Random thoughts ARE some of my favorite things!!! Yay! Sometimes, some days, they can still qualify as a blog entry about my favorite things! Today is one such day. I've spent the second half of today convinced it's Wednesday. I overshot the springing forward mechanism of daylight savings, apparently, as I was also convinced, until I looked at the clock moments ago, that it was 12:30 in the morning. It's not (yet)! Yay.
"I'm relatively sane for a girl." - Quinn, from "Glee" discussing reasons we might be surprised she's interested in being prom queen. Also reason number 347 "Glee" jumped the shark for me and am waiting for the finale so that it is the actually finale for my viewership. Sure, it jumped it, did a few dance moves, and there were a couple of runs by the soloist while back up singers harmonized, but have no doubt, there was a jump at the top of this number, and a shark somewhere below. Was it a Shark from West Side Story? If you want it to be, sure.
My note: Girl's aren't inherently insaneeeeee, writers from Gleeeeee, and your character wasn't saying it in a jokey I'm in high school waayyyyyyyyyyy.
But really. No reason to nitpick this one line. But I just did.
"Fill it up let's pump the jams and ride." - Part of opening, pre-chorus lyrics to the song "Stomp" by the Brothers Johnson. Also, a contender for what I might like my tombstone to say. Wait, serious question - just wrote "engraved on my tombstone" and thought wait, engrave like in a grave, ha! Wait is that where that word comes from? Does everyone know this but me? No. Maybe not. A trip on an aside of the interwebs indicate that relates to carving...
Anway-not really kidding there about the tombstone. It's such a great party directive. The notion that it's all about to get started is clear. And it is fabulous.
While one image is of gassing up a car before a night on the town, adding that to a gravestone would imply to all funeral goers that they should throw in a corpse then go play some party music - which sounds awesome. Like, hey, I'm dead! You guys get outta here and go live life!
I know this sounds especially morbid, but it's a great message, in life and beyond. Yes, I'd also like that to be my screensaver at work. And the meaningful quote automatically attached to the signature portion of my emails. And the info sections of my online profiles on any given web site. Yes. It's just a good set of directives with a good indication that fun is about to happen and should. The momentum boost you could always use.
There is a not so small part of me that wishes I'd been around for the disco/funk heyday. I don't know where I think I would have gone then that I don't go now, but somehow I feel like I at least should have. Like I might have just gone dancing a bit. And that maybe I could get a perm and have it be cool.
Do you ever think astronauts miss space meals once they get back to earth? Like the sometimes nostalgia you get for the best school lunch your cafeteria made or the best, actually-not-that-great meal from your childhood. Something low-brow but specific? That. Like, do astronauts ever get that twinge of flavor memory from something that was dehydrated and rehydrated?
I want Nate Dogg to be the voiceover for most things for me personally. My voicemail message. My book on tape. My computer-aided voice production device when my vocal chords are crushed in a freak disco food re-hydration accident. It would just be so good.
Do you think Eminem ever goes to 7-11 and buys m&ms just to see if the cashiers show any sign of recognition that it's funny? Or that they know him? Or that it is ok to try coconut m&ms? If I were Eminem, I would. Often.
If you were forced at gunpoint to be at tattoo gunpoint and you had to get a tattoo to save your life, would you get a tiny dot the size of a freckle to appease your captor but not actually get a tattoo, or would you get something either large, specific, or ridiculous, just because you'd have the story "But I had to" to back it up, allowing you total creative freedom? If you wanted to really get risky, you might ask for "BANG!" and then when your gunman asked if you thought you were funny, just tell him you're a hairdresser and it was more of a styling suggestion people would see and subconsciously process, then accept as a desired haircut. Say it's the only cut you're good at. Then if he still didn't believe you, ask for tweety bird too.
"Everybody take it to the top we're going to stomp! All night! Going to party.
Til the morning light."
Yep, even the Brothers Johnson sound better when Nate Dogg is involved. As he is in my imagination. As he will be tomorrow when my Nate Dogg alarm clock goes off.
"Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. It's time to wake up." So smooth yet intimidating yet sexy, Nate Dogg.
Oh well, a girl can dream.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Monday, March 14, 2011
Big in Japan.
I definitely rely on the internet for all manner of both news and distraction from what could be perceived as more worthwhile endeavors, tasks, or ahem - job duties. The devastation in Japan following the earthquake, tsunami, earthquake, and nuclear site explosions with threat of meltdown pending are omni-present on the internet, often in mind-blowing visual form as people captured water destroying a city on camera. What I cannot seem to wrap my head around is the seeming lack of distinction made between horrific news in the wake of a natural disaster and the same old same old celebrity b.s. and mindless internet filler that is usually on the top of major homepages. I guess I'm also finding myself having trouble confronting the reality that people are finding corpses wash ashore in Japan. Others are living in school gyms with no access to heat and running water. Others have been wiped off the face of the earth like they were never there. I know that's terrible, and this is not a "favorite things" entry, thematically, but it is hard to reckon with the seeming inability to reckon with something just happening like that. Like, that is reality. That is fact. There is now a pre/post 2011 earthquake distinction for Japan. And I am still thinking about the Real Housewives of Orange County and the Sister Wives of Utah and Bethanny in New York City and how they all might fare in feminist critique - but still watching! Yes, still watching. This is after thinking about whether or not I should buy pretzels and whether or not I should take netflix up on their free trial and whether or not I should consider a shirt I've worn 4 times sufficiently dirty to qualify for washing yet.
And it's not just me, which should be comforting, but is not. I think it's the opposite. The fact that there isn't a "HOLY SHIT" section of every media outlet prior to the "Usual Piffle" section, with distinctions of a similar grade, makes a curious study in our ability to process terrible news and, because it's not directly impacting us in the next 10 minutes, move right along to the next thing. As an example, i give you real Yahoo!.com headlines:
1. Japan Faces Potential Nuclear Catastrophe
2. Ways to Stop Static Cling
3. The Unhealthiest Energy Drinks
4. Japanese Village Vanishes
These stories do not have the same weight. They are not of the same importance. Static cling is probably not going to contain nuclear fallout for a generation of citizens, except fashion fallout- am'i right ladies? But they have the same billing! Maybe it's because considering the powerlessness of others in the face of natural disaster - really giving it some thought and brain space - is too terrifying because it highlights our own helplessness and vulnerability? Or maybe it's the feeling we can't help or change things? But it somehow seems amazing to me that the Kardashian news cycle continues, along with Bieber, Lohan, Gaga, as if really not that much new happened. Maybe this calmed Charlie Sheen's spotlight for 3 minutes, but I think I would feel better if - ok, not if there were public panic, but maybe some sort of pop culturally accepted O.M.G. moment. Ok no, that would be terrible too, and invariably lead to pandering.
I dunno. Obviously this is not a situation with a feel good ending and an easy fix. It's just tricky to evaluate how media examines and reacts to Japan, and, in turn, how I do the same. And while I'm mad at media avoidance, I actually also avoid.
And it's not just me, which should be comforting, but is not. I think it's the opposite. The fact that there isn't a "HOLY SHIT" section of every media outlet prior to the "Usual Piffle" section, with distinctions of a similar grade, makes a curious study in our ability to process terrible news and, because it's not directly impacting us in the next 10 minutes, move right along to the next thing. As an example, i give you real Yahoo!.com headlines:
1. Japan Faces Potential Nuclear Catastrophe
2. Ways to Stop Static Cling
3. The Unhealthiest Energy Drinks
4. Japanese Village Vanishes
These stories do not have the same weight. They are not of the same importance. Static cling is probably not going to contain nuclear fallout for a generation of citizens, except fashion fallout- am'i right ladies? But they have the same billing! Maybe it's because considering the powerlessness of others in the face of natural disaster - really giving it some thought and brain space - is too terrifying because it highlights our own helplessness and vulnerability? Or maybe it's the feeling we can't help or change things? But it somehow seems amazing to me that the Kardashian news cycle continues, along with Bieber, Lohan, Gaga, as if really not that much new happened. Maybe this calmed Charlie Sheen's spotlight for 3 minutes, but I think I would feel better if - ok, not if there were public panic, but maybe some sort of pop culturally accepted O.M.G. moment. Ok no, that would be terrible too, and invariably lead to pandering.
I dunno. Obviously this is not a situation with a feel good ending and an easy fix. It's just tricky to evaluate how media examines and reacts to Japan, and, in turn, how I do the same. And while I'm mad at media avoidance, I actually also avoid.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
I might have ambitions for fun like the Irish, but my liver's a teetotaler
I learned yesterday that if you go to a beach town's St. Patrick's Day observed day of drinking, even if you are a bit late and just catch the tale end of the bagpipers, turns out you still have plenty of time to get drunk - drunker than you thought you were getting. Even after years of experience, I still might forget the eventual potency of large volumes of green beer. So much so, that today was really spent as a shame Sunday, where I was just kinda convinced I was not fit for consumption by the world at large as I probably hadn't been the night before, and that I should primarily stay on couch arrest and think about being a terrible person.
Somehow I find that a new incidence of drunken shame or the perceived need for shame based on a sense you did something wrong but don't quite remember (Emily Kite's genius phrase "douche chills" is called out here) often results in recall of past moments of shame - drunken or otherwise. Like, hey, it's 4 p.m. and you're still in your pajama pants and you've eaten a half a block of cheese and watched approximately 6.5 episodes of "Say Yes to the Dress" because it's a marathon and you just let yourself get hooked by the teaser for the "Sister Wives" marathon that starts in 5 minutes and they ARE about to show a whole season. Maybe we should talk about the shame you should be feeling now, when you realize your boob is itchy because there are chip crumbs down your shirt not just from a random itch, rather than the shame you felt in 8th grade when you think you alienated the new girl without even trying or the time you licked a dog on a dare in a bar.
But yeah. I did end up watching a lot of "Sister Wives." It's completely fascinating and very curious, especially from a woman's perspective (though I say that as a woman without any other perspective to call upon). These women spent a lot of time discussing the ways in which they felt jealous or angry, but then felt they were selfish when they were feeling that way because they had all these other great perks, like other wives to help mother their children. Very very interesting. Also, season two (I think) opened with them "outing" themselves on national t.v. by going on the Today Show. Or maybe it was GMA? Or both? I don't know. But I really wanted them to address the obvious question of "how are you not already out by being on a national t.v. show?" Like, if I happened to see those ladies at the grocery store, I'd definitely be like, hey Christine, did you get over your feelings of inadequacy and adjust to the fourth wife? And are you still afraid of toasters (really)? And how DO you make homemade hamburger buns? They look delicious. And you're so good with a curling iron! (She is!)
I just spent a hungover afternoon with them and feel like I know them, so are we to presume no one in their town has cable television?
And somehow I did want to see who went to the grocery store. And who paid bills. And what the teenage kids do when their parents aren't around. Oops! Fascinating television.
Also, they specifically said they did not want their children reading blogs about them and here I am blogging about them. Janelle, wife #2, said she'd rather these no-account bloggers tell her things to her face. Well, Janelle, I want to know where you work. You seem very busy and to have a demanding job, and I wanted to know what that job was. Thanks!
And as far as accountability, well, I guess I would just like you to know I'm acknowledging my time as a jackass yesterday. This little puppet grew donkey ears, and when today I turned back into a real boy, it hurt!
But now shame Sunday's close draws near. An hour earlier at that. Thank you to today's new reality friends for keeping me distracted from my own.
Somehow I find that a new incidence of drunken shame or the perceived need for shame based on a sense you did something wrong but don't quite remember (Emily Kite's genius phrase "douche chills" is called out here) often results in recall of past moments of shame - drunken or otherwise. Like, hey, it's 4 p.m. and you're still in your pajama pants and you've eaten a half a block of cheese and watched approximately 6.5 episodes of "Say Yes to the Dress" because it's a marathon and you just let yourself get hooked by the teaser for the "Sister Wives" marathon that starts in 5 minutes and they ARE about to show a whole season. Maybe we should talk about the shame you should be feeling now, when you realize your boob is itchy because there are chip crumbs down your shirt not just from a random itch, rather than the shame you felt in 8th grade when you think you alienated the new girl without even trying or the time you licked a dog on a dare in a bar.
But yeah. I did end up watching a lot of "Sister Wives." It's completely fascinating and very curious, especially from a woman's perspective (though I say that as a woman without any other perspective to call upon). These women spent a lot of time discussing the ways in which they felt jealous or angry, but then felt they were selfish when they were feeling that way because they had all these other great perks, like other wives to help mother their children. Very very interesting. Also, season two (I think) opened with them "outing" themselves on national t.v. by going on the Today Show. Or maybe it was GMA? Or both? I don't know. But I really wanted them to address the obvious question of "how are you not already out by being on a national t.v. show?" Like, if I happened to see those ladies at the grocery store, I'd definitely be like, hey Christine, did you get over your feelings of inadequacy and adjust to the fourth wife? And are you still afraid of toasters (really)? And how DO you make homemade hamburger buns? They look delicious. And you're so good with a curling iron! (She is!)
I just spent a hungover afternoon with them and feel like I know them, so are we to presume no one in their town has cable television?
And somehow I did want to see who went to the grocery store. And who paid bills. And what the teenage kids do when their parents aren't around. Oops! Fascinating television.
Also, they specifically said they did not want their children reading blogs about them and here I am blogging about them. Janelle, wife #2, said she'd rather these no-account bloggers tell her things to her face. Well, Janelle, I want to know where you work. You seem very busy and to have a demanding job, and I wanted to know what that job was. Thanks!
And as far as accountability, well, I guess I would just like you to know I'm acknowledging my time as a jackass yesterday. This little puppet grew donkey ears, and when today I turned back into a real boy, it hurt!
But now shame Sunday's close draws near. An hour earlier at that. Thank you to today's new reality friends for keeping me distracted from my own.
Friday, March 11, 2011
Friday: disaster control law order toilets
Today began with some text messages from friends and family on the east coast who were letting me know that there were tsunami warnings for the California coast as a result of Japan's gigantor and devastating earthquake and tsunami. The tsunami evacuation route signs are posted about 5-7 blocks inland from where my bed is situated, which was where I was when checking my phone to receive such notice. Once the internet I take for granted as existing and accessible from my home computer gave me sufficient knowledge to know that I was not in imminent danger, I proceeded to the next important order of business of the day, hiding clothing that needed to be put away under my comforter rather than putting it away, all so that the company tasked with replacing my impressively highly functional toilet with a low-flow, green toilet could tromp through my apartment to do so without knowing what a mess I truly was.
Which potentially disastrous event do you think caused me more repeated and intense stress throughout the day - confronting the realization that something similar to the devastation in Japan could happen to me at any day or any time and, despite assuring my father to the contrary, I didn't really know what I would do nor did I have backup batteries for my flashlight (where is my flashlight again?), OR pessimistically having no faith that my apartment's plumbing would be functional upon my return home this evening and believing with certainty that strangers would be knocking on my door to turn off my water (if it wasn't off already) and rip out an old toilet at 7 a.m. tomorrow to replace it with an eco-friendly toilet I was certain would not get the job done?
Yes. Door number two.
(I'm not going to even go with the obvious joke there...this entire post could get very scatological very fast).
Why am I full of indignant rage and outrage because of the tiniest of life's transgressions, yet actively avoidant about eh...what really matters?
To simplify, if only a touch - not having plumbing of any kind due to natural disaster or not having plumbing due to perceived incompetence of building management's inability to make demands of contract workers, my energies go off the charts to the latter.
I really actively spent time throughout the day trying to think positively about the plumbing and NOT assume that my apartment would be a mess (not by my own hand), without running water, and toiletless to boot. It was out of my control. I shouldn't worry about it. Every time I opened a web browser NEW photos of planes and cars heaped together haphazardly like children's toys were being shown. NEW shots of fires, crying people, and bodies in the street. NEW footage of waves overtaking buildings and everything else that we couldn't see below the water in Japan. Threat of a Nuclear Meltdown. I use caps there because, really. Nuclear. Meltdown.
Yet I was still working through my inability to control the likely (to my pessimist's mind) scenario in which the toilet left me, well...shit outta luck. I think I included my fears in 3 emails to friends? And a phone call. Yep. The one where I admitted I was avoiding going home because I was afraid of what I'd find. The same phone call where I assured my father I did indeed have a plan.
If I was freaking out this much over the potential of an inconvenience that would not be a disaster, what would I possibly do if it were truly a disaster? Happy thoughts...no idea. Best move on to the immediate and then try my best to exert control.
A relevant aside: hilariously, I did not realize I was a control freak until fairly recently in life, and still probably would try to answer dishonestly on an internet "Are you a control freak?" quiz if I thought the answers would peg me as one. (Thereby controlling the outcome, OF COURSE).
Today is a rare day when such an incredible, unbelievable, staggering event beyond control happens that it forces reflection, whether you want to or not, because you can't help feeling like everything you're doing throughout your day is ridiculous, insignificant, and really not that big a deal when compared to people who are suddenly stripped back to survival as the only goal for the day. For me, what was thrown into sharpest relief was my seeming inability not to be either fired up or outraged at the little things. Why?
Well, hm, too much time on my hands, perhaps? Too nosy about other people's lives/comments/driving habits/misuse of the word "literally"? I am not sure.
Rage point 2 of the day.
So, just after convincing myself this new low flow toilet mandate was a good thing because it actually got me to do the dishes and clean up some papers (and hide clothing) before going to work, I left and made my way to a McDonald's for a cup of coffee (oh goodness, I'm realizing now my email complaint to McDonald's about what amounted to giving drivers trick cups [lids that didn't fit the cup sizes] falls into this larger effort's theme). I was in a drive-thru line behind an individual with a disabled designation on the California license plate. The driver tried to throw some trash in the trash can that appears a few feet before the drive-thru ordering box. Deciding he could not reach, he proceeded forward a few feet, stopped short of the ordering area, and threw his pile of trash on the ground.
Now, this was not McDonald's trash or something that related to McDonald's, not that that would make it excusable. This was "hey I've slowed to a speed that is juuust a bit more than stopped, so why not clear my car of hindrances like a cardboard cracker box full of other crap hanging out the top before pulling ahead to ask a man behind a speakerbox for a mcmuffin?"
I wanted to beep. I wanted to shout. I wanted to tattle to the man behind the speakerbox. I wanted to pick up the trash and return it to her (oh yeah, surprise! by the 1st window I realized that the guy was actually a woman) and say "You dropped this," with faux sweetness. I wanted to tattle to the guy at the 1st window! I tried to find a way that the disabled person's license plate would make this ok, but no - my outrage won out, just like the California did on the license plate - a person in the state of me, worried about the state of me. I had my coffee, but I still wanted to confront this woman. I wanted to roll down my window in traffic and say "Hey, you're not allowed to litter! It's really pointless and lazy and unfair to everyone else who doesn't throw trash out the window but might like to." She turned a corner. She seemed disoriented. And elderly. And inoffensive.
Yet her offense haunted me. And even writing about it makes me pissed again. The need for justice in the face of the most minor societal infractions would seem to suggest I'd be the world's most unexciting super hero.
A small reward for taking the time to articulate rage - acknowledgment.
Much like sharing that I've taken the time to complain to McDonald's (WHO DOES THAT?) after having let my annoyance and frustration at a system that could be better had built to a point that was no longer sustainable, I found myself doing the same with the dirty towel return policy and procedures at the gym. Suffice to say, my long-standing, well documented frustration with the current system and its absolute lack of ease and efficiency have been the fodder for more than a few laughs and opportunities to make fun of my mania by friends. Rightfully so. So when I finally sent (in response to a related email the gym staff initiated to all members, by the way) a long response to their request that towels are returned properly that outlined in no uncertain terms the ways in which the system is currently inconvenient or could be improved, I felt great. I felt relieved of a burden. I felt certain that at least 3 offices' worth of employees were making fun of my email and labeling me crazy. I would have.
But receiving a polite, generic response that acknowledged my opinion WITHOUT acknowledging I'd probably been placed on an at-risk list in some database somewhere really made me feel better. Someone had pretended to hear even if they hadn't heard. Thank you.
Rage point 3 - Jerks.
This was valid rather than ridiculous. I watched some folks take the opportunity to repeatedly make someone new, young, and intimidated feel dumb and incompetent and unwanted in group activity. I wanted to yell. I wanted to pounce like Wolverine. I wanted there to be a societal gimme for 1 sucker-punch per person per day to spend with impunity on anyone who needed it so that I could use it. I wanted to lay on the horn the same way I did with the little old manly lady at McDonald's. I wanted to ask these people why they thought they could treat other people like shit? I was furious. And remained that way wee wee wee all the way home.
Speaking of shit...
The moment of truth was upon me.
A bit bedraggled, and eager to be done with the day and take my shoes off and open a beer, I came around the corner from where I'd parked to be confronted by the sight of two even lines of toilets and toilet-related paraphernalia waiting curbside.
At first I feared they were toilets waiting to be installed, standing together like it was ladies night at some toilet country line dance bar. But upon closer inspection I saw they were the toppled thrones of the inhabitants of my apartment building, all left to be taken to a dump of their own for once. The variety was striking. Some were clean. Some looked as though they'd been in the backrooms of mechanic's shops that had run out of Lava soap for the past 40 years. Some had 70s kitsch flowery toilet seat covers. One, a fake wooden seat. I did not stop try to find my own, but really did feel the obligation of wanting to thank a reliable piece of equipment for not quitting on me just because it would have been easier.
Inside, my new toilet sits surrounded by the crud of workboots and the remembrances of toilets past. My toilet paper roll was empty. It was also in the sink, where the roll holder had likewise been deposited for safe rusting.
This machine has 2 settings and I've yet to really test its mettle. I'm also still kind of scared of it. But at least it's there and running. And maybe even saving water.
Disaster averted, I settled into a few episodes of Law & Order - original (and best). My God, I love that show. I cheer at the television when especially cutting justice is delivered (often by the aptly named, Mike Cutter, if not the real Jack McCoy). It was only in having some self-satisfied smiles while looking for shoes I could wear into my dusty, dirty bathroom that I realized I like the show so much because it presents what does not exist in real life. Order. Justice. People being forced to be accountable for their actions (even if their actions are murder, not general jerkiness). And let's not forget, Jerry Orbach.
And now, a day out of my control over, I am thankful to be able to hit the reset button, and climb into bed with all of my partially dirty clothing. Littered everywhere. Like towels that weren't returned properly. I am my own jerk! And after all, the order is restored.
As so many have said, thoughts, prayers, love to Japan.
Which potentially disastrous event do you think caused me more repeated and intense stress throughout the day - confronting the realization that something similar to the devastation in Japan could happen to me at any day or any time and, despite assuring my father to the contrary, I didn't really know what I would do nor did I have backup batteries for my flashlight (where is my flashlight again?), OR pessimistically having no faith that my apartment's plumbing would be functional upon my return home this evening and believing with certainty that strangers would be knocking on my door to turn off my water (if it wasn't off already) and rip out an old toilet at 7 a.m. tomorrow to replace it with an eco-friendly toilet I was certain would not get the job done?
Yes. Door number two.
(I'm not going to even go with the obvious joke there...this entire post could get very scatological very fast).
Why am I full of indignant rage and outrage because of the tiniest of life's transgressions, yet actively avoidant about eh...what really matters?
To simplify, if only a touch - not having plumbing of any kind due to natural disaster or not having plumbing due to perceived incompetence of building management's inability to make demands of contract workers, my energies go off the charts to the latter.
I really actively spent time throughout the day trying to think positively about the plumbing and NOT assume that my apartment would be a mess (not by my own hand), without running water, and toiletless to boot. It was out of my control. I shouldn't worry about it. Every time I opened a web browser NEW photos of planes and cars heaped together haphazardly like children's toys were being shown. NEW shots of fires, crying people, and bodies in the street. NEW footage of waves overtaking buildings and everything else that we couldn't see below the water in Japan. Threat of a Nuclear Meltdown. I use caps there because, really. Nuclear. Meltdown.
Yet I was still working through my inability to control the likely (to my pessimist's mind) scenario in which the toilet left me, well...shit outta luck. I think I included my fears in 3 emails to friends? And a phone call. Yep. The one where I admitted I was avoiding going home because I was afraid of what I'd find. The same phone call where I assured my father I did indeed have a plan.
If I was freaking out this much over the potential of an inconvenience that would not be a disaster, what would I possibly do if it were truly a disaster? Happy thoughts...no idea. Best move on to the immediate and then try my best to exert control.
A relevant aside: hilariously, I did not realize I was a control freak until fairly recently in life, and still probably would try to answer dishonestly on an internet "Are you a control freak?" quiz if I thought the answers would peg me as one. (Thereby controlling the outcome, OF COURSE).
Today is a rare day when such an incredible, unbelievable, staggering event beyond control happens that it forces reflection, whether you want to or not, because you can't help feeling like everything you're doing throughout your day is ridiculous, insignificant, and really not that big a deal when compared to people who are suddenly stripped back to survival as the only goal for the day. For me, what was thrown into sharpest relief was my seeming inability not to be either fired up or outraged at the little things. Why?
Well, hm, too much time on my hands, perhaps? Too nosy about other people's lives/comments/driving habits/misuse of the word "literally"? I am not sure.
Rage point 2 of the day.
So, just after convincing myself this new low flow toilet mandate was a good thing because it actually got me to do the dishes and clean up some papers (and hide clothing) before going to work, I left and made my way to a McDonald's for a cup of coffee (oh goodness, I'm realizing now my email complaint to McDonald's about what amounted to giving drivers trick cups [lids that didn't fit the cup sizes] falls into this larger effort's theme). I was in a drive-thru line behind an individual with a disabled designation on the California license plate. The driver tried to throw some trash in the trash can that appears a few feet before the drive-thru ordering box. Deciding he could not reach, he proceeded forward a few feet, stopped short of the ordering area, and threw his pile of trash on the ground.
Now, this was not McDonald's trash or something that related to McDonald's, not that that would make it excusable. This was "hey I've slowed to a speed that is juuust a bit more than stopped, so why not clear my car of hindrances like a cardboard cracker box full of other crap hanging out the top before pulling ahead to ask a man behind a speakerbox for a mcmuffin?"
I wanted to beep. I wanted to shout. I wanted to tattle to the man behind the speakerbox. I wanted to pick up the trash and return it to her (oh yeah, surprise! by the 1st window I realized that the guy was actually a woman) and say "You dropped this," with faux sweetness. I wanted to tattle to the guy at the 1st window! I tried to find a way that the disabled person's license plate would make this ok, but no - my outrage won out, just like the California did on the license plate - a person in the state of me, worried about the state of me. I had my coffee, but I still wanted to confront this woman. I wanted to roll down my window in traffic and say "Hey, you're not allowed to litter! It's really pointless and lazy and unfair to everyone else who doesn't throw trash out the window but might like to." She turned a corner. She seemed disoriented. And elderly. And inoffensive.
Yet her offense haunted me. And even writing about it makes me pissed again. The need for justice in the face of the most minor societal infractions would seem to suggest I'd be the world's most unexciting super hero.
A small reward for taking the time to articulate rage - acknowledgment.
Much like sharing that I've taken the time to complain to McDonald's (WHO DOES THAT?) after having let my annoyance and frustration at a system that could be better had built to a point that was no longer sustainable, I found myself doing the same with the dirty towel return policy and procedures at the gym. Suffice to say, my long-standing, well documented frustration with the current system and its absolute lack of ease and efficiency have been the fodder for more than a few laughs and opportunities to make fun of my mania by friends. Rightfully so. So when I finally sent (in response to a related email the gym staff initiated to all members, by the way) a long response to their request that towels are returned properly that outlined in no uncertain terms the ways in which the system is currently inconvenient or could be improved, I felt great. I felt relieved of a burden. I felt certain that at least 3 offices' worth of employees were making fun of my email and labeling me crazy. I would have.
But receiving a polite, generic response that acknowledged my opinion WITHOUT acknowledging I'd probably been placed on an at-risk list in some database somewhere really made me feel better. Someone had pretended to hear even if they hadn't heard. Thank you.
Rage point 3 - Jerks.
This was valid rather than ridiculous. I watched some folks take the opportunity to repeatedly make someone new, young, and intimidated feel dumb and incompetent and unwanted in group activity. I wanted to yell. I wanted to pounce like Wolverine. I wanted there to be a societal gimme for 1 sucker-punch per person per day to spend with impunity on anyone who needed it so that I could use it. I wanted to lay on the horn the same way I did with the little old manly lady at McDonald's. I wanted to ask these people why they thought they could treat other people like shit? I was furious. And remained that way wee wee wee all the way home.
Speaking of shit...
The moment of truth was upon me.
A bit bedraggled, and eager to be done with the day and take my shoes off and open a beer, I came around the corner from where I'd parked to be confronted by the sight of two even lines of toilets and toilet-related paraphernalia waiting curbside.
At first I feared they were toilets waiting to be installed, standing together like it was ladies night at some toilet country line dance bar. But upon closer inspection I saw they were the toppled thrones of the inhabitants of my apartment building, all left to be taken to a dump of their own for once. The variety was striking. Some were clean. Some looked as though they'd been in the backrooms of mechanic's shops that had run out of Lava soap for the past 40 years. Some had 70s kitsch flowery toilet seat covers. One, a fake wooden seat. I did not stop try to find my own, but really did feel the obligation of wanting to thank a reliable piece of equipment for not quitting on me just because it would have been easier.
Inside, my new toilet sits surrounded by the crud of workboots and the remembrances of toilets past. My toilet paper roll was empty. It was also in the sink, where the roll holder had likewise been deposited for safe rusting.
This machine has 2 settings and I've yet to really test its mettle. I'm also still kind of scared of it. But at least it's there and running. And maybe even saving water.
Disaster averted, I settled into a few episodes of Law & Order - original (and best). My God, I love that show. I cheer at the television when especially cutting justice is delivered (often by the aptly named, Mike Cutter, if not the real Jack McCoy). It was only in having some self-satisfied smiles while looking for shoes I could wear into my dusty, dirty bathroom that I realized I like the show so much because it presents what does not exist in real life. Order. Justice. People being forced to be accountable for their actions (even if their actions are murder, not general jerkiness). And let's not forget, Jerry Orbach.
And now, a day out of my control over, I am thankful to be able to hit the reset button, and climb into bed with all of my partially dirty clothing. Littered everywhere. Like towels that weren't returned properly. I am my own jerk! And after all, the order is restored.
As so many have said, thoughts, prayers, love to Japan.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Oprah, Catholicism, Austria, Canned Tuna, Expiration Dates and Pee-Wee Herman
Oprah, Catholicism, Austria, Canned Tuna, Expiration Dates and Pee-Wee Herman.
Day 2 of Lent 2011! Woohoo!
These elements and how they fit together, at least in my mind.
Part of my resistance to Lent is that well, it's a total downer. Really. In addition to not wanting to be pushed to do something I should be doing like writing, I also kind of don't like the overall oeuvre of Lent. Yes, it signals the return of the filet o' fish and its like-reconstituted seafood fast food brethren, which in turn means there's a shamrock shake somewhere in there too, just by way of fast food calendar, but other than marking the passage of such "for a limited time" times, Lent is also when church gets real moany-like musically. You lose all the upbeat joy to the world of the Christmas season, and you've just settled into the good vibrations tunes of ordinary time when BANG!, the pre-dirges, the dirges, the reminders of just how sinful you are come out in every minor key known to man (and, if sung reverently, one presumes higher powers).
Lent. It's when you decide to give up cookies and the Girl Scouts are friggin' EVERYWHERE reminding you you've made the dumbest decision ever in self-denial. It's when every time you congratulate yourself for being able to abstain from a box of Thin Mints and instead eat an entire tub of ice cream as a reward for your asceticism you end up hanging out with someone who has given up swearing or caffeine or alcohol or dairy products or television or naps or all of the above. Something that just seems really above and beyond the call of duty. I mean, several of my family members gave up cheese one year. CHEESE. Come on. I do not believe God wants that. I just don't. Not the God I'm familiar with, a God who had the omnipotence to make a moldy cheese like bleu superior to so many other cheeses! I mean, that's a no-nonsense, no waste kind of God if even the funky stuff is good eatin'!
There are people in the world who think climbing K2 would be a really great challenge and SO worth the experience just to say they'd done it. Then there are those of us who think that just sounds like a terrible idea and about one of the least exciting ways to end up short of breath. The extreme self-denial inspired by Lent in some cases puts me in mind of the mountain climbers. And don't even get me started on people who use Lent as a diet plan.
So, speaking of climb every mountain, that's where Austria and Oprah come in. The Sound of Music made "My Favorite Things" a household tune, universally known for sharing a message of can-do optimism and comfort that puts everyone in mind of the Austrian pajama party we all wanted to be a part of. And if you actually think of the words, they are lovely images and favorite things. Cream-colored ponies and crisp apple strudel. Yes! Those are nice thoughts! Pleasing for the mind to conjure. And lyrically pleasant as all hell! Poetry. All that "C" and "P" and then ending with "llll" on "apple" and "strudel." Yes. I like it. And when Julie Andrews sings it, YES. I love it.
Oprah took "favorite things" and consistently produced episodes of television with crowd shots of Americans losing their minds over material goods in a manner akin to evangelical healing. Yes, I too would be excited if Oprah gave me an iPad. But more so if Julie Andrews told me how to look as great in a signature haircut all my own. Though I'm no Oprah, I do think that maybe co-opting my favorite things for use during Lent might be a good idea for the moments when the dog bites, but inspiration does not. Also, in thinking about my favorite things and reflecting on the things that make me very happy (see yesterday: FRIENDS), maybe I'll be less inclined to ramble on about my own life and the imperfections and neuroses that dance across my mind like a traditional Austrian folkdance. (Please be aware that is not a promise. Just a mild goal. The hills are alive. The mountains are still pretty steep).
SO! The Sound of Music is one of my favorite things. Fact. Hard.
And while Lent is not, and well, it's not really designed to be a happy time as I understand it, but more one for super reflection and maybe some self-sacrifice, I think I can make it a bit more useful if I embrace it as a time of contemplative appreciation. Like that which I experience while eating cheese.
Let's see, is that everything? No.
Canned Tuna and Expiration Dates - the Lenten forced meat denial brings out the carnivore in me like Lymon brings out the Sprite in me. It was day ONE yesterday of being a day you're not supposed to go to Shorty's Rib Shack, and suddenly nothing was of culinary interest to me that did not involve meat. Never mind the canned tuna just sitting patiently on the shelf, ready for duty. And the expiration date on the eggs in the fridge seemed to be a bit too close to Groundhog Day for my comfort, so I felt myself hating on Lent and all its restrictions approximately 8.75 hours into Lent. So yeah, I still have some room for personal growth with the self-discipline/self-denial thing.
And finally, Pee Wee Herman was on Conan O'Brien's show last night, which was a strange pairing of someone I loved watching when i was 10 with someone I love watching now. The two together somehow merged my childhood t.v. with my adult t.v. in a way that was both amazing and vaguely off-putting. A show combo fit for the enterprising mind of Uncle Max.
Next year's folk festival? Maybe.
Or at least an appearance on Oprah.
So here's to climbing every mountain! Well, maybe not every mountain...
Day 2 of Lent 2011! Woohoo!
These elements and how they fit together, at least in my mind.
Part of my resistance to Lent is that well, it's a total downer. Really. In addition to not wanting to be pushed to do something I should be doing like writing, I also kind of don't like the overall oeuvre of Lent. Yes, it signals the return of the filet o' fish and its like-reconstituted seafood fast food brethren, which in turn means there's a shamrock shake somewhere in there too, just by way of fast food calendar, but other than marking the passage of such "for a limited time" times, Lent is also when church gets real moany-like musically. You lose all the upbeat joy to the world of the Christmas season, and you've just settled into the good vibrations tunes of ordinary time when BANG!, the pre-dirges, the dirges, the reminders of just how sinful you are come out in every minor key known to man (and, if sung reverently, one presumes higher powers).
Lent. It's when you decide to give up cookies and the Girl Scouts are friggin' EVERYWHERE reminding you you've made the dumbest decision ever in self-denial. It's when every time you congratulate yourself for being able to abstain from a box of Thin Mints and instead eat an entire tub of ice cream as a reward for your asceticism you end up hanging out with someone who has given up swearing or caffeine or alcohol or dairy products or television or naps or all of the above. Something that just seems really above and beyond the call of duty. I mean, several of my family members gave up cheese one year. CHEESE. Come on. I do not believe God wants that. I just don't. Not the God I'm familiar with, a God who had the omnipotence to make a moldy cheese like bleu superior to so many other cheeses! I mean, that's a no-nonsense, no waste kind of God if even the funky stuff is good eatin'!
There are people in the world who think climbing K2 would be a really great challenge and SO worth the experience just to say they'd done it. Then there are those of us who think that just sounds like a terrible idea and about one of the least exciting ways to end up short of breath. The extreme self-denial inspired by Lent in some cases puts me in mind of the mountain climbers. And don't even get me started on people who use Lent as a diet plan.
So, speaking of climb every mountain, that's where Austria and Oprah come in. The Sound of Music made "My Favorite Things" a household tune, universally known for sharing a message of can-do optimism and comfort that puts everyone in mind of the Austrian pajama party we all wanted to be a part of. And if you actually think of the words, they are lovely images and favorite things. Cream-colored ponies and crisp apple strudel. Yes! Those are nice thoughts! Pleasing for the mind to conjure. And lyrically pleasant as all hell! Poetry. All that "C" and "P" and then ending with "llll" on "apple" and "strudel." Yes. I like it. And when Julie Andrews sings it, YES. I love it.
Oprah took "favorite things" and consistently produced episodes of television with crowd shots of Americans losing their minds over material goods in a manner akin to evangelical healing. Yes, I too would be excited if Oprah gave me an iPad. But more so if Julie Andrews told me how to look as great in a signature haircut all my own. Though I'm no Oprah, I do think that maybe co-opting my favorite things for use during Lent might be a good idea for the moments when the dog bites, but inspiration does not. Also, in thinking about my favorite things and reflecting on the things that make me very happy (see yesterday: FRIENDS), maybe I'll be less inclined to ramble on about my own life and the imperfections and neuroses that dance across my mind like a traditional Austrian folkdance. (Please be aware that is not a promise. Just a mild goal. The hills are alive. The mountains are still pretty steep).
SO! The Sound of Music is one of my favorite things. Fact. Hard.
And while Lent is not, and well, it's not really designed to be a happy time as I understand it, but more one for super reflection and maybe some self-sacrifice, I think I can make it a bit more useful if I embrace it as a time of contemplative appreciation. Like that which I experience while eating cheese.
Let's see, is that everything? No.
Canned Tuna and Expiration Dates - the Lenten forced meat denial brings out the carnivore in me like Lymon brings out the Sprite in me. It was day ONE yesterday of being a day you're not supposed to go to Shorty's Rib Shack, and suddenly nothing was of culinary interest to me that did not involve meat. Never mind the canned tuna just sitting patiently on the shelf, ready for duty. And the expiration date on the eggs in the fridge seemed to be a bit too close to Groundhog Day for my comfort, so I felt myself hating on Lent and all its restrictions approximately 8.75 hours into Lent. So yeah, I still have some room for personal growth with the self-discipline/self-denial thing.
And finally, Pee Wee Herman was on Conan O'Brien's show last night, which was a strange pairing of someone I loved watching when i was 10 with someone I love watching now. The two together somehow merged my childhood t.v. with my adult t.v. in a way that was both amazing and vaguely off-putting. A show combo fit for the enterprising mind of Uncle Max.
Next year's folk festival? Maybe.
Or at least an appearance on Oprah.
So here's to climbing every mountain! Well, maybe not every mountain...
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Lento n' Steady
Here's the real truth. I hadn't really given much consideration to blogging this Lenten season. The consideration I did give was basically - ugh, Lent's coming up? What should I do this year? What should I give up? I should really try to get myself to stick with something hard.
The ideas for new lifestyles, new devotions, and new means of sacrifice and denial were certainly numerous, ambitious, unrealistic, in some cases to the point of being laughable. Yet the one thing that is probably of the most use and in some ways the most obvious - turning the heat back on in the crockpot and having to write something more than zero words a day - was given the dedicated thought of a passing fancy or fart in the wind.
"Ooh some frozen yogurt would be nice...I wonder what Joyce DeWitt is doing right now... Did I ever get that oil change I was supposed to?" That kind of passing fancy. The kind you have when you're waiting for the dental hygienist to call you in to your appointment or watching the clock's seconds tick on your microwave when you'd really like to eat what it is cooking for you. That kind.
The real truth of that matter, and how the passing thought passed so easily? I kinda didn't think anyone would notice? That. And if they did, did not think they'd call me on it.
Whoops! I get by with a little help from my friends.
And I get called to task for not doing what I should be.
Which is why I am grateful for my fantastic friends, especially when they seem to know me better than I know myself (or at least am willing to admit to myself). I mean, I am grateful beyond words! But see, even that is me trying to get out of writing...
I should say, I am grateful to the point of words for my friends and their nudges.
So, I'm going all in on this pot.
I've been thinking about ways to try to create more cohesion or a through line here, and I've been thinking about relating the following: Oprah, Catholicism, Austria, Canned Tuna, Expiration Dates and Pee-Wee Herman.
Well then, tomorrow! Stop by, the soup should be on.
If not, I have every confidence a friend will let me know it's not.
Thank yaaaaa!
The ideas for new lifestyles, new devotions, and new means of sacrifice and denial were certainly numerous, ambitious, unrealistic, in some cases to the point of being laughable. Yet the one thing that is probably of the most use and in some ways the most obvious - turning the heat back on in the crockpot and having to write something more than zero words a day - was given the dedicated thought of a passing fancy or fart in the wind.
"Ooh some frozen yogurt would be nice...I wonder what Joyce DeWitt is doing right now... Did I ever get that oil change I was supposed to?" That kind of passing fancy. The kind you have when you're waiting for the dental hygienist to call you in to your appointment or watching the clock's seconds tick on your microwave when you'd really like to eat what it is cooking for you. That kind.
The real truth of that matter, and how the passing thought passed so easily? I kinda didn't think anyone would notice? That. And if they did, did not think they'd call me on it.
Whoops! I get by with a little help from my friends.
And I get called to task for not doing what I should be.
Which is why I am grateful for my fantastic friends, especially when they seem to know me better than I know myself (or at least am willing to admit to myself). I mean, I am grateful beyond words! But see, even that is me trying to get out of writing...
I should say, I am grateful to the point of words for my friends and their nudges.
So, I'm going all in on this pot.
I've been thinking about ways to try to create more cohesion or a through line here, and I've been thinking about relating the following: Oprah, Catholicism, Austria, Canned Tuna, Expiration Dates and Pee-Wee Herman.
Well then, tomorrow! Stop by, the soup should be on.
If not, I have every confidence a friend will let me know it's not.
Thank yaaaaa!
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Dancing with the Stars - Suggested Canned Lines for the Judges
Since the new cast of “Dancing with the Stars” (DWTS) was announced it is safe to assume there are already people hard at work crafting “witty” remarks for the judges. It is likewise safe to assume that the writers of E!’s “The Soup” are also hard at work on jokes about Kirstie Alley and Wendy Williams, since both have signed up for the show.
Here are some guesses at repartee from the judges. Well, just Bruno, really. Or maybe no one. They’ll be tasteless. And horrible. But Bruno could make it work. I’ll leave the jokes to the pros and look forward to watching "The Soup’s" coverage of the show rather than the show itself. Though obviously I’ll be rooting for hometown favorite, Hines Ward. Also, if you haven’t seen clips of Bruno’s visit to "The Soup," you should. He takes his shirt off and stays a while. It was excellent enough for me to respect the heck out of him. And that was BEFORE I learned he was in the Elton John "I’m Still Standing" video dancing his buns off, which is amazing and perhaps the best use of body paint in the 80s entirety. I know! Bold statement.
Anyway...
Kendra Wilkinson
“Your husband might be a Baskett case watching you dance, but I don’t know why. You are one Playboy bunny who has mastered the bunny hop! It looks like you have two lucky rabbit’s feet with moves like that!”
Hines Ward
“Well it wasn’t the Super Bowl shuffle for you this year, but I still think you could hoist a trophy this season after all! You’ve got your first dance moves down and your partner is so good, you musn’t let anyone Steel’er! Touchdown.”
Ralph Macchio
I could wax on about your poise and posture all night! Clearly you haven’t lost all of your focus since you’ve certainly brought the mojo from the dojo! You might not sweep the leg, but you’ve certainly swept me off my feet tonight! Bravo, Ralph our Macho Macho Macchio man!
Sugar Ray Leonard
“That dance was a total knockout! Were you named after the band Sugar Ray? Because I just want to fly watching you float like a butterfly around the dance floor tonight!”
Kirstie Alley
Wendy Williams
Petra Nemcova
Chris Jericho
WWE? More like WW-we would love to see more of that! It's certainly raw in here! What have you been doing wasting your time wrestling? With moves like that, you should be pinned in the dance ring, not throwing yourself off of ropes. You’ve certainly got a body slam that makes me excited. Let's get ready to rhumba!
Li'l Romeo
Well this is one Romeo who is more of a star-crossed DANCER and I am certainly loving it! Romeo Oh Romeo Wherefore art thou cha-cha-cha? Tonight your fate and your partner's entwined for one romantic, SEXY dance! Can't wait to see a Li'l more!
Psycho Mike Catherwood
Chelsea Kane – Disney tween
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