing that catches their eye. You dilute the issues and the message you are trying to convey if everything falls under the banner of your cause. By making irrational statements you invalidate any rational statements you make.
In the case of the Vogue cover, disseminating the idea that it is racist perpetuates racism and is more racist than that photograph could ever be. You're telling us to see it in a racist light and that is irresponsible journalism at the least.
I'm not sure which is worse actually - perpetuating racism or devaluing rape by suggesting that all male-initiated sex is rape, as the author of that journal does.
Shame on them all though.
There, I feel better. Now I can go to bed.
I read a lot. And a lot of what I've been reading lately has really gotten my ire up. It's a pretty useless waste of energy considering I don't know any of the people who have been writing these histrionic things. Nor do they seem like the type of people who can be easily persuaded to see opposing points of view. They seem more like the type of people who project their own mental and emotional issues onto situations where they may, or may not have any basis in actuality.
First of all there's this:
http://www.usatoday.com/life/people/2008-03-24-vogue-controversy_N.htm?csp=34
Poor LeBron. They just called him a giant ape! What the hell?
LeBron James is a badass basketball player. When he dunks a ball that thing stays dunked, dude. He is big and strong and yes, he is a black man. I know that's an oddity on the cover of Vogue but is it really helping matters by putting racial overtones on it? Personally I don't see anything wrong with this photo. I think I would have more of an issue if they put him in a trendy suit and had him sipping tea out of a flowered mug.
This photo of LeBron embodies the spirit he brings to the game. If I could play basketball like LeBron James I would probably roar more often too. But some people out there have raised a ruckus and turned it into the dreaded R Word. Racism. Really? Because I'm pretty sure that if you look at this photo and the first thing you think is "LeBron James is a giant, black ape menacing that pretty white lady" it says more about you than it does about Annie Leibovitz's photo. Gisele Bundchen sure as hell doesn't look menaced in this picture.
People, there is no reason for this hypersensitivity. Like I said, there are enough real world outrages out there for everyone. We don't need to invent offenses. In fact, the more of these things we pull out of left field, the less we pay attention to the real racism facing our society.
So, can we stop talking about this already?
Sigh.
The other thing that's really been bothering me lately is the state of feminism. It's no secret that I've always had issues with the word "feminist." I think that damn word got hijacked somewhere around the second wave because I don't really feel as though modern feminists have a sane grasp on it.
Feminism is about having strength in your own opinions, make decisions independently and knowing that you don't need to depend on relationships to define yourself as a person. Conveniently these are also the criteria for being a, you know, regular old adult human being. Which, in the beginning, was what feminism was all about. Equality. Starting unfounded witch hunts and labeling things as "misogynist" doesn't actually make it so. Nor does it help the cause at all.
Which is why this (via pajiba.com and galleyslaves) made me so mad. I'm just going to come right out and say it: This bitch is fucked up.
And I'm not being a misogynist. I just think she's insane. OK that's maybe a little harsh. She obviously has "issues" and has found a convenient screen on which to project the hell out of them.
Look, I like Joss Whedon. I'm not going to go so far as to proclaim him the next feminist messiah or anything but I'm pretty sure he's not the wife raping, misogynistic monster this lesbian feminist has made him out to be. It is also distressing that she seems to have a lot of people agreeing with her. However, she also seems to have a pretty strict comment blocking policy so we'll never actually know what her readers think. I do know the pajiba.com commenters are having a field day with it.
Reading this makes me wonder what they're teaching in college these days. But, then I remember the Women's Studies classes I took in college and how short lived that curriculum was for me. I almost got kicked out of my Women In Literature class for disagreeing with the professor. I have always disagreed on a fundamental level with a lot of the ideas espoused by the radical feminist sect.
I know that the womyn, wimmin and women of this world are constantly struggling on various levels all across the planet to be held in a greater regard as human beings. I know that there are atrocities committed against women that have been ongoing for generations. As far back as the human language goes, in some cases, if not farther. But, I also know that identifying everything as part of an oppressive, patriarchal conspiracy and venerating women just for the sake of being women isn't going to help anyone.
I recognize that there is validity to a lot of feminist theories. But this contrived piece of thought has little basis in Joss Whedon's actual body of work. This is all about the author and her personal experiences as she filters them through characters on a television show. Which is fine, it's her journal, she can write what she wants. But I still think she's way off base with this analysis.
I guess that's the blessing and the curse of the internet. Free to write, free to read.
...But I digress...
I'm really just tired of every interest group trying to put me on high alert for every shiny thing that catches their eye. You dilute the issues and the message you are trying to convey if everything falls under the banner of your cause. By making irrational statements you invalidate any rational statements you make.
In the case of the Vogue cover, disseminating the idea that it is racist perpetuates racism and is more racist than that photograph could ever be. You're telling us to see it in a racist light and that is irresponsible journalism at the least.
I'm not sure which is worse actually - perpetuating racism or devaluing rape by suggesting that all male-initiated sex is rape, as the author of that journal does.
Shame on them all though.
There, I feel better. Now I can go to bed.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Hardest. List. Evah.
You guys, I totally finished my list of my Most Favoritest Songs of all time!
And I stopped myself at 25!
With respects to a number artists, musicians and The Flying Purple People Eater, here is the list of my all time, top 25 favorite songs of ALL TIME:
1. Johnny B Good – Chuck Berry
2. Superstition – Stevie Wonder
3. Hey Jude – The Beatles
4. Joy To The World – 3 Dog Night
5. Get It Together – Beastie Boys
6. Sloop John B – Beach Boys
7. Me & Julio Down By The School Yard – Paul Simon
8. Rock N’ Roll Radio – The Ramones
9. Filipino Box Spring Hog – Tom Waits
10. Untouchable Face – Ani DiFranco
11. Lithium - Nirvana
12. I Love Paris – Les Negresses Vertes
13. Talk To Me Summer – Screeching Weasel
14. Parachute – Something Happens
15. I Don’t Want To Grow Up – Holly Cole
16. Roller Skating Jam Called Saturday – De La Soul
17. Very First Lie – Material Issue
18. Stewart – Dead Milkmen
19. Handle Me With Care – Traveling Wilburys
20. I Don’t Care About You – Fear
21. Baba O’Reilly – The Who
22. Cult of Personality – Living Color
23. Smack Water Jack – Carol King
24. Criminal – Fiona Apple
25. La Croisade Des Enfants – Higelin Jacques
After completing this list I think the hardest part was actually resisting the urge to explain all of my choices. Every one of these songs has a story, or at least a really good reason why it's resonating in my head. I could tell you. But I wont. Unless you ask.
And, for those of you with an unquenchable thirst for archaic music knowledge check out http://dgmusicmachine.wordpress.com/ where a bunch of my work peeps totally geeked out over music together.
Happy Leap Year!
And I stopped myself at 25!
With respects to a number artists, musicians and The Flying Purple People Eater, here is the list of my all time, top 25 favorite songs of ALL TIME:
1. Johnny B Good – Chuck Berry
2. Superstition – Stevie Wonder
3. Hey Jude – The Beatles
4. Joy To The World – 3 Dog Night
5. Get It Together – Beastie Boys
6. Sloop John B – Beach Boys
7. Me & Julio Down By The School Yard – Paul Simon
8. Rock N’ Roll Radio – The Ramones
9. Filipino Box Spring Hog – Tom Waits
10. Untouchable Face – Ani DiFranco
11. Lithium - Nirvana
12. I Love Paris – Les Negresses Vertes
13. Talk To Me Summer – Screeching Weasel
14. Parachute – Something Happens
15. I Don’t Want To Grow Up – Holly Cole
16. Roller Skating Jam Called Saturday – De La Soul
17. Very First Lie – Material Issue
18. Stewart – Dead Milkmen
19. Handle Me With Care – Traveling Wilburys
20. I Don’t Care About You – Fear
21. Baba O’Reilly – The Who
22. Cult of Personality – Living Color
23. Smack Water Jack – Carol King
24. Criminal – Fiona Apple
25. La Croisade Des Enfants – Higelin Jacques
After completing this list I think the hardest part was actually resisting the urge to explain all of my choices. Every one of these songs has a story, or at least a really good reason why it's resonating in my head. I could tell you. But I wont. Unless you ask.
And, for those of you with an unquenchable thirst for archaic music knowledge check out http://dgmusicmachine.wordpress.com/ where a bunch of my work peeps totally geeked out over music together.
Happy Leap Year!
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Of All Time
A friend of mine asked me on Friday to put together my top 20 list of favorite songs and I've been thinking about it ever since. I'm already preoccupied with the issue of music. I'm having wedding DJ anxiety so, every song I hear is automatically weighted in relation to the wedding reception play list. But now there's this whole other level to it and that's...uh, two levels too many.
Music is hard to qualify. My favorite song is so dependent on my mood and the environment, the list is in constant drift between genres and artists. Once I am able to pare down the thousands to twenty do I need to distinguish their ranking? Does the number one song have to be The Number One Song? I'm a little scared to put that in writing. I mean, at one point in my life "Purple People Eater" would have held that position. I don't know if I can still say that, although it may still have to go on the list somewhere. I love that song. (Can I play that at the wedding?)
I guess I can start by artist. There are some that are on there by default: The Beatles...OK, there is one band that is on the list by default. Hell, The Beatles could be all of my Top 20, and I'm not even kidding about that. I am going to diversify though because, to be fair, I couldn't spend the rest of my life only listening to The Beatles so obviously there are other artists I love.
I love, I love, I love...Tom Waits. I love Ani. Nirvana. The Ramones. But I don't know if I can say with absolute devotion that there are other artists that I would place among the pantheon, above of all others. I really like Chuck Berry. And I really like Carol King. The Doors are sometimes good. And then there's that whole thing about The Rolling Stones and The Beach Boys. And how if, you know, you really loooove The Beatles, neither of those other two bands are ever really going to cut it? Sure, they've got some good tracks but they'll never be The Beatles. I guess there could be a song by each of those two on the Top 20. I can't deny them as great bands.
I think De La Soul is fantastic. They always get me up out of my seat. Does that qualify them as one of my favorites? There could be a lot of really sad songs on this list. But should songs that I listen to when I'm sad, or to make myself sad be included in a list of Top 20? I don't think so. That doesn't seem right. God knows I don't need music to be depressed. And certainly depressing music doesn't do much to cheer me up. It's usually music to wallow by, if you know what I mean. Maybe I should stick to the music that appeals to the more rhythmic and upbeat part of my nature. It's good to feel good, ya know? Music should make you feel good. Relaxed, maybe a little loose. Get up on the tables and dance a little bit!
Let's not let me get carried away. Some of the music I like to dance to probably should be placed at least 20 yards away from this list. This list should get a restraining order against some of the music I like to dance to. But, I think it is safe to say that all of my favorite music is music that makes me feel good. And, look at that, it doesn't even knock Depeche Mode out of contention. Sweet.
OK, so The List is doable. I'm going to think about it for a little while longer. Once I get it figured out I'll post it. I know you all must be in a lather of anticipation over this, you multitudes of fans and readers, so I'll try to step on it.
Music is hard to qualify. My favorite song is so dependent on my mood and the environment, the list is in constant drift between genres and artists. Once I am able to pare down the thousands to twenty do I need to distinguish their ranking? Does the number one song have to be The Number One Song? I'm a little scared to put that in writing. I mean, at one point in my life "Purple People Eater" would have held that position. I don't know if I can still say that, although it may still have to go on the list somewhere. I love that song. (Can I play that at the wedding?)
I guess I can start by artist. There are some that are on there by default: The Beatles...OK, there is one band that is on the list by default. Hell, The Beatles could be all of my Top 20, and I'm not even kidding about that. I am going to diversify though because, to be fair, I couldn't spend the rest of my life only listening to The Beatles so obviously there are other artists I love.
I love, I love, I love...Tom Waits. I love Ani. Nirvana. The Ramones. But I don't know if I can say with absolute devotion that there are other artists that I would place among the pantheon, above of all others. I really like Chuck Berry. And I really like Carol King. The Doors are sometimes good. And then there's that whole thing about The Rolling Stones and The Beach Boys. And how if, you know, you really loooove The Beatles, neither of those other two bands are ever really going to cut it? Sure, they've got some good tracks but they'll never be The Beatles. I guess there could be a song by each of those two on the Top 20. I can't deny them as great bands.
I think De La Soul is fantastic. They always get me up out of my seat. Does that qualify them as one of my favorites? There could be a lot of really sad songs on this list. But should songs that I listen to when I'm sad, or to make myself sad be included in a list of Top 20? I don't think so. That doesn't seem right. God knows I don't need music to be depressed. And certainly depressing music doesn't do much to cheer me up. It's usually music to wallow by, if you know what I mean. Maybe I should stick to the music that appeals to the more rhythmic and upbeat part of my nature. It's good to feel good, ya know? Music should make you feel good. Relaxed, maybe a little loose. Get up on the tables and dance a little bit!
Let's not let me get carried away. Some of the music I like to dance to probably should be placed at least 20 yards away from this list. This list should get a restraining order against some of the music I like to dance to. But, I think it is safe to say that all of my favorite music is music that makes me feel good. And, look at that, it doesn't even knock Depeche Mode out of contention. Sweet.
OK, so The List is doable. I'm going to think about it for a little while longer. Once I get it figured out I'll post it. I know you all must be in a lather of anticipation over this, you multitudes of fans and readers, so I'll try to step on it.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Ooooh Shiny
We just got our brand new, super shiny computer set up here at home.
It's purty.
And it has a printer.
I may be in love.
That is all for now. I'm gonna go back to making kissy faces at this thing.
It's purty.
And it has a printer.
I may be in love.
That is all for now. I'm gonna go back to making kissy faces at this thing.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
265 Days
I've already got my gown, so most of the pages in this wedding magazine I have are pretty irrelevant. But the wedding gown advertising is still...frightening.
OK first of all, some of these gowns are questionable. But, even the models in the most elegant of these dresses are completely un-bride-like in their facial expressions. And I'm using that term loosely. Is "anemic" an expression? What about "jaundiced?"
There are some really smug looks going on. As if they know they look better in their gown than you could ever possibly dream. The couple in this Ann Taylor Celebrations ad has this mystical disbelief thing going on. Looking into each others' eyes as if neither can believe they get to walk down this gravel driveway with someone so good looking.
It is, overall, a display of worries, anxieties, fears, boredom and sunken cheeked sultriness.
Most of the bridesmaids look like they're having a good time. Laughing it up, probably at the dresses they're modeling. Well, except for this Thread ad where all of the redheads look sad at being forced to wear every color in the pink spectrum. Although their hair is very shiny.
On the facing page, the Reem Acra model looks like a doped up child bride sold into a sultan's harem.
I don't understand why so many of these women are lying prostrate on the floor. Is it that they have become so overwhelmed by the velvet belt with giant ribbon flower wrapped around the bodice of their gown? Did they fall off the bed trying to get the garter belt on? Should I anticipate being on the floor at some point during the reception? I don't think we're planning on it being "that" kind of party.
There's also a lot of crouching going on in this magazine. As if the brides are, perhaps, trying to hide something, or from someone. That is not the image of a confident bride folks. This Kenneth Pool chick is in her gown, up on a roof, looking like she's going to make a break for it. I am not going to buy a gown from The Runaway Bride.
I'm not even going to discuss the caved chest, eating disorder look going on here. That's just a given in light of the media's unobtainable standards of beauty blah blah blah. But come on advertisers, would it kill sales to put a few smiles on these faces? I've got 265 days to plan what is supposed to be the "happiest day of my life." Perhaps that could be projected a little more clearly in the ads for all of the products, goods and services I need to purchase in order to make that day happen.
I'm just sayin'.
OK first of all, some of these gowns are questionable. But, even the models in the most elegant of these dresses are completely un-bride-like in their facial expressions. And I'm using that term loosely. Is "anemic" an expression? What about "jaundiced?"
There are some really smug looks going on. As if they know they look better in their gown than you could ever possibly dream. The couple in this Ann Taylor Celebrations ad has this mystical disbelief thing going on. Looking into each others' eyes as if neither can believe they get to walk down this gravel driveway with someone so good looking.
It is, overall, a display of worries, anxieties, fears, boredom and sunken cheeked sultriness.
Most of the bridesmaids look like they're having a good time. Laughing it up, probably at the dresses they're modeling. Well, except for this Thread ad where all of the redheads look sad at being forced to wear every color in the pink spectrum. Although their hair is very shiny.
On the facing page, the Reem Acra model looks like a doped up child bride sold into a sultan's harem.
I don't understand why so many of these women are lying prostrate on the floor. Is it that they have become so overwhelmed by the velvet belt with giant ribbon flower wrapped around the bodice of their gown? Did they fall off the bed trying to get the garter belt on? Should I anticipate being on the floor at some point during the reception? I don't think we're planning on it being "that" kind of party.
There's also a lot of crouching going on in this magazine. As if the brides are, perhaps, trying to hide something, or from someone. That is not the image of a confident bride folks. This Kenneth Pool chick is in her gown, up on a roof, looking like she's going to make a break for it. I am not going to buy a gown from The Runaway Bride.
I'm not even going to discuss the caved chest, eating disorder look going on here. That's just a given in light of the media's unobtainable standards of beauty blah blah blah. But come on advertisers, would it kill sales to put a few smiles on these faces? I've got 265 days to plan what is supposed to be the "happiest day of my life." Perhaps that could be projected a little more clearly in the ads for all of the products, goods and services I need to purchase in order to make that day happen.
I'm just sayin'.
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