I have to say, I'm morbidly curious to see who actually shows up at Mervyn's at 4am Friday morning to shop. I doubt I will make the effort to get up and observe, but the curiosity is definitely there.
As for my Friday, I'll be watching this movie... you know, to celebrate the fact that we've seen the back of another black (Fri)day.
OK, Connie, I finally get it.
Season 2.0, here I come! New PR: must finish 2.0 and 2.5 before season 3 of Lost is released...
God, I need a life.
"I like the low-pressure stay-in-touch ability it offers. Meaning, I would like to keep in touch with people and let them know that I'm thinking of them without having to engage in a time-consuming and potentially stilted conversation. It enables me to be friendly without fear of social awkwardness, when I can just poke someone or send them a jello shot. I really like the status update feature. It's concise and present-tense. So you stay updated on your friends' lives without having to actually talk to them.
"Plus, I've already become friends with 3 long-lost childhood friends, who I'm happy to know still exist on this planet, but I don't really have anything to say to them."
This was one response I got when I asked several friends what this Facebook thing was all about. I'm still not 100% sold, but this explanation definitely encourages me to play around more...
Or makes me want to run screaming to the hills at the utter lack of human contact our lives have resorted to.
One or the other.
Dear Planned Parenthood,
I really like your organization and everything, I do. But actually, barring any unforeseen Christmas miracles, no, it COULDN'T happen to me. Thanks for the big, bold reminder on the outside of the envelope though.
Love,
Jen(n)
All joking aside - support Pill Patrol, which is what this mailing was really about.
And do not under any circumstances support Fred Thompson, who said "We could not get to first base on an amendment [to ban abortions] when we controlled both houses and the presidency." And isn't it ironic.
Blowing my budget. (Page 33 of the magic book.) Apparently, I just came into ten million dollars. Assuming that the GET BENT TAX MAN will take 33%, as he is wont to do, I will be left with approximately $7 million.
Anyway, here's how I would spend what's left:
It's cold and raining and I'm as happy as Garbage on a complicated day. Not that I'm in a crappy relationship or that I'm monumentally depressed ~ I'm really just happy when it rains. It's a great excuse to curl up with a book and a kitty, or a cup of tea and a kitty, or a Battlestar Gallactica marathon and a kitty, or a bowl of soup and a kitty, or a Food Network marathon and a kitty...
Actually, when all is said and done it really just works out for the kitty. But in the end, it's all about her anyway so what difference does it make?
Not that SHE CARES, of course, as long as couch and lap are involved...
I was catching up on people I don't know tonight, and I realized something. Joseph Gordon-Levitt, in addition to being incredibly hot and a fantastic actor once you get past that Third Rock crap, reminds me of someone. Is it Ed Norton from Fight Club? Is it Johnny Depp from all the non-pirate, non-English roles he has portrayed? Is it ~ gasp~ someone I already, actually, know?
I can't place it, but there's just something comforting and familiar about his mannerisms. And also, something confident and unassuming that you don't see in a lot of people.
Attention, people who are on the lookout for dates for me: take notes on this guy. He's exactly what I'm looking for... only 10 years younger. Which isn't necessarily a bad thing...
You know that saying... The one that goes, "the left hand doesn't know what the right hand is doing?" Well, what happens when the left hand doesn't know what the LEFT hand is doing?
I mean... I MEAN... First it was 1400 gallons, which was appalling in and of itself. Now it's 58 THOUSAND gallons, and "oops we responded too late"? Whose idea was it to let a big freakin' ship try to go under the bridge in low visibility fog in the first place? Those poor, poor birds and animals.
Not to mention, this has seriously derailed my Thanksgiving dinner plans which originally consisted of dungeonous crab. Now I might actually have to resort to Tofurkey. Meh.
(Just kidding, I would never, ever, EVER resort to Tofurkey. But I'll probably eat some other fake meat just to spite all you cow, lamb, duck, chicken and turkey killers out there.)
Unrelated, I've been pulling some "would you rather" questions for an icebreaker activity tomorrow. Top five "would you rathers" that I've come across, in no particular order (in fact, I'm not even sure how I would answer some of these... good thing I'm in charge of the activity!):
Would you rather...
Less than 24 hours after posting this, I got a great tip on a Virgin Airlines flight (red eye going, which I've always dreamed that Southwest would do someday) that ended up costing me $350. It's slightly less convenient than flying out of Oakland into BWI, but to save $600 I'd walk to SFO, fly straight into Washington DC and walk from the runway to my parent's house, so in the end this is a better deal. For everyone involved. Yeah, I'm cheap. I'm not shy about admitting that.
And now I'm going to start posting all my daily problems on this blog so that everyone can solve them for me! Magic.
So why are all the Christmas west coast->east coast flights either already booked or almost $1000? I've booked flights home around the Thanksgiving time frame several years in a row, and I've always been able to use a free Southwest ticket and still arrive and leave in a reasonable time frame.
I am SO SURE that George Bush is to blame for this. SO VERY SURE.
Maybe I'll just go home for my birthday instead. That will at least give me more time to Christmas shop if my family agrees to have Christmas on January 21.
Bah. I SOOOOOOO can't wait for 2009. I don't even care who gets elected, just GET HIM OUT.
This morning waiting for the bus - which is always ten minutes late now, what's up with that?! - I realized my Purpose: I need to see every single Arcade Fire show that ever exists starting NOW.
"Purpose, it keeps you going strong like a car with a full tank of gas. "
"I don’t know why but I know I can’t stay... Keep the car running."
That can't just be a coincidence.
A strange and unrelated example of why I don't believe in the death penalty.
Thank goodness I won't have to supply our garbage bins with charcoal doohickeys from Sur La Table for the next month.
Oprah ruined the marathon. (OK, I have a serious beef about this. Five years ago if you told me I would run a marathon I would've laughed in your face. Last year I did it, and to this day it's still my biggest accomplishment. I was so inspired by all the men and women in our running group who toughed it out and finished. Never mind the time it took, they - WE - finished. So yes, damn that Oprah making her bonbon-eating viewers aware that exercise is important. BAH.
Just kidding about the bonbon-eating part. I love Oprah.)
Look what my apparently-long-lost-relative made! I waaaaaaaaaaaant one!
Oh, and finally in today's news... I am tired of earthquakes, California allergies and balmy November days. I miss snow.
Five recommendations from today, in no particular order:
Another visit to my reptile friends at the East Bay Vivarium today prompted my non-reptilian friends to question the rule that turtles under four inches can only be sold for educational or scientific purposes. I'd seen the sign during every visit and thought it was odd, but the thought was always fleeting because I would suddenly become distracted with a baby tree frog or yellow anaconda. Turtles are cute and all, but they have never been my thing.
A quick Google search on the oh-so-eloquent phrase "why turtles less than 4 inches only educational" (yes, that's really what I typed in) revealed that this is actually an FDA regulation:
"The sale of turtles with a carapace length of less than 4 inches has been banned in the U.S. since 1975 because of the public health impact of turtle-associated salmonellosis."
OK... but all turtles can transmit Salmonella, so why restrict sales on just the baby turtles? A more eloquent search on "turtles under 4 inches" got me to About.com, which tells us:
"Four inches was chosen with the thought that most young children wouldn't try to put a turtle larger than this in their mouth (of course, putting a turtle in your mouth isn't the only way to be infected with Salmonella). However, restricting turtle sales to those greater than 4 inches probably also helps reduce the incidence of Salmonellosis by reducing turtle sales, since hatchlings are much more irresistible than larger turtles. Also, kids are probably less inclined to play with the larger turtles in the first place."
And here's the public service announcement: think twice the next time you order turtle soup.
After almost seven years of our tax dollars going to a war we do not support, let us anti-Dubyah-liberals have some freakin' fun already... Scared of competition? Find a good candidate!
I mean, seriously.
Seriously!!
As part of Mandatory Fun Day tomorrow, we have to tell two truths and a lie. My competitive side is trying to think up outlandish truths and lies I could tell about myself. So far on both ends, I've got:
I swear the pattern was called "Spooked," not "Home Alone"... The Mac Culkin reference didn't even occur to me until someone mentioned it. But you should see the pumpkin hand cutouts I got from this. I've got to figure out something creepy to do with them at the office... Suggestions welcome.
I have to admit... Until tonight, I never wondered whether Robert Smith and Johnny Cash only wore black underwear.
Five reasons I hate California drivers (myself excluded), in no particular order:
I haven't been posting as much lately, and I don't expect to be posting more than 2-3 times/week in the coming weeks. There's just too much going on, most of which I can't talk about here. Or that I'm choosing not to talk about. It's been an interesting and extremely challenging month, both personally and professionally. Generally speaking, part of me is in it for the long haul, and the other part is ready to run screaming to Toronto or some other far away place for six months or the rest of my life.
However! This does not mean that I'm not signing up for NaNoReMo (I have read one chapter of, and I intend to finish in November, The Brothers K, which I bought because of the great job the author did on The River Why but which I have sat on for about 3 years)... And I will update you all accordingly. My goal is to take at least 3 lunch hours per week in the alcove where I can eat and read in peace.
My ultimate goal, actually, is to get through that book so that I can start on Chronicles, which I've been sitting on since Christmas 2005. Pathetic.
Years ago, I was at craft night with some friends. It was Tuesday night so Buffy was on in the background, and it was The Wish episode. Two of my friends loved Buffy (along with myself), but the third friend thought we were nuts for being crazy about a show involving an ass-kicking vampire slayer and her band of merry misfits. The third friend shook her head through the whole episode.
Today I got an email from the third friend entitled: "could Buffy the Vampire be based on reality?" with a link to this study.
Well, first of all, OF COURSE it's based on reality. Vampires, witches, demons, and magic all exist in our universe - maybe not in the traditional sense of the words, but who among us hasn't faced someone who sucked the life out of them, cursed or haunted them in some way? Who hasn't made a wish, crossed their fingers or threw salt over their shoulder, and had the wish come true?
And secondly, what a trippy study. It's like "choose your own adventure" stories just came to life. I like to think about my parallel universe doppleganger who is thrilled with her job and totally content with life. I just wish I could visit her from time to time for some advice!
________________
I do have to admit that while I don't think there are vampires in Santa Cruz who look like Keifer Sutherland or James Marsters (or "dampires" in Sunnyvale, either, though the concept amuses me greatly), I don't completely dismiss the occult. I think there's a lot that I don't understand about it, and I think that as with most things there are some extremists, but I do think there is some merit to certain aspects of it. And the respect for Mother Nature most certainly appeals to me.
Oh and also, the Parkway isn't going to be able to show old episodes of Buffy or Firefly for much longer, so boycott those money-grubbing fun-stealing bastards at FOX however you see fit. They aren't currently syndicating either show so I'm not sure what they're complaining about, exactly.
So I did see the movie today. I thought it was somewhat sloppy in its direction and the narration got on my nerves (sorry, Sean, please don't punch me in the nose)... But Emile Hirsch was fantastic, and Ed's songs were very heartfelt.
Today more than ever, I'm yearning for a great adventure. The past month has left at least four friends/sets of friends either with a significant life experience under their boots, or one that's coming soon to a hospital delivery room. I'm jealous. Other than vague conversations about worldly travels, I have no concrete milestones, no forward planning to be excited about.
And yeah, the movie ended in tragedy but man, the LIFE that guy experienced in his travels is just inspiring. How empowering it must have felt to survive with almost nothing in our capitalist society, and still be truly content with life. I admit that all along, in the book and the movie, he irritated the crap out of me because he chose to leave white upper class suburbia and live penniless while so many in this world are not born into those circumstances and do not have such a choice. But, he also gave $24,000 to Oxfam and was truly grateful for the support he got along the way, so there was definitely an attitude of selflessness somewhere in there.
I'm not sure I am up for an illegal kayak trip down the Colorado River, or 100 days in Alaska shooting squirrels for dinner, but I am convinced that I was not meant to work at a desk. I was not meant to stay put. When all is said and done, I'm selfish and there is just too much to see and hear and smell and do in the world. I've moved approximately 10 blocks in the past 10 years and the lack of motion is getting to me. I want to experience all that the world has to offer, and I don't want to experience it through a Food Network road trip show or a Barbara Kingsolver book.
But for now, tomorrow I go to my desk job and prepare for my big important meeting and... lather, rinse, repeat... Until one day when I really throw in the towel, cash out my savings and head north, or maybe east, or south. The possibilities are endless... and life is too damn short.
This post brought to you by an upwardly mobile Anglo woman who has such choices. Don't think the irony isn't lost on me.
You know, I get a lot of strange magazines and catalogs in my mailbox these days, but I think this one takes the cake.
It's not that I don't support the cause they organize around. In fact, Susan Sarandon supports them, so by default should I. But seriously... why can't they call themselves "an adolescent female of courting age doted with a well proportioned figure" instead of their actual name? Sorry Susan, Ed Asner, Patricia Heaton, Ted Danson, Walter Cronkite, and Malcolm In The Middle's mom - I just can't bring myself to be a "Heifer supporter."
"... but Jesus, when it rains, how it pours."
My internal mantra this week has been, "I soooo did not sign up for this." But that's not 100% accurate. I honestly didn't have the slightest idea what I was signing up for when I signed up for it.
Now that I know, I'm coming to terms with a lot of my own insecurities and inadequacies, but I'm also seeing a new side of myself - a side that is confident, humble, tenacious and surprisingly matter-of-fact.
Boy, will I be glad when this baby shower is done with.
(Kidding! This post is about my job. The baby shower is the most welcome break I could possibly have, especially now that super-secret project PCT scrapbook is done. Tonight I'm making party favors instead of working. That's a truly beautiful thing. Attention, dear readers: have more babies and go on more 2600 mile treks so that I can be pleasantly distracted in the future.)
More to come on my recent visit to New Orleans, but I can't get this part out of my head no matter how hard I try... Maybe that's a good thing.
I'm not sure why I'd never thought of getting a DVD player for long plane rides before this summer, other than the fact that usually the only people who have DVD players instead of laptops to watch movies on planes are 5-year olds watching Dora the Explorer. But earlier this year I learned that a decent DVD player with a 3-hour battery is fairly inexpensive, and a 2.5-hour backup battery is reasonable as well. Much cheaper than a laptop, anyway.
And OH MY GOD did this sucker save my life on the 10-hour 3-flight journey to Puerto Rico in July, so I took it along on my flight to New Orleans so that I could catch up on Netflix. The sound quality of my cheap DVD player is fine, but the earplug quality is not, so the two movies I watched on the flights were foreign with subtitles. It worked out great. (Mind you, I've been on an Oscar nominated foreign film kick lately.)
And with that I bring you five entertainment items that got me through Oakland-New Orleans-Oakland round trip, including avoiding crappy hotel TV Wednesday and Thursday nights, in the approximate order consumed:
It's not often that I recommend a product on this blog. It's also not often that I buy anything from Sur La Table. It's certainly not often that I publicly admit a flaw in my living situation.
But a few weeks ago I was on Fourth Street, mainly to visit my reptile friends at the East Bay Vivarium. I'd had too much coffee and needed a bathroom, and Sur La Table is usually the cleanest one to be found. So I pretended to shop for a few minutes, then hit the loo, and then pretended to shop for a few more minutes, and I ran across this.
It was less than $5. After countless smelly Stick Ups and spraying smelly Lysol under my kitchen sink where I keep the trash bin, I was out of ideas to remove the odor. (Yeah, I have a smelly kitchen sink underbelly - I said it.) So I figured hey, it's less than $5, it's worth a shot.
One day later and the odor was noticeably gone. Three weeks later, it's still gone. So if you've got a smelly place in your abode, I recommend picking on of these guys up. They even have loops so you can hang them in your fridge without taking up too much space.
Who knew, all I needed was a little charcoal. Science is cool.
I mean that figuratively, for the most part.
Not to harp on this, but I walked there tonight in search of some fairly basic items. There was no pre-shredded mozzarella cheese,* there were no yellow bananas, there were no olives stuffed with blue cheese.
Too bad I wasn't in search of a high-end sandwich named after an area of Oakland famous for its taco trucks - if that had been the case I would've made out like a bandit. Guess I'll be sticking with good old reliable Piedmont Grocery from now on.
But back to the "bright," they really must do something about the blinding sun that streams through the windows in the evening. It's such an annoying customer experience...
Unless they did it on purpose so that you couldn't see how much your items were costing on the cashier screens. "WHAT?! Ninety-five dollars? But I only bought four items!" Say what you like about their prices compared to Andronico's - it's still Whole Paycheck to me.
________________
* Apparently pre-shredded mozzarella cheese is a sin in an artisan cheese shop such as theirs. Before the cheeseheads start calling me Rachel Ray, I should clarify. I don't end up with as much cheese when I buy the pre-shredded packages, which is the end result I was looking for tonight since I'm going out of town in a few days and just wanted enough for tonight.
But in the meantime, I really don't know how I feel about Jim and Pam dating. I mean, the Angela/Dwight thing is awkward and amusing. The Michael/Jan thing is like watching a train wreck (therefore, slightly entertaining but mostly nauseating). The Kelly/Ryan thing is why I will never date a coworker ever again.
But all that is good entertainment. Jim and Pam were always all about innocence and hope and optimism, and now they're together and the only possible thing in their future is doom and gloom. Sure, it will be fun for a few weeks or months, but eventually? Doom and gloom.
Also, I am very disappointed with the Top Chef choice. Padma and Tom should be ashamed of themselves. So should CJ and Casey and Tre and Sara.
And why is Comcast moving the TV Guide Channel to hi-def? Is that really necessary? Has Comcast ever actually WATCHED the TV Guide Channel? Are we really moving to a phase where TVs will all require hi-def settings for any cable channels? If so, I'll need to start saving for a replacement for my 1998 19" beauty.
Hmm... I smell plasma!
OK. Nothing really came of my last effort at online dating - and by that I mean MY LAST EFFORT AT ONLINE DATING. Nothing, except for one guy who I corresponded with twice and since then, he has sent me five follow up emails reminding me of his existence.
It doesn't help that all those emails go to an address I don't remember to monitor regularly, and it doesn't help that I've been monumentally busy lately, and it doesn't help that this is the last thing I want to get involved with at the moment.
But seriously? When motorcycle boy didn't write back, I let it go. When indie music boy didn't write back, I let it go. When teacher boy didn't write back, I let it go. It's the nature of online dating.
Attention, single dad: LET. IT. GO.
(OK, I'll be nice and send him a "let it go" email. But seriously.)
Oh, sigh. Sigh. SIGH.
See? Gene Simmons gets it. Even crazy Mariah Carey gets it. The rest of the world - WTF?
I realize we are in the digital age, man, where CDs are, like, all obsolete and shit.
But if you're like me, you have a bunch of CDs you have no need for anymore because of said digital age, and you're craving all those CDs you sold in college (or lost in breakups) and never repurchased, and spending $10 on iTunes isn't really that appealing.
If you're more like me, you tried to condense your CD stash by pulling them all out of their cases (keeping the front cover art) and donating the cases to random art projects via Craig's List. So what was once a 5-bookshelf collection is now a 7"x7"x24" collection.
And if you're even more like me, you have a 7"x7"x24" collection of CDs taking up space but you don't want to throw them away because they're not recyclable, and you can't take them to Amoeba because they wouldn't want it in the first place. In fact they would probably laugh at you for bringing it in. ("The Bee Gees Greatest Hits. Uh... no thanks." Clearly they haven't read this post.)
So. If you are like me, you should sign up for this cool new CD trading service. It's super easy - it uploads all the music you have stored on your computer, you add any others not stored on your computer and indicate which CDs you want to keep (for me, it's all my grunge, anything sentimental and anything I bought digitally that I can't legally trade), you browse others' CDs to add to your own want list, the company sends you shipping materials and you pay a mere $1.75 when someone ships you something from your want list. And you ship your crap you don't want anymore to people who want your crap. And they pay a mere $1.75 to receive it.
It's quite ingenious. It's almost like the eBay of CD recycling. Over the past month I've managed to get rid of things like The Jayhawks, Lucinda Williams (don't tell Kim), Cake, and a lot of stuff I bought secondhand in the first place and didn't end up liking. Of course, I kept a burned copy in case I change my mind in six months and want to listen to all that stuff.
In return I've completed my Too Much Joy and Dead Milkmen collections, built up my Beatles and Run DMC collections and recovered a copy of the DGC Rarities that I loved in 1994. (I had tape versions of all of those, but seriously, TAPES? That's like, soooo 19th century, man.)
And today the standard company CD case (ironically for a Dead Milkmen CD) included a hand-written political message, "Vote Ron Paul for President, 2008" (no hyperlink because I cannot in good conscious support that), which of course inspired me to start writing "Stewart/Colbert 2008" on all the CD cases I send out.
So here's the true public service announcement, brought to you by the Dead Milkmen:
The man said "Keep your head and arms inside the mixer at all times." But Bill Jr., he was a daredevil, just like his old man. He was leaning out saying, "Hey everybody! Look at me, look at me!" POW! He was decapitated. They found his head over by the snowcone concession.
In case you live in a cave, the new Whole Foods opened this morning.
I'm not sure Oaktown is ready for all this patchouli, bulk granola, soy cheese, bring-your-own-bag, $12/pound salad bar hipster nonsense (newfound or natural). Or ready for, as the article states, "the progressive, food-sophisticated, dynamic and diverse culture of Oakland and the surrounding communities."
Now, don't get me wrong. I've been as excited about this, as I have been for the two new Trader Joe's (Trader Joes's? Trader Ji?) to open near my apartment. Being able to walk there for lunch, or to shop after work, do ONE LOOP in the grocery store and catch the bus home with my millions of dollars of fancy schmancy grocery items, is very appealing.
But seriously? It took me 10 extra minutes in my lousy 10-minute commute to get home this evening due to all the commotion and traffic. The people sitting in the cafe got an amusing view of me literally shaking my fist at the store while screaming the subject line of this post as I drove by...
I suppose the joke will be on me tomorrow when I stop for coffee (and the obligatory perusal) before heading into the office!
I am filled with remorse for not posting something on International Talk Like a Pirate Day. But now I can combine that with National Punctuation Day and be at peace with myself.
Ahoy matey: I be needin' t' recognize something... (International Talk Like a Pirate Day) "Did ye know [I hope so]?" I ask ye, Dear Reader. Avast - all out of ideas t'incorporate pirates and punctuat'n.
-- GAAAARRR!
This post brought to you by lack of sleep daily for the last week. Hopefully you at least now have "Soul Meets Bodeeeeeeeeeeeeeey" in your heads.
(Which is why I'm writing this even though I'm sooooo tired.)
The difference between a Wilco show and an Arcade Fire show is that after a Wilco show, you kinda feel like this. Whereas after an Arcade Fire show, you kinda feel like this.
It probably helped that all the elements were perfect - real actual lightning was striking in the background, the opening act was fairly amazing in their own sense, the crowd knew every word to every song and the band loved that the crowd sang along, no weirdos were sitting in front of me, and my seat was in row 13 with a perfect view. Maybe I had a slight advantage because I'd seen a video of them live - maybe on the Coachella DVD? - and was impressed and intrigued.
But really, I think it was because the band is just amazing live. Even if the songs don't stray too far from the CD version when played live (there is no need for them to stray), the energy and theatrics that come along with the songs are unforgettable, and therefore I conclude that anyone who remotely likes that song "Rebellion" but hasn't seen them yet is a dumb-dumb head.
Top five examples that suggest that the Democratic Party should consider taking the Program Evaluation class I'm currently taking due to their inability to formulate an unbiased question in the survey I received in the mail today, in no particular order:
If the ten-year wedding anniversary is something made of tin or aluminum, I think I will get divorced at year nine. Actually, I'm not too keen on year one either - paper? - ... unless it's in the form of cold hard cash. "No, honey, I don't want your cheap ass card saying happy anniversary, but I'd love a Benjamin. Or two. Thanks."
Today is my ten-year anniversary of the day I arrived in the Bay Area. Ten years ago tonight, I was in a motel in Vallejo with my boyfriend and his friend who moved out here with us. All of our worldly possessions were in three cars outside, we'd just spent almost two weeks on the road in our last "hurrah" before getting "real jobs," we were getting drunk on a couple bottles of port to celebrate our arrival in Californ-i-a, and we were watching fuzzy HBO (Oz, if memory serves). Said friend later puked on the rug, which was REALLY pleasant for the rest of the week we stayed there while looking for an apartment.
Tonight I'm sitting comfortably amidst all my worldly possessions, drinking just one glass of wine to celebrate, before I watch the Food Network, then the Daily Show, then go to bed.
I think one could say I've grown up a bit over the years.
Thanks to a new GoogleMaps feature which lets you drag and drop if you want to change the route to your destination, I have recreated (approximately) my first cross country road trip:
It's not perfect because we actually went eleven thousand some odd miles, and this trip is only nine thousand some odd miles... but it's pretty darn close.
I {heart} Google.
I'm sorry, but I just can't look at a large man walking a rat dog and not think that they both look absolutely ridiculous.
And now, it's peanut butter jelly time! (With a baseball bat!)
[Follow-up: there was NO peanut butter at the Peanut Butter Jam. What false advertising.]
I already know I'm not going to do this post justice, but bear with me.
Last night I watched The Bridge. I kinda wished I'd watched this The Bridge instead, or this version, or even - God forbid - this version, but alas, I did not.
I don't even know what to say about this documentary. Part of me was absolutely furious that this was acceptable as a film. Seriously? You stand a quarter mile away from a bridge and film people jumping off it for a year? You are not at least partially responsible for their death? Wouldn't your time and your documentary have been better off standing on the bridge talking people down from their death?
The other part of me was fascinated. Not with watching people fall to their deaths - which this film does show, and it was horrifying, ye be warned - but with the thought process demonstrated by the family members/friends of those who jumped.
I've known a few suicidal people in my life who thankfully didn't end up going through with it for various reasons (heavy medication and/or 24 hour family/friend surveillance and/or incarceration in one way or another) and I've experienced how difficult it can be to "talk someone down" from wanting to end their life.
Throughout the film I had mixed feelings toward the family members and friends who described their loved ones with straight faces and no tears, and I wondered - did they really do everything in their power to save their family member or friend...? But in the end, who am I to judge? All accounts indicated that they did what they knew how to do, and their feelings of frustration and helplessness and subsequent exhaustion and straight-facedness (as heartbreaking as they were) were understandable. Perhaps, in the grand scheme of things, this was the best resolution for the men and women who jumped.
I hate the idea that the Golden Gate Bridge seems to romanticize this option for those who have no hope for anything better. Or even make it easy for people. When my brother visited a few years ago and we walked across the bridge, he and I were both actually surprised to see all the "emergency call boxes" - I had no idea how frequently this type of thing occurred. Twenty-some deaths in 2004, and surely the number grows by the year.
I'm not pro-wires or nets or whatever to prevent people from jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge. What I am "pro" is for us a society to take a good hard look at why so many people are depressed and what we can realistically do about it.
Attention, future new president of the USA: How about, out with the reactive, in with the proactive. In this instance and in so many other instances. We need an FDR, a JFK, an MLK. And we need them NOW.
Top five excerpts from my 2007 "The Office" daily calendar (no, not that Office, or that Office, or even that Office, calendar but now I want all of those), which I ripped through to December 31st tonight because I just couldn't stand the suspense, or I needed the desk space, whatever, in no particular order:
I've heard Daniel Handler on KFOG many, many times speaking "on behalf of Lemony Snicket." I've never read the books, I didn't see the movie, and I really have no interest in ever doing either, but I always found his radio appearances rather amusing.
Tonight I got to watch Daniel Handler interview Ben Gibbard at the Palace of Fine Arts. Except I didn't know I was watching him until now, when I clicked this link. I just thought he was the funny guy who was a friend of Gibbard's who was interviewing Gibbard. (Clearly, I bypassed the program stack on the way in.) I also didn't know that he has played with the Magnetic Fields, Stars and The Mountain Goats (who I learned about in Seattle earlier this year). From his radio appearances I would've guessed that he was older.
On the other hand, I did know I was watching Ben Gibbard. That's kinda who I paid $21 to see. For a few minutes during the interview I was amazed at the fact that I'm a year older than him, yet he is so much more articulate and talented than I could ever hope to be. And I marveled at all the failed relationships that he's written songs about, and I wished for a moment that I'd had dozens of failed relationships that I could write songs about. He's lived more than I have. He's seen more than I have. And he's younger than me.
Then I realized that I had plenty of failed relationships I could write songs about, but instead I've chosen to move on (for the most part). Pictures, emails, mix tapes, letters have all long since been thrown away and forgotten (for the most part). But he's got to sing those songs about those failed relationships often and with energy.
So actually, I don't envy him one bit.
I have this nasty habit of obsessing over decisions I make that are pending a final result. During the "pending" phase I'm always convinced that I made the wrong call, and that the result will be completely disastrous, and that I'll be left with a lot of clean up (or eating crow, or admitting I was wrong, or... well, you get the picture).
In the end things almost always work out fine. In fact, I can't think of one time when something I've obsessed about has actually been disastrous. Slightly askew, sure. Not 100% resolved, absolutely. But disastrous? Never.
I can already tell that tonight is going to be one of those obsessing nights.
SIGH.
I wish I had something funny to say to end this post. Oh wait, here's a joke: What do you call a cow that won't give milk? A milkdud!
"... oh, I did, it's just an 18-minute Decemberists song. That's all."
Show me one other band that can make an 18-minute song that fakes you out and makes you think it's several completely different songs rather than just one song, and I'll give you $10.
And in this week's "guilty pleasure" news, has anyone besides me noticed that the chorus in "Song Sung Blue" sounds a little like "Do Re Mi" from the Sound of Music? (Not that I worship Neil Diamond or watched the Sound of Music two of the three nights it was on over Labor Day weekend, or anything.)
And in other normal news, after today I officially go back to "no way." At the craft store I overheard several moms repeating "put that back, put that down, put that back, put that down..." in what appeared to be a robotic voice.
Then on the walk home from the drugstore this evening I saw a family of four out for a stroll, or what seemed to be a stroll, until I passed the mom and older son and overheard the mom saying "you need to let me know EXACTLY where you are and EXACTLY when you'll be home ALL THE TIME do you hear me" and the dad and younger son walking about 50 feet behind, and the dad saying "you can't just go picking fights with kids smaller than you..."
And now I'm drinking a little wine, and I might just have cheese and crackers for a late dinner, and I'm getting ready to watch a curse-word-riddled movie, and let me just tell you. LIFE IS GOOD.
Five bands from my college days that apparently still exist, in no particular order:
I've been reading this book, Maybe Baby, that I got when I renewed my Salon membership a while back. It was borne (pun intended) out of a letter to the editor of Salon asking for more articles about people who choose not to have children, and it's broken into three sections: No Way, Maybe, and Yes Please.
There are many, many reasons I currently have no desire to have kids, including but not limited to selfishness, wanting to move to Hermitville USA, barely remembering to feed the cat, barely tolerating said cat who WON'T SHUT UP EVER, flashbacks from babysitting Satan's offspring as a teenager, I'm only 32 freakin' years old already, and my mom's warning: "Don't have kids."
Notwithstanding the foregoing*, I bring you five reasons I might actually want to have kids someday, in no particular order:
Note to self: if you haven't run more than 5 miles in the past 3 weeks, perhaps you should start off with a long walk.
I thought I would be just fine. It's not like I haven't done that 5-mile run a million times in the past year. (Well, okay maybe I've done that particular run 20 times, but whatever.) Man. Ten minutes into it and I was DONE. DONE DONE DONE. I forced myself to walk the 5 miles instead, and tried to pick up the run again halfway through, but it didn't work. I found myself breathing heavy and lightheaded.
The breathing wasn't really surprising but the lightheadedness was a little alarming. It's not like it was hot, or sunny, or even early morning. It's not like I hadn't eaten my new diet of "nothing but carbs" all week (even pasta and bread for lunch today) along with tons of water. I hoped that my lightheadedness was due to the fact that I was wearing very old glasses (I worry too much that I'll break my new glasses if I run in them, and my semi-old glasses are all scratched up now). But even after a shower, grocery store run and another glass of water I bent down to pet the cat and when I stood up, I had to hold onto the wall.
Weird. I think this calls for a(nother) night on the couch. DARN!
GOOD LORD (no pun intended), what was I thinking?
Actually, it was... well, it was pretty much what the subject of this post says it was. And in addition, very well directed and pieced together.
{shudder} Must go shower now.
So I was downtown at the annual Art & Soul festival this afternoon, and sometime between Luce and Lucinda Williams (who both rocked, by the way) I got a little hungry. The following is a re-enactment of my thought process as I wandered through the streets in search of a snack:
"Let's see what they have... BBQ, chicken on a stick, fried chicken, french fries, garlic fries, fried catfish, fried twinkies {insert Homer shudder}... Jesus. It's like, NINE THOUSAND DEGREES, do they really think all people want is fried - OOH! Hush puppies!"
I haven't had hush puppies since I was about eight years old. There was a once-good-turned-bad-turned-condemned all-you-can-eat seafood restaurant near my house growing up, and once or twice a year my dad would treat us to dinner there (we went during the "good" days). I always got the same thing - popcorn shrimp and hush puppies. All I could eat fried goodness.
After standing in line for 10 minutes I eagerly placed my order for hush puppies. The woman behind the counter sighed and said, "we're out of hush puppies." I literally could not stop my lower lip from poking out in protest. "Oh. OK, thanks anyway," I said, and I turned and - "OOH! Samosas!"
________________
Oddly, the once-really-good-turned-really-bad Chinese restaurant was in the same shopping center as the seafood restaurant. And the once-really-good Shakey's Pizza Place turned into a laundromat, the Hechinger's (east coast hardware store chain) turned into a Walmart and the Denny's turned into a strip club. I honestly believe that the whole neighborhood went to hell in a handbasket when I went off to college. "And the pool hall I loved as a kid is now a 7-11..."
Oh, and also? My new business plan involves a traveling fresh fruit, yogurt and granola stand that I can take to all the local summer festivals throughout the Bay Area. I figure I'll work about 15 days a year and make A FORTUNE.
WAY TOO MUCH FOOD NETWORK VIEWING ON A SUNNY SATURDAY AFTERNOON LATER... I decided today that I would eat meat again if someone would pay me to taste-test. I'd happily go diner to diner, I'd joyfully ride a motorcycle across the country, I'd willingly tour the world in search of the best bacon and egg omelet, or fried chicken, or kangaroo burger.
Seriously. Alton? Call me.
Five years later, I finally watched (or attempted to watch) these Oscar-nominated movies:
The Aviator. OK, I got this one through Netflix and it sat next to the TV for about three weeks. Thursday evening it was showing on cable so I watched enough of it to appreciate Leo's performance, and also to know that I didn't really want to watch the whole movie.
The Queen. I can see why it won all those awards. It occurred to me while I was watching it, that I don't often think about the fact that England has a Queen who they have to curtsy to. If I ever had to curtsy to George Bush I think I would kill myself.
Little Children. I guess it was well done, but I'm rather tired of movies about adults who can't get their shit together.
I need to reassess my Netflix queue.
________________
I'm not sure what I actually learned in school about England and the Queen, but I just spent about 45 minutes refreshing my knowledge on the subject. I can't believe the amount of responsibility that comes along with being the Queen.
I also can't believe that, given her history, her apparent lack of tolerance for bullshit and her viewpoints on certain things, that she is such good friends with Bush. Maybe it's all a big conspiracy to add the United States to the laundry list of countries she currently reigns supreme over (Canada, Australia, New Zealand, Jamaica, Barbados, the Bahamas, Grenada, Papua New Guinea, the Solomon Islands, Tuvalu, Saint Lucia, Saint Vincent and the Grenadines, Antigua and Barbuda, Belize, and Saint Kitts and Nevis). SERIOUSLY? I want to be Queen of Saint Lucia.
Lucky is the new Albertsons. When I first moved here all the stores were Lucky. Then they turned into Albertsons. Now they're turning back into Lucky. This is even worse than the annual re-corporatization of our beloved sports arenas. It disgusts me to think about all the money that has changed hands over this debacle.
Another small step for mankind...
I was quite disturbed at the report that Owen Wilson attempted suicide this past weekend. He's my favorite Duke brother. I can only hope that the Dish is wrong this time.
Speaking of... Perhaps Amy Winehouse should say "yes, yes, yes" to rehab once and for all.
Perhaps this cat also caught the nine millionth rerun of Jaws this weekend on TNT. It's really annoying but much like with the Princess Bride, I can't not watch this whenever I run across it. Maybe because the TV version is so similar to the original, except with commercials (unlike with movies like the Breakfast Club where they have to delete entire scenes which ends up totally detracting from the movie). I know the movie Jaws from start to finish. I sing the "show me the way to go home" song after a long day at work. I flip to another channel right before Dreyfuss's character sees the dead body while he's diving (that scene still freaks me out). Like with Poltergeist, my feet can't touch the floor while I'm watching any part of the movie. Overall though, I blame Quint. He's just a fascinating character. Very pirate-like.
And still, I would love to go in a shark cage someday.
I love Scrubs. It's a fairly recent obsession. It's witty and engaging without all the Gray's Anatomy/ER drama. (Which I also love, but can only take so much of.) The soundtrack for each Scrubs episode is particularly endearing. Right now a Toad the Wet Sprocket song is playing in the background...
If you offer me a product I like as two-for one, or more likely as two-for-less-than-the-price-of-two, I will buy two of them even if I only need one. Curse you, marketing world. Curse you.
My allergies are back with a vengeance. Some might think I'm lucky for having the non-runny-nose, non-sinus variety of allergies, but I would argue that this is the worst kind of allergy to have. I feel like I'm in a complete fog, I'm not the least bit hungry, I have no energy, I walk around in a daze and nothing seems to help.
I've spent the weekend in my apartment with most of the windows closed except at night, where I open them wide to encourage fresh air to replace the CO2-riddled air that surely my houseplants are loving, but I am not.
After sleeping very late due to not sleeping at all Thursday or Friday nights, I woke up and vacuumed again, as has been the custom these past few days to try to get rid of any traces of whatever is causing this allergy nonsense. Then I ironed and drove to Alameda to look for a few things and otherwise pass some time.
(Married people with kids: you are so jealous of me right now. I have to find ways to PASS THE TIME. Ha!)
The 15-minute air conditioned ride to and from the shopping center was sheer, utter bliss. After about five minutes my fog lifted and I could think clearly. After ten minutes I was singing along with the radio. And then it was time to venture out into the "real air" and "breathe." Sigh.
I seriously considered just getting back on the highway and driving around for three hours to enjoy my clear-headedness. But I didn't have my iPod with me, and that darned Tom Shane kept popping up between all the crappy radio songs, and it would just be wrong to take a Sunday drive in this day and age.
So now I'm fuzzy again but at least I have a plan for my four-day weekend next weekend. Road trip! To somewhere off the beaten path, given the holiday weekend! The possibilities are actually endless.
This morning while I was ironing my 4-foot stack of shirts and pants, I popped in Alpha Dog to pass the time. It seemed like one of those movies I didn't have to pay too much attention to in order to know what was going on.
For the most part, I was right. At some point near the end I had to put the iron down because I was watching too much of the TV and not enough of the pair of pants I was ironing. It was good, JT was good, Bruce Willis was good, Harry Dean Stanton makes an appearance (and who doesn't love Harry Dean Stanton?) and... Well, this comment pretty much sums it up. I would just add that at one point Eminem does make a soundtrack appearance - shocking!
It wasn't until I watched the "making of" that I learned it was a true story. (I'm sure all the former LA folks already know this.) I also learned that all the actors worship Nick Cassavetes and all the movies he's ever made, which I thought would be more like 20 but it's really only about five, one of which was Blow, and one of which was - yes - The Notebook. Maybe I should reconsider on that one. Seems odd that Ryan Gosling would choose a crappy teenage love story... are there drug dealers in The Notebook?
If you do opt to queue it up, I recommend watching it at night with the blinds closed and the lights off. Many of the scenes are at night and it was really difficult to see what was going on with the sun shining in the room.
(You might also close the windows - according to IMDB the word "fuck" or its derivatives is said 310 times, according to me it's said very loudly most of those 310 times. I ended up closing my kitchen window so as not to offend the new neighbors who were in the process of moving in next door.)
I was wandering around the new "unique" and "quirky" gift shops on Lakeshore this afternoon and ran across this.
Oh. My. God! The mystery of the pirate obsession becomes clearer by the day... My grandma had one of these at her house when I was teeny.
Grandma just got even cooler than she already was (raising seven kids during the depression already won her big points in my book).
I got an email from my good friend Adam Yauch telling me about this movie that I need to go see. His email sparked a random Wikipedia series of events which brings you five things you might not know about the Beastie Boys, in no particular order:
Five things not to say to me in your reply to my online dating ad, in no particular order:
I think I've mentioned this before, but I am probably the only one I know with reverse SAD. I do love the Bay Area "summers," with their overcast mornings that eventually burn off into a sunny haze. But I don't understand why it's 8pm and still sunny outside. Um, hello, daylight savings time? We are no longer an agrarian society! Get with the times!
To remedy my ailment, as soon as I get home, I close all my blinds. It's the only way I can justify sitting on the couch watching TV. Her Majesty doesn't like this, of course - she's all about sitting in the sunbeams, and early evening is really the only time my apartment has a sunbeam to sit in.
Too bad, so sad.
This is why Portland is very appealing. I hear it's often overcast and/or rainy there. Not to mention, my rent would probably be about half what I'm paying now. (Granted, so would my salary, but whatever.) But could I really piss of the Portlanders by joining the masses who are moving there from the Bay Area in search of cheap property?
Yeah, I could. It would save me a bundle on airfare for the annual Pirate Festival, after all.
It's football season already?
Wow... I really am going to be 40 before I know it.
In another stellar attempt at procrastination (paper for a class is due Wednesday) I was looking at some old writing projects. I found one for a friend's writing group that I never ended up joining. The theme was "one of the five senses" or something along those lines:
I step onto the elevator going down and inhale a man’s cologne. Without warning I am four years old, sitting in my pediatrician’s office with a scratchy throat, silently pleading with the nurse with the pretty long black hair to call me into his office so that I can be enveloped in that comforting scent instead of that of the waiting room, rank with dirty diapers, germs and disinfectant.
I sidestep around construction workers rebuilding the inside of a nearby shop and sawdust fills my nose. In a moment I’m twelve, in my parents’ house helping my father remodel our kitchen, hoping he’ll trust me enough this time with the hammer – or at least the measuring tape – so that I can prove to him that I am able.
After lunch I take the long way back to the office, passing the park where a man is cutting the grass. The smell of freshly cut lawn takes me back to countless childhood summer nights playing flashlight tag with my brother and our neighbor, where I would hide for what seemed like hours in the still and silence of the night, and just when I thought they’d left me for good, the flashlight would shine in my eyes.
I step off the elevator and into the stifling, used air of the office. Someone has burned popcorn in the microwave down the hall again. I realize that this is my life now, and I sigh and walk down the hall to my desk.
I deleted one paragraph from the original piece before pasting it above, because it had to do with an ex and there wasn't a way to edit out the potentially personally-identifiable specifics without losing the meaning of why that memory made it into the piece.
Then I did something dumb. I googled him, again. Usually nothing comes up, or nothing new comes up. But this time I learned that he's got a LinkedIn contact in common with one of my LinkedIn contacts.
You know... It's bad enough that I probably live four feet from him and don't even know it... It's even worse that when I see a car that looks like his old car I momentarily panic, even though he probably has a different car these days... Worst of all, it's ridiculous that I STILL THINK ABOUT HIM. But now? Now?!
Now I have to live with the knowledge that there are two degrees of separation between him and myself.
I think it's time to put Kelly Clarkson on repeat and go for a looooong walk.
If you ask me to lunch and/or dinner six times in a row, and six consecutive times, I say "no," you should really get a clue.
Five observations from today, in no particular order:
[If you can't see the show, buy the soundtrack. You won't be sorry. And you'll actually understand this post.]
On the BART ride to the city last night to see the second best Broadway show ever, a woman was reading a book called Racism Explained to My Daughter. I thought of that during one of the songs in the musical. And during another song I thought of the people who were running runNING RUNNING to catch the train only to have the door slammed in their face, and the people who were running runNING RUNNING to catch the train only to have the train sit there for five minutes. And during another song I thought of David.
Actually, I thought of a lot of things during a lot of the songs. What a remarkably relevant (to me) piece of work. For now.
________________
And at last, I was validated: crabby old bitches are the bedrock of this nation!
Thank God for dooce, who reminded me of this brilliant song I used to love once upon a time. And so I bring you the top five songs from the early 1990's I could not live without, in no particular order:
This evening at the gym I was perusing a semi-recent issue of People magazine while on the treadmill. I ran across an article about Oscar the cat, a two year old "resident" of a nursing home in Rhode Island, who has allegedly predicted 25 deaths.
According to the article I read, the researchers believe he can "smell" death coming. Also according to the article, the staff has taken to alerting family members when Oscar starts pacing or jumps up on a living breathing person's bed and starts kneading them and purring - alerting, as in "family members, the time has come."
Okay, first of all? GROSS.
Second of all? Strangely fascinating. Her Majesty certainly freaked the hell out right before the last earthquake, and her dearly beloved brother Riley had an uncanny ability to know when I was upset (he would force himself onto my lap even when I tried to push him away, and he would bat his little paw at my tears). I don't think cats get the credit they deserve.
Third of all? THIS is news? People, please.
I am totally addicted to So You Think You Can Dance.
This makes me laugh.
It was really cool to hang out with former coworkers and hear them talk about the issues and the lingo and the corporate bullshit, none of which has changed a single bit in six months, and be able to sit back and just enjoy my beer.
I'm also strangely addicted to My Boys. Probably because that will be me in 5 years. (She's 37, right??)
Sugar-free Oreos are really good.
But so are peanut butter cup brownies.
I only paid $6.25 to watch The Simpsons Movie. Afterward I made up a word that summed up how I felt about it: funforgetable.* As in, I enjoyed watching it, but afterward, I couldn't really recall any of the good jokes and actually didn't think too much about it. Except for that motorcycle trick - that looked AWESOME.
For fans, it would be well worth your $6.25 (or better yet, a two-for-one Parkway viewing). Non-fans probably stopped reading at the first sentence in which case, goodbye, everybody!
________________
* Go ahead - google it. You'll get three major responses, only one of which is in English. Therefore I can claim that I made it up. Where's that Oxford Dictionary entry form...
Five things I learned today, in no particular order:
Five things I learned from my "managing conflict" class this past week, in no particular order:
I hope you have a nice day.
_________________
This post brought to you by Too Much Joy. To create, you must destroy.
I went for a run anyway, even though it was cold and the sky was spitting on me for most of the hour. BUT, in an effort to stay focused on the work I needed to accomplish today I didn't take my iPod. Instead, I planned an MS Access relational database in my head as I pounded the pavement.
And now it's Sunday night, I'm having a glass of wine and documenting my database before I start to create it.
God, I'm a nerd...
I do have the TV on in the background. And I have to formally state my position on Extreme Makeover: Home Edition. I think that overall, the design team and CBS (or ABC?) and the community volunteers are doing great work by bringing new life and new hope to needy families. Where I have trouble is that, a) they build ginormous homes amidst teeny homes and I just have to wonder what that does to the family's relationship with the neighbors after they are done with the house?, b) there doesn't appear to be anything sustainable (as in, energy efficient, or global-warming-preventing) about the new homes they build, and c) there doesn't seem to be any consideration given to the fact that the family is typically low-income and building a ginormous house will drastically increase the gas, electric, and water bills every month - where is the follow up to see if this is a sustainable model for revitalizing homes and improving lives, and how many families can support themselves in their new home? End of soapbox. Oh and also, are families able to sell the homes on the market or are there any restrictions to that extent? Probably only I would wonder about that. I'd better call Ty.
Despite all of that, the show still makes me cry every Sunday night. Dammit.
I woke up at the usual witching hour this morning and wasn't able to go back to sleep. So I flipped through infomercials and prayer shows until I ran across The Bone Collector.
I'm sure no one cares but spoilers follow.
I was convinced that it was the stupid cop. He must've been doing it on purpose, losing evidence and not linking clues together. I spent 90% of the movie very disappointed in Denzel, that he would participate in such a lame movie. (But also very impressed with Denzel because his portrayal of a quadriplegic was astounding. He never moved a muscle he wasn't supposed to move. And also very jealous of Queen Latifah because she got to play his caretaker. Sigh.)
But then the end twisted and turned, and it wasn't the stupid cop, and even though the ending and the movie overall were still lame, my faith in humanity was restored.
And then I watched five minutes of Parental Control and all that faith went right out the window.
The tree is 100% done and hanging over my bed as I type. Laundry is done. It's cold and seems to be trying to rain so I'm hesitant to go for a run. I vacuumed. I've watched all my Netflix movies. There's nothing good on TV. My car is clean inside and out.
How am I supposed to procrastinate finishing all the work I'm supposed to do before tomorrow, when the world is against me?
On a good day, the smell of baking bread wafting through the apartment is enough to make me very, very happy.
On a great day, I've spent the day downtown in a very productive class, I've had a lovely 3 mile walk from downtown (with 1 mile detour) to home, I've picked up new houseplants along the way, and all three pizza crusts I've baked turned out PERFECTLY.
This has been a great day.
I wasn't alive in 1968 when Bobby Kennedy was shot. All the history books I read in school seemed to jump from 1964 to 1974, so before seeing the movie I didn't really know much about him other than the fact that he was a Kennedy and therefore he probably rocked. But I did finally watch, and very much appreciate, Bobby. Liberal bias and Rehab Queen aside, it was very well cast and well directed and well shot (no pun intended) and... Well, it made me kinda sad, actually. I don't feel like we've come very far in 40 years. It feels like as technology advances at warp speed, societal progression slows down. And I don't just mean in the "can't talk - text messaging" sense of it, I mean in the grand scheme of things - The-Man-keeping-people-not-like-himself-down sense of it. I know that adding a post-1968 human rights montage at the end would've been cliche, but that's all that was running through my head after I watched the movie. I'll have to ask my parents where they were when he was killed. And slightly unrelated but not so much, I've REALLY gotta see A Day Without A Mexican.
I was eight years old when The Big Chill came out. But on a whim I watched that last night. All those liberal arts self-righteous college kids who ended up in mainstream society, feeling sad and lost and lonely and unfulfilled... For a brief moment it made me appreciate my life, seeing as how I'm on the rebound from the corporate world. But then today I sat in a random meeting with people in my line of work, and I was kinda stunned to realize that none of them were wearing wedding rings. I chalked it up to the fact that they were all gay just to make myself feel better, but somehow the movie intertwined with the meeting and I walked out wondering if anyone was really, truly happy. An odd day followed.
And now I'm going to watch Kramer Vs Kramer, because my oldest friend raves about that movie, and I imagine I will cry at the appropriate scenes and appreciate the Oscar-worthiness of the movie, and then be left wondering why people bother to get married and what the meaning of life is all about.
Welcome to my Friday night! Good thing I have a full bottle of wine to accompany this viewing.
