So, I have the biopsy tomorrow. And I have to tell you that while I'm not nervous about this procedure, the hospital is doing everything in its power to scare the begeezus out of me. For the sake of efficiency, St. John’s has their data entry specialists call you ahead of time so that you can pre-register and fill out all your paperwork over the phone. Which is great. Terrific. Expeditious. I like it. Except…they ask you questions like, “What’s your religion of preference?” And “Do you have a living will?” And “Your emergency contact is your mother. What state is she in?” I’m imagining a priest clutching a cross and two blokes in surgical masks holding red Igloo coolers standing at my bedside waiting for me to kick it so they could usher my soul into the Afterlife and take my heart and kidneys respectively. "But my doctor said that it was just a local..."
I realize that any time they put a person under there is the chance they won’t come out, but I have to tell you, I’m not taking this too seriously. Especially since I realize this all just precautionary and that the data entry specialist is only filling out the standard pre-op form and my liver doctor basically said it would be a quick in-out thing. And considering I’m not an alarmist, I’m finding this all kinda amusing in a very black and morbid way. I can’t help but think that it would be just my kind of luck to stupidly die like this. And as my Uncle Larry lives, this would be just the switcheroo that God likes to pull on the Dillons. Luckily, my parents are coming out for a visit in two weeks anyway, so it’s not like I would be inconveniencing anyone (I’m thoughtful that way).
Alright, so none of you are laughing and you’re all thinking I’m nuts and insensitive, but just know that if I do die tomorrow, I’m laughing hysterically in Heaven.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Monday, April 28, 2008
My-graine
After ten years of wondering what the heck is wrong with my liver, I will be getting a biopsy done this Wednesday. While I wouldn’t say that I’m looking forward to it (especially not after the Q&A I went through this morning which included the question, “Do you have a religion of preference?” Err…), I am glad to finally have a doctor who thinks it’s in my best interest to make sure my liver isn’t diseased in some manner not identifiable through ultrasound and blood tests. So, I’m pretty OK with whatever I’ve got to do in order to get this process over with. When I made the appointment last week, the clinician said to me, “No blood thinners up to five days before the procedure and no food or drink, including water, after midnight the night before.” Okay. I can do that. I mean, it kinda sucked that I went to a party on Saturday night and didn't drink a drop of the champagne I brought, but whatever. It's not like I'm an alcoholic who has to the bend the elbow. So, no problem, right? Wrong. Especially wrong when California gets a shift in weather.
My east coast family and friends don’t feel pity for me when I complain about the California weather. Afterall, isn’t it better for it to be warm than cold? Not exactly. Especially when you don’t have air conditioning in your apartment. Most people in California will tell you that the temperature is mild enough that AC is not really needed. But then you go through a brutal weekend when it’s 90+ degrees in April, and all one can do is think, “I won’t make it to October.” As I’m always hot (my first complex sentence seems to have been “Mommy, I sweaty”), I cannot abide the extreme heat and my body responds accordingly. In the case of this weekend, I got a headache. But, no blood thinners, so no aspirin. It started on Saturday night as a sort of low-grade ache on the brain. I figured if I went to sleep and the air cooled off, I would probably feel better the next morning. But I was wrong. I awoke with the same low-grade headache. Right away, I ran next door to 7-Elven and bought a very large cup of coffee. Caffeine goes a long way in opening up blood vessels. The headache, however, persisted. I took a temperate shower to lower my body temperature. I drank a lot of water in case I was dehydrated. I took a two-hour nap. I wore my eyeglasses until 11AM, before putting in my contacts so I wouldn’t have eye strain. I ate regardless that I wasn’t hungry (the only good thing about extreme heat is that it takes away my appetite). Finally, I headed off for the gym. Exercise not only opens up the blood vessels, but relaxes tense muscles and often releases endorphins. And still the headache persisted. I went home, took out my contacts and watched a movie. As the clock inched toward 9:30, the headache decided to take a turn for the worst and I knew that without a doubt I was now in the gripes of a migraine.
If you’ve never had a migraine, there is no way on God’s green earth that I can explain it to you. You literally want to bore your eyes out. Something, anything, to stop the throbbing in your head. My neck muscles feel all tense; my sinuses start to close; I can’t keep my eyes open. I want to bang my head against a hard surface. And even though I’m exhausted I can’t sleep. I’m in too much pain to sleep. I kept changing position – on my bed, on the floor, on the futon – until finally, the nausea started and like a drunk on payday, I found myself standing over the toilet bowl, my brow mashed against the seat praying to God for salvation while alternately wondering if it was possible to sleep like this. By 11:15, I couldn’t take it any more. I told myself that I didn’t care, that I would reschedule the g.d. biopsy, but there was no way that I was going to go through a night like this. Unfortunately, there was only one aspirin tablet in the medicine chest. I wanted to cry. I stumbled into my living room, pulled back on my clothes and like the desperate woman that I was shuffled to the 7-Elven for some ibuprofen. I swallowed four tablets and lay on the floor in front of the fan. After about fifteen minutes, the pills worked their magic and I was able to crawl into bed and sleep. I woke up this morning and felt relief. And some worry. While the migraine was gone, I was still a little stiff in the neck.
I got to work and called St. John’s to reschedule. They, however, didn’t want me to reschedule. After much talk between nurses and doctors, it was decided that I could still come in on Wednesday. Which is great, right? Yeah! Except, well, I’m already feeling the neck muscles tensing and the band across my forehead tighten. It’s currently 97-degrees. However, I’m sitting in air conditioning, so I’m hoping this is entirely psychosomatic. I’m hoping that when I go to therapy tonight and get hypnotized, he’ll be able to talk me off the ledge.
What I’ve learned from this experience is this: I’m not good under pain. I kept thinking about DD who suffered through migraines while pregnant and couldn’t take any medication. She said that her migraines would last days. I thought of my friend’s father who is a migraine test subject for radical treatments since his migraines are off the charts. I thought of John McCain in a POW camp being beaten and tortured until he finally relented and said whatever his tormenters wanted him to say. I came to the full realization that while I’d like to think that I could find that Zen state and forebear, I’m more than likely the girl who would say, “Whatever you want! Just make it stop or kill me!”
My east coast family and friends don’t feel pity for me when I complain about the California weather. Afterall, isn’t it better for it to be warm than cold? Not exactly. Especially when you don’t have air conditioning in your apartment. Most people in California will tell you that the temperature is mild enough that AC is not really needed. But then you go through a brutal weekend when it’s 90+ degrees in April, and all one can do is think, “I won’t make it to October.” As I’m always hot (my first complex sentence seems to have been “Mommy, I sweaty”), I cannot abide the extreme heat and my body responds accordingly. In the case of this weekend, I got a headache. But, no blood thinners, so no aspirin. It started on Saturday night as a sort of low-grade ache on the brain. I figured if I went to sleep and the air cooled off, I would probably feel better the next morning. But I was wrong. I awoke with the same low-grade headache. Right away, I ran next door to 7-Elven and bought a very large cup of coffee. Caffeine goes a long way in opening up blood vessels. The headache, however, persisted. I took a temperate shower to lower my body temperature. I drank a lot of water in case I was dehydrated. I took a two-hour nap. I wore my eyeglasses until 11AM, before putting in my contacts so I wouldn’t have eye strain. I ate regardless that I wasn’t hungry (the only good thing about extreme heat is that it takes away my appetite). Finally, I headed off for the gym. Exercise not only opens up the blood vessels, but relaxes tense muscles and often releases endorphins. And still the headache persisted. I went home, took out my contacts and watched a movie. As the clock inched toward 9:30, the headache decided to take a turn for the worst and I knew that without a doubt I was now in the gripes of a migraine.
If you’ve never had a migraine, there is no way on God’s green earth that I can explain it to you. You literally want to bore your eyes out. Something, anything, to stop the throbbing in your head. My neck muscles feel all tense; my sinuses start to close; I can’t keep my eyes open. I want to bang my head against a hard surface. And even though I’m exhausted I can’t sleep. I’m in too much pain to sleep. I kept changing position – on my bed, on the floor, on the futon – until finally, the nausea started and like a drunk on payday, I found myself standing over the toilet bowl, my brow mashed against the seat praying to God for salvation while alternately wondering if it was possible to sleep like this. By 11:15, I couldn’t take it any more. I told myself that I didn’t care, that I would reschedule the g.d. biopsy, but there was no way that I was going to go through a night like this. Unfortunately, there was only one aspirin tablet in the medicine chest. I wanted to cry. I stumbled into my living room, pulled back on my clothes and like the desperate woman that I was shuffled to the 7-Elven for some ibuprofen. I swallowed four tablets and lay on the floor in front of the fan. After about fifteen minutes, the pills worked their magic and I was able to crawl into bed and sleep. I woke up this morning and felt relief. And some worry. While the migraine was gone, I was still a little stiff in the neck.
I got to work and called St. John’s to reschedule. They, however, didn’t want me to reschedule. After much talk between nurses and doctors, it was decided that I could still come in on Wednesday. Which is great, right? Yeah! Except, well, I’m already feeling the neck muscles tensing and the band across my forehead tighten. It’s currently 97-degrees. However, I’m sitting in air conditioning, so I’m hoping this is entirely psychosomatic. I’m hoping that when I go to therapy tonight and get hypnotized, he’ll be able to talk me off the ledge.
What I’ve learned from this experience is this: I’m not good under pain. I kept thinking about DD who suffered through migraines while pregnant and couldn’t take any medication. She said that her migraines would last days. I thought of my friend’s father who is a migraine test subject for radical treatments since his migraines are off the charts. I thought of John McCain in a POW camp being beaten and tortured until he finally relented and said whatever his tormenters wanted him to say. I came to the full realization that while I’d like to think that I could find that Zen state and forebear, I’m more than likely the girl who would say, “Whatever you want! Just make it stop or kill me!”
Friday, April 25, 2008
The Things I've Seen
Is actually over at MySpace. There's this video of a Korean baby singing "Hey Jude" that just has to be seen. Make sure you watch to the end because it just gets better. Sincerely LOL!
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Is It Friday Yet?
I’m having a disappointing week, and it’s only Wednesday.
Sunday, I was tired. But I didn’t want to nap in the middle of the day because this was the week that I was determined to get my bottom back to the gym, and I tend to do better with that vow if I go to the gym in the morning. I was afraid that if I took a 2PM nap that I wouldn’t be tired at 10PM and therefore wouldn’t get to sleep until midnight making it more likely that I wouldn’t get up at 5:50AM on Monday. So, I had a cranky-baby Sunday.
Monday, I learned that our Executive Assistant is leaving. While I’m happy for her, it brought up my insecurities about my own growth in this industry and made me freak out about my future all over again.
Tuesday, I got an email from my friend saying that her roommate was not going to be getting married to that millionaire afterall and therefore the tentative offer to move in was withdrawn. While I’m happy for her and her roommate, I’m even more depressed about my own living and financial situation.
Today is Wednesday and I’m sitting here at my desk wondering what could possibly go wrong today. Get into a car accident? Get a letter from the IRS telling me that I transposed a number and owe $1000 more in back taxes? It’ll be financial. Because that’s the only other place it’ll hurt to get kicked right now. Other than the dating scene, that is. But I’m pretty sure my Man Issues will wait until this weekend as I was invited to party that’s main attraction was the overwhelming number of Aussie men on the guest list. I’m fully expecting to meet the man of my dreams…and his gorgeous wife. Because that’s just the sort of week I’m having.
Sunday, I was tired. But I didn’t want to nap in the middle of the day because this was the week that I was determined to get my bottom back to the gym, and I tend to do better with that vow if I go to the gym in the morning. I was afraid that if I took a 2PM nap that I wouldn’t be tired at 10PM and therefore wouldn’t get to sleep until midnight making it more likely that I wouldn’t get up at 5:50AM on Monday. So, I had a cranky-baby Sunday.
Monday, I learned that our Executive Assistant is leaving. While I’m happy for her, it brought up my insecurities about my own growth in this industry and made me freak out about my future all over again.
Tuesday, I got an email from my friend saying that her roommate was not going to be getting married to that millionaire afterall and therefore the tentative offer to move in was withdrawn. While I’m happy for her and her roommate, I’m even more depressed about my own living and financial situation.
Today is Wednesday and I’m sitting here at my desk wondering what could possibly go wrong today. Get into a car accident? Get a letter from the IRS telling me that I transposed a number and owe $1000 more in back taxes? It’ll be financial. Because that’s the only other place it’ll hurt to get kicked right now. Other than the dating scene, that is. But I’m pretty sure my Man Issues will wait until this weekend as I was invited to party that’s main attraction was the overwhelming number of Aussie men on the guest list. I’m fully expecting to meet the man of my dreams…and his gorgeous wife. Because that’s just the sort of week I’m having.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
GPS
Two Christmases ago, I had a conversation with a priest as I was having what one in my circle would call “a dark night of the soul.” I told the priest that when I was making the decision to come to California, I felt like God was right by my side. Almost like a missionary going off to the deepest jungles. But now (then), I wasn’t feeling God’s presence any more. He was Mayflower movers. He helped me pack up and get here, but once I got settled I was on my own. That lack of presence was painful to me and made me sympathize with Milton’s Devil. Imagine seeing the face of God then being destined to never see it again? What pain that must be. Basically, the priest tried to give me a prescriptive remedy: daily meditative prayer, scripture reading, Gregorian chants, etc. But what I realize now is not that I wanted to feel God’s presence, as much as I wanted to have a God positioning sytem. God TomTom, if you will.
I always believed that if I led a good life and did exactly what God wanted me to do things would be easier. In fact, it’s this ease that I’ve been pursuing relentlessly since high school graduation. At first, I thought people were getting in God’s and my way. People like my parents who weren’t fully supportive of the things I wanted to do with my life, or my friends who couldn’t understand that I wanted something different than just a paycheck and a killer Saturday night. I felt like I was being thwarted from fulfilling the Great Plan. I got through my twenties on a wave of frustration and anger. Finally, I got to a crossroads and had a little heart-to-Heart with the Big Guy, and oddly enough, I got an answer. It sounded an awful lot like my inner-voice and Alanis Morrisette, but I kinda believe it was God and He said, “Jump.” So, I stopped being scared and just decided to move to California and literally the universe moved to make this happen. Friends lost jobs, other friends married Marines, and before you knew it, I was in California with a new career path that seemed to be tailored for me and my exact talents. Voila! This only confirmed to me that God wanted me in California and I was meant to be in the entertainment industry, and I fully expected life to just get easier because, hey!, I was on God’s path, right? BZZT! Wrong!
So, I’m Catholic, right? Well, kinda. As much as one can be a Catholic without giving up their brain. But one thing that sorta made it into my subconscious and is now stuck in there is that God has a plan for all of us, and if you resist the plan and break God’s rules along the way than you’re in for a world of pain because God punishes those who don’t follow the general outline and rewards those who do. Of course, according to Catholic dogma a lot of this punishing and rewarding happens after you die, but whatever. In accordance with this theory I try to (A) Do unto others as I would have them do unto me. (B) Turn the other cheek. (C) Walk a mile in another man’s shoes. And (D) Follow the Big Ten. And I’m not talking about NCAA hoops. And yet…my life isn’t any easier. Despite being on the “right path” and decent to my fellow human beings, everything is just as opaque as before. While back in New York, I used to feel dissatisfied with my lot or worried that I’m somehow missing out on my “real life” in California, I now feel, well, scared. “This is it?” The little voice inside my head worriedly asks. But this time there is no Alanis Morrisette answer back in my voice or any other. Just stony silence. And “silence means assent.” (Just ask Thomas More -- that is if he still had his head after keeping his silence in front of the newly Protestant jury in England in 1535 and became a saint because of it.) Which just kinda sucks. A lot. I mean, why am I not thin, rich, and married to the best man on the planet? Huh? Why am I not crazy happy living my bliss? Where are my rewards? Why is there no clarity? Why am I not feeling God’s guiding Hand propelling me forward in a good and well-lived life? Makes a girl want to chuck it and say, “Well, screw this! I’m totally going out tonight and slutting it up. And what’s more, I’m going ask for money when I’m done!” Except I can’t. Well, I mean, I can – Free Will and all – but I won’t. It’s just not in me. The only thing that is clear to me is the person I want to be and the person I currently am. And being a big, fat whore isn’t in the mix.
In the end, while I may be on the right path, it’s kinda like driving in the fog. I can only see a couple of feet in front of me, so I’m driving carefully and I’m looking for signage along the way. Sure, God TomTom would be lovely, and easy, and convenient, but let’s face it: That ain’t gonna happen. Because if any road map or rules insured divine guidance 100% of the time there would only be one religion and we would all be doing it. Who amongst us wouldn’t like a little divine GPS? Instead, we’re all stuck going it alone, our religion of preference like AAA in case of a wipe out.
I always believed that if I led a good life and did exactly what God wanted me to do things would be easier. In fact, it’s this ease that I’ve been pursuing relentlessly since high school graduation. At first, I thought people were getting in God’s and my way. People like my parents who weren’t fully supportive of the things I wanted to do with my life, or my friends who couldn’t understand that I wanted something different than just a paycheck and a killer Saturday night. I felt like I was being thwarted from fulfilling the Great Plan. I got through my twenties on a wave of frustration and anger. Finally, I got to a crossroads and had a little heart-to-Heart with the Big Guy, and oddly enough, I got an answer. It sounded an awful lot like my inner-voice and Alanis Morrisette, but I kinda believe it was God and He said, “Jump.” So, I stopped being scared and just decided to move to California and literally the universe moved to make this happen. Friends lost jobs, other friends married Marines, and before you knew it, I was in California with a new career path that seemed to be tailored for me and my exact talents. Voila! This only confirmed to me that God wanted me in California and I was meant to be in the entertainment industry, and I fully expected life to just get easier because, hey!, I was on God’s path, right? BZZT! Wrong!
So, I’m Catholic, right? Well, kinda. As much as one can be a Catholic without giving up their brain. But one thing that sorta made it into my subconscious and is now stuck in there is that God has a plan for all of us, and if you resist the plan and break God’s rules along the way than you’re in for a world of pain because God punishes those who don’t follow the general outline and rewards those who do. Of course, according to Catholic dogma a lot of this punishing and rewarding happens after you die, but whatever. In accordance with this theory I try to (A) Do unto others as I would have them do unto me. (B) Turn the other cheek. (C) Walk a mile in another man’s shoes. And (D) Follow the Big Ten. And I’m not talking about NCAA hoops. And yet…my life isn’t any easier. Despite being on the “right path” and decent to my fellow human beings, everything is just as opaque as before. While back in New York, I used to feel dissatisfied with my lot or worried that I’m somehow missing out on my “real life” in California, I now feel, well, scared. “This is it?” The little voice inside my head worriedly asks. But this time there is no Alanis Morrisette answer back in my voice or any other. Just stony silence. And “silence means assent.” (Just ask Thomas More -- that is if he still had his head after keeping his silence in front of the newly Protestant jury in England in 1535 and became a saint because of it.) Which just kinda sucks. A lot. I mean, why am I not thin, rich, and married to the best man on the planet? Huh? Why am I not crazy happy living my bliss? Where are my rewards? Why is there no clarity? Why am I not feeling God’s guiding Hand propelling me forward in a good and well-lived life? Makes a girl want to chuck it and say, “Well, screw this! I’m totally going out tonight and slutting it up. And what’s more, I’m going ask for money when I’m done!” Except I can’t. Well, I mean, I can – Free Will and all – but I won’t. It’s just not in me. The only thing that is clear to me is the person I want to be and the person I currently am. And being a big, fat whore isn’t in the mix.
In the end, while I may be on the right path, it’s kinda like driving in the fog. I can only see a couple of feet in front of me, so I’m driving carefully and I’m looking for signage along the way. Sure, God TomTom would be lovely, and easy, and convenient, but let’s face it: That ain’t gonna happen. Because if any road map or rules insured divine guidance 100% of the time there would only be one religion and we would all be doing it. Who amongst us wouldn’t like a little divine GPS? Instead, we’re all stuck going it alone, our religion of preference like AAA in case of a wipe out.
Monday, April 21, 2008
To Do List
Sometimes a day can only be measured by the items crossed off one's To Do List. Today is one of them.
Things I didn’t do today:
- I didn’t return the two DVDs to Blockbuster.
- I didn’t go to the bank to deposit a check.
- I didn’t drop off my dry cleaning.
- I didn’t answer all the emails in my AOL account.
- I didn’t think of a topic for my blog except this lame ass list.
- I didn't iron the pants I'm wearing.
- I didn’t go out and get lunch.
- I didn’t finish this seasons Zoetrope or read the book catalogues that have been sitting on my desk.
- I didn't order that bathing suit from J.Crew.
Things I did do today:
Friday, April 18, 2008
The Most Powerful Breasts In the World
Okay, so you probably think the title of this post refers to Oprah. Or maybe Pamela Anderson. It doesn't. It refers to Angela Merkel. Who is Angela Merkel? She's the Chancellor of Germany (their President). And guess what? She's got boobs! I know, right? A woman with boobs! Completely unbelievable. And that's exactly the reaction she got for wearing this daring gown to the opera.
News outlets everywhere flipped. Out. Gosh, Hillary thought she got it when she wore a V-neck on the floor of Congress back in July. One would think Angela was photographed pole dancing or flashing her va-jah-jah coming out of a limo.
It just goes to show that men are so easily distracted. It's kind of embarrassing. Ladies, we can take over the world tomorrow if we all walked out of the house without our tops on. It would be quick, it would be easy, and no one would get hurt. Email me with a time and date for our Boobie Revolution.
News outlets everywhere flipped. Out. Gosh, Hillary thought she got it when she wore a V-neck on the floor of Congress back in July. One would think Angela was photographed pole dancing or flashing her va-jah-jah coming out of a limo.
It just goes to show that men are so easily distracted. It's kind of embarrassing. Ladies, we can take over the world tomorrow if we all walked out of the house without our tops on. It would be quick, it would be easy, and no one would get hurt. Email me with a time and date for our Boobie Revolution.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Only In Hollywood
We have a new movie that’s airing this Sunday on CBS. It stars Jeff Daniels and Marlee Matlin as a couple who get torn apart over whether they should get a cochlear implant for their deaf son. High drama. However, before every television airing, we have a screening at one of the guild theaters here in L.A. These things are the closest I’ve ever been to a premiere this side of the red velvet rope. And after two years and six films, I finally know enough people at these functions to be able to air kiss and fake my way through the evening. “Ciao, darling! We’ll do lunch. Have your people call my people.” (Actually, it’s a lot of fun, and I stay away from the fakey-fakes, but it’s better for my faux-Hollywood rep for you to think that I don’t.)
Usually, we get a star or two from the movie to show up. Last night Academy Award-winner Marlee Matlin showed up with her Dancing With the Stars partner and reminded everyone that voting is still open. It was kinda cute. Jeff Daniels did not show up. Bummer. However! Linda Bove did, and I got to meet her. Who is Linda Bove, you ask? Well, she’s married to one of the stars of our film, Ed Waterstreet, and she just happens to be Linda “the deaf woman” on Sesame Street! HEE! I could have cared less to meet Dean Cain or Chris Kline last year, or Alicia Silverstone the year before that, but I tugged on a jacket sleeve and asked to be introduced to "Linda From Sesame Street." Told her how excited I was to meet her and that I loved her since I was a little girl. I hope I didn’t do that gross hearing-person thing of over exaggerating my mouth. She thanked me and gave me a hug. Bigger HEE!
Usually, we get a star or two from the movie to show up. Last night Academy Award-winner Marlee Matlin showed up with her Dancing With the Stars partner and reminded everyone that voting is still open. It was kinda cute. Jeff Daniels did not show up. Bummer. However! Linda Bove did, and I got to meet her. Who is Linda Bove, you ask? Well, she’s married to one of the stars of our film, Ed Waterstreet, and she just happens to be Linda “the deaf woman” on Sesame Street! HEE! I could have cared less to meet Dean Cain or Chris Kline last year, or Alicia Silverstone the year before that, but I tugged on a jacket sleeve and asked to be introduced to "Linda From Sesame Street." Told her how excited I was to meet her and that I loved her since I was a little girl. I hope I didn’t do that gross hearing-person thing of over exaggerating my mouth. She thanked me and gave me a hug. Bigger HEE!
But the absolute highlight of the evening was meeting a producer named Stephen who was pitching me a play. As soon as I saw him, I thought, “Stephen Furst.” But I wasn’t positive. I had met Stephen Furst years ago at a diabetes luncheon that I attended on behalf of Woman’s Day. So, I knew he had lost a ton of weight. But that lunch was back in 2000, so who knew. Sure enough, DD said the last name “Furst” at one point, and I immediately leapt on it and said, “I thought that was you. I met you at a diabetes luncheon. You were in that college movie I loved.” Except, I didn’t mean Animal House. I meant – God help me – Midnight Madness. He, of course, thought I did mean Animal House which made it kind of embarrassing when I was, like, “No, the other one. The one with Michael J. Fox.” Groan. Yeah, I’m that cool. Annnyway, he was pretty gracious and a really nice guy, and basically, promised to find me a husband. I told him no actors or un-successful producers and that even if I’m a Catholic, I’m not above the Jews, in fact, I love the Jews, and I totally need a yenta, but people gotta know that I'm a shiksa. He promised to keep his eyes open for me. People, how great would it be if Flounder from Animal House actually finds me a husband? Only in Hollywood…
Sweet Nothing In My Ear airs this Sunday on CBS. Ciao, darlings! Kiss, kiss.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Change You Can Believe In
I watched a bunch of political movies this weekend. I have also been watching the HBO mini-series John Adams based on the Pulitzer Prize-winning biography by David McCullough. And as you all know, I can’t seem to keep away from Slate or Salon.com to monitor what’s going on in the current presidential campaigns. (Did you read about John McCain’s gas-tax holiday and the fact that he wants the people to vote on a new tax system? Honestly, this is why I loved this man in 2000. If only he were pro-choice. Sigh.) Needless to say, I’ve been digesting a lot of politics lately and something occurred to me that had never occurred before and I feel I have to share it.
As I’ve said more than once in my previous blogs, I’m leery of Obama’s message of change. Plenty of past presidential hopefuls have gotten elected off of the promise of altering the way things are done in D.C., only to get there and realize that there’s really not much they can do, and – hey! – if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em, since it’s the only way to get things through Congress. But it wasn’t until I was watching Birth of a Nation this weekend that 2 + 2 started making 4 for me. Birth of a Nation is a silent movie made in 1919 based on an awful pro-KKK book that basically says that after the Civil War, former slaves over ran the joint and the Klan had to come in and save the day. The director/writer was D.W. Griffith whose father was a colonel in the Confederate Army. Needless to say, he was sympathetic to the south’s plight. This is an anathema to me as I’m from the north and everyone knows that slavery was bad. This movie did not change my mind (though after watching it and reading Gone With the Wind, I have some serious questions about the north’s handling of Reconstruction after the assassination of Lincoln, and I have an idea that it’s much like Reconstruction in Iraq – FUBAR, you know what I’m saying?). Anyway, I don’t suggest watching this movie under any circumstances at all (not that many of you would run out to rent a 3-hour silent film), but there was one placard that bothered me, not only in context to the movie’s message but also in regards to the American political system. Basically, the card read that Lincoln’s proclamation to free the slaves was the end of state governance, and the beginning of Washington D.C. telling people how to live.
Brief history lesson: We were 13 colonies ruled by the British empire, correct? (Hint: The answer is “yes.”) However, we were not united. I never really thought about this before John Adams, but intuitively it makes sense: The states were all discovered separately and had different functions. It’s sort of like the EU now. Different countries, with different systems of government, united only in their proximity and ultimate goal – to make money. In the colonies’ case, to make money for England. We were 13 individual municipalities, all with our own Constitutions and charters and forms of government, that all paid over to England in import/exports and taxes. We were British royal subjects. Kinda like if you moved to England now. You would be an American, but under Bristish rule. Anyway. England basically treated us like serfs. They taxed and taxed and taxed us, and never listened when we sent over letters saying, “Hey, do you mind? We’re trying to make a living here.” Then finally people had had it and started dumping tea into harbors and screaming, “Taxation with no representation.” At which point King George got pissed off and said, “You’ll pay and you’ll like it, now shut up,” and started barracking armies in our homes and sending warships into New York harbor. That’s when each colony sent a few smart guys off to the Continental Congress and one colony representative said to another, “I don’t know about you, but we’ve about had it,” and everyone said, “Yeah, this sucks! How about a war?” And they all argued over it until finally, they agreed, and we had that little thing called the Revolution. Now, here’s where it gets interesting – for me, and obviously for those of you who are still reading – they had to decide on a new form of government. No one wanted a monarchy because they had just got rid of one despot king, and the last thing they wanted was another, so they said, “Keep the power in the hands of the people” and chose a Republic. Right away, there were the ones who said, “I think we should continue to be 13 individual municipalities and continue to do what we’re currently doing” (they were the Anti-Federalists) and there were the people who said, “We need to be taken seriously on the world stage or who is to stop Spain from attacking us from the south or France attacking us from the north? We have to have some bite to us. And the only way to do that is to combine forces.” (These were the Federalists). See? Right from the beginning we were bickering about where the concentration of power should be. Except now, we call them Republicans, who say that we should have a weak central power (Anti-Federalists), and the Democrats, who say that we should have a strong central power (Federalists).
I registered as a Republican at 17 and held on tight until I moved to California. And even though I’m now a Democrat, I believe that the power should reside in the states. Why? Because it’s very hard getting ten people all from the same family to agree on one thing, let alone an entire nation of – what are we up to? – 300,000,000 people. Does this mean that I don’t believe in Social Security or that Lincoln shouldn’t have freed the slaves? No. Of course not. I’m a human being who is mostly a compassionate individual. I would love it if people would stop being their greedy selves out of their own free will and decided to help one another in the spirit of mankind. But that ain’t happening no matter how hard and loud we scream that we are a Christian nation, so every once in awhile we need someone to stand up and say, “HEY! BE NICE!” People have no sense of personal honor any more. But I digress. My point is: my governor and my local representatives know what my state needs, and we seem to do okay in our little corner of the United States sandbox. We then send off two Senators and X Representatives to Congress to address our local needs at a national level. We hope that we send the right individuals for the job. I mean, we do our best with what’s given, right? Now, this is what I realized this weekend: If every state is sending their best two Senators and X Representatives, and each state has different needs, then of course we’re going to be at loggerheads all the time and no state is going to get exactly what they want. They can’t. Therefore, how is it that one man – a presidential contender – can make a promise to 300,000,000 people that he’s going to be the one to go in and straighten them out? Them who? The people we elected to go in there and do right by us? The people we get the opportunity to vote out every few years? Those people? Or are we hoping that he’s going to take other Congressmen to task? Congressmen from some other state than my own? The people I didn’t vote for, but the people that my fellow countrymen voted for to look after their needs? And exactly what is he going to do to set them on the straight and narrow course? Get rid of the lobbyists who are bribing all of our Congressman? Tell the guy from Nebraska that his corn can wait another year while the girl from Rhode Island gets her new seaport, because, hey, it’s only fair, she’s waited three years? I mean, really, he can’t kick out bad Congressmen. He can’t go and tattle. “Hey, California, Nancy Pelosi sold you out to Iowa!” What exactly can this person do? Don’t get me wrong, I love the theory. I want Daddy (or Mommy) to go in and scold everyone into submission, but to what end?
Think about this: In the 2000 presidential campaign, Bush ran under the promise of being a “uniter, not a divider.” This is an excerpt from an interview that I read on Salon.com back in May 1999. I almost voted for Bush based on this article.
Salon: Ronald Reagan had the only successful two-term presidency since Dwight Eisenhower. Part of the secret seems to be that he focused his attention on two important goals -- lowering taxes and winning the Cold War. What are your priorities?
Bush: One is prosperity: to make sure that we continue to be prosperous by lowering taxes and by fighting off isolationist and protectionist policies and politics. A second priority is to make sure that we educate children. A third priority is to promote the peace. America must be strong enough and willing to promote peace. One way to do so is to bring certainty into an uncertain world, and I support the development of anti-ballistic missile systems to do so. These are three priorities.
Sounds great, right? Ahh, but hindsight is 20/20. Here we are eight years later. Bush kept taxes low and gave us two economic stimulus packages. We are now in a trillion-dollar debt and in the grips of a recession. No Child Left Behind was declared a disaster, and education specialists are already talking about how to dismantle it after the 2008 election. And we are fighting two wars based on the theory that we were bringing strong democratic government to people who lived under duress and military dictatorship. (The anti-ballistic missile system was brought up during the 9/11 hey-day of fear, but quickly discarded.) Bush’s approval rating in March 2008 was 31%. Does that mean that 31% of the people got exactly what they voted for?
Let me just end that if you really want to see change in Washington D.C., don’t look to the president. Look to your Representative and to your Senators. If you don’t like the way the government is working, they are the ones that need to taken to task. By you. Because they are accountable to you, not the president. And no one is asking you to know what all 100 Senators and 435 Representatives are doing, and what exactly is happening in Congress at all points in time. That’s way too overwhelming. But it’s not that hard to keep track of two Senators and one representative once every year around November and make sure they are addressing the issues that are important to you. Education. Social Security. War. Whatever they might be. Those people come from your state, know your issues, and have to worry about your vote. Not 300,000,000 others.
As I’ve said more than once in my previous blogs, I’m leery of Obama’s message of change. Plenty of past presidential hopefuls have gotten elected off of the promise of altering the way things are done in D.C., only to get there and realize that there’s really not much they can do, and – hey! – if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em, since it’s the only way to get things through Congress. But it wasn’t until I was watching Birth of a Nation this weekend that 2 + 2 started making 4 for me. Birth of a Nation is a silent movie made in 1919 based on an awful pro-KKK book that basically says that after the Civil War, former slaves over ran the joint and the Klan had to come in and save the day. The director/writer was D.W. Griffith whose father was a colonel in the Confederate Army. Needless to say, he was sympathetic to the south’s plight. This is an anathema to me as I’m from the north and everyone knows that slavery was bad. This movie did not change my mind (though after watching it and reading Gone With the Wind, I have some serious questions about the north’s handling of Reconstruction after the assassination of Lincoln, and I have an idea that it’s much like Reconstruction in Iraq – FUBAR, you know what I’m saying?). Anyway, I don’t suggest watching this movie under any circumstances at all (not that many of you would run out to rent a 3-hour silent film), but there was one placard that bothered me, not only in context to the movie’s message but also in regards to the American political system. Basically, the card read that Lincoln’s proclamation to free the slaves was the end of state governance, and the beginning of Washington D.C. telling people how to live.
Brief history lesson: We were 13 colonies ruled by the British empire, correct? (Hint: The answer is “yes.”) However, we were not united. I never really thought about this before John Adams, but intuitively it makes sense: The states were all discovered separately and had different functions. It’s sort of like the EU now. Different countries, with different systems of government, united only in their proximity and ultimate goal – to make money. In the colonies’ case, to make money for England. We were 13 individual municipalities, all with our own Constitutions and charters and forms of government, that all paid over to England in import/exports and taxes. We were British royal subjects. Kinda like if you moved to England now. You would be an American, but under Bristish rule. Anyway. England basically treated us like serfs. They taxed and taxed and taxed us, and never listened when we sent over letters saying, “Hey, do you mind? We’re trying to make a living here.” Then finally people had had it and started dumping tea into harbors and screaming, “Taxation with no representation.” At which point King George got pissed off and said, “You’ll pay and you’ll like it, now shut up,” and started barracking armies in our homes and sending warships into New York harbor. That’s when each colony sent a few smart guys off to the Continental Congress and one colony representative said to another, “I don’t know about you, but we’ve about had it,” and everyone said, “Yeah, this sucks! How about a war?” And they all argued over it until finally, they agreed, and we had that little thing called the Revolution. Now, here’s where it gets interesting – for me, and obviously for those of you who are still reading – they had to decide on a new form of government. No one wanted a monarchy because they had just got rid of one despot king, and the last thing they wanted was another, so they said, “Keep the power in the hands of the people” and chose a Republic. Right away, there were the ones who said, “I think we should continue to be 13 individual municipalities and continue to do what we’re currently doing” (they were the Anti-Federalists) and there were the people who said, “We need to be taken seriously on the world stage or who is to stop Spain from attacking us from the south or France attacking us from the north? We have to have some bite to us. And the only way to do that is to combine forces.” (These were the Federalists). See? Right from the beginning we were bickering about where the concentration of power should be. Except now, we call them Republicans, who say that we should have a weak central power (Anti-Federalists), and the Democrats, who say that we should have a strong central power (Federalists).
I registered as a Republican at 17 and held on tight until I moved to California. And even though I’m now a Democrat, I believe that the power should reside in the states. Why? Because it’s very hard getting ten people all from the same family to agree on one thing, let alone an entire nation of – what are we up to? – 300,000,000 people. Does this mean that I don’t believe in Social Security or that Lincoln shouldn’t have freed the slaves? No. Of course not. I’m a human being who is mostly a compassionate individual. I would love it if people would stop being their greedy selves out of their own free will and decided to help one another in the spirit of mankind. But that ain’t happening no matter how hard and loud we scream that we are a Christian nation, so every once in awhile we need someone to stand up and say, “HEY! BE NICE!” People have no sense of personal honor any more. But I digress. My point is: my governor and my local representatives know what my state needs, and we seem to do okay in our little corner of the United States sandbox. We then send off two Senators and X Representatives to Congress to address our local needs at a national level. We hope that we send the right individuals for the job. I mean, we do our best with what’s given, right? Now, this is what I realized this weekend: If every state is sending their best two Senators and X Representatives, and each state has different needs, then of course we’re going to be at loggerheads all the time and no state is going to get exactly what they want. They can’t. Therefore, how is it that one man – a presidential contender – can make a promise to 300,000,000 people that he’s going to be the one to go in and straighten them out? Them who? The people we elected to go in there and do right by us? The people we get the opportunity to vote out every few years? Those people? Or are we hoping that he’s going to take other Congressmen to task? Congressmen from some other state than my own? The people I didn’t vote for, but the people that my fellow countrymen voted for to look after their needs? And exactly what is he going to do to set them on the straight and narrow course? Get rid of the lobbyists who are bribing all of our Congressman? Tell the guy from Nebraska that his corn can wait another year while the girl from Rhode Island gets her new seaport, because, hey, it’s only fair, she’s waited three years? I mean, really, he can’t kick out bad Congressmen. He can’t go and tattle. “Hey, California, Nancy Pelosi sold you out to Iowa!” What exactly can this person do? Don’t get me wrong, I love the theory. I want Daddy (or Mommy) to go in and scold everyone into submission, but to what end?
Think about this: In the 2000 presidential campaign, Bush ran under the promise of being a “uniter, not a divider.” This is an excerpt from an interview that I read on Salon.com back in May 1999. I almost voted for Bush based on this article.
Salon: Ronald Reagan had the only successful two-term presidency since Dwight Eisenhower. Part of the secret seems to be that he focused his attention on two important goals -- lowering taxes and winning the Cold War. What are your priorities?
Bush: One is prosperity: to make sure that we continue to be prosperous by lowering taxes and by fighting off isolationist and protectionist policies and politics. A second priority is to make sure that we educate children. A third priority is to promote the peace. America must be strong enough and willing to promote peace. One way to do so is to bring certainty into an uncertain world, and I support the development of anti-ballistic missile systems to do so. These are three priorities.
Sounds great, right? Ahh, but hindsight is 20/20. Here we are eight years later. Bush kept taxes low and gave us two economic stimulus packages. We are now in a trillion-dollar debt and in the grips of a recession. No Child Left Behind was declared a disaster, and education specialists are already talking about how to dismantle it after the 2008 election. And we are fighting two wars based on the theory that we were bringing strong democratic government to people who lived under duress and military dictatorship. (The anti-ballistic missile system was brought up during the 9/11 hey-day of fear, but quickly discarded.) Bush’s approval rating in March 2008 was 31%. Does that mean that 31% of the people got exactly what they voted for?
Let me just end that if you really want to see change in Washington D.C., don’t look to the president. Look to your Representative and to your Senators. If you don’t like the way the government is working, they are the ones that need to taken to task. By you. Because they are accountable to you, not the president. And no one is asking you to know what all 100 Senators and 435 Representatives are doing, and what exactly is happening in Congress at all points in time. That’s way too overwhelming. But it’s not that hard to keep track of two Senators and one representative once every year around November and make sure they are addressing the issues that are important to you. Education. Social Security. War. Whatever they might be. Those people come from your state, know your issues, and have to worry about your vote. Not 300,000,000 others.
Monday, April 14, 2008
The Voices In My Head
Things I’ve thought so far today:
*Green Day music is made for California freeway driving. Seriously. This morning “Welcome to Paradise” came on the radio. The window was down, my sunglasses were on, and I was cruising the 101 feeling like I was in an MTV video.
*I no longer know anyone’s phone number. I rely on my cell phone to be the keeper of this information. Case in point: I call or text my sister at least once every week – and that’s during the times when we’re too busy to talk – but I couldn’t tell you her number if there was a gun to my head. I often think that if I was arrested in Mexico and lost my cell phone in some tequila drunken haze, the only two people I could call would be my parents (who don’t answer their phone after 9PM EST) and my grandfather (who has been dead for over a decade).
*I cannot wear white shirts. I put on a white tee shirt this morning and by 10AM there was a coffee stain on it. I also want to know the secret to keeping yellow pit stains from occurring. Is it my anti-perspirant? Is it some chemical my body manufactures by it’s self? I really want to know the answer to this.
*Because of said coffee stain, I decided to go to GAP at lunch and get another tee-shi
rt. I bought this cute, V-neck pocket tee. I decided to buy it in a burnt orange color (sienna?), because What Not to Wear says that blondes look good in orange. I put it on once I got back to the office, now I look like a big pumpkin since I’m wearing drab olive green pants and brown sandals. I don’t know what’s worse, the coffee stain or this?
*I just went to Blockbuster and exchange my Blockbuster.com movies for three rentals. First, I owed a $1.25 re-stocking fee because I returned a 2-Day rental after the ten-day grace period. Bummer. Second, I returned Reds and Birth of a Nation. If the government is monitoring my viewing habits and reading my blog, I just want to say that they were on the AFI Top 100 movies and I hated both of them. I’m not a communist or a Clansman. Last, my favorite thing about having Blockbuster.com is that if you rent a movie that’s in your queue, they’ll send you an email asking you if you want to delete it from your list. It’s worth the $20 a month.
I could keep going, but these were the highlights.
*Green Day music is made for California freeway driving. Seriously. This morning “Welcome to Paradise” came on the radio. The window was down, my sunglasses were on, and I was cruising the 101 feeling like I was in an MTV video.
*I no longer know anyone’s phone number. I rely on my cell phone to be the keeper of this information. Case in point: I call or text my sister at least once every week – and that’s during the times when we’re too busy to talk – but I couldn’t tell you her number if there was a gun to my head. I often think that if I was arrested in Mexico and lost my cell phone in some tequila drunken haze, the only two people I could call would be my parents (who don’t answer their phone after 9PM EST) and my grandfather (who has been dead for over a decade).
*This morning, a fire alarm went off in the building and we were forced to evacuate. So we went to breakfast. Robert Townsend was in the booth next to us. What happened to his career? And wasn’t he just pitched to us for something? Coincidence?
*Some construction worker in New York mixed a Red Sox jersey into a cement block that was supposed to be used in the new Yankee Stadium foundation. He said that he was a die-hard Red Sox fan and wanted to curse the Yankees. They decided to dig the cinderblock up and unearthed the shirt. First, it pleases me that there are people out there that still care this much about baseball. Second, they should have left it. What a great legend it would have been.
*I cannot wear white shirts. I put on a white tee shirt this morning and by 10AM there was a coffee stain on it. I also want to know the secret to keeping yellow pit stains from occurring. Is it my anti-perspirant? Is it some chemical my body manufactures by it’s self? I really want to know the answer to this.
*Because of said coffee stain, I decided to go to GAP at lunch and get another tee-shi
rt. I bought this cute, V-neck pocket tee. I decided to buy it in a burnt orange color (sienna?), because What Not to Wear says that blondes look good in orange. I put it on once I got back to the office, now I look like a big pumpkin since I’m wearing drab olive green pants and brown sandals. I don’t know what’s worse, the coffee stain or this?*While at GAP, I also bought a cute navy skirt on sale for $12.99. The woman at the counter and I got into a discussion about GAP discounts. She said that GAP is starting a new business approach. They will no longer be over buying, and therefore, the consumers will see less of the deep discounts that we’ve come to expect from the franchise. DD says that that’s stupid considering that the quality of GAP clothing is only worth $6.99 and anyone willing to pay full price is an idiot. I will not be telling her that my tee shirt wasn’t on sale.
*Because of cute navy skirt and due to the fact that a pair of my flats busted a strap, I went to DSW. How come when I’m looking for heels I find only flats and when I’m looking for flats, I only find heels? I knew I should have bought those pink ballet flats back in February! When am I going to rich enough to buy shoes I like when I see them and not when they go on sale, or when I desperately need them and therefore willing to pay the $50 price tag?
*I just went to Blockbuster and exchange my Blockbuster.com movies for three rentals. First, I owed a $1.25 re-stocking fee because I returned a 2-Day rental after the ten-day grace period. Bummer. Second, I returned Reds and Birth of a Nation. If the government is monitoring my viewing habits and reading my blog, I just want to say that they were on the AFI Top 100 movies and I hated both of them. I’m not a communist or a Clansman. Last, my favorite thing about having Blockbuster.com is that if you rent a movie that’s in your queue, they’ll send you an email asking you if you want to delete it from your list. It’s worth the $20 a month.
*After GAP, DSW, and Blockbuster, I went to Trader Joe’s to grab a salad. All while wearing my white coffee-stained tee shirt. I really have to start caring about my appearance more…
*I look like a cow on stilts in high heels.
I could keep going, but these were the highlights.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Sing Me a Memory
Scientists have proven time and again that smell is the sense most closely linked to memory. In fact, I think I blogged about it awhile ago. But have you ever noticed that music seems to come in a close second? I’m not talking sound, I’m talking turning on the radio and being zapped back to 1991. Picture it: You’re driving in your car and the opening strings of a Peter Gabriel song fills your four-door sedan and instantly you’re at your Senior prom…better yet, don’t picture it. Prom sucked. But our prom song was In Your Eyes (what can I say, has any Gen-Xer officially gotten over Say Anything yet?). And to this day whenever I hear Gabriel sing, “the light, the heat; I am complete” I feel like I’m 17-years old all over again and really and truly excited (and frightened out of my gourd) to graduate and start college. Ahh, silly girl.
This, of course, is not the only song that sends my spiraling back. Forever Young by Alphaville reminds me of Senior Night, while Barbra Steisand’s The Way We Were reminds me of every Sports Night slideshow Mr. Greenleaf ever put on. Funkytown reminds me of my mom teaching me how to do the bump in the living room. Baby Got Back? Becky Cawely. “Oh. My. God. Becky, look at her butt…” Ice, Ice, Baby reminds me of Grace Ferraro because she desperately wanted to use it for a cheerleading routine, while Can’t Touch This reminds me of cheerleading camp. (I think I remember a couple of moves from it, too. Scary as that is.) Jesse’s Girl reminds me of two different 1AM phone calls from Audra Robinson at some bar somewhere listening to a live band playing a cover of the Rick Springfield tune and having her yell in my ear over the cacophony of snare and electric guitar (love ya, Aud). The Beastie Boys’s Paul Revere reminds me of Gina Circo who was able to recite every line word for word and how she floored me one night when she proved it. AC/DC’s Back In Black reminds me of my stepdad playing air guitar in the living room while Jen Waite and I sat on the staircase and laughed. Living on a Prayer by Bon Jovi is Rebecca Horwitz at Culture Club on Varrick Street in the Village. Same Auld Lang Syne by Dan Folgelberg reminds me of a New Years Eve I wish I could forget, and Cats in the Cradle by Harry Chapin reminds me of the day that I sat in my dad’s dining room and copied it onto a tape realizing how appropriate it was that I found this song here.
There’s more, of course, a lot more. Some bring me back to a really happy time and others not so much. And while I do have some of these songs in iTunes, I always prefer having them sneak up on me on the radio. With the amount of driving one does in California, it’s nice to go from today’s traffic jam on the 405 back to Grandpa’s living room with my mom teaching me a groovy 70s dance and consists of bumping our hienies together. It’s a better place to be, I tell ya.
This, of course, is not the only song that sends my spiraling back. Forever Young by Alphaville reminds me of Senior Night, while Barbra Steisand’s The Way We Were reminds me of every Sports Night slideshow Mr. Greenleaf ever put on. Funkytown reminds me of my mom teaching me how to do the bump in the living room. Baby Got Back? Becky Cawely. “Oh. My. God. Becky, look at her butt…” Ice, Ice, Baby reminds me of Grace Ferraro because she desperately wanted to use it for a cheerleading routine, while Can’t Touch This reminds me of cheerleading camp. (I think I remember a couple of moves from it, too. Scary as that is.) Jesse’s Girl reminds me of two different 1AM phone calls from Audra Robinson at some bar somewhere listening to a live band playing a cover of the Rick Springfield tune and having her yell in my ear over the cacophony of snare and electric guitar (love ya, Aud). The Beastie Boys’s Paul Revere reminds me of Gina Circo who was able to recite every line word for word and how she floored me one night when she proved it. AC/DC’s Back In Black reminds me of my stepdad playing air guitar in the living room while Jen Waite and I sat on the staircase and laughed. Living on a Prayer by Bon Jovi is Rebecca Horwitz at Culture Club on Varrick Street in the Village. Same Auld Lang Syne by Dan Folgelberg reminds me of a New Years Eve I wish I could forget, and Cats in the Cradle by Harry Chapin reminds me of the day that I sat in my dad’s dining room and copied it onto a tape realizing how appropriate it was that I found this song here.
There’s more, of course, a lot more. Some bring me back to a really happy time and others not so much. And while I do have some of these songs in iTunes, I always prefer having them sneak up on me on the radio. With the amount of driving one does in California, it’s nice to go from today’s traffic jam on the 405 back to Grandpa’s living room with my mom teaching me a groovy 70s dance and consists of bumping our hienies together. It’s a better place to be, I tell ya.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Funny Money
It is the end of the work day here in California, and I just made a joke to the ladies in the front office: Another day, another $1…after taxes. And the Executive Assistant laughed. As I walked away, however, I thought, “It would have been a funnier joke if I had said, ‘another day, another $5.68 after taxes.’” Or some such ludicrous number because it would have made the EA think that I had actually figured it out. Which, of course, made me think: What would it be? How much do I really make a day? Well, since I consider it bad manners to work and tell, I’m not going to give you the actual number. But I will say that I know that the last Receptionist here made $30,000 a year, and since she no longer works here and our new Receptionist is a temp, I feel free to blab away and use that number for my means.
So, $30,000 salary. No overtime. And since we’re in tax time and 2008 is a Leap Year, let’s stick to 2007, shall we?
There were 365 days in 2007 (count ‘em if you have to).
And there were 52 weekends, which means 52 Saturdays and 52 Sundays = 104 days off.
According to the Office of Personal Management, we had 10 Federal holidays. Unless you work for Ebenezer Scrooge, you probably had Black Friday off (the day after Thanksgiving), and maybe Christmas Eve (or another day close to December 25th). So, for the sake of slave labor, let’s say that you had 12 days off and took no vacation time.
365 – 104 – 12 = 249 days
$30,000/249 = $120.48 a day.
Now! According to that bastion of knowledge Wikipedia, "the National Bureau of Economic Research has concluded that the combined federal, state, and local government average marginal tax rate for workers to be about 40%." (Yeah, that’s right. 40%).
$120.48 x 40% = $51.79.
Therefore $120.48 - $51.79 = $68.69 a day take home pay.
So, the joke is: Another day, another $68.69 after taxes…but before insurance premiums!
Hmm. I guess it's not that funny afterall.
So, $30,000 salary. No overtime. And since we’re in tax time and 2008 is a Leap Year, let’s stick to 2007, shall we?
There were 365 days in 2007 (count ‘em if you have to).
And there were 52 weekends, which means 52 Saturdays and 52 Sundays = 104 days off.
According to the Office of Personal Management, we had 10 Federal holidays. Unless you work for Ebenezer Scrooge, you probably had Black Friday off (the day after Thanksgiving), and maybe Christmas Eve (or another day close to December 25th). So, for the sake of slave labor, let’s say that you had 12 days off and took no vacation time.
365 – 104 – 12 = 249 days
$30,000/249 = $120.48 a day.
Now! According to that bastion of knowledge Wikipedia, "the National Bureau of Economic Research has concluded that the combined federal, state, and local government average marginal tax rate for workers to be about 40%." (Yeah, that’s right. 40%).
$120.48 x 40% = $51.79.
Therefore $120.48 - $51.79 = $68.69 a day take home pay.
So, the joke is: Another day, another $68.69 after taxes…but before insurance premiums!
Hmm. I guess it's not that funny afterall.
Monday, April 7, 2008
Just Like Weight Watchers
Every once in awhile, I have to stop reading/watching the news and go on a Media Diet. Mostly because listening to talking heads yell at me that I’m stupid if I think the Democrats can help me or tell me how badly the Republicans have broken our governmental system makes me anxious. They, in effect, are bullying me into submission and scaring me into believing that I don’t know enough about the issues so it’s better to stay home on Election Day and let Daddy make all the big decisions. This, of course, is their intent despite their bellyaching that voter turn out is down. Fear makes people malleable. (It also makes for great ratings.) If you don’t believe me, think waaay back to the days following September 11, 2001.
Remember the alerts? Remember red, orange, yellow, green, and blue and how we never got below an orange alert day? Do you remember watching the footage of the planes crashing into the towers over and over again, and all the benefit concerts, and documentaries? Remember the news stories about how the government had subverted other terror attacks and never told us about it? Do you remember how we rose up as a nation and said NO to tyranny? We were terrified and the government played a shell game with the U.S. psyche. Fact: Al-Qaeda did it. Fact: Al-Qaeda was based in Afghanistan. So. We bomb Afghanistan. Oh, hey. Look over here! Iraq has WMDs. Huh? We need to bomb them too before they bomb us! WHAT! Okay, let’s bomb them, too. And now we’re in a war in Iraq that magically no one seems to remember how we got into and therefore think we should just pull out (can’t. Sorry. And whoever gets into the presidency next will say the same thing four months down the road. You can’t start a war and then say, “Oh, sorry. You see we believed our own propaganda and now we think differently.” War is not like a new pair of shoes you bought on a fat day). So here we are five years later and everyone seems to have forgotten that they were frightened to death and therefore amenable to advancing on scary people across the globe. We thought if we could just give these people democracy they would love us and stop wanting to kill us. It seems however that you can't forcefeed people democracy. Live and learn.
What is irritating me right now is when I hear people holding Hillary Clinton’s vote for the war against her (much like they were pissed at John Kerry); a war that most of us believed – at the time – was just. Congressmen on both sides of the aisle voted for a war that they believed that We, the People wanted, and, hey, didn’t we? And now that We, the People feel safe and are tired of being in war and stupid for being duped into thinking there were WMDs, we want out. Like changing the channel when Lost gets a bit repetitive. Its revisionist history and Americans at their fickle best, and it’s downright maddening to me especially when – again, if you remember your not-so-distant-history – certain Congressmen wanted to talk about this a bit more, but We, the People allowed Bush and the rest of hawks to railroad the vote through. (If you need a reminder, I encourage you to use this link to read the two separate speeches given by Robert Byrd of W. V. and Sen. John McCain on the subject, read on the floor of Congress March 19, 2003.) There is a reason that our government is slow and ponderous, it’s so that we don’t act hastily and irrationally. Even in 1776, mob mentality was taken into account. If you don't believe me watch episode one of John Adams On-Demand.
And speaking of mob mentality… My current Media Diet was spawned by the hatred that was being aimed at Senator Clinton. I expected it from Christopher Hitchens and the other anti-Clintonians (of which, I was one during the Clinton adminstration) and especially from the conservative talk show hosts and misogynists the world over, but I did not expect it from the feminists, the columnists, and even the Democratic political pundits. (I’m not the only who felt this way either. It was the coverstory of Newsweek, March 17, 2008.) And, most notably, the Obamaniacs. For a campaign that was based on principles and a message about hope and new government, Obama’s rank and file sure have a way of getting down into the dirt and revert to the Old Ways. While I like Obama and his message, I’ve been seduced by such rhetoric before and am a bit gun shy in believing it. But I’m not anti-Obama. When lining his policy statements up against Hillary’s, there really isn’t much difference. But how are you to know that? Because right now, anyone watching the news would think that come November it’s going to be Hillary versus Barrack in a blood match preferably available on Pay-Per-View. (Where is John McCain these days? It’s like Where’s Waldo without the red and white stripped cap and shirt to distinguish him from all the other old white guys out there.) I am overloaded on the he said/she said parsing of the two Democratic nominees candidacy. I mean, are we even talking about their politics any more? Nowadays, all I hear about is scandal, and racism versus feminism, and which political pundit is lining up behind which candidate, and how much money each campaign is generating and therefore creating an algorithm of who the American people really want. AGH! Umm, excuse me? I know I’m just one voter out of the hundreds of thousands but, ahh, can someone talk to me about Social Security? How about regulating the banks? Hmm? Anyone, anyone? Bueller…
Also, can I just add that most of the states have had their primaries already? If you live in California or New York or Texas or any other 40-some-odd states where the ballot has closed and the votes tallied, just shut up. Please. Just because you voted awhile ago does not mean that Hillary should just cede now so that you don’t have to worry about your candidate getting in. Your vote is no more important than those people in Montana (who go to the polls in June). The only people who have a right to bellyache are Michaganians and Flordians whose ballets were nullified because they stepped outside of DNC rules about pushing their primaries up to before Super Tuesday. And really, I have no sympathy for Florida because they should have learned something about the electoral process after botching the 2000 presidential election.
But like any diet I take on, it’s bound to fail. Sooner or later, I’m going to want the brownie sundae and give into temptation. I went to Salon.com this morning and read an article on Hillary and the Super Delegate fear-mongering. One article and I had to get back on the wagon. My stomach couldn’t take it. The thing is, once this is over, it won’t be really over, because after June, we’re going to slide right into the Presidential Election. And god help us if anything iffy and weird happens with this election – hanging chads in Florida, 2000; votes being thrown out in Ohio, 2004 – this election could go well past the 2009 New Year. Shouldn’t we be conserving some of this vim and verve and hysteria for the end of the year when it will make a difference? When the entire country, on one day, goes to the polls and decides who will be the next president for the next four years? Or must we really shout at each other and throw proverbial stones hoping to knock out the person who might just be on the ticket anyway as the Vice Presidential candidate? It’s enough to give me acid reflux…and then I’ll really be on a diet.
Remember the alerts? Remember red, orange, yellow, green, and blue and how we never got below an orange alert day? Do you remember watching the footage of the planes crashing into the towers over and over again, and all the benefit concerts, and documentaries? Remember the news stories about how the government had subverted other terror attacks and never told us about it? Do you remember how we rose up as a nation and said NO to tyranny? We were terrified and the government played a shell game with the U.S. psyche. Fact: Al-Qaeda did it. Fact: Al-Qaeda was based in Afghanistan. So. We bomb Afghanistan. Oh, hey. Look over here! Iraq has WMDs. Huh? We need to bomb them too before they bomb us! WHAT! Okay, let’s bomb them, too. And now we’re in a war in Iraq that magically no one seems to remember how we got into and therefore think we should just pull out (can’t. Sorry. And whoever gets into the presidency next will say the same thing four months down the road. You can’t start a war and then say, “Oh, sorry. You see we believed our own propaganda and now we think differently.” War is not like a new pair of shoes you bought on a fat day). So here we are five years later and everyone seems to have forgotten that they were frightened to death and therefore amenable to advancing on scary people across the globe. We thought if we could just give these people democracy they would love us and stop wanting to kill us. It seems however that you can't forcefeed people democracy. Live and learn.
What is irritating me right now is when I hear people holding Hillary Clinton’s vote for the war against her (much like they were pissed at John Kerry); a war that most of us believed – at the time – was just. Congressmen on both sides of the aisle voted for a war that they believed that We, the People wanted, and, hey, didn’t we? And now that We, the People feel safe and are tired of being in war and stupid for being duped into thinking there were WMDs, we want out. Like changing the channel when Lost gets a bit repetitive. Its revisionist history and Americans at their fickle best, and it’s downright maddening to me especially when – again, if you remember your not-so-distant-history – certain Congressmen wanted to talk about this a bit more, but We, the People allowed Bush and the rest of hawks to railroad the vote through. (If you need a reminder, I encourage you to use this link to read the two separate speeches given by Robert Byrd of W. V. and Sen. John McCain on the subject, read on the floor of Congress March 19, 2003.) There is a reason that our government is slow and ponderous, it’s so that we don’t act hastily and irrationally. Even in 1776, mob mentality was taken into account. If you don't believe me watch episode one of John Adams On-Demand.
And speaking of mob mentality… My current Media Diet was spawned by the hatred that was being aimed at Senator Clinton. I expected it from Christopher Hitchens and the other anti-Clintonians (of which, I was one during the Clinton adminstration) and especially from the conservative talk show hosts and misogynists the world over, but I did not expect it from the feminists, the columnists, and even the Democratic political pundits. (I’m not the only who felt this way either. It was the coverstory of Newsweek, March 17, 2008.) And, most notably, the Obamaniacs. For a campaign that was based on principles and a message about hope and new government, Obama’s rank and file sure have a way of getting down into the dirt and revert to the Old Ways. While I like Obama and his message, I’ve been seduced by such rhetoric before and am a bit gun shy in believing it. But I’m not anti-Obama. When lining his policy statements up against Hillary’s, there really isn’t much difference. But how are you to know that? Because right now, anyone watching the news would think that come November it’s going to be Hillary versus Barrack in a blood match preferably available on Pay-Per-View. (Where is John McCain these days? It’s like Where’s Waldo without the red and white stripped cap and shirt to distinguish him from all the other old white guys out there.) I am overloaded on the he said/she said parsing of the two Democratic nominees candidacy. I mean, are we even talking about their politics any more? Nowadays, all I hear about is scandal, and racism versus feminism, and which political pundit is lining up behind which candidate, and how much money each campaign is generating and therefore creating an algorithm of who the American people really want. AGH! Umm, excuse me? I know I’m just one voter out of the hundreds of thousands but, ahh, can someone talk to me about Social Security? How about regulating the banks? Hmm? Anyone, anyone? Bueller…
Also, can I just add that most of the states have had their primaries already? If you live in California or New York or Texas or any other 40-some-odd states where the ballot has closed and the votes tallied, just shut up. Please. Just because you voted awhile ago does not mean that Hillary should just cede now so that you don’t have to worry about your candidate getting in. Your vote is no more important than those people in Montana (who go to the polls in June). The only people who have a right to bellyache are Michaganians and Flordians whose ballets were nullified because they stepped outside of DNC rules about pushing their primaries up to before Super Tuesday. And really, I have no sympathy for Florida because they should have learned something about the electoral process after botching the 2000 presidential election.
But like any diet I take on, it’s bound to fail. Sooner or later, I’m going to want the brownie sundae and give into temptation. I went to Salon.com this morning and read an article on Hillary and the Super Delegate fear-mongering. One article and I had to get back on the wagon. My stomach couldn’t take it. The thing is, once this is over, it won’t be really over, because after June, we’re going to slide right into the Presidential Election. And god help us if anything iffy and weird happens with this election – hanging chads in Florida, 2000; votes being thrown out in Ohio, 2004 – this election could go well past the 2009 New Year. Shouldn’t we be conserving some of this vim and verve and hysteria for the end of the year when it will make a difference? When the entire country, on one day, goes to the polls and decides who will be the next president for the next four years? Or must we really shout at each other and throw proverbial stones hoping to knock out the person who might just be on the ticket anyway as the Vice Presidential candidate? It’s enough to give me acid reflux…and then I’ll really be on a diet.
Saturday, April 5, 2008
Parental Advisory
I’ve been watching Eli Stone. It is not a show that I’ve set the TiVo for, but a program I started watching in those slim entertainment months during the writers strike. I might have set the TiVo for it if it wasn’t for the fact that every female character that comes into the hero’s sphere just happens to be a beautiful woman who just happens to be/have been/will be in love with the somewhat dorky hero (shown in flashbacks with moptop hair and bad glasses that still would have been bad in the 80s just in case you don't think Miller is dorky looking). Really, watching television execs trying to right the wrongs of their Dungeon & Dragons high school
years by casting pretty faces next to average Joes is eye-rollingly irritating. While Jonny Lee Miller is a cutie (and was married to Angelina Jolie, but so was Billy Bob Thornton), they have him teamed with former model Natasha Henstridge and a-now-brunette Julie Gonzalo. (Note to TV execs: Dying a blonde to a brunette does not make her less attractive or seem smarter.) It wouldn’t be quite so bad if the set-ups weren’t so obvious. Like, perhaps, if the actress and the star had natural chemistry then something could evolve organically with her one-episode part turning her into a regular. This has been known to happen and your audience would respond accordingly. But instead, the chick is introduced and right away there are goo-goo eyes being made. In fact, in just about every 
episode so far a love triangle subplot has been included. This, however, is not a blog about the casting choices of contemporary sit-coms. It’s about George Michael.Eli Stone the character has a problem. He might be a prophet. Or it might be an aneurysm in his brain. Either way, he’s having hallucinations usually set to a George Michael soundtrack. George has made a couple of guest appearances, but when the need arises Victor Garber (of Damn Yankees fame) or Loretta Devine (of Dreamgirls fame) steps in to fill in with the pipes as they are secondary characters on the show (much like Pushing Daisies with Kristin Chenoweth and Ellen Greene. TV is finally using theater people and all their talents much to the delight of Broadway musical geeks everywhere). And every week, I get just a little excited when I hear the opening strings of “I Want Your Sex” or “Father Figure” or whichever Michael song they use. I think, “Yey! I love this song!” I feel happy. I want to dance around like a ten-year old. So imagine my delight when I started to see billboards up around town advertising the new George Michael CD, Twenty Five. BIG YEY!
So I revved up my iTunes account and saw that they were featuring the new CD. I clicked onto the album image and…wait a minute. Something isn’t right here. What is it? Oh yes. I see it. Every song has the word “explicit” in a red box next to it. Huh? Right next to the cover image is the “Parental Advisory, Explicit Content” stamp. So, you’re telling me that George Michael tunes get the same treatment as Public Enemy and Kid Rock and every other songster out there using the F-bomb and talking about drug dealing and killing cops and beating hos because – what? – his lyrics are about sex? Umm, you’re kidding me, right? No. No, they’re not. People, Wham’s “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go” is explicit. I guess the mere allusion to a one-night stand is enough to make some mothers fear for the morality of their babies. Just further condemnation on my mother it would seem, since I used to crank this up and dance in the middle of the living room when I was eleven and this song topped Casey Kasem’s American Top 40. What kind of sick mom would allow that! But the one that actually made me laugh out loud was the little red EXPLICIT box next to “Last Christmas.” HA! Seriously. HA!
Being the Libertarian that I am, I just had to click into that Parental Advisory logo and read it. iTunes, of course, blames the RIAA, and some lawyer had a heck of a time wording the advisory so that it didn’t say, “Look, don’t sue us if you’re an idiot and read too far into the lyrics of a song or aren’t monitoring what your kid is buying/listening to.” My favorite line is this one: Whether, in light of contemporary cultural morals and standards and the choices and views of individual parents, the recording might be one that parents may not want their children to listen to. (From the iTunes page.) “Whether, in light of contemporary cultural morals and standards….” Hmm. This made me interested in those recordings from today’s artists that have “clean versions” – IE an edited version of an album or song whose content has been modified from its original form so that it does not require the Parental Advisory Label (so sayeth the RIAA). Songs like “My Humps” by the Black-Eyed Peas. In which the lyrics specifically indicate her “lovely lady humps,” and how she uses them to get men to buy her designer products. Or how about “Big Pimpin’” by Jay-Z in which the F-bomb is removed from these lyrics:
You know I thug 'em, fuck 'em, love 'em, leave 'em/ Cause I don't fuckin' need 'em/ Take 'em out the hood/ Keep 'em looking good/ But I don't fuckin' feed em/ First time they fuss I'm breezin'/ Talking 'bout what's the reasons/ I'm a pimp in every sense of the word, bitch
Yes, because removing the word “fuck” makes it so much better and morally responsible.
It made a body – this body – begin to think there was a double standard here. Is the RIAA saying that rappers and cross-R&B artists are speaking to a different kind of audience, people with different values? People whose morals only extend to their child cussing and not to the ideology behind the music they listen to? And what about George Michael? While I was growing up, his homosexuality was not known to me. At eleven, I thought he was a cute guy with great hair and short shorts. Who he was sleeping with would never have occurred to me. One may argue that his recent legal problems have brought his orientation to the forefront, but if your kid is watching TMZ, s/he has already been exposed to pictures of Paris, Lindsay, and Brittany’s labia. An 80s sex symbol soliciting sex in a park bathroom would hardly be a blip on their screen. Are these, EXPLICIT stamps a direct result of people being privy to George’s sexual orientation and therefore is the RIAA saying, “We know he’s talking about gay sex, so….”? I realize that we live in a litigious society and that most corporations are just trying to cover their billion-dollar asses by making sure the William Donohues of the world can’t get a piece of their pie, but com’on. There’s got to be a more sensible way than asking the members of the RIAA to make broad assumptions based on cultural stereotypes as to what is morally questionable. Sex is a subtle and not immoral act. In fact, it's something that God demands that we do as it is the means to procreation. But the RIAA is not saying that we can't talk about sex, they're saying that only certain kinds of sex is objectionable. And once you try to categorize sexual acts, all the –isms come screaming out. It’s okay for rappers to exploit women for sex, it seems. And ladies, it’s okay to be exploited for sex as long as you’re getting something out of it. Preferably a Prada bag. But it’s never okay to have sex with a man if you are a man (interestingly, there are no labels on any of the Melissa Etheridge songs).
Despite their immorality, I downloaded “Freedom” and “Faith.” I figure whatever damage was done to my psyche by these lyrics was done a long time ago. But let’s just hope to god that no child under the age of 18 steals my iPod. I wouldn’t want to corrupt them with my amoral musical tastes.
So I revved up my iTunes account and saw that they were featuring the new CD. I clicked onto the album image and…wait a minute. Something isn’t right here. What is it? Oh yes. I see it. Every song has the word “explicit” in a red box next to it. Huh? Right next to the cover image is the “Parental Advisory, Explicit Content” stamp. So, you’re telling me that George Michael tunes get the same treatment as Public Enemy and Kid Rock and every other songster out there using the F-bomb and talking about drug dealing and killing cops and beating hos because – what? – his lyrics are about sex? Umm, you’re kidding me, right? No. No, they’re not. People, Wham’s “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go” is explicit. I guess the mere allusion to a one-night stand is enough to make some mothers fear for the morality of their babies. Just further condemnation on my mother it would seem, since I used to crank this up and dance in the middle of the living room when I was eleven and this song topped Casey Kasem’s American Top 40. What kind of sick mom would allow that! But the one that actually made me laugh out loud was the little red EXPLICIT box next to “Last Christmas.” HA! Seriously. HA!
Being the Libertarian that I am, I just had to click into that Parental Advisory logo and read it. iTunes, of course, blames the RIAA, and some lawyer had a heck of a time wording the advisory so that it didn’t say, “Look, don’t sue us if you’re an idiot and read too far into the lyrics of a song or aren’t monitoring what your kid is buying/listening to.” My favorite line is this one: Whether, in light of contemporary cultural morals and standards and the choices and views of individual parents, the recording might be one that parents may not want their children to listen to. (From the iTunes page.) “Whether, in light of contemporary cultural morals and standards….” Hmm. This made me interested in those recordings from today’s artists that have “clean versions” – IE an edited version of an album or song whose content has been modified from its original form so that it does not require the Parental Advisory Label (so sayeth the RIAA). Songs like “My Humps” by the Black-Eyed Peas. In which the lyrics specifically indicate her “lovely lady humps,” and how she uses them to get men to buy her designer products. Or how about “Big Pimpin’” by Jay-Z in which the F-bomb is removed from these lyrics:
You know I thug 'em, fuck 'em, love 'em, leave 'em/ Cause I don't fuckin' need 'em/ Take 'em out the hood/ Keep 'em looking good/ But I don't fuckin' feed em/ First time they fuss I'm breezin'/ Talking 'bout what's the reasons/ I'm a pimp in every sense of the word, bitch
Yes, because removing the word “fuck” makes it so much better and morally responsible.
It made a body – this body – begin to think there was a double standard here. Is the RIAA saying that rappers and cross-R&B artists are speaking to a different kind of audience, people with different values? People whose morals only extend to their child cussing and not to the ideology behind the music they listen to? And what about George Michael? While I was growing up, his homosexuality was not known to me. At eleven, I thought he was a cute guy with great hair and short shorts. Who he was sleeping with would never have occurred to me. One may argue that his recent legal problems have brought his orientation to the forefront, but if your kid is watching TMZ, s/he has already been exposed to pictures of Paris, Lindsay, and Brittany’s labia. An 80s sex symbol soliciting sex in a park bathroom would hardly be a blip on their screen. Are these, EXPLICIT stamps a direct result of people being privy to George’s sexual orientation and therefore is the RIAA saying, “We know he’s talking about gay sex, so….”? I realize that we live in a litigious society and that most corporations are just trying to cover their billion-dollar asses by making sure the William Donohues of the world can’t get a piece of their pie, but com’on. There’s got to be a more sensible way than asking the members of the RIAA to make broad assumptions based on cultural stereotypes as to what is morally questionable. Sex is a subtle and not immoral act. In fact, it's something that God demands that we do as it is the means to procreation. But the RIAA is not saying that we can't talk about sex, they're saying that only certain kinds of sex is objectionable. And once you try to categorize sexual acts, all the –isms come screaming out. It’s okay for rappers to exploit women for sex, it seems. And ladies, it’s okay to be exploited for sex as long as you’re getting something out of it. Preferably a Prada bag. But it’s never okay to have sex with a man if you are a man (interestingly, there are no labels on any of the Melissa Etheridge songs).
Despite their immorality, I downloaded “Freedom” and “Faith.” I figure whatever damage was done to my psyche by these lyrics was done a long time ago. But let’s just hope to god that no child under the age of 18 steals my iPod. I wouldn’t want to corrupt them with my amoral musical tastes.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
An Elusive Beginning
“Beginnings are elusive things. Just when you think you have hold of one, you look back and see another, earlier beginning, and an earlier one before that.” From Mudbound by Hillary Jordan.
I love reading. I love finding myself within the confines of a story written by a stranger about imaginary beings that happen to feel the way I do. The human condition exposed. I find this an enormous gift and revere authors who are able to do it seamlessly and believably. Because I am, for all intents and purposes, a story editor. Whether it be books or scripts, or even a cop – just the facts, ma’am – I look for the instances big and small that have lead people to the situations they find themselves in. For instance, it’s only important if a person chooses to eat the burrito if they gag on a jalapeno and die, or if they are on a diet and wonder why they can’t lose weight. Otherwise, it’s a small decision and merits no further consideration and can, in fact, be cut from the fabric of the story. I view my life in this manner, too. Unless the decision will adversely affect my future, I don’t worry about it. However, unfortunately, one never knows which decisions out of the million of little decisions they make daily will be the one that will cause their own undoing. This line from Mudbound reminded me of the first night of therapy when I tried to tell my doctor the Story of Me.
The Story of Me, it seems, starts not with my own birth but with a great-grandmother who got in the family way without a husband and therefore was married to a widower with two young children. The Story of Me starts with passion and scandal and consequences. It starts with individuals I never knew like a lothario who used my great-grandmother and the man who gave her and her child his name and whom I call great-grandfather though there is nothing to connect me to him. Not blood. Not memories. Nothing. However, the mere fact that these people lived, loved, and did not love have affected three generations of my family. It is one saga that has spawned a series of stories. One decision that has affected my grandmother, her children, and her children’s children.
Think about the choices you make everyday. Big one and little ones. Most days, there will be no consequences. Like the burrito that didn’t kill you or show up on the scale. Most days, your decisions will affect no one but yourself, yes? And yet, when I look back over the course of my life, I see the choices I have made and realize how some of them have had a major impact in my life however small the determination was at the time. Babysitting for that one woman. Playing inside that one afternoon. Losing a silly bar bet. These choices have informed the narrative of my life. While there are great many that had no effect on me at all, there are some that lead to the very experiences that changed me irrevocably. Hindsight is 20/20, but it’s all a little blurry when it’s right in front of your eyes.
And if I have children? Introduce another character into the Story of Me? Well, then I by extension become a part of his or her narrative and the narrative of their children and grandchildren. At which point, the choices I make today could affect people whom I might never know and who won’t know me. I, too, will be reduced to an anecdote repeated in a therapist’s office trying to explain why she does the things she does. Will my story be a comedy or a tragedy in her eyes? I don’t know and probably never will. That determination can only be made by the story editor. I will only be one book in a series of books that she has heard of. An elusive beginning.
I love reading. I love finding myself within the confines of a story written by a stranger about imaginary beings that happen to feel the way I do. The human condition exposed. I find this an enormous gift and revere authors who are able to do it seamlessly and believably. Because I am, for all intents and purposes, a story editor. Whether it be books or scripts, or even a cop – just the facts, ma’am – I look for the instances big and small that have lead people to the situations they find themselves in. For instance, it’s only important if a person chooses to eat the burrito if they gag on a jalapeno and die, or if they are on a diet and wonder why they can’t lose weight. Otherwise, it’s a small decision and merits no further consideration and can, in fact, be cut from the fabric of the story. I view my life in this manner, too. Unless the decision will adversely affect my future, I don’t worry about it. However, unfortunately, one never knows which decisions out of the million of little decisions they make daily will be the one that will cause their own undoing. This line from Mudbound reminded me of the first night of therapy when I tried to tell my doctor the Story of Me.
The Story of Me, it seems, starts not with my own birth but with a great-grandmother who got in the family way without a husband and therefore was married to a widower with two young children. The Story of Me starts with passion and scandal and consequences. It starts with individuals I never knew like a lothario who used my great-grandmother and the man who gave her and her child his name and whom I call great-grandfather though there is nothing to connect me to him. Not blood. Not memories. Nothing. However, the mere fact that these people lived, loved, and did not love have affected three generations of my family. It is one saga that has spawned a series of stories. One decision that has affected my grandmother, her children, and her children’s children.
Think about the choices you make everyday. Big one and little ones. Most days, there will be no consequences. Like the burrito that didn’t kill you or show up on the scale. Most days, your decisions will affect no one but yourself, yes? And yet, when I look back over the course of my life, I see the choices I have made and realize how some of them have had a major impact in my life however small the determination was at the time. Babysitting for that one woman. Playing inside that one afternoon. Losing a silly bar bet. These choices have informed the narrative of my life. While there are great many that had no effect on me at all, there are some that lead to the very experiences that changed me irrevocably. Hindsight is 20/20, but it’s all a little blurry when it’s right in front of your eyes.
And if I have children? Introduce another character into the Story of Me? Well, then I by extension become a part of his or her narrative and the narrative of their children and grandchildren. At which point, the choices I make today could affect people whom I might never know and who won’t know me. I, too, will be reduced to an anecdote repeated in a therapist’s office trying to explain why she does the things she does. Will my story be a comedy or a tragedy in her eyes? I don’t know and probably never will. That determination can only be made by the story editor. I will only be one book in a series of books that she has heard of. An elusive beginning.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Papa, Can You See Me?
Growing up I was taught that there was a Heaven and a Hell. Good people went to Heaven and bad people went to Hell. However, being a Catholic, good and bad were pretty rigorously divided and therefore you had to be very careful in life not to screw up and thereby damn yourself to eternal Hell. It’s a lot of stress for a kid. I mean, suppose you stole penny candy from the grocery store and didn’t confess it? Well, that was breaking one of God’s Big Ten and you went directly to Hell. Luckily, however, that wouldn’t be the end of it for you. You see, what you did on Earth could be excised in the Afterlife if enough people prayed for you. Petitioned God, if you will, to have mercy on you soul. And as a result, Catholics around the world pray for the living and the dead. I, for instance, continue to pray for the souls of all my grandparents and uncles regardless that I’m pretty sure they are already with God (even the one that committed suicide). But you can never be too careful, so there I am, down on my knees, interceding for people who weren’t exactly bad people but who knows what slight sins stained their soul, right? I mean, except God. Which is why I pray for them. It’s a circle.
I have a lot of questions about my faith regarding the Afterlife. I’m not supposed to. I’m supposed to just believe that whatever the Church says about it is true. But I’m a considerate, sentient being who lives in a modern society that lays great store in science and that which can be proven (the Church does, too, by the way. They have a bunch of scientists that go around debunking miracles. Ironic for a religion based on a virgin birth and the bodily ascension of Jesus. But I digress). But here’s the rub: I’m afraid to believe that there’s nothing after this life and therefore, by default, I believe that there is an Afterlife. Whether there is a Heaven and Hell remains to be seen. I’ll wait until I reach the end of the tunnel for that one, thank you. And because I believe there is an Afterlife, I believe that my grandparents and uncles are still about. And at my beck and call.
It’s gotta be tough being dead. I mean, other than the obvious like not being alive. Especially if you knew me when you were among the breathing. Because I talk to the dead all the time. I talk to them in the shower, late at night when I can’t sleep, when I’m driving in the car, while I’m on the treadmill. I talk to them out loud, in my mind, and in my prayers. These poor souls are not at rest, they are answering my summons. I talk to them more now than when they were alive. Probably because they can’t answer back. And the person who gets the most of my chatter? My grandpa Dillon. Poor Grandpa.
My grandfather has been dead for over ten years now, but he’s as much part of my life as my mother. Three-thousand miles away or another plane of existence doesn’t matter to me. I think about who I think about and could care less if they are In my Verizion wireless package. The other day, I was washing my hands in the bathroom sink and wondered if my grandfather could see me. Not going to the bathroom, but whether he was aware that I was now in California and doing okay. You see, my grandfather died when I wasn’t doing okay. I was an angry young woman who felt cheated in life and to punish everyone decided to waste my youth as the Dunkin’ Donuts girl. This perturbed my grandfather a great deal. It did not help that his other twenty-something granddaughter was also floating through life cutting hair. Grandpa was under the firm belief that we were vastly capable girls who were just wasting time. That at the very least we should get jobs with the government. He suggested the post office. If you were going to waste time, you may as well have a secure paycheck, great insurance, a nice pension, and get some exercise while you’re at it. But really, what twenty-year old is thinking about a pension? So, I scoffed. Then he died. And I felt awful. I sometimes think that I became a cop to atone for this sin.
Now, however, I’m not the Dunkin’ Donuts girl. And though I don’t have a secure job with great insurance (the pension is doing alright, though), I think he would be marvelously pleased with me. And as for that cousin, well, she’s getting her Ph.D. in microbiology and currently works for – you got it – the government. (Suck up.) So, I hope there is an Afterlife. Not only a place where the dead can be forgiven their sins, but a place where we the living can be forgiven for ours by them. If my Church got anything right, I pray it is this.
Below is a song from the movie Yentl. I have it on CD (yeah, I own a Streisand CD. What of it?). And every time I hear it, I think about my grandpa. I hope he see me.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QwCPAo5e_F8
I have a lot of questions about my faith regarding the Afterlife. I’m not supposed to. I’m supposed to just believe that whatever the Church says about it is true. But I’m a considerate, sentient being who lives in a modern society that lays great store in science and that which can be proven (the Church does, too, by the way. They have a bunch of scientists that go around debunking miracles. Ironic for a religion based on a virgin birth and the bodily ascension of Jesus. But I digress). But here’s the rub: I’m afraid to believe that there’s nothing after this life and therefore, by default, I believe that there is an Afterlife. Whether there is a Heaven and Hell remains to be seen. I’ll wait until I reach the end of the tunnel for that one, thank you. And because I believe there is an Afterlife, I believe that my grandparents and uncles are still about. And at my beck and call.
It’s gotta be tough being dead. I mean, other than the obvious like not being alive. Especially if you knew me when you were among the breathing. Because I talk to the dead all the time. I talk to them in the shower, late at night when I can’t sleep, when I’m driving in the car, while I’m on the treadmill. I talk to them out loud, in my mind, and in my prayers. These poor souls are not at rest, they are answering my summons. I talk to them more now than when they were alive. Probably because they can’t answer back. And the person who gets the most of my chatter? My grandpa Dillon. Poor Grandpa.
My grandfather has been dead for over ten years now, but he’s as much part of my life as my mother. Three-thousand miles away or another plane of existence doesn’t matter to me. I think about who I think about and could care less if they are In my Verizion wireless package. The other day, I was washing my hands in the bathroom sink and wondered if my grandfather could see me. Not going to the bathroom, but whether he was aware that I was now in California and doing okay. You see, my grandfather died when I wasn’t doing okay. I was an angry young woman who felt cheated in life and to punish everyone decided to waste my youth as the Dunkin’ Donuts girl. This perturbed my grandfather a great deal. It did not help that his other twenty-something granddaughter was also floating through life cutting hair. Grandpa was under the firm belief that we were vastly capable girls who were just wasting time. That at the very least we should get jobs with the government. He suggested the post office. If you were going to waste time, you may as well have a secure paycheck, great insurance, a nice pension, and get some exercise while you’re at it. But really, what twenty-year old is thinking about a pension? So, I scoffed. Then he died. And I felt awful. I sometimes think that I became a cop to atone for this sin.
Now, however, I’m not the Dunkin’ Donuts girl. And though I don’t have a secure job with great insurance (the pension is doing alright, though), I think he would be marvelously pleased with me. And as for that cousin, well, she’s getting her Ph.D. in microbiology and currently works for – you got it – the government. (Suck up.) So, I hope there is an Afterlife. Not only a place where the dead can be forgiven their sins, but a place where we the living can be forgiven for ours by them. If my Church got anything right, I pray it is this.
Below is a song from the movie Yentl. I have it on CD (yeah, I own a Streisand CD. What of it?). And every time I hear it, I think about my grandpa. I hope he see me.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QwCPAo5e_F8
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